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The floorboards creaked as Mateo shifted off his bed, settling in a seated position on the floor of his room. His naked back pressed against the wood of the bedframe, the coldness grounding him as his eyes ran along a crack in the ground. The room itself was below an ideal temperature, and he had never stopped receiving an ear full from Rosetta on how he’d get sick if he kept it that way.
His tan, slim fingers toyed with the string of his sweatpants, his curls falling down his body in messy ringlets, a mess against his scalp. He had cut all of it off a few years back, in retaliation to grief, but it had grown back even longer and he couldn’t bring himself to slip his fingers through the two loops of the scissors handle again, to look himself in the eyes in the mirror again and tell himself everything would get better.
It did not.
Mateo let his head fall back against the mattress of his bed, onto Trey’s jacket, which was sprawled out on the fabric of his blanket. The red part was stained in dried blood. Blood from years ago, which was probably unwashable now. Even if it was, Mateo couldn’t even think of anything that would be able to get him to rid himself of the last thing that touched his boyfriend's body besides the tips of his fingers.
Xio and Quinn’s wedding was two years and six months ago. 912 days ago, he remembers.
Sometimes he’ll think of what he could’ve had. A wedding was one, so was graduating college. He and Trey had picked out a college together, and once, Trey had suggested they talk about wedding plans. Mateo brushed his words off and told him to “be quiet and quit talking”, though now those words that came from his boyfriend's mouth that day are forever burnt into his brain; cherished.
—
“You really are dumb.”
Mateo’s fingers slipped through the gaps between Trey’s, his thumb absentmindedly running over his knuckle. His words were never meant to be degrading, only loving. His comment drew a laugh from the boy on the bench beside him. The most beautiful sound to ever grace his ears.
He turned his head to face Trey’s face, his hands coming up to rest on his boyfriend’s cheeks. Trey’s laughter came to a quick stop when Mateo’s lips silenced him, though he still let some cackles slip. The kiss was quick and Mateo drew back with a shaky breath, staring at the other boy with nothing besides adoration behind his eyes. His lips parted to speak, but Trey was quicker than him.
“I think I want to marry you.”
Mateo’s hands pressed further against the blonde's face as he processed his words. His eyebrows pushed together, feigning annoyance.
“Be quiet and quit talking.”
Trey shook his head. “No, seriously—“
“We’re still in highschool. Two years into highschool and you’re thinking about all of that.”
“I love you though, Mateo.”
Mateo scoffed, his thumb running along Trey’s cheek. “I know you do, but still— Just, be quiet.”
“I can’t talk about marriage just because we’re sixteen??”
“You can’t talk about marriage because it’ll be all I think about for the next few years if you do.”
“Oh.”
Mateo sat up, pulling Trey up with him as he got up off the bench, the snow flattening under their shoes. He practically yanked him along, before they both fell into synchronized footsteps, walking through the clearing in the park. Trey slipped off his own jacket, slowing his steps down a bit to drape the fabric over his boyfriend’s shoulders.
—
Mateo pushed himself up off of the floor, moving back to sit on his bed. He was restless, but so awake at the same time. His fingers dug into the filthy material of Trey’s jacket, his nails creasing it.
What he could’ve had, what he would’ve had.
He inhaled the cold air of his room, his blanket messed up and his bed unmade underneath him. He was happy for Quinn and Xio, but there had always been that feeling in his gut, a longing to experience something so intimate. He was robbed of that opportunity long ago, and was not fond of the idea of fulfilling it with anyone else besides that one boy.
He buried his face into his hands, his eyes growing wet. He quietly cried into the base of his palms. Both of his hands moved to grab the jacket underneath him, slipping it onto himself, over his shoulders, pushing his arms through the sleeves. Tears slid down his face, his trembling fingers clutching at the ends of the jacket. The feeling of cloth against his body would be the closest he could ever get to feeling Trey’s hands against his skin again. It was a terrible thought to dwell on.
Grief wasn’t new to him, and it never had been. When he was younger, he had found ways to cope with both his siblings' deaths, though Amaia had never left his thoughts for years afterwards. When he was mad, he cried, and grief for him was irritation; the thought of being stripped of opportunities.
—
Mateo groaned as the light from the rising sun hit his eyes through the worn down curtains. There was pressure on his chest. Comforting pressure, the type you’d want to wake up to. Trey’s left arm was thrown across his upper body, resting limp against his skin as he slept. Mateo’s arms came up, gently curling around his boyfriend’s own, holding it tightly to his chest. He turned to look up at the ceiling, gazing blankly up at it, embracing Trey’s arm without a word. His boyfriend’s head lay against his shoulder, his hair brushing against Mateo’s neck whenever he shifted on the bed.
Trey’s warmth against his bare skin was the best thing Mateo had ever felt, flesh on flesh with silence quiet enough to analyze the other's heartbeat. That's what he looked forward to each night, heat against his body, Trey curled up against him. Staying in a house in the middle of a clearing in a forest with a bunch of strangers wasn’t smart in Mateo’s opinion, but to Trey it was the best option. And whatever Trey suggested, he would always end up agreeing to. An unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar room, with unfamiliar walls, though accompanied by a familiar boy. That’s all he needed to be content. All he needed was that warmth, and the arm he held in his own, and those steady breaths against where his neck met his shoulder.
—
Torment.
Mateo cried harder, sobbing into the sleeves of Trey’s jacket. Torment to never forget. Torment to drive him insane until he couldn’t think of anything besides those arms that wrapped around him those nights. Torment to wish he had died that day instead. Torment to imagine a life where death hadn’t been forced upon them in the first place.
Mateo tried to sputter out words, incoherent thoughts he thought could ground him, but nothing came out. He felt his face begin to tingle, his hands pulling the fabric around himself, attempting to engulf himself in it, engulf himself in the only thing he had left of him. The best thing to ever come into his life, and the absolute worst to leave it. His hands suddenly let go, letting the fabric just sit around his body normally. His brown eyes were wide, staring at the floor, his hands sitting limply on his thighs. His breath was still harsh, and he knew it wasn’t going to regulate anytime soon. His face was wet, and so was his neck, and his palms. One of his hands reached for the nightstand, feeling around before he grasped onto an orange and white cylinder bottle, moving to hold it against himself as he screwed the top off.