Chapter Text
Matthew had never been the kind to stick out or to garner attention. He was the constant wallflower, the kid at the back of the room that always managed to get forgotten in group activities and whom half of the professors couldn't even recall. But that sort of problem was one Matt had long gotten used to.
So when the wolf whistle rang across the college green as he walked by, he barely even paid it any attention. Trust some idiot to be out harassing the girls who were just taking advantage of the warm day to study, instead of doing something useful themselves. Matt rolled his eyes a little.
"Hey, pretty momma, is that a keg in your pants? Because I'd love to tap that ass."
What a jerk, Matt thought, shouldering his backpack a little higher as he kept on walking. Talk about cheesy. Some guys really didn't have a clue when it came to picking up girls, did they? Not that he would know... girls weren't exactly his forte. He was here to study, not to flirt, and even if he did he wouldn't have the first idea of where to start.
Suddenly someone appeared almost at his elbow, surprising him so much that he froze in his tracks. "Aww, you deaf, baby? 'Cause I can do some magical things with my hands that'd beat out sign language any day."
...What.
You mean-
Just like that his face lit up in a red almost brilliant enough to match his hoodie, and Matt slowly turned to face his harasser. There stood a red-haired guy about his height who wore the most self-assured smirk he'd ever seen, hands stuffed in scruffy low-slung pants and the rest of him covered in enough piercings and tattoos to make Matt draw back in alarm. He was one of them, the rebellious, hard-partying skaters who loitered around campus as if they'd come to college to hang out instead of actually trying to earn a degree. A look of surprise flashed across the other's face as he finally got a better look at Matt, though the smile barely even faltered. "...You're not a chick."
"No shit, Sherlock," Matt grumbled, drawing himself straighter and silently praying that this didn't turn into a confrontation now that the punk had realized his mistake. He really had no desire to get into a fight, not over some idiot's desperate need to reassert his heterosexuality. No desire whatsoever.
But the stranger merely shrugged and scratched at the back of his head, nonplussed but clearly unconcerned. "Could've sworn you were from behind, with that fine ass and that long hair of yours. That was totally my bad, dude. But I still wouldn't mind fucking your brains out if you're game."
That was why Matt's first meeting with the infamous Al Jones ended with him slugging the guy right across his smirking face.