Work Text:
Matt was a man of many, many talents. His great looks, obviously, but also his seamstressing, and, even lesser known, his cooking. He really didn’t think he was appreciated enough for it. Not by Tom or Edd at least, who usually left the kitchen when he started working. Tom wasn’t much for cooking anyway, and Edd had his own way of doing things that didn’t make for a very calm or cooperative environment.
Tord had been the exception to that. He'd never actively participated, but he would sit at the table and watch Matt work, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Sometimes Matt got to play teacher, which he gladly took advantage of. At least one person in this house appreciated him.
Considering how long Tord had been gone, it’d been surprisingly easy for them to settle back into their old routines. Like putting on an old, worn coat. It was a little smaller than he remembered it, but all its freckles were still in the same place. In a rare stroke of luck, he’d even been able to convince Tord to join him at the counter, and had set him on the task of peeling apples. Well, trying. For all that he did with his hands, manually peeling an apple seemed to be a foreign concept to him. He did it, but not without a near constant string of vague, indiscernible grumbling that may very well have been a different language.
Said grumbling suddenly became a yelp, and Matt nearly dropped his knife. “What happened?”
Tord sighed. “Nothing. Knife slipped. Aren’t you supposed to cut away from your hand?”
“Well yeah, but this way is so much faster. Here.” Matt reached over and grabbed Tord’s hands, maneuvering them into roughly the right position around the fruit. Goodness, he needed to moisturize. “Just pull, like this. Not much pressure. Make sure you move both hands, opposite way.” He slowly twisted Tord’s hands around, dragging the blade over the apple’s skin. “Got it?”
“Eh, yeah. Got it.” Tord nodded and Matt let go of him, returning to his own half-skinned apple. Cut and twist, cut and twist. The motion was relaxing, and the house was warm, and he could hear Tord breathing to his right. He really was happy for the company. He’d been feeling tired lately; he wasn’t sure why. Probably just poor sleep. Being around other people made him feel more… present. Comfortable, at least. His eyes started to glaze.
“FUCK-!” Matt’s eyes snapped into sharp focus. He looked at Tord again, who was now cradling his hand. Matt smelled the blood before he saw it. His body went cold. Tord was saying something, or maybe he was just making noises. Matt couldn’t tell. When had his ears started ringing?
He blinked to clear his head, and when he opened his eyes Tord’s thumb was in his mouth. Tord was frozen solid in front of him, looking up with what had to be abject horror. The sweet taste of copper oozed over his tongue in rapid pulses and Matt’s stomach lurched. He shoved Tord away from him.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
“Ah-”
“I swear I didn’t do that on purpose, I just- poof, black out when I get hungry. But- I mean- you know that, I guess.”
“Yeah-”
“I promise I’m fully awake now, though, so you don’t have to worry about anything!”
“Matt-”
“You should leave, I-”
“Matt! Christ!” Tord punched him lightly in the shoulder with his good hand. “It’s fine! Really. I don’t care.” He paused, making a face. “Do you want any more?”
He held his hand up a little. The knife had cut into the pad of his thumb; not deep enough to be concerning, but it would take a while to heal. Bright red blood beaded up through the opening, trickling down through the grooves in his skin. Matt’s mouth watered.
“Maybe later,” he said hastily, pushing Tord’s hand down again. He turned away and picked his apple up from where it had rolled across the counter. “This pie isn’t going to bake itself! There’s plasters in the bathroom.”
“Alright.” He listened to Tord’s footsteps fade down the hall. The smell of his blood hung in the air, and Matt desperately tried to swallow the taste of it from his mouth. His throat tightened. Two times now. It was a miracle Tord still wanted to be around him. “Later”? Why had he said that? Sure, Tord kept offering, but he clearly just didn’t know what he was asking for. His vision started to get watery and he clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt.
Cut and twist. Cut and twist.
+-+-+-+
Tord stepped into the hallway and nearly collapsed. God. Fuck.
Get ahold of yourself.
He held his injured hand away from his body to avoid staining his shirt. He could still feel where Matt’s hand had closed around his wrist. He’d grabbed it with such certainty that Tord had actually been scared, just for a moment. Matt hadn’t bit him, but his front teeth had held Tord’s thumb while his tongue worked over the cut, drawing blood out. The amount he’d lost in those few seconds was surely minimal, but he still felt lightheaded.
He reached the bathroom after what felt like an eternity. He shut the door behind him, paused for a second, then locked it. Before going for the plasters he went to the sink, turning the faucet and splashing cold water over his face, not bothered when it ran messily down his arms and neck. In fact, he was glad for it — the discomfort gave him something else to focus on. Anything to distract him from the fact that his hand wasn’t the only thing throbbing. He felt nauseous. God, he needed to get a fucking grip. He wasn’t here to relive stupid teenage crushes or have weird sexual discoveries that he would take to his grave. He had come here for a purpose, and he had people waiting for him outside. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by this.
He and Matt were friends. He just had to play friends for a little longer. Nothing more. He dried his hands and grabbed a plaster from one of the cabinets, sitting on the rim of the tub while he applied it. Pressing the sides of his skin back together, careful to not cover the wound with the adhesive.
Close it. Contain it. Don’t get distracted.