I decided to write fanfiction because the internet went out :c
Sooo this'll only be a one shot, and most likely quite long, and quite rambly, and quite unchecked because I'll end up uploading it straight away because I'll want to get that part over and done with c':
Anyhoo~ I have no idea what the plot of this one will be a about xD I always write these little bold pieces before I write the actual story c': so, yup, no clue.
There was something his mother had told him when he was young and he'd always remembered it until now. His mind had gone blank. He'd forgotten it. That one saying that he'd always remembered...gone. It was always in the back of his mind at the most stupid of times but it had always given him the motivation to do what he needed in life to stop what the saying said from happening...but now it had disappeared and it was like it had never existed in the first place.
Sitting up with a sigh, Matthew got out of bed. It was 4AM and by now he knew he wasn't sleeping, so he made his way to the kitchen (turning on lights as he went), being sure to be quiet even though there was no one else in the house - nor would there really ever be. He was sure there was some deep psychological reason for him having forgotten the saying, something along the lines that he'd given up hope on it or something. Quite honestly, Matthew had given up hope on most things, and he realised this as he made himself a cup of coffee. He was 19. He had most of his life ahead of him. He had no idea what to do with it. He was in College right now, trying to hold up a job in a coffee shop whilst writing a book - he was almost positive that the book wouldn't sell and despite all the spare time he'd had thrust upon his hands by insomnia, he was neglecting his studies. The coffee shop he worked in payed minumum and he was only just making a living.
Taking a sip from the cup of coffee, wincing as it burnt his tongue, he took it over to the table where his laptop was perched and plopped down on the couch. Reflecting on why he was only just making a living, it was probably down to the fact that he lived on his own and not with a number of other people so it was only him who was paying the bills which wasn't the most perfect of circumstances but he was just scraping by. The reason he lived on his own was because he was always alone. There was just no one that Matthew talked to and no one that talked to Matthew, and he had grown to accept that this was how it would always be. Opening up the laptop he sat through the load screen and typed in his password before resisting the tempation of the internet and opening up a new word document - he figured that seeing as he had nothing better to do (along with being the master of procrastination) he may as well start a jornal or a diary or just something because deep down he knew he needed to vent, and whilst normal people vented to their friends, Matthew vented to a static being that would never respond to anything he ever said and would never give him comfort.
Even if Matthew did have friends, he doubted he'd ever vent to them because of two main reasons: 1) He'd be so afraid of losing the friend after so long of trying to make friends that he wouldn't want to say anything bad or wrong that would make them go away, and 2) He was simply afraid of how an actual human being would react to what he said. He wa your average person really, and he was just as concerned about how everyone would view him as anyone else was, though probably a little bit more than the norm. Pretty much all of the word documents on his computer were either nonsense rambling or story ideas or chapters for his book and the only ones that he ever re-read were the ones concerning his book - though he had no idea why he didn't re-read any of the other ones, the ones about story ideas were probably just left to fester until he finally finished this one (though he doubted he ever would) and the ones concerning rambling were all probably left alone because he'd likely be embarrassed to himself about how much of a dork he was.
He wrote until about 6AM until he decided to get up and get ready for his shift at the coffee shop that started at 8AM. It worked better for him because he always stayed up at night, had lectures mostly in the afternoon an hour or so after his shift ended, and when he crashed after two or three days of all nighters it would be around 8 or 9PM or he was always away an hour before his shift started. He packed his messenger back with the assorted things any normal college student would need and set off out into the big wide world like some sort of helpless kitten that was vunerable to social interactions.
Reaching his job he put on his shirt and nametag, considering like he did everyday to just wear the nametag everywhere but disregarding it because it may make him look like he was seeking attention or just make him look like an overall douchebag. He'd moved to England when he was 14 with his mother, so he'd originally come from Canada. At first he'd thought he'd stick out because of his accent but he blended into the background and the environment just as much as he had done at any other point in his life, and it hurt. He assumed his place at the checkouts (which, a given, wasn't exactly the most perfect placement for someone as afraid of social interaction as Matthew was but life was life and that was the only job opening available). Though, working on the tills, he really didn't participate in as much verbal conveyance and most might think he would participate in, an average conversation between him and a customer usually lasting no more than three to five whole sentences.
This all lasted up until his break where he just really had a coffee within the shop and typed up more words that would likely never be read into a word document (taking off his work shirt first just incase someone thought he was slacking off) and returning to work 15 minutes later. Though he was growing quite bored of this entire routine, he sighed and sucked it up, serving about an hours worth more customers (now only having about a half hour until his shift finished) until one came in ten minutes late where they started a conversation. Now, by a conversation I mean it was more than a minute of verbal interaction whence words were exchanged and really Matthew was walking on unfamilliar ground. The conversation started off with the usual, "Hello, what would you like, eh?" which would usually be followed by a rather bored and uninterested, "Yeah, I'll take a coffee" or whatever sort of drink. But instead it had been replied to with:
"A'll take a tea thanks, love. Now whit es tha' accent, a cannae seem tae place et," and the words had been accompanied by a rather friendly smile and a man resting his weight on his forearms, leaning against the work surface infront of the tills.
"Coming up, and it's Canadian," Matthew had smiled back, putting through the order whilst one of his fellow employees made the tea and such. Once or twice it was normal to be asked about his accent but every single time the conversation had ended right there and had never continued, a minute later the customer would be given their drink and they would leave satisfied. However...
"Ahh Canada. M'Dad took me there when ah w's a wee'en, beautiful country," the person, who he could only assume was Scottish from the accent, replied and - not being one to be unpolite - Matthew replied.
"It is rather pretty when I think about it. You're from Scotland right? I've heard it's a lot like Canada there, with the climates and stuff," now, he had heard these things and it may have sounded like he knew what he was talking about, but really, Matthew was just grasping at random things in order to keep the conversation going. He thrived on this feeling of self worth and attention and just social interaction as a whole and he hated himself for it because all it did was get his hopes up. He never kept up conversations and when he did they were always with people he would never hear from again in his life ever. This person, however, just felt different to him for some reason.
"Aye, aam from Skawtland," the man smiled once again, each time Matthew said something he could swear it got that little bit wider, but he doubted it, "And ah t'ink they are, actually. Nawt aul tha' sure, though both'a 'em are pretty. Whit's yer name, lad?" This was also a new, someone actually asking his name - though he had always assumed it was because of the name tag but now...apparently not - they were all likely unconcerned about his name a probably just wanted their drinks.
Talking about drinks, his co-worker passed him the cardboard cup of tea and he passed it to the Scotsman who took it with a smile. But, and this is what stuck the Canadian as 'shocking' though he was probably overreacting to the whole ordeal: he waited for a reply. And Matthew replied because he didn't want to conversation to end.
"I'm Matthew, I think there's something religous behind the name but I don't really know," he shrugged and smiled a bit more at the man, before venturing forth into more unknown depths of social interaction and asked, "What's your name, eh?" And he couldn't believe he was keeping up a conversation.
"Aam Alastair, ets Skawtish fer somethin' though I don' really care," he gave a light chuckle, "Though, my break es gonna end soon, so ah should get goin' love, a'll drop by tomorrow at the same time an' talk tae ye then~"
"Alright then, bye Alastair," Matthew smied and waved goodbye to what he could only call a 'new friend'.
"An' g'bye tae ye, Matthew," Alastair smiled and walked out of the doors.
And then that feeling returned. That utter feeling of emptiness as he lost sight of the redhaired Scotsman and he felt utterly lost.
He'd had no lecture that day and he'd reached home at around 3PM and resigned to the couch he with his laptop, laying down instead of sitting up at the table so that if he felt like it, he could just fall asleep there seeing as this was his fourth day in a row awake and he expected himself to drop at any moment. He typed away on his laptop for about an hour before he fell asleep on the keyboard. Unsurprisingly, that night he dreamt of Alastair though it wasn't in some weird way like they were flying on a rainbow or something, he'd just dreamt of the two of them talking on the edge of a river, their feet in the water for some reason - though he felt it was something from the Lord of the Rings seeping through into his mind that kept imagining Scotland as Hobbition or something along those lines, spontaneously giving all of the environment and the surrondings to the dreams a natural and green and just overall earthy feel to them.
The conversation he had with Alastair in the dream however, he had no idea what they had talked about. The conversation had jumped from topic to topic at random times and Matthew had almost no idea what they were talking about but he knew that they were just...he was having fun. It felt good to talk to an actual human being for once and he was glad Alastair had run into him at the coffee shop today because, in all honesty, it had brightened up at leat a day of his rather bleak life and although he doubted that the Scotsman would be back tomorrow, he hoped that he would. He hoped with all of his heart. He hoped because this was the first person he'd properly spoken to in at least four (maybe more) months and it just felt nice and it felt natural and he liked it. He liked the attention, he liked actually speaking to someone and he liked the other as a person.
It was nice to participate in something that was just honest and good for once, something that he could get something out of and although he doubted they would be anything more than aqquaintances in Alastair's mind it was nice to talk to the other and he hoped it would become a habit. Maybe he would make the other come in more because he was a nice person or whatever delusion about his personality he wanted to stat believing next. Needless it say, Matthew woke up refreshed the next day at about 5AM, made himself a cup of coffee and did the usual.