"Al, I'm about to shit bricks."
The walk from Alfred's dorm room had me thinking about the goddamn burrito we ate before leaving and how that had to be the worst mistake of the night and I'd barely begun. I could feel my stomach wailing already.
Al glanced over at me. "Shut up, Mattie, you'll be fine."
"No, I mean it. I'm about to shit myself. I don't know why the fuck I ate, but my stomach is about to explode," I warned.
"Wait, seriously? Matt!" Alfred was blatantly gawking at me now. "What's wrong with you?"
"Oh, yeah, as if I wanted to start having diarrhea at a damn party! I'm so sorry!"
"Well, what do you want me to do about? Our dorms are too far away now, the party is around the corner, and I don't see medicine growing on the trees next to us!" He threw his arms out away from his pockets.
I couldn't blame him for being exasperated, but honestly, I think I'm the one that should be worried. "Okay, okay, I get it, relax. I'll figure it out."
"You'd better because we're here." We stood on the sidewalk of the house with the all the lights turned on and the booming music echoing across the neighborhood. "So here's the plan: we're gonna find Eli, we're going to gather everyone up behind Gil and your backs, and then we can –"
"You're not locking anyone in a closet, bathroom, or bedroom, Alfred Franklin Jones. If you do, I swear to God I'm going to hang your balls on display in your dorm window."
He laughed nervously. "Alright, got it, your passive aggressive side is coming out a little early today. Super sexy for Gilbert." Al snorted at the same time I whacked him arm, resulting in more of a choked cough than a derisive laugh. "Kidding! Kidding!"
I rolled my eyes at his lame attempt of an apology. "Whatever. Go find number eighteen for yourself," I jibed, pushing him forward through the doorway.
"Dick."
"Asshole."
The house was open and people spilled over into the kitchen, the living room, and upstairs. The music being blared was some French techno music – I don't even know – and the masses were too into the atmosphere to pay much attention to the details. People faded in and out like a wave; they were one big group that had their niches: drinks sloshing and griming the floor, partners leaving no space between each other, friends lounging in corners of their own universe, sinking into the background of the vibrant air. There wasn't the stench you'd expect from a college kid's house; it was clean, and had a faint scent of apples and cedars. It was definitely Francis' house if there were seasonal candles in the air.
In the midst of still admiring the environment I found myself in, I felt Al's hand shove me to the kitchen at our right, mumbling, "Gilbert spotted you, get going." He gave me the faintest pat on the back before disappearing into the clump of indiscernible figures.
It was now or never, I could hear Elizebeta declare.
Heading over to the marble island had to be the most daunting task of the night. Other kids still lingered around the kitchen, handing off drinks to each other, floating amongst the crowd in a way I wished I could do too. The hands waving me down didn't aid the bundle of nerves creeping through my whole body as I spotted the knowing gazes of Antonio and Francis as well as the more thoughtful and laidback red eyes of Gilbert's.
"Hey, Matt, get over here!"
And an even more easygoing shiteating grin than last time I saw him too.
"Hey, guys." I weakly smiled at the devilish trio.
Gilbert was already rummaging in the cabinets behind him, sifting through a variety of glass bottles as he asked, "So, what's your poison?"
"Huh?"
"Drink. Alkohol." He didn't miss a beat as he instead moved on to the refrigerator and pulled out two beer bottles. Antonio and Francis stalked my minute movements as Gilbert returned with a beer opener, anticipating my next course of action.
Suspecting their disbelief, I smirked. "Anything, I can take it."
"Wow, so the kid's not a lightweight?" Antonio arched an eyebrow at the revelation. "Got to see that for myself." His emerald eyes had a spark in them with the new information, the gears visibly working in overdrive as his stare met Francis'.
While Gil handed me the opened beer, the Frenchman briefly paused to sip on his wine before commenting. "That might actually be more action than you've seen since last break."
Gilbert's cackle resounded after he cough mid-drink. It kind of sounded like it belonged to a Disney villainous witch, but it weirdly suited him.
"He has you there, 'Tonio." Gil kept chuckling to himself and ignoring the fierce contempt he was receiving from the Spanish man.
"Ay, sí, que graciosos," Antonio mocked. "Me voy para encontrar a Lovino. Díganme si algo pasa." He slid off his stool and sauntered – yes, actually sauntered – away, locking down on the Italian twin that was reclining on a leather loveseat just in view of the kitchen, totally unaware of the Spanish bomb about to drop in on him.
It went on in that same fashion for nearly an hour: drinking challenges, jabs, laughter. It wasn't a nightmare talking to these seniors, despite what I told myself. My stomach settled as I kept drinking and speaking. For once I didn't harp about the wrongs in every situation; I went with the flow. It was a comfort being around the two guys that acted like siblings, as if they'd known each other their whole lives.
They clashed much like Al and Arthur did; the personalities didn't match up at all. Francis was a famed romantic on campus in his three and a half years at college here. The picnics, the Eiffel Tower, the little street corner café dates, the whole nine yards was practically created by him. Gilbert didn't come off that way. Arthur and Francis were prim and proper, or rather as much as they could be with the occasional innuendos and massive cursing streaks. Gilbert and Al were bold, brash, and bombastic. It was just a matter of fact; it was how they were. Yet, they meshed well, not necessarily clashed. You could vaguely tell where one began and one ended, as if they were extensions of themselves, add-ons.
But in the end they were separate people and I couldn't help myself from letting my stare linger on him. It was sickening how attractive he looked in this moment: mussed white hair, smooth button down, rolled up sleeves, wine red eyes peering into my being. It was all bait I was trying to cling onto. I was unknowingly smiling at my train of thought when Gilbert snapped me out of it.
"Well, talk to me." Another sip.
It was only now that I realized Francis fled the scene and I could sort of see him now by the stairway with the local hotheaded Brit. I fiddled with my own bottle, my third at this point and I was feeling the buzz. "About?"
"Literally anything, Mattie, just loose up, you're too stiff for a party," he teased.
Nodding along, I gulped down what was left of my beer, readying myself for what Elizabeta led me to do. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. So, how's the thesis planning coming along?"
"Not what I expected, but good enough."
"Sorry," I murmured, running my hand through my hair, loosening the hair tie at the base of my neck.
A rough hand wound up removing it entirely and dropping it in my hand. Of course it was Gil, the devil's grin itself on his face, content with himself as he pulled out new beers. He briefly greeted people that headed for the fridge too, nodding and laughing jovially. Then he concentrated on me, a hawk zoning in. "Relax, dude. Seriously."
"I can try."
Not really unless I have a gallon of beer in me, but, hey, you don't need to know that. Yet.
"That's better. Thesis planning, huh?" He cracked open both beers for us, sliding mine over. "Well, I finally narrowed down the places I want to hit."
"Really? That's pretty good then. What do you plan on doing?"
It was like a star burst from inside his head. His face lit up once he started speaking, an extra beat to his rhythm, a grin a smidgeon wider, his eyes crinkling a centimeter more, an overall happier disposition from thinking about his trip. "Museums. Local cafes. The run of the mill places. Everything and anything." He sighed contently before bringing back his confident smirk. "Oh, and of course, red light districts too, that means all the clubs and bars."
"Sounds like hard work, for sure," I deadpanned.
He mockingly gasped. "Is that sarcasm? Could it be Mathew Williams is finally loosening up?"
"Oh, yes, I'm in the presence of a mastermind, I feel myself shaking already."
"Don't stress, I'll have you shaking for real in a matter of seconds if I wanted to." He winked. This fucking tool winked at me.
"GIL!" I slammed my beer down on the countertop and caught the attention of bystanders and I could easily feel the red spilling across my face and down my neck.
"Kidding, kidding." He waved off the action and after a moment looked back at my red face. "Maybe."
Where's Alfred when I need him?
"Nah, dude, relax a little. C'mon, you were doing so well. Take a break from the brotherly love shit and drink a beer, dance, have fun. Live a little."
"I know how to party, Gilbert, if that surprises you," I countered, only mildly agitated. I was livelier for sure, and less keen on running away like I was earlier.
"Actually, yeah, it does. Have you met yourself, Matt?" Gil scoffed to himself, answering his own question.
"Look in a mirror, Gilbert, it's like talking to a wall."
"I don't know if that a jab at my major or not, but whatever that was keep it coming. Passive aggressive Matt is my favorite version so far."
To add fuel to the fire he scooted his stool closer in and leaned onto his arms, licking his lips.
Two can play at this game.
"Really? There's more where that came from then."
"Is that an invitation?"
"It's a suggestion."
Oh, fucking hell, get me out of here before I do something I regret.
"HELL YEAH, DUDE."
Not what I meant.
"Why do I feel like that was Alfred?" I sighed at the distinctive chatter that hummed louder, already knowing what surrounded my brother whenever we went to any party.
"Because it is Alfred," Gilbert stated, an impressed expression on his face as he stared at the scene behind me. "Yeah, you might want to check up on him."
"Shit," I groaned. Chugging the beer, I stood up from the wooden seat and smiled half-heartedly. "Sorry." I was already at the doorway and watching the catastrophe before me when Gil's voice called me back.
"Mattie."
"Yeah?"
"Relax." It was the third time he told me that, and third time's a charm. He was the picture of grace and poise, even while slouching forward onto the island beneath him with a mess of beers in front of him. It was nauseating me and I had to get away. Fast. "I'll be fine, it is my own party, after all."
With one last reassuring smile, he let me go handle my twin who was being held up by the legs while his hands clutched onto a keg in the middle of the living room. He was the center of attention as always and guys and girls alike were cheering him on as he did his round. Al kept going strong as someone beside him started counting down the seconds until they got to zero. The blood was rushing down to his face and it only encouraged him. Hoots of laughter and gasps met his accomplishment as he shook himself off and made his way towards a gaggle of his "fans". His hair was matted to his forehead and his glasses were tucked into his pocket, showing off the bright blue traps that I knew already ensnared girls who circled him.
A frown was the first thing he saw though once he turned to me in the crowd and he instantly moaned, foreseeing the lecture that he'd receive. "Chill, bro, I'm fine. I haven't gotten shitfaced yet," he tried persuading, holding onto the wall as he led me to empty seats. They nestled next to Francis' bay windows and leaned back, looking over the raging partygoers.
I harrumphed at his pathetic excuse. "I can hear your liver keening from a mile away. Get something to eat, please, it hasn't even been an hour and you're pulling out the keg tricks."
Unconcerned, Al shifted into the couch and crossed one leg over the other, arms behind his head. "I'm good. It's all for the show and hype anyway. Nothing's ever going to top summer of 2015, believe me."
I couldn't stop myself from remembering the kegs and major vomiting that ensued that night; it was the equivalent of a bad frat party. "Don't remind me."
"So," he started, directing the conversation to what I knew he wanted to hear about, "how's it going with Mr. Mind Kampf himself?"
"It's MEIN Kampf, and don't ever say that again. Especially not in public or near me."
"Killjoy," he grumbled.
"How did you get to be in International Relations when you sound like that?" I asked with an incredulous tone.
"No idea, now stop avoiding the topic. You were in there for an hour, I want every single detail. Did he lean onto you? Did he breathe on you? Did he press up on you?"
"Am I going to punch you?"
"Probably. But seriously, what happened. You're getting all passive aggressive on me, you'd never be caught dead like that in such a public area, Matthew, so that means a little birdy got alcohol in you," Al discerned, acting proud of his sleuthing.
Knowing he wouldn't stop pestering me until I spoke, I caved. "Francis was with us the majority of the time, don't get too excited. Antonio left pretty quickly to hunt down Lovino. Francis eventually left because he saw Arthur. And then we just talked. I was drinking, I got passive aggressive, he got –"
"Turned on?"
"Amused. Al, I said I'd give it a chance, not that I'd seduce him," I specified for him, just in case he got more weird ideas in his head.
He shrugged as if he didn't see anything wrong with his statement. "Fair enough, at least 'til Elizabeta scopes you two out. I'm surprised she hasn't yet. By the way, how's the… situation?"
"I'm dead inside. I can't feel my stomach anymore, and the minute we get out of here we're finding a place to eat with a decent bathroom."
"You know you could just use the one here, right? That is, unless you really want to avoid us more."
The shriek I let out was to never be talked about ever again. Ever.
"No, no, no, no, no, I'm good, perfect, spectacular," I affirmed, brushing any stray hairs behind my ear nervously at Gilbert's sudden appearance. It was one thing when I had to deal with him alone, it was another when Alfred was in the vicinity.
"Sure? There's medicine in the kitchen if you need any. Luddy's super uptight about keeping a cabinet stocked, so there's a remedy for everything."
I laughed off his attempts of getting me to use the bathroom here; maybe it wasn't his-his, but it was Francis' and that was enough leverage to be humiliated, embarrassed, teased, or all of the above. I didn't need that when tonight was behaving like a dream. I felt my hair being tugged back and I nearly flinched at the realization that Gilbert was picking my hair up into a ponytail for me.
Satisfied with his work, he nodded. "You look rougher like that, it works." I could practically hear the hyena laughter Alfred kept at bay, watching us like his favorite Friday night soap. Before Gilbert left us again, he tossed his head back to remind me of where he'd be, or well, where the medicine was.
His white and black clad self dissolved into the house as if he were a part of the atmosphere itself, intangible. I wanted to sprint away from the scene of what felt like a crime, yet also dissolve just like Gilbert did. Take him up on the offer. Sit and converse. Relax. The knowledge that tomorrow morning would be a 180 degree difference was what kept me rooted in my seat.
"Mattie, don't actually tell me you aren't going to go to him," Alfred opined, his voice making it seem like I committed blasphemy. His hands clenched and unclenched – his own nervous tick – as he faithfully watched me in shock. "All he had left to do was haul you over there himself. He's German, think of yourself like a sack of potatoes, they love that shit. Let yourself be the potato sack, man, c'mon!"
It seemed practical in a way to allow myself to be so loose for one night when I know I can act that way; it was nothing new. I was rigid. I was the exact opposite of what I needed to be to deal with Gilbert. No, not deal with; handle was the right word.
"Al, let me remind you that I only met this kid about five days ago at Elizabeta's behest. Not to mention how all of you pretty much tackled me and coerced me."
"Lies. You texted him yourself, don't pin it on me because you're scared." Alfred wizened up beside me. His eyes seemingly tracked the beautiful girls in his line of sight, but his mind was stuck on me.
"Yeah, so what if I'm scared? I'm not you, Al, you know that. I hooked up in high school, sure, that doesn't change that it was with one person the entire time. I can't flit around like you or even pretend to, like they do here," I huffed.
"So what if you aren't me? Get over it. Be you, be a different side of you, evolve, adapt. Natural selection and all that bullshit. You're going to have to grow up eventually, Matt, and I thought you already had. Guess not."
"That's not fair –" I started to say, wringing my hands instead of my hair.
"It's the truth, the truth's not fair. You can be the studious kid, and you can be the partier, best of both worlds." The harsh lines on Alfred's forehead suddenly softened. "You deserve to relax. It's been over six months, man."
I let out a shuddering breath at the concept of straightening out my spine and making my way over to Gilbert, even if it was only to hang out. No strings, no contract, no certainty, no commitment. Yet. Al was right; it had been over half a year and I had to move on and make up for lost time.
It's like the feeling you get when you pass by something that reminds you of your childhood: how a ball of iron falls through you and settles in your stomach, how the heaviness permeates you, and suddenly it's an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And you want to cry. Because who would've imagined you'd see or experience it again. That's what I felt in this moment. Sitting beside Alfred as we stared on at the raging party of shadows and multicolored lights floating above our heads, the realization that six months ago was a faraway memory and I was in the present, free to do as I pleased, was overwhelming me.
I numbly pushed myself up from the seat and vaguely heard a satisfied chuckle from Al as I weaved through the crowded space, wading amongst the people rocking side to side. The kitchen light was going to trap me in – a moth to a flame. Gilbert was the flame; something that burns brightly and fades quickly. A small ember that lights up the night and allows an insect like me to find refuge in a large unknown. The allure was inescapable.
And there he was, lean, elegant, and audacious, Gilbert was in the comforts of his environment. I was mindlessly following him into the deep end. I could jump on it right now. I could leave him breathless right now. I could do anything in the world to him right now. And I wish I could.
It was then that he saw me out of the corner of his periphery and quickly waved off the admirers around him. I was near the staircase, the banister acting as the support I needed right now. It would be so easy to fall into a bed right now. It would be so easy to drink into oblivion right now. It would be so easy to fall head over heels right now. But was that what I wanted? Was that what I needed right now? The anxiety I believed to be surmountable was encroaching onto my steeled nerves as his blazing stare neared me. I was petrified; he wasn't. I had a tempest brewing in my chest; he was the eye of the storm.
How do you approach something when you aren't even sure how to stand on your feet?
The warmth from his body woke me up.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"I thought we were past that, Matt."
"I thought so too."
"So." Gilbert's eyes veered up the stairs, silently suggesting what Alfred had not even two minutes ago. "You first?"
It was the calm disposition of his that I wanted to kiss away. I wanted to drive him mad. I wanted to be the prototypical college kid: reckless. I wanted my hands around his neck and creeping up into his pale hair, tugging, pulling, twirling, kissing away the night and outliving the moon. And now it's my hand winding around him and tugging him up the staircase, him pulling me down a lonely hallway, me twirling around to face him, and us kissing in a closed off room away from keen eyes.
"You know," he whispered in between kisses, "I'm kind of surprised."
"A good or bad surprise."
"Good." Kiss. "Definitely." Pull. "Good." Tug.
I wasn't in high school anymore, Alfred was right about that. High school had me anxious while I paced my room waiting for him to crawl back into our room during twilight. High school was me not sleeping and focused on school to the point of ruining relationships. This was the college version of Mathew Williams, the version that allows himself to have fun and not be afraid.
This was the Mathew Williams that I wanted to continue to be. And it began now with Gilbert.
Thank you again to everyone still reading this story and for favoriting or reviewing or following this story. The more I write the happier I get and the more passionate I get for it. There was one specific paragraph that I wrote that I BLED into, if you can spot it, please let me know, or let me know any constructive criticism or commentary.
P.S. I had my best friend on the phone at 4 a.m. as she read this aloud to me checking for mistakes, and I wound up cackling because she would change the voices for everyone every two seconds. I'm never going to see this chapter the same ever again because of her.
