It was warm out.
Matt was a guy used to cold Canadian weather almost all year round. When it was warm he immediately opened all the windows and breaks out the sunscreen from its dusty grave of a drawer. He burnt like those bigots actually have powers and had brought hellfire down on him.
This time though, he was only conscious of a pleasant summer warmth he only half-remembers from his childhood.
It only made sense that he'd be in his childhood home, then. Bright and cozy and safe. It's been years and years since he's stepped foot in this house (and longer since he was welcome) but he's never quite been able to forget.
The kitchen is the same as ever. The cat clock on the wall hasn't worked since he was seven, but mom had kept it since Matt had decorated it himself with bear stickers.
It was still there, for some reason. Matt just licked his icecream (his childhood favourite, vanilla slavered in as much maple syrup as his mom would let him get away with) and continued on.
Of course he found himself in front of his old bedroom. Embarrassingly, the 'KEEP OUT! POLAR BEARS INSIDE!' handwritten sign was still there on the door that he had written (along with Kumajiro back when he'd thought the polar bear toy was actually real and could talk to him.)
Inside, things weren't quite as he remembered, but somehow it didn't feel wrong. His polar bear obsession back then was still evident, and the inside of the third drawer down in the cabinet was still slightly sticky from his smuggled maple syrup stash.
Just-
Something was off.
Something was different, he just didn't know what.
Then:
"Matt!" His mom shouted like she always had when he was in trouble. "Come here! Have you been sneaking maple syrup again? We can't already be out, I bought some just yesterday!"
"Coming, mom!" Matt shouted right back. (Okay, maybe it wasn't quite what normal people would call a shout. Matt's normal speaking voice had always been barely above whisper level.)
Then Matt found himself in front of his mom, and despite the fact he was a full grown adult now he still cowered in front of her glare the same as he always had as a kid.
Man, his mom could be scary.
"…Sorry, mom." He whispered, even tearing up a little. Which was weird. Really weird. Because even if she could be strict her scolding had never ever made him cry before, so why now?
Predictably, her eyes had softened and her body language completely changed. "Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart, don't cry! I didn't mean it, why are you crying?" She demanded. "Is something going on? Are you getting bullied again? Because I will make that no good principal wish he was never born, no one hurts my baby boy-"
…Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
I'm dreaming.
He gave out a bitter laugh, surprising his dream-mother as he ignored her words.
Because the only time his mother would be able to accept his life choices was when he was fucking dreaming. That would be right, wouldn't it.
It actually was sort of pathetic in a twisted sort of way, he thought. Because despite it all, he had still trusted the dream form of his mom. Dream-mom was warmth and comfort and protection.
And yet…
How could I still love someone who told me I was no longer their child, that I don't deserve to live and then tried to make sure of it herself? He could really be an idiot sometimes, but he generally wasn't this self-destructive nowadays.
And yet he'd still inherently trusted his mom even now.
And wasn't that more than a little fucked up?
I really need to pee, is the first thing Matt thought. And: Why the hell am I crying?
Weird. But his bed was really comfy. It was always nice and warm and snuggly, but it seemed especially good today.
Still. Nature called.
Matt rolled over…and promptly fell off the bed and onto his face.
"Fuck!" he swore as he held his hand up to his face in shock, leaning against the wall for support. His nose felt wet. The hell was that? I swore I fell asleep on the side of the bed next to the wall. And now his hand made him look like he was a serial killer who'd just washed his hands in the victim's blood. Great. Always a good start to the morning!
He heard a clunk next door. "Matthew? Are you awake? What was that?"
"I-uh – yeah! I'm okay Francis, just loads of blood!" Matt said, because he was dumb and very disorientated. Had he been drinking? That would explain the dizziness. And the carpet being a different colour than he had been when he went to sleep.
In retrospect, he probably should remember to word things better.
"WHAT?!" Matt heard. And felt. Not just in his head with that pounding headache, but Matt could actually feel the wall vibrate. Ow, ow, ow.
He whimpered as rapid footsteps approached.
Matthew, what happened? Why is there blood? Are you hurt?! Francis cried out in shock. No, don't move, keep still!
God, he loved that man, but that usually honey smooth voice was a chainsaw right now. A chainsaw intent on splitting Matt's mind in two and feeding the bits to squirrels.
Matt groaned as Francis yelled out to Arthur, who was presumably nearby. Why was Arthur here? he wondered.
"I'm fine, just a blood nose," Matt reassured Francis. "Fell out of bed."
Francis gave a weird strangled sound. "What!? Matthew!"
Matt wiped some of the blood on his sleeve, to Francis' horror. He had a feeling only it was only partly because of the bleeding. Francis had always insisted wiping your nose on your sleeve was a disgusting habit and Matt was probably breaking Francis' disgust-o-meter even now.
"…What the bloody hell happened here?"
…Again, why was Arthur here?
Arthur blinked sleepily in the doorway, hair mussed like he'd just woken up. Maybe he had?
…wait…
If Arthur was here with Francis for some reason…
…Oh, god. Also, shit because he accidentally snorted more blood everywhere, because holyshithe'dthoughtArthurknewbetterthanthat?
Franciswasn'tashugeapervasbeforebutstill-
"Here, tissue!" Francis said, urgently pale, shoving one in front of Matt as Arthur swore something about overreacting drama queen frogs.
"...Oh for god's sake!" Arthur muttered. "It's just a blood nose, no need to go around screaming like he needs to go to the ER."
Francis stared defiantly at Arthur. "Do you know how worried I have been?" Francis shouted. "He's not been answering his phone or turning up to work, and then we turn up and his house is so dirty like he's not taking care of himself!"
Matt sunk back into his pillow. Francis didn't need to know that Matt was a bit of a secret slob when he could get away with it.
Francis looked inches away from pulling his hair out as he continued. "And then we find him collapsed in front of his bed so tired looking and weak, and you tell me not to worry about him?!"
Arthur had been staring back, unperturbed. As Francis stood there, breathing heavily, incited, Arthur finally spoke. "I never said that," Arthur replied flatly. "I only meant that running around panicked like a headless chicken isn't helping anything."
Francis had always been very passionate.
"Better than you, standing around like this isn't important!" Francis shouted. He grabbed the front of Arthur's shirt and attempted to pull Arthur closer to him in that dramatic sort of intimidating way Matt was pretty sure Francis had stolen from the movies. Arthur stood steady as he refused to budge, face as stoic as ever even as Francis curled his lip at him in a pure French sneer.
Ah, there was the look Francis was so good at. The one where he looked at something like it was actual shit he'd stepped on, and even Arthur's stiff upper lip thing that he did faltered slightly in the face of the cold rage Francis was in.
"The last time this sort of thing happened," Francis breathed, "was right after his mama disowned him and tried to kill him. And I never want to see this sort of thing again, because then he was one of the worst things I'd even seen." And then, quietly, in a rare shit-your-pants terrifyingly resolute sort of way, he said "and then he almost killed himself. So don't tell me I'm overreacting, Arthur."
Holy shit, Matt didn't give Francis enough credit because fucking hell even Matt had almost wet himself at that look and he was the one being defended.
Arthur looked stricken as he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He swallowed heavily, and Matt was more than a little disturbed to see some attraction in the respect that had popped into Arthur's eyes.
Arthur took a deep breath, then, dissonantly calm (like he was discussing the weather! Matt thought incredulously), said: "I apologise, then."
What?
"What?" Francis blinked, as tension drained from the room.
Arthur huffed. "Didn't hear me first time, Frog? I apologise. I apologise for dismissing your feelings as unimportant." He said gruffly, looking away. "I'm not so arrogant that I can't admit it when I'm wrong."
Francis stared, almost disbelieving. It was probably time to remind the two lovebirds that he was still here, Matt thought. Geez, they get in a fight over me and then forget I'm here. Typical.
"...Um." Matt said, instead of the beautifully eloquent poetry he had composed in his head. (LIEEEES.)
Both heads immediately spun towards him, and he was reminded of those clown heads with the open mouths that turned around at the fair, because the looks on those faces.
He hid a tiny grin behind his hand under the pretence of attempting to stem the bleeding.
Matt held up his other hand to stop the flood of 'Mattareyouokay's and 'OhnoI'msorryMattIdidn'tmeantoforgetyou's.
He smiled his most innocent smile at them and then said: "Can you save your emerging sexual tension for later, because I need another tissue?"
Arthur went the brightest shade of red Matt had seen on a human being as he attempted to splutter a denial, even as Francis fell over laughing.
