ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (beepbeep) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-09-21 10:46:00 |
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The clearing that was being made in the Green wasn’t difficult to find - Matt followed the sound of chopping trees, the scent of cut wood and turned earth. Richie said he wanted to meet there, which was odd since Matt would’ve thought they should have their conversation in private. But he guessed there were benefits to meeting in public - hopefully this would drag out for long, and not get very emotional. Matt found some clothes that fit him from the theater wardrobe, jeans and a plain t-shirt. He found Richie digging up a square plot for his garden. He strolled over, noting how Farndral was in the area, felling a tree, but far enough that he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what they were talking about. He stood patiently, waiting for Richie to acknowledge him, not wanting to interrupt what he was doing. *** Starting a garden was just - not as simple as one might think. Especially not in a place that got reset back to its ‘original’ starting point (though the point of origin was different for everyone, right? Super weird) every week. Richie almost wasn’t sure why he was bothering but he needed something to do with his hands and his nervous energy - something he’d always had, that tended to vibrate like struck piano wire. Since there was already a clearing in the woodsy area, the trees having been chopped down, and space for something to flourish - he thought he may as well try. Plus, he had a sentient watermelon follow him back through the reset of the destroyed 1950s town - it didn’t mind sparing some seeds; apparently its mission in life was to serve and protect, so. Decent place to start. He had just dumped some compost and topsoil in the designated spot, and was in the process of planting (it would take some time for vines to go rambling this way and that - mostly he wanted to see if this makeshift garden would even be here next time they got pulled back into Void Week times) when he noticed Matt. Richie stood up, pushing his glasses further up on his face with a nudge of his finger - and he felt something twist in his stomach. Butterflies, maybe. Which was weird. But it was also part of the reason he wanted to talk to Matt anyway - and he didn’t claim to be the best at navigating the minefield that was his gooey emotions but he had gooey emotions, and didn’t think that was a bad thing. “Hey Mattachu,” he greeted, complete with an eye-crinkling smile that you could just about hear. “...do you want to sit?” There was a campfire area - logs and stuff, sanded seating so they wouldn’t get splinters up their asses. *** Matt could tell Richie was smiling by the way his voice sounded. Also, Richie’s heart was beating faster, which could mean several things depending on context… lying… nervousness… love. Matt didn’t want to think too much about it, distracting himself by directing his attention to the watermelon person while he muttered, “Yeah, that’s cool.” He wasn’t smiling… if anything his face looked as tired as he felt. Emotionally tired. The only place to sit that was close by was the campfire area, and Matt made a motion with his hand in that direction. “There?” he asked, to make sure, then started walking slowly to the spot. “One of the watermelon people came back with you?” Get things started with small talk before they got to the more serious topics. *** “Yeah, it followed me - found it here when we woke up after the reset,” Richie shrugged and, well, he supposed he didn’t mind too much. It was kind of cute. Dopey-looking, but cute. “It won’t bother us though.” The thing even seemed to take a hint, wandering off to go traverse the woodland area nearby - so much green, like the springtime. And lush. It gave Richie hope that something could actually flourish out here, if given enough time and effort. He sat on one of the benches, rubbing his palms over his thighs in case he was sweaty - he wasn’t, but it gave him something to do with his hands. “So, um. About...last week? And us? I like - thought it was just...the experiment made us feel that way. Because when the dream ended, shit, why would someone like you want someone like me, right?” That question was rhetorical. Matt didn’t need to answer. “But I don’t think it was entirely the experiment and I still - you know. Um. Care about you,” he said, blushing, reaching up to awkwardly scratch his scruffy cheek. “I’m not proposing marriage or some shit and I got a lot of baggage and I’m sure you do too, but the point is, you still have me. As a friend or...whatever you want. So. Yeah.” God, he was emotionally constipated and he fucking knew that - but he was trying. Trying to be better. Because maybe he was starting to realize that he couldn’t keep clinging to a love that was, ultimately, childish - a love bound up in friendship, a love that had its own place in Richie’s life, its own time, and that time was over now. It was over - and the fact that he could sort of accept that was a testament to how he was actually processing his grief, even in the middle of this weirdness. *** “Wow.” Matt was taken aback by the amount of honesty from Richie. “That’s…a lot.” He then quickly added, “But that’s okay! I’d rather have everything up front instead of beating around the bush.” He was sitting beside Richie on the bench, and could sense how nervous the other man was. It took a lot of bravery to admit all that outloud, and the least Matt could do was to be just as open. After a hard swallow, he removed his sunglasses so he couldn’t hide behind them. “Where do I start?” He pursed his lips together and decided to delve right in. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever had sex with. It’s not like I never thought about it before. There’s a close friend back home who I thought… well… but nothing ever happened. And then I started dating this woman… this was back in college. It’s a long, complicated story. But basically… we were pretty serious, but then she died. Killed, actually. I was too slow to prevent it.” Matt grimaced. “And then the assholes who killed her brought her back to life, brainwashed her and started using her as a weapon to help bring about their plans for world dominance, I’m still not 100 percent sure what that bullshit was all about. I was actually on my way with a couple of people to try to stop them when I’d been brought here. I was also hoping there was a chance to save her…” Matt lifted his head toward Richie. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I didn’t think I’d be ready for a relationship with anybody, but then this thing…” he wagged his index finger between Richie and himself, “... happened last week. And it was nice. I liked it.” He chuckled away his nervousness. “You shouldn’t put yourself down, you were hot.” He flashed an awkward smile, but it quickly dissipated. “I care about you too. I’m glad we can be friends… maybe more. But if you also want to be with Ikol or whoever, that’s alright too. *** There was a lot with Matt’s response too, but Richie would do his best to unpack it all - besides, there was one part in particular that stuck out to him. Too slow to prevent it. He remembered the light that burned like madness and distant stars, burning through him - he had a vision of Eddie dying, it played on a reel along with the other infinite possibilities that the Deadlights showed him, and when that otherworldly blaze filled his veins. But Richie couldn’t stop it. After he’d been snapped out of it, he only had a few seconds - and he wasn’t quick enough. “I know people say shit like ‘I’m sorry’ all the time, but - I am sorry, and...I get it,” he said, reaching for Matt’s hand to twine their fingers and press their palms together; felt like he’d done it a thousand times before, in some other life. “I get feeling like it’s your fault. I know technically it wasn’t with me, and I don’t know for sure with you but - yeah. Doesn’t matter what people tell you sometimes.” Not if you were so determined to believe something. At the mention of Loki, Richie huffed a surprised little laugh. “Oh, no - that was just a thing. No strings attached.” Sometimes you just needed to get rid of nervous energy, and Richie had always been nervous. It was bound to need to be fucked out sometimes. “I liked us too though - it was nice. I’m cool with seeing where these strings lead, Mattimus.” *** Feeling that connection, holding hands, meant a lot to Matt, and the stress he’d been feeling earlier, worrying about how Richie would react, was lifted. It was one less thing that weighed on his mind. But he understood Richie, believed him when he said he understood - between the tone of Richie’s voice and steady heartbeat, Matt could tell, and he nodded to show he appreciated what was said. His way of dealing with nervous energy was different, though. Expressed physically but more along the lines of throwing punches and kicks. That aggression was something that would take over so completely that it worried him, but one good thing about Derleth was that live a more genuine life, not a double one split between blind attorney and super powered vigilante. Actually, he wondered how Richie would react if he told him about Daredevil. Probably laugh, and then say it wouldn’t surprise him. Even so, Matt wasn’t ready to get into all that yet. Maybe one day. “So am I,” Matt said, letting himself smile again. “One thing I need to ask. Why Mattimus?” He was teasing, but the truth was he thought Richie could’ve settled on a better nickname. *** “I don’t know, Matterhorn - “ Richie had a million of ‘em, honestly. Mattimus was just one of his favorite ones, but left to his own devices he would probably just maniacally switch between nonsensical nicknames, springboarding back and forth. “Guess I could just call you hot stuff.” Because that was true - Matt was totally hot. Handsome as hell, like Taylor Swift said (she was so wise) with rock-hard muscle tone, actual abs, and an ass you could eat breakfast off of. This was all known by Richie, who had seen him naked plenty of times during the whole 1950s shebang. He’d take another day or two of a giant Rugrats Reptar terrorizing the land if it meant reliving the good parts, the parts where he felt like someone actually chose him and wanted to be with him. It wasn’t real, he knew that - but man, being loved like that was heady. An easy feeling to cling to hard, the way a monster’s hide clung to its bones. But building something that was real seemed pleasant too. “Maybe you should kiss me,” he leaned in, boldly. “I hear if you smash your face against someone else’s face, it’s good for inspiration.” Of course it was. *** Matterhorn?? Matt tossed back his head and mockingly groaned in disgust. “That one ought to be made illegal.” but he still laughed. “Instant veto. Hot stuff is much better. I’ll accept that.” Richie often put himself down, not believing he was handsome enough or just plain good enough. Matt only had a general idea of what Richie looked like, didn’t know much about his past, but that wasn’t important. Initially, Matt had been drawn to him because he was funny and could make him laugh. And while Richie might be insecure, he still carried himself with a certain confidence, which was very attractive. The same sort of confidence that inspired him to ask for a kiss. The request took Matt off guard, and he froze for several moments, mouth parted, breathlessly. When they kissed before, they’d been under some sort of spell, and Matt could always excuse himself by saying he hadn’t been under control of his own body then. This time, there wouldn’t be any excuse. Matt’s lips had become dry, so he quickly moistened them with his tongue before leaning forward for a small, experimental kiss, tightening his grasp on Richie’s hand as he did. *** It wasn’t one of those deep kisses, where you swallowed each other - at least not yet - but it was meaningful and important and the first one they’d had where they weren’t made to believe they led these other fake lives; no, they were themselves and still choosing this and because of that it was fireworks and pleasure sparks to Richie regardless. His hand squeezed Matt’s in return and fingers of his other hand went behind Matt’s neck, a one-two-three-four press of fingers into the line that sloped down to his back. Everything turned hazy and felt as if there was this warmth in the air that enveloped the whole space around them. He knew what it was like to question what you were into, to develop feelings for a close friend of the same gender even if maybe you shouldn’t - he’d struggled a lot with his own sexuality, with accepting himself. If he could try and help someone else do that too, then he would. Whatever Matt wanted to know about him, Richie would share. “I’ve got you, hot stuff,” he murmured against Matt’s mouth, a smile into that kiss, and still hadn’t let go of his hand. “How was that? Good?” He went for another kiss, a brief and warm press of lips. “You still taste minty.” *** The experience wasn’t as enjoyable for Matt, being too self conscious. Was anybody watching? His senses told them there were people in the general area, but everybody, including Fandral whose chopping hadn’t even skipped a beat, wasn’t paying attention. Which made sense. For a place that was as open about sex as this was, where it was openly discussed and requested, two guys sharing a kiss probably didn’t mean as much as it did for Matt. The placement of Richie’s hand behind his neck was unanticipated, causing his sensitive skin to ripple into goose pimples. It helped settle his nerves, at least a little bit. Strange how this took him back to when he was a young man, his first sexual explorations with a girl, terrifying but exciting at the same time. But that was exactly the sort of thrill he was into as an adult, so it wasn’t like he was going to stop. Being called hot stuff made Matt want to laugh, but only answered after the second kiss by nodding his head rapidly. “Yeah. Really good.” He rested his forehead against Richie’s, pausing for a breather. “That would be my toothpaste.” The same generic toothpaste that came with Derleth that Matt could taste on Richie, blended with tobacco from the cigarettes he smoked and the gum he chewed to try to cover it up. There were also faint remnants of peanut butter and grape jelly, which he probably had for breakfast, which mingled with the scent of sweat from working in the garden, plus the dirt that clung on his hands and clothes. Along with a heartbeat that was uniquely his own, it pieced together an ‘image’ of what Matt identified as Richie. Recognizing all this, Matt had to tease Richie’s small observation by asking, “Are you sure you don’t have super senses?” After a chuckle, he then requested, “Can we just sit here for a while? Together.” Holding hands on a log bench in the middle of a Void. *** “I’m pretty sure I don’t, but it’d be cool if I did,” Richie laughed a little - they probably had to go in baby steps since Richie wasn’t fully out, or at least, he hadn’t been back home. Here, after being kidnapped (so weird), he was surprisingly more willing to be open about his preferences once he saw that, well, people just didn’t care. It wasn’t Derry where you couldn’t hold hands with your same-gendered partner, not in public - couldn’t sit on a bench like this one and participate in one of those dizzying kisses that gave you heart palpitations, all of the flutterings. Not without suffering a beatdown for your troubles - or worse. So, right, baby steps it was. They both had also lost someone they cared about recently too, and those were fresh wounds. “Yeah, we can stay here,” he said, fingers of his other hand tracing in between Matt’s where they were clasped together - a gentle touch, because at his squishy chocolate-coated core, Richie was kind of gentle too. Sensitive. “Just sit and talk. Or not talk. I’m clearly kind of a talker but I can shut up if you want me to.” *** Even the gentlest touches was significant for Matt, and he appreciated how Richie wasn’t all lustful fucking. A darker side of himself wondered what his friends… Foggy and Karen… would say if they saw him like this. Would the be shocked? Surprised? Might Foggy even be jealous? He always thought Foggy was kinda into him, from the first day they met in college and he called him ‘good looking’. Matt didn’t need to imagine what Stick would say - some bullshit about going soft, putting him down for letting his emotions get in the way. He was dead now, anyway. Which led him to think about Elektra. Matt hung his head. Was he just using Richie as a rebound? Would she accuse him of cheating after he told her how much he loved her? Guilt panged his heart, and he was honestly glad to hear Richie chatting - it helped as a distraction. “Talking is alright,” he muttered, then forced a smile to show it was fine. Everything was fine. Straight ahead was Richie’s garden plot, and Matt wondered, “Are those seeds going to grow up into more watermelon people? Are we going to have another horde on our hands?” It was a kind of ridiculous question, but given the nature of Derleth, not so off the wall. *** The idea of another watermelon horde was kind of funny but - oh shit, he hadn’t even thought of that. “I’m not even expecting much of anything to grow,” Richie confessed. “Given the way things reset here every week, but - I guess we’ll see.” If a monolith could appear out of nowhere then maybe actual watermelons weren’t too much of an ask for the Derleth powers-that-be either. “Gotta admit, some alcoholic watermelon slush sounds pretty good.” Normally he’d say watermelon Jello shots but - well. If he saw another wiggly, wobbly slab of Jello ever again it would probably be too soon. “Mostly I just need to keep my hands busy though. If gardening doesn’t pan out, I might take up knitting.” For real. He could at least be productive with that, unless the resets meant he wouldn’t be able to make any progress on projects and come back to a ball of yarn every week instead of a half-finished scarf or something. *** “This clearing stuck around,” Matt observed, trying to give Richie hope. “And that monolith is still here. So, I guess it’s a kind of hit or miss situation.” He tried to imagine Richie knitting, and strangely enough he could. Chuckling, he shook his head, then seriously said, “I know what you mean. About keeping busy. I’m struggling the same way. I feel like I need to come up with a daily routine so I don’t get lazy or bored.” He then remembered something. “You could always put on another comedy performance. The last one was good. Plus, the upright piano from Dunwich Theater followed me here, so hypothetically I can join the act.” *** Richie actually made a purring sound, more teasing than anything else - but it was also appreciative. “So supportive,” he grinned, hooking his arm around Matt’s, while keeping their hand hold - they were just extra twined together now, entangled like mosaics. “You could tickle the eighty-eight keys everyday as part of the routine. Practice, you know? I’ll listen. And we can work on material for our act.” Yeah, totally our act - of course he’d let Matt join, that was a given. Hazy fever dream of the 1950s aside, they seemed to be a good duo on stage - with a vibrant kind of energy - so he’d be stupid to let that slip away. Especially if they had access to an actual piano here, which was kind of cool. There may have been one in the theater, sure, but that other piano was special. *** Their act. During the performances last week, Matt behaved a lot more zany than usual in order to keep up with Richie. That was because the 1950’s version of himself was carefree in comparison, without the psychological baggage of his real self. It had been a nice break, unti the illusion broke and the aliens attacked, of course. Matt wasn’t sure if he was comfortable recreating that same sort of mood now… he’d be too self conscious, especially around a Derleth audience. But he wasn’t going to worry about it for the time being… they’d work something out. “I’m going to need to practice, alright,” Matt confessed, responding to Richie’s hooked arm by budging closer on their shared seat. “Not counting last week, I haven’t played in years. I wonder if it will count?” *** “I think it’ll count,” Richie encouraged. “Guess we’ll see for sure?” Routine definitely seemed to be important around here though - otherwise you really would go bugfuck insane and there were already enough reasons to get there besides lack of shit to do. But, right. Routine. A schedule. Good companionship - all of that would fall into place. They’d be okay. If nothing else, he at least knew that much. |