"Okay I have ten—no, fifteen minutes for my break," Blue said as she placed a strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream in front of Matthew. The diner was empty-ish, considering it was in between meals times, which Blue thought arbitrary in the first place. Eat whenever you want. Like Matthew was. Like that burly horned guy in the back booth who kept ordering refills on his coffee. Blue assumed he wasn't an actual coffee drinker, just a likes-the-taste-of-dirt type, but found it was unseemly to just shovel dirt into his mouth in front of people. Thus, the coffee.
She had more or less theorized that with Matthew as she came over to take his order, as she artfully directed him to the least horror-inducing options. There were too many on one menu.
Her first day working had involved a long conversation about changing the name of Roadkill Burger, because no one was actually going to order that. ("It ranks up there with Mystery Meat!" she had complained to the line cook.) But Blue lost that battle and decided to take her loss like an adult: talk it up to every customer in the way someone might try to sell a colonoscopy.
Needless to say, not a single Roadkill Burger was sold while on her shifts, but the Taco Tornado was a big hit. But for Matthew, she went the extra mile—constantly refilled drinks, syrupy breakfast foods, and a milkshake whenever he asked.
He was her favorite Lynch brother, after all. "Not that I don't love random visits, but this place severely lacks in sugar options and I cannot appeal to all your confectionary needs while on duty."
“Aw, Blue, you’re the best!” Matthew beamed a smile at his favorite Blue. Sure, that favoritism might have been credited to default, but Matthew would have responded that if there were one thousand Blues the world would be a much better place with many more trees...somehow also missing the point entirely. The praise and compliments Matthew gave out so freely and effusively could have come across as over the top on anyone else, but Matthew Lynch was earnest and sincere. There wasn’t a conniving bone in his body.
Were there bones in his body?
It was thought like that that crept up on the youngest Lynch and weighed heavy on his golden heart. The question of ‘realness’ and identity were questions that quite honestly were not ones that Matthew had the words to debate. He was alive, he knew. He had loved Aurora and Niall and he loved Declan and Ronan with a pure, simple, and total love. He loved the Gangsey too, he meant it when he told Gansey he was family, and when he expressed to Adam how much people cared about him. He liked some things, and he didn’t like other things as much. He wanted something out of life, even if he didn’t exactly know what that was just yet. When Matthew didn’t think about things, he felt like a real person.
But ever since he found out, when he put the pieces together, not because anyone had told him, he started to feel...less real. Even though Declan had insisted he was the fake Lynch brother, there was a difference between ‘not biologically Aurora’s son’ and ‘not biological at all.’ More than once he’d gone out to the pasture at night and leaned against a sleepy cow and looked up at the sky thinking thoughts and feeling things that were too much for him.
“You don’t have to spend your ten or fifteen minutes with me,” he promised Blue. “I mean, I’ll always take them, but don’t feel like you have to!” Matthew just needed space, like he’d told Ronan. He didn’t want to be in the Barns all the time, because as much as it was home and he felt like he belonged there...he also felt like one of its creations. Only sometimes. Most of the time, surrounded by the Gangsey, taking care of the animals, painting baby sheep houses with Ronan and laughing with him, he felt real. But then he looked at the sleeping cows, at Sledgehammer, Chainsaw, a picture of Aurora and was hit with a wave of sadness.
He took a gulp of strawberry milkshake and then fiddled with the maraschino cherry stem. “Can I ask you something, if you’re going to stay?”
Making Matthew happy was absurdly satisfying. There was a childishness to him that was not immature and not naive, but nice. Calming, even. Blue found that sitting around Matthew was akin to smoothing out the wrinkles in her favorite shirt or sinking into a warm bath in the dead of winter. She took one of the extra spoons on the table, reached across to scoop some whipped cream off the top, and ate it.
"There, now my reason for staying if you needed one is because I'm sharing this with you. But just so you know," Blue said, pointing the spoon at him with a few jabbing motions. "I like spending time with you. It's either that or sit alone for fifteen minutes." And Blue did not do good alone. Her thoughts drifted to curbing her abilities to be able to kiss Gansey. Then she felt guilty for wanting something so individually selfish. Then she was angry for even feeling guilty about that. She was allowed to have nice things. She was allowed to have nice things with Gansey and Henry.
But the fear was still there. The worry still picking at the back of her brain. Blue let out a long, dramatic breath and went for another bite of whipped cream. She still had the spoon in her mouth when Matthew went a little serious. Even a little serious from Matthew meant something was wrong. "Yeah, ask me. My advice is free, mostly because I like to give it."
“I like spending time with you, too,” Matthew replied, immediately. When given a compliment, he returned it quickly, not out of a sense of obligation, but because he wanted to return the feeling he had when someone said something nice to him. It often meant that Matthew was late to things, not just because he forgot what time it was (he did that too) but because he spent so much time talking to people. To Matthew, a stranger was just a friend he hadn’t meant yet, such a drastic contrast from his two brothers.
But his attention focused back on the cherry stem, Lynch blue eyes narrowed while he tried to piece out what he wanted to say. Declan was so good with words, always knowing what to say exactly when to say it to smooth over a situation and Ronan was so fast with his words, quick to use them to attack or defend. Matthew hated wordplay. He wanted everyone to say what they meant, when they meant it, so long as it didn’t hurt others. “Ronan told me he told you guys,” Matthew started, and his nose crinkled because even he knew how ridiculous it sounded. “About me. And not being real.” A helpless shrug was added in. “And he said it didn’t change anything, but I sort of feel like it does? Like this entire time I’ve just been Ronan’s little brother, but now I’m Ronan’s...creature.” The corners of Matthew’s mouth turned downward, he crossed his hands on the laminate and laid his head on top there.
“He told everyone else before he told me--Declan lied too, he’s not off the hook either but he’s not here and it’s easier to be upset at Ronan--even though I know that’s not fair and that it’s not Ronan’s fault and I still love him and that will never change,” even now, in his sadness, Matthew was quick to fit that part in. Ronan was always good about that too, even as they were navigating these uncertain waters, there was no question of the Lynch brothers’ deep, and loyal love. “You don’t have to have advice, Blue, or the answers, or anything, really, I just wanted to--to talk to someone, I guess.”
Blue's whole face scrunched up, like she ate something sour. She wasn't sure how to approach this, even if this was something she should approach. But Matthew came to her—she would pretend it was out of his choosing and not out of proximity—and she couldn't let him down. It was uncomfortable to see Matthew with a wistful sadness about him. Watching him struggle to stay upbeat against that oncoming tide of emotion hurt a little.
"Oh, well. Now we both know," Blue said, kind of out of the need to fill the rapidly cooling silence. She knew Matthew was going to find out, but it never occurred to her until this moment—which, God, how crappy of her—that she knew before him. That this would ultimately be a problem.
She reached across the table, going for his hand, but settled her fingers on top of his head. "First and foremost, you are not a creature. You're not a thing. You're not anything less. You are and always will be Ronan's brother. No ifs, ands, or buts. Got it?" Blue didn't wait for an answer, because there was no right answer other than yes.
"Second, and this might be the most important part, so you're going to have to look me right in the eye." Blue ducked her head down to catch his attention. Her whole face was twisted up into something terribly serious, which for Blue usually was accompanied by something sarcastic. Not this time. "Nothing changed. Think about it. What has changed between us?" Blue asked. "Maybe your world view, maybe how you see things, but nothing between how much you love your brothers and how much they love you."
Matthew’s head nuzzled into Blue’s hand. He sought out comfort and affection just as easily and sincerely as he gave it out. Matthew’s advice might not have ever been anything profound, but when someone needed a bear of a hug and overall cheerleading, that was what Matthew was best at. “I just don’t want them to feel like they don’t have a choice,” he tried to explain. But even as Matthew said it, he knew that wasn’t true. Ronan had made it clear that he felt love was a choice and he’d choose Matthew, and Ronan never said anything he didn’t fully believe. Matthew carried that with him as an anchoring point. So that wasn’t right.
“I want people to think of me not as a dream, or just as Ronan and Declan’s brother, but me. Like yes, I’m those things, but I’m also...trying to figure out what being Matthew means, not just a label?” He wasn’t sure if that was right either. Matthew’s heart, for how big and open and genuine it was, also felt...confused. Like the filter had been taken off the world, off of his reality and existence and now everything was sharper. Not bad, just more in focus. Unknown.
He wondered about Aurora. Wondered if she was happy with her life, wondered if she had ever wanted anything other than to be a wife and a mother on the farm. Aurora had been the best mother, Matthew loved her and missed her desperately, but he wondered what she would have said. He couldn’t talk to the baby sheep or Chainsaw and ask them how they felt.
“I think I’m glad I know,” Matthew settled on. “I wish they had told me. I wish they felt like they could tell me. Maybe that’s it? Like, what is it about me that made them think they can’t tell me, but they could tell other people?”
Once again, Blue didn't have the answers. Not really. She had never grappled with something as big as what Matthew was. Maybe the bit about her dad being a tree and abandoning her seemed to rank somewhere high on the bullshit meter, but it wasn't something she had to hold on to. She could ignore it, pull it out to get mad over then pack it back away. It didn't define her. But Matthew's didn't either, right?
"I think you're going about this all wrong," Blue said, as she got up from across the table and slid in next to him at the booth. "Telling other people and not you was not a conscious decision. When Ronan told us a lot of stuff was happening and it sort of came out. If he could, he probably would have kept on not telling us." This was a guess, but it was a good guess. An educated one. Gansey would be pleased with her problem-solving.
"I don't have any siblings," Blue said, and rolled her eyes for the obviousness of that statement. "But watching how much your brothers love you and protect you made me jealous that I don't. And sometimes people want to protect others from the harshest realities. Ronan's known for a while, but it doesn't mean he liked knowing. I bet if he could forget he would have." Blue said with a shrug, because she and Ronan were too much alike it stupid ways and that was how she felt. She would have broken under the pressure of that secret.
She bumped his knee with her knee. "The world sucks, and sometimes people try to keep its suckiness off the people they love for as long as they can. Not because they don't love you, but because they do."
Matthew laid his curly haired head on Blue’s shoulder, because of course he did. Whenever given the option for physical affection, Matthew took it. He seemed content to sit like that for a minute, letting Blue’s words settle over him so he could see how they felt. When he thought about Declan, he thought about how Declan carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, Declan believed in order and organization and structure, Declan believed in blending in and drawing as little attention to them as possible. Declan had a dreamer for a father and brother, and a dream for a mother and other brother. Declan protected them from the outside world.
Ronan could care less about what the outside world thought. He had his tight knit circle of people and he would go to the ends of the world for them. He snarled, swore, said what he thought when he thought it, and did not care. But by the same token, Ronan created beautiful things, he dreamed up solutions for problems that he noticed when no one else did. Ronan also dreamed nightmares come to life, he dreamed wolves created out of smoke and sun that defended Matthew when nothing else could, he dreamed so many other things that Matthew would never know about, and he battled his own demons. Ronan protected them from the inside world, from the things that came with being a dreamer, and he did it alone.
It made Matthew sad. He understood why they felt like they had to protect him, but he wanted Ronan and Declan to feel like Matthew could protect them too. And maybe that was on him, more than them. Ronan hadn’t wanted to put running the farm on Matthew, but Matthew wanted to do it with him. So maybe he needed to do more of that, more expressing himself, more learning what he liked and liked less (Matthew didn’t ‘not’ like hardly anything), more being Matthew Lynch, the real person, instead of Matthew Lynch, the dream.
It felt like a lot, but also something grounding. Something to focus on.
He wrapped his arms around Blue’s middle, squeezing her in a hug. “Thanks, Bluesy. That helps, I think. I still feel sad, but I don’t want to feel sad, so I’m going to think about ways not to be. And I don’t want Ronan to feel badly. It’s not like he chose, you know? He was a little kid! But..you promise you guys don’t think any differently of me?”
"You can feel sad," Blue said, returning his hug, laying her head on top of his. It was weird to have Matthew be anything but happy. And she opened her mouth to say as much, then decided against it. This timing wasn't about her. And it wasn't about Ronan or Declan either. Matthew was his own person and Blue was adamant that he had his own agency wherever he could.
She nudged him, as if to say see. "You're allowed to feel however you want. No one is going to control that." Not his brothers, not his friends, just himself. Maybe it would help, maybe she would shed some light on something Matthew couldn't see in his newly upended world.
"Ronan might feel badly about it, it's a side effect of the truth. I bet it was worse as a secret. But everything is temporary, sadness and anger and whatever else is going on. You and him can only get through it by being honest," Blue said. She had similar moments of clarity and truth with her mom. That felt like ages ago, but it did give her perspective when it came to things like this. She could empathize, to an extent. Unconditional family love tended to show itself in weird confusing ways.
"And if we're being honest, I have no intention of treating you differently. But if something changes for you? Say you don't like strawberry milkshakes anymore, you want chocolate or vanilla—which boring, I will judge you for that." Blue lifted her head to slowly reach for the milkshake and slide it closer. "Whatever it is, you can let me know."
“I know,” Matthew agreed, straightening. “We’re only going to be honest from now on. Ronan’s pretty honest in general, so that’s not really changing anything. And we’re talking about a lot of things, more than maybe we would have otherwise? I feel good about that.” Things like the kind of father Niall had been had always been unspoken with the brothers Lynch, and Matthew still didn’t know how to express the complicated feelings he had towards the man. For Matthew, who loved so simply and largely, those words didn’t come easily. But they were starting to, slowly, and Ronan listened.
A grin reappeared on Matthew’s face, lighting up his features so that he once more looked like himself. It wasn’t that he’d gotten over everything involving his identity and what it all meant, but more that even expressing himself had started to loosen up the knots in his throat and heart and stomach. Even though he knew he didn’t need permission for his feelings, just hearing it from someone helped. Matthew wished he was better with words so that he could say how it helped, or why, but for now it was enough that it did. “I think the only time he really lies is when he says he doesn’t like you! But don’t say I said it!”
Obediently (not that he needed much encouragement), Matthew reached for the milkshake because it had been about 20 seconds since his last sugar infusion. “Blue, I like all milkshakes, you can’t judge me! Especially the ones you make, they’re the best!” The comment drew a chuckle from a passing server, who rubbed Matthew’s golden curls. He seemed neither surprised nor bothered by it. Pretty par for the course when you were Matthew Lynch.
“Huh,” Matthew said, suddenly, his gaze going out the window. “It’s funny, that car looks exactly like Ronan’s BMW! Oh churros, he’s going to be SO mad that someone has the exact same car!”
Blue’s smile grew from comforting to devious. Having Matthew in her pocket for all things Lynch brothers would definitely play to her advantage when it came to antagonizing Ronan. She did not add that she was also lying when it came to hating Ronan. He wasn’t awful, but it was way more fun to bust his balls on a regular basis.
Matthew seemed okay, less moodier than when they started this conversation, but Blue was determined to keep an eye on him for the rest of her shift—which she was absolutely going over her break on. Blue slid out of the booth, checking to make sure she had her pens, and her order pad, and patting down her pockets. She hadn’t noticed the car, but her attention snapped to the sleek BMW parked right outside when Matthew commented about it.
“Huh,” was all Blue said as she wandered closer to a window to get a better look. That same stupid car had parked outside Nino’s hundreds of times, and Blue felt a pang of familiarity at seeing the copycat. The same dark grey paint, the same shark-like front, the same Virginia licence plates, the same metal chainsaw charm hanging from the rear-view mirror...
“Holy shiiii-take mushrooms,” Blue course-corrected, because cursing in front of Matthew gave her hangups that other people didn’t seem to have. “Not someone else’s car. Pretty sure it’s his car.” Then, a sick sense of dread came over her. “Oh God, do I have to drive it home?”