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In all honesty, being mute wasn’t that bad for Matt Peake. He never felt like he was any less than his friends or his classmates, he was different, that was fine. He learned sign when it was young, it was easy, and he always had a spare notebook and pen in case someone didn’t know sign. Easy. Simple.
He got through college, more and more notebooks finding their way onto his shelf when his new friends didn’t want to bother with learning signs. He wrote a lot, he had things to say, he was a fucking college kid and this was supposed to be his heyday, he had ideas, he had thoughts, trying to spill from his dammed lips, unsuccessful. He found himself in the middle of debates in his writing classes, pen out of ink and the paper in front of him unnervingly blank, no voice to ask someone else for their pen, but no one was paying attention to him anyway, they were drawn to the noisy chaos of words. It wasn’t easy, wasn’t simple, not anymore.
It was in college that he got depressed. He lost his friends, which was probably for the best, they were horrible people, but he didn’t feel that way. His notebooks sat gathering dust on his shelves, he had no one to write to, so he wrote to himself, poems and notes and stories and anything he could do to get down the thoughts. It didn’t work as well as writing to others, but at least they were down. This is where his career began and where his depression tapered off, before coming back in full swing and then repeating the cycle, freelance writing online, poetry blogs and essay blogs and just writing blogs and he carved out his little place in the writing community, far away from everyone else. Maybe no one cared about his words in a conversation, but everyone wanted to read what he wrote.
It was also in college where he started relying heavily on caffeine to make him function. It started with sleepless nights, laying wide awake in bed, throat rubbed raw as he tries to make any noise, any noise at all because his room is too quiet. It never works, never, and he drinks black coffee to stay awake through his classes. Soon it’s more than that, staying up until the early morning to write or work on a paper or a project. He fucking loves caffeine and as he writes, he gets happier, sadder, happier, and it starts the longest streak of happiness in a long time. He depends on coffee, long after he graduates college.
And this is what leads him to the streets, searching for a new cafe after his old one shut down. His notebook is tucked underneath his arm, a pen behind his ear, he’d carry around his laptop, but that and his notebook just seems excessive. To him at least.
He finds a new place a few blocks away, past a group of mothers pushing strollers and teenagers sitting on the sidewalk flipping miniature skateboards with their fingers. The name is written on the sign in garish orange, Funhaus . It seems okay, not quite as empty as the last cafe, but that’s why Matt liked it and also probably why it went out of business. He wrinkles his nose, switches the notebook to his other hand, and opens the door.
And okay, it’s not that full and there’s no line at the counter, so Matt just walks up. There’s a blonde girl behind the counter, orange apron tied around her neck, a very tall, blue-eyed man, and… The best way to describe him would be Wolverine’s less jacked brother.
“Welcome to FunHaus!” The girl grins, bubblegum smile and white teeth.
“God damn it, Elyse.” The tall one huffs, blowing an excessive amount of air through his nose. “I’ve told you, it’s FuckHaus.”
“It’s really not.” Fake Wolverine assures Matt, looking slightly annoyed. “James, Elyse, cool it. I’m really sorry about this, what can we get you?”
“What can I get you?” Elyse interrupts. “I’m counter attendant, but these two just want to follow me around.” Matt glances around for a moment, looking for a menu, and oh no, it’s one of those places. You’re expected to just know what they have there and if you don’t, you’re expected to ask. God damn it. The one day Matt wants something other than plain coffee, the universe decides to just jam him into an awkward situation. Matt takes the pen from behind his ear, holding the cap between his lips, and writes something quickly in his notebook.
‘What teas do you have today?’ His handwriting is great, very legible, very neat, he practiced so much when he was younger so that people would be able to understand him perfectly, without need of clarification.
“We have a special homemade Chai blend, Earl Grey, Lady Grey, and Irish breakfast, as well as a variety of non-caffeinated fruit teas that I can list out if you need me too!” Elyse chirps, smiling widely. James rolls his eyes behind her.
‘Chai, please!’ Matt writes, quickly, watching as Elyse and the other two scan over it.
“Of course! Adam, get on that. You’re the drinks man, here.” Elyse commands and Fake Wolverine -Adam?- rolls his eyes before moving over to the machine. “Excuse him, please, most important customer. He’s not really unhappy, he just has resting bitch face.”
“I do not!” Adam calls out, indignant. Elyse rolls her eyes, this seems to be a trend in this cafe. Maybe Matt should start doing it. Wait, is he doing it right now? Does he seem rude? He should stop thinking about it just to make sure he doesn’t do it. “Here you go, buddy.” Adam interrupts his train of thought by pushing a paper cup across the counter to him. “Three fifty, even.” Matt hands Elyse a five dollar bill, shaking his head when she tries to give him his change.
He chooses a table right next to the counter, sets down his tea, and flips to a new page in his notebook. He writes for a while, filling the page with the words jumping around his mind like children on a sugar rush. And then he feels eyes on him. He looks up, glancing over the counter edge to see a curly-haired man grinning at Elyse, who’s pointing at him. Or maybe in his direction. Nope, definitely at him because the curly-haired man comes bouncing over.
“Hello!” He chirps, sticking out his hand. He’s wearing one of the orange aprons too, and how he makes such a horrible colour work, Matt may never know. “I’m Joel.” Matt shakes Joel’s hand and quickly realizes that Joel is waiting for him to introduce himself, but Joel is literally holding his writing hand. After a few awkward moments, Joel lets him go and Matt writes down a fast introduction. “Pleased to meet you, Matt! I’ve been informed that you ordered Chai…?” Matt nods. “Ah, cool! I made it, a new recipe this time, and I wanted to see what you thought about it.”
‘It’s very good!’ Matt writes and Joel grins as he reads it upside down.
“I’m glad! I added more cloves and peppercorns this time, make it really rich, y’know?” Joel is obviously very excited and no, Matt doesn’t really know, but he nods anyway and Joel’s grin widens. “It’s nice to have someone who understands tea around here. Most people-” He jerks a thumb back at the counter. “-can’t appreciate the finer things in life.”
‘I thought it was very good. Nice flavour, nice texture.’ Matt scrawls and Joel jumps up, nearly knocking his chair backwards.
“You hear that, guys? Matt thought the tea was very good! I’m his favourite!” Joel gloats and James gasps.
“You fiend! You went behind my back! You, Matt.” He points at Matt, who blinks in return. “Will you be back here tomorrow?” Matt nods, hesitantly, he’s very unsure about what’s going to happen. Hypothetically, he could be challenged to a Pokemon battle, but Pokemon aren’t real, right?. Or asked to never come back again, but would they want to lose a paying customer? Oh, God, the writing probably creeped them out, didn’t it? They probably think he’s weird because he writes everything out. They’re just going to kick him out, aren’t they? He never should’ve looked for a new coffee shop, he could survive without caffeine if it meant he didn’t have to go through this. Oh, God, thi- “Sweet! I’m going to make you the prettiest fucking latte you’ve ever had! And then I’ll be your favourite! Joel is already too many people’s favourite.” Matt blinks, he’s confused, they’re not kicking him out? He gives James a hesitant thumbs up.
“Mm hm, you know it, James.” Joel winks and James rolls his eyes, seriously, Matt needs to get on this eye rolling level. “But the tiny lumberjack man is mine.”
It’s not too long after that that Matt leaves, pen back behind his ear, notebook firmly in his hands, and maybe he can suffer through the garish orange if the people are that nice.
And while Matt Peake is sitting at his laptop, words spilling from his fingers, thinking about the cafe and how maybe people they might have in that gate to Narnia back room, the cafe staff are thinking about him.
“So, we get a cute customer and you guys immediately fight over him?” Bruce tries to clarify, smirking as he leans against the counter.
“Not my fault.” Elyse declares, immediately, trying to clean out the coffee machine. “You could at least help, Bruce.”
“In all fairness, he provoked us.” Joel reasons, towelling off the counter around Bruce. “He seemed so nice.”
“But you said he didn’t talk to you.” Lawrence tries to clarify, restacking cups beneath the counter.
“It surprised me, honestly.” Joel admits. “I didn’t mean to keep him from introducing himself, I felt so bad.”
“You didn’t know, though.” James shrugs. “And he’s going to like me more, I swear to God.”
“He could have anxiety, y’know.” Sean chimes in and six heads turn to look at him. “I mean, like, he could! It could make it hard for him to talk to people he doesn’t know.”
“I’m going to get the small lumberjack man to talk to me.” Elyse declares.
As soon as Matt walks into the cafe the next day, notebook in hand, he’s shoved into a seat and James pushes a latte into his hands and three more people spill from the backroom which pretty much confirms his suspicions about it being a gateway to Narnia, it’s that damn wardrobe all over again. Introductions are quick and easy and they all stare at him as he drinks the latte.
It happens again the next day with Laurence’s cappuchino.
And then again with Bruce’s espresso.
And then again with Adam’s iced coffee.
And then again with Sean’s scone.
They’re all so nice and they’ll talk to him and let him write down his responses and they ask him so many questions, questions that used to make him panic because how was he supposed to answer anything about himself, but these seem different, they’re simple, just questions, and it honestly seems like they’re getting on pretty well.
Matt gets to the cafe one day, the same time he usually does, and the sign in the window reads ‘CLOSED’ in blocky letters, but he can see them all inside, Adam pacing across the floor, hands in his hair. Matt pauses in front of the door, they seem so worried and they’re his friends, right? He’s allowed to make sure they’re okay, so he pushes open the door and the bell rings over his head.
“We’re closed.” Adam snaps, spinning around to glare at him only to relax when he sees it’s just Matt. “Hey, Peake. Sorry, we’re a little busy right now.”
‘You okay?’ Matt writes and Elyse sighs.
“Spoole’s having a panic attack in the back room and Joel isn’t here right now and he’s the one that can usually calm him down, he’s out with Bruce getting more stuff from the shop.” Elyse explains, looking just as tense as Adam.
‘Can I try to talk to him?’ Matt scribbles down and Elyse lets him pass. Matt kneels down next to the locked door, tapping on it, gently. ‘It’s Matt, let me in please?’ And he slides the note under the door. It unlocks a few seconds later and Matt steps in, closing it behind him.
Spoole is kneeling on the floor, shards of broken glass littering the area around him as Matt carefully steps over it all, sitting down next to Sean. He read somewhere a long time ago that if someone was having a panic attack, you were supposed to talk to them. Matt is at a disadvantage here. He pulls Sean towards him and Sean rests his head against Matt’s shoulder. And Matt does the only thing he can think of, he hums, or tries to, a low, rough noise that sounds more like a purring cat than anything else. By the time Sean has calmed down, his throat is raw and sore.
They can hear the noise in the main room where they’re huddled together like penguins against the cold.
“Is that Matt?” Elyse breathes.
“It has to be, right?” James asks. “It can’t be Spoole.” And they wait with bated breath until the door falls open again and a tired-looking Matt emerges with Sean just behind them.
“Hey, guys.” Sean says, voice quiet. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Spoole.” Bruce wraps him in a quick hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Thanks for your help, Matt.” Lawrence says and Matt nods, his throat is on fire. He leaves without another word. Well, there are never any words from him, but without any words from anybody else. They watch him walk down the street through the windows. Adam sighs.
“When Joel and Bruce get back, we should probably talk about how we all want to fuck Matt.” Adam says.
And so the wooing of Matt Peake begins. And Elyse still wants to hear what she calls his ‘sexy lumberjack voice’.
Matt notices it, yeah, the lingering touches, the subtle compliments, but Matt isn’t even sure if there’s anything to notice in the first place. No one flirts with a mute guy. So, he doesn’t pay it any mind. Meanwhile, the others are getting more and more frustrated as time goes on.
Joel is the first one to snap, he’s never been good under this kind of pressure.
“I swear to God, Peake.” He says, sliding into the chair across from Peake in the cafe. “I don’t know how the fuck you haven’t noticed yet, but we’ve been flirting with you. Go out with us. C’mon, it’ll be fun.” So, they do. And Matt has to admit, it is fun.
“He’s still not talking to us.” Elyse worries after their fourth date. “Does he hate us?”
“C’mon, Elyse, he can’t hate us, I’m here.” James reasons. “Look, if he’s anxious about talking to people, we literally just turned everything upside down again. Give him time.”
So, they try to do just that. And they end up doing that for months, even though Elyse keeps trying to get him to talk.
Lawrence is in the cafe alone with Matt, it’s after hours, sun highlighting the sky in pinks and oranges. The other six ran to the Chinese place down the road to get food. Matt is writing in his notebook in fast scratches of ink and Lawrence is scrolling on his phone, looking at some out of the way writer’s blog that looks like it has zero good content on it. Until. Until there is actually good content. Until he sees something. Until he reads the title.
CELEBRATED POET MATTHEW PEAKE WRITES ABOUT LIFE WITH MUTISM
“Matt.” Matt looks up at Lawrence, pen stopping mid-word. “Are you fucking mute?” Matt blinks and flips to a new page in his notebook, writing quickly. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell us? We’ve been dating for fucking months! What the fuck, Matt?” And Matt is really, really trying to write it out, but Lawrence is going too fast for him to catch up. He holds up his hand, a simple stop motion. “Don’t fucking tell me stop!” And then his notebook is thrown across the room. “You could’ve told us! You should have told us! We just thought you had anxiety and we were fucking worried that you were so nervous around us that you wouldn’t even speak! We thought that we were fucking everything up! If you had told us, we might have done everything differently from the beginning! Maybe there wouldn’t have been a beginning!” And Matt needs his fucking notebook because he needs to be able to explain, to talk, he thought they knew, he thought they knew, how couldn’t they? He is so stupid and he was so right at first, no one can love someone who can’t say it back. And Lawrence is almost yelling and Matt can’t even answer and his nails bite into his palm and his pen snaps in half and there is red ink all over his hands like blood, like blood, and he fucking runs, notebook left, abandoned, open in the corner of the cafe.
The six return a few minutes later, worried, carrying boxes upon boxes of teriyaki chicken and noodles all stacked up on top of each other.
“Was that Peake running down the street?” Sean asks, tilting his head to the side.
“Oh god, guys. I think I fucked up.” Lawrence says, running his hands through his hair. “He’s fucking- He’s mute and I fucking confronted him and he tried to write and I through his notebook- Oh God, he’s got to hate me, oh no.”
“Slow down, slow down.” Adam puts a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. “What did you say? He’s mute?” Lawrence nods quickly and Adam groans. “Christ, how did we not realize this?”
“What did you say to him?” Bruce asks. The takeout boxes are forgotten on the table.
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Lawrence moans, putting his head in his hands. “I threw his notebook, I took his notebook from him while he was trying to answer, oh my God.” And Joel runs into the street, sprinting, and he’s fucking searching for Matt, but he’s nowhere to be seen as the streetlights flicker to life.
And Matt doesn’t come back into the cafe or the next day or the next day. Four days later when they’re closing up, Elyse slams the notebook down on one of the tables.
“We’re going to read what he had to say.” She declares and the towels are left on the counter as they crowd around the open book.
i’m so sorry i’m really sorry i really really am i thought you knew, how didn’t you know? no one could resist talking to any of you i would if i could i promise i really would you have no idea how much i want to but i ca
“Well, fuck.” James breathes and they’re sitting in the half-light of their own cafe.
“He’s a poet.” Lawrence murmurs, voice soft, barely there. “What I read, it said he was a poet.” They stare at the notebook for a few moments.
“For God’s sake.” Bruce says. “Let’s just fucking read the rest.” So they flip back to the beginning and start from there.
THIS FUCKING CAFE
how do they do this there is so much noise and i am silent
there are water rings on the table and people talking and i am silent
they are so fucking nice in this fucking cafe
and i bask in the noise and i am silent
Woodwork
I am hiding in the woodwork away from everything
I do not belong, this is not for me
I am a termite in a decaying home
When everything comes crashing down, it will not be my fault
But I will blame it on no other than me
Cold Brew
Cold brew coffee and cold blood hands
That touch me
Lingeringly
Accidentally
Regretfully
And
I have nothing to say and everything to tell you
Damn these dammed lips
Damn you, all of you
And the things that you’re able to say
Damn the fucking noises
And damn my fucking soul
Angels
they are all angels and beauty and love
seven angels, a semblance of perfection
and their voices ring like hymn song and holy and good
and if that’s what they are then i am a sinner
silent and dirty and worth nothing but pitiful glances
all you fucking angels raise me fucking up
don’t i deserve this, haven’t i done enough?
there are vows of silence to get closer to him and i’ve had one my whole life
don’t i deserve this? aren’t i worthy?
i may love these angels, but i do not have to love their lord
BECAUSE THEIR LORD THEIR MOTHERFUCKING LORD
TOOK MY VOICE, TOOK MY WORDS
THE ONLY THING I EVER FUCKING WANTED IN THIS WORLD
SPARE ME, O POWERFUL ONE
SPARE ME, YE GREAT AND HOLY
SPARE ME FROM YOUR TOUCH THAT ROBBED ME OF PROCLAMATION
TOUCH YOUR FUCKING ANGELS AND TOUCH THEIR HOLY WINGS
PUT THE DIAMONDS IN THEIR EYES AND HANG THEM LIKE STARS
THEY DESERVE NOTHING LESS THEY ARE SO GOOD
AND BURY ME IN THE GROUND IN THE FUCKING GROUND
SO I MAY NEVER DISHONOUR THEM WITH MY VISION
LIKE YOU THOUGHT I’D DO WITH MY WORDS
IS THAT WHY YOU TOOK THEM AWAY
SO I WOULDN’T STAIN YOUR HOLY FEW WITH MY IMPURITY
I WOULD NEVER HURT THEM NEVER LEAVE THEM I LOVE THEM
MORE THAN I LOVE MYSELF I HATE MYSELF I CAN’T SAY ANYTHING
AND NOTHING I THINK MEANS ANYTHING TO ANYONE
IM FINE IM FINE IM FINE JUST PLEASE LORD YOU CAN TAKE MY LIFE
YOU CAN TAKE MY BREATH AND YOU CAN TAKE MY PULSE
YOU’VE ALREADY TAKEN MY WORDS BUT I WILL GIVE YOU ANYTHING ELSE
TO SEE YOUR ANGELS ONCE AGAIN
I WON’T GET CLOSE I’LL STAY SO FUCKING FAR AWAY BUT PLEASE LORD
I LOVE THEM
FATHER SON AND HOLY SPIRIT
AMEN
There are tears blotting the inked pages and the notebook is closed and tucked away.
They don’t see Matt, he doesn’t come back, and they don’t look for him because he’s so much better off without them, they aren’t angels, they fucking ruined him. But Elyse, she looks for him in secret, searching everywhere.
And she finds him, signing poetry books in a tiny bookstore and she grabs one of the book off the shelf and gets at the back of the line because Matt might run away when he sees her and she wants all these people to be able to meet him. The line moves quickly and soon enough she’s at the front and she can see Matt closely. He’s disheveled, collar crooked, hair wild in the exact way that he hates it.
“Hi.” She breathes and he looks at her, eyes wide, mouth open, and there is dead silence. And then his chair hits the floor with a crack like thunder and he is running and she is following him through the store, through the back door, into the alley where he sinks to his knees in the dirt and the filth and he sobs with no noise, chest racking and tears falling. He is silent and he is struggling to breathe and there is no noise in the alley but his laboured intake of air and he wants to scream, to shout, to run and he gets back up and he falls back down, chest flat against the earth and he scrapes his hands and he scrapes his face and he is rubbing his throat raw and he cries as Elyse tangles her hands in his hair in the dirty alleyway.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” She says, voice like thunder rumbling in the silent scene. “We’re all so fucking sorry. We miss you. Please, Matt, please. Come home. We love you.” And his breath catches, ragged, so ragged. “Can I take you home?” And he doesn’t say yes and he doesn’t say no and he doesn’t shake his head because he wants to go back, he wants them back, but they don’t want him, they don’t love him. And then Elyse is carrying him to her car and strapping him in the front seat and his tears make his face sting and the darkness is consuming the city like it does to him. Elyse drives and he closes his eyes, closes his eyes so tightly, and he tries to block out everything, he isn’t here, he isn’t alive, that’s not his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Why did she have to find him today, today is a bad day, why couldn’t she have found him yesterday when he was asleep and drunk, which isn’t necessarily better, but at least he wouldn’t have felt it.
The car stops before he wants it to and everything is black, but that might just be because his eyes are closed. Elyse drags him out of her car to the curb and he stumbles and nearly, nearly falls and he opens his eyes. Everything is bright in the dark night, to him at least, and the lights inside the cafe are pale and Matt can’t see anyone so maybe no one’s there, but that’s wishful thinking as Elyse leads him inside.
The bell rings when Elyse pushes open the door and he thinks he’s not crying anymore, but he’s not really sure. Elyse pushes him gently into a chair and he sits, limp and ragdoll.
“Elyse? Is that you?” Bruce calls from the back and Matt hasn’t forgotten his voice, how could he forget, how could he forget any of them?
“Yeah.” Elyse calls back, wetting a rag under the sink behind the counter. She comes back over and dabs at Matt’s face with it. It comes away a rusty red. He had been bleeding, he realizes.
“Where’d you go?” That’s James, of course it’s James, of course, of course.
“A bookstore.” Elyse smiles gently as Matt sits stock still, if he doesn’t move they won’t see him, he’s not here, he’s not here.
“What was so important there that you had to leave your shift?” That’s Spoole, fucking gentle Spoole, he can’t see Spoole again, please, please, no, they all hate him, they all hate him, they all hate him. Elyse runs a hand over Matt’s cheek and he’s thrown out of his thoughts and for a brief second everything is too much, too much, and then it’s back to pale imitations as he tries to block everything, everything, everything out.
“My favourite author was there.” Elyse calls back, her fingertips still resting on Matt’s cheek.
“Who’s that?” Joel emerges from the back, drying off a cup in his hands. “That dude that does the ga-” The cup drops from his hands and shatters into a million pieces, it’s loud, so loud. “Matt.” His voice is so soft, so quiet, like aftershocks from the loud noises, ebbing out across everything. “Matt.”
“Matt?” Comes the voice from the other room and then they’re all spilling into the room and they’re there, oh God, they’re there, let him run away.
“Holy fuck.” Adam breathes, they’re all looking at him and he looking anywhere but at them, fixating on his shoelaces and tapping fingers against the leg of his jeans. “What happened to you?” He reaches out towards Matt’s face and then drops his hand back down, of course, of course they don’t want to touch him.
“He fell.” Elyse says, she’s blunt and her hand is on Matt’s shoulder and it’s grounding because maybe at least she doesn’t hate him. “On some street.”
“Matt, we’re really sorry.” Sean says, he sounds on the verge of tears, God, this is his fault, he shouldn’t have come back. “I’m really sorry, it was my fault. I-I told them that you might have anxiety and it might make it hard for you to talk to people and I-I’m really sorry.”
“It’s my fault.” Lawrence says from where he’s been lingering in the back, they turn to look at him and Matt studies the floor. “God, I’m so sorry, I was so stupid, I still am. You don’t have to, hell, you shouldn’t forgive me. I overreacted and I’m so sorry.” It’s silent and they are half waiting for Matt to answer him, they have a long wait coming. Sometime in this quiet, Adam slips him his old notebook and a pen and he nearly, nearly let’s them both fall to the floor, before realizing that he does have something to put down.
‘It’s fine.” He writes, quickly. ‘Really, really, it is. I understand it, I really do, it’s not something new to me. Relationships are hard when someone doesn’t or can’t talk and I get that and I’m sorry. It was never my intention to lead you on, I swear, I thought you knew. I should’ve figured out that you guys didn’t know, no one that knows is that nice.’ He holds the notebook towards them and looks upwards as they read it.
“Oh, fuck no.” Joel says and Matt looks at him, surprised. Isn’t this what they wanted? “We weren’t with you with the goal in mind to get you to talk. I mean, Elyse really wanted for you to get comfortable enough with us to talk if you wanted to and she thought that you’d sound like a sexy lumberjack, but no! We were with you because we loved you, we still do. We all fucked up here, we fucked up real bad. We understand if you don’t want to date us anymore, we’re horrible human beings, but if you give us a chance, we’d like to make it up to you.” The pen falls from his hands and the notebook soon follows, no one says a word as Matt Peake leaves the cafe.
And then he’s back the next morning with a different notebook and a different pen and they give him free coffee and conversation and smiles and maybe they don’t really hate him.
And it gets better. Slowly, it gets better.
He still loves them, he never stopped, he doesn’t think that they could, but he hasn’t been invited back yet, not yet again a part of the relationship, he’s just… There.
He thinks that they love him still, but they might not. It’s fine, he understands.
Lawrence walks on eggshells around him, even though he’s long since been forgiven.
He stays at their house when Elyse invites him over, which is more often than not these days.
It’s on one of these nights, these long, long nights, that he finds himself in their kitchen, back pressed against the bottom cupboards as he sits on the floor, knees drawn up to his chin. It’s so late and everyone should be asleep and then Adam is sitting next to him, on the floor next to him, sliding notebook and a pen across the same floor for him.
“What got you into poetry?” It’s dark outside and Adam’s question seems perfect for these hours, these late hours. “Sorry, we read the stuff in your notebook when you left and it was really good. Like, admirably so.” Matt chuckles, silently.
‘My lack of words.’ Matt writes out, angling the page towards Adam so he can read while he scrawls. ‘I wanted to be able to tell people things, convey emotion. I ended up being good at it, so I kept it up. It worked, kind of, I guess.’ Adam looks at him in the dim kitchen light.
“Matt, do you want to try this again? With us, with all of us.” Adam clarifies. “We still love you, y’know.” Matt nods because yes, yes, this is what he wanted. Adam smiles at him. “And we were thinking that maybe we could all learn sign together. Or you could teach us if you already know.”
‘I do.’ Matt is grinning as he writes, but then it falters, flickering, falling. ‘But are you sure? It’s really boring. Some friends I had in college started to learn it, but then they got bored and gave up.”
“Fuckin’ assholes.” Adam huffs. “And yeah, yeah, I’m sure, we’ve all talked about this. Joel really wants to be able to sign curse words to you in public without anyone knowing.”
‘I don’t curse!’ And if there’s a way to sound indignant in writing, Matt Peake has done it.
“You curse in your poetry!” Adam counters and Peake rolls his eyes, he’s got it down, finally.
‘Artistic liberty, doesn’t count.’ Adam sighs as he reads it.
“Fine, fine, whatever.” Matt presses himself against Adam and Adam wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him even, even closer. “We should just tell them in the morning, right?” Matt is already asleep and Adam ruffles his hair. “Yeah, that sounds like plan.”
And that’s how everyone finds them in the morning, asleep in the kitchen, stuck to one another.