don't get too attached - matt sturniolo

chapter eleven

“you’re not slick.”

“never claimed to be.”

“we’re not going to be friends.”

“only because you won’t let it happen.”

“and we’re not starting now.”

i was hearing this muffled conversation through a door as i sat at a chair at their kitchen counter, shoving chips in my mouth nervously. nick emerged, closing the door behind him.

“chris and i are going to the store, but we’ll be back soon.”

i leveled him with a knowing look. “so matt and i are staying here. by ourselves.”

he smiled. “yeah, pretty much.”

“he’s going to kill me, and it’s going to be your fault. you’re going to be speaking at my funeral, weeping, knowing that you were the catalyst for my brutal murder the entire time.”

“you’d let me speak at your funeral?”

i stifled a laugh, wagging my finger at him to let him know i wouldn’t let him distract me. “that’s not the point. the point is that i think matt’s going to strangle me the second that door closes.”

nick’s smile took on a somber tint. “he doesn’t hate you, if that’s what you think. i promise that nothing is going to tragically befall you. and if he does happen to kill you, i will avenge you in all my heroic glory.”

“the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“and i walk it proudly. chris, hurry up!” nick called while i rolled my eyes. chris ran into the kitchen, stealing a few chips and cackling at my protests before bounding towards the door, shouting, “try not to die by matt’s hand, (y/n)!” i gestured wildly at nick, who made a halfhearted placating gesture before issuing out the door.

so now it was just me and matt. that was fine. we would do what we did the last time this had happened: stay out of each other’s way. i would stay in the kitchen and work through this bag of chips and he…

he would apparently come into the kitchen with a petulant set to his lips, hair mussed and stumbling rather blearily into view. he was obviously not expecting me to be there, wearing a tank top and shorts that didn’t match at all, rubbing his eyes and shuffling in sock feet, like he had just rolled out of bed and not out of a heated argument with his brother. he yawned so hard his jaw cracked, and the familiarity of the gesture, the raw humanness of it, fractured the tediously set facade he had been building for weeks, destroying a carefully engendered charade with a few seconds of domesticity. he was just a kid, shifted from home to home and expected to put up with it. he was awkward and clumsy and tired and i thought he looked more inviting than i had ever seen him.

“oh.” he eyed me at the counter, then glanced at himself, and i could feel the heat radiating from him.

“um… do you want a chip?” i asked, feeling bad for him being so out of his depth. he declined, not even deigning to look me in the eye, though i didn’t take it personally.

“okay...i'm going to go watch tv," i said, wondering if he would object to my moving to another room. he shrugged, gaze still transfixed on his feet. i had the urge to comfort him. everyone walked around their house in comfier clothes than they were seen wearing in public. but i assumed correctly that he wouldn't want to hear it as he shoved past me.

"where are you going?" i asked.

"to watch television? you don't get to be the only person hogging it," he snarked.

i followed him in warily, and we sat in our respective spots, far away from each other.

"do you care what we watch?" he asked, and i was so stunned by the fact that he had asked for my opinion that it was all i could do to shake my head. he shrugged and flipped through the channels, finally landing on a sitcom. we lapsed into silence, though this one wasn't half as uncomfortable as it had been previously.

------

"look at him, he's undressing me with his eyes right now!"

"you undressed yourself, you son of a bitch!"

we both huffed a laugh before shooting side glances at each other. matt's posture had loosened considerably, as he was stretched out enough to take up the entire three-seat sofa. he had gone back to the kitchen to grab the chips i had abandoned, and he offered the bag to me across the space between the two pieces of furniture. this was the closest i would get to an olive branch, and i gratefully accepted the snack.

he opened his mouth and closed it and opened it again, and his eyes roved with the intent of trying to figure out what to say. i waited patiently.

"i heard what nick said," he finally settled on saying. "and he's right. i don't hate you, i just-"

"oh, the carnage! the blood! the gore! oh, the humanity! how will we ever survive now that (y/n) is- oh. you're fine." chris barged into the living room. nick whacked him in the side as he followed him, carrying a load of bags. chris yelped and shot his brother a dirty look, and i couldn't help but laugh.

"i'll help with the bags," i called, getting off of the loveseat and heading into the kitchen. i threw a look back at matt, whose eyes were still fixed on me, and wondered what else he was going to say.