Suffocation

One

 The bonfire rages on, and I sit beside it, admiring the way it's not afraid to leap up, or out at people. Not afraid to burn people. Fire is unique, it's extraordinary. I strive to be that way, not confined to some box, or mold. Yet the life I lead makes it near impossible to step outside that box that has been molded and handed down through generations. What would my family say? If I suddenly decided I didn't want to be the same simpleton anymore? Or if I wanted to move to LA and live life beside the beach (which I'm terrified of might I add)? Or if I suddenly brought someone home, someone to love, and they weren't what my parents expected me to bring home after all this time? I care too much about what people think, at least, that's what Jamie says.

Someone flops onto the pine-needle strewn ground beside me, effectively grabbing my attention.

"Whaddya thinkin about, Oli?" Matt asks, his voice drawn out. He sounds tired. Or drunk.

"You drunk?" He gives me this lopsided grin and I know the answer's yes. I shake my head and resume watching the fire, albeit with Matt beside me now. We sit in silence, which I appreciate. Generally, I'm the type of person who can't stand silence, always has to fill it, talk about something - anything, even if it makes things awkward, but there are certain people who make me comfortable, and who I can be silent with. Having known Matt since I was three helps.

"Have you ever thought about leaving?" I ask the fire, not giving Matt my full attention. Chances are he won't remember any of this in the morning, but you never know.

"Like leaving town?" His words slur together slightly, and he sounds confused.

"Yeah," I breathe, finally turning to see my friend. He's still laying down, but he's propped himself up on one elbow, but the glint in his eye tells me he's listening, waiting for me to continue.

"I don't know, doesn't it ever just feel," I wave my hands around, trying to find the right word, "Suffocating?" I pull my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling the need to be smaller than the space I take up.

"Suffocating," Matt rolls the word around in his mouth, "I'm not sure that's necessarily the word I'd use. Maybe boring? Repetitive? Although suffocating does the job." I whip my head to the side and meet his gaze.

"So you do? Think about leaving, I mean." Matt stares at the fire, obviously trying to make his brain work. It makes me laugh lightly, and he glances at me.

"It's funny to watch you try to think," I shrug, then ruffle his hair. He bats my hand away and I grin at him.

"Yeah. I've thought about leaving before." And that's all he says before he's wrapped his body around me and he's asleep. I run my hand through his hair once before yawning. I need to get home soon, feed the dog, probably take Matt home. On second thought, maybe not home, might have him crash at my house for tonight. I shake his shoulder gently, and he only grunts in response. So I do it again, and he finally wakes enough to walk with me to my car.

I make french toast and bacon the next morning, which happens to be Matt's favorite breakfast, and when he finally arises, looking like a zombie, I laugh and hand him a plate of food and a water bottle.

"Where's the coffee?" Comes the childlike whine.

"Drink the water, then you can have the coffee." I also grab some painkillers out of the cabinet above the sink and put two out on the counter for him. He grunts his thanks and continues to chow down. I grin at him and pull myself onto the counter beside the sink to eat my own breakfast. Matt's eyes follow my movements as I take a sip from my coffee mug.

"How come you get coffee?" The rhetorical question rings and I give Matt another look.

"You were drunk last night, and now you're dehydrated. Chug the water and I'll give you the coffee." He grunts, but does as I ask and chugs the bottle of water, which I find kind of funny, considering he spends more time in my apartment then I do, and obviously knows where the coffee is.

"There. Now can I have coffee?" I grin at him.

"There's cold brew in the fridge, or there's whatever's left in the pot." He stands and proceeds to make himself coffee, taking a giant chug before setting his mug down and grabbing his plate. He rinses it and sets it on the other side. I grin with the little win right there. It took me four years of having my own place for me to train Matt to do his own dishes.

"What's that for?" Matt wiggles his eyebrows at me, which earns him a laugh.

"Ah, just happy." I just not to elaborate, thinking maybe he'd revert back to his old ways.

"Happy? What's that?" Matt saunters up nice and close to me, and I let my legs fall open, inviting him into my personal space. He takes the invitation, running his hands lightly up my thighs, before settling them on my hips.

"Hey, stranger." I set my plate down and grin at him, for once having the height advantage.

"Hey yourself." He murmurs, before wrapping me up in a warm hug. I settle my face right in the crook of his neck, and breathe in his smell, which albeit, isn't amazing right now.

"You smell like booze." I laugh, and push him away. I can feel my face getting slightly warm and I grab my plate and start eating again, if only to hide.

"Pfft. Whatever." He grabs his coffee mug and starts heading towards my bathroom.

"Gonna shower, you should join me!" He calls over his shoulder as he closes the door.

"In your dreams, Garcia!"

I find myself staring at the door long after Matt's closed it to shower. I wish things weren't so complicated. I wish it was easier. And by god I wish, I wish I could love Matt, without my entire life falling apart.