If there was anything I didn't expect to wake up to, it was shouting.
And yet.
The noise was loud and unintelligible, followed by a loud crash, causing my eyes to fly open. I barely registered that I was back at the apartment before I leaped out of bed, almost tripping over a pile of tangled clothes on the floor in my race out of the room.
The apartment was still dark, none of the lights lit as I ran barefoot into the living room, my heart pounding in a panic in my chest.
The first thing I saw was Matt.
He was standing at the door, shouting something at the top of his lungs. It occurred to me that he was speaking French, which I understood because I was fluent thanks to too many classes. "Screw you! Leave me the hell alone, you bitch!" The profanity shocked me, and I found myself frozen in the doorway of the living room, watching him.
That's when I realized there was screeching coming from outside as well, also in French, high pitched and infuriated. "Don't you speak to me that way, Mail! Let me in this instant! I know you have it!"
"Damn it… get out, you jerk! I hate you!" Matt screamed, slamming his fist against the door before spinning around. He didn't notice me at first, but I noticed him, and when I saw his face my heart stopped beating for a shocked moment. His eyes were red and puffy, a dim, angry blush scattered over his freckled cheeks, accompanied only by the tears that were rolling down his face. His eyes, even behind he goggles, read one emotion clear as day: miserable.
"Matt?" I found myself squeaking. My voice sounded alien to me, echoing through the darkness. My heart was pounding in my chest so hard that I could hear it in my ears as he looked up at me, his eyes wide behind his goggles, which were starting to fog up. As soon as he saw me he ripped his goggles off, attempting I in vain to wipe the tears away on his sleeve.
Before either of us could say anything, the screaming from outside the door started up again. "Don't you fucking ignore me, you son of a bitch! You owe me! You owe me, dammit!" I didn't recognize the voice outside the door, but it was youthful and female by the sound of it.
"Matt?" I tried again, my voice quivering. He didn't reply, only shaking his head and hurrying towards me, ignoring the voice and it's demands. I didn't object when he threw his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. The confused fear that's building inside of me only grows when I realize he's trembling; I pull my arms around his waist and hug him even closer, not understanding the situation except that he's in pain, and that I want to make it go away.
The screeching outside the door doesn't cease, but I manage to ignore it, nuzzling my cheek into his shoulder. Peeking up at him from the corner of my eye, I can see that he's still crying. All of this sudden panic, and I think I might just start crying, too.
"You know what, fuck you! Fuck you, you faggot! Don't think this is over!" the voice screeches after a while, and I hear angry footsteps stomp away, down the hallway outside. Even after the voice is gone Matt and I stand there, holding each other in this turmoil-filled moment. I don't know how to react. One moment I was a love-sick highschooler, the next I was spiraling down and scrubbing my hands into raisins, the next there was that conversation, and then I wake up again and… this?
"I'm sorry, Mello," he whispered, pulling away from me. His expression is soft and unhappy; I can tell that he was hoping I wouldn't wake up. I was starting to wish I hadn't either, but I didn't let him know that, lifting my hand to brush the hair away from his eyes.
"Who was that, Matt?" I murmur, trying to keep my voice comforting rather than demanding. I had a million questions I waned to ask: Who was that girl? What does she want with you? What is it that you have that she wanted? How did I even get to the apartment? Where did you learn French? I didn't speak them though, staring into his worried green eyes and waiting patiently as possible for an answer.
