MoM TDM (reassembled from emails)

[dreamkid]

I. DE CHIMA

[ When the Porter brings Matthew back, he hangs on to the assumption that it's been a few days, maybe a week or two. Even so, he wants to get back to the Meadows as soon as possible, but when an elderly local lady approaches him at the bus stop, he innocently offers his assistance. A quarter hour later, she's still clutching his arm with one hand and patting it with the other, and it's glaringly obvious to anyone with half a brain (so, not Matthew) that she does not intend to let him go any time soon. They've crossed the same street four times, back and forth, and his bus is looong gone.

Oh, you're such a nice boy. My grandson wears your cologne, you know.

Matthew laughs, bright and tirelessly cheerful. ]

Really? Cool! [ He means it. ] Hey, which way did you say his apartment is?

[ Oh, it must be this way. Or... Well, I'm not sure. Maybe it's down that street there.

Someone rescue this boy. ]

II. THE MEADOWS

[ Despite Matthew's long absence, signs of the youngest Lynch's presence have remained tucked away at the Meadows since the day he left: a door in the hallway that refuses to open, warm light streaming 24/7 from the crack between it and the floor. A yellow Mini Cooper parked in the garage with the hoard of other vehicles, cheerful and driverless. A grafitti mural preserved on the side of the church, the obvious work of many hands, one pair of which was content to scatter the area with meaningless happy squiggles in every available color, like a child with a bucket of chalks. (Except the mural is in spray paint.)

When Matthew returns, he spends the first few days sticking close to these familiar places. The door to his room is thrown open, and stays that way much of the time, an invitation to any and all to stop by and hang out. Even if he's hunched up on the floor in front of his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest and scrolling through his phone with a rather perplexed look on his face and a plate with a half-eaten poptart sitting next to him on the floor. Perhaps especially then.

One sunny day, he carefully drives his car out into the front yard, climbs out, climbs back in to check that the windows are rolled up all the way, climbs back out and starts scrubbing the vehicle down with a large sponge and a bucket of soapy water. He doesn't seem bothered by the chilly March air.

On a different day, one might find him by the church, seated under the mural, the back of his head pressed against the wall. His eyes are scrunched closed. A few rose petals drift implausibly out of his curls ("implausibly" because the petals didn't exist a moment before), one coming to rest on his shoulder. ]

III. WILDCARD; hit me!

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NOAH; THE MEADOWS

[dreamkid]

[In the days and weeks after the breakup, Noah keeps mainly to himself, as if in hibernation. There are many hours spent with Gansey, a few spent filming his show with Magnus, but mainly he's been acting the part of ghost, stepping soundlessly around the house on eggshells.

And so, on the afternoon Matthew returns to the Meadows, it's only by chance that Noah is standing in the kitchen's doorway, wearing only pajama pants, his head turned towards the front door like a deer caught on train tracks.]

... Matthew?

[Somehow, impossibly, he seems even smaller now. The hunch to his shoulders is deeper, his bones more pronounced. His freckles have faded in the darkness of winter, and his eyes seem deeper set.

He steps towards Matthew, like he's trying to get a closer look, trying to figure out if this is real.]

[ Matthew isn't the kind of person who takes note of the negative immediately. (Or ever, in some cases, let's be honest.) His eyes don't fall on the hunched shoulders, or the dark circles. All he sees is-- ]

Noah!

[ Heart leaping with happiness, he crosses the space between them in one bound, laughing at Noah's strange expression. It's been a month, for him. A month back home, where he didn't even know what he was missing. The reality of the situation now has, needless to say, not yet landed in his airy dreamed up brain.

Overflowing with affection, he doesn't hesitate to take Noah's face in his hands, and goes in for what he expects to be a perfectly expected kiss. ]

[Even after a year, it's muscle memory. Noah's chest clenches with sadness and joy and confusion, and he finds himself kissing back on pure instinct, hands coming up to grasp Matthew's arms. It's brief, though, more chaste than their last few kisses. Noah pulls back before long, eyes searching, cheeks pale.

A month. He can hear it in Matthew's simple thoughts. He's only been away for a month, while Noah's been here for...]

Um.

[He wants to match Matthew's jubilation, to fling himself into his arms just as recklessly. But behind his gladness, nagging and simmering, is one painful thought:

I didn't wait for you.]

... Hi.

[ Matthew draws back too, mildly surprised by the duration of the kissing but still smiling his wide, easy smile. Noah. Noah Noah Noah. Truth be told, he wants to scoop the other boy up in a hug but there's a little too much nakedness going on for that. He settles for tracing his thumb over Noah's smudgy cheek. ]

Hi, [ he says back, with a little grin, which slips slightly as he finally takes in his Noah's expression. Oh.

Oh. Right. ]

I'm sorry. [ His voice goes soft, gently earnest. ] I didn't mean to leave.

It's okay, it's not your fault.

[Noah blinks, his eyes stinging.]

Matthew, I... [God, why is it so hard to say? He takes in Matthew's sweet eyes, and his pink cheeks, and the endless honesty in his smile. Honesty. Of course. Lying has always been useless around him, morality notwithstanding. He reaches up for Matthew's hand, to reassure himself, and clutches it over his own cheek.]

It's been more than a month, Matt. I haven't seen you in over a year.

[ There have, of course, been dozens of signs, many of them obvious, each one carefully missed or cheerily written off as only a mind so naturally simple and untroubled as Matthew's can manage. His arrival at the base. The changes around De Chima, the changes around the Meadows. The changes in Noah.

All of these oddities, precariously stacked one on the other, begin an inevitable topple over into realization when he says that word: a year.

A year. The enormity of it costs Matthew his breath, for a moment, and then he doesn't care about Noah's state of dress; he's wrapping his arm around the other boy's skinny back and pulling Noah to his chest.

A year. Matthew left him for that long. He doesn't apologize again but it's there in how he kisses Noah a second time, close-lipped but pressing, utterly heartfelt. Like he can make it better if he starts right at this moment, and tries his hardest, and keeps trying.

A year. But it doesn't occur to him that anything between them could have changed.

He breaks off the kiss and touches their foreheads together, stumbling into words. ]

Noah, I'm-- I didn't want that. I never wanted that. But I'm back. I'm back now.

[ He says it twice, once for Noah and once for himself. ]

[Noah opens his mouth, then closes it. His eyes are wide, full of answers and explanations he can't give, words he knows are too harsh. He wonders, for a moment, if he's still fit for Matthew, if all the feelings inside of him haven't turned too bitter and rough. There is so much he needs to say, so much he needs to tell him before he makes too many assumptions, but he's so afraid of it. He feels torn between two lives.]

I know. It's not your fault.

[His hand skates up, grasps Matthew's arm, gentle and reassuring. A finger touches the soft end of Matthew's hair; it's even longer now, from his month at home.]

I haven't been alone. The others came back.

[ Matthew exhales, his eyes falling closed. It was hard enough when only the two of them lived at the Meadows, at the end, just before Matthew left too. ]

Good, [ he says, just one word, but he means it so much. The thought of Noah being alone and sad is terrible. He wants to put it out of his mind, to lean into all this soft touching and pick up where they left off, leaving all the bad parts behind them if they can. ]

So everyone's here?

[ Ronan is, of course, but also... everyone Ronan needs to be happy? ]

[Noah steps back, just barely, as if trying to imperceptibly distance himself.]

Everyone but Blue and Henry.

[He wrings his fingers together, eyes flicking between his feet and the floor.]

[ Matthew allows him the space without protest, but he does reach over to gently un-knot Noah's fingers. ]

She could still come back, [ he says, giving Noah's hands an encouraging squeeze, because he can see the other boy is upset and it upsets him too, but he doesn't know the reason, unless it's because of Blue's absence. (Cheng was cool, too, of course. But to be honest Matthew's still a little muddled as to why he showed up in the first place, since the Porter only brings in Ronan's friends. And they definitely weren't friends.) ]

Everybody always comes back.

[admemoriam]

Yeah.

[It's not distracted or absent, but there's a strange weight in Noah's tone, like he's thinking carefully through something sad. He lets Matthew untangle his fingers, holding on loosely, but his hands are tense and cold.]

Matthew, I... [His eyes flick up, and then back down. The room feels too still, too dark, shaded by the overcast winter's day outside. Not a place he associates with the boy in front of him. Noah takes a deep breath, and tips his head towards the floor.]

I'm with someone. Someone else.

[dreamkid]

[ Noah's still upset, and Matthew wants to fix it so badly, to say or do something--but Noah speaks first. The words don't make any sense at first, like he's speaking another language. Matthew has to turn them over in his head, once, and then a second time.

Everything tilts slightly sideways.

He probably didn't hear it right. He wishes Noah would look at him. ]

You're with--

[ The words get stuck so he stops, then tries again. ]

Someone else?

[ He sounds deeply uncertain. ]

[admemoriam]

[Noah's face can't decide if it wants to go pale or flush red, and it settles for an uncomfortably warm pink. His jaw clenches, then releases; his chest feels cold, panicky.]

It was more than a year.

[He swallows, his throat far too dry. He wants to disappear.]

I'm sorry.

[dreamkid]

[ More than a year. That's right. Of course a lot of things would change. But for Matthew it's all happening at once, and it's a lot, and he's not quick on the uptake on a good day. ]

We broke up, [ he says slowly, grasping for understanding, trying to make this easier. ] When I got ported out.

[ Of course they both knew being sent home was a possibility, but they never talked about what would happen after. Matthew just assumed--

His face grows warm, too. He would have waited for Noah, if their places had been switched. Tirelessly, hopefully, foolishly. He's never even thought about anyone else.

But Noah is different, a real person, who always wanted to be with somebody. And Matthew is the one who left. ]

[admemoriam]

We didn't-

[He catches himself. Breathes. Blinks. This is too much, too much for both of them. He can't stand the pain he's inflicting, and he doesn't know how to help it.]

I'm sorry. [There's no way to pour half as much meaning into that word as he wants to. His head hangs.] I still care about you. You're one of my best friends. A year and a half, and that didn't change. I promise.