Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jaren Smith, though no one called him that unless he was in trouble, stood outside the dorm room door that would define the next nine months of his life, gripping the strap of his backpack like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Room 302. Third floor. Brick building with an elevator that creaked like it had seen The Great Depression. He had been assigned here two weeks ago and had already memorized the fire escape plan… just in case.

He was fifteen minutes early for move-in. On purpose. Obviously.

He inhaled through his nose, adjusted his hoodie sleeve down past his wrist, holding it anxiously before he knocked twice, sharp and efficient.

The door was already unlocked, and left slightly ajar to his surprise. It slowly opened, before Smitty pushed it the rest of the way.

The guy inside, his roommate, he reminded himself, you’re going to sleep in the same room as this person for 270 days , looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, back against the bed frame, eating dry cereal out of the box with his fingers.

“Hey,” the guy said, not looking remotely concerned that a stranger had just walked in on him mid-Cheerio crime. “You Jaren?”

“Yeah, but I go by Smitty..” He said cautiously, stepping inside. “You’re Matt?”

“Mm.” Matt stood slowly, brushing crumbs off the knees of his sweats. He didn’t offer a handshake. Just nodded toward the unclaimed bed like they were picking spots on a long bus ride. “Yours, I guess. Sheets are in the closet. You wanna unpack first, or do we pretend we’re cool and avoid eye contact for three days?”

Smitty blinked. “Option… one?”

Matt smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching just a little. It made Smitty’s stomach flutter in a way he did not like.  “Solid choice.” Matt hummed.

The room was exactly what the photos online hadn’t prepared him for: too small, too warm, and already full of someone else’s quiet confidence. Matt’s half was chaos in soft tones; a wrinkled band tee tossed over the chair, a worn sketchpad open on the desk, a water bottle balanced on a windowsill like it was daring gravity to pick a fight.

Smitty set his duffel down with a little too much force. “So. What’s your major?”

Matt had already sat back down, one leg folded under the other. “Undeclared.”

“Oh.”

Matt looked up. “That a problem?”

“No. I just—” Smitty scratched behind his ear. “I’m computer engineering. So.” He wanted to climb out of his skin already, the awkwardness in the air could have been cut with a butter knife.

Matt gave a single, slow nod. “Right. You’re gonna be busy.”

It wasn’t judgmental. Just… observational. Like he already knew the type Smitty was.

He probably wasn’t wrong.

⸻

By the end of the first week, Smitty had color-coded his schedule and pinned it to the wall with three thumbtacks. He’d already emailed two professors for clarification on the syllabi and had walked the path to each of his classes three times. He had a favorite seat in each lecture hall.

Matt, by contrast, operated on “chaos but make it casual.” He went to class when he remembered. He doodled in the margins of his notebooks and set three alarms to wake up but only listened to the last one. He learned people’s names too fast and gave them nicknames they never asked for. He once came back from the library with two bagels, a stranger’s philosophy textbook, and a string of fairy lights he’d found in a free bin.

“You’re gonna be late,” Smitty warned on a Thursday morning, glancing at the clock. “Don’t you have class in ten?”

Matt was lying on his bed, arm thrown over his eyes, one earbud in with music loud enough that Smitty could hear it across the room. “Nope.”

Smitty frowned. “You definitely said you had lecture today.”

“I also said I’d clean the sink last night and instead I watched raccoon videos for an hour.” His tone clearly showed he was proud of himself.

“Matt.”

Matt pulled out the earbud and looked over. “It’s week one. They’re just reading the syllabus.”

“That matters. ”

“To who? My future employer? I’m majoring in vibes, Smitty.”

Smitty wanted to scream. Or shake him. Or—God help him—maybe laugh, because Matt looked so stupidly at ease it was almost impressive.

Instead, he grabbed his laptop and left for his 8:45 lecture fifteen minutes early. Again.

⸻

They weren’t close. Not yet.

But they shared space easily, somehow. Like two people orbiting each other on completely different axes but never colliding. It was nice.

At night, Smitty would type furiously at his desk while Matt listened to music with his eyes closed, feet propped up on the wall like he was trying to levitate through the ceiling.

Smitty started taking mental notes. Matt always smelled like a mix of clean laundry, cheap cologne and spearmint gum. He hummed when he was bored, but only between songs. He doodled cartoons in the margins of his psych notes and left them around the room, like little jokes waiting to be discovered.

Smitty found one in his textbook on Tuesday, his professor mid-lecture, droning about algorithm efficiency while Smitty turned a page and saw a doodle of a robot holding a sign that said “kill me pls, CS is hard.”

He choked on his own laugh.

He didn’t show it to Matt. But he left the drawing tucked inside his planner.

⸻

It wasn’t until the third week that Smitty realized Matt made him feel… off-balance.

Not in a bad way. Not exactly.

Just different.

He laughed more. He worried less. He left his bed unmade one day, just once, and Matt noticed, but didn’t comment. Just smiled.

That night, they ordered pizza and watched a movie on Matt’s laptop, shoulder to shoulder on Matt’s bed because it had the better view of the screen. Smitty pretended not to notice the way their arms kept brushing. The way he didn’t want to move away.

At one point, Matt passed him a slice without looking, and their fingers touched, just for a second.

Smitty’s heart stuttered, He didn’t dare say anything… And thankfully, neither did Matt.

But it stayed with him. Long after the movie ended. Long after the lights were off and Matt was curled up on the other side of the room, blanket half-tangled around his legs.

That feeling, it was like something had started in his chest. Something he didn’t know how to name yet, but god, he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning hit like a hangover, and Smitty hadn’t even had anything to drink.

He rolled over, groaned, and squinted at the fluorescent green numbers on his alarm clock. 8:02 AM. He was, as usual, awake too early for a weekend. His body didn’t know how to sleep in anymore, especially not after years of conditioning itself to 6:45 alarms and a full planner.

Matt was still out cold.

He looked kinda peaceful, if slightly disheveled, blanket half kicked off, shirt slightly lifted above his bellybutton showing off his faint happy trail, lips barely parted, one arm draped off the bed like he was attempting to melting into the floor. His hair was a mess, soft-looking, light brown locks pressed flat on one side. The morning sun filtered in just enough to hit the edge of his jawline.

Smitty looked for a few seconds too long before turning over, annoyed at himself.

He grabbed his phone. No new notifications. No emails to check. He stared at the blank screen anyway.

This was the part he hated, the in-between. When there was nothing to do yet and no one to tell him what came next. Just quiet. Just… stillness. His anxiety was already chewing on his stomach.

He got up, quietly made himself cereal, and ate it standing up in the tiny kitchen while reading through an assignment that technically wasn’t due to start until next Thursday… but that made him anxious too.

He wasn’t even halfway through reading before a voice broke the silence.

“You’re gonna stress yourself into early baldness, dude.”

Smitty jumped, nearly sloshing milk on the counter. “Jesus. How long have you been awake?” He half turned to look towards Matt.

Matt yawned while stretching, before he leaned in the doorway like he hadn’t just scared five years off Smitty’s life. “Long enough to witness you aggressively eating cornflakes and furrowing your entire face at an email.”

“It’s not an email. It’s a rubric.”

“Oh, even sexier. ”

Smitty glared. Matt just grinned and reached for the cereal box.

They moved around each other with an ease that had crept up on them without warning. Smitty found himself reaching for two mugs when he made coffee. Matt somehow always remembered to leave the light on if he left the room and knew exactly how Smitty took his toast; slightly burned, minimal butter, just enough to make his teeth squeak when he bit into it.

That morning, Matt made his own breakfast (peanut butter straight out of the jar with a spoon, like a menace) and flopped onto the couch with all the grace of a falling tree.

“Plans today?” he asked, mouth half-full.

Smitty hesitated. “Not really.” He said knowing damn well he had absolutely no plans.

Matt leaned back dramatically. “Beautiful. You’re mine now.”

Smitty raised an eyebrow. “Is this about homework? You never ask for help unless you’re desperate.”

Matt looked personally offended. “You wound me. Can’t I just want to hang out with my deeply tense and academically overcommitted roommate?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Matt grinned. “Absolutely not.”

⸻

They ended up walking downtown.

The campus was quiet, most students either sleeping off Friday night or cramming for Monday. The autumn air had cooled just enough to justify hoodies and make their breaths visible in short, lazy puffs.

Matt walked like he had nowhere to be. Long strides, hands in his pockets, head tilted back slightly like he was listening to music only he could hear. Smitty kept trying to match pace, then gave up and let Matt set it.

“You always walk like this?” Smitty asked.

“Like what?”

“Like the world’s not ending.”

Matt smirked. “Is it?”

“Feels like it. Sometimes.”

Matt didn’t answer right away. Then, “Yeah. But that’s why I walk like this.”

They stopped at a corner café. Matt held the door without thinking. Smitty pretended not to notice the way Matt always did stuff like that, without making a show of it. Just… quietly kind.

They sat by the window, shared a cookie neither of them admitted they wanted, and people-watched. Matt made up elaborate backstories for everyone who passed by. Smitty rolled his eyes at first,  but he smiled through all of it, even deciding to create some elaborate stories himself.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wasted this much time on purpose.

And somehow, it didn’t feel like a waste at all.

⸻

Later, they ended up sprawled on the grass behind the library, backs against a tree, sharing Matt’s headphones.

“Don’t look now,” Matt murmured, “but I’m forcing you to listen to the playlist of my soul.”

“Terrifying.”

“I think you’ll live.”

The music was chill. Indie stuff, soft vocals layered with acoustic guitar and echoing drums. Not Smitty’s usual, but… it fit. Matt’s voice dropped a little when he talked about music, like it wasn’t just background noise to him, but something living. Something he carried with him.

“This one,” he said, as a new song started, “reminds me of fall. You know that, like… sad but good feeling?”

Smitty nodded, even though he didn’t have the words to agree out loud.

He wasn’t sure when or how it happened, but their shoulders were touching now, warm through the fabric of their sleeves. Neither of them pulled away. Matt seemed to have his own gravitational pull that only attracted Smitty.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, long enough for the sun to start setting. Long enough for the music to blend together, track after track.

Long enough to forget, just for a little while, about everything else.

⸻

That night, back in the dorm, Smitty didn’t open his laptop.

Instead, he sat on his bed while Matt tossed playing cards into a plastic cup from across the room.

Smitty watched, amused, as Matt missed again and again. He didn’t stop.

“You ever not commit to the bit?” Smitty asked.

“Not once in my life.”

The ninth card landed in the cup with a soft thunk.

Matt threw his arms in the air. “Victory!”

Smitty clapped slowly, undoubtedly impressed. “You gonna put that on your résumé?”

Matt leaned back against his bed, panting exaggeratedly. “Only if you write the cover letter.”

Smitty snorted and lay back on his bed, arms folded under his head.

The room was dim now. Just the soft glow of his desk lamp, the fairy lights Matt found and haphazardly hung up, and the ambient hum of the hallway.

Matt’s voice broke the quiet. “Today wasn’t so bad, was it?” Smitty tried to ignore the slight hopefulness in Matt’s voice.

Smitty turned his head. Matt was watching him, eyes soft.

“No,” Smitty said with a small smile. “It wasn’t.”

Matt nodded once, like he understood everything going on in Smitty’s head.

And Smitty, who had spent every day trying to plan his life down to the minute, found himself hoping he’d get a lot more days like this.

Quiet and Easy.

Full of Matt.

Chapter Text

There was something about 3:07 AM that made the world feel less real.

Smitty stared up at the ceiling, the textured surface started swimming in shadows from the streetlight bleeding through their half-closed blinds. The faint buzz of the radiator filled the silence like white noise. His phone screen glared at him from the nightstand, the time glowing with unkind precision.

3:07…. Too late to be up, yet yoo early to give up on sleep.

He’d tried. God, he’d tried. Turned the pillow over three times. Adjusted his blanket. Done that thing where he counted backward from a hundred by sevens, only to stress himself out halfway through because the math didn’t work out evenly.

Across the room, Matt was out cold. Well at least, Smitty thought he was.

He would never admit it, but he found himself shamelessly watched the rise and fall of Matt’s chest, slow and steady, back turned toward the wall. His blanket had slipped halfway down again, leaving one shoulder exposed, skin pale in the ambient light. His hair was a mess, faint curls sticking up in every direction.

Smitty sighed, turning over onto his back again, rubbing a hand over his face.

His brain wouldn’t shut up.

Assignments. Deadlines. The sudden, inexplicable need to remember every awkward thing he’d ever said to anyone, ever. The usual.

And, beneath all of that, quieter but no less insistent, was the awareness of Matt. Of his presence. Of how close he felt, even across the room.

He let his eyes drift toward him again, something warm curled in his chest.

Not new. But a lot harder to ignore tonight.

He hated the way it made him feel like his heart was in his throat.

A soft voice broke the silence. “You awake?”

Smitty flinched and did his best to contain a yelp. “Jesus.”

Matt shifted, rolling onto his back with a quiet groan. His voice was raspy with sleep. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Smitty lied. “I just thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Kinda.” Matt yawned into his arm. “Then I heard you sigh like you just watched someone destroy your last brain cell and kinda figured something was up.”

Smitty huffed a tired laugh. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

A beat passed.

Then the bed creaked as Matt sat up slightly, his silhouette framed against the window.

“You want company?”

Smitty blinked. “We’re… literally in the same room.”

Matt’s voice was quieter this time. “Yeah. But I meant… do you want to talk?”

That was the thing about Matt. He didn’t push. Just offered. Like it was no big deal. Like sitting in the dark with someone until they felt okay again was just part of being alive.

Smitty hesitated, then sat up too, pushing his blanket off and pulling his hoodie tighter around himself.

“I’m fine,” he said. Automatically. Stupidly.

Matt didn’t argue. Just shifted so his feet touched the floor and looked over with a raised brow. “You always this bad at lying?”

“Only when I’m tired.”

“Then it must be really bad tonight.”

Smitty rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. My brain just… won’t shut up.”

“Want distraction or honesty?”

Smitty blinked. “What?”

Matt leaned his head back against the wall. “Those are the two types of 3AM conversations, right? You either talk about the dumbest stuff imaginable or the realest stuff you’re too scared to say during the day.”

Smitty paused. Then, softly: “Distraction.”

Matt nodded like he expected that answer.

He got up, padded barefoot across the cold floor, with his phone and blanket in tow.

Then, without asking, he climbed into Smitty’s bed.

Smitty’s heart nearly stopped.

“Relax,” Matt muttered, pulling the blanket over his lap. “I’m not trying to seduce you. Your bed’s just warmer.”

Smitty’s mouth went dry. “You don’t even know that.”

“I know your electric blanket has two settings and mine’s been unplugged for three days.”

“…Fair.”

They sat side by side, backs to the wall, knees drawn up, creating a blanket monster that draped over both of them.

And for a moment, Smitty forgot how to breathe.

Matt clicked his phone and handed over one of the earbuds. “I made you a playlist.”

Smitty looked at him, stunned. “You what? ” His voice came out a lot squeakier than expected. 

Matt shrugged. “You stress too much. So I made one. Chill stuff. Some weird lo-fi covers. One or two songs you’ve definitely insulted me for liking.” The lazy smile on his lips made Smitty want to rip his own heart out and chuck it as far away as possible. 

Smitty stared at him. “Why?”

Matt glanced over, eyes tired but honest. “Because I wanted to.”

Smitty took the earbud slowly. Pressed it in. Let the first track wash over him, soft guitar, layered harmonies, a drum like a heartbeat.

They sat there, shoulders brushing, heads tilted slightly toward each other.

And something about it felt so easy, yet so scary.

Smitty spoke without thinking.

“You always this good at showing up when people don’t know they need it?”

Matt’s voice was soft. “You always this bad at letting people in?”

Smitty didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

The song changed. Matt leaned his head slightly to the side until it rested just barely against Smitty’s.

And in that moment, Smitty forgot every test, every worry, every reason he had for building walls.

He didn’t fall asleep right away.

But when he finally did, it was with Matt breathing quietly beside him, blanket shared, the echo of a love song in his ear that neither of them had said out loud yet.

Chapter Text

Smitty didn’t know what exactly had changed after that night, he just knew it felt easier to breathe… but he was suffocating at the same time.

Nothing looked different, on the surface. Matt still moved around the dorm like he was on vacation from reality. He still left his shoes in the middle of the floor like a booby trap. Still made offhand jokes with laser-precision timing that left Smitty smirking into his notebook during class.

But something felt different. He felt different. 

The space between them was humming now, warm, charged. It gave him anxiety in the same way a full cup teetering on a windowsill is dangerous, not quite falling, but one breeze away.

Smitty didn’t think Matt noticed.

Or maybe he did, and he was just better at pretending.

⸻

It was cold that morning.

Not real winter yet, but the kind of fall chill that slipped through your sleeves and settled in your collarbone. The campus lawn was peppered with crunchy leaves and too-loud conversations from people in puffy vests. Smitty pulled his hoodie tighter in the palms of his hands, barely covering his fingers, coffee in one hand, bag balanced on his shoulder.

Matt walked beside him, coffee in hand, no bag, no notes, no rush. As usual.

“You do know it’s supposed to snow this weekend, right?” Smitty asked, nodding toward Matt’s hoodie and the thin, ridiculous beanie barely clinging to his fluff he called hair.

Matt sipped his coffee. “Don’t manifest that. I refuse to acknowledge snow until December.”

“Mother Nature doesn’t care about your calendar.”

“She should. I’m delightful.”

Smitty rolled his eyes. “You own a coat, right?”

Matt grinned. “Define ‘own.’”

“Matt.”

“I have access to coats.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It does if I believe in myself.”

Smitty choked on his coffee, laughing despite himself. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Matt said, deadpan.

And then his eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Smitty’s heart stuttered, he swears it stopped for a moment.

Neither of them said anything else for a few steps.

Matt cleared his throat. “Anyway. Where are we headed?” Desperate to change the subject.

“Library,” Smitty said, trying to will the heat out of his face. “I’ve got a lab write-up to finish.”

“You’re so hot when you talk academically.”

“Matt.”

“What? I’m supporting you.”

“You’re taunting me.”

“I can multitask.”

⸻

The library was mostly empty, save for the usual suspects, grad students buried under citation manuals, freshmen whispering like they didn’t understand how sound worked, someone snoring faintly behind the periodicals.

Smitty took his usual seat by the window. Matt flopped into the chair across from him like he had no bones.

Smitty opened his laptop. Matt didn’t.

“I thought you had work to do,” Smitty said.

“I do. I just… don’t want to do it yet.”

Smitty stared. “You came to the library… to not work?”

Matt grinned. “I came for the vibes.”

“You are a vibe.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

Smitty looked back at his screen, hoping Matt couldn’t tell how flustered he was. “It’s… not.”

The air between them settled again. Comfortable. Familiar.

Anxiety and butterflies began their invasion deep in his chest.

⸻

About an hour in, Matt stood up and announced, “I need a cookie.”

Smitty didn’t even look up. “There’s a vending machine downstairs.”

“I’m not trusting my emotional wellbeing to machine-made shortbread.”

Smitty huffed a laugh. “Then what do you suggest?”

“There’s a bakery like two blocks from here. Come with me.”

Smitty blinked. “I’m working.”

Matt leaned down, palms flat on the table, and looked him dead in the eye. “Smitty. You are seventeen spreadsheets away from vibrating into another plane of existence. I’m intervening. As a friend.”

Smitty stared up at him, and for some reason, couldn’t stop staring.

Matt’s eyes were bright. Wide. Like he meant it. Like he always meant it.

Smitty closed his laptop. “Okay. Fine. Cookies.”

Matt grinned. “Victory tastes like chocolate chip.”

⸻

The bakery smelled like warm butter and childhood.

Matt made a beeline for the display case while Smitty stood awkwardly near the door, taking in the fairy lights strung along the ceiling and the quiet hum of old jazz playing through the speakers.

“What kind?” Matt asked.

Smitty shrugged. “Whatever you’re having.”

Matt grinned. “Blind trust. I like it.”

They left with a paper bag full of oversized cookies and two cups of hot cider, walking slower than necessary down the sidewalk. The air had turned colder while they were inside. Smitty didn’t mind.

Matt handed him a cookie and bumped their shoulders together as they walked.

“This was a good idea,” Smitty admitted sheepishly before taking a bite.

Matt beamed. “Say that again. I want to record it.”

“Don’t push it.”

Matt didn’t reply. Just looked at him for a second longer than necessary.

And then:

“You know,” he said softly, “you’re kinda cute when you’re not overthinking.”

Smitty’s brain short-circuited.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—I’m always overthinking,” he managed.

Matt smirked. “Exactly.”

Smitty couldn’t tell if he wanted to run away or get closer, but he did neither.

Just kept walking, cookie in hand, shoulder still warm from where Matt’s had pressed into it.

⸻

That night, Smitty stayed up a little later than usual.

He told himself it was the sugar.

But it was really just the memory of Matt’s voice, quiet and kind and full of something Smitty didn’t know how to name yet.

He rolled over in bed, heart beating a little too fast, and spoke in a tone barely able to be called a whispered into the dark:

“Just friends. Right?”

The silence didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

The cursor on Smitty’s screen blinked like it was mocking him.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

It had been blinking there for twelve minutes, right after his brain completely stalled halfway through writing a function that used to come easy. He had typed four words, backspaced all of them, then retyped the same four words with a comma in a different place. Then deleted those, too.

His jaw was clenched, shoulders tight, back curved like he was bracing for impact. He looked like he might implode.

Across the room, the air was still.

Matt was quiet, but Smitty could feel him watching. He always knew when Matt was watching. He had that kind of presence, the kind you could sense without looking, like gravity pulling in one specific direction.

Smitty didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to see pity. Or worse… understanding.

He clicked to another tab. Then another. He read the same sentence three times.

This project represents 35% of your final course grade.

He knew that. He’d known it all week. He’d felt it in his stomach like lead, dragging him down into sleepless nights and over-caffeinated mornings. Every word he typed felt wrong. Every answer he triple-checked felt like it would still come back as not enough.

He hadn’t eaten dinner. He wasn’t hungry. Just nauseous with pressure. The desk lamp cast long shadows on the wall, the kind that made the room feel smaller than it already was.

“Hey.”

Smitty flinched at Matt’s voice. It was soft. Careful. Too careful.

“You need to take a break.”

“I’m fine,” Smitty said automatically, his voice clipped.

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

Smitty didn’t answer.

He reached for his notes instead, flipped to a page with something he didn’t remember writing. Half-formed sentences. Arrows pointing nowhere. His own handwriting turning unintelligible.

“You’ve been at it since four,” Matt said.

“It’s not done.”

“You haven’t moved.”

“I can’t move, Matt. I don’t have time to—”

Matt didn’t allow him to finish, “To breathe?”

That stopped him in his tracks.

Smitty gripped the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Behind him, the bed creaked. Matt stood up. Crossed the room slowly.

Smitty stared at the screen, trying not to let his eyes burn. “I’m not trying to argue,” Matt said gently, from just behind his shoulder. “I’m just… watching you fall apart in real time, and it sucks.”

Smitty let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, imagine how it feels from this side.”

“I can.”

“No, you can’t.”

His voice broke a little on that last word. He hated how vulnerable it sounded. Like a crack in glass, fine one second, and then suddenly everything was spiderwebbing out from the center.

Matt didn’t push. Didn’t snap back.

He just spoke softly. “Then tell me.”

Smitty closed his eyes.

And something inside him, something raw and tightly wound and desperate to be heard, snapped free.

“I can’t screw this up.” His tone came out harsher than intended, like the words clawed their way out of his throat.

Matt didn’t answer, just waited.

Smitty kept going, voice hoarse. “If I screw this up, it’s not just a bad grade. It’s… every version of me I’ve been working toward collapsing. It’s scholarships. It’s my future. It’s disappointing every person who’s ever told me I had potential. It’s proving the voice in my head right when it says I’m only smart until I fail once.”

He stopped. Chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile.

Matt’s voice was so quiet it barely reached him.

“Smitty.”

He didn’t turn.

Matt’s hand landed gently on his shoulder. Firm. Present. 

“Look at me.”

It took everything he had to do it.

When he finally turned in his chair, he couldn’t meet Matt’s eyes right away. He couldn’t breathe.

Matt was standing there, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy, face open and unguarded, big blue eyes looking with so much concern it almost hurt.

“You are allowed to be tired,” Matt said. “You are allowed to not be perfect. That doesn’t make you a failure. That makes you human.”

Smitty didn’t respond.

Matt crouched a little so they were eye-level.

“You are so much more than this one week. This one class. This one grade. You’re—” He stopped. Laughed softly, like he didn’t expect himself to say what he almost said. “You’re you. And that’s enough for me.”

Smitty blinked hard, brain attempting to process Matt’s words.

“Matt,” he said, and it came out wrecked.

Matt didn’t pull away.

Instead, he gently pushed the laptop shut. Smitty let him.

“Come here,” Matt said softly.

And then, with that quiet, easy confidence he always wore like a second skin, he pulled Smitty up and toward the bed.

Smitty didn’t resist.

He let himself be guided across the room, let himself be tugged down into the blankets, let himself sit shoulder-to-shoulder with Matt like it was something they did every night.

Matt didn’t make a big deal of it.

He just grabbed a second blanket, tossed it over their laps, and leaned his head back against the wall.

Smitty sat beside him, stiff for a minute, like he was waiting to be told this was too much.

Those words never came.

Instead, Matt said, “You can fall apart with me. I won’t leave.”

That was all it took.

The tears came fast. Not dramatic. Just quiet and exhausted. His head tipped forward, and then Matt’s hand was there, light against his back, grounding.

Matt wasn’t trying to fix him, or fix his problems. He was just present. 

Just holding the space.

That was enough.

Smitty let himself cry.

Let himself feel how tired he was, how scared, how grateful. He felt how heavy his body was, how much his wrist hurt from the near constant writing or typing. He was tired. Mentally and emotionally.

When the storm passed, Matt didn’t move.

Neither of them did.

They stayed like that until the silence became something else entirely.

Not empty, just full of things unspoken.

Matt spoke first, voice barely audible.

“You’re not alone in this.”

Smitty nodded against his shoulder.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he thought it, sharp and soft and terrifying:

‘I don’t want to be.’

They sat like that for a long time.

Smitty didn’t remember when he fell asleep, but when he woke the next morning, Matt was still there.

And his hand was still holding Smitty’s.

Like a promise.

Chapter Text

Smitty woke slowly, his head throbbing like he was hungover. The after effects of an emotionally charged night hitting him like a truck.

The kind of slow that didn’t happen often for him, where the world stayed quiet long enough for his brain to forget there were things it needed to do. No alarm blaring. No mental checklist already running. Just the soft hum of the radiator and the even softer rise and fall of someone breathing beside him.

That was the first thing he noticed, the warmth .

The heat of another body tucked too close. The weight of a blanket stretched across both of them. The soft pull of breath, inches from his throat, gently tickling his skin. 

The second thing was that he wasn’t alone in the bed.

Matt.

Matt was curled against his side, legs tucked slightly toward his own, one arm resting across the shared blanket like it belonged there. His head had fallen forward during the night, settling in the dip between Smitty’s shoulder and chest. Smitty could have lost himself to the feeling of Matt’s breath on his throat. 

Yet Smitty… wasn’t breathing at all.

His eyes shot open, body tensing, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. It wasn’t panic. Not really. More like something ancient and electric running through his bones, something terrified and alive all at once.

He let his gaze drift, cautious, down to Matt’s face.

Soft in the morning light. Peaceful in a way that made Smitty’s chest ache.

There were freckles across Matt’s nose Smitty had never noticed before. His mouth was parted slightly, lashes brushing his cheeks, hair a dark, wild mess from sleep. He looked so real. So unguarded. So close it hurt.

Smitty’s heart thudded in his ribs, once, hard. Then again. And again.

He hadn’t realized how fast it was beating until it drowned out everything else.

He turned his head back toward the ceiling, blinking, fighting the urge to feel too much.

This was fine.

Matt had just fallen asleep there. It wasn’t on purpose. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

And yet—

Their legs were tangled.

At some point in the night, Matt had drifted toward him like gravity. Smitty didn’t remember falling asleep like this, but now their knees were brushing under the blanket, and Matt’s hand still placed in his own, like the final piece to a puzzle.

It was stupid how much that made his breath catch.

He closed his eyes and tried to count to ten. Didn’t make it past four.

When he opened them again, Matt had shifted, just slightly, letting out a small sound in his sleep. Not a word. Just a breath.

His nose bumped lightly against Smitty’s shoulder.

Smitty flinched, but not away. God, he should’ve. He should have ran.

He should’ve gently peeled himself out of the bed, made some awkward joke, gone to brush his teeth and pretend it didn’t happen. But he didn’t.

He stayed frozen in place, heart in his throat, every nerve alive with the unbearable intimacy of it all.

This is dangerous, he thought.

This is everything I’m not supposed to want.

Because if he moved, if he even shifted a little, Matt might wake up, and if Matt woke up, everything would change. Smitty wasn’t ready for what came after that.

He wasn’t ready to know if this meant anything. If Matt would laugh it off. If he’d make it easy. Or worse, if he’d act like it was nothing at all.

So Smitty did the only thing he could do.

He laid still.

Let the moment stretch like it could last forever.

Let himself pretend that it did.

⸻

Eventually, Matt stirred.

It was subtle, a sigh into Smitty’s chest, then a soft inhale. He shifted, hand brushing Smitty’s stomach.

And then he paused.

Like he realized, all at once, exactly where he was.

Smitty felt the change in him before he saw it, something in his body going still.

And then, slowly, Matt sat up, rubbing at his eyes, band tee slipping off his shoulder.

“Shit,” he mumbled, voice still groggy. “Did I—?”

Smitty shook his head before he could finish. “You’re fine.”

Matt blinked blearily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… y’know. Invade your side of the bed.” He said sheepishly.

“It’s not like there’s a border,” Smitty said, voice a little too thin.

Matt gave a sleepy laugh. “Still. I wasn’t trying to cuddle you in your sleep or anything.”

Smitty managed a weak smile. “You didn’t. Not really.”

Lie. A bad one at that. 

Matt ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, and stood up with a stretch. “I’m gonna… wash my face. Or something. Be back in a sec.”

Smitty nodded, barely.

And then Matt was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Smitty exhaled, slow and long and aching. It felt like the first breath he had taken in a year.

The spot on his stomach where Matt’s hand had rested felt too warm. His skin buzzed like it remembered every inch of contact.

He stared at the ceiling again.

It looked the same.

But he didn’t.

⸻

That day was strange.

Matt didn’t act weird. He didn’t bring it up. If anything, he was softer. Quieter.

He passed Smitty a slice of his bagel at breakfast without asking. Reached for the door handle without needing to be told Smitty’s hands were full. Sat closer on the couch than he normally would’ve. His leg touched Smitty’s for a second. Then didn’t move.

None of it was out of place.

But all of it was.

Because now Smitty couldn’t stop thinking about the way Matt had fit against him. Like it was easy. Like it meant nothing.

Like maybe it had meant everything.

By the time they were brushing teeth that night, Smitty was exhausted, not from work, but from holding himself together.

Matt leaned into the mirror, toothpaste foam in the corner of his mouth.

Smitty watched him, watched the easy way he moved, the way he existed without apology.

And wondered what it would feel like to stop pretending.

Just for a minute.

To look at Matt and say, Did you feel it too?

He didn’t, he didn’t dare. 

He turned off the bathroom light, climbed into bed, pulled the blanket over his head like maybe that could hide him from the way his chest was unraveling.

Matt’s lamp clicked off across the room.

And the darkness settled around them again.

Like it was waiting.

Chapter Text

It started as a flicker.

One of those harmless, passing things, something Smitty saw out of the corner of his eye, just enough to make him slow down. The kind of moment you forget, unless it feels like something.

It was Wednesday morning, and the quad was thick with people. Hoodies, backpacks, tired conversations. Smitty had his earbuds in, but no music playing. Just walking, letting the noise wash over him as he mentally rewrote his to-do list for the fourth time.

And then—there they were.

Matt, standing near the edge of the science building steps. Head tilted slightly, one hand stuffed deep in his hoodie pocket. And her .

She had her back to Smitty, tall and sure, gesturing with one hand like she was making a point about something funny. Matt was smiling, his smile, the one Smitty had started memorizing without realizing it. The one that curved slowly, like it didn’t need to prove anything.

They weren’t standing that close.

But it was close enough to slow Smitty’s steps. Just for a beat. Just long enough to feel something tug in his chest, sharp and unwelcome.

He turned his eyes away, pretended to scroll through his phone, and kept walking.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Matt talked to everyone.

It didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t.

⸻

He saw them again two days later.

Library mezzanine. Same spot he usually liked to study in. But when he rounded the corner, laptop in hand, there she was—sitting cross-legged across from Matt, hair up, laptop open. She laughed at something, and Matt, once again, was smiling that quiet, easy smile.

There were books between them. Notes. No touching. No flirting.

Nothing wrong.

Smitty backed away before they could see him.

He found a spot downstairs, far corner, headphones on, playing music so loud it would be the reason he would lose his hearing early... but he didn’t care much at this moment. 

He stared at a blinking cursor for forty minutes and couldn’t read a single word.

⸻

He didn’t know what to call it.

It wasn’t jealousy. He wasn’t with Matt. Wasn’t dating him. Wasn’t entitled to anything.

But still, he felt it. 

Like pressure behind his ribs. Like static in his chest. Like he was watching something he didn’t even know he had a claim to walk away with someone else.

He didn’t talk to Matt much that weekend.

He kept himself busy. Studied late in the library. Ate lunch alone outside with a textbook in his lap. Claimed headaches when Matt asked if he wanted to go to that movie night on campus.

It wasn’t intentional.

Not really.

It just… felt easier to keep distance than to sit beside him and pretend nothing had changed.

But it wasn’t subtle.

Not to Matt.

⸻

By Sunday evening, it caught up with him.

Smitty walked into the dorm with his hoodie pulled up, earbuds in, shoulders tight. His bag hit the floor with a dull thud.

Matt looked up from his bed, where he was lying sideways, arm flung across his pillow, phone in hand.

“You’re alive,” he said casually, but something in his tone was off.

Smitty shrugged. “Been busy.”

“Been busy avoiding me?”

Smitty froze.

The words landed with more weight than they should have.

He forced a laugh, kicked off his shoes. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”

Matt sat up slowly, brows drawing together. “Okay, sure. But that’s not what I asked.”

Smitty turned his back, fiddled with the charger at his desk.

“Dude,” Matt said, voice low. “Did I do something?”

The question punched harder than Smitty expected.

He turned. Too fast.

“I didn’t think you’d have time for me,” he said—sharp, louder than intended. “Not with your new girlfriend.”

The room went still.

Matt blinked. “What?”

Smitty’s pulse hammered in his ears.

‘You weren’t supposed to say that out loud.’

Matt stood. “Wait, who are you even talking about?”

“You know who.”

Matt stared at him, then let out a short, confused laugh. “Are you serious?”

Smitty crossed his arms, defensive now, trying to shrink and puff up all at once. “You’ve been with her all week. I figured I got replaced.”

“Replaced,” Matt repeated, like the word didn’t make sense.

“She’s clearly more fun to be around.”

“Oh my God.” Matt dragged a hand through his hair. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s in my group project. We’re making a presentation together. That’s it.”

Smitty didn’t say anything.

Matt stepped forward. “You really thought—?”

“I saw you with her,” Smitty snapped. “Twice in the library. Once outside the science building. You were laughing. You don’t laugh like that with just anyone.”

Matt blinked. “You mean how I laugh with you? ”

That stopped him.

Completely.

“I…”

Matt shook his head, something raw in his voice now. “Dude, I talk to people. I joke around. But I don’t spend every night in someone else’s bed when they’re falling apart. I don’t share my music. Or my playlists. Or—God—my cereal.”

Smitty looked at him, stunned.

“I thought you knew that,” Matt said, quieter now. “I thought we were past that part, where you still think I’m looking for better company.”

Smitty swallowed.

The room felt too hot.

He wanted to run. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say something that would make it less humiliating to admit: I wanted to be your only company.

But Matt wasn’t angry.

He looked hurt. Surprised. Maybe even a little shaken.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Smitty sat down slowly on his bed.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said quietly. “But whatever it is… I just didn’t want to lose it.”

Matt crossed the room and sat beside him.

Not too close.

But close enough.

“You haven’t,” he said. “And you won’t.”

They sat like that for a long time.

Not touching.

Not moving.

Just breathing in the same space.

The tension didn’t break.

But something in it… settled.

And Smitty let himself believe, for the first time in days, that maybe this wasn’t slipping through his fingers after all.

Chapter Text

Smitty stood in the middle of the campus café like a man on a mission.

He was holding two coffees, a slightly smushed muffin in a paper bag, and a folded sheet of notebook paper with important talking points scribbled in the margins like he was about to walk into a United Nations meeting instead of his own dorm.

He’d been pacing for five minutes now.

He hated this.

Not apologizing, he was fine with that, in theory. He believed in accountability. In communication. In treating people right.

No, what he hated was that he’d made Matt feel like he didn’t know where they stood. That he’d looked at someone who’d been nothing but patient and warm and real with him and still, somehow, he assumed the worst.

It had taken him two and a half days to stop spinning in his own head long enough to do something about it.

Which brought him here: back to the dorm, hands full of peace offerings and no idea what the hell he was going to say once he walked through the door.

He let himself in quietly.

Matt was on his bed, headphones in, legs hanging off the side. He was sketching something in a notebook, one of the big ones he only used when he was working through something in his head. The softest furrow of his brow meant he hadn’t noticed Smitty yet.

Smitty swallowed and cleared his throat.

Matt looked up.

There was a beat. Just one. But it was enough for Smitty to feel the cold flicker of guilt return.

Matt pulled out one earbud. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Smitty said. He took two steps in. Stopped. “I, uh… brought peace offerings.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Peace offerings?”

“Coffee… and a muffin.”

Smitty held them out, like a ritual sacrifice.

Matt blinked at him. Then grinned slowly. “What flavor?”

“Double chocolate chip. I panicked.”

Matt accepted it like he was being handed a rare artifact. “You really panicked if you bought this. You hate chocolate muffins.”

“I do,” Smitty admitted. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Matt sat up properly, muffin in hand, coffee placed neatly on the desk beside him. “So what’s the occasion?”

Smitty dropped onto his own bed and rubbed his face. “Okay. Here’s the thing. I was a jackass.”

Matt tilted his head. “Go on.”

“And I assumed something that wasn’t true, and then instead of asking about it like a normal human, I acted like a sulky thirteen-year-old and gave you the silent treatment for three days.”

Matt smiled faintly. “You did sulk professionally, yeah.”

Smitty groaned. “I didn’t mean to, okay? I just—saw you with her, and I—I didn’t like how it made me feel. And I didn’t know what to do with that, so I defaulted to self-sabotage and caffeine withdrawal.”

There was a pause.

Then Matt asked, “Did you make a script?”

Smitty flushed. “…No.”

Matt raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe.”

Matt laughed, warm and open. “You made a script to apologize to me?”

“I wanted to get it right,” Smitty muttered, pulling his hoodie over his head like he could disappear inside it. “I’m not good at this stuff, Matt. Feelings. Admitting when I’m… vulnerable. You’re easy with it, but for me it’s like—trying to open a locked door with oven mitts.”

Matt stared at him for a moment.

Then, soft as rain: “Come here.”

Smitty blinked. “Why?”

“Because I want to forgive you to your face, dumbass.”

Smitty hesitated, then stood. Moved across the room. Sat awkwardly on the edge of Matt’s bed.

Matt reached over and ruffled his hair.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said. “You’re allowed to feel weird. It’s not like I haven’t misread a situation before.”

“I just hate that I made you feel like I didn’t trust you.”

“You didn’t make me feel that way,” Matt said. “You were scared. And maybe a little dumb.”

Smitty snorted. “Yeah, well. That’s fair.”

They sat like that for a moment. Shoulders almost touching. The air still warm from the apology, the laugh.

Then Matt added, softer: “You know you’re important to me, right?”

Smitty nodded, eyes on the floor. “I do now.”

Matt leaned his shoulder gently against Smitty’s.

“Good.”

They stayed like that.

Nothing more needed to be said.

Smitty had screwed up.

And he’d fixed it.

And maybe that was the thing about them— whatever this was. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t simple. But it was real.

And real was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Smitty knew the party was going to be a mess the second he and Matt reached the end of the block and could already hear the bass shaking the windows.

It wasn’t even music, really, just a heartbeat with a vendetta, pulsing out of a two-story house strung up in flickering orange and purple lights like a haunted gingerbread disaster. People were already spilling out onto the lawn, fake blood smearing their cheeks, costumes thrown together with chaotic college energy and just enough glitter to be suspicious.

Smitty exhaled. Adjusted his sleeves. Tried not to feel ridiculous.

“Okay, you promised me this would be fun,” he muttered.

Matt grinned beside him, teeth flashing under the streetlight. “And I stand by that. You look terrifying. In a hot way.”

Smitty looked down at himself: black button-up, sleeves rolled, eyeliner smudged expertly thanks to Matt, and a long dark coat borrowed from a theater major who owed Matt a favor. Vaguely vampiric. Very much out of his comfort zone.

“You owe me, like, three emotional stability points for this.”

Matt leaned in, warm and easy. “I’ll pay you back in candy and attention.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“And you love it.”

Smitty rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He let Matt lead him up the steps, through the haze of fake fog and thumping music, into a sea of moving bodies and chaos disguised as celebration.

The party swallowed them whole.

⸻

Inside, it was everything Smitty expected and nothing he was prepared for.

Dim lighting. Smoke machine working overtime. A terrifying number of fishnets. Skeletons on the ceiling. Bats taped to the walls. The kitchen reeked of jungle juice and mistakes.

Matt disappeared into the crowd like he belonged there.

Smitty followed close, wide-eyed but smiling despite himself.

“Drink first,” Matt called over the music, dragging him to the kitchen.

Someone handed them shots. Smitty didn’t ask what was in it.

He drank, it burned.

Matt whooped beside him, voice barely audible over the pounding bass. “Round two!”

They drank again.

The second one went down easier.

And just like that, the night tilted.

In a good way, of course.

⸻

They found themselves in the living room, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, people dancing in reckless circles. Someone dressed as a bloody bride was slow-twerking on a guy in a tiger onesie. Someone else had climbed halfway onto the coffee table and was conducting a toast with a glowstick wand.

Matt grabbed Smitty’s hand. “We’re dancing!”

“I don’t dance!”

“You do when you’re drunk!”

“I’m not—okay, maybe I’m a little—MATT.”

Too late.

Matt pulled him into the makeshift dance floor, both of them swallowed by the noise and the heat and the shimmer of too many people moving in too many directions.

The music was a blur—half rap, half EDM, full volume.

Smitty tried to keep up. He really tried. 

He wasn’t good at this. His rhythm was a mess, he kept bumping into people, and he couldn’t stop laughing.

Matt danced like someone who didn’t care if he looked good, like he just wanted to feel the beat. He bounced and spun and threw his arms up like a gremlin possessed, grinning the whole time.

He was glowing.

And God, Smitty couldn’t stop watching.

Matt caught his eye. Grinned wider. “You’re loosening up!”

“I’m going to die here.”

Matt leaned in, loud in his ear. “At least you’ll look good doing it.”

Smitty choked on his own breath.

“You’re flirting again,” he said, pointing an accusing finger.

Matt bumped their shoulders. “No, I’m drunk . Huge difference.”

“Same result.”

“True. But this way, you can pretend it doesn’t count.”

Smitty tried not to grin. Failed miserably.

They danced.

And danced.

Someone handed them more drinks. Smitty lost count. Matt shouted something about candy corn being a government conspiracy and then attempted to slow dance with a mop in the hallway.

At one point, they ended up sitting on the floor against the wall, red cups in hand, legs stretched out. People passed by in waves, witches, zombies, a guy in a hotdog suit with glitter on his face.

Matt rested his head against Smitty’s shoulder.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Smitty nodded, tipsy and warm and honest. “More than I thought I would.”

Matt looked up at him. Their faces were too close. Their knees were touching.

“See? You should listen to me more often.”

“You’re chaos personified.”

“And you’re high-strung, over-caffeinated, and hot when you blush.”

Smitty immediately blushed.

Matt laughed like it was his favorite sound in the world.

“Shut up,” Smitty muttered, but he was smiling.

“You shut up.”

“You brought me here.”

“You needed it.”

“I need therapy. ”

Matt shrugged. “You got me instead. You’re welcome.”

Smitty leaned his head back and laughed. “God, I hate how much I like you.”

Matt went quiet for half a second.

Then, like the sweetest knife in Smitty’s heart: “Good. That makes two of us.”

⸻

They stumbled home somewhere around 2:45 AM.

The cold air slapped them in the face, sobering and sharp. Their coats were crooked, makeup smudged, hands bumping together with every step.

Matt tried to sing a Halloween remix of “Careless Whisper” and tripped on the curb.

Smitty caught him, barely, and laughed so hard he had to stop walking.

“You’re a menace,” he wheezed.

“You’re my handler,” Matt replied, clinging to his shoulder. “You keep me grounded.”

“I keep you alive. ”

“Same thing.”

When they reached their dorm, they kicked off shoes and dropped jackets and left a glitter trail behind them like drunk fairies.

Smitty collapsed onto Matt’s bed and groaned. “I’m never drinking again.”

Matt flopped down beside him. “Liar.”

“Okay, yeah.”

They laid there.

Still in costume,.. Still smiling,.. Still too close.

Matt’s leg found its way over Smitty’s, Smitty didn’t bother to move.

Matt tucked his arm under Smitty’s neck.

Smitty curled into it.

And when their foreheads bumped, and they both laughed, and neither of them pulled away, it didn’t feel like an accident.

It felt like a line they’d tiptoed up to, breath held, never quite daring to cross.

And still—still—they didn’t kiss. It was not the fairytale ending he refused to admit he wanted. It was just real. 

Smitty closed his eyes to the sound of Matt’s breathing against his cheek, a nd thought:

If every lie I tell myself feels this good, maybe I’m not ready to stop lying.

Chapter Text

It was Friday night, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the world wasn’t asking Smitty to do anything.

No exams. No flashcards. No all-nighters or caffeine-fueled cramming sessions with his hoodie pulled over his eyes and his notes spread across the floor like crime scene evidence.

Midterms were over. His brain was fried. And Matt had declared, in the tone of someone delivering a sacred decree, “We are not leaving this room until we’ve consumed an irresponsible number of snacks and at least six movies.”

Smitty wasn’t allowed to argue.

The dorm was dark, save for the glow of Matt’s laptop connected to a shitty old monitor, balanced near the foot of the bed and the soft flicker of a string of fairy lights they’d duct-taped along the wall. The floor was littered with chip bags, an empty pizza box, a half-drunk bottle of cream soda Matt insisted was ‘the superior beverage’ and at least two candy wrappers stuck to Smitty’s sock.

Matt was sprawled beside him, stretching across his bed like he was the king, one foot kicked off the side, blanket draped over both of them, hoodie pulled up halfway like he couldn’t decide whether he was hot or cold.

Smitty sat more upright, back against the wall, trying not to fidget.

They were too close… But neither of them moved.

“Okay,” Matt said, remote in hand, “do we want psychological horror or something dumb and nostalgic?”

Smitty stared blankly. “I managed to survive five exams in four days. I want dumb.”

“Beautiful.” Matt hit play. “Nostalgia it is.”

The screen filled with the low-res title card of a movie they both knew every line of but would pretend like it was the first watch anyway.

They didn’t really watch it, just enjoyed each other. 

Matt kept leaning over to whisper sarcastic commentary. Smitty kept laughing at parts that weren’t actually funny, because Matt’s commentary was.

Somewhere in the middle of the second movie, Smitty realized Matt had fallen asleep for ten minutes and then jolted awake to declare that the main character was definitely “a closeted werewolf in denial.”

Smitty couldn’t stop laughing.

“You’re high on sugar and bad opinions,” he said.

“I’m high on post-exam euphoria and the scent of your shampoo,” Matt replied, nudging him with his shoulder.

Smitty’s cheeks burnt immediately. “Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I am not. ”

Matt turned and stared at him, lazy and unbothered. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Smitty pressed his lips together and looked back at the screen.

But his heart was pounding. His knee was still pressed lightly to Matt’s under the blanket.

Neither of them moved.

Smitty had lost track of how many movies they’d watched.

Three? Four? Maybe five?

He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t really care.

He was full, too many snacks, too many sips of soda, and heavy with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only hit after midterms. The kind that settled behind his eyes and made his whole body feel like melted wax.

Matt was beside him. He was still, calm, and warm.

Smitty blinked slowly, his head lolling against the wall. His body was curled sideways now, legs folded one over the other, shoulder resting against Matt’s arm.

He hadn’t even realized he’d shifted. Matt didn’t move. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.

If anything, he leaned into it, just enough to be noticeable. Just enough to feel like an invitation.

And Smitty, without thinking, let himself take it.

He was too tired to fight whatever this was. Whatever it had been turning into for months.

So he leaned in.

Let his body relax against Matt’s, let his head slip down until it rested against the curve of Matt’s chest.

His breath caught when he realized what he was doing, but Matt’s arm shifted gently, moving around his shoulders.

Not awkward. Not unsure.

Just easy.

Matt pulled him a little closer, tucking him against his side like he belonged there.

For a second, Smitty stopped breathing.

His heart stuttered. His eyes opened halfway. The room was blurry.

He didn’t dare speak, he didn’t want to break it.

The warmth of Matt’s body was steady. His hand rested at Smitty’s side, light, grounding, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Smitty swallowed.

This wasn’t… normal.

It couldn’t be.

But it was happening.

Right here, in the soft hush of fairy lights and movie credits.

Smitty’s cheek was pressed to Matt’s chest now. He could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his shirt, like a metronome he hadn’t realized he’d been syncing to all semester.

His fingers drifted to Matt’s sleeve, grasping it lightly—barely there.

He didn’t know why he did it, He just knew he needed an anchor.

Matt didn’t say anything.

Didn’t make a joke.

Didn’t even seem surprised.

He just… let it happen.

And for once, Smitty’s mind went quiet.

No racing thoughts. No over-analysis. No fear.

Just the warmth of another person holding him like it was second nature.

Like they’d done this a thousand times.

He blinked slowly, eyelids heavy.

Is this a dream?

That was the first thought that slipped through the fog.

It had to be. This wasn’t real. Matt didn’t just pull people close and hold them like they were something he didn’t want to let go of. Not him , anyway.

Is this a mistake?

Second thought.

Maybe Matt had fallen asleep like this by accident. Maybe his arm would twitch soon, his body would shift away, and Smitty would be left sitting there, flushed and hollow.

Don’t move, his brain whispered. Don’t breathe too loud. Don’t ruin this.

But Matt… shifted closer.

He moved just enough to press their bodies together more fully. His thigh touched Smitty’s now, solid and warm. His chest rose and fell beneath Smitty’s cheek.

And then—

Matt’s hand—his hand—curled slightly around Smitty’s side.

A gentle, protective pull.

Nothing dramatic, but it said everything.

Smitty’s breath hitched in his throat.

And then… finally… something inside him gave in. 

He let it happen, finally letting himself settle.

His muscles softened. His hand, still holding Matt’s sleeve, went still. He curled just slightly into Matt’s chest and let the exhaustion carry him the rest of the way down.

Matt didn’t speak or didn’t move.

But his body never left Smitty’s.

And as Smitty drifted toward sleep, he realized something strange.

He felt safe.

Not just comfortable.

Safe.

Wanted, maybe, He didn’t name it.

But in that quiet place, between dream and waking, he thought:

If this is what falling feels like… I’m not afraid anymore.

Chapter Text

Smitty woke slowly.

The kind of slow that doesn’t come with alarms or obligation. The kind where the world holds its breath just long enough for you to notice you’re still breathing. The kind that made him want to stay exactly where he was, eyes closed, still sinking.

But something felt different.

His brain stirred first.

The weight of a blanket. The hum of the radiator. Faint light filtering in from the window, too soft for morning, too bright for night.

And then—

Warmth.

Real, tangible, human warmth.

Smitty blinked open one eye.

Matt.

Matt’s chest rising and falling beneath him. He was still asleep, at least that’s what Smitty thought.

Or he was pretending to still be asleep.

Smitty’s head was on Matt’s shoulder. Their legs were tangled under the blanket, one of Matt’s arms slung loosely across his waist like it had landed there naturally. Their foreheads weren’t quite touching.

But they could have been.

The breath caught in Smitty’s throat, Because for the first time, it wasn’t a dream.

It had felt like one, in the haze of sugar and movies and too many soft moments strung together like lights on a wire.

But this, oh, th is was real.

His fingers were curled lightly into the edge of Matt’s hoodie, like he’d reached for something in his sleep and found what he was looking for.

Matt’s chest rose beneath his cheek. Steady. Warm. The faint beating of Matt’s heart was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Smitty didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

He indulged to the silence. To the shape of Matt’s breath. To the sound of his own heartbeat pulsing too loudly behind his ribs.

And in that stillness, he felt it, something fragile.

A want he wasn’t ready to name.

His eyes fluttered shut again. He could pretend a little longer. Just one more minute.

‘Just let me stay here.’

Matt shifted slightly.

His fingers curled a little tighter around Smitty’s side.

And Smitty almost, almost, let himself believe it meant something.

That maybe he wasn’t the only one holding on.

He pulled back just enough to look up.

Matt’s eyes were open,… and he was looking down at him.

Neither of them spoke.

Smitty’s mouth went dry.

Matt didn’t look surprised, or uncomfortable. He just… looked.

Like he was trying to memorize this. Like he wanted to.

Smitty’s voice barely worked. “Hey.”

Matt’s answer was soft. “Hey.”

A beat passed.

Matt smiled, sleep-warm and unguarded. “You sleep okay?”

Smitty swallowed. “Yeah. I think I… yeah.”

“Good,” Matt whispered.

And then he brushed a thumb, just once, barely, over the edge of Smitty’s hoodie where it had bunched against his shoulder.

The contact was nothing… The contact was everything.

Smitty’s breath hitched.

His eyes darted to Matt’s mouth, he didn’t mean to.

He just— he just looked.

And Matt saw.

Neither of them moved.

The moment stretched like elastic, taut and trembling.

Smitty’s heart was a drum in his chest.

He could say it.

He could do it.

But then—

Matt’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

The sound was sharp. Loud. Too loud.

Smitty jumped slightly.

Matt blinked. The spell snapped.

He reached over, grabbed it, turned the screen down without even looking. 

“Spam,” he muttered.

But the moment was gone.

Smitty pulled away, slowly, too slowly, and sat up, blinking into the light.

Matt stretched behind him, hand still warm from where it had been wrapped around him seconds ago.

Neither of them said anything else.

Not about it.

Not yet.

But when Smitty got up, and Matt sat up behind him, tousled and blinking, the silence between them wasn’t empty.

It was full of almosts.

And Smitty wasn’t sure how long he could keep pretending they didn’t matter.

Chapter Text

The thing about almost is that it echoes.

All week, Smitty heard it.

In the soft click of Matt’s phone hitting the nightstand after the buzz that ruined everything. In the way Matt had looked at him, eyes open and warm and there while Smitty’s head was still on his shoulder. In his own voice, thin and pathetic when he’d said hey like they hadn’t just almost crossed a line they’d been dancing around for months.

He went to class. He took notes. He answered questions when called on. He even got a quiz back with a neat little 98% circled at the top.

None of it stuck.

What did stick was the moment his eyes had dropped to Matt’s mouth and Matt had noticed and hadn’t moved away.

That moment lived in his head like a stuck song.

⸻

He tried to be normal.

He really did.

But “normal” apparently meant his brain short-circuiting every time Matt got closer than three feet.

On Monday, Matt dropped onto his bed with a groan and said, “We’re ordering takeout, I’m declaring a moratorium on dining hall food,” and Smitty’s entire nervous system went off like a car alarm because Matt’s thigh brushed his knee.

On Tuesday, Matt tossed him a granola bar on his way out the door, calling, “Don’t forget to eat, genius,” and Smitty spent fifteen minutes staring at it like it had personally witnessed his crimes.

On Wednesday, Matt put on a new playlist while half-laying on the floor, head propped on a pillow, humming along, and Smitty couldn’t listen to a single song without remembering the feel of Matt’s chest under his cheek, the way his arm had been wrapped around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

By Thursday, he was fraying at the edges.

He started staying longer in the library. Took the long way back to the dorm. Pretended to scroll on his phone in the common room just to delay stepping into their shared space where everything felt too small and too charged and too much.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Matt.

It was that every time he did, the truth got louder.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

⸻

By Friday night, the avoidance wasn’t subtle.

Matt was on his bed, sketchbook open, light from his lamp throwing soft shadows across his jaw. The fairy lights above his head made the whole room look gentler, safer, more intimate.

Smitty walked in, dropped his bag, and went straight to his desk.

No stupid comment. No “how was your day?” No anything.

Just silence.

For ten minutes, the only sounds were the scratch of Matt’s pencil and the click of Smitty’s trackpad as he pretended to check something important for the third time.

“Okay,” Matt said finally, pen pausing midline. “What’s going on?”

Smitty stiffened. “Nothing.”

“Cool,” Matt said. “And I’m majoring in astrophysics.”

Smitty clenched his jaw. “You barely go to your psych class. You’d die in astrophysics.”

“Exactly,” Matt said. “Which is how we know we’re both lying.”

Smitty stared at his screen, the brightness turned down so low he could barely read it.

He didn’t answer.

Matt closed his sketchbook with a soft thud. “You’ve been weird all week.”

“I’ve been busy,” Smitty said.

“Busy avoiding eye contact.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Of looking at me?” Matt’s tone was light, but the edge under it wasn’t.

Smitty’s throat tightened.

He could feel Matt’s gaze on the back of his neck, like heat.

“You want me to sleep somewhere else?” Matt asked quietly. “Couch in the lounge, I mean. If you need space.”

Smitty whipped around so fast his chair squeaked.

“No,” he blurted, heart lurching. “What? No. Why would you- no.”

Matt blinked, caught off-guard by the force of it.

“You haven’t been here,” Matt said. “Not really. Your body’s in the room, but your brain’s on fire somewhere else. And ever since we-..” He cut himself off, jaw flexing.

Ever since we woke up on top of each other.

Ever since you looked at my mouth like you wanted-

Smitty swallowed hard.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“The word ‘fine’ has lost all meaning,” Matt muttered.

He stood up.

Took two steps forward.

Then another.

Smitty’s chair bumped into the desk as he tried not to move away and not rush toward him at the same time.

Matt stopped in front of him, close but not touching.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

Smitty did.

It was a mistake.

Up close, Matt’s eyes were a thousand different shades at once: blue and tired and worried and something else Smitty was terrified to name. His hair was a mess, curls flattened on one side. There was a faint pencil smudge on his wrist.

“Did I do something?” Matt asked. “Did I cross a line?” His tone weak.

The question landed right in the center of Smitty’s chest.

“No,” he said, too fast. “God, no.”

“Then what?” Matt’s voice was so gentle it hurt. “Because there’s a before and after here, and I feel it, and I’m kind of losing my mind trying to guess which part of ‘fell asleep holding you while we passed out in a nest of snack wrappers’ went wrong.”

Smitty laughed, short and miserable. “Nothing went wrong.”

Matt’s brow creased. “Then why are you acting like I set you on fire?”

“Because you did,” Smitty snapped, and then froze, horror crashing over him.

Matt blinked. “That’s… not the answer I expected.”

Smitty dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Too late,” Matt said quietly. “You did.”

Silence stretched thin between them.

Smitty’s heart pounded so loud he was sure Matt could hear it.

He could collapse the whole thing right now. Make a joke. Say he meant it “platonically somehow,” turn it into a bit. They were good at bits. They lived in bits.

Instead, his mouth betrayed him.

Again.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, voice low and rough. “If I screw up a lab, I can redo it. If I bomb a test, I can calculate what I need on the final. I don’t… there’s no rubric for this. No guarantee I don’t just- ruin us.”

Matt’s expression shifted, something like understanding dawning in pieces.

“Smitty,” he said softly. “What exactly is this?”

Smitty’s pulse stumbled.

He looked at Matt’s collarbone. At the stupid hoodie strings lopsided against his chest. Anywhere but his eyes.

“This,” Matt repeated. “Because I wake up with you folded against me and my first thought is, this feels right, and your first thought seems to be ‘emergency, evacuate the premises.’ So what are we doing?”

“Existing,” Smitty said weakly.

Matt huffed. “Try again.”

Smitty’s hands curled into fists against his knees.

“Matt,” he said, “if I say it, and I’m wrong, I don’t know how to come back from that.”

Matt’s voice turned steady in that way it did sometimes, like he was putting his whole hand on the conversation.

“Then let me go first,” he said.

Smitty’s head snapped up.

Matt took a breath.

“I like you,” he said simply. “Like, past the point of ‘this is a fun bit to commit to.’ Past the point of ‘he’s my favorite person in the building.’ Past the point of, y’know, ‘totally platonic cuddling in a twin XL.’”

Smitty’s brain shorted out.

“I…” He swallowed. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Matt said. “I know I joke about everything, but not this. I like you. I have liked you. For a while. And I’ve been trying not to be weird about it because you looked like you’d sprint into traffic if I said it too directly.”

“That is… accurate,” Smitty muttered weakly.

Matt’s mouth twitched.

“But I can’t keep pretending this is nothing,” he added. “Not when you hold onto my sleeve when you fall asleep. Not when you look at me like that in the morning. Not when you get jealous of a group project and then buy me a muffin like you’re signing a peace treaty.”

Smitty’s face was on fire.

His chest hurt.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he said.

“You’re not going to,” Matt replied immediately.

“You don’t know that.”

Matt’s hand lifted, hovered like he was afraid to spook him. “Can I-?”

Smitty nodded before he could talk himself out of it.

Matt’s fingers curled gently around his wrist.

Warm. Solid. Real.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Matt said again, quieter. “But if you don’t say anything, you’re going to keep losing sleep and sanity and the ability to look me in the eye without short-circuiting. And frankly, I like your eye contact. It’s hot.”

Smitty huffed a laugh that came out half-strangled.

He took a breath.

Another.

The words sat heavy on his tongue, buzzing like a live wire.

“I like you,” he said finally, the confession cracking in the middle. “Too much. I don’t know when it started, but it- it won’t stop. And I don’t know how to be… casual about it. I don’t know how to do… whatever this is without going full disaster.”

Matt’s grip on his wrist tightened just slightly.

“Hey,” he said, eyes soft. “Disaster’s kind of my thing. You’re allowed to be messy about liking me. I promise I’ll keep up.”

Smitty laughed, breathless.

He felt strange.

Lightheaded.

Like he’d jumped off something high and was waiting to see if he’d land or keep falling.

Matt stepped in closer.

Their knees bumped.

“Can I ask a really dumb follow-up question?” Matt murmured.

Smitty nodded.

Matt’s voice dropped. “Can I kiss you?”

Time hiccuped.

Smitty’s heart was a drum in his ears.

He thought about every almost. Every time he’d stared at Matt’s mouth and looked away. Every 3AM playlist and shared blanket and stupid, quiet moment that had been building to this.

“Yes,” he breathed.

The word was small.

But it was everything.

Matt exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

“Okay,” he whispered.

He leaned in slowly.

Gave Smitty time to bolt, to panic, to change his mind.

Smitty didn’t.

He met him halfway.

Their mouths brushed, soft and tentative and real in a way nothing else had been.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t some cinematic swell of music.

It was warmth. It was the slide of Matt’s fingers moving from his wrist to his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone. It was the tiny, helpless sound Smitty made against his lips, the way his whole body leaned forward like it had been waiting for this exact gravity.

Matt smiled into the kiss, just barely.

“Hi,” he murmured, breath ghosting across Smitty’s mouth.

Smitty laughed, dizzy. “You already said that.”

“Worth repeating.”

The second kiss was less careful.

Smitty’s hands found Matt’s hoodie, clutching at the fabric like he needed something to hold onto. Matt’s mouth was warm, insistent but not demanding, giving him space to pull back, to breathe.

He didn’t want to.

He leaned in.

Matt walked them backward until Smitty bumped against the edge of the bed and practically fell onto it, pulling Matt down with him in a tangle of limbs and laughter and half-muffled curses.

They broke apart, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

“This is really happening, right?” Smitty whispered. “I didn’t finally snap from stress and hallucinate you?”

Matt chuckled, thumb still tracing slow, grounding circles at his jaw. “If you did, this is the hottest stress dream I’ve ever been part of.”

Smitty groaned and buried his face in Matt’s shoulder.

Matt’s chest shook with laughter.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You with me?”

Smitty nodded into his hoodie.

“Yeah,” he said. “Very much.”

“Good,” Matt murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

They stayed like that, tangled on the bed, kissing in small bursts between shaky breaths, until the noise in Smitty’s head finally started to quiet.

For once, the loudest thing in the room wasn’t his anxiety.

It was Matt’s heartbeat.

And the steady, overwhelming truth that they were finally, finally on the same page.

Chapter Text

Time got weird after that.

In Smitty’s experience, feelings usually came with three speeds: panic, paralysis, and “overthink until your brain melts.”

But lying there with Matt half on top of him, nuzzled close to his skin, his shirt rucked up, fingers over Smitty’s shirt splayed warm against his side, mouth kiss-bitten and swollen, Smitty discovered a fourth speed.

Float.

He felt like he was hovering two inches above his own body, watching himself do things he’d only ever let himself imagine in those late-night, guilt-soaked moments between sleep and waking.

Like lift his hand and slide it into Matt’s hair.

Like tug him back in for another kiss.

Matt went willingly, with a soft noise that shot straight through Smitty.

“Oh,” Matt breathed when they broke apart again, resting his forehead against Smitty’s. “You can’t just do that and look at me like that, you’ll kill me.”

“Like what?” Smitty asked, stupid and honest.

Matt laughed quietly, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “Like I’m the only thing in the room.”

“You kind of are,” Smitty admitted in a sheepish tone before he could stop himself.

Matt’s eyes went soft in that way that always made Smitty feel like his ribs were too tight.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because you’re definitely the only thing in mine.”

The words hit harder than they had any right to.

Smitty’s breath hitched.

He pulled Matt in again, kissing him like he was afraid the moment would evaporate if he hesitated.

This kiss was different, messier, hungrier. His fingers tightened in Matt’s hair, earning a low sound from him that made Smitty’s whole body spark.

Matt shifted, lazily lifting himself. He braced one hand by Smitty’s head, the other slipping under the hem of his shirt, warm palm skimming over his hip.

Smitty sucked in a breath.

“Okay?” Matt murmured, instantly stilling.

Smitty nodded, heart rattling against his ribs. “Yeah. Just, new. Good. Really good.”

A grin flashed across Matt’s face, brief and stunning.

“New and good,” he repeated. “I can work with that.”

His hand didn’t wander far, just resting there, fingers splayed over the slice of exposed skin like he was feeling his way through this as carefully as Smitty was.

The contact burned in the best way.

Smitty swallowed hard.

His own hands, which had been clinging to Matt’s hoodie for dear life, started to move without conscious permission. One slid down, tentative, tracing the line of Matt’s back through the fabric. The muscle under his palm tensed, then relaxed.

“Definitely good,” Matt exhaled.

“Shut up,” Smitty muttered as his cheeks gained more color, but his smile never wavered.

“You shut up,” Matt said automatically, and then ruined it by kissing him again.

The room shrank around them.

The fairy lights blurred into soft halos. The hum of the radiator, the occasional shout from the hallway, the distant slam of a door, all of it faded around the edges.

There was only this.

Warmth and breath and the squeak of the mattress when Matt shifted closer, fitting their bodies together like this was a spot they’d both been reaching for in the dark.

At some point, Smitty ended up on his side, Matt pressed against him, one of Matt’s legs hooked loosely over his. Their chests bumped with each inhale, each little shift.

Matt’s hand slid up under his shirt just a little more, palm flattening against his back, fingers curving in. Not rushed. Not grabbing.

Just holding.

Smitty made a sound he’d never heard from himself before, half-gasp, half-sigh.

Matt’s breathing stuttered.

“Smitty,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Panic flickered at the edges of Smitty’s mind, old habits rearing up, too much, too fast, you’ll mess this up, you always do, but then Matt’s thumb started tracing slow, reassuring circles against his spine, like he could feel the spiral start and was smoothing it out.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Matt said quietly, forehead pressing to Smitty’s temple. “I’m good kissing you like this until we disintegrate. I just- needed to say the obvious. For my own sanity.”

Smitty let out a shaky laugh.

“I want,” he said, surprising himself with how firm it sounded. “I… really, really want to-… I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

Matt’s hand stilled.

“Newsflash,” he whispered. “Neither do I. I’ve never—” He broke off, cheeks flushing even in the dim light. “Not like this. Not with someone I actually… care about this much. So we can figure it out as we go. We can stop. We can talk. We can make a spreadsheet if that helps.”

Smitty snorted. “You’re not allowed to say words like ‘spreadsheet’ while we’re making out. That’s a hate crime.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Matt laughed into his neck. “No spreadsheets. Just… us. Doing whatever feels okay. Yeah?”

Smitty nodded, throat tight.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Okay.”

He took a breath.

Settled his hand against Matt’s skin.

Waited.

Matt’s eyes met his, dark and steady.

Smitty slid his fingers up Matt’s side.

The feeling of warm skin under his palm nearly shorted him out completely.

Matt exhaled sharply, his own hand tightening at Smitty’s back.

“Definitely new and good,” Matt said weakly.

“Shut up,” Smitty repeated, voice coming out softer now, almost fond.

He pulled Matt in again. 

The next stretch of time turned hazy around the edges.

There were more kisses, slow and then less so.

There were breathless laughs when their noses bumped, when Matt nearly fell off the bed trying to shift for more space, when Smitty muttered something about “stupid twin XLs” and Matt answered with, “Hey, don’t insult our tiny love nest.”

There were hands, tentative at first, learning the map of each other’s shoulders, backs, the slope of a neck, the way fingers could curl into fabric and skin and make something low and bright catch in the other’s throat.

Smitty’s nerves flared in bursts, each new point of contact a spark, but underneath it was something steady. A deep, unfamiliar trust.

Every time he stiffened, Matt paused.

Every time he nodded, Matt smiled, small and genuine, and kept going.

At some point, Smitty’s shirt ended up on the floor, closely followed by Matt’s sweatpants. Neither of them registered the exact moment, too caught up in the way it felt to be pressed together, skin to skin, no space left for doubt to wedge itself into.

The world blurred into a series of snapshots.

Matt’s mouth trailing along his jaw, lingering at the corner of his lips.

Smitty’s hands splayed across Matt’s back, feeling the shift of muscle when he moved.

The sound Matt made when Smitty dared to pull him closer, no hesitation this time.

The way their breaths tangled, hot and uneven, filling the tiny space between them.

They didn’t talk much, not anymore.

Words gave way to small noises, half-whispered names, the occasional, “You okay?” murmured between kisses and answered with a soft whine, “Yeah. Don’t stop.”

Time lost its sharp edges.

The fairy lights above them glowed softly, bearing quiet witness as they let themselves fall the rest of the way into whatever they’d been tiptoeing around all semester.

Later, much later, Smitty would think back on the details. On how careful Matt had been, how he’d kept checking in, how they’d fumbled their way through new territory together and how, somehow, it had never felt wrong.

In the moment, though, there was no room for analysis.

There was only the overwhelming, staggering fact that this was real.

That this was him and Matt, not almost anymore, but choosing each other fully and not hiding from it.

The night folded around them.

Outside, the hallway noise rose and fell, doors opened and closed, someone laughed too loud near the elevators.

Inside their room, everything narrowed to heat and breath and the feeling of not being alone in his own body for once.

When the world finally slowed again, the lights were off, the blanket was a disaster around their legs, and Smitty was pressed against Matt’s chest, exhaustion humming through his bones.

Matt’s fingers traced lazy patterns along his back, slow and absentminded, like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

“Hey,” Matt murmured into his hair.

Smitty hummed, somewhere between waking and sleep.

“You still good?” Matt asked.

Smitty nodded against him. “More than good,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Kind of… freaked out in a not-bad way. But good.”

Matt huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah. Same.”

He pressed his nose into Smitty’s hair, breathing in.

“We can… talk more tomorrow,” he said. “Define things. Or not. Whatever you need.”

Smitty’s chest tightened.

He shifted just enough to look up at him.

“I want you,” he said simply, the honesty surprising both of them. “That’s… the definition. For me.”

Matt’s eyes went soft, mouth curving into the kind of smile Smitty felt all the way to his toes.

“Yeah,” Matt whispered. “Me too.”

Smitty let his eyes fall closed again.

Wrapped in Matt’s arms, heart still racing but in a new, steady rhythm, he finally let himself drift.

For the first time in a long time, his last thought before sleep wasn’t a list or a worry or a what-if.

It was a quiet, stunned, Oh.

And the realization that the space beside him, the space he’d been pretending was nothing, was finally, finally full.