Matt should be grateful he even hasthat, after the past nine years. His greed could destroy the good thing they’ve built and he can’t let that happen.
Matt exits the bathroom and blinks a few times in the dark. “Robert? Did you turn all the lights off?”
“Call me Bobby, you boob,” Robert answers from around the corner. “I’ve got a lamp on, don’t be dramatic.”
Matt waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he attempts to move. Everything is outlined with only the faintest hint of light until he turns and sees the bed.
To Robert’s credit, he did turn a lamp on, but one of the extra blankets from the closet is draped over it to dull the brightness.
The man in question lays on top of the covers, his arms pulled up under his head despite the perfectly reasonable pillow sitting above him. His gaze is drawn upwards, his stare fixated on the ceiling.
“What are you looking at?”
Robert scoffs. “The stars, obviously.”
Matt takes the bait and hops up onto the bed, excited to see what Robert’s cooked up. When he settles himself in roughly the same position, he blinks.
It’s just… ceiling. “There aren’t a lot of stars out tonight.”
“It’s what we get in exchange for a comfortable mattress.”
Matt can’t fault his logic. “Back then I would’ve traded a hundred starry nights for a padded mattress in a climate-controlled room.”
“With no spiders.”
“Jesus. Remember that night in Arizona? The scorpion?”
“I will never in my life,everforget it.” Robert lets out an aggravated huff. “Did you know they’re blacklight reactive? Would’ve made that trip a lot easier if we knew.”
“I don’t think shining a black light at our sleeping bags would’ve been a great idea, honestly.”
Robert laughs and pride blooms in Matt’s chest. Robert has a good laugh. He has a good everything, but after so many years of jealousy and resentment, Matt hasn’t had the opportunity to really appreciate the man in front of him.
The way his cheekbones catch the light, the way his nose scrunches when he’s happy, the way his eyes almost sparkle, even in the darkness.
“Be so fuckin’ for real with me—” Robert’s still smiling when he asks, “Do youactuallylike snakes now? What the fuck was that answer?”
“They’re fine.” In theory. In zoo exhibits. Not in Matt’s sleeping bag. It’s strange that Robert still remembers something he said months ago, though. “Mostly, I just wanted to win.”
“I knew it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m so predictable.”
“Not always.” Robert doesn’t elaborate and Matt doesn’t ask. “I missed this. We could always talk about anything like this.”
That’s the beauty of sky conversations—even if they can’t actually see the sky. “Yeah, I missed it too.”
“I loved you.” Robert sounds almost resigned to admit it. “I didn’t say it, but I should have. I think about it all the time now. Would everything be different if I hadjust?—?”
“Don’t.” Matt swallows around a lump in his throat. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“But maybe, if you knew?—”
“It wouldn’t have mattered, because I loved you too.” It’s a well-deserved punishment to have to admit so out loud. “And I’m really selfish, so if I didn’t stay for my own emotions, I wouldn’t have stayed for yours.”
Robert makes a noise like a guffaw. It can’t be disbelief—God knows he’s accused Matt of being selfish more than enough these nine years. “You’ve got a weird way of making me feel better.”
“Is it working?”
