How The Light Gets In - 18. Chapter 18

Matt awoke slowly to a room grey and dim with early morning. He felt calm; there was no instant of surprise, of confusion. He knew exactly where he was, exactly why.

He glanced at the bedside clock.

7:43.

Luc was sleeping still, his face buried in the curve of Matt’s shoulder. The Québécois boy had drawn closer to Matt as he slept; now his left arm was bent across Matt’s chest, and the fingers of his wounded hand, no longer fisted in agony, were spread wide, and lay still and fragile against Matt’s collarbone. Matt could feel the soft sigh of every exhaled breath warm against his skin.

How many times had he awakened like this, with some curious boy’s head on his shoulder, some frightened man’s arm stretched across his chest? More than he could remember.

Sometimes these boys, these men, were like Luc, still sleeping.

And sometimes, sometimes, when they awoke, they turned away from him in shame.

For Matt, their feelings, their reactions, had never mattered much. It wasn’t about them. It never had been.

It was about him – and he had always hated the morning after. Hated the feeling of arms wrapped around him, of bodies curled hot against him. Outside the context of pleasure, another man’s touch had become almost unbearable.

His therapist told him it was because intimacy threatened him. Or maybe that was what he’d told his therapist. Whatever.

The truth of the matter was, waking up with someone had always led to a little lurch of panic, and he would push himself away from the body warmth, the blur of the previous night’s pleasure. He had become a kind of Houdini, expert at extricating himself.

It had been a long, long time since he’d awaked with someone else. A year and half – almost two. A very long time. But he had not forgotten that little lurch of panic, that urge to extricate himself.

Now, with this lovely boy in his arms, he searched for the stark familiarity.

It wasn’t there.

Somehow, this – this felt different. Somehow, he liked the weight of Luc’s head, there on his shoulder, the feel of his soft breathing, the touch of those tenderly curled fingers. He liked the sleepy scent of him.

Maybe it was because they were not skin to skin. Matt wore only the boxers he’d pulled on when he heard Luc cry out in his sleep – but Luc, as always, slept fully clothed in a soft oversized long sleeved T and long flannel pj pants. Separate. Cocooned. Safe from Matt’s touch.

Maybe it was because nothing had happened between them the night before. He’d held Luc as Luc has asked…and he’d left the boy alone.

Whatever the reason, Matt realized that he felt safe, waking up with this boy. Luc had trusted him – and Matt had proven himself worthy of that trust. He had stayed true to his own promises. The Québécois boy was forbidden. Matt would not feel anything more for him than friendship. He would not risk anything else – not for Luc’s sake, and not for his own.

It was, he realized, time to get up, to leave the warmth of this bed. Luc seemed to be sleeping deeply, and Matt figured the medication would hold at least until 9. Luc’s first class was at 11; Matt himself had nothing until mid afternoon. Plenty of time. He would get up, shower, read a little, make some coffee. He liked making coffee now, liked that it made Luc smile, liked that his new mastery of the machine had become their private domestic joke.

He sighed, shifted a little, but instead of drawing away, found himself rubbing his chin, his jaw, slowly against the softness of the wild black curls. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to breath in the warm scent of this beautiful sleeping boy, who he would not, could not, allow himself to desire. Then he shifted cautiously, and wrapped his hand gently around Luc's wrist to move it away from where it rested, warm and still, against Matt’s neck.

Luc moved, sighed, and beneath his fingers Matt felt the sudden tightening, twisting, of his wounded hand. The fingers began to curl once again into a fist, tightening against Matt’s chest.

Luc whimpered softly.

Matt took Luc’s hand between his own and rubbed gently, soothing the tightening fingers as he had the night before. He could feel the beginnings of muscle spasm, much weaker than a few hours before, but still. Spasm.

Luc stiffened against him, and this time made a small, hurt sound.

“Shh,” Matt whispered, continuing to rub his fingers until slowly, slowly, he felt them relax again.

“Matt?” Luc’s voice was soft and sleepy, as indistinct as the fog grey morning.

Matt moved his head a little, kissed the soft, black curls. “I’m here,” he said, still caressing the wounded hand. “You ok?”

Luc moved his hand, deliberately this time, and Matt felt those long, slender fingers slip from between his hands, slide along his collarbone and then curl around his throat.

“Mmmmm,” said Luc.

Then his leg moved, up and over Matt’s legs, his thigh warm and surprising heavy across Matt’s thighs, just beneath his cock, which was suddenly hard and hungry and very, very aware.

“Ca va bien,” Luc said, his voice adorably sleepy. “I’m fine.”

Matt could feel the words as warm damp breath against his neck. Now entirely tangled with this lovely, lovely boy, he trembled.

For a few heartbeats he held his breath, fighting back the hunger, the swift and sudden need. He did nothing, would do nothing. Even when Luc drew closer, and Matt felt him relax again into sleep.

This boy trusted him, was right to trust him.

And all he gave into was the warm lethargy, and the desire to pull Luc closer, and the need to go back to sleep holding this boy in his arms.

***

It was pushing 2 o’clock, and the caf was mostly empty. Otherwise, Bran wouldn’t have noticed his brother, sitting alone at an empty table. He made his way across the enormous room, set down his laden tray, and flung himself down into the chair opposite.

Matt looked up from the book he was reading. “Hey,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” Brandon asked.

Matt shrugged. “I’ve got a couple of hours to kill between Luc’s first class and mine. It’s convenient and I still have a bunch of meal tickets. What about you? Thought you were still bringing food to Laura’s room.”

“She decided to go to class today,” said Bran. “And then she’s gonna have lunch here. First time since she fell.”

“How is she doing?”

“Ok,” Bran said slowly. “I mean – I think it’s gonna take awhile. And I don’t just mean the physical part.”

“How’s the leg?”

Bran shrugged. “They did X-rays yesterday. They’re pretty sure it will heal just fine.” He paused, wondering how to continue.

“But,” said Matt.

“But she’s not sure she wants to go back to the team,” said Bran. “She’s fought through major rehab twice already, and she’s just not sure she wants to do it again.”

“She’s scared,” said Matt. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” said Bran slowly. “I think she is. But she’s gotta deal with it. She can’t just stay locked up in her room forever. It won’t solve anything.”

He was worried about Laura. He didn’t really care whether she decided to go back on the team, or to retire from gymnastics; he’d support her either way. But he did want her to rejoin the world. As much as he wanted to protect her from everything and everyone, he knew it was time.

She was nervous about it. Over the last two weeks, the fierce independence she’d shown immediately following the surgery had evaporated into a brooding quiet. She was like a small animal in hiding, her room a sanctuary, a guarded cocoon. Few were admitted. No one from the gymnastics team, not even her coach. She allowed Scott to bring her class notes and Bran to bring her meals.

Some nights – some nights she didn’t want Matt to leave. He’d share her narrow bed, hold her while she fell asleep, while she slept.
It was killing him.

“The thing is,” he said slowly, wondering how to put this into words without it sounding ridiculously melodramatic. “Without the gymnastics, it’s almost like she isn’t sure who she is anymore.”

He felt Matt’s fingers on the back of his hand.

“Give her some time,” he said. “Recreating yourself is tough.”

Bran looked at his brother curiously. Was that what Matt was doing? Recreating himself yet again?

“Why aren’t you meeting her?” Matt asked. “Can she can manage alone with the crutches?”

Bran was mildly surprised at Matt’s concern. Surprised and pleased. “I would have,” he said, smiling. “But she’s coming with Scott. They have the same class – and he said he’d carry her here if he had to.”

Matt did not smile back. “She ok with that?”

Bran thought of Laura the night before, slumped on her bed with her foot propped on her desk chair. When he and Scott had announced this plan she’d agreed, but was obviously uncertain about the endeavour. Last night was one of the nights she’d asked him to stay; she’d slept restlessly in his arms.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “In principle, I guess.”

Matt met Bran’s eyes for a second, and then looked away. “You guys need to cut her some slack,” he said. “Coming back’s hard.”

Bran knew he was talking about a lot more than Laura’s broken ankle.

He said nothing for a moment, studying his brother thoughtfully. They’d hardly seen each other over the past two weeks, had only talked a few times by phone.

On a personal level, they hadn’t connected at all. Bran could see that Matt was even more self-contained than usual. Tight and drawn, holding everything in with a ferocity that accepted no companionship.

“Matt?”

“Mmmm?”

“You ok?”

The silence stretched between them. Just when Bran thought he wouldn’t answer, Matt looked up from his lunch tray. His grey-blue eyes looked more wary than annoyed.

“Yeah,” he said shortly. “I’m good.”

Brandon didn’t believe it – but he knew better than to ask more.

He was worried about Matt, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He had hoped that having him back here at St. G would somehow help them work their way back to normal, back to the wonderfully close brotherhood they’d once shared. Sometimes Bran felt there was a huge hole in his life where his brother had been. Now, he wasn’t sure if it would ever be possible to reclaim their closeness. The extended period back home with their parents seemed to have given him time and space to heal in some ways – but Matt was so different now. So…separate. Almost like another person.

Brandon’s great fear was that this uncomfortable wariness between them was the new normal. That his brother had just been through too much, and would never be the same again.

He had a strong and sudden flashback to that day when he’d confronted Matt at Whistler. It hadn’t taken much asking around on the ski hills to find where he was working. Every guy he’d asked had smirked at Matt’s name. That was why Bran had decided not to confront him at work. Instead, he’d asked around a little more, until a girl in one of the ski shops had finally coughed up his address.

Bran would never forget how he’d found Matt that day. He’d arrived at the small chalet in the middle of the morning, and he could hear the music throbbing into the icy wind. It took several minutes of pounding and yelling before the door swung open and he was face to face with his drunk and cursing brother, whose naked body was bruised and streaked and stinking of sweat and alcohol.

He’d never forget the other guys either. At first, they were just voices from the other room, calling Matt back, their invitations crude and explicit in the extreme.

Matt winced at every phrase. Eventually, when he did not answer, they emerged, naked and drunk like his brother, ordering him to close the fucking door, ordering him back...

But most of all, he would never forget the look on Matt’s face when Matt realized who he was. The initial look of horror – and then the collapse into shame.

Brandon pushed the memory away. He still didn’t understand what had brought Matt to that point – but he knew how far he had come, and how hard he had worked for it. If this careful distance between them was the price he had to pay for bringing his brother home, then he would pay it.

But he didn’t want to.

He loved his brother too much to ever fully accept a careful, distant politeness. He could only hope that Matt loved him too much too.

Now, Matt sat calmly across the table from him, staring thoughtfully into the middle distance, giving nothing away. He looked…good, Bran supposed. Healthy. Stylish. Carefully dressed.

But so…different from the big brother he’d grown up with.

Bran thought of that Matt, his Matt, the cheerful, outgoing boy who had been his hero forever. 18 months older, and always the wise one, the brave one. One of those guys who moved easily among the different groups – the jocks, the cool kids, even the brainers. Matt, who was always bigger and stronger and smarter, and who had always, always made time for his kid brother.

Back in high school, that Matt would never have been sitting alone like this. That Matt had had so many friends.

And so many girlfriends.

That was the part that Bran had found so confusing.

Because that Matt had not only been outgoing and open and friendly – but he had always had a girlfriend. A hot girlfriend. They never lasted long, but from the time Matt had been 13 or 14, there had been a steady stream of them, each one prettier than the last. Bran could remember them all – because secretly he himself had lusted after each and every one of them.

Bran had had an inkling, even then, that, despite his popularity and his pretty girls, Matt was more complicated than he appeared. Not that Brandon had thought much of it at the time. He’d accepted it as, well, part of being older. But by the time Matt had gone off to university, when Brandon himself was 16 and in his last year of high school, he began to suspect that Matt was not just more complicated, but that he was wrestling with something more difficult.

He knew exactly when this thought first occurred to him. It was the morning after he’d had sex for the first time, with the very lovely Rebecca. God, she was a gorgeous girl. Waist-length black hair that felt like silk in his fingers, and eyes so dark and mysterious he could have drowned in them. He still smiled every time he thought of her. A year older, a year wiser, and he had been absolutely crazy in love with her. At least – it had felt like love.

The morning after, Matt had still been bursting with joy. The way she’d touched him, the way he’d felt touching her, the way he had been welcomed in… God, he’d thought he would die of it.

His heart had been so full of joy there had been no way he could hide it. Not from Matt, who knew more about him than he knew about himself. As soon as they were alone in the kitchen –

“Okay, Bran. Spill it.”

And he’d spilled it.

Told his brother, in shy, awe-filled phrases, what had happened the night before.

The wonder of it.

The magic.

He wouldn’t have told anyone else. He couldn’t have. Not like that.

But Matt…Matt had always understood him. Matt had never made fun of him. Surely Matt would understand this. Matt who had had so many girlfriends.

But to Brandon’s surprise, Matt’s reaction had been strange and distant. He had seemed – overwhelmed by emotion.

“That’s great, Bran,” he’d said. His voice had trembled, almost like he’d been about to cry. “I’m really, really happy for you. You deserve this.”

And then he’d left the room, and somehow managed never to let Brandon bring the subject up again.

But it was when Brandon got to St. G’s himself that he really started to see the darkness inside Matt.

He saw the recognition of it in other people’s eyes when they spoke of his brother.

He saw it in Matt’s eyes in odd flashes of desperation.

Because once he got to St. G’s, Brandon saw it all – the booze and the drugs and the boys and the point where everything changed. Nothing about Matt was the same. He didn’t talk the same way, move the same way. He didn’t seem to...care about Brandon the same way. Bran felt he was losing his brother.

But by the time he’d realized that there was something really seriously wrong, something manic and dangerous in the drinking and the desperate partying, it was already too late. He tried to talk to Matt, but his brother wouldn’t listen. Matt was at the edge of a dark hole and nothing Bran could say was able to pull him back.

And then Matt had met Josh Templeton, and fell completely to pieces. Imploded in slow motion.

Brandon still felt guilty about it. He still wished he had done something more, something sooner. Talked to his parents. Talked to someone. But he hadn’t known what to do, not without betraying Matt’s confidence. Because while Matt had told Brandon about the whole being gay thing – he hadn’t yet told their parents. And whatever Matt’s darkness was, Bran knew it was all wrapped up with the being gay thing.

It was probably wrong, probably politically incorrect, for him to think about it that way – the being gay thing. He just didn’t know how else to explain it to himself. Somehow, somehow, this darkness that had almost swallowed Matt had something do with the gay thing.

Something Bran didn’t understand.

Maybe something he couldn’t understand.

Bran had done a lot of thinking about it. He knew, really knew, that he was completely all right with his brother being gay. It had shocked him when he found out – he had been totally unprepared, without the faintest idea, the tiniest suspicion – but it didn’t make him love Matt less – or even, he was pretty sure, any differently.

But while he was ok with it, he wasn’t sure Matt was.

He remembered the night Matt told him. It had been over the Christmas holidays of Matt’s second year, after Bran had announced his intention of attending St. G’s. Matt had been out really late, partying with high school friends, and stumbled into Bran’s room late at night, very drunk. He’d collapsed on the edge of Bran’s bed and cried. It took a long, long time before he finally choked out the words.

Not knowing what to do or say, Bran had simply wrapped his arms around his brother and held on. The next morning Matt was gone.

Bran had found himself thinking about Matt’s confession – and that was what it had been, a tearful confession – all the time. It was very confusing. There were some out guys at his high school, but no one he really knew. And despite all the words that got thrown around in locker rooms, he had never really thought about what it meant.

If his brother could be gay, then anyone could.

His friends.

His teammates.

Himself?

Weird as it seemed now, for a time, he really did actually wonder if he might somehow discover, in year or two, that he was gay too. People always said he was so much like Matt…

Bran had a scientific mind, so he’d set out in a very orderly way to test the possibility. He spent time on the net, researching. It hadn’t taken many clicks to get to the porn sites – or many clicks to get on the porn sites.

He’d looked at the images and thought about it. Really thought about it. And realized, uh, no fucking way. The very idea of a guy looking at him the way

Rebecca looked at him, touching him the way Rebecca touched him, of a touching another guy like that...

No.

Sexuality, he decided, had nothing to do with what you wanted to do, and everything to do with who you wanted to do it with. He definitely wanted to do it with girls and definitely did not want to do it with guys.

But if Matt was gay, how had he managed with all those girlfriends? Had he felt about them the way Bran felt about...being with a guy? How could he have pretended so long, so hard?

Or had he liked girls, and then – changed?

That was something that still confused him. Because, if he was perfectly honest with himself, (and Brandon liked to be perfectly honest with himself) the Matt who was sitting before him now was pretty obviously gay. Not in some over the top clichéd flaming way like that asshole Stevie, who turned it on and off at will, but obviously enough, if you paid attention. There was just…something in the way he talked, the way he moved. When Bran introduced him to people, that look got exchanged. He knew things got said.

Bran didn’t know where that came from – the mannerisms. They hadn’t been there in high school, he was positive of that. Matt had been, well, normal in high school. There hadn’t been a murmur, a suspicion of a murmur, that he was anything but straight. Bran had had that confirmed a million times by his old high school friends – and by Matt’s old friends – who still couldn’t believe he was gay.

Bran thought of the other gay guys he’d come to know. None was obvious as Matt. Scott – Scott was just another jock. If someone didn’t tell you, you’d never know – and even then, some scepticism was understandable. And Luc was kinda geeky, but there was nothing…gay about him that Bran would have picked up on. Josh – Josh was a little different. Nothing obvious, but when you were told he was gay, well, yeah. That worked. It was believable...

But Matt...

“Hey,” said Matt suddenly. “Looks like he did have to carry her to get her here.”

Bran turned around to see Scott in making his way towards them, with Laura giggling in his arms.

“Fuck,” said Matt, sounding genuinely angry. “Luc’s carrying her crutches. He shouldn’t be carrying anything. He overdid his hand last night; he was up half the night. I had to bring him pain pills –”

***
Matt was on his feet and almost running across the room. Luc didn’t see him coming. Luc didn’t see him at all. He was too busy watching fucking Scott. Matt was almost overwhelmed by the swift and sudden surge of jealously.

Look at me! He wanted to say.

I’m the guy who was up half the night with you.

The guy who held you while you fell asleep.

The guy you woke up with this morning.

But when he reached them, he didn’t say any of those things. He just said Luc’s name, very quietly. When Luc turned to him, silver blue eyes wide, he felt his throat tighten.

“Matt!” said the Quebecois boy, his mouth curving into a smile so tender that Matt felt all his anger slide away.

He smiled back.

“Let me have those, pretty boy,” he said, reaching to take the crutches from Luc.

When Luc, still smiling, passed them over, their fingers grazed.

Matt’s awareness burned.