Chapter Text
There was a screaming toddler to his right and two whisper-shouting grown men in an argument to his left. With a lot of deliberation, careful thinking, and meticulous reflection (AKA, one second of thought), Matt would take the screaming toddler any day.
Just listening through his one airpod makes him wanna go deaf. But well, at least his brothers have the decency to be moderately quiet about it.
He breathes through his nose, savouring the fresh air and someone hitting the vape a couple feet away.
It was one of those days, where they have collectively nothing planned after about two weeks of working and having plans. They've been cooped up in the house, or inside a car, and arguing a little too often, which caused Nick to come to the conclusion that they needed to go on a walk. A simple walk: no vlogging, no TikTok-ing, no personas, no bullshit. They'll walk to the park and pick up some food van food and have a pseudo-picnic. After a few hours, they'll pack up and head home and stop for some groceries or takeout.
Really, it was just a day purely for chilling. And Matt would appreciate it—he did, at the start—until they started up yet another argument on the way to the park and haven't stopped. Usually, Matt would listen and chime in whenever needed, or break it up when he felt adventurous, but today he just rolled his eyes and plugged in an airpod.
They didn't even stop long enough to order without slipping in a snide comment, which made Matt, of all people in the world, have to place their orders toward the overly-enthusiastic food vendor (really, it's 3PM on a hot Tuesday, what are you so enthusiastic for?).
“Brothers, eh?” The woman said with a grin that genuinely scared him, but it's only because he was so unprepared for this interaction. He nearly dropped his wallet as he was fishing out a few dollars for their fried-whatever.
He just strained a smile and chuckled, looking absolutely not at her as he handed her the money. “Haha, yeahh…”
She didn't speak to him at all after that, handing over their food with a weird look. Well, get some triplet brothers and you'll feel what he feels, judgy bitch.
They didn't even regard him as he shoved their respective corn dogs into their hands, forcing him to hold their shared side of fries with his food. Now, he didn't even have enough hands to hold his phone and ignore them until they found a spot.
He should've just stayed home, Matt thinks, through the blaring music and Chris's voice threatening to shout.
“—THINK about it, use your brain, for one damn second—”
“Can you see me? I'm waiting for the right time,”
“—NO! I’ve heard you out already and I don't wanna hear it—”
“I can't read you, but if you want, the pleasures all mine,”
“—Oh, look at me, I'm Nick, and I'm too stubborn to consider anyone else's opinion other than mine—”
“Can you see me using everything to hold back?”
“—Chris, I swear to fuck, Satan, and the Holy Bible, I will stab you in the eye with this corn dog—”
“I guess this could be worse,”
“—JUST because you're too pussy to admit that I'm right—”
“Walkin’ out the door with your-”
“Hey!”
Matt's eyes slide open automatically, the instrumental of Bags falling as background noise as he reverts to reality. A fine skill he's learnt over the years (and a very necessary one). He begins to look around, a habitual reaction when he hears a stranger calling out for someone in public. He doesn't know if it began when they started making videos- if it was just a natural human response or if it's an anxiety thing- but it's always been his first thought. At the same time, he checks, double-checks, to see if his mask is on. And then triple-checks for the hell of it.
When he begins to look around, it only takes a couple of seconds before he finds the source of the yell. The first thing he notices is their hair, tightly braided with some strands framing their face, looking alive and healthy despite the muted pink dye. He actually stops in his place because of how beautifully styled it is.
The second thing is that they're looking directly at him.
Oh.
He flushes under his gaze.
“Yes, you!” They smile, and begin walking towards him.
Oh, fuck.
Matt subtly glances at his brothers, hands tightening where they are grasping the containers of food. He feels the panic increase tenfold when he turns and sees them no longer one or two feet away from him, but fucking twenty.
Okay. It's okay. It's just one fan interaction without his brothers. They recognised you, but it was just one person. You can do this. You can have a conversation without your brothers leading or shadowing you.
He takes a deep breath, turning back towards the person. You can do this, just say hi, let them do the usual fan interactions, politely excuse yourself. Okay? Say hi, usual fan interaction, excuse yourself. Say hi, usual fan interaction, excu—
“Hi! I just wanted to come over to say I really like your style,” He smiles bashfully, a tint of red on their cheeks.
—se… yourself…?
Matt finds himself lagging. “Sorry?” He says, nearly choking on his words. Now that he's closer, he can distinguish their features more clearly. They have a septum piercing, silver and with spikes, and dark eyeshadow with pink eyeliner. Their blush highlights the freckles on their cheeks and over their nose bridge. Distantly, he marks him down as probably the most attractive person he's ever seen in his life.
He snaps back to reality to see them fretting, even redder than before.
“—But now I'm realising that that might be a weird thing to do—oh, shit, who am I kidding, that's so fucking weird, oh my god I'm so sorry—”
Matt's back straightens, nearly dropping a fry, face reddening to match his. “—No! No, nono, it's okay! Um, my style, you said?” He shakily looks down at his clothes. He didn't really put too much effort into his outfit today, which in Chris terms means that he did but doesn't really think it's all that. He's really just wearing a black tank top and a jacket tied around his waist in jeans. There's not much he changed, other than a carabiner clipped to one of his belt loops and a few chains.
He seems to calm down a little, which calms him a bit down in return. “Yeah! Dude, I'm loving this aesthetic, like for real—and god, those earrings are so damn cool!!”
Matt lets out an involuntary laugh. “Oh- thank- thank you!” He stammers, because being in this person's presence just seems to make him all jumpy and fluttery, “You know, you're not looking too bad yourself! I really like your nose piercing! And- and your eyeliner.”
They smile and he almost gets knocked out. “Thanks! This hurt like a bitch for a while, but it's doing okay now,” Then, he regards him with a look that, if he wasn't already clinging to his self-control like life support, would've made his knees buckle.
“Y'know, I feel like you'd look even prettier with eyeliner.”
There's a silent two seconds before they both just process what he said. Then, Matt can feel his heart rate go absolutely nuts. They begin to try to explain, an incoherent void of stutters, but nothing goes through.
He.
He was just called pretty?
Pretty?
He's heard people call him ‘pretty’ a handful of times, almost too much to count. It's practically his character. There's the TikTok editors, Chris and Nick when they feel like annoying him, his mom when coddling him. But—
To be called pretty, so outright, so suddenly, in real life—
He short-circuits, unable to respond other than to stare blankly forward as they flail their arms around in a panic. He can almost see steam rising from the top of their head, as they wave so fast it breaks the sound barrier and runs off to a group standing a bit farther away.
Matt doesn't move, staring, just thinking, thoughts racing through his mind at mach-ten speeds, but most of them including—
Pretty.
I feel like you'd look even prettier with eyeliner.
Prettier.
You look pretty.
He thought I was pretty.
I'm pretty?
He's heard it so often that it simply becomes another compliment to brush off.
They thought I was pretty?
It really shouldn't affect him like this.
Pretty.
And he's sure he's seen some edit of his face having photoshopped eyeliner on. There's no reason for it to affect him that badly. Why is he still thinking about it? He practically hears it every day. And this time, it was just from a guy.
The most stunning guy he's ever laid his eyes on.
What-?
A face suddenly appears, leaning into his vision.
“Matt? Are you okay?” Nick says, pressing both hands on his shoulders in a way that he knows grounds him. It's a sweet thing, but he probably thinks he's having a panic attack right now.
He just nods absentmindedly. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Yep.”
His mind is still going haywire, a guy called me pretty, Nick, oh my god-
He feels another hand pat his back. When he looks to the side, he sees Chris’ face. He practically brightens up like a puppy when he sees Matt look at him. “Hey, Matty. We found a spot over there, let's go eat. I'm sure you're tired of carrying this stuff.”
He looks down. Right. Food. They're in the park. Relax. That was the plan. He's surprised he hasn't dropped anything.
Matt breathes in, kind of compromised by his mask but who cares. Get a hold of yourself. That was nothing.
He looks at Nick, no doubt still worrying, and smiles. “Okay, let's go then.”
He learns later on that they were arguing about which fruit would win in a gladiator-type fight-to-the-death. Matt throws jackfruits into the fire and watches how Nick justifies lemons and Chris shouts about the usefulness of a durian before it's quickly shut down by an exasperated, “They're fruit, Chris, they can't fucking smell.”
After he even gets to the first syllable of ‘pineapples’ it's immediately shut down with two collective “way to be basic, Matt”.
It was nothing. And it'll continue to be nothing, because it wasn't anything.
(And when he gets home, he tells no one about the eyeliners he quickly bought on their way back.
Tells no one about how his face became hot every time he remembers that comment, every time he remembers his face, mind whirling with thoughts that never silenced.
Tells no one about how he laid up, staring at the ceiling all night, eyes adorned with ink.
Shit.)