Mattias Hellström's Literatures
Mattias can’t say what he’s thinking. That he’s always been curious about Blue’s nature as a voidtouched, from the first time he saw that blood dripping down his arm like ink in the dingy bathroom of his shitty Neon apartment. That he saw Blue just the other day, shirtless and making almost surgical cuts across his eye markings with a razor blade. His blood bubbled up to the surface, sizzling with intention, as he fell into the rhythm of stitching them back shut.
Blue’s voice cuts into his internal monologue. “Don’t think about him.” It’s a command, clear and sharp. What goes unsaid: if you think about him, he’ll appear. Mattias isn’t clear headed enough to know that right now.
It’s fucking criminal the way Blue has Mattias wrapped around his finger. A few flyers left lying around their begrudgingly shared apartment — Blue is a subletter who just happens not to pay rent, Mattias’ thoughts clamour to clarify — and the holoscreen conveniently set to news channels covering the appearance of the lake outside of Sor Solir at all hours of the day.
It’s Tuesday when he walks in on Galstrod shirtless, just out of the shower. His fur’s sticking to his body in this way that makes him look all lean and lithe and, yeah, Mattias is a little embarrassed. They’re both guys, so it’s not a big deal, but none of the guys on the ice hockey team look anything like Galstrod, delicate and wispy and bright like a stain you just can’t get out.
I throw myself into the dumpster, cursing when I feel the familiar weight of the key drop out of my pocket. I can’t lose that, it was ours — is ours. Mine and Lucifer’s, our quest for something. Mystery boys, I dunno. It’s special, not something ordinary, and Lucifer gave it to me for a reason.
I have to believe there was a reason.
Marriage is about commitment. A promise to be with someone for the rest of your life. And if that’s the only two criteria, then yes, Blue and Mattias may be a little bit married, but it’s not. There’s supposed to be some element of love involved, or feelings, or at least something other than bare annoyance and the urge to bludgeon, preferably with a large blunt object.