XX Now.

The vocalist’s head lolls against his chest, eyes still blank and glazed over. While Brian kicks open the bedroom at the end of the bus, the one that Matt and Brian share, Matt is silent and doesn’t move, but brian swears he feels matt nuzzle his collar bone with his nose and lips.

“Matt, fucking stop it,” Brian hisses, jarring him slightly in his arms, and immediately, he stops. “H-how could you do that? You stupid, s-selfish son of a bitch! How the fuck could do that to your own baby…to my baby?!” He shoves Matt onto the bed, trying to still be somewhat gentle, but the adrenaline in his veins is intoxicating.  For the first time in close to a year, tears are stinging in his eyes.

Matt, unsettled by all the movement, weakly tries to interject; “Bri—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to palm Matt’s stomach in an attempt to feel for movement.  There’s a tightness in his throat when he doesn’t feel anything.

The vocalist vainly tries slap his hand away and Brian snarls, forcefully pinning down his hands at his sides, and continues to press and prod his frontman’s abdomen.

Predictably, Matt stiffens under his touch, swallowing nervously. Brian knows Matt can’t stand people touching his stomach—especially not this obsessively—because he knows he’s the only other person  that’s ever felt the baby. The frightened vulnerability in Matt’s eyes doesn’t fit right with the muscles and tattoos. But Brian doesn’t care if he’s being a jerk right now; he can’t care. In a second he gives up, bringing a hand to cover his mouth before he leans his elbows on his knees and rips at his hair.

“H-how much did you take?” he chokes.

Matt stutters something through shaky breaths, and reaches out tentatively to try and touch Brian’s back. But the guitarist flinches and turns on him, livid.

“ANSWER ME!” 

“I said I didn’t do it, Brian,” Matt wheezes through a raw throat, voice weak and half muffled by the sheets. “I couldn’t.”

 Brian blinks, staring at him.

Matt blankly returns the shocked look with tired green eyes, before dropping his gaze and collapsing back against the pillows again.

“What?”

Matt doesn’t look up but his hand slowly comes to rest on the curve of his stomach. “You heard me.” With quivering fingertips, he touches the stretch of skin between his bellybutton and the edge of his basketball shorts.  “She’s fine—she’s just asleep.” His voice is barely audible.

Brian stares at his hand, skeptical, and then glances back at Matt’s face. The vocalist is shutting his eyes now and numbly turning his face in toward the bed.

“But the lines?” he whispers, hands practically shaking. “The razor blade and the countertop, I heard it. I saw it.”

Matt shrugs, taking one of those wavering deep breaths that one can only truly accomplish when you’re trying not to sob.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, shoulders falling visibly. “Don’t ever put me through that again.” Sighing, he tries to calm down, and looks over at the exhausted man. He should be relieved, but the broken expression in Matt’s eyes makes him frown. He realizes that this problem probably runs a lot deeper than nearly giving into a craving.

Luckily, in the four months that Matt had been unknowingly carrying his little stowaway, the morning sickness had lead him away from alcohol and drugs because he’d been feeling like shit and puking nearly every day without having excruciating hangovers on top of it.

So even though he’d never really been into that stuff much before, Matt had gone cold turkey as soon as he’d found out;  if Brian had taken time to think…he would’ve realized that even withdrawals, no matter how strong, wouldn’t have made matt do it against his will and better judgment.

So it had to have been a conscious decision.

Something turns to ice in Brian’s chest. “Matt, did you…” he can’t finish. He wants to stop breathing, standing there by the bed with his arms crossed as he stares down at him. “Did you want to try to kill yourself?” he asks, voice barely above a tentative whisper.

At this Matt almost does lose it, and chokes back a sob, trying to will it away by biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. He shakes his head furiously, and his fingertips curl away from his stomach, clenching into fists at his sides. “N-no. Not myself. Just…” He doesn’t even need to finish the sentence, because Brian unfortunately understands.

“…the b-baby?”

Matt doesn’t reply, and the silence serves as both his acknowledgement and concurrence. Brian blinks slowly, willing away the emotion in his eyes as he glances down at his hands. He wants to vomit.

 “Why would you want to do that?” he asks with a voice quiet not out of trepidation but instead the result of trying to force himself to remain calm.

Fury, heartbreak, betrayal.

They’re all hidden in that soft, timid voice, and somehow, Matt knows it because he answers in the tone of a man dying inside.

 “You can’t blame me for not being prepared to deal with this,” he says reluctantly. “I have no one to talk to about this—not even my own fucking mother. Isn’t that what women do? Ask their moms shit? Well, I don’t have that. I don’t have an ‘Idiot’s Guide’ to this fiasco.”

Brian nods, recognizing it as a valid point but not approving by any means.

As Matt pauses to chew on his lip ring for a moment, Brian realizes that that’s the only thing about Matt’s body besides his gauges that hasn’t changed lately.

Even his hair now, after the doctor had deemed black hair dye unsafe during pregnancy, is back to its original sandy brown. He hasn’t seen it that color since they were kids. His skin now is flushed rosy gold usually, and his lips are fuller, almost to a pout. His feet are swollen, and only one of his rings still fits. His eyes have somehow gotten brighter, more brilliant, and even more piercing than before.

But, most significantly, there’s a nearly soccer-ball sized bulge just above the waistband of his shorts. Tabloids have been having a field day pointing out his ballooning figure, but luckily no one suspects what it truly is because Val has agreed to save Matt the risk of stress and pretend they’re still dating. That’s probably the bigger of the two lies.

Val hasn’t spoken to Matt in weeks.

 “And everyone’s fucking protecting me and shit, where ever I go. Like I need that or something suddenly just because of this,” he sighs exasperatedly, glancing down his torso. “They tell me not to do this, and not to do that and to make sure I do certain stuff …but no one’s helping. They just make it worse.” He nervously pulls at a thread on his fraying wife beater.  “No one said any shit about feeling too nauseated to breathe, not being able to sleep for days, and having something wedge its head under your ribs when you fucking try to perform.” 

Brian rolls his eyes. “Well I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable,” he mutters bitterly, “I guess that justifies everything.”

“Fuck you, Brian!” Matt shoves him on the side of his chest with the heel of his palm. “You can’t begin to understand what this is like!”

“I could say the same to you, Matt,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

Matt’s about to scream something in retaliation when he feels a swift kick to one of his kidneys. He grimaces in annoyance, nursing the spot, and looks up just in time to see the suddenly concerned look on Brian’s face before he masks it. The baby hates when he raises his voice and it never fails to protest. Lowering his voice, he tries to explain.  

“Look, I know you want this baby,” he begins, “So I’m sorry for scaring you like that.” Glancing down at his hand, he uses his fingernail to scratch at his thumb; “I guess I… I don’t know; I just—I just wanted things to be normal again.”

Brian’s brows raise, “We haven’t been normal since we went platinum, Matt. Things will never be normal again.”

“Then I at least wanted life to be more normal than this! More normal than having some creature shoving around in me!” he hisses in a hoarse whisper. “You have to see where I was coming from with this…”

Brian clenches his jaw. Matt certainly hadn’t been calling their daughter a creature when Brian caught him taping iPod headphones to his stomach. So what the hell had gone wrong?

Matt looks up at the ceiling. “I needed you, and you left me,” he whispers, “it wasn’t just a mood swing— Brian, I was scared, and I'm still scared.” Now, his eyes are panicked, searching Brian’s for sympathy, understanding, or at least, anything but hate. “I didn’t say anything before…and look where it got me. So now, I’m telling you. I need you; not just to protect me, but to tell me I don’t look as huge as I feel, listen to me when I have to vent, and tell me it’s going to be alright even if you know it’s not! Because I need that right now, Brian. I fucking need you to be there for me.”  

There’s a long silence between them, in which Brian’s eyes soften and he finally takes a good look at Matt Sanders. And what he sees makes his chest painfully tight.

All this time, Brian’s gone on treating him like M shadows—the invincible, cocky, rock star—when obviously, Matt has only been Matt Sanders—vulnerable, suddenly unsure of himself, and alone. Why hadn’t he seen it before now?

Brian waits a while before he finally replies, unsure how deep of a commitment Matt will allow him. “Just until the time comes?”

Matt doesn’t answer, knowing exactly what he’s referring to because it’s been on his mind every day since that fucking plus sign appeared on that white plastic stick. Brian sighs. He could’ve guessed it would turn out like this. Matt probably wanted to attempt to reconcile with his ex fiancée after the kid was out and try to forget this shit ever happened to him—forget their daughter, and Brian, too. His shoulders fell.

“What about after the time comes?” he asks tentatively, lowering his eyes to the filthy bus floor

Matt takes a deep, wavering breath. “Then we’ll both need you.” He looks to see Brian’s head snap up.

“You mean you want to…” he trails off, breathless.

“It took me almost two hours in that God damned tiny bathroom to realize,” Matt begins, sitting down on the bed, “that even though it would possibly be the worst career move I could ever make, and that the managers would find a way to sue me, and that this has been by far the most humiliating, degrading thing that’s ever happened to me…if I actually had the choice of getting rid of this irritating parasite,” he pauses, “I wouldn’t.” He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “So I didn’t, and I never will. God knows why, but I guess…” he lowers his voice slightly; “I love the little brat.”

Brian stares at him incredulously, having never thought he would come around.

Matt continues, letting Brian sit beside him, but can’t bring himself to look the guitarist in the eye as he breaches a touchy subject. “And I know you love her. Only because she can’t ruin your life like she has mine, but still. You love her enough to maul a fan with a guitar.”

He nods sheepishly. “Of course.”

“But,” Matt hesitates, “I don’t think you know….that, because of that, I love you.”

Brian’s mouth, open in shock for a moment or two, slowly curls into a crooked grin and only then does Matt look up; his eyes are nervous and unsure, anxious after he’s admitted something like that. Knowing it’s the truth, Brian surprises him by practically attacking him with a kiss.

Slightly startled, Matt lets out a muffled exclamation against his lips, laughing, but eventually shuts his eyes and starts returning the action. He brings a hand up to cradle the back of Brian’s head, running long fingers through his thick black hair.

“I hope she gets this hair,” he whispers, kissing his ear, and Brian laughs softly, grinning so wide it makes his cheeks hurt. He lay back contentedly against the small bed.

“I hope she gets your eyes,” Brian smiles faintly, lying back also. “Of course…then I’d never be able to tell her no.” He leans down until his face is hovering just above the infamous distorted deathbat, and hesitates, as if waiting for permission.

Matt nods, watching him curiously. “What the hell are you doing?”

Brian grins mischievously, “Something I’ve been waiting to do for two months. Don’t hurt me.” Matt’s weary at that answer, not knowing what to expect, but Brian simply casts him a reassuring look with chocolate brown eyes; then, he gently presses his lips against the top of Matt’s warm, smooth stomach, caressing the side with his knuckles.

Feeling a lump in his throat, Matt bites down on his lower lip. He convinces himself it’s only to keep from laughing.

“Christ, Bri. I feel like I’m in a fuckin’ Lifetime movie,” he scoffs, trying to play it off, but his voice cracked. “That’s what you waited two months to do?”

Brian leaned up on his elbows, still keeping one hand on him, and winced. “Actually I didn’t wait,” he admitted. “I do that all the time, you’re just always asleep.”

With an enigmatic faint smile, Matt raises a brow. “You sure about that?” His green eyes are half shut and softly focused on him. “You never noticed me smiling when you did it?”

 Brian’s cheeks redden slightly under his gaze but he only laughs in reply, shaking his head. After a moment, Matt glances down at his stomach, feeling the baby nudging him, and rubs the area. Then he groans, pulling a face. “We never told the guys that everything’s okay.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Brian mutters, pursing his lips. He pauses a beat. “Guys?” he yells hesitantly, not wanting to move from his position.

Instantly the door bursts open to reveal Jimmy, Johnny, and Zacky. “We already know everything, we were eavesdropping,” Zacky says smugly. 

“Good. Well…The creature’s fine,” Matt states impatiently, tugging down his shirt. “Now get the Hell out.” With that he looks back to Brian, an unmistakable glint in his green eyes.  

Jimmy sighs, grimacing as the other two shudder and leave. “Sweet Jesus that is…that’s kind of disturbing. And it hasn’t even really started yet, oh mother fucker. Nightmares.” He quickly slams the door.

Brian smirks and presses his lips against Matt’s mouth, tasting his petal soft skin and tongue. Unfortunately, having sex isn’t easy in a way-too-fucking-small tour bus bedroom.

But they’ll manage.

XX Always. 


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That was my first Lj story post ever y'all.