They'd talked about home so much in their younger days, when it felt like something they could allow themselves to fantasize about, something that was so far off into the future, it seemed plausible. They could build their way towards it, and they could burrow themselves within those walls.
Sometimes their visions would be grandiose, filled with large rooms and better furniture than the stuff at St Agnes'. There'd always be talk of food, with a large kitchen to cook it all in. (Matt remembers making a joke about Pietro's insatiable appetite and whether they'd have enough fridge space.)
Matt wanted a library filled with books he could read. He'd even take the ones he couldn't because it still felt like the kind of thing a good, warm house would have. (When Wanda volunteered to read those books to him, Matt smiled so widely, knowing that next to them Pietro was rolling his eyes and dramatically gagging in mock-disgust.)
But as they grew up, home began to seem less likely. More than that, it began to feel wistful, sad even. And when Pietro died ... well, they stopped talking about home all together, although Matt never stopped thinking about it. Not even when he finally found the opportunity to leave the orphanage, moving into the dormitories at Columbia University and recreating a simulacra of what he expected home should have looked like β all while he wondered what Wanda must be thinking, where she was staying, what their lives looked like now that they were so far apart.
Even now, as selfish want wars with the responsibility to protect the few people he has left in this world, even when this dark part of him exists and will continue to exist despite himself, Matt still dreams of home. Can the Devil of Hell's Kitchen have something like that?
He closes his eyes for a moment, thoughtful, and then he opens them again, head tilting towards her β seeing her without seeing her. He licks at his bottom lip, finding her hand β the one at his shoulder β to wind her fingers with his and squeeze them gently between them. ]
It means I shouldn't have shut you out or kept you away from me because I thought I was doing the right thing. It means ... what I've known for years but thought I couldn't have. Or maybe shouldn't have.
[ He lets go of her hand to skim the edge of her jawline now, thumb grazing her cheek with impossible fondness, like she is something precious. ]
Home was never the big house with the books and furniture. It was the people. It was you.
( matt's words circle in her mind, echoes of ghosts of a past, this awareness she has, now, with these strange powers of hers, making what floats in his mind all that much vividβimages of their imagined homes, as envisioned by him, of memories fraught with emotion but considered with such tenderness. this much is something else that tells her that the matt she's always known is still there, underneath this bravado and these walls.
(she is going to have to tell him about these powers one day, isn't she? they have to be honest, the both of them, and perhaps the idea isn't so unappealing to wanda, as long as they're together through it.)
they are ultimately still orphans trying to find their way in the world, however that may look like, wanting more than anything else for 'home'. wanda had thought it had been so invariably clear, that home would always be them, yet they took such a long, spiraling route to get to exactly this moment.
her heartbeat increases, the touch on her jawline tilting her head up a touch, draws her closer to him. he's tentative, she can tell, hesitant, trying to make sure that they're in the same wavelength. but matt cannot read her mind, the way she can, so he lingers on cues, on what he feels of her movements, on her words.
wanda breathes in, then leans in, hands at his shoulders, closing her eyes as she presses her lips to hisβa moment lengthened by how long she can hold her breath. pulling back, slowly, she realizes that tears have once more pooled in her eyes, now rolling down her cheeks.
despite the strained feeling in her throat, wanda adds, lest the silence prolongs itself into something awkward, )
You're home.
( and that much is a certainty she can offer him, the fact that she will be for him that which he's always wanted ever since he arrived at the orphanage after jack's murder; that much is a certainty that she is willing to give up so much forβbeing with him. )
[ Matt doesn't let her finish speaking, because he's already leaning in to her again, his mouth seeking hers because that first kiss β their first kiss β isn't enough. Not nearly even close enough.
If that hadn't been the confirmation he needed, there's no clearer answer.
How many opportunities to do this had they lost because Matt convinced himself they were just friends? Close friends, of course β the closest friend he's got β but still just that. He dared not cross that threshold for fear of ruining the most steady thing he had in his entire life as an orphan, out of respect for her, and out of selfishness to preserve the status quo from upset. And maybe there was a part of him that didn't think he deserved this either. Still isn't sure he does. Wanda could have anyone she wants, and she wants him. It's nearly unfathomable.
But he doesn't take it for granted, not now, and not for the rest of their lives.
He kisses her with intent, his thumbs swiping away at the tears left on her cheeks before he pulls back to cradle her face. ]
Yeah. [ He agrees, his voice soft and a little thick. ] I'm home.
( it's definitely for the best that matt doesn't let wanda finish speaking, as she would only just be repeating the same words, earnestly trying to convince him about something that they both know is trueβher brain trying to catch up with the fact that she's kissed him and wishes she could be kissing him again.
matt is clumsy, leaning in to kiss her, but she meets him halfway, breathing him in, her hands tight on his shoulders and smoothing over as she pushes back into his space. his intentional kissing met with her own earnestness, the reciprocity of it flooding her ears with her heartbeat, the taste of him, until they are most certainly so close to one another that when he does pull back, their noses are mere millimeters from each other.
she smiles despite herself, then flusters up as she laughs quietly, pushing herself further into his space to hug him tightly once more. all the pain, all her regrets, her second-guessing herself and her place in matt's lifeβall that, no longer a mystery, no longer a burden.
he's home and, as long as he knows that, nothing else matters right now.
except maybe for the quiet wheeze that escapes him and wanda can't ignore. still hugging him, she glances up, gets a general sense of his thoughts, and clocks the issue. )
...you didn't take the painkiller, did you?
( it's likely still sitting on the table, next to their cups of (cold) tea and the glass of water she had gotten him. another spin cycle tumbles his clothes behind her, the rain grows a little louder, and she finally draws back, hands at the bend of his elbows. )
I want you to stay tonight.
( so that she can look after him, and so they can be together, to maybe β rightfully β kiss some more. )
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no subject
They'd talked about home so much in their younger days, when it felt like something they could allow themselves to fantasize about, something that was so far off into the future, it seemed plausible. They could build their way towards it, and they could burrow themselves within those walls.
Sometimes their visions would be grandiose, filled with large rooms and better furniture than the stuff at St Agnes'. There'd always be talk of food, with a large kitchen to cook it all in. (Matt remembers making a joke about Pietro's insatiable appetite and whether they'd have enough fridge space.)
Matt wanted a library filled with books he could read. He'd even take the ones he couldn't because it still felt like the kind of thing a good, warm house would have. (When Wanda volunteered to read those books to him, Matt smiled so widely, knowing that next to them Pietro was rolling his eyes and dramatically gagging in mock-disgust.)
But as they grew up, home began to seem less likely. More than that, it began to feel wistful, sad even. And when Pietro died ... well, they stopped talking about home all together, although Matt never stopped thinking about it. Not even when he finally found the opportunity to leave the orphanage, moving into the dormitories at Columbia University and recreating a simulacra of what he expected home should have looked like β all while he wondered what Wanda must be thinking, where she was staying, what their lives looked like now that they were so far apart.
Even now, as selfish want wars with the responsibility to protect the few people he has left in this world, even when this dark part of him exists and will continue to exist despite himself, Matt still dreams of home. Can the Devil of Hell's Kitchen have something like that?
He closes his eyes for a moment, thoughtful, and then he opens them again, head tilting towards her β seeing her without seeing her. He licks at his bottom lip, finding her hand β the one at his shoulder β to wind her fingers with his and squeeze them gently between them. ]
It means I shouldn't have shut you out or kept you away from me because I thought I was doing the right thing. It means ... what I've known for years but thought I couldn't have. Or maybe shouldn't have.
[ He lets go of her hand to skim the edge of her jawline now, thumb grazing her cheek with impossible fondness, like she is something precious. ]
Home was never the big house with the books and furniture. It was the people. It was you.
no subject
(she is going to have to tell him about these powers one day, isn't she? they have to be honest, the both of them, and perhaps the idea isn't so unappealing to wanda, as long as they're together through it.)
they are ultimately still orphans trying to find their way in the world, however that may look like, wanting more than anything else for 'home'. wanda had thought it had been so invariably clear, that home would always be them, yet they took such a long, spiraling route to get to exactly this moment.
her heartbeat increases, the touch on her jawline tilting her head up a touch, draws her closer to him. he's tentative, she can tell, hesitant, trying to make sure that they're in the same wavelength. but matt cannot read her mind, the way she can, so he lingers on cues, on what he feels of her movements, on her words.
wanda breathes in, then leans in, hands at his shoulders, closing her eyes as she presses her lips to hisβa moment lengthened by how long she can hold her breath. pulling back, slowly, she realizes that tears have once more pooled in her eyes, now rolling down her cheeks.
despite the strained feeling in her throat, wanda adds, lest the silence prolongs itself into something awkward, )
You're home.
( and that much is a certainty she can offer him, the fact that she will be for him that which he's always wanted ever since he arrived at the orphanage after jack's murder; that much is a certainty that she is willing to give up so much forβbeing with him. )
I love you, Matt. It's always been you, alwaysβ
no subject
If that hadn't been the confirmation he needed, there's no clearer answer.
How many opportunities to do this had they lost because Matt convinced himself they were just friends? Close friends, of course β the closest friend he's got β but still just that. He dared not cross that threshold for fear of ruining the most steady thing he had in his entire life as an orphan, out of respect for her, and out of selfishness to preserve the status quo from upset. And maybe there was a part of him that didn't think he deserved this either. Still isn't sure he does. Wanda could have anyone she wants, and she wants him. It's nearly unfathomable.
But he doesn't take it for granted, not now, and not for the rest of their lives.
He kisses her with intent, his thumbs swiping away at the tears left on her cheeks before he pulls back to cradle her face. ]
Yeah. [ He agrees, his voice soft and a little thick. ] I'm home.
no subject
matt is clumsy, leaning in to kiss her, but she meets him halfway, breathing him in, her hands tight on his shoulders and smoothing over as she pushes back into his space. his intentional kissing met with her own earnestness, the reciprocity of it flooding her ears with her heartbeat, the taste of him, until they are most certainly so close to one another that when he does pull back, their noses are mere millimeters from each other.
she smiles despite herself, then flusters up as she laughs quietly, pushing herself further into his space to hug him tightly once more. all the pain, all her regrets, her second-guessing herself and her place in matt's lifeβall that, no longer a mystery, no longer a burden.
he's home and, as long as he knows that, nothing else matters right now.
except maybe for the quiet wheeze that escapes him and wanda can't ignore. still hugging him, she glances up, gets a general sense of his thoughts, and clocks the issue. )
...you didn't take the painkiller, did you?
( it's likely still sitting on the table, next to their cups of (cold) tea and the glass of water she had gotten him. another spin cycle tumbles his clothes behind her, the rain grows a little louder, and she finally draws back, hands at the bend of his elbows. )
I want you to stay tonight.
( so that she can look after him, and so they can be together, to maybe β rightfully β kiss some more. )