"I mean, there's no evidence he feels the same way about me. Just because someone spends their free time talking to you doesn't mean they would have feelings for you or want to be in a relationship or anything. This is why you have to get a grip, Matthew."

Get a grip, and stop talking to himself. Especially out loud, in his empty room. But partially because it was empty, and mostly because of the alcohol in his system, he didn't care if he sounded a little crazy. Nobody was around to listen to him after all. He raised his voice.

"If I had more to offer, maybe. If I weren't a hopeless mess, maybe. But he's fucking Gilbert Beilschmidt, and I should be happy enough that he even gives a enough of a shit about me to give me the time of day."

The words spilling from his lips felt electric, loud and coarse language bubbling out of him. It sure as hell beat the quiet polite way he usually talked. He laughed, taking another swig from the can in his hand and languidly reaching for something to do with his hands while he talked to himself. The first thing they lighten on was one of his hockey shin guards he'd haphazardly tossed near his bed after the last game. One-handed, he swilled the alcohol around in its can, using the other to tear apart the velcro strips and put them back together. Matthew was already inebriated enough to make it a decent challenge.

Thus employed, his thoughts drifted inevitably back to Gilbert. The circumstances of their meeting were anything but normal, but the Canadian had already come to terms with the fact that everything associated with his albino friend was pretty far from normal.

They'd met at a skating rink, but not on the ice. In the concessions, actually. Matthew had tripped and narrowly avoided smashing a steaming carton of nachos into the other's face. As it was, he'd managed to fall and get cheese and chili gravy all down his sweatshirt. Gilbert had laughed off the near accident, helped clean him up, and continued to hang out with him for a while even after things were settled. Matthew had proved to have more coordination on the ice than off it, and they'd ended the day by exchanging email addresses, at the proclamation that he was awesome enough to be granted the privilege.

As it turned out, neither lived very close to the other. The skating rink had been a pretty coincidental meeting for them both. Matthew had gone because he'd had an away game that weekend and wanted to get a good feel for the rink beforehand. From what he could decipher, Gilbert's reason had something to do with being bored with something his younger brother had been doing in the city. How he'd wound up at the ice rink was a mystery beyond that.

From that meeting, they'd had a few more, going to one another's places and goofing off. Video games, or just sitting around. Gilbert, who was a complete mess in the kitchen (but surprisingly good with cleaning and organization), had developed a taste for Matthew's pancakes. They were pretty mismatched in personality, so far as the surface showed. Where Matthew felt shy and inadequate, Gilbert was bold and confident. Matthew dressed conservatively, Gilbert in various shades of punk. Matthew was run of the mill, Gilbert was one in a million. And yet, he still called him up almost every day to sit and talk about nothing for hours on end.

Something about them just worked.

"But really. You would have to be an idiot to think that someone like that would think of you that way, Mattie. Not from just that. Start thinking stupid things, and you're gonna fuck up the only real friendship you've got going. And then what?"

He ripped the velcro slowly apart, brain feeling pleasantly hazy from the drink in his hand as he watched the ends just hang there, on separate sides of the shin guard.

"Besides, with as much as he talks about girls, you would have to be completely out of your mind to even think..." He patched the ends back together haphazardly. They crossed and overlapped and didn't match up at all. Making a face, he tossed the protective gear back over to the pile of hockey gear, and then tipped back the rest of the can into his mouth.

"Man, do I need to get a grip or what?"

With an empty chuckle, Matthew flopped back on the carpet and let his mind wander.