Heat of the moment...
Mat is walking into the Gauche today. This is not the face of someone who is happy with his life. Understandably, too. He's covered in mud, very damp, shivering, has a rip in his jeans and a scraped-up knee... and he's only wearing one shoe
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Because she hasn't seen Mat in ages, and quite frankly, she's just plain worried. And her conversation with Gunn had only done its best to inform her of her need to be proactive, so she's making her way to the Gauche for that very purpose.
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Mat is currently standing outside his door with his forehead resting against it, dripping little bits of mud and lake water every so often, and looking like he's either about to burst out in hysterical laughter or burst into tears. It's not that he couldn't BREAK the door open, but he doesn't really like the chances he'll be able to do that without all sorts of bad things happening.
...here, Fred. Have a damper, muddier, more frustrated, but ultimately somewhat-less-broken-than-when-you-last-saw-him boyfriend.
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Fred is, at the moment, oblivious to any mud or water that he may be drenched in. In fact, she's sort of oblivious to the fact that he can't get in right now, too. The only thing she's completely focusing in on is him, standing there in one solid big piece, and she won't even care about getting wet or muddy.
Instead, she just rushes him all at once, throwing her arms around him and getting a fair amount of mud on herself in the process.
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...That's not the point. The point is, he has a Fred, which is the first good thing that's happened all day, and she's apparently not mad at him for being epically avoidant the past couple months, and that's even better.
He shifts her hold on him a little so that he can bury his face in her neck, and because that's uncomfortable all hunched over, he straightens up, arms still wrapped tightly around her. We hope you don't feel the need to have your feet on the ground, Fred.
"Hi," he mumbles, still holding her.
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"Hi," she says softly, her own voice somewhat muffled since her face is still kind of pressed into his shoulder.
At this point, she doesn't really mind not having the ground under her feet if it means she has a Mat, muddy as he is.
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Today, on top of the past couple of months, however... well.
"You are the b-best thing that's happened to me all day," he says. He's still holding her. Possibly he hasn't really noticed that she's not actually on the ground. She's tiny and light, and he's very strong. "That's not s-saying much, but it's v-very good."
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She turns her head to gently press her lips to his cheek, even though he's covered in water and mud and God knows what else.
"Good," she says, and then adds, teasingly, "I'm glad. But y'know, you look like you got caught in a monsoon."
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"I got sent on this fucking snipe hunt, and then I fell in the lake, and then I got stuck in mud and I can't find my keys and I think they fell out of my pocket, and I lost my shoe."
He displays his one be-socked foot as proof.
Today is not his day.
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"It can't be all that hard to break in, right? Or pick the lock or somethin'?"
She turns to glance over her shoulder, smiling optimistically, and then presses a brief kiss to the tip of his nose.
"We'll get in soon so you can get out of those clothes and into a nice relaxing shower, okay?"
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A shower sounds good. A shower sounds absolutely fabulous. Warm and clean and hopefully his sheer existence won't cause the hot water to go out or anything.
"You'll probably have to have one, too," he points out. "I kinda got you really muddy. Um. And I don't think my clothes will fit you very well." What with him being a Sasquatch and all.
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As he talks, she works on the lock and listens.
"You did get me kinda muddy," she admits, with a slow smile he can probably only see half of. "But it's alright. And as far as the clothes part's concerned, I'm also kinda used to wearin' things that don't fit all too well. Back in Pylea, they really didn't have anythin' that fit me at all, so." Something in the doorknob clicks, and experimentally, she turns the handle, pushing the door open with a cry of victory.
"I did it!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around him in her excitement.
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He can't say he's not looking forward to a shower, though. "What about you?" he points out. "You're all muddy now, too."
...Believe it or not, he's not even THINKING of sharing the shower. Though he wouldn't be opposed to the idea...
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"Well, why don't you shower first," Fred suggests innocently, "and I'll just wait and try not to get mud all over the place?"
That might require taking off her sweater for the moment, which she proceeds to do, crossing her arms over her chest and peeling out of it without getting mud on her face. She still has a small camisole on underneath, though now her glasses are crooked on her nose.
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He reaches out to gently straighten them, and sort of absently runs the back of his fingers down her cheek.
Bad day? Exceedingly so. But Fred is here. And he hadn't thought about how lucky he is in some parts of his life recently, despite the suckage of the rest of the parts.
"I'm glad you're here," he says, very very sincerely.
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Her own hand settles against his mud-covered shirt, pinching the dirty fabric between two fingers as she wrinkles her nose.
"Come on. Arms up," she coaxes, her hands already sliding underneath the shirt along his sides to keep the muddiest parts away from him. "No sense in gettin' you even messier."
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