Ficcy!
Snooker fic, finally finished :D
TITLE: Perceptions
PARTS: 1-3/3
RATING: 15 for language
SUMMARY: Perception is a funny thing
INVOLVED: Ronnie O'Sullivan, Matthew Stevens, Paul Hunter, Mark Williams, Mark Selby, Ryan Day
A/N: The parts don't exactly follow on in series, they're more...they all focus around the same thing, and are all connected, but could also be standalone. However, I would advise reading them in order; I have put multiple cuts in to help if people want to stop and start. There are no pairings as such, but if people want to read it as a certain pairing, it's open to interpretation
DISCLAIMER: I am not, nor do I know any of the people involved in this fic. As far as I am aware, none of this has ever happened and it is not the intention to imply such. No profit is being made, it is simply a piece of fiction made for the author's amusement.
Perceptions
Tableau One: The problem
Ronnie O’Sullivan was in fine spirit as he walked into the hotel bar. Despite his cue playing up, he had come from two frames behind to secure his place in the World Championships’ quarter-finals. As such, the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was sleep - not yet, anyway; he was still buzzing from the triumph.
As he walked further into the room, Ronnie nodded in greeting to three men gathered round a table - Ryan Day, the Welshman who’d given him such a close match; Mark Williams, who was to be his opponent of the last eight, and Mark Selby, who was yet to leave despite having gone out to the other Mark the day before. The trio sent back silent greetings, but all knew that Ronnie wouldn’t stop with them - he never did.
As he headed to his habitual corner - a part of the room cut off enough to give him solitude, but still close enough to observe his fellow sportsmen - Ronnie was stunned to see that someone had beaten him there. Not so much because another player had sought to be alone, but by virtue of who said player was. This man had seen defeat today, but ordinarily that didn’t matter. Win or lose, Matthew Stevens always seemed cheerful and thrived in social situations - yet here he was sat brooding in a corner usually occupied by the more reserved players.
Ronnie hesitated as he approached - he wasn’t sure whether the Welshman would appreciate company, particularly his company, and yet the World Number one felt compelled to check on the younger player.
Surprising himself as much as he was sure he would everyone else, Ronnie approached the table and asked, “Mind if I join you?”
Matthew shrugged, eyes fixed on the barely touched pint he was cradling. “Sure.”
The limited response concerned Ronnie even more - a one-word answer from Matthew was something of a rarity. It wasn’t to do with him being him either, he felt sure - Ronnie had fallen out with a few players over the years, but Matthew had never been one of them.
As he sat down opposite, Ronnie offered, “I know it’s probably a stupid question, but is everything okay?”
Matthew looked up at this, forcing a smile that didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. “I’m fine, just a little tired I guess.”
He certainly looked it, Ronnie thought to himself. He nodded as he replied, “It’s always a tough fortnight; seems to get more so every year.”
“Ryan’s a good player,” Matthew commented. “So are a lot of the qualifiers; the talent isn’t confined to the top 16 these days.”
“Makes things more exciting for us, and the fans.” Ronnie leant back in his chair. “I suppose it’s not your topic of choice right now, though.”
“Ken’s on form, you can’t argue with that,” Matthew shrugged. “Would have been nice to have the extra security of having reached the last eight, though.”
Ronnie knew exactly what the Welshman was referring to - after a shaky season, this tournament had been Matthew’s last shot at keeping his top 16 spot in the rankings. Still, he refused to believe that this was much more than a shield for the real reason behind Matthew’s apparent black mood.
Knowing that prying would be unappreciated, he offered reassuringly, “You’ll get it together again next season, I’m sure.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just jack it all in and move to Las Vegas, become a professional poker player.”
Matthew didn’t mean it, Ronnie knew, but the Essex man was thrown by the Welshman’s tone. It hadn’t been the jokey tone he’d come to expect when Matthew was deliberately on a wind-up, but more a resigned acknowledgement that Vegas was never going to be anything more than a What If.
Trying to lift the other man’s mood, Ronnie lightly teased, “An hour in this corner and already you’re beginning to sound like me.”
Matthew looked down. “Sorry, Ronnie. I don’t wanna drag you down; you looked really up when you came in.”
“You’re not dragging me down, Matthew. I’m just worried about you; this isn’t like you at all.” Ronnie frowned. “I don’t expect you to confide in me, I just want to help if I can.”
The other man looked up with a start, unable to hide his surprise as he commented, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re one of the last people I expected to come over.”
“That’s fair,” Ronnie acknowledged. “We’ve never been close. But whatever it is, take it from someone who knows - don’t bottle everything up. It doesn’t help anyone.” Moving to stand, he offered, “I’ll get out of your hair, leave you to…”
“Please don’t?” Instinctively, Matthew reached out to grab the older man’s wrist. A little ashamedly, he added, “I mean…don’t feel you have to on my behalf.”
Ronnie sat down again, not even trying to release himself from the other man’s hold on him. “You sure you don’t need space?”
“I think I’ve overdosed on space,” Matthew admitted. “Not that I’d noticed it until you were about to leave…If you want to go, though…”
Ronnie shook his head. “I came over to try and help. If I leave you like this, I’ve not really done that.”
Matthew gave him a thoughtful look. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Why do you care?”
“Like I said, this isn’t like you.” Ronnie closed his free hand over the one holding him. “Truth be told, it almost scares me to see you like this because I know it has to be serious.”
The action seemed to jolt Matthew into remembering himself, and he reluctantly moved his hand away. “It’s not serious…just me being…I spoke to Paul earlier.”
The confession was out before the Welshman could stop it, and Ronnie knew that this was at the root of whatever had sent Matthew into this state. Forcing a casual tone, the older man asked, “How is he?”
“He, um, he’s had a bit of a rough one…not that he said it, he never would, but I could tell…” Matthew slumped back in his seat. “What the fuck am I doing, Ronnie, sitting here moping? What the fuck do I have to complain about?”
Gently, Ronnie offered, “You’re worried for him; that’s allowed, Matthew. He’s one of your best mates.”
“Then how come I manage to make such a fuck-up of everything?” Matthew buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Ronnie…”
“Don’t apologise, just please don’t stop,” Ronnie cajoled. “You need to let whatever it is out, Matthew, or it’ll destroy you.”
Matthew looked up at this, and Ronnie was stunned to see tears glisten in the younger man’s eyes. “I just, Ronnie, everything I touch at the moment seems to fall apart. I can’t even phone my best mate without it coming round to me and my pathetic worries.”
“Maybe he needs the distraction,” Ronnie suggested. “It probably helps him to forget about his troubles for a while. Besides, friendship is two-sided…so I’ve heard.”
A slight smile twitched at the corner of Matthew’s mouth, but faded quickly as he sighed, “See, that makes sense and I managed to fuck it up because I’m too stupid to think of that.”
“You’re not stupid, Matthew.” Ronnie clasped his hands together to stop himself from doing anything that the other man would be uncomfortable with. “What happened?”
Matthew fixed his gaze on the table. “Well, I phoned him and we were talking…he sounded like he was really struggling just to get through today and needed to be distracted…and then he started asking about how I was and how today had gone.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I really should learn to sound more convincing.”
“Paul knows you better than that; you’d never be able to hide your disappointment from him,” Ronnie reasoned. “It’s all part of the deal.”
“I know, and if he hadn’t sounded so…” Matthew let the sentence trail, the final word one he was unwilling to vocalise. “Anyway, instead of accepting that hearing about my day, no matter how bad, would help him by distracting him, I told him that I wouldn’t land him with my problems when they’re nothing compared to his…I hurt him, Ronnie. My best fucking friend, who’s hurting enough as it is, and all I did was make it worse.”
“You did what you felt was best,” Ronnie argued. “He must understand that; he’s not expecting you to be perfect. You’re trying your best for him, that’s all he needs.”
Matthew shook his head emphatically, struggling to speak as he tried to stave off his emotions. “It’s not as simple as that…when I said…when I said what I did, he got really upset and accused me of implying that he couldn’t care about anything but…he’s right, Ronnie, I’ve made such a mess of it all. I’ve done just the same as everyone else, I’ve let his being ill change how I treat him and it’s not right.”
“That’s not what you’ve done at all,” Ronnie returned. “You said it yourself; he sounded like he was having a rough day. You would have done the same no matter what had caused him to have such a rough time of it; all you tried to do was look out for him. He’s probably just a bit sensitive today, but he’ll understand that’s not what you meant.”
“He’s my mate, Ronnie; he means the world to me, so how can I get it all so wrong?” Matthew slumped forward a little, holding his head in his hands.
Ronnie frowned as he watched the Welshman. In his role as silent observer, he had watched Matthew and Paul often enough to gain a little insight into their situation - insight that he had never cared to look for, but had obviously seeped in subconsciously. Looking at Matthew now, Ronnie had a suspicion he knew what the biggest problem was.
Almost as more of a musing, the Londoner asked, “Who’s looking out for you, Matthew?”
Matthew’s head shot up at this. “What?”
Ronnie shrugged. “Just, you spend so much time and energy on making sure everyone around you is okay…who’s doing that for you?”
Matthew gave him a tight, almost sarcastic smile. “Paul, apparently, only I’m too much of an idiot to recognise it.”
“What about the stuff that relates to him, though?” Ronnie knew he was getting into dangerous territory, but his stints in rehab had taught him that painful truths had to be faced before they could be dealt with. “You know, the fact that every time you’re with him, you’re too scared to turn your back in case something happens and you still lose him? That when you phone him, you’re always afraid that you’ve left it that little bit too late and he won’t be able to answer?”
Matthew’s eyes widened, too stunned to even argue the points. “How did you…?”
“I’ve seen you, Matthew. Whenever you’ve both been at tournaments, you’ve barely left his side; and when you do, you’re lost in worrying that something will happen to him.” Ronnie gently forced eye contact. “You have been nothing but there for him, Matthew, but deep down you’re still terrified that you could have lost him, or even that you still could. And that’s why you need someone to look out for you, to let that all out to.”
A few silent tears trailed down Matthew’s face. “Ronnie, it’s stupid, I’m irrational and scared and constantly having to hide it, because it isn’t about me. Paul’s the one suffering; I’m just being pathetic and irrelevant.”
“Not true on either count,” Ronnie gently chastised. “No-one ever expected you to be unaffected by it all.” He gently touched the Welshman’s shoulder. “Matthew, you’re doing a great job of looking after Paul. You’re a great guy; he couldn’t wish for a better friend than you’ve been to him. No-one ever handles this sort of situation perfectly, but you’ve done a hell of a lot better than a lot of people would have.”
Matthew was about to reply when his phone rang, cutting off any argument he would have made. Checking the display, he offered, “Ronnie, I’m sorry but…”
“Go on.” Ronnie sat back in his seat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Matthew pressed the button to take the call, turning away slightly. “Hello?...Paul, hey, how’re you doing?...I…actually, I’ve had better nights myself.”
Ronnie couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched Matthew talking through the reasons behind his behaviour, reassured that he had at least done some good. Matthew had clearly listened to and taken his advice on board, which meant it couldn’t have been all that wrong.
As the Welshman finally hung up, Ronnie asked, “He okay?”
Matthew nodded, clearly drained. “Thanks, Ronnie. You’re right, I can’t keep pretending that I’m coping when I’m not, and I can’t keep hurting Paul by trying to protect him from the less than great parts of my life.” He paused, before hesitantly adding, “Will you be it?”
Ronnie looked at him, confused. “Will I be what?”
“The one who looks out for me?” Matthew fidgeted with his hands. “I’ll understand if you’d rather not, but…I’m not saying the others haven’t been good; Mark’s tried, he really has, but…no-one, Paul excepted, has ever seen through me the way you have.”
Ronnie smiled a little at this. “Of course I will, Matthew, if you want me to be.”
Matthew allowed a small smile of his own to cross his face as he glanced at his watch. “You should get some sleep. You’ve another Welshman to battle tomorrow.”
Ronnie couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, sir. You gonna take your own advice?”
“I’ll consider it.” A trace of Matthew’s usual, teasing smile crept onto his face. “Although I have nothing to get up for.”
“Well in that case, at the very least go and join those three.” Ronnie indicated Ryan and the two Marks, who seemed in no hurry to leave.
Matthew pondered this. “Well, I do need to go and nag Mark…no good him being too tired to play you, he’s our last Welsh hope.” He took a sip of his long-neglected beer and pulled a face. “I think a visit to the bar is in order too.”
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “You mean it’s not still at optimum temperature an hour or so after you bought it?”
“You’d think it would be, but no. I’ll go once you two stars have buggered off.”
Ronnie smiled at this. It was evident that the insecure, uncertain Matthew he’d arrived to had left the building; this was Matthew Stevens as everyone knew him. “Well, come on then, before they’re chucking you out.”
Matthew laughed a little at this, and the two men headed to the sole remaining occupied table. Mark Williams was the first to spot them, and smiled as he offered, “Evening, both. Do I take it I’m about to be mothered?”
Matthew smirked a little. “I’ve got you well trained. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”
Mark chuckled at this. “Well in that case, I’ll leave you children to it.” He stood and moved to Ronnie’s side. “You heading up too?”
“You mean being chased up? I certainly am.” Ronnie smiled. “Think we’d better go before he takes that literally?”
Mark nodded in agreement and the two men headed off, the old rift between them unapparent as they appeared to be nothing more or less than two friends who just happened to be playing against each other the next day.
Mark Selby also stood. “What do you want, Matthew? I was just about to head bar-wards, so you can have Mark’s.”
Matthew grinned. “I won’t tell him that. A pint would be smashing, thanks mate.”
As the Englishman headed to the bar, Matthew sat down beside his countryman. Ryan gave him a concerned look. “Everything okay? We did want to come and ask, but…”
“Mark knew to do the right thing,” Matthew interrupted. “I’m fine now, but he was right in thinking I wouldn’t have appreciated it half an hour ago.”
“We knew not to argue,” Ryan stated. “Mark’s know you a long time, we trust his judgement.”
”Well that’s kind of you to say so, Ryan, but I honestly think you’re misreading my relationship with Mr Stevens.”
Ryan shook his head. “Ah, Selbs. Always out to play the smart-arse, aren’t you?”
“You love me for it.” Mark Selby grinned as he sat back at the table and handed the two Welshmen their drinks. “Don’t rush to agree with me.”
“We’d hate to shatter the delusion,” Ryan returned sweetly. “It would just be too cruel.”
Matthew grinned as he watched the banter between the two qualifiers. He imagined it was a lot like watching how he and Paul were with each other, which made it even better to watch - he knew, probably more than most others, that the banter signified an absolute bond that nothing could break through.
Another hour passed before Mark and Ryan voiced a desire to call it a night. As the trio dispersed, Matthew found himself left with a hollow feeling at being without his best friend, but refused to let the habitual fear take hold. It was only natural, after being reminded of the close friendship they shared, that Matthew would miss Paul, and that was all the feeling needed to be. The feeling proved that Matthew cared - and that was one thing, no matter what else happened, that the Welshman could guarantee. As long as he and Paul were friends, he would care - and that, he now realised, was the only thing Paul needed from him.
Tableau Two: The telephone conversations
Matthew sighed as he sat in the dressing room; shoulders slumped as he allowed himself a moment to admit to himself that, much as he couldn’t fault Ken’s play, this particular lost match had hurt him. He had gone into the final session of the match feeling so positive, only to have his hope snatched away bit by bit as Ken dominated to claim victory.
It wasn’t so much the match in itself, Matthew knew that. It was the fact that, with his place in the top sixteen under threat, he had hoped for his usual Crucible form to shine through and lend him the points he needed to stay safe. Much as he’d protested that the rankings didn’t mean anything, it didn’t stop it hurting that he’d let things slip so much.
He allowed himself one final sigh as he picked up his phone. He had promised he would contact Paul after the match, and he knew he couldn’t still be dwelling on this one small defeat whilst talking to his best friend. For Paul, slipping out of the top sixteen was the least of his worries.
“Hello?”
As Paul answered, Matthew could immediately tell that he was having a bad day. That one word had sounded so tired, so pained, that it made the Welshman even more determined to push his troubles to one side.
“Hey Paul, it’s Matthew. I don’t suppose I need to ask how you’re doing?”
“I’m alright, Matthew, really. I’ve felt worse than this.”
Matthew reckoned on this being a close call, but didn’t say as much. “Bad night last night?”
“Unsettled,” Paul allowed. “But that’s nothing new.”
Matthew frowned a little. “You wouldn’t complain of a bad night if you’d been up 72 hours straight; that doesn’t mean I can’t tell.”
“Why should I complain? At least if it hurts, I know I’m still here.” Paul sighed. “Look, Matthew…I know you’re worried and I do appreciate it, but…I don’t wanna be stuck on feeling sorry for myself. I do that enough as it is.”
“I’m sorry, Paul, I understand that.” Matthew bit his lip. “I just hate hearing you like this and not being able to do anything about it.”
“You can,” Paul returned. “You can tell me about the match. How’d it go, and who’s losing to you next?”
Matthew didn’t know whether to smile or cry at Paul’s question. He knew Paul was trying to keep things light, and the Welshman dearly wanted to, but the pain of losing was still raw.
Trying to make his tone as neutral and light-hearted as possible, he replied, “Ken rather slightly thrashed me. It’s a bit difficult to win frames from your chair.”
He could hear the frown at the other end as Paul spoke. “Those matches are never fun. You can feel on the best form you’ve ever known, but it’s for nothing if your opponent keeps you from the table.”
“Well at least I know it’s nothing I did wrong, for once.” Matthew fought back any thoughts of expanding on that statement, instead lightly adding, “Maybe I should retire to Vegas after all.”
“Don’t you dare!” Paul warned. “At least not until I can come with you.”
“As if I would ever volunteer to move that far away from you,” Matthew shot back. “Not even Vegas could be much fun if you’re stuck over here.”
Paul laughed at this. “Only you could be soft enough to want to sod off to Sin City and then mope because you’d be by yourself.” More seriously, he continued, “So are you going to keep up the Vegas shield or are you actually going to explain to me why you’re sounding so down?”
Matthew swore inwardly at this - clearly, he hadn’t done enough to disguise his disappointment. Fighting even harder to disguise the self-hatred that had joined the rest of it, he replied, “Paul, I don’t want to land it on you, okay? It’s not important.”
“Matthew, why do you do this?” Paul sounded frustrated. “Why do you always make excuses whenever it comes to what’s going on with you?”
“I’m not making excuses!” Matthew protested. “I just, you sound like you’ve had a really, really bad day, and the last thing I want to do is drag you even further down with something that really doesn’t matter.”
“If it doesn’t matter, why do you sound like it does?” Paul demanded. “Is it really nothing, or are you just saying that because you think I can only care about one thing at the moment?”
“God, Paul, no, that’s not it at all.” Matthew felt a lump rise in his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” Paul’s voice was quiet, wounded. “You’ve fallen into the same trap as everyone else; you’re not seeing me anymore.”
The self-loathing in Matthew’s head grew stronger at this as he struggled for words. “I’m not, Paul, you’re my best mate…”
“Then why don’t you start fucking acting like it again?” Paul’s temper had flared up again. “Why won’t you talk to me instead of pussyfooting around things that I know are upsetting you because I’m, what, too ill to cope with hearing the harsher realities of the rest of the world?”
“Paul, please…” Matthew struggled to keep his emotions in check, even as some part of him nagged him to let them free. “I…”
“Don’t, Matthew. I’m not interested in your argument that being ill has somehow made me incapable of being there for my best friend when he needs me. When you’re calling your best friend, rather than your friend who’s got cancer, I’ll be listening.”
Matthew stared at the phone as the dial tone sounded, his head screaming with the absolute remorse he felt for having made what he knew was a bad day for Paul even worse. Unable to cope with his inner self telling him over and over what an absolute idiot he was, he grabbed his things and headed out, determined to hide away and drown his sorrows.
~*~
“Hello?”
Matthew could feel the intense gaze of the man opposite him as he moved to take the call. The conversation with Ronnie had sent his head into even more of a jumble, but he knew if he didn’t take this call, it’d be an ever bigger mistake than those he had already made.
“Hey, it’s me.” Paul sounded hesitant; as though he wasn’t sure his call was welcome.
Matthew kept a level tone as he asked, “Paul, hey, how’re you doing?”
“Fucking awful actually, mate. You?”
Such a blunt answer from Paul confirmed to Matthew that he could only be honest in return. Turning away from Ronnie a little, he confessed, “I…actually, I’ve had better nights myself.”
Paul sighed. “Matthew, I’m sorry, I really am. I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that earlier.”
“You had every right to,” Matthew returned. “You were right, I’ve not been treating you like I should be, like the best friend that you are to me.”
“You have been amazing to me,” Paul told him. “I know I got frustrated because you wouldn’t talk to me, but I’ve thought about it and I know you weren’t trying to wrap me up in cotton wool. You were right when you said it’s been a bad day for me; I know I can’t hide these things from you and I still try to deny it, so…I guess that makes us pretty even.”
Matthew bit his lip. “You know if you’d sounded better, that I’d have been more open with you?”
“I do.” Paul swallowed gently. “I’ve been such a shit to you, Matthew, and you don’t deserve any of it. And through all of it, you’ve stuck by me and I sometimes worry that I don’t show you enough how much I appreciate it…but now I know I don’t, otherwise I wouldn’t do this to you.”
“Paul, please, you haven’t been shit to me at all.” Matthew felt a few tears roll down his cheeks. “I’m here for you because you’re my best friend, you’re one of the most important people in the world to me and I could have lost you. The fact that you’re still here is all I need from you.”
“Oh god, Matthew.” A choked sob escaped from Paul’s throat. “Can we…can we just forget earlier ever happened?”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Matthew replied. Trying to lift the other man’s mood a little, he joked, “You think that applies to the match too?”
“You’d have missed me if you’d stayed top sixteen,” Paul teased back. “Look, Matthew, I’m gonna be honest…”
“You’re fucking wrecked and need your rest,” Matthew finished for him. “I had noticed.”
“Of course you had. Phone me tomorrow?”
“Like you even need ask. Go on, you get some rest and we’ll talk this through when you’re more awake and I don’t have an audience.”
“Oh?” Paul enquired. “Do I get to find out before I go?”
“Ronnie’s been talking sense into me - which must make him something of a miracle worker.” Matthew shot a sideways glance at the Londoner as he said this.
“You said it,” Paul teased. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow."
Tableau Three: The outside view
Mark Williams and Mark Selby were sat in the bar of the players' hotel, making the most of the quiet afternoon. Most of the other players still about were either at or preparing for a match, but the two Marks had finished their second round match the day before. The Welshman had emerged the victor of their clash, but there was no sign of any bitterness or gloating between the two men - the match was over, the need for competition had passed and they were just two friends enjoying a quiet pint.
Mark Williams turned to his companion. "So, decided when you're heading back yet?"
The younger man shrugged. "Guess I'll see how things go. I might stick around for the atmosphere, but it all depends on who else is going to be around. No good being here and stuck in my room."
"You'd find someone," Williams mused. "You're not exactly the shy, retiring type."
Selby pretended to look affronted. "And what, pray tell, does that mean?"
The Welshman chuckled. "Come off it, Selby. When it comes to the social side, you're right up there with a certain countryman of mine."
Selby was about to reply when he saw Matthew Stevens walk in, almost as if on cue - if it hadn't been for the look on his face. The Welshman headed straight for the bar, either not seeing or just not acknowledging the other two players in the room.
Williams sighed gently. "Well I'm guessing the session went Ken's way..."
"That wouldn't get him like this, would it?" Selby asked. "He never struck me as..."
"No, not by itself," Williams interrupted. "Even taking the rankings into account..."
The two men watched as Matthew moved away from the bar, heading for a corner table almost completely hidden away from the rest of the room. The younger Mark frowned. "Should we be letting him go and brood by himself?"
"If Matthew's keeping to himself, he must need the solitude," the other man replied. "Right now, I think we leave him."
"I guess I see your point," Selby conceded. "Still doesn't seem right, but then neither does Matthew choosing to be alone."
"He'll be okay," Williams assured the younger man, even as his mind whirred with possibilities about what had sent the other Welshman into such a state. He knew it wasn't down to the match, and had a feeling he knew what - or rather who - was to blame, but he didn't know why.
Selby didn't look convinced. "If you say so."
The two men remained in the bar all afternoon and verging into evening, both of them pretending that they didn't have half a mind to the lone Welshman who had shown no signs of moving. They both looked up as one as they heard someone else walk in, smiling a little as they spotted Ryan Day approach their table.
The blond Welshman sat down heavily, letting out a sigh. "Evening, both. Anyone heading barwards?"
Williams immediately stood. "Sure thing, mate. Be back as soon as...Mark, you want anything?"
"Well, being as you're going..." Selby grinned. "Same again please."
Williams nodded and headed for the bar. Selby gave Ryan a gentle smile. "How bad was it?"
"13-10," Ryan replied. "I don't know what happened..."
"Hey, don't fret over it," the younger man advised. "That's pretty good going against Ronnie." Grinning, he added, "You did better than me."
A slight smile played at Ryan's lips. "Well, there is that," he agreed.
Williams chuckled as he returned to the table. "What did you say to him, Selby?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" the other Mark teased.
Williams smiled as he sat back down, happy to watch as, gradually, Selby managed to draw Ryan away from his thoughts of defeat and into the usual banter the pair fell into when together. The older Welshman was irrevocably reminded of Matthew and Paul, and how their constant banter belied the absolute bond they shared. There were certain specific parallels with each pair too - one English, one Welsh; one blond, the other dark. Granted, Ryan was rather quieter than either Matthew or Paul, and the age gap was bigger, but there was still an unmistakeable comparison.
The smile faded as his gaze drew back to the corner, from which Matthew still showed no signs of emerging. Despite his words to Selby, the Welshman was beginning to wonder if maybe one of them should check on him - but then, what could any of them say to him? The two younger players had never even known Matthew to be solitary, and Williams was hardly used to it despite the time they had known each other. On top of which, if Paul was behind his mood, Matthew probably wouldn't appreciate being faced with such a similar friendship.
Looking up, he saw a rather cheerful Ronnie breeze into the room. Williams glanced at Ryan, but the younger Welshman seemed to have been cheered up sufficiently by Selby and simply gave a respectful nod to the Londoner as he passed their table.
Selby frowned as he noticed the path Ronnie was taking. "Shouldn't we...?"
"Ronnie understands wanting to be alone," Williams explained, shaking his head. "Chances are, he won't bother him."
"Bother who?" Ryan asked. "Did I miss something?"
"Matthew's been alone at a table for ages," Selby explained, "and Mark won't let us go and see if he's okay, but apparently it's okay for Ronnie to be going over."
"Ronnie always heads for solitude," Ryan reasoned. "Matthew not so much, though."
"Can you please give me a little credit?" Williams asked. "I know you're worried; so am I. But I'd like to think I know him well enough to know what I'm saying."
"Oh, we know you do," Ryan quickly replied. "We know you're doing what you think is best for him."
"I just don't understand the Ronnie bit," Selby explained. "Maybe I just don't know either of them well enough, but it doesn't make sense."
"Does anything Ronnie does?" Ryan argued. "I'm sure Mark has things under control; he is rather like everyone's big brother...or most people's, anyway."
Williams raised an eyebrow. "I will assume that to be a good thing."
"Hey, your countryman is defending you, show some appreciation!" Selby teased.
Williams and Ryan both laughed at this, and the conversation turned back to more trivial matters. Again, the eldest amongst them was happy to take a backseat, listening in amusement as Ryan and Selby discussed a fan who had asked them both to sign some kind of bag. He felt a slight longing for his own days as a qualifier, back when he hadn't been caught up in the politics of the game and had the time and energy to spend time with the fans who showed such dedication.
As the evening went on, the trio found themselves amongst less and less company as others who had come in throughout the day decided to call it a night. Soon, theirs were the only occupied table bar one and Williams again wondered if his judgement on the situation had been right. Before he could broach the subject, however, he spotted Ronnie approach with a decidedly more cheerful-looking Matthew. Grinning, the eldest Welshman offered, “Evening, both. Do I take it I’m about to be mothered?”
He was relieved to note that Matthew had responded, sounding very much like his usual self. Leaving the three younger players to continue as they wished, Williams walked away with Ronnie out of the bar. As they walked, he offered, "Whatever it was you did, thank you."
Ronnie looked down slightly at this, a little self-consciously. "It was nothing, really. I just...seeing Matthew like that, it's not something I fancy repeating any time soon."
"All the same, thank you." Mark frowned. "I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing, leaving him, and trying to dissuade the others..."
"You know him, Mark. You couldn't not do the right thing." Ronnie paused. "Was it intentional?"
"Me letting you see him? Subconsciously, I think so," the Welshman confessed. "Just...don't take this the wrong way, but I'm too close. I knew I wouldn't get him to open up because apart from Paul, the people he's closest to rarely get him to open up - he's too busy putting his feelings on hold for us. You, he's not so close to, so I hoped it might get him to open up."
"Because he's not trying to protect me...I can see that. Even as he said you didn't, I knew you saw through him as I did and as Paul does, only he won't let himself see that." Ronnie sighed. "Funny thing, perception."
"Certainly is," Mark agreed. "So I assume it was something to do with Paul?"
Ronnie nodded. "He's okay," he quickly reassured, sensing the other man's concern. "He just had a bit of a rough day, and there was a bit of a misunderstanding between him and Matthew, but it looks to be sorted now."
"They always do sort it," Mark commented. "Nothing could sever that sort of bond."
"They're lucky." A slight frown crossed Ronnie's face. "Though I doubt they feel that so much at the moment."
"When it comes to each other, they must do," Mark responded. "That sort of friendship isn't something that happens to everyone."
"That's true enough," Ronnie agreed. "Can't think of any others on the circuit like it."
"There is one," Mark contested. "They're not quite as obvious, but if you watch Mark and Ryan closely enough, you see it."
Ronnie nodded. "I can't say I've spent much time with them...I knew they were friendly with each other."
Mark smiled a little. "Look a little closer and I defy you not to be reminded of Matthew and Paul."
Ronnie smiled back. "Duly noted. I'm just glad enough of this."
Mark gave him a confused look. "Of what?"
"The fact that we can be civil to each other," Ronnie explained. "That anyone can be civil to me, to be honest."
"We all make mistakes, Ronnie. You've had enough about you to admit to them, why make things awkward when we see so much of each other?" Mark gave him a reassuring smile. "And you can't be that bad if Matthew confided in you."
"Well that's true. Thanks, Mark."
The two men smiled at each other as they stopped outside Mark's room. The Welshman grinned a little as he offered, "You're welcome. I'll take my reward tomorrow."
"You think so?"
Ronnie raised an eyebrow and both men laughed. As they parted, they each felt some degree of comfort - okay, they were never going to be the closest friends on the circuit, not by a long shot. Tomorrow they would be opponents, but tonight they were at peace. Tonight, they had finally laid their off-table rivalry to rest.
TITLE: Perceptions
PARTS: 1-3/3
RATING: 15 for language
SUMMARY: Perception is a funny thing
INVOLVED: Ronnie O'Sullivan, Matthew Stevens, Paul Hunter, Mark Williams, Mark Selby, Ryan Day
A/N: The parts don't exactly follow on in series, they're more...they all focus around the same thing, and are all connected, but could also be standalone. However, I would advise reading them in order; I have put multiple cuts in to help if people want to stop and start. There are no pairings as such, but if people want to read it as a certain pairing, it's open to interpretation
DISCLAIMER: I am not, nor do I know any of the people involved in this fic. As far as I am aware, none of this has ever happened and it is not the intention to imply such. No profit is being made, it is simply a piece of fiction made for the author's amusement.
Perceptions
Tableau One: The problem
Ronnie O’Sullivan was in fine spirit as he walked into the hotel bar. Despite his cue playing up, he had come from two frames behind to secure his place in the World Championships’ quarter-finals. As such, the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was sleep - not yet, anyway; he was still buzzing from the triumph.
As he walked further into the room, Ronnie nodded in greeting to three men gathered round a table - Ryan Day, the Welshman who’d given him such a close match; Mark Williams, who was to be his opponent of the last eight, and Mark Selby, who was yet to leave despite having gone out to the other Mark the day before. The trio sent back silent greetings, but all knew that Ronnie wouldn’t stop with them - he never did.
As he headed to his habitual corner - a part of the room cut off enough to give him solitude, but still close enough to observe his fellow sportsmen - Ronnie was stunned to see that someone had beaten him there. Not so much because another player had sought to be alone, but by virtue of who said player was. This man had seen defeat today, but ordinarily that didn’t matter. Win or lose, Matthew Stevens always seemed cheerful and thrived in social situations - yet here he was sat brooding in a corner usually occupied by the more reserved players.
Ronnie hesitated as he approached - he wasn’t sure whether the Welshman would appreciate company, particularly his company, and yet the World Number one felt compelled to check on the younger player.
Surprising himself as much as he was sure he would everyone else, Ronnie approached the table and asked, “Mind if I join you?”
Matthew shrugged, eyes fixed on the barely touched pint he was cradling. “Sure.”
The limited response concerned Ronnie even more - a one-word answer from Matthew was something of a rarity. It wasn’t to do with him being him either, he felt sure - Ronnie had fallen out with a few players over the years, but Matthew had never been one of them.
As he sat down opposite, Ronnie offered, “I know it’s probably a stupid question, but is everything okay?”
Matthew looked up at this, forcing a smile that didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. “I’m fine, just a little tired I guess.”
He certainly looked it, Ronnie thought to himself. He nodded as he replied, “It’s always a tough fortnight; seems to get more so every year.”
“Ryan’s a good player,” Matthew commented. “So are a lot of the qualifiers; the talent isn’t confined to the top 16 these days.”
“Makes things more exciting for us, and the fans.” Ronnie leant back in his chair. “I suppose it’s not your topic of choice right now, though.”
“Ken’s on form, you can’t argue with that,” Matthew shrugged. “Would have been nice to have the extra security of having reached the last eight, though.”
Ronnie knew exactly what the Welshman was referring to - after a shaky season, this tournament had been Matthew’s last shot at keeping his top 16 spot in the rankings. Still, he refused to believe that this was much more than a shield for the real reason behind Matthew’s apparent black mood.
Knowing that prying would be unappreciated, he offered reassuringly, “You’ll get it together again next season, I’m sure.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just jack it all in and move to Las Vegas, become a professional poker player.”
Matthew didn’t mean it, Ronnie knew, but the Essex man was thrown by the Welshman’s tone. It hadn’t been the jokey tone he’d come to expect when Matthew was deliberately on a wind-up, but more a resigned acknowledgement that Vegas was never going to be anything more than a What If.
Trying to lift the other man’s mood, Ronnie lightly teased, “An hour in this corner and already you’re beginning to sound like me.”
Matthew looked down. “Sorry, Ronnie. I don’t wanna drag you down; you looked really up when you came in.”
“You’re not dragging me down, Matthew. I’m just worried about you; this isn’t like you at all.” Ronnie frowned. “I don’t expect you to confide in me, I just want to help if I can.”
The other man looked up with a start, unable to hide his surprise as he commented, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re one of the last people I expected to come over.”
“That’s fair,” Ronnie acknowledged. “We’ve never been close. But whatever it is, take it from someone who knows - don’t bottle everything up. It doesn’t help anyone.” Moving to stand, he offered, “I’ll get out of your hair, leave you to…”
“Please don’t?” Instinctively, Matthew reached out to grab the older man’s wrist. A little ashamedly, he added, “I mean…don’t feel you have to on my behalf.”
Ronnie sat down again, not even trying to release himself from the other man’s hold on him. “You sure you don’t need space?”
“I think I’ve overdosed on space,” Matthew admitted. “Not that I’d noticed it until you were about to leave…If you want to go, though…”
Ronnie shook his head. “I came over to try and help. If I leave you like this, I’ve not really done that.”
Matthew gave him a thoughtful look. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Why do you care?”
“Like I said, this isn’t like you.” Ronnie closed his free hand over the one holding him. “Truth be told, it almost scares me to see you like this because I know it has to be serious.”
The action seemed to jolt Matthew into remembering himself, and he reluctantly moved his hand away. “It’s not serious…just me being…I spoke to Paul earlier.”
The confession was out before the Welshman could stop it, and Ronnie knew that this was at the root of whatever had sent Matthew into this state. Forcing a casual tone, the older man asked, “How is he?”
“He, um, he’s had a bit of a rough one…not that he said it, he never would, but I could tell…” Matthew slumped back in his seat. “What the fuck am I doing, Ronnie, sitting here moping? What the fuck do I have to complain about?”
Gently, Ronnie offered, “You’re worried for him; that’s allowed, Matthew. He’s one of your best mates.”
“Then how come I manage to make such a fuck-up of everything?” Matthew buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Ronnie…”
“Don’t apologise, just please don’t stop,” Ronnie cajoled. “You need to let whatever it is out, Matthew, or it’ll destroy you.”
Matthew looked up at this, and Ronnie was stunned to see tears glisten in the younger man’s eyes. “I just, Ronnie, everything I touch at the moment seems to fall apart. I can’t even phone my best mate without it coming round to me and my pathetic worries.”
“Maybe he needs the distraction,” Ronnie suggested. “It probably helps him to forget about his troubles for a while. Besides, friendship is two-sided…so I’ve heard.”
A slight smile twitched at the corner of Matthew’s mouth, but faded quickly as he sighed, “See, that makes sense and I managed to fuck it up because I’m too stupid to think of that.”
“You’re not stupid, Matthew.” Ronnie clasped his hands together to stop himself from doing anything that the other man would be uncomfortable with. “What happened?”
Matthew fixed his gaze on the table. “Well, I phoned him and we were talking…he sounded like he was really struggling just to get through today and needed to be distracted…and then he started asking about how I was and how today had gone.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I really should learn to sound more convincing.”
“Paul knows you better than that; you’d never be able to hide your disappointment from him,” Ronnie reasoned. “It’s all part of the deal.”
“I know, and if he hadn’t sounded so…” Matthew let the sentence trail, the final word one he was unwilling to vocalise. “Anyway, instead of accepting that hearing about my day, no matter how bad, would help him by distracting him, I told him that I wouldn’t land him with my problems when they’re nothing compared to his…I hurt him, Ronnie. My best fucking friend, who’s hurting enough as it is, and all I did was make it worse.”
“You did what you felt was best,” Ronnie argued. “He must understand that; he’s not expecting you to be perfect. You’re trying your best for him, that’s all he needs.”
Matthew shook his head emphatically, struggling to speak as he tried to stave off his emotions. “It’s not as simple as that…when I said…when I said what I did, he got really upset and accused me of implying that he couldn’t care about anything but…he’s right, Ronnie, I’ve made such a mess of it all. I’ve done just the same as everyone else, I’ve let his being ill change how I treat him and it’s not right.”
“That’s not what you’ve done at all,” Ronnie returned. “You said it yourself; he sounded like he was having a rough day. You would have done the same no matter what had caused him to have such a rough time of it; all you tried to do was look out for him. He’s probably just a bit sensitive today, but he’ll understand that’s not what you meant.”
“He’s my mate, Ronnie; he means the world to me, so how can I get it all so wrong?” Matthew slumped forward a little, holding his head in his hands.
Ronnie frowned as he watched the Welshman. In his role as silent observer, he had watched Matthew and Paul often enough to gain a little insight into their situation - insight that he had never cared to look for, but had obviously seeped in subconsciously. Looking at Matthew now, Ronnie had a suspicion he knew what the biggest problem was.
Almost as more of a musing, the Londoner asked, “Who’s looking out for you, Matthew?”
Matthew’s head shot up at this. “What?”
Ronnie shrugged. “Just, you spend so much time and energy on making sure everyone around you is okay…who’s doing that for you?”
Matthew gave him a tight, almost sarcastic smile. “Paul, apparently, only I’m too much of an idiot to recognise it.”
“What about the stuff that relates to him, though?” Ronnie knew he was getting into dangerous territory, but his stints in rehab had taught him that painful truths had to be faced before they could be dealt with. “You know, the fact that every time you’re with him, you’re too scared to turn your back in case something happens and you still lose him? That when you phone him, you’re always afraid that you’ve left it that little bit too late and he won’t be able to answer?”
Matthew’s eyes widened, too stunned to even argue the points. “How did you…?”
“I’ve seen you, Matthew. Whenever you’ve both been at tournaments, you’ve barely left his side; and when you do, you’re lost in worrying that something will happen to him.” Ronnie gently forced eye contact. “You have been nothing but there for him, Matthew, but deep down you’re still terrified that you could have lost him, or even that you still could. And that’s why you need someone to look out for you, to let that all out to.”
A few silent tears trailed down Matthew’s face. “Ronnie, it’s stupid, I’m irrational and scared and constantly having to hide it, because it isn’t about me. Paul’s the one suffering; I’m just being pathetic and irrelevant.”
“Not true on either count,” Ronnie gently chastised. “No-one ever expected you to be unaffected by it all.” He gently touched the Welshman’s shoulder. “Matthew, you’re doing a great job of looking after Paul. You’re a great guy; he couldn’t wish for a better friend than you’ve been to him. No-one ever handles this sort of situation perfectly, but you’ve done a hell of a lot better than a lot of people would have.”
Matthew was about to reply when his phone rang, cutting off any argument he would have made. Checking the display, he offered, “Ronnie, I’m sorry but…”
“Go on.” Ronnie sat back in his seat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Matthew pressed the button to take the call, turning away slightly. “Hello?...Paul, hey, how’re you doing?...I…actually, I’ve had better nights myself.”
Ronnie couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched Matthew talking through the reasons behind his behaviour, reassured that he had at least done some good. Matthew had clearly listened to and taken his advice on board, which meant it couldn’t have been all that wrong.
As the Welshman finally hung up, Ronnie asked, “He okay?”
Matthew nodded, clearly drained. “Thanks, Ronnie. You’re right, I can’t keep pretending that I’m coping when I’m not, and I can’t keep hurting Paul by trying to protect him from the less than great parts of my life.” He paused, before hesitantly adding, “Will you be it?”
Ronnie looked at him, confused. “Will I be what?”
“The one who looks out for me?” Matthew fidgeted with his hands. “I’ll understand if you’d rather not, but…I’m not saying the others haven’t been good; Mark’s tried, he really has, but…no-one, Paul excepted, has ever seen through me the way you have.”
Ronnie smiled a little at this. “Of course I will, Matthew, if you want me to be.”
Matthew allowed a small smile of his own to cross his face as he glanced at his watch. “You should get some sleep. You’ve another Welshman to battle tomorrow.”
Ronnie couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, sir. You gonna take your own advice?”
“I’ll consider it.” A trace of Matthew’s usual, teasing smile crept onto his face. “Although I have nothing to get up for.”
“Well in that case, at the very least go and join those three.” Ronnie indicated Ryan and the two Marks, who seemed in no hurry to leave.
Matthew pondered this. “Well, I do need to go and nag Mark…no good him being too tired to play you, he’s our last Welsh hope.” He took a sip of his long-neglected beer and pulled a face. “I think a visit to the bar is in order too.”
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “You mean it’s not still at optimum temperature an hour or so after you bought it?”
“You’d think it would be, but no. I’ll go once you two stars have buggered off.”
Ronnie smiled at this. It was evident that the insecure, uncertain Matthew he’d arrived to had left the building; this was Matthew Stevens as everyone knew him. “Well, come on then, before they’re chucking you out.”
Matthew laughed a little at this, and the two men headed to the sole remaining occupied table. Mark Williams was the first to spot them, and smiled as he offered, “Evening, both. Do I take it I’m about to be mothered?”
Matthew smirked a little. “I’ve got you well trained. Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”
Mark chuckled at this. “Well in that case, I’ll leave you children to it.” He stood and moved to Ronnie’s side. “You heading up too?”
“You mean being chased up? I certainly am.” Ronnie smiled. “Think we’d better go before he takes that literally?”
Mark nodded in agreement and the two men headed off, the old rift between them unapparent as they appeared to be nothing more or less than two friends who just happened to be playing against each other the next day.
Mark Selby also stood. “What do you want, Matthew? I was just about to head bar-wards, so you can have Mark’s.”
Matthew grinned. “I won’t tell him that. A pint would be smashing, thanks mate.”
As the Englishman headed to the bar, Matthew sat down beside his countryman. Ryan gave him a concerned look. “Everything okay? We did want to come and ask, but…”
“Mark knew to do the right thing,” Matthew interrupted. “I’m fine now, but he was right in thinking I wouldn’t have appreciated it half an hour ago.”
“We knew not to argue,” Ryan stated. “Mark’s know you a long time, we trust his judgement.”
”Well that’s kind of you to say so, Ryan, but I honestly think you’re misreading my relationship with Mr Stevens.”
Ryan shook his head. “Ah, Selbs. Always out to play the smart-arse, aren’t you?”
“You love me for it.” Mark Selby grinned as he sat back at the table and handed the two Welshmen their drinks. “Don’t rush to agree with me.”
“We’d hate to shatter the delusion,” Ryan returned sweetly. “It would just be too cruel.”
Matthew grinned as he watched the banter between the two qualifiers. He imagined it was a lot like watching how he and Paul were with each other, which made it even better to watch - he knew, probably more than most others, that the banter signified an absolute bond that nothing could break through.
Another hour passed before Mark and Ryan voiced a desire to call it a night. As the trio dispersed, Matthew found himself left with a hollow feeling at being without his best friend, but refused to let the habitual fear take hold. It was only natural, after being reminded of the close friendship they shared, that Matthew would miss Paul, and that was all the feeling needed to be. The feeling proved that Matthew cared - and that was one thing, no matter what else happened, that the Welshman could guarantee. As long as he and Paul were friends, he would care - and that, he now realised, was the only thing Paul needed from him.
Tableau Two: The telephone conversations
Matthew sighed as he sat in the dressing room; shoulders slumped as he allowed himself a moment to admit to himself that, much as he couldn’t fault Ken’s play, this particular lost match had hurt him. He had gone into the final session of the match feeling so positive, only to have his hope snatched away bit by bit as Ken dominated to claim victory.
It wasn’t so much the match in itself, Matthew knew that. It was the fact that, with his place in the top sixteen under threat, he had hoped for his usual Crucible form to shine through and lend him the points he needed to stay safe. Much as he’d protested that the rankings didn’t mean anything, it didn’t stop it hurting that he’d let things slip so much.
He allowed himself one final sigh as he picked up his phone. He had promised he would contact Paul after the match, and he knew he couldn’t still be dwelling on this one small defeat whilst talking to his best friend. For Paul, slipping out of the top sixteen was the least of his worries.
“Hello?”
As Paul answered, Matthew could immediately tell that he was having a bad day. That one word had sounded so tired, so pained, that it made the Welshman even more determined to push his troubles to one side.
“Hey Paul, it’s Matthew. I don’t suppose I need to ask how you’re doing?”
“I’m alright, Matthew, really. I’ve felt worse than this.”
Matthew reckoned on this being a close call, but didn’t say as much. “Bad night last night?”
“Unsettled,” Paul allowed. “But that’s nothing new.”
Matthew frowned a little. “You wouldn’t complain of a bad night if you’d been up 72 hours straight; that doesn’t mean I can’t tell.”
“Why should I complain? At least if it hurts, I know I’m still here.” Paul sighed. “Look, Matthew…I know you’re worried and I do appreciate it, but…I don’t wanna be stuck on feeling sorry for myself. I do that enough as it is.”
“I’m sorry, Paul, I understand that.” Matthew bit his lip. “I just hate hearing you like this and not being able to do anything about it.”
“You can,” Paul returned. “You can tell me about the match. How’d it go, and who’s losing to you next?”
Matthew didn’t know whether to smile or cry at Paul’s question. He knew Paul was trying to keep things light, and the Welshman dearly wanted to, but the pain of losing was still raw.
Trying to make his tone as neutral and light-hearted as possible, he replied, “Ken rather slightly thrashed me. It’s a bit difficult to win frames from your chair.”
He could hear the frown at the other end as Paul spoke. “Those matches are never fun. You can feel on the best form you’ve ever known, but it’s for nothing if your opponent keeps you from the table.”
“Well at least I know it’s nothing I did wrong, for once.” Matthew fought back any thoughts of expanding on that statement, instead lightly adding, “Maybe I should retire to Vegas after all.”
“Don’t you dare!” Paul warned. “At least not until I can come with you.”
“As if I would ever volunteer to move that far away from you,” Matthew shot back. “Not even Vegas could be much fun if you’re stuck over here.”
Paul laughed at this. “Only you could be soft enough to want to sod off to Sin City and then mope because you’d be by yourself.” More seriously, he continued, “So are you going to keep up the Vegas shield or are you actually going to explain to me why you’re sounding so down?”
Matthew swore inwardly at this - clearly, he hadn’t done enough to disguise his disappointment. Fighting even harder to disguise the self-hatred that had joined the rest of it, he replied, “Paul, I don’t want to land it on you, okay? It’s not important.”
“Matthew, why do you do this?” Paul sounded frustrated. “Why do you always make excuses whenever it comes to what’s going on with you?”
“I’m not making excuses!” Matthew protested. “I just, you sound like you’ve had a really, really bad day, and the last thing I want to do is drag you even further down with something that really doesn’t matter.”
“If it doesn’t matter, why do you sound like it does?” Paul demanded. “Is it really nothing, or are you just saying that because you think I can only care about one thing at the moment?”
“God, Paul, no, that’s not it at all.” Matthew felt a lump rise in his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” Paul’s voice was quiet, wounded. “You’ve fallen into the same trap as everyone else; you’re not seeing me anymore.”
The self-loathing in Matthew’s head grew stronger at this as he struggled for words. “I’m not, Paul, you’re my best mate…”
“Then why don’t you start fucking acting like it again?” Paul’s temper had flared up again. “Why won’t you talk to me instead of pussyfooting around things that I know are upsetting you because I’m, what, too ill to cope with hearing the harsher realities of the rest of the world?”
“Paul, please…” Matthew struggled to keep his emotions in check, even as some part of him nagged him to let them free. “I…”
“Don’t, Matthew. I’m not interested in your argument that being ill has somehow made me incapable of being there for my best friend when he needs me. When you’re calling your best friend, rather than your friend who’s got cancer, I’ll be listening.”
Matthew stared at the phone as the dial tone sounded, his head screaming with the absolute remorse he felt for having made what he knew was a bad day for Paul even worse. Unable to cope with his inner self telling him over and over what an absolute idiot he was, he grabbed his things and headed out, determined to hide away and drown his sorrows.
~*~
“Hello?”
Matthew could feel the intense gaze of the man opposite him as he moved to take the call. The conversation with Ronnie had sent his head into even more of a jumble, but he knew if he didn’t take this call, it’d be an ever bigger mistake than those he had already made.
“Hey, it’s me.” Paul sounded hesitant; as though he wasn’t sure his call was welcome.
Matthew kept a level tone as he asked, “Paul, hey, how’re you doing?”
“Fucking awful actually, mate. You?”
Such a blunt answer from Paul confirmed to Matthew that he could only be honest in return. Turning away from Ronnie a little, he confessed, “I…actually, I’ve had better nights myself.”
Paul sighed. “Matthew, I’m sorry, I really am. I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that earlier.”
“You had every right to,” Matthew returned. “You were right, I’ve not been treating you like I should be, like the best friend that you are to me.”
“You have been amazing to me,” Paul told him. “I know I got frustrated because you wouldn’t talk to me, but I’ve thought about it and I know you weren’t trying to wrap me up in cotton wool. You were right when you said it’s been a bad day for me; I know I can’t hide these things from you and I still try to deny it, so…I guess that makes us pretty even.”
Matthew bit his lip. “You know if you’d sounded better, that I’d have been more open with you?”
“I do.” Paul swallowed gently. “I’ve been such a shit to you, Matthew, and you don’t deserve any of it. And through all of it, you’ve stuck by me and I sometimes worry that I don’t show you enough how much I appreciate it…but now I know I don’t, otherwise I wouldn’t do this to you.”
“Paul, please, you haven’t been shit to me at all.” Matthew felt a few tears roll down his cheeks. “I’m here for you because you’re my best friend, you’re one of the most important people in the world to me and I could have lost you. The fact that you’re still here is all I need from you.”
“Oh god, Matthew.” A choked sob escaped from Paul’s throat. “Can we…can we just forget earlier ever happened?”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Matthew replied. Trying to lift the other man’s mood a little, he joked, “You think that applies to the match too?”
“You’d have missed me if you’d stayed top sixteen,” Paul teased back. “Look, Matthew, I’m gonna be honest…”
“You’re fucking wrecked and need your rest,” Matthew finished for him. “I had noticed.”
“Of course you had. Phone me tomorrow?”
“Like you even need ask. Go on, you get some rest and we’ll talk this through when you’re more awake and I don’t have an audience.”
“Oh?” Paul enquired. “Do I get to find out before I go?”
“Ronnie’s been talking sense into me - which must make him something of a miracle worker.” Matthew shot a sideways glance at the Londoner as he said this.
“You said it,” Paul teased. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow."
Tableau Three: The outside view
Mark Williams and Mark Selby were sat in the bar of the players' hotel, making the most of the quiet afternoon. Most of the other players still about were either at or preparing for a match, but the two Marks had finished their second round match the day before. The Welshman had emerged the victor of their clash, but there was no sign of any bitterness or gloating between the two men - the match was over, the need for competition had passed and they were just two friends enjoying a quiet pint.
Mark Williams turned to his companion. "So, decided when you're heading back yet?"
The younger man shrugged. "Guess I'll see how things go. I might stick around for the atmosphere, but it all depends on who else is going to be around. No good being here and stuck in my room."
"You'd find someone," Williams mused. "You're not exactly the shy, retiring type."
Selby pretended to look affronted. "And what, pray tell, does that mean?"
The Welshman chuckled. "Come off it, Selby. When it comes to the social side, you're right up there with a certain countryman of mine."
Selby was about to reply when he saw Matthew Stevens walk in, almost as if on cue - if it hadn't been for the look on his face. The Welshman headed straight for the bar, either not seeing or just not acknowledging the other two players in the room.
Williams sighed gently. "Well I'm guessing the session went Ken's way..."
"That wouldn't get him like this, would it?" Selby asked. "He never struck me as..."
"No, not by itself," Williams interrupted. "Even taking the rankings into account..."
The two men watched as Matthew moved away from the bar, heading for a corner table almost completely hidden away from the rest of the room. The younger Mark frowned. "Should we be letting him go and brood by himself?"
"If Matthew's keeping to himself, he must need the solitude," the other man replied. "Right now, I think we leave him."
"I guess I see your point," Selby conceded. "Still doesn't seem right, but then neither does Matthew choosing to be alone."
"He'll be okay," Williams assured the younger man, even as his mind whirred with possibilities about what had sent the other Welshman into such a state. He knew it wasn't down to the match, and had a feeling he knew what - or rather who - was to blame, but he didn't know why.
Selby didn't look convinced. "If you say so."
The two men remained in the bar all afternoon and verging into evening, both of them pretending that they didn't have half a mind to the lone Welshman who had shown no signs of moving. They both looked up as one as they heard someone else walk in, smiling a little as they spotted Ryan Day approach their table.
The blond Welshman sat down heavily, letting out a sigh. "Evening, both. Anyone heading barwards?"
Williams immediately stood. "Sure thing, mate. Be back as soon as...Mark, you want anything?"
"Well, being as you're going..." Selby grinned. "Same again please."
Williams nodded and headed for the bar. Selby gave Ryan a gentle smile. "How bad was it?"
"13-10," Ryan replied. "I don't know what happened..."
"Hey, don't fret over it," the younger man advised. "That's pretty good going against Ronnie." Grinning, he added, "You did better than me."
A slight smile played at Ryan's lips. "Well, there is that," he agreed.
Williams chuckled as he returned to the table. "What did you say to him, Selby?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" the other Mark teased.
Williams smiled as he sat back down, happy to watch as, gradually, Selby managed to draw Ryan away from his thoughts of defeat and into the usual banter the pair fell into when together. The older Welshman was irrevocably reminded of Matthew and Paul, and how their constant banter belied the absolute bond they shared. There were certain specific parallels with each pair too - one English, one Welsh; one blond, the other dark. Granted, Ryan was rather quieter than either Matthew or Paul, and the age gap was bigger, but there was still an unmistakeable comparison.
The smile faded as his gaze drew back to the corner, from which Matthew still showed no signs of emerging. Despite his words to Selby, the Welshman was beginning to wonder if maybe one of them should check on him - but then, what could any of them say to him? The two younger players had never even known Matthew to be solitary, and Williams was hardly used to it despite the time they had known each other. On top of which, if Paul was behind his mood, Matthew probably wouldn't appreciate being faced with such a similar friendship.
Looking up, he saw a rather cheerful Ronnie breeze into the room. Williams glanced at Ryan, but the younger Welshman seemed to have been cheered up sufficiently by Selby and simply gave a respectful nod to the Londoner as he passed their table.
Selby frowned as he noticed the path Ronnie was taking. "Shouldn't we...?"
"Ronnie understands wanting to be alone," Williams explained, shaking his head. "Chances are, he won't bother him."
"Bother who?" Ryan asked. "Did I miss something?"
"Matthew's been alone at a table for ages," Selby explained, "and Mark won't let us go and see if he's okay, but apparently it's okay for Ronnie to be going over."
"Ronnie always heads for solitude," Ryan reasoned. "Matthew not so much, though."
"Can you please give me a little credit?" Williams asked. "I know you're worried; so am I. But I'd like to think I know him well enough to know what I'm saying."
"Oh, we know you do," Ryan quickly replied. "We know you're doing what you think is best for him."
"I just don't understand the Ronnie bit," Selby explained. "Maybe I just don't know either of them well enough, but it doesn't make sense."
"Does anything Ronnie does?" Ryan argued. "I'm sure Mark has things under control; he is rather like everyone's big brother...or most people's, anyway."
Williams raised an eyebrow. "I will assume that to be a good thing."
"Hey, your countryman is defending you, show some appreciation!" Selby teased.
Williams and Ryan both laughed at this, and the conversation turned back to more trivial matters. Again, the eldest amongst them was happy to take a backseat, listening in amusement as Ryan and Selby discussed a fan who had asked them both to sign some kind of bag. He felt a slight longing for his own days as a qualifier, back when he hadn't been caught up in the politics of the game and had the time and energy to spend time with the fans who showed such dedication.
As the evening went on, the trio found themselves amongst less and less company as others who had come in throughout the day decided to call it a night. Soon, theirs were the only occupied table bar one and Williams again wondered if his judgement on the situation had been right. Before he could broach the subject, however, he spotted Ronnie approach with a decidedly more cheerful-looking Matthew. Grinning, the eldest Welshman offered, “Evening, both. Do I take it I’m about to be mothered?”
He was relieved to note that Matthew had responded, sounding very much like his usual self. Leaving the three younger players to continue as they wished, Williams walked away with Ronnie out of the bar. As they walked, he offered, "Whatever it was you did, thank you."
Ronnie looked down slightly at this, a little self-consciously. "It was nothing, really. I just...seeing Matthew like that, it's not something I fancy repeating any time soon."
"All the same, thank you." Mark frowned. "I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing, leaving him, and trying to dissuade the others..."
"You know him, Mark. You couldn't not do the right thing." Ronnie paused. "Was it intentional?"
"Me letting you see him? Subconsciously, I think so," the Welshman confessed. "Just...don't take this the wrong way, but I'm too close. I knew I wouldn't get him to open up because apart from Paul, the people he's closest to rarely get him to open up - he's too busy putting his feelings on hold for us. You, he's not so close to, so I hoped it might get him to open up."
"Because he's not trying to protect me...I can see that. Even as he said you didn't, I knew you saw through him as I did and as Paul does, only he won't let himself see that." Ronnie sighed. "Funny thing, perception."
"Certainly is," Mark agreed. "So I assume it was something to do with Paul?"
Ronnie nodded. "He's okay," he quickly reassured, sensing the other man's concern. "He just had a bit of a rough day, and there was a bit of a misunderstanding between him and Matthew, but it looks to be sorted now."
"They always do sort it," Mark commented. "Nothing could sever that sort of bond."
"They're lucky." A slight frown crossed Ronnie's face. "Though I doubt they feel that so much at the moment."
"When it comes to each other, they must do," Mark responded. "That sort of friendship isn't something that happens to everyone."
"That's true enough," Ronnie agreed. "Can't think of any others on the circuit like it."
"There is one," Mark contested. "They're not quite as obvious, but if you watch Mark and Ryan closely enough, you see it."
Ronnie nodded. "I can't say I've spent much time with them...I knew they were friendly with each other."
Mark smiled a little. "Look a little closer and I defy you not to be reminded of Matthew and Paul."
Ronnie smiled back. "Duly noted. I'm just glad enough of this."
Mark gave him a confused look. "Of what?"
"The fact that we can be civil to each other," Ronnie explained. "That anyone can be civil to me, to be honest."
"We all make mistakes, Ronnie. You've had enough about you to admit to them, why make things awkward when we see so much of each other?" Mark gave him a reassuring smile. "And you can't be that bad if Matthew confided in you."
"Well that's true. Thanks, Mark."
The two men smiled at each other as they stopped outside Mark's room. The Welshman grinned a little as he offered, "You're welcome. I'll take my reward tomorrow."
"You think so?"
Ronnie raised an eyebrow and both men laughed. As they parted, they each felt some degree of comfort - okay, they were never going to be the closest friends on the circuit, not by a long shot. Tomorrow they would be opponents, but tonight they were at peace. Tonight, they had finally laid their off-table rivalry to rest.