Don't Talk, Just Listen: Mike, Matt, PG
Title: Don't Talk, Just Listen
Author: marliskelsey
Pairing,Character(s): Matt, Mike with small appearances from Puck, Finn, Quinn and Santana
Rating: PG
Word Count: 959
Spoilers: None
Summary: In which Matt learns that true friendship isn't all about the words spoken.
A/N: Just a little one-shot about the friendship that we don't really see on the show, because it's really not explored enough. Hope you enjoy!
They’re six years old.
“Can I see your truck?”
Matt looks up, stares at the little boy who’s standing beside the sandbox, twiddling his thumbs and grinning.
His name’s Mike. He’s just moved to Lima from Sacramento, which is across America. He’s got a mommy and a daddy, and a little brother, and a dog named Nunchuck. He likes to dance, but also to play football.
Matt hasn’t got very many friends. He’s too quiet.
He offers Mike a truck, his second favourite truck, and smiles at the boy. Mike takes the toy happily, and plunks himself down beside Matt. “Wanna build a garage?”
Matt nods, because until now, he hasn’t had anyone to build one with and he's always wanted to.
* * *
They’re eight years old.
Its show-and-tell and Matt’s fidgeting because he’s anxious. Quinn Fabray is at the front of the class, talking about her cross necklace and smiling prettily, batting her eyelashes for Finn Hudson, who’s watching with a dopey smile on his face.
Mike’s sitting beside him, playing with his pet turtle Skipper, and humming to himself.
Quinn sits down beside an excited looking Finn.
“Matt? It’s your turn.”
Matt takes a deep breath and walks slowly to the front of the classroom. He holds the photograph of his grandpa up to the class. “This is my Grandpa Stanley. He’s passed away now, but we used to watch movies together. I love him, a lot.”
There are a few awkward claps, and Mrs. Gerald is making a weird little sniffly noise in the back of her throat, so Matt just rushes back to his chair.
Mike smiles at him. “That was really good. Twenty-one whole words.”
Matt sits a little straighter in his chair.
* * *
They’re eleven years old.
It’s strange to see Mike cry. Not that he cares that he’s crying, because Matt doesn’t believe Puck when he says that only girls cry. But because Mike is always so happy . . .
He doesn’t know what to do, because it’s usually the other way around.
“My mom doesn’t want me to go to the funeral, you know. She says seeing Grandmother will just make me sadder.” Mike wipes away a tear. “I want to go though. My dad says funerals are for saying goodbye, and I never got to say goodbye.”
Matt puts a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. They sit in silence for a few minutes.
Matt’s always been more comfortable with the silence, but Mike needs him to speak right now, needs him to explain.
“My Grandpa Stanley dying really sucked. But I knew he loved me, like your Grandmother loved you, and I think you should say goodbye to her. You should talk to your mom about it. My mom really helped me.”
People sometimes tell him that he isn't an average kid. Too observant, too focused. So, when Mike looks at him like he was some strange, wise creature, he takes it in stride.
Mike smiles a little and hiccups. “Thanks, Matt. You’re my best friend.”
He grins back and squeezes Mike’s shoulder.
* * *
They’re thirteen years old.
He spins the bottle quickly, trying to hide the way his hand is shaking as he does.
It spins slowly, scratching the floor with a hollow, ominous sound until it finally stops. The neck of the bottle is pointing across the little circle in Santana Lopez’s basement, directly at Santana Lopez herself.
Mike was so excited to be invited to this party, talking a mile a minute in typical fashion.
Matt was just glad to be invited, glad to have friends that didn’t really care whether he spoke or not.
There are a few hoots from the small group of kids, Mike’s being the loudest, and Santana’s smiling and batting her eyelashes at him. He tries to grin back and push the butterflies in his stomach back down. Santana is really pretty.
She leads him to the closet, closes the door and muffles the shouts and whistles.
It’s rushed and awkward, a peck on the lips. His eyes are screwed shut the whole time.
When his eyes open, Santana’s staring at him with a hand on her hip. “That’s all you wanna do? Not even tongue-kiss?” Oh my God.
Matt shakes his head vigorously. Santana narrows her eyes, cocks her head.
“You’re kinda cute, Matt. And you don’t talk much, which is so a plus. I won’t tell if you won’t tell, okay?”
They leave the closet snickering.
* * *
They’re fifteen years old.
They’re trying out for football, together, because when do they do things separately?
Coach Tanaka is wearing shorts in the crisp September morning, and he spits when he shouts, but for the most part he’s an okay football coach.
Mike and Matt aren’t fantastic, but they’re pretty good. Better than others. They make it in with relative ease.
Puck makes it. So does Finn, but everybody knew that would happen.
Later, in the locker-room, Mike makes the most poignant comment Matt has ever heard him utter.
“Can you feel it, man? It feels like everything’s changing.”
* * *
They’re seventeen years old.
Their high-school lives have gone by so fast, whirlwinds of football and popularity and girlfriends and Glee club and singing and dancing.
Matt’s watched Mike creep to the forefront, finally getting the spotlight he’s always wanted.
He’s been content to just listen.
He’s learned that sometimes you get the most simply by listening, by watching as the people around you make their mistakes and write their stories. You learn the most from the experiences of others around you.
He’s learned that a friendship built on lies will crumble.
He’s learned that a friendship built on solid ground will stand true.
He’s learned that he and his best friend have the strongest ground of them all.