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"It's all about trust," he had told him once, still red faced, they had just had sex for the first time, he had told him he wasn't a virgin, but he could tell Matt hadn't belived him.
"A relationship is all about trust," he had told him another time. Grass in his arm hair and sweaty armpits. Taking a break in the middle of their hiking trip. He had proposed to him that night. He had also lost the ring in the middle of the forest. They had spent four hours searching for it until they found it. They both cried.
I trust you.
But maybe he needed a little help to maintain that trust.
The old woman he spent so much time searching for had looked at him sadly when he told her the story, like he was a small rabbit caught in an unrelenting current. Drowning is inevitable.
He didn't care, he accepted the materials she gave him and left.
Sometimes you can only bob your head above the water.
He trusted Matt every time he called to tell him he was coming home soon. Everyday. He trusted him when he said it last year too. He trusts him now even though he never did.
He just needs a little help maintaining that trust.
He lays everything on the floor. Kicking away month's worth of piled clothes, dried flowers and get well soon letters. He takes the little velvet box out of his pocket. Everyone thought Matt had been buried with his ring on. He hadn't.
The ancient words feel clunky on his tongue and taste sweet and bitter. He spits them out. He hears cries outside and wonders if it's a fox. Hopes it is.
He just needs a little help maintaining that trust.
He feels someone breathing down his neck.