But he also knew that in reality Oliver hadn’t meant any harm by it. He wasn’t the kind of man to purposely look down on someone or to judge them…but that didn’t mean he didn’t do it sometimes. He held the world to his standard without realizing he did it, and most people just couldn’t be who Ollie was.
So he continued to lie in the bed that felt a little too soft. The room was beautiful. Everything was white from the crisp, clean walls to the accent tables and the bedding.
The house was perfect for Oliver. It was exactly what he saw the man having. He’d always known Oliver would make something of himself. It was sewn into his DNA.
For a moment, Matt wondered what Oliver thought of him, of his career. Was he proud of Matt? He’d always said he was, but did he really mean it? Or was there a part of Oliver that thought Matt had failed since he wasn’t composing music? Because that would be the truth.
“Fuck,” Matt gritted out, annoyed at himself for going there. Getting away from the shit that clogged up his mind was the whole point of leaving New York, but then he’d never been very good at letting things go.
His stomach growled, but he ignored it and rolled over in the bed. He’d opened the curtains before lying down. He saw trees instead of buildings. The wind blew, and he watched the leaves rustle in it. He felt a world away from New York or even LA, but then he figured that was why Ollie lived out here. He probably locked himself in his office for hours on end while he wrote.
It was all Oliver had ever wanted to do, and even though there was the twinge of jealousy deep in his gut, Matt smiled because Oliver was living the life he’d always wanted. If anyone deserved that, it was Ollie.
*
Matt’s eyes opened slowly, and he realized he’d managed to get some sleep.
A lot of it.
He hadn’t expected that. The sun looked as though it was already starting to go down. He stretched, grabbed his phone off the nightstand and shot a quick text to Parker, letting him know everything was okay. He likely wouldn’t get a reply, which was fine. Parker was a man of few words when it came to shit like that.
He set his phone back down and went into the en suite where he took a quick piss, washed his hands and then splashed water on his face.
He had bags under his eyes that Parker would give him shit over if he saw them.
Matt went back into the bedroom and thought about making a quick call to his parents. He got an uncomfortable twist in his abdomen and decided before he did anything, he needed to clean up.
He took a shower. The hot water felt so fucking good he could have come from it. Then he climbed out, brushed his teeth, and got dressed.
Matt pulled out his laptop and turned it on. He had emails from Parker, work shit and too many things he didn’t want to deal with. Work shit he needed to find a way to deal with before there wasn’t any work shit left—then he’d really be fucked.
Christ, what was he doing to himself? The whole point had been to come home and get away.
He gave his phone another glance but hell, it was already late in the day. It wasn’t like he would go see them this evening. Maybe he and Ollie could hang out—watch a movie or something.
The more he thought about that the more some of the tightness gripping his muscles seemed to ease up. Maybe they could go out or have a drink or…fuck, he didn’t know, something. Oliver had always made things feel better, and right now, Matt really fucking needed that.
Ignoring his phone and his laptop, he made his way downstairs.
He went to turn into the living room but somehow knew that Ollie wasn’t there.
As he went down the hall, he heard a familiar sound that made him stop, a smile stretching across his face.
Jesus, his friend was crazy. He didn’t know why he was surprised but he was. Maybe it was because he felt like such a different person from the man he’d been when he left LA that he assumed Oliver would be too.
He rapped softly on the door, before hearing a quiet, “Come in.”
The second he had the door open he said, “Sounds of the rainforest? Still?”
Oliver looked up from behind his desk, a computer in front of him. “It helps me write. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Chuckling, Matt stepped into the room. “Yeah, I guess you have a point there.”
Oliver’s office was decorated in rich earth tones—browns and greens.
He had a large dark wood L-shaped desk that was of course, immaculate, with everything in its place.