You know even if it may seem like queer bait, I really want Jessica to completely unintentionally with no intent of being an asshole mistake foggy for matts boyfriend. Like she drags his bruised and battered ass to his house and is freaking out about finding someone to treat his stab wound but she gets there and a cute blonde is there in his pj’s holding a first aid kit and sleepily mumbles for her to drop him on the couch and he just tears off the suit and starts tending to him and Jessica awkwardly mumbles that she’s glad the devil has someone to come home to, and leaves.
Later she awkwardly goes “your boyfriend seems nice, I’m happy for ya” before walking away and Matt becomes the first person to properly vocalize “??????????”
i. You fight because it is the most intimate act you can think of, the way blood flows from one body and spills onto the other, the way your bones collapse on impact, a meteorite fist landing in your concave crater cheek.
ii. There are no skeletons in your closet–they’re stuffed into the confession booth beside the altar to which you have chained yourself, and they rattle and they shake like a warning when you feel yourself drifting too far. (You are unsure whether this is because you are pious or because god is something you can see without a working pair of eyes.)
iii. Your memories are flame-licked and stained with blood, you’ve learned to read the wind and it whispers secrets into your ears. You know there is a pair of lips waiting to swallow you whole, heart and all; the shifts in the air tell you that you are gravitating in the wrong direction.
iv. There is a compass tattooed to your insides and still you are hopelessly lost. Heaven and Hell are warring inside you, always brutal, always merciless. If you fall, does it mean that you, too, were once an angel?