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the-chosen-fanfiction · 4 months

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Matthew | There Is Something Behind Your Eyes | Platonic

Requested: Yes

Matthew is convinced that the stranger at his booth must be an angel.

One, two, three.

Matthew turns his key three times.

Maybe a fourth time for good measure? No, he decides against it. After all, he has to catch the cart driver lest he arrive too late and has to walk all the way to the other side of the village. He cannot risk it.

He gulps in disgust as a few rats scurry barely past his feet. Pressing the rag clutched in his hand against his nose, he tries to block out the smell.

Everything inside of him has been on edge lately. He cannot put any words nor reason to the odd and unfamiliar feeling, but it is there, and he is not sure what to make of it. For now, he blames it on the current dynamic within the fishing village of Capernaum. Things are tense and uneasy, as if something massive is about to go down.

Matthew remembers the riot around here about a year ago, and hopes that this time around it will be extinguished before it can break loose. After all, he left the last revolt against the Romans unscathed, but this time around, he cannot be so certain.

“You there, public-anus!” The man with the cart Matthew has made an arrangement with already stands waiting for him just outside the street near his house. Attempting to not retch at the stench of sheep dung, Matthew approaches him slowly, trying to keep his sandals clean to his best ability. “Hurry up and get in!”

Matthew does not correct the wrong pronunciation of his professional title, instead hops inside the cart with uncharacteristic haste. He does not want to risk being seen, even if it means potentially getting his expensive garment stuck on any rusty nails in the process. He pulls over the cover, laying down inside the hay that the salesman transports in spite of its dampness. Once down, Matthew feels the cart shift into motion. Neither of them speak to one another whilst the tax-collector watches the street underneath him through a gap between the planks on the bottom, the sound of squeaking wheels filling his ears.

Perhaps he could ask Gaius to become his daily escort, Matthew wonders. If his calculations are correct, people wouldn’t even try to bother him while he is on his way to work, then.

Suddenly, the cart halts - halfway through the journey, Matthew knows - right before the market square. “Get out!” the merchant hisses at him, “I can’t be seen with you. I need to drop off my goods here and I cannot take the risk!”

Matthew is momentarily blinded by the sunlight as the man lifts up the cover. “Out, taxman!”

“I-If you want to take risk into consideration, I’d say that there would be more of a risk of you being caught if I were to get out here rather than if you were to bring me directly to the booth–”

“I don’t want to hear it! Out!”

Apprehensively, Matthew exits the wagon and pulls up his shoulders, making himself as invisible as he can. His cream-coloured tunic makes it difficult to miss him. He stands out like a sore thumb. If the tax-collector wanted to remain unseen, he should have picked a different outfit.

An impatient palm appears in his field of vision, and Matthew fishes a leather pouch of money from the satchel on his hip. He pulls it open and counts the money inside, taking out a few denarii, then counting on his fingers, eyes lifted up in thought.

“What are you doing?” the merchant queries.

“Counting how much I owe you. Technically, you brought me about halfway through the village, so that is half the amount agreed upon. However, when taking into consideration the liability that I will now have to undergo due to me having to travel further on foot, I will have to withhold about twenty percent of the amount owed–”

“Just give it to me!” the man snaps, grabbing the pouch of money from his hand before Matthew can realise it, “You’re costing me money as you speak. Consider the extra as collateral due to the risk of being seen with you.”

Matthew opens his mouth to protest, but he is not intimidating enough for the merchant to not just walk away with his cart. Knowing that fighting it will make things even worse, Matthew sighs and lets it go, thinking about the safest route to take through the city in order to be exposed to the public eye as briefly as possible.

Once the transaction has been made, the man grunts and walks off with his cart, muttering under his breath that this was the final time they’ve done business. Matthew tilts his head slightly and calculates the best direction to go into to avoid conflict before starting his trek towards the booth.

He ignores the scornful glares sent his way; after all, he is so used to it at this point that he’d be more taken aback by actual kindness. Gaius is already waiting for him, his usual scowl on his face, as if he doesn’t want to be here. Perhaps that the Primi Ordines doesn’t necessarily like guard duty in a place of such regular unrest.

Matthew greets him with a short mumble and enters his booth, laying out his necessary tools in front of him. Everything has its own place, and he enjoys the feeling of a tidy desk. It’s one of the few things he can control at all times, and Matthew takes great pride in keeping it clean.

The morning goes on as usual, with occasional displeasure from tax-payers as well as tears streaming down pockmarked, hollow faces, but Matthew stoically goes through with it. The sun is past its highest point when it becomes a little more bearable in the booth, and Gaius leans against the wall, sighing as he eats an apple. Matthew vaguely remembers the Primi mentioning that the change of guard was coming up soon, but the publicanus wasn’t sure how long ago he had said it.

The amount of customers is declining as the day carries on, most people heading to their homes to prepare for Shabbat instead. It gives Matthew a rare moment of peace and quiet in his booth, and he takes some time to sort out his ledger, checking for any errors in the calculations and–

“Shalom.”

Matthew startles a bit at the sudden voice and looks up. A young woman about his own age stands in front of the booth, a kind smile on her face. Her (e/c) eyes slightly glitter as she watches him curiously.

“Sh-Shalom.” Matthew stutters, putting his current chore aside. “How may I help you?” He doesn’t recognise you from around here.

“Just here to have a chat.”

Matthew grabs his ledger. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/n).” you introduce yourself, and tell him where you are from. “So no, I don’t have any open debts to pay you.”

The way you’re looking up at him is not very familiar to him. There is a gentle expression on your face, and he isn’t sure what to make of it.

“Then what do you want?” Matthew wants to know.

“You’re Jewish, right?” you query.

Matthew nods, looking at Gaius from the corner of his eye. The Primi doesn’t seem to mind your presence, instead gazing out over the empty streets, unbothered by the conversation going on right beside him.

“I am.”

“So, what are you doing here?” you ask.

There is no accusation nor malice in your voice, a tone regarding his profession that is quite new to Matthew.

“My-My job.” he mutters, “If I can’t help you with your taxes, I’d like to wish you a good day.”

You let out a hum and watch him curiously. “Shouldn’t you be home, preparing for Shabbat? It’s almost sundown…”

“I… Don’t. I-I think you should go, though… Otherwise, you won’t be home in time, either.”

Your smile is soft. “Don’t you worry about me, now. You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“That’s not important–”

“Matthew–” Gaius pipes up, “Can you get her to hurry? That change of guard is apparently not happening and I am really in need of a break, so I want to close up this booth for a while.”

Matthew sighs and you hum. “Matthew, huh? Don’t worry, Primi, I’ll be here just for another minute or so.” You turn back to the tax-collector.

“Listen, Matthew, I know a lot of people loathe you and shame you for the work you do. You chose to work for the Romans, so part of their indignation is justified. However, I crossed past your booth and was overcome with the conviction to share something with you today. A word.”

“A word?” Matthew looks at you a bit puzzled.

You hum in agreement. “I’m with this group of people. With a Rabbi. I think you’ve heard about Him, too, haven’t you? I can feel that you have.”

Matthew feels his throat run dry - yes, now he faintly recognises you walking alongside the followers of this infamous Rabbi. He had indeed heard about Him causing quite the stir, but he had never investigated it.

“What about it?” He tries to sound indifferent, but something wavers in his voice. You give him a kind smile and reach out through the gap in the booth. You do not touch him, but lay your hand close to him. Gaius eyes you a bit suspiciously, but when Matthew does not display any sign that you’re assaulting him in any way, he looks away again.

“I think Jesus is going to call you out of the darkness and into the light.” you whisper. “That is His name, by the way. The name of my Rabbi.”

For a few moments, Matthew rapidly blinks, staring at you dumbfounded. “What do you mean by that?”

“Because whenever we pass by this booth while in town, I get this feeling inside my heart to come over and talk to you. One of the other followers always hisses something under his breath about you, but I think it’s not totally justified. Sure, you’ve chosen this profession and thus betrayed our people by working for our oppressors, but…” your smile grows a bit, “I think you’re more than that.”

Matthew feels his face heat up slightly with a hint of shame. Why are you being so kind to him without even knowing who he is? Even though the sole thing you know about him is that he betrayed your people?

“I think you feel that sentiment towards me just because you’re not from around here. I suggest you leave me alone and go to pay your taxes in your own county.” Matthew moves away, but you lean a little closer.

“Matthew,” you pipe up, “Why do you think I’m meeting you here minutes before Shabbat? I am here for a reason, and I need you to know this. If… If you choose to follow Him one day, because I am convinced that He will call you one day or another… You will need a friend, someone to stick up for you. Know that I’ll be that person.”

Abashed, he shakes his head. “I don’t have friends and I don’t need them, either.”

The smile that grows on your face is nothing short of angelic.

“And yet, the offer still stands. Just had to let you know, okay?” You look at the sky, thinking for a long moment. “If I want to be at my friend Mary’s place before sundown, I’ll have to go now. Shalom shalom, Matthew. I have a feeling we’ll see one another soon.”

At a loss for words, Matthew replies a soft “Shalom,” as you give him a friendly nod and walk off, and he leans closer to the iron bars to keep watching you until you disappear behind the corner.

“Well,” Gaius huffs, “Believe it or not, I think that’s the nicest way I’ve ever seen someone talk to you.”

Matthew does not reply, instead stands in silence, his mind racing with questions.

A few weeks later, Matthew is standing in his booth, going about his day, when a familiar group of people enters his field of vision as they pass by. A few wisps of (h/c) hair draw his attention and you look over your shoulder, making eye-contact with him.

As soon as Jesus halts, a smile forms over your lips. Matthew tears his gaze away from you to settle it on the Rabbi, Who looks at him with a determined look on His face.

“Matthew, son of Alphaeus.”

Matthew blinks, wondering for a second if there is another person with the exact same name standing right behind him, and he leans closer. Your eyes glitter as you gaze at Jesus, and then back at the tax-collector in the booth.

“Yes?” he breathes.

“Follow Me.”

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