vanish : matty healy / george daniel oneshots

Doesn't He Break Your Heart

The dark purple haze that surrounds the city is beautiful. I look out my apartment window expecting to see busy streets and bright lights shining from below, but tonight was unusually still. There was something eerie about the silence.

I looked down at my phone, the send button beside my carefully worded yet entirely impromptu text message tempting me. I glance up at his name, and hit send, knowing what could come next. The end of Matty and George.

Matty and I had been friends since we were kids. Hell, we moved to New York City together. Given, we knew we couldn't afford it on our own, but I knew we both moved to be together. Not together like in a relationship, together in the 'I'm-your-best-friend-and-I-never-want-to-leave-your-side' sense. At least, for the first two years here together, that's what I thought.

The more time we spent together, the more I found myself thinking about how soft his lips look and how fit he looks in skinny jeans (which he wore frequently) and how nice he treats me compared to the other people I had been with. I wasn't thinking about the consequences were when I sent the text. I didn't think about it possibly fucking up our several  years of friendship.

I locked my phone and sat it down on the table beside me. I felt my body begin to shake, and my heart begins to pound. And it hit me. I just ruined it. I ruined everything we spent so many years building. I hear keys jumbling from the outside the door and quickly grab my phone and the wine glass I previously then hurried to my bedroom.

I jumped into the bed, laid my phone beside me, and set the empty glass on the table beside my bed. I heard the door open and shut, then the sound of keys being laid down on a table. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I heard whispering coming from outside my door.

"Fuck... You're going to fuck this up, Matty. You can't. He probably won't remember the text in the morning. He was probably drunk. Don't mention it," I heard my doorknob turn and then the sound of the squeaking hinges of my door filled my ears.

"George?" He inquired quietly. I kept my eyes shut and made sure to keep my breathing steady. I just wanted to know why he was in my room. He sat on the edge of my bed, not even an inch away from touching me, but being conscious not to.

He knew I was a heavy sleeper, so it made sense when he ran his finger down my jawline, and then continuing to trace the other features of my face. When he came to my lips, I felt him hesitate but continue nevertheless. My heart was racing, and I was surprised he couldn't hear it.

"You're beautiful, George," he whispered under his breath, barely audible. He didn't smell like alcohol nor weed, so I wondered if he was sober. He smelled like a mix between aftershave and cigarette smoke, a scent I had grown used to, but also grown to love. I had the urge to grab his hand and interlace his fingers in mine, but I chose not to. "What am I doing?" he whispered, again, barely audible.

He rested his hand that merely moments ago was tracing the features of my face on the opposite side of me from where he was sitting. He leaned close to me and placed a soft kiss on my cheek. He got up, walking towards the half-open door.

"Please stay."

"Okay," he says, his voice hoarse from speaking in a hushed tone before, "I'll be right back," I hear the floor creak as I can only assume he went to his room to take off his sweater and skinny jeans.

When I heard the door in my room creak again, I open my eyes. Surely enough, he was walking over to get in the bed beside me.

"Move over, please," he vocalizes. So I scoot over towards the edge of my bed that was pressed against the wall. He tries his best not to let himself touch me, and I frown.

"Will you cuddle with me, please," I say, the frown on my face evident in my voice.

He responds with a hushed "of course," and the next thing you know I can feel every bit of his bare skin pressed up against mine. "S'alright?" He questions, whispering into my ear as if he didn't want anyone else to hear.

I nod my head, and he wraps his arm around me, bringing us closer together which previously, I didn't know was possible. I rest my head on his chest, and I feel him sigh.

"Matty?"

"Yes, George?"

"Thank you."

"It's okay."