opia; matty healy.

38%

"The boy's a mess," George says, shifting gears and driving down the road again.

"Absolutely," I say, "I feel bad for him."

"We all do," he nods, "It's okay, Denise is an angel – and if it's to do with his Dad they'll probably both end up crying."

"It's happened before?" I question, but George shakes his head.

"No," He tells me, "But when you're friends with someone for so long you begin to put them into scenarios and know exactly how they'll react."

I think about George's words all night. I toss and turn in bed at one in the morning, realising that I've never had anyone get so close to me that I understood them to their full extent. I don't even understand Matty entirely, and just like Matty is afraid of me – and us – I am afraid I'll never give enough of myself to him.

I can tell him he's got me, and I can show him in every way possible that I'll never leave – but I'm capable of it. I'm capable of messing things up so bad that there's no other choice but to admit defeat and walk away. I'm not proud of it, but long-term relationships have never been my forte.

It's at 1am exactly that my phone lights up from my bedside table, and while normally I'd have it facing downwards, I couldn't help the worry sinking into my bones at the thought of no response from Matty during the night. The text reads: 'Let me in?' and I feel myself smiling as if I can't control it.

My feet are soft on the floor, careful not to let any of the stairs creak as I move towards the front door. I figure that even if Mum did get out of bed, she wouldn't mind too much that I'm bringing an upset Matty into the house. My bedroom? Maybe. But what she doesn't know won't kill her, right?

I unlock the door, Matty standing there as I had imagined, in a warm hoodie and a jacket draping over his shrugged shoulders.

"Hey," I say, my breath coming out as a stream of visible cold air.

He immediately extends his arms, barely giving me a second before I'm stumbling backwards trying to regain my balance from his embrace. It's still cold, so with my foot I close the door a little more, until I finally get the chance to pull away and close it quietly, leading him upstairs our hands entwined.

He sits on the end of my bed, pulling me closer almost immediately until my legs are on either side of his waist and my knees are bent. He kisses me, as if he hasn't ever had me this close before and as if he never will. I give in, the tension vacant and begging for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his kisses moving slowly down my neck and his hands sliding under my old shirt that more than likely is actually his.

"It's okay," I exhale, a shaky breath appearing in response.

Small kisses line my neck, my hands grabbing onto his shirt and stripping off his jacket in a second. My whole body aches for him, and it leaves me feeling vulnerable and excited – I don't want this to end, and yet, I know where it leads and I'm not sure I'd like that either. Matty has the experience. I, on the other hand, have two sleeping adults in the same house.

Despite this, I let him continue, his hips moving against mine until the friction is so much that I have to pull away before I take it too far. Matty is smiling, placing a small kiss on my forehead before moving to my lips again.

"God," he says quietly, "The things I'd do..."

I let out a shaky laugh, not trusting myself to speak because I'm sure I'll make a fool of myself.

"We should stop, though," he agrees with my silence, "Before your parents find out."

"While I'm trying not to care," I manage quietly, "You know I do."