heart out | george/matty oneshots

6ft Under

George wanted nothing more than to run from his - their bedroom. Pack a suitcase, grab the kids and just leave behind the kids and all it's bullshit.

But he couldn't just leave Matty, not when he was ill. Not when he was hardly holding onto life, with pale lips, hollow cheeks and a bald head.

So, he did nothing more than take a deep breath, and push open the bedroom door. He'd taken responsibility of caring for his husband, so he would. He did love him, after all. Despite all the mess and horrible bullshit.

He gave a weak smile as he walked into the room, cup of tea with the tea bag left in. Just the way Matty liked it.

"Hey, love," he kept the same weak smile, eyes flickering over to his sickly looking husband as he lie on his side, blankets under his arm.

Matty returned the smile, just as weak as george's own. There was really only one difference between the smiles: Matty looked pained as he gave his.

George sat down beside his husband, setting the steaming mug down onto the bedside table as Matty pulled himself slowly into a seated position in order to take the mug without spilling it on himself.

"Thank you," he mumbled, taking the mug with two frail looking hands.

George gave a nod, climbing over Matty's legs to get to the empty side of the bed, before letting out a small sigh, mostly of worry. Partly due to the repetitive nature of his routine. It just seemed to revolve around Matty, he was terribly ill so it wasn't like he could take care of himself too well, but it was draining.

"I love you and the girls, you know that, don't you?"

George gave a nod. Matty looked down into his mug before repeating George's action and nodding.

"I do. I promise, but please, for the love of god i need you to kill-"

George was brought back to reality and out of his daydream in an instance by the whistling of the old stove kettle he and Matty had picked up at an Op Shop.

It filled his ears like a child blowing relentlessly into a whistle - something George was more than accustomed to, much to his misfortune. He loved his girls, more than anything in the world, but the whistle's they received in lucky dips and at birthday parties made him want to rip his ears off.

He rubbed his eyes, pushing all thoughts of how it could be mistaken for the short yelp of pain that tore from Matty's throat as he fell over in the middle of the night, only having been trying to get to their bathroom or something similar.

George sighed a little, pulling himself from the old creaky recliner he'd bought with his first flat - he'd have thrown it out, but he'd just grown too attached to it. He blinked a few times, making his way into the kitchen.

He placed two mugs two mugs on the kitchen bench, one taller, while the other stood wider. Both were decorated with scribbles and dodgy drawings of daisies. Father's day gifts the girls had made at daycare.

He proceeded to fill both mugs with hot water, milk, two teaspoons of sugar in each. One tea bag remained in it's mug, the other discarded on the kitchen counter. He'd put it in the bin later.

His eyes flickered to the kitchen window as he picked up both mugs. Sunrise. Chloe and Jane would be up in half an hour or so, running about the house like mad people and fighting over the remote until George told them it was his turn to watch telly.

George smiled at the thought, making his way out to the garden. Where Matty was.

He hummed to himself, making his way out behind the shed to a strip of dirt. Right where Matty was.

x

this is AWFUL i am so sorry u had to read this. like, the idea is ok, but the writing is SHIT and it's making me mad so im not gonna bother trying to fix it up. i also have the migraine from absolute hell so there's an excuse for u all xxxxx love u

EDIT:

i wanted 2 add this but forgot. compliment the back of my jacket please im proud of it