🌸 via BrookieBaine on ao3 !!
🌻 wowie 3 things in one day and they're all gatty bc I know there isn't many lol
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“Got a minute?”
George looks up from his phone to see Matty leaning in the doorway. He looks his usual self; drowned in all black, oversized jumper eating him up, dark curls all over the place and knobby knees knocking together as he shuffles from foot to foot. But something’s a bit off. He’s clutching a ratty old composition book to his chest-- one George hasn’t seen in months. And Matty looks… Anxious. Giving him this look and chewing at the corner of his thumb nail.
George just smiles and pats at the place next to him on the bed, “C’mon, then.” he puts his phone away as well. This seems like something that might be more important than the text he was about to send.
Matty tries to mirror George’s smile as he ambles over but his is a bit more lopsided. A bit less sure. The way he sits so far from George is another indication of his nerves that are vividly on display. Maybe Ross and Hann can’t tell when something’s wrong with Matty, but George always can. It’s something in the way Matty carries himself; fragile and distant. George continues to watch Matty as he fidgets at the edge of his bed, “The lads still here?” Matty nods his head but keeps his eyes down, flipping slowly through the book. “Yeah. They’re downstairs.” George just nods and draws his lips into a tight line, furrowing his brows.
“...New song.” Matty finally murmurs, peeking up slightly at George through his lashes to judge his reaction. George blinks. Then, he smiles. “Yeah? You’ve got a new song?” Matty, despite how shaky his hands are, gives a small smile and sits up a bit more, obviously reacting solely on how pleased George seems.
A new song typically means something good.
Matty hasn’t written anything in a while.
Sometimes he pulls himself into moods he can’t shake; when happiness strikes him, it’s wonderful. Brilliant. Matty’s playful and he goes to parties and he captures conversations like snapshot memories, coming back to his and George’s apartment and writing everything down word for word once he’s sobered up. He uses that material to write.
But when Matty’s sad, he’s sad. It’s dark blue and heavy silence and Matty refusing to get out of bed, even with George nosing into his neck and telling him it’s 2 P.M. already. It’s going to a pub at 9 P.M. and not coming home till Matty is incapacitated from drinking and George has to practically carry him home. It’s Matty refusing to eat for days on end, worrying George sick.
George doesn’t like the sadness, but he’s stuck with Matty through every emotion humanly possible of existing, and he’d never give up on his best friend. Never. Just like his best friend would never give up on him.
People that think they know them personally see Matty as the victim drowning and George as the lifeboat sent to save him.
But that’s not the case.
They’re both in the choppy water, and they’re clutching to each other.
They depend on each other. Need each other.
George has never needed someone as much as he needs Matty. He doesn’t know where he’d be without him.
“Let’s hear it.” George leans forward on the bed and crosses his legs so he can rest his elbows on his knees. He lets his chin sit in an upturned palm, crop of dyed blonde hair flopping to the side as he cants his head, trying to get a better look at Matty who’s got his head down again-- not making a sound.
Eyes fixated on the words.
The words.
George wants to hear them.
Usually Matty is bright about what he’s got to share.
Usually, he shares it with the whole band.
However, this is different. Everything is different.
Matty’s kind of curled in on himself, like he’s trying to make himself small; knees now tucked into his chest and wild hair skewing George’s view of his face. Matty raises a hand to his hair to let a finger tug on one of his locks, curling round and round. “..Um. Before I sing it though, can you, like,” Matty pauses to lick over his lips. Sighing through his nostrils, “promise not to tell Ross and Hann ‘bout this?”
Matty is never this way. He’s never secretive with what he writes.
Matty is always an open book.
At least to the band, he is.
They’re Matty’s closest friends, after all.
George just shrugs and fishes around in his pocket for his pack of Marlboro’s, “‘Course. Whatever you feel comfortable with, love.” Matty looks up at the term of endearment and can’t help but offer a small smile, to which George grins. “Right. Okay. Thanks.” Matty speaks softly just as George procures his pack of smokes. Matty’s eyes travel the movement of George placing a cigarette between his lips, closing his eyes for only a moment as he lights up and takes a drag. George doesn’t catch Matty watching, though-- by the time he’s got his eyes open and gaze landed on the other man, he’s back to looking down at his notebook.
“Go onnn~” George teases lightheartedly, shoving gently at Matty’s shoulder with his hand and grinning from ear to ear when Matty mumbles for him to ‘piss off’ because he can almost hear the playfulness laced in his words, can almost hear his usual Matty; confident and boisterous.
His Matty.
Matty clears his throat as George takes another drag, blowing the smoke carefully out the side of his mouth, back slouched slightly from his comfortable position-- and if George’s mum were here she’d be tutting and telling him to work on having better posture. But she’s not here, it’s just George and Matty in their dimly lit room, it’s just their perpetually unmade bed and the last splotches of sunlight painting the cracked walls.
George is practically dying to hear what Matty has written.
As the smoke from George’s cigarette begins to fill the room, so does Matty’s voice.
Subdued. Mournful.
Not what George expects.
I got a plane in the middle of the night. Don’t you mind?
I nearly killed somebody. Don’t you mind, don’t you mind?
Matty’s singing but at the same time, he’s not. It’s like he’s just speaking very quietly-- it’s his voice cracking and breaking away and drawing off at points George can’t seem to reach.
Like Matty is really far away and George just can’t reach.
He’s right there, and all George would have to do is lean his arm over and reel Matty in.
But sometimes, Matty is untouchable. Sometimes he just needs to get something out without George in the way. Without anyone in the way.
This is one of those times.
So George continues to listen.
...I’m sorry but I’d rather be getting high than watching my family die.
Oh, and the way Matty’s voice dips. George winces. He knows Matty means these words with all his heart. Every song is tangled inside Matty and spun out for everyone to hear; but this is almost too private. Like George is listening to Matty mumble through some forgotten journal entry.
It feels like a secret.
Matty’s trusting George with this, and it’s so heavy-- if George wasn’t strong enough it could crush him. Just like how it seems to be crushing Matty as he pushes on.
I put your mother through hell, don’t you mind?
I hurt your brother as well. Don’t you mind, don’t you mind?
I was thinking about killing myself, don’t you mind?
Matty pauses. He swallows a lump in his throat. His fingers are ripping at the corner of the page.
...I love you. Don’t you mind, don’t you mind?
Matty repeats the verse once more, then it’s over.
The silence that follows is the realest thing George has ever felt. The silence is palpable. George feels it ring through his body.
The words.
I was thinking about killing myself.
Suddenly, George gets a flash of hot anger. Not at Matty-- but at… Something. He’s angry about something. Probably the fact he wasn’t aware of any of this. He’s mad at himself. If this song is about Matty, how could he have missed something this huge?
“Matty, mate…” The darker haired of the two won’t even look up. He’s shaking his head and cradling the now closed composition book to his chest, nimble fingers picking at the spine. George tries again, clears his throat, “Matty, hey,” he reaches an arm over and lets his index finger curl gently under the other male’s chin, guiding his head upwards. Finally, they lock eyes, and Matty can’t look away from George.
“..This song about you?” George is trying to word his sentences carefully. He knows if he pries too much without Matty letting him in first, the door will slam shut and George will probably hear nothing of this song ever again. But George needs to hear about it. He needs to know what’s wrong-- what was wrong. If this is still going on in his head.
Matty frantically nods his head and opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but no sound comes out. He promptly shuts his mouth and looks past George.
Downstairs he can hear Ross and Hann laughing about something.
George sighs. He takes one last drag of his cigarette before leaning over to the opposite side of Matty and stubbing it out in the overflowing ashtray on their bedside table. “Babe, come here,” George tugs on Matty’s elbow as he leans back into the wall.
Matty goes without much of a fight. He tries so much to be stubborn with George like he is with other people-- but it never works. Matty craves physical attention from George, needs to be near him so bad most of the times; and he hates the feeling of being so dependent, but at the same time, he doesn’t mind it when it comes to George. With George, he just lets things happen. He doesn’t have to feel in control.
Matty happily leaves their relationship up to fate because he knows they were meant to be close like they are, anyways.
Knows this is right. Knows this is exactly what was supposed to happen.
Knew since the first time they kissed at that stupid party when they were kids that they would always drift back to each other even when there were obstacles in the way. People in the way.
Matty crawls into the older man’s lap and allows himself to get lost in George’s arms. Matty is so, so tiny compared to George; delicate, almost.
George treats him like it’s so.
When Matty’s burying his face in George’s chest and he feels a slight dampness seeping through his thin shirt he just makes a small humming noise and draws the other male closer, bringing a hand up to comb through his locks, conscientious of how tangled they usually are. “S’alright, love. It’s safe here.” George’s tone is nearly a whisper, pressing his chapped lips to the top of Matty’s head, “You’re safe here..”
George holds him for a long time, and neither of them say anything. Every once in a while Matty hiccups out a small, strangled sobbing noise, and George just murmurs into his ear-- nothing, really. Little, quiet words. Anything to try and soothe whatever is going on inside the other man.
Matty doesn’t get this vulnerable that often, but when he does, George knows it’s best to just wait it out and let him speak on his own time.
After what feels like a lifetime, Matty lifts his head to reveal a splotchy face-- cheeks red and eyes half-closed. George rubs carefully at the dried tear stains with the pad of his thumb, looking into Matty’s eyes. “If you wanna talk about it, I’m right here. You know I won’t tell anyone else. It’s just you and I. You know that, yeah?”
Matty nods sheepishly and brings his arms around George’s neck, fingers running lightly along the other’s skin. A quiet moment passes before Matty croaks out, “Was a while back when I felt that way. When I kinda… Y’know… With that girl..”
George nods his head and carefully tightens his grip on Matty.
The girl. Their messy, almost kind-of-sort-of relationship.
She’d sucked so much life out of Matty. It’d been hard for George to watch Matty go from the vibrant person he knew to a shell of himself. George didn’t know the extent of what him and that girl went through, they hadn’t been living together then-- but George had known enough at the time to know Matty wasn’t happy.
And now he knew so much more, just from his words.
It made George physically ill to think about it.
The sound of Matty sniffling brought George from his thoughts. He let out a deep breath and allowed his hands to cup Matty’s face-- and he doesn’t miss the way Matty leans entirely into his touch. The way Matty closes his eyes and covers George’s hands with his own; like maybe he just wants to never leave the room and only ever be around George.
Like neither of them need anybody else. Only each other.
“Need you to look at me, babe. Look.” Matty opens his eyes and draws his gaze up to George. He looks tired and defeated. Probably worn out from sharing such a burden of a song.
George searches Matty’s eyes, thumbs rubbing the highs of his cheekbones, “You feeling that way still? Like you wanna harm yourself?” It pains George to even say the words-- to even fathom Matty not here. Matty slowly shakes his head and doesn’t let his gaze drop. George notes the way his bottom lip wobbles, like he might start crying again. Then, George tilts his head up and kisses Matty’s forehead, murmuring, “Good. If it gets like that again, if it gets that bad-- you tell me. You tell me, ‘cause I wanna make sure I help you.”
Matty just nods, and George is sure it’s because if he tried to say anything, his voice would crack and he’d be in tears again. Before George knows what’s happening, Matty’s dragging him into his mouth and he’s kissing him with so much life, so much energy.
Kissing him so hard it’s like George can feel every other kiss they missed when they were off fucking around with other people when they should have been right here doing what they’re doing right now.
George sighs into Matty’s open mouth and brings his hands down to his hips, rucking up his jumper slightly so his fingers can grip tight against Matty’s warm sides. He needs to feel Matty right there. Needs to know he’s not going anywhere. George pulls Matty in closer so they’re chest to chest, his lithe frame fitting perfectly against his own.
As if Matty can sense George’s thoughts through his actions, he pulls his mouth away and draws George’s wrist up to his mouth, kissing the smooth skin there and mumbling, “M’not gonna leave you. I won’t leave you-- I won’t just go away.”
then, slowly but surely, he cracks a smile, and George swears the feeling of Matty’s lips forming a smile on his skin is the greatest thing he’ll ever feel. Like he can feel Matty’s happiness.
“...You’re stuck with me forever, darling.” They’re both laughing, and it’s so good, and so is the kiss afterwards, even though they’re both still laughing and their teeth are chattering together and it’s awkward but neither of them cares because they’re alive and they’re together.
Matty’s made it, and so has George.
They made it together, really.
Together.