/ / S H E C A N ' T B E W H A T Y O U N E E D I F S H E ' S S E V E N T E E N / /
"What?" He asks when he slips off his shirt, tossing it in the general direction of his suitcase. He grabs a hairband, and ties his hair up messily before hauling to the bed.
George sets down a glass of gin on the table, the ice melting and watering it down to a dull bitterness he wasn't quite fond of.
"Don't 'what' me, I should be asking you that, mate." He mumbles. When they stay at a place longer than two days, they're lucky enough to rent out a few hotel suites for the rest of the band and crew. Adam and Ross had retreated to a separate room, already feeling the shit storm about to come in the form of a spat between Matty and George that would typically end with someone sleeping on the floor.
"Sod off." Matty groans, undoing the button on his jeans and sliding them off.
George rolls his eyes, tugging the jeans off of Matty's legs when he sees his friend is struggling.
"What the hell was that just now? Back at the venue? I know you're all for inviting groupies and shit, but you were making out with her full on when I saw you – fuck, do you even know her name?"
"Who, Marcy?" Matty asks with a frown.
"The fuck do I know, Matty, I'm asking you!"
"Why are you yelling at me?"
George groans; Matty is acting like a child. "I'm going to shower, get your shit together, yeah?"
Matty pulls off his boxers and aims it George's retreating figure. He only misses when George slams the bathroom door, muttering something probably to piss Matty off.
Matty searches for his phone, finding it somewhere in his jeans before getting under the covers. He checks twitter for a bit, lurking around tweets that hardly make sense to him, clicking on links he probably shouldn't, and raising his eyebrows at a familiar picture of himself. He's seen it as a screen shot on Marcy's phone when he was going through her pictures.
She didn't have much of anything, screen shots, pretty selfies and a hand full of candid pictures she had taken. Nothing sufficiently telling or anything and when he's caught himself pondering, he realizes this isn't exactly healthy behavior.
He remembers the way her lips tasted on his, how she had a bit of a rough side, fueled by frustration and anger, he remembered how aroused he was at his fingers pressing into his bruises and he knows he's never been one for pain play but fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing.
He had asked about the blonde boy she was with, he wasn't her boyfriend, as it turns out, but he knew what ever was going on because he definitely played Matty. Matty will blame his clouded judgment on the red wine he's been sipping on stage. Turns out the guy was just a close friend madly in love with George and older ladies.
He had wanted Marcy to stay, he wanted her to talk to him, he didn't mind if she sat far away from him or extremely close, he just wanted to hear her talk, wanted to hear her silly babble, wanted to know her fears, her favorite color, her middle name even. But she had been embarrassed, having George catch them mid make-out. She had wanted a quick get away, but he'd somehow held on to her, prolonging her departure.
He wondered if she had felt how much he wanted her then, how he was a move away from christening that damn sidewalk. He wanted his hands under her shirt, touching her bare body and he wanted her tongue licking his skin. He hadn't made a move or said any of this out loud, only held on to her hips as she sat straddling his thighs.
She might have mumbled that going to the concert was a bad idea; he argued that it was a wonderful idea. She had given him a stare before amending that it wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't a good one either.
He asked her why she had decided to come, she admitted it was in a bit of anger and that maybe he'll be angry if he really knows. He asked her about her tattoo but she didn't want to explain. He asked what color her hair was, and she said brown. Matty hadn't been convinced, he told her he thought it was a dark blonde and she rolled her eyes asking him when he became a color expert and he lied and said he wanted to be a hair stylist for a bit. She laughed and ran a hand through his tousled hair and that had been enough for him if he's honest.
They had stayed like that for a while, just basking in each others company. If he wanted to make another move on her, he held back. Their conversations were short answers and steered away from anything relevant. In the end she had gave in and confessed she has a fear of spiders and germs — he had already knew that one. Her favorite color was blue, and her middle name was Adele.
When George had texted Matty, a bit later, she finally, reluctantly (or at least he was hoping she didn't really want to leave him) untangled herself from him, pulling his hands from her hips and using his shoulders to keep her balance as she stood up. He wanted to kiss her then, a proper goodbye, but nothing about them was proper as it was, so instead he let her slip away, watching as she walked over to a silver car before driving off.
He opens his text messages now, skimming the new ones from friends in other parts of the world and getting to Marceline the Mysophobic and shooting a text real quick, hardly thinking it through.
"Did u like the concert then?" because he realized it was a question he never asked.
Her reply is instantaneous and it nearly surprises him, "Was SICK !!"
He grins at that, "clearly. Whats your favorite song?"
"From ur album? You"
"Yea? Thanks love, ur my favorite too ;)"
"ur head is swelling and it's not that attractive."
"yea whatever. Smd. What does that mean? Does it mean suck my dick?"
"Matty OMG. Yes. What are u? 50? Get with the program."
"yes ull 'smd' or yes that's what it means?"
"Matty, r u ok?" he can practically feel her satire seeping through the phone.
"I'm completely fine but would you spread your legs for me so I can show you what a big head is?" he knows it's probably risqué but he loves her reaction. He wishes he could call her to hear her voice – better yet see her in person. On a whim he asks, "what r u doing rn?"
He changes his twitter name to //MATTY// *OMG* when he gets her response,"r u trying to sext me?"
"no." he responds around the same time he hears the shower cut off. "Yes. If ur up for it..."
"no! ffs matty go to sleep or something."
"where'd u run off too after the show?"
"home?"
"was that a question or an answer?"
"an answer?"
"Marceline..."
"please don't call me that."
"well, since you said please"
"Who are you texting?" George mumbles climbing into the bed beside him, unfazed that his best friend was completely naked beside him. He feels he's dealt with worse. "fuck, is it that Macy bird?"
"Marcy," Matty says automatically. George rolls his eyes.
He frowns a bit, a few things clicking into place, "Wait – did you go home with her that night? Fucking hell Healy – you said she's got a boyfriend, why are you still on her?"
"Oh, shut up, George."
"Matty, we're leaving in a few days, don't string her a long for anything, don't fuck up a relationship."
Matty shrugs, turning to face George who's lain on his back, eyes closed, breathing unevenly, ready to yell at Matty any second now. "Bit too late for that, probably."
"She can't be what you need," George says after a while, not as angry as he should be. Matty is his best friend and all he's doing is trying to protect him – hell, protect the bird he's trying to pull. Matty retweets that picture he's found from earlier; the one Marcy had on her phone as George continues, "if she's seventeen."
Matty stops mid typing, he had been thinking of something witty to write on Twitter, "What? How do you know?"
George opens an eye to peak at him, pulling off a look that can pass as incredulous, "How do you not? Christ, Matty." He snorts out of context, disbelief of the situation at hand, "I heard that blonde boy say something about it. He told her that she was only seventeen, that she'll fall in and out of love with assholes and all that."
"Fuck," Matty breathes out. George lets out a whistle before turning on his side, facing away from Matty. He quickly pulls up the text noting that Marcy still hadn't replied to. "how old are you?"
"17 wbu"
He properly snorts at that, deluded in the slightest, "google it."
A few minutes later she replies back with: "ew, u could be my dad." And Matty wishes all this would give him reason for him to let her go, but fuck, if he gives a shit.
"u think I had sex at the age of 7? Trust me darling I'm not ur dad." And as an after thought, unable to help himself, he sends, "but u can still call me daddy if ur into that" he imagines she's blushing now and he wishes he could see it. He likes the way her cheeks turn pink and her eyes go wide, how her mouth opens lightly and he has this urge have her lips wrapped around his fingers – or other parts if him better yet. He shifts uncomfortable, feeling odd how he's practically getting a semi next to George of all people.
Her response startles him though, "r u into that?"
"ill let u know when it happens"
"I'm honored"
He switches gear knowing if he asks her this in person she'd find a way to run off on him, "hows the bf?"
His iPhone shows that she's typing, but then she stops for a moment and it starts up again, as if she's typed something up and deleted it. It goes on for a bit until she settles on, "fine."
"just fine?"
"I think Ive made too many mistakes." He thinks that this is only the beginning. He wants to tell her to get rid of her boyfriend, but he thinks about what George said, how he shouldn't be stringing this girl along with him. He doesn't reply back. He doesn't know what to say anymore and it's utterly out of character for him; he's always got something to say. But Marcy hits him with a double text. "If me and Brian break up, what does that change between us?"
And God, it's a shit move, but it's the truth, especially with him leaving in a few days; he replies with a simple, "nothing."
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