Whether by sunlight or moonlight or something in between, he sat at his desk and he watched the sky, for it held that certain kind of beauty that reigned without dispute, and in a world of question marks and ever changing situations, he really reckoned he needed that.

There was no certainty in a world governed by opinion and free will, and although that was where the beauty lay, such beauty was coupled with the anxiety that spanned for days: cold fingertips tapping on windowpanes as brown eyes glassed over and fixated upon the world outside and how it kept raining, through spring and into summer. He watched the drops against the glass, and contemplated how long it would stay cold, and for how long he'd find evenings drawing in too soon, and the morning light leaving him lying sleepless in his sheets at five am.

Matty was no good when it came to functioning alone, and it had never intended to be as such: this was a house for two, after all, but things had happened, as things always did, because there was no such thing as certainty, and far too much rain, and he missed the sounds of the kitchen as he sat at his desk; he missed the house being lived in, because like this, he felt like some kind of ghost.

He was big on codependency, yet despised the concept of it, but at twenty six years of age, it was becoming increasingly apparent that Matty just could not function alone. It wasn't that he needed to move back in with his mum or anything, or that he couldn't function, because he could; he knew exactly how to use a microwave and not all of his clothes had turned pink in the wash, thank you very much.

It was loneliness, he had concluded. Ross had concluded, because Ross was something like his mother: always calling to check that everything was alright, because Matty knew that his friends were certain of the fact that there was something very off with him, but Matty was also very well aware that they most certainly couldn't pinpoint it. He wanted them to think he was fine, because he was fine, he was just, just kind of stuck: stuck in bed, stuck watching the rain, stuck with all the curtains open, stuck in the same shirt for the past week, stuck in himself, stuck in his own mind.

Self expression was key for positivity and functionality, especially in his case; he was big on words, and as they lodged themselves up in his mind he became fixated and the world grew out of focus and hours became days stood at the windowsill: watching the rain, wondering when, if ever, it might stop, and it always did, and Matty relied on that. He needed answers, he needed stability; he needed words down on paper - he needed the words in ink, the structure of it all, and the way there was some physical proof laying beside him on his desk to prove that he wasn't a complete waste of space, but his head was empty: empty like never before, and there was nothing but a still and quiet house that was just a little too cold to walk around barefoot in the mornings in.

He was a poet, or something like that, because he reckoned that to describe himself properly as a poet he ought to have produced some form of poetry worthy of renown or at least moderate appreciation, but all he found himself acquainted with was his desk, his typewriter, and the waste paper basket.

Ross told him he had self confidence issues, and some other bullshit about not doubting himself, but at that point, Matty had tuned out of the conversation and put the phone on speaker and down onto the kitchen countertop, before rushing off to the bathroom. By the time he'd returned, he found that Ross was still rambling on about self-appreciation and how he should take the time out of his day to share his work with others, and how he had potential, and how he should go out more, and how he should go out to eat with them.

Matty was running out of excuses to politely decline going out to eat with, and was now coming very close to declaring himself as a very strict vegan or something, but that was of course a lie that he would not be able to maintain.

It wasn't that Matty was anti-social, or anything, except he kind of was, but it was just all that had happened over the past few months; he'd been fine before, but he'd just gotten himself into, well, quite the mess, to say the least.

It had been January 1st, approximately twenty seven minutes past midnight and the new year was celebrated with drinks and friends and new year's partying and the kind of posh champagne that Matty really couldn't afford, but didn't drink because as much as the occasion called for it, he really couldn't bring himself to drink champagne. He got himself wasted on vodka - it was the kind that came in pretty colours, and he'd already gotten baked so he was naturally drawn to the stuff, and everything had been fine, until it came to the matter of, well... when it came to heavy drinking, there always was the downwards spiral, and that downwards spiral came half an hour afterwards the worst new year's kiss (some girl that was stood closest to him - he reckoned that maybe they'd once sat next to each other in geography in like year 10 or something - it had really been for the sake of it, because it was tradition, and all that nonsense, and he just wanted to say he had done), he found himself trapezing down towards the bathroom: ready to puke his guts out and spend a good ten minutes sat on the bathroom floor regretting his life, but Matty had never quite made it to puking in the toilet.

He'd opened the bathroom door; he'd made a significant amount of progress, and considering just how many fucking stairs Ross had in his house, getting from the top floor where he'd been previously, to the bottom floor where the nice bathroom lay situated - Ross and Matty had been friends since they were twelve, of course Matty had a prefered bathroom to use in his house. However, as he had opened the door, he found himself faced not with an easy path to the toilet, or even with someone using it, but having forgotten to lock the door- well, someone had forgotten to lock the door, but it had been a different case entirely.

It had been Saffy who'd went to school with him (and seriously what kind of a name was Saffy?) pushed up against the wall by a very familiar pair of hands; he was leaning down to reach her, because he was well over six foot, and some form of big friendly giant, yet Matty Healy found nothing big or friendly in the way his roommate, best friend, potential love interest, George Daniel appeared to be sucking Saffy from school's face off. Well, ex-roommate, ex-best friend, ex-potential love interest.

Matty had made the expert decision in just standing there in shock, and missing the toilet completely: resulting in him puking all over the floor, before catching George's gaze, who looked somewhat horrified to see him, or maybe just with the fact that he'd puked all over the floor, but Matty hadn't stuck around to see what George had wanted and instead ran out of the house, and into the street, which had not been one of his best decisions at half past midnight on New Year's Day, but he was certain he knew the way home from Ross' house, as it wasn't far after all, but Matty had been wrong, or at least too drunk, and woken up on a park bench a good forty minutes away at eight that morning.

He'd come home: severely hungover and severely pissed off to find George waiting at the door for him, but he'd walked straight past him, because he absolutely could not be bothered to deal with that shit not then, not ever, and at first, George had thought nothing of it - that Matty would come around, because they hadn't really had a real thing, they'd just had that drunken snog once and then Matty had written that poem that was so definitely about George, that George had found and Matty had thought that night in early December had been the worst night of his life, but then they'd cuddled and George had told him that everything was fine, and they watched some sappy shit they could find on one of the movie channels on TV. And that had become a thing, and Matty had assumed that they'd become something of a thing: a slow moving gradual, Matty and George kind of thing, but a thing nonetheless, but then they'd gone to Ross' New Year's Party even though Matty had much rather wanted to stay at home with George and get pissed and watch shitty TV, and then, well, Saffy had happened.

Fucking Saffy, honestly, Matty still couldn't figure out what the fuck Saffy was short for because you don't just name your child Saffy, do you?

George had thought everything was fine and that Matty would come around the following day, even as Matty stayed in bed until four and only got up to go to the bathroom; George had made him dinner and even put it on a tray for him to have in bed, and had made quite the display of lingering around in Matty's room as he ate, even though Matty had made quite the display of telling George to fuck off.

It was only at the third day that Matty had spent in bed that George began to realise that something was seriously wrong, and did what you did when something went wrong, which was call Ross, and Matty had made a point of telling Ross to fuck off as well, and quite the point of not speaking to anybody for a week after that, because there was no fucking way he was admitting that he'd actually thought there'd been fucking something between them, because of course George was straight, and he was just being nice, and maybe Matty should have used more cohesive language, or just created a banner that read 'I'm Matty and I'm pansexual and I have such a crush on George Daniel' and just hung it on the wall that faced you as you first walked into the house - maybe that would have gotten his point across.

After Matty had refused to acknowledge George's existence for a week, George moved out, and in hindsight, Matty could understand why he'd done so, but in the moment, Matty had cried for about two days straight, because he'd absolutely fucked everything up, and Adam had come and sat with him and watched shitty TV to make him feel better but it absolutely wasn't the same, and he'd drafted at least seven hundred messages to send to George, but he'd never quite gotten brave enough to actually send any of them, and slowly, that just became that, and January became February and Matty groaned at the post on George's instagram on Valentine's day, because he'd spent it with Saffy, because George had moved in with fucking Saffy, who Matty really didn't even know that much, and apparently they were in love and all that bullshit, because back in February was when Matty actually used to listen to the life updates Adam gave him on the phone.

But February became March, and Matty had gone to see his mum for Mother's Day, and they'd had a nice family thing with his little brother, who he didn't see as much as he should, and everything had felt normal again: being around people, family, because looking back, George had always felt like family, and maybe Matty should have moved back in with his mum - maybe he was in that kind of state, but he certainly wasn't in the kind of state to admit it. Especially when his little brother, Louis, looked at him with such admiration, even though he would never admit it, the guy looked up to him. And Matty hated being any kind of role model, because he was the worst when it came to responsibility, and that was why he'd needed to live with someone - someone like George who knew how to cook, and reminded him to get dressed, and snapped him out of the odd kind of breakdowns he had where he'd sit in one spot for hours on end, but Matty had gone back home and tried to get on with his life.

And it became April, and it rained too much, and Matty had finally managed to tell Adam that he was kind of lonely, although Adam was already well aware of that, because Matty only left the house to go to the Tesco down the road anymore, so there was not that much left to the imagination. Adam had told him to get a dog, and Matty had listened, because the idea seemed to please Ross, and Ross usually knew what he was doing, and Adam had rolled his eyes when Matty invited him over to meet the new puppy, because apparently he held certain prejudices against dogs named after poets, but surely he'd been expecting something along those lines.

Allen Ginsberg, which was what Matty had named the dog, was the first positive addition to Matty's life in months, which Ross and Adam had looked very pleased about, and in all honesty, Matty wouldn't be that surprised to find that the two of them met up every Wednesday afternoon for coffee to discuss Matty and how he was doing. However, by April, Matty had stopped caring and resorted instead to being the best parent to Allen he could be, and sitting around trying to possibly do something productive with his life, because as things were going, he really needed to get something written or he'd have to go out and get some kind of proper job, at fucking Tesco or something, which was not something he found himself at all inclined towards.

Ross had sent Matty a text that afternoon - another invitation to go out that evening for a meal and drinks or something - the kind of thing that functioning adults did, and Matty would argue that he was a perfect fan of food and alcohol and conversations with Adam and Ross, and maybe even put up with their girlfriends, who Matty didn't really know very well, but had been assured were nice people, but there was just the fucking matter of George, because George was invited, because Adam and Ross were still friends with George, who Matty hadn't acknowledged the existence of in months, and Matty was still pretty sure that George was still dating Saffy, but in all honesty he wasn't that inclined to find out.

Matty leaned back in his desk chair and let his gaze address the way the clouds parted in the skies: a hope of sunshine for the afternoon shining down towards him, and if Matty cared to believe in that kind of bullshit, he'd say this was some sort of sign for better times, but he was largely convinced that it absolutely wasn't.

After a few moments had passed, he gave in and texted Ross back with an apologetic no, before saying what the hell, and following it up with the vegan excuse, because what did he really have to lose at this point.

Ross, however, was perhaps more in the know that Matty had accounted for, however, in hindsight, Matty had never been that discreet at all, and texted Matty back with a simple: 'George isn't coming.'

Matty groaned aloud: placing his phone down on his desk and burying his head in his hands, because this meant that Ross had known that Matty had been lying to him, and well, maybe he hadn't ever been that good at lying at all, but still, he felt like a fucking idiot, and it was that combined with George, because at every mention of his name, it was New Year's again and everything tasted like too much vodka and his head was spinning, and it was over four months later and Matty still didn't know who the fuck Saffy was.

Ross texted again six minutes later; Matty hadn't even realised six minutes had passed with his head thrown into his hands as he attempted to make sense of the mess of thoughts strewn across his mind, because he'd gathered by now that the absolute last thing he needed to do was think about George.

Matty glanced down at the message displayed on his phone screen: 'Neither is Saffy. And I need to talk to you in person.'

Matty let out a groan, because he really wasn't feeling up for it, and he was pretty sure he hadn't showered since last Thursday, but it was getting to the point where he wouldn't be surprised if Ross came to his house and pulled him outside regardless of whether he wanted to go or not.

Matty responded with a simple, mildly irritated: 'You could just facetime me. That's practically the same.'

'Matty you can't spend your entire life alone in your bedroom.' Ross' reply came almost instantly, however, in response, Matty let out a sigh, and got up from his desk: noticing how it had stopped raining completely now, and even the clouds were beginning to flee the skies.

He shook his head and glanced down at his phone once more, before muttering a half dejected, "watch me," aloud, leaving Ross on seen, like the excellent friend he was, and stumbling into his living room to find Allen asleep on the sofa.

Matty spent the rest of evening eating tasteless leftover pasta that he'd made a few nights ago and watching the kind of shit they put on TV at eight pm on a Thursday with Allen on his lap. Honestly, he was perfectly fine and he had absolutely no idea what Ross could possibly be talking about.

-

He could think when it was dark: light was a distraction, everything was a distraction, and nothing ever stood still - not ever for a moment. And as the observer, the world bid him no favours, for there was nothing that lay still, that lay dormant, peaceful enough for him to contemplate or really appreciate before it was pulled from beneath him and he was thrown into the unknown.

Matty perhaps wondered if he had too many thoughts, and spent too much time upon things: fixating on every detail, and letting his mind obsess over the slightest aspects of something as a whole. But there was no stopping this - it was simple, this was how it went, and this was how Matty functioned, or didn't, but made quite the escapade out of convincing himself and everyone else (but mostly Ross) that he was, at two in the morning, with half cold coffee sat next to him on his desk, and his room purely dark besides the starlight streaming in from the windows, and the faint glow of his phone screen at the other side of his desk. He fell back against his chair, listening to the gentle hum throughout the house: machine sounds, living sounds, night sounds.

He was up too late.

George had been perhaps the only person who could get him to go to bed, not even to bed with George, but just to his own bed, just to sleep, just to be calm, just to shut up the thoughts in his head.

Matty stopped himself, because he didn't want to think about him, but he didn't want to think about himself either, because the longer he fixated upon himself, the more sure he became that something was seriously wrong with him, and those were the kinds of hoops that he really didn't want to be jumping through at two in the morning on a Thursday- a Friday. It was a Friday now. Although Matty didn't really consider it to be the next day once he'd fallen asleep and woken up in the daylight, but sometimes that just didn't happen, and Thursdays still became Fridays regardless.

He leaned forward: resting his face in one hand, and with the other pressing down upon a key on his typewriter.

'X'

He played the clicking sound it made back through his head a good ten times before leaning forward again and pressing the key once more.

'XX'

He found that there was something enthralling in the way a typewriter sounded a worked, and how it had the capacity to make the words you were writing real. Real and material - printed upon paper, which was worlds away from a Word document on his laptop screen, and he'd never been one for handwriting stuff - too messy. Matty couldn't read his own handwriting, George couldn't read his handwriting, so Matty had resorted to writing shopping lists on his typewriter and sticking them to the fridge with those alphabetic magnets that Adam had bought them once, which were only ever to write out vulgar phrases that always failed to make any kind of sense. Matty didn't have to do that anymore - the shopping lists or the fridge magnet obscenities. Sometimes when Adam came around he spelled out some shit like 'hann woz here' on the fridge, but that was generally it.

'XXX'

He pressed the key a third time before leaning back in his chair. "Fuck." He muttered aloud; he shouldn't be thinking this much, especially not about George, because he'd been doing fine, and then Ross had to go and mention him, and Matty just couldn't stop thinking once he'd started, and-

Matty moved his typewriter down to the next line. He took a moment to remind himself just what he was doing up at two that morning, and that was writing, but here he sat: head in one hand, doing anything but writing.

Writing was supposed to be easy, therapeutic, fun: a simple cleansing process of the thoughts clogging his mind onto the page, but writing was anything but easy, as he found that he could never write about anything besides what was directly occupying his thoughts at that very moment, and that very morning, the thing occupying his thoughts was George.

And perhaps just letting himself think about George, letting himself think back to December, letting himself drown in it all was just what he needed: closure and all of that. Perhaps he'd let Ross read this one: a great display of acceptance and moving on - a great display of his perfectly sound mental state, but of course, one kind of wishful conviction.

Matty hadn't set foot in George's bedroom since December 31st, and he found such a realisation only just dawning upon him, because it had been New Year's Eve, and he'd been the first to wake, and he'd made George coffee and brought it to him, and sat with him as he began to wake up, and tried to make sense of the nonsense he spewed when he wasn't quite yet conscious, because that was such a Matty thing to do.

And George had fallen back to sleep as Matty lay there thinking: drifting between speech and thought in a messy kind of pattern that only George was accustomed to, and Matty had contemplated waking him up, but there was peace in his form, and the way he'd lain there, and the way the world had looked like it was closing in on them, but Matty hadn't cared, and the way everything had looked so bright that morning to be ruined so soon.

He cursed aloud and began to type: well prepared to hate himself in the morning, because these were the kind of thoughts that were never good and always had to spiral out of control, but there was no better alternative, and Matty promised himself that with something down on paper he'd finally go to sleep.

As Matty finally lay in his bed: mind refreshingly empty, and world perfectly dark, he let his vision fade and his body still, leaving a whole world of things he hated to explore at his desk, for the what he'd come out with in the end was rather short, yet the meaning it held was far stronger than anything else:

'i like it when you sleep, for there are cracks in my ceiling that i know like the back of my heart - and to learn of your body in half of that manner was something desired from the start'

Matty lay half asleep wondering if he'd have to start thinking about George to ever get out of this mess, because he wasn't quite sure if he was ready for that yet. He needed time; he needed the world to slow, and for everything to stay the same, just for a while, just for him to take it in, to count the colours, and memorise every word.

-

The world did not work like that.

Matty had been right in suspecting that Ross would resort to more extreme measures to get him to be somewhat sociable and act 'like a normal human being', and found himself rather cruelly awaken to the sound of Ross Macdonald yelling at him in his bedroom at ten that morning,

"Come on, Matty, it's ten am." Ross rolled his eyes, before walking across to the desk, and sitting down in the chair: turning himself to face Matty, yet to notice the curly haired man's latest piece of work placed on the desk just behind him.

"Mm- what the fuck are you doing in my house?" Matty groaned, rolling over in bed to face Ross, and meeting his eyes with the most regret ever conveyed in a glare. "It's fucking ten am, that's early, I only had eight hours sleep, I could go for another eight right here."

"You're not, though." Ross offered him a smile, which was quite the contrast to the stern, almost dictative manner with which he had spoke.

"Why not?" Matty buried his face back into his pillow and continued to regret his entire existence on a very large scale.

"You're going out to lunch with us. George isn't going to be there-" Matty groaned instantly at the mention of his name. "Sorry," Ross let out a sigh, and couldn't help but roll his eyes, "he who must not be named-"

"He's not Voldemort." Matty lay still in bed now: eyes fixated up at the ceiling.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, can I refer to him by his name, like normal people do?" Ross continued, eyeing Matty with concern, but found himself unable to quite decipher whether he was in a state today or it was just something to do with the fact that Ross had come in and woken him up personally.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't refer to him at all." Matty let out a sigh.

"Matty, I'm sorry, but we're going to have to." Ross folded his arms: leaning back in the chair, and coming to imagine just what could become of the rest of the day. "We have to talk about him."

"Oh fuck off." Matty shook his head in disbelief. "What is there to talk about? Go talk to Hann about him."

"I have." Ross told him very matter of factly. "I need to talk to you, though. It's important, Matty, and it's not the kind of conversation we can have with you still in bed."

"You could try, I mean, anything's possible, and you never know 'til you try-"

"If anything's possible, then you should try getting out of bed and getting dressed, and going with me to meet Adam for lunch." Ross couldn't deny the certain tone of snide to his voice, although very half hearted, as he got to his feet, and took a glance around Matty's bedroom. "Just me and Adam. No one else. This is kind of an important thing, Matty."

"You think everything's important." Matty shrugged it off and pulled the covers over his head.

"You'll only let me have in depth discussions with you about things when they are important." Ross protested, his eyes widening as they fixated upon the poem Matty had worked on last night laying on his desk. He knew that perhaps it wasn't very polite of him to read it over without Matty's permission, but it wasn't very long, and he couldn't help himself as his gaze fell over it. "This is good, you know?" He said after a moment: chancing it. "This poem," he turned back to Matty, who had suddenly turned as white as a sheet. "Really good." Ross emphasised, watching as Matty stumbled out of bed and made his way over to the desk.

"It's not-" He cursed under his breath as he came to a halt, "it's not for you."

Ross paused for a moment: unsure of quite what to say. "Who is it for then?"

Matty realised that he hadn't quite thought that far, but yet he felt inside that it was definitely for someone. "I don't know."

Ross looked at him as if he was lying, and this time, he genuinely wasn't. "Is it about anyone?" He continued to ask, and this was the question that left Matty cursing everything that had ever existed.

"I don't know." Matty let out a sigh, trying to thinking about fucking anything else.

Ross looked at him as if he was lying, and this time, he was right.

-

Admittedly, once he got there, it wasn't that bad.

It was just lunch, just with Adam and Ross, who were pretty much his only two friends, which was really quite sad when Matty thought about it, because before he really had had friends and at least a great detail of acquaintances: the kind of people you went to parties with and maybe knew through a mutual friend, but that was all when he'd been friends with George.

And it wasn't because they'd been George's friends, because they'd been both of their friends, because it always kind of been Matty And George - as a thing, as a collective, but then Matty hadn't spoken to anyone besides Adam and Ross, who had proved that they both had unbelievable amounts of patience, for the past few months, so really, Matty could understand why they'd want to spend time with George over him.

Matty was kind of having a good time: just eating and chatting with his friends, and getting out, and maybe Ross had actually had somewhat of a point when it came to going outside; Ross did tend to be right, but still, Matty never tended to listen to him, mainly because Matty was just a piece of shit like that, but then, of course, it all went downhill as the conversation turned to George.

"Have you spoken to him at all since...?" Adam's question was outwardly vague: giving Matty the opportunity to play it off as if he hadn't the slightest clue as to what he could possibly be referring to.

"Who?" Matty asked: gaining a disbelieving look from Ross, who pretty much knew Matty in and out by now.

"George." Ross finished for Adam: leaning back in his chair and sharing an indecipherable look with Adam. "You can't just avoid it forever, you know? You really can't. We have to talk about this. We should talk about it now."

"Ross, do you really think-" Adam began, but Matty cut him off, not really wanting to hear the end of his sentence.

"No- well, yes, actually." Matty let out a sigh. "I liked a photo he posted on instagram once though, the one fucking photo that wasn't related to fucking Saffy, I mean, seriously, who the absolute fuck is Saffy?"

"You liked a photo on instagram." Adam shook his head in disbelief, "I've liked Kylie Jenner's photos on instagram - doesn't mean we're on friendly terms."

Matty simply shrugged in response, before continuing to ask about Saffy, because he did find himself wanting to know now. "Who is she, honestly, like other than George's girlfriend, because-"

Ross let out a sigh, interrupting Matty, even though he knew that it likely wasn't for the best. "She's not George's girlfriend." Matty's eyes widened at him in disbelief. "Not anymore."

"What?" Matty didn't know how to react at all, because part of him was overjoyed, yet he knew that was stupidly bitter and immature, yet part of him was just screaming at him reminding him not to give a fuck.

"They broke up." Adam concluded: avoiding anyone's gaze, as if he knew something terrible was about to happen, and just had to look away, which was partly true. "Few days ago. She's kicked him out."

"Yeah," Ross continued, glancing at Adam for any kind of moral support in what he was about to say. "So George needs somewhere to stay, just for a while until he can sort something else out, so we've told him he can go back and stay with you for a while."

"You what-"

"You've told him." Adam made quite the point in clarifying, before turning to a wide eyed, horrified looking Matty. "I'd like to confirm that this was entirely through and through, one hundred percent Ross' idea."

"Why the absolute fuck-"

"Matty." Ross raised his voice slightly and shot him a glare. "He needs somewhere to stay, and quite fucking honestly, this is all ridiculous. You two were best friends for over ten years, and what... honestly what did this even happen over? He kissed a girl you don't like and moved out because you wouldn't talk to him?" Matty shrugged: not at all inclined to fill in the gaps for Ross. "He's willing to forgive you, you know? He wants to fix this - be friends again, please don't fuck this up."

"Why the fuck does it matter-"

"Matty, come on, look at the state you've been in for the past few months-" Adam added, and Matty had to admit that he had a point, but still there was no way in hell that he was going to accept it.

"I'm not fucking letting him do that I-"

"Matty, can you please be reasonable about this?" Ross let out a sigh, "you've not given us one single reason to explain what actually did go on between the two of you, so it has to just be something you've blown out of control-"

"What the fuck would you know?" Matty shook his head in disbelief: grabbing his bag and getting up. "What the fuck would you know?" He couldn't help storming out and making quite the scene before running down the street until he made it towards the local park, and was able to throw himself down onto a bench and try not to cry in public as he lit himself a cigarette.

Matty literally wanted to kill Ross.

What had he ever done to fucking deserve this?

He just couldn't cope - this wasn't fukcing going to happen, he was going to lock all of his doors and all of his windows and barricade his fucking house and hide in his bedroom with Allen and refuse to acknowledge George before he ran off again like he had last time, because he wasn't fucking dealing with this shit.

He'd have to get there before George arrived - whenever that was, because of course it hadn't been specified- well, he'd stormed out before it could be specified, but did they really expected that he was just going to smile and nod and praise Ross on this 'wonderful idea' of his.

He was going to dig a moat around his house. Build a fucking electric fence, or something, Matty decided as he got up from the bench, glancing at his phone momentarily - 18 missed calls from Ross, 6 from Adam - and making his way off home ready to turn his house into some kind of highly secured fort until this blew over, or at least, get back the key that he'd given to Ross, because he absolutely did not appreciate how he'd just casually strolled in that morning.

-

Matty was turning his key in the lock within twenty minutes: already contemplating pieces of furniture which would best serve the purpose of barricading all the doors and windows with, and found himself settling on the bookcase in his living room, just as he locked the door behind him, and threw his coat and back down, dropping his knees on the table by the door, and kicking off his shoes, before making his way into the living room.

However, as he stood in the doorway, his heart fell out of his chest as he caught sight of a certain someone already stood there. Fuck.

Matty stood there for a moment: still unnoticed from the angle he was at; he glanced over the bags George had bought, and couldn't avert his eyes from the way in which he stood, checking his phone awkwardly, as if he didn't belong here, and this wasn't a house he'd lived in for years previously.

Matty hated how that hurt. Matty hated how that provoked any kind of emotion at all, but what he really couldn't do was hate George, not really, he could try, and he would pretend, but this was the same George. This was his George, and he'd missed him, but really he'd missed the way they'd been, and Matty saw little hope for them ever getting back to that now.

He found himself contented with standing therefore, observing, and taking it all in, and cursing Ross because he'd definitely planned this all so Matty couldn't get out of it, however, the inevitable happened, and George's eyes eventually fell on his.

"H-hey..." He cleared his throat, stepping forward: his movements shaky, and he was nervous, like Matty was something to be afraid of, like they hadn't been best friends- and fuck, seeing George like that was what finally confirmed to Matty just how much he'd all fucked this up.

And then before he knew what he was doing, he started to cry: stood there in the doorway - halfway into the living room, and right before the guy he'd done everything to avoid for the past four months of his life.

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i wrote this all out of the blue and in one go i just got really emotional and suddenly i came up with a plot and a title along the way this gonna be good i feel

vote and comment if u want 2

love u guys lots