"That's a hickey."

Gemma had one long finger extended out across the kitchen towards Matty's neck.

Both Amber and Marika perked up, eyes growing wide as they followed Gemma's gaze across the room.

Amber stood there, a smirk latching onto her lips. "You've got one too." She concluded, her eyes boring right into a similar spot on Gemma's neck.

Gemma flushed red, and desperately tried to draw the attention back to Matty; yet, in this all, Matty was yet to turn around.

"You've both got them." Marika looked just as smug as her girlfriend. The two shared a look: entirely too pleased with one another for such a relatively menial matter.

"What happened at that party?" Amber exclaimed, eying Gemma knowingly. Marika, however, had her gaze fixed onto Matty, who stood there: face to Gemma's kitchen wall, knuckles turning white as they grasped the countertop for dear life.

Gemma gave way to a sigh - reluctant at best. "Well, I think you can fill in the gaps for yourself. Seeing as I've got a boyfriend now." Even as she directed her words to Amber, her eyes didn't leave Matty. For in earnest, the slight bitter tone to her words wasn't formed from malice, but from concern.

The three girls fixed their gaze onto Matty, the room falling off into an uncertain kind of silence.

Matty wondered how long they could take this. How many words would twist their way around their head? Just how long it would take until everything snapped. Until they snapped. Right in two. And what a pretty kind of mess that would make.

"It's a hickey." Matty bit their lip, taking just a slight hesitance in confirming what their friends already knew to be true.

"Yes..." Gemma trailed off, struggling to figure out quite how she should handle the situation; it was always difficult with Matty. "We know."

"And that's... that." The words fell from Matty's lips with a saccharine kind of nonchalance.

That was when they dared to turn around. Facing Gemma with an almost challenging look in their eyes. With too much left unspoken.

"So, who gave it you?" Amber cut in, attempting to put herself between the unpleasantly vindictive stare that was building between her two friends. It wasn't a welcome atmosphere for a Saturday afternoon, by any means.

"Well..." Matty's lips curled up into a smile. "I think you can fill in the gaps for yourself." Perhaps, mimicking Gemma's tone hadn't been one of their best decisions, but it was easily one of their boldest.

Gemma took a step forward. "We can't." She shot Matty a stern look, bringing this to a new level: attempting to convey some hope of sincerity to the mocking gaze fixed in Matty's eyes.

"Why not?" Matty brushed their hair back behind their ear. "I mean, it's not particularly challenging. Who would I let give me a hickey?"

"The whole fucking world?" Gemma's response was disapproving at best. She knew she wasn't going about this the best way, but Matty had made a promise. A stupid kind of promise she knew they wouldn't keep. But a promise nonetheless.

Most of all, it was a promise that she'd believed. She'd thought this was it - things getting better. The change. Not unexplained hickeys, not secretive glances, not steady glares, not like it had been before.

Matty stopped for a moment, smile detaching from their face like the removal of a mask. The air around them seemed to grow sour, stretched out at the seams. That was when the impact of everything began to sink in.

Matty stared at her blankly. Words forming over and over again in their mouth, but forever turning sour, fading away into nothingness. It was relentless. It was pathetic. It was everything Matty had thought it wouldn't be.

"Not anymore." When Matty finally spoke, their voice was so very quiet, so very tentative, and so very unlike them. As if any kind of confidence had been pulled out from under their feet, and they were left to unwind, to fall into a million pieces, right onto Gemma's kitchen floor.

"You promised, didn't you?" Marika watched them carefully, trying to have some form of silent conversation with Gemma from across the room. Yet despite her every effort, it just didn't work.

The air turned still. Lips lay closed. And brains worked and turned like clockwork: heads filled up not with thoughts but just dozens of moving gears. It was easier like that.

"Yeah." Matty gave a nod, daring to meet Marika's gaze at the very least. "There are some promises I keep."

Amber managed a smile. "That's good to know." Against every odd, Matty managed one back.

"Then who gave you that hickey?" Gemma met Matty's gaze with insistence: a horrible kind of want, and an even more pressing kind of need. "Because you promised, because you promised that you wouldn't just... sleep with everyone anymore, and you-"

"I didn't sleep with anyone." Telling the truth was a weird kind of sensation for Matty; it almost didn't quite sit right - knowing that for once, they were in the right. "We fell asleep together, but we didn't fuck. Getting a hickey isn't the same as being fucked in the ass, Gemma, I thought you might have gathered that by now."

"Still..." Gemma gave way to a sigh, shooting Amber a hopeless glance: unable to quite figure whether she was being too pushy or not - whether Matty was perfectly okay, or if they were just far from it. Matty had always been a puzzle - one that she thought she'd solved, but even after six years, it seemed as if she'd been proved wrong once more.

"She's worried about you." Amber attempted to mediate the situation the best she could. "We all are, not as much as... we had been before. But... we don't want things to get like they did before - we don't want to have to worry like that again."

"Who gave you that hickey?" Gemma asked them: words so blunt that they could have left Matty's lips. "Just tell us. Please."

"Stop..." Matty's cheeks flushed red. "It's not like that. It's... it's different." Matty bowed their head as they moved their hand up to their neck, pressing the pads of their fingers into the bruised skin.

"What do you mean?" Marika asked, doing her best to save them from the everburning determination in Gemma's eyes.

Matty pressed their teeth into their bottom lip, twirling a lock of hair around their fingertips. "George." They gave way to a sigh. "George gave me it."

The room fell to its knees: buckling with astonishment, with eyes like blank flickering circles, and mouths forever opening and closing, waiting on a long lost hope of something to say, but it had been lost out there, beyond everything - lost away from the deafening silence. Defeated, only, by the smile crippling Matty's lips.

"It's like you and Oliver." They were the one to speak, as if Gemma was the only one in the room with them. "I'm not worried about you. You don't need to be worried about me."

"You and George..." Amber trailed off, smile growing impossibly wide. "It finally... happened, huh?"

"Yeah." Matty's cheeks burned red. "It did."

Gemma stared up at them, shaking her head. "I'm a fucking idiot." She confessed, meaning every word.

Matty cracked a smirk. "Makes a change, doesn't it?"

-

George wore a scarf to college on Monday. An ugly, unflattering, slightly effeminate scarf. But a scarf, nonetheless.

His friends laughed at him. Because they were dickheads. And he'd expected nothing less.

The alternative, however, was impossibly worse. It wasn't that George was ashamed of his love life, or his sexuality, or Matty, or anything like that. It was all just down to Ross and his stupid fucking bet, and the kind of satisfaction he just didn't want to give him.

George wondered if it was childish - the lengths he'd go to avoid it. He decided, however, that he just didn't care either way.

"You look like a bellend." Adam was always so very polite to him, and always took care to make a bright start to George's Monday morning. Today was no exception.

"Morning to you too, dickhead." George rolled his eyes, using his height as his only defence, and moving next to Adam to use him as an armrest - simply for the sake of getting him worked up.

Ross and John shared a snort as Adam attempted to wriggle out from under George's arm. George, however, was not quite so inclined to let it happen, and kept him pressed firmly down, pulling him into his side.

"Fuck off." Adam groaned, pulling off George's scarf with one forceful tug, as he flung out of his grasp.

Matty was a dickhead. George had two hickeys. One great blooming mess of one across the side of his neck, and another, sat perfectly upon his adam's apple.

It was a rather interesting start to a Monday morning, to say the least.

"Oh my god." John's eyes grew wide, tugging at Ross' arm as he fixed his gaze onto George's neck.

Adam went white as a sheet, looking almost sickly pale, and within seconds had rather begrudgingly handed George his scarf back.

"Fucking hell." Ross followed John's gaze up to George's neck. "You- fuck, it happened, oh my god-"

"Jesus fucking Christ-" Adam was quick to catch on, staring wide eyed between Ross and George, with a whole world of disbelief lost up in his eyes.

"Matty did that, didn't they?" Yet despite everything else, John was the only one with the guts to put it properly.

George gave way to a nod, meeting Ross with a half-hearted look of lament. "Shut the fuck up." His words were harsh, forewarning, but Ross only took them as a dare, or perhaps even as an odd preposition.

"Looks like that's a win for me, isn't it?" He stretched his arms up in celebration, meeting George with a smirk. "Win for you too, isn't it, though? Certainly looks like it."

"Honestly, if you say one more fucking word, I do not care how long we've been friends, I will fucking knock you out." George buried his head behind his hands, deeply regretting every decision he'd ever made in his life. Especially ever talking to his stupid fucking dickhead friends, that despite everything else, he loved so very much.

"Should strangle him with your scarf." Adam offered, unhelpfully, looking like he wasn't far from fucking wetting himself.

"I'll fucking strangle you." George shot him a glare: one harsh enough to ensure that Adam didn't quite dare to test it.

And miraculously, somehow, the four of them evaded the subject for the rest of the day.

-

"They... sucked me off, you know?"

George was laid out across John's living room floor that Tuesday. He'd come over under the pretence on working on some homework together, but such a notion was long forgotten: buried under cups of tea and menial conversation.

John's eyes grew wide, watching George with intrigue, from where he was sat, just half a metre away, his legs protruding into George's side in a manner that had to be at least somewhat uncomfortable.

"M-Matty?" John couldn't quite sustain the same nonchalance he had before, and in fact, even seemed to struggle with the simple matter of holding George's gaze.

"Who else?" George snorted, fixating his gaze up at the ceiling. "Your mum? The fucking Queen?"

"Classy." John remarked, unable to stop the roll of his eyes that followed.

"Yeah." George sighed, gripping his fingertips into the carpet. "Matty sucked me off."

"Oh." John didn't see quite what he could possibly be expected to say.

"I think I'm in love with them."

Evidently, it had sort of gotten to the point where George had stopped thinking about what he was saying.

"Oh." John found himself perhaps even less prepared to deal with such a confession.

"Well..." George dragged out a sigh. "Probably not properly in love. I mean... it's been... like four days, but... I... I love them. They mean the world to me. Like everything. Like everything led up to this, and now everything's like fireworks, this is everything, like this is where it starts. Like a whole new chapter of everything. Something entirely better. I think I'm in love with being alive right now, if not Matty. There's some sort of love in me somewhere."

"That's quite something." John saw little other option than to point out the obvious.

"Yeah." George was already well aware.

"It's just... things are making sense now. They make me happy. Like so happy, I have to redefine happiness itself." George mused, smile fixed upon their lips. "I think maybe that's love."

"You're worse than me and Ross." John rolled his eyes in disbelief, gagging a little.

George snorted. "Adam's going to want to kill himself."

"He really is." John let out a sigh. "We should get him a cake, or something."

"A cake?" George looked up at John like he was mad.

"Ice like... 'sorry all your friends are massive fucking gays with excessive amounts of PDA' onto it, or something." John considered the idea perhaps a little more seriously than he should.

"You're a dickhead." George told him.

"I'm baking him a cake - that's nice-"

George's eyes grew wide with wonder. "Bake it into the shape of a dick."

John looked at him like he'd just redefined the world as he knew it. "That's genius."

-

"I don't like it." Louis' words were blunt at best, glaring across at Matty through the kitchen.

It was a Sunday. With the late morning / early afternoon sun setting in warmly into the sky. But at that very moment, Matty's heart tensed up and grew so very horribly cold.

"It's not about whether you like it or not." Matty bit back, hiding their face behind their hands, wishing they could hide away from the whole conversation too. "Thought you said that yourself."

Louis shot them a glare.

"You coming home so late." He clarified, keeping his tone the kind of steady and calm that Matty could have never even aspired to reach. "Reminds me of how things were before. When things were bad."

"But things aren't bad." Matty stressed - lost as to how they might relay such a point to Louis at all. "Things are the best they've ever been."

"Still..." Louis trailed off: quite unable to pinpoint exactly what it was that was so at unease inside of him. "It's just... I'm worried about you-"

"Not this again." Matty groaned, turning away from their brother, and setting their gaze onto the horizon for a moment. "I do wonder how much worrying the world can do for one person. Especially since I really don't deserve it."

"People only worry because you make them." Louis was perhaps the only person that Matty would let speak to them like that. Even George would have been pushing it.

"What do you mean?" Matty stopped for a moment, leaving Louis' words to echo around their head.

"You don't tell people what's wrong. You like making them figure it out for themselves - that's worrying. You don't tell people where you are, and what you're doing. You just let them assume. That's worrying. If you were lying in a ditch dying somewhere - it wouldn't be you that would tell us, it would be Gemma, it would be George. You let people worry."

"The entire intricacies of my personal life just aren't other people's business though. And I don't see myself falling into a ditch and dying any time soon." Matty managed a sigh; they could see where Louis was coming from, but struggled to see how they could reach any real sort of understanding.

"There's a difference between telling people your whole life story and sending mum a text to tell her you're with George and that you'll be home in a couple of hours." Louis rolled his eyes. Matty took a moment to wonder just when their thirteen year old brother had become their mother.

"Yeah, but... she knows, doesn't she? Where else would I be?" Matty flushed red, words dragged out slow and almost painfully.

"You're missing the point." Louis shook his head, giving up for the time being. "I want to know how you are. I want to know how you and George are. I'm worried. Because I know how much you love him, and I-"

"Louis, we're fine." Matty narrowed their eyes - perhaps the last thing they wanted was relationship advice from their little brother.

"There's a 'we' now, is there?" Louis arched his eyebrows, meeting Matty with the kind of challenging look that they absolutely didn't need on a Sunday morning. "That's different, isn't it?"

Matty flushed bright red. "There... might... be."

-

"You smell like Matty."

"Hello to you too." George's eyes widened: not having expected Ross' bemused remark to be the first thing he'd heard that morning.

Ross narrowed his eyes across at him. "What have you been doing?"

George shot him a glare. "What? Have you gone around smelling Matty or something?"

John raised an eyebrow, moving closer to George in search of his own verdict. "You do." He met Ross with a grin.

"What?" George buried his head in his hands: failing to see just what his friends found quite so funny about it.

Adam watched the exchange, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You smell like Matty. Like when Ross smells like John. Like that."

George's jaw dropped.

Ross thought for a moment, cheeks turning red. "Hann, you can shut the fuck up, but... he does."

"Now..." John trailed off, meeting George with a smirk. "I wonder what that could mean."

"Means it's none of your fucking business, don't you think?" George let out a groan; he hated his friends, he hated them all. "But for your information... for the slightest part of me and Matty's relationship that just might concern you-"

"Relationship?" Adam blinked across at him blankly.

"Yeah." George gave him a shove. "Relationship."

-

"I don't think I've seen you smile so much in my fucking life." Gemma took a drag of her cigarette, gaze fixated upon Matty.

"It's weird." She concluded, watching as their gaze tipped up to meet hers.

Matty scoffed, pushing their phone back into their pocket. "The idea of me being happy is weird to you?" They weren't so much as offended by the notion - just intrigued.

"Not weird." Gemma shook her head, casting her gaze out across the night sky, thinking for a moment. "Different."

"Different's good." Matty gave way to a smile, stealing themself one of Gemma's cigarettes.

She passed them a smile. "Yeah, I'm glad you're happy."

"Happy." Matty repeated: toying with the word, pulling it through their teeth like they didn't quite even understand it.

"Yeah." Gemma nodded, leaving Matty to their thoughts.

"Happy." Their voice echoed once more, a smile tugging at the corners of their lips. "Weird that, isn't it?"

-

"What are you doing?"

Matty stared blankly at George, who'd set himself to closing all the curtains, and turning off all the lights. It was quite the sight, really, especially for Matty, who'd walked in on this.

"Hiding from Adam." George supplied, as if there was nothing else to say for the matter. Once content with his work, he closed the living door behind them and sat himself down on the sofa, in the middle of the fucking pitch black room.

"Uhh..." Matty dragged the word out between his lips, not quite sure what to make of the situation or their idiot boyfriend at all.

"Right... look... John made him a cake, in the shape of a dick, and okay, it was my idea, but it wasn't my fault-"

"You're a dickhead." Matty told him, hardly even fazed by it at this point. They reached for their phone, using it as a torch, and directing a beam of harsh white light towards George.

"Fucking hell." George groaned: blinded.

"Put the fucking light on and stop being a weirdo." Matty stared him down, a smirk tugging at their lips as George got to his feet and reached for the light switch. "You're not honestly scared of him, are you?"

"No." George seemed very insistent for someone who had been more than prepared to hide away in the dark for the rest of his life.

Matty snorted, dragging George back to the sofa, and sitting themself down into his lip. That shut him up. Matty had known it would.

"He wants to kill me. He actually wants to kill me." George groaned, pressing Matty's head under his chin and into the crook of his neck.

"Your own fucking fault, though, isn't it?" Matty snorted: utterly devoid of sympathy. Yet despite that, ready to reach for George's hand, pressing their fingers together.

"Suppose." George sighed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Matty's cheek. "I've got an idea, though." He whispered, turning Matty's cheeks red.

"Mmm?" Matty inquired, desperate to hide the scarlet red colour of their cheeks.

"Should kiss you." George drew a sigh, moving his fingers to Matty's sides and pressing them down. "He hates that."

"What? On the off chance that he's actually going to break into your house to punch you in the face for being annoying?" Matty turned their head and met George with little more than a large unimpressed stare. "He's gonna stop and turn around because we're a bit busy?"

"Alright." George groaned, burying his head into Matty's shoulder. "Shut up. I'm trying."

"Trying?" Matty raised their eyebrows, wondering if such a word could even be applied to just whatever it was that George was doing.

"Yeah." George gripped Matty by the waist, cheeks turning red. "You should kiss me. We should... kiss..."

Matty's eyes grew wide; it had taken them quite a while to properly get wind of what George could have possibly been referring to, but the very instant they had, there was just absolutely no avoiding it.

"Did you actually just try and use hiding from Adam as an excuse to get me to suck you off again-"

"No." George's cheeks flushed red: entirely too defensive.

Matty just burst into a fit of laughter, having to brace themself onto George's shoulder to stop themself from slipping down onto the floor. George seemed significantly less amused.

"Alright." Matty shot him a look, a smirk making its way up their face.

"What?" George stumbled over his own words, eyes growing wide like saucers. Matty couldn't deny that they loved the effect they had on him; if there were two things in this world that Matty truly loved, it was making people tick, and of course, George. And maybe weed too, thinking about it.

"I'll suck you off again." Matty moved closer, lips ghosting over George's.

"Fuck..." George moved both of his hands to their hips, pulling Matty further into his lap, as he connected their lips, teeth sinking down into Matty's bottom lip with enough force to sting.

But that was how George wanted it; he liked the bruises, he liked the marks, he liked breaking Matty down with his hands - he liked knowing he could have that effect on someone, especially someone like Matty, who walked around like they owned the world and everything in it.

Matty pulled away gently, heart beginning to hammer in their chest, but still doing all they could to keep their cool.

"If..." They added, meeting George with a wide, imploring gaze - it had George's heart hiccuping in his throat.

"If..." George murmured, fingers loosening around Matty's sides.

Matty smirked. "You've got to make me want to. Get me in the mood. You've got to make me want it, like it's the only thing I've ever wanted in the world."

George cracked a smile, pressing his lips back down against Matty's: more forcefully than he had ever before. It had Matty shuddering in his lap, and struggling to keep their position, leaving them to push desperately into George's hands, keeping a grasp on their hips.

"But you always do." George pulled away, meeting Matty with a stern kind of gaze that had everything crumbling inside. "I've seen the way you look at me too."

George moved his hand up to Matty's face, resting it against their cheek, pushing up against the underside of their jaw with his thumb. "Isn't that right?"

Matty squirmed, desperate to pull back any kind of retort, but their voice had left them entirely, leaving them with little more than a pleading whine. Needless to say, it didn't exactly help their point.

George smirked; he knew Matty all too well.

-

"Hickeys. Multiple. Several. A fucking collection."

Gemma was sat at Matty's kitchen table, mug of tea in hand, struggling to fixate her gaze on anything but Matty's neck.

They flushed a rather telling shade of red, bringing their hand up to the back of their neck and rubbing it, almost in contemplation.

"How are you hiding them?" Gemma asked, genuinely intrigued. From across the room, she could count at least four. Granted, Matty had tied their hair up that afternoon, but still, they were more than visible otherwise.

"I'm not." Matty gave a shrug, a grin tugging at their lips.

"Fucking hell..." Gemma's eyes grew wide.

"It's interesting." Matty mused, picking at their fingernails. "Louis just laughs. He thinks it's brilliant. Like the best fucking thing in the world. Maybe just because it makes dad so uncomfortable. Maybe not uncomfortable. But awkward. He sort of doesn't look at me in the eye whenever he talks to me anymore. Maybe that's a bit depressing. I'm kind of enjoying it though. Mum was bothered at first, but she's got over it now, just sort of slips George into every conversation we're having."

"What? Exactly like you do?" Gemma raised her eyebrows, eager to mock her best friend. "Hey Gemma, how are you? Then, George this. George that. I love George. Don't you love George? You won't believe what George told me the other day-"

"Fuck off." Matty let out a groan, burying their head in their hands. "She wants me to invite him over. Like for dinner. Like so we can all properly sit there awkwardly and try not to think about my sex-life while she goes on asking George about his future prospects or some shit like that."

Gemma snorted. "Can I get an invite? Sounds like it'd be pretty funny."

"Oh fuck off." Matty groaned, letting their tea grow cold.

-

"Awh, I love your mum."

George grinned down at Matty, one arm around their waist, and one hand brought up to cup their cheek. They were officially the kind of sickeningly romantic that George had spent the past year of his life criticising John and Ross for being.

"George." Matty groaned, closing their eyes for a moment, attempting to block out the world in its entirety. The walk to Matty's had already taken twice as long as it had needed to, but still, Matty just wasn't at all prepared to go inside and say goodbye to George for the night.

George leaned down and pressed a kiss to their lips. It was quick and sweet, and yet there was something so very smug about it.

"You're absolutely not." Matty told him, for what was growing close to the thousandth time. "You're fucking not." They continued, even as George just grinned down at them, as if the entire situation could never frame itself in anything but amusement.

"It'd be nice." George offered, kissing Matty once before pulling away. Still, even now, he was unable to stifle a giggle as Matty fell down from their tip toes to their normal height.

"Yeah, well you think fucking rich tea biscuits are nice so I don't know what you're on about-"

"They are." George protested, grin plastered to his lips as he reached forward and fixed Matty's hair - from where he'd messed it up, of course. Matty rolled their eyes: so used to this all by now.

"Still there's a difference between eating a fucking biscuit and like meeting my parents. Like..." Matty trailed off, cheeks burning red - the situation had been eating away at their insides for what felt like forever.

"I've already met them, though. It's not like anyone's going to be surprised." Matty, for one, was just entirely astounded as to how George was actually just entirely calm and open to the prospect.

"When the fuck have you met my dad?" Matty shook their head across at George. "Okay, you can think my mum's nice, but you've literally never even had one fucking conversation with my dad."

"I have." George persisted, the corners of his lips twitching up into a smile. "Last week. When I walked you home, and it was like midnight. And you said you'd be home at eleven. So you only kissed me once before rushing inside, and your parents were waiting up for you, in case you'd died or anything."

"Yeah." Matty rolled their eyes, groaning a little. "That was a... lovely... experience. I think my mum sort of forgot I wasn't actually fifteen anymore that night."

George snorted. "Well, I was stood out on your drive for a minute, because I watched you go in, and then your dad spotted me and opened the living room window. He was quite pissed off at me, but he was relatively nice about it."

"He what...?" Matty's eyes grew wide - this was a story that George had somehow neglected to ever mention to them.

"I think... 'of for fuck's sake, buy them a fucking watch for Christmas, will you?'... were his exact words." George managed a grin, much more amused by the situation than anything else.

"Oh my god..." Matty's eyes grew wide, bringing their hands up to hide their face.

"I apologised and told him it wasn't going to happen again." George cracked a grin, pulling Matty back into his chest. "And you should go inside now, so I can keep that promise. And so your dad won't hate me. And so that dinner your mum wants us to have with them isn't going to be the most awkward thing on the planet."

"I hate you." Matty retorted, pulling away from George. "I actually hate you." Of course, they didn't mean a single word.

George caught a smile, watching as Matty made their way down the drive and to their front door. "I love you too."

And on that December evening, out in the cold, as the sky began to open up with rain, everything froze, like the ice on the roads, like the forever distant snow.

Because they'd never said it like that before.

And suddenly, there was everything, laid out on the pavement between them, as Matty stood there, face illuminated in the porch light, and George thought about just running off into the darkness, down the street, to get himself into a state and refuse to ever deal with this.

But he didn't.

It took Matty a minute. Maybe two.

But they made their way back up to the top of the drive and grabbed George by the hands, pushing their lips together with force: with the kind of warmth that felt so out of place for the evening.

"I love you too." Matty whispered, words pushed like a secret to George's chest as they pulled away. Their eyes dared to flicker up to meet George's. "Dickhead."

George snorted, watching through the cold as Matty finally made it back inside.

They were a good twenty minutes late home that night, but they couldn't muster even the slightest care in the world. Things were good. They were happy. There'd never been a winter that had felt quite so warm.

-

It was a Saturday night. Their first time. In George's room. Blushing and giggling like they were fifteen.

Matty was in love.

Matty was in love out in the cold, with intertwined fingers turning red, and George's lips leaving warm, tingling bursts of life against their cheeks. In love with those forever moments.

Matty was in love up in the warmth, sharing the same blanket - the two of them, and limbs entangled in a mess they never hoped to clean up. In love with those December afternoons.

Matty was in love amidst the darkness, streetlights lay like ominous spectators to the frozen, teasing kisses taken on the end of avenues, to fade out into long sleepless nights and the steady rhythm of another heartbeat beside them - something to keep them sane. In love with those impossible nights.

Matty was in love up in the lights, a golden bright glow to keep them warm at night. They'd figured in the end, that if George was the sun, then they were not the moon, but the Earth. It was thoughts like that, they shared in blindingly bright mornings - forever hesitant to leave their beds. In love with each other.

Matty was in love with George.

And the evening had been slow, with their fingers curled around George's - a night out drinking with what had felt like the whole world - a night desperate to get away from their friends, to get some time alone, to sit down and just kiss George for hours, to just sit with him and sip a cup of tea. Matty would do that. They thought it was funny really - the way things had become.

Matty hadn't drank that night; George's words echoing around his head from the week before.

From a hazy Wednesday, and a house to themselves, drunk just off wine, and Matty out on their knees, staring up at George and begging him to fuck them. It had been a tiring night.

That was when Matty knew. This was love. Not just different. But special. But love. But the two of them. Something. Not just anything.

George had looked at Matty, long and hard, like it was the first time they'd met, and he still hadn't quite had chance to figure them out. Now it had been months, and still, George was hardly much closer to any real notion of answers.

He'd told them he wouldn't do anything like this. When they were that drunk. Matty wasn't sure anyone had ever considered them like that in their life. Matty wasn't sure anyone had ever cared quite so much. But George did.

George had sat them down and made them a cup of tea. And told them everything would be fine, and that they were loved. Not that they were beautiful, not that they were pretty. But that they were loved. That they mattered. That they were better than this.

Matty had always been an ugly crier. But George didn't care. George put them to bed, and they slept, softly, with stuttered yawns, and murmured 'Love you's pressed into George's chest under the guise of half-hearted kisses.

It really hit them with their jeans on George's bedroom floor, and their shirt hanging low over their thighs. "Weird this, isn't it?"

"Weird?" George stretched back against his bedroom wall, shirt strewn across the bed beside him.

"Mmm..." Matty did try not to stare at George's chest - it was an attempt, at least. "Firsts... and that."

"What? My first time with a guy?" George snorted, beckoning Matty closer. "For one, it's not like I've never seen a dick before in my life. Secondly, it's not like girls don't have assholes too. Whether you like to think about it or not."

Matty pulled a face, and drew out a sigh. "My first time with someone I love."

George's heart began to hammer inside his chest.

"What about... James...?" George drew his mind back to that night - the night it had all began. When such a dramatic ending had brought such a wonderful new beginning.

Matty shook their head. "Not really. I loved him. At the time. But how you love someone when you're sixteen and you don't really know what love is."

George gave a nod. Matty drew a breath.

"This is different."

The two cracked a smile.

And the moment passed.

Matty made their way towards the bed, sitting themself down between George's legs, and just stopping for a moment. "How is this going to work, with you losing your homosexual virginity, and me being too emotionally attached to think properly."

George managed a smile. "Are you say you love me so much that you've forgotten to how to fuck?"

His eyes grew wide, taking in Matty's appearance - the way the moonlight reflected their skin: sloping down over their shoulders like they were little but ripples across a lake.

Matty turned red. "Shut up. Just an odd situation."

"Do you not trust me to fuck you or something?" George was, at best, amused by their situation, brushing Matty's hair back, out of their eyes, and pressing a quick gentle kiss to their forehead.

"Look... I'm not having you... breaking my asshole-"

"Matty." George buried his head in his hands. "Love... what are you-"

"Trust me, George, for a start, you need to use like five times the amount of lube you think you need to use." Matty met him with a smirk, shuffling forward into George's lap and just thinking for a moment.

"I'll be careful, I promise-"

"No, I've got it." Matty cracked a smile, pressing a kiss to George's jaw. "This is perfect. This is... this is yeah. I think you'll like it."

"You think?" George snorted, struggling to imagine any situation involving Matty and his dick which he wouldn't be more than contented by.

"So... I'll ride you." Matty watched in amusement as George turned red. "How does that sound?"

George gave out gaspy little breaths in the place of words, but still, Matty just about figured what he meant.

"I mean, I am all for, being pounded, facedown onto the bedroom floor, but like..." Matty gave way to a giggle. "Got standards now, haven't I? I'm classy now."

"Y-yeah..." George managed little more than a gasp in response.

Matty hit him with a wink. "We'll work our way up to that, don't you worry."

-

"So, great, now I'm the single friend."

Adam's girlfriend broke up with him two weeks into December.

It wasn't that he was particularly pleased about it, but he didn't seem to be anywhere near as devastated as anyone expected him to be. The truth was that he just felt much more up for burying it all in drink than actually exploring his feelings.

"I mean, look on the bright side - that's one less person to buy a Christmas present for." George really wasn't sure why he said half the things he did. Perhaps it was just the kind of thing that would cheer Matty up. But Adam, not so much.

"Yeah, I could kill you as well - that'd be another less person to buy a Christmas present for." Adam bit back, rolling his eyes across at him through the cold.

It had been John's idea. To get everyone together. George, personally didn't see how surrounding Adam with people in relationships would help him at all, but considering how badly his attempts to comfort Adam had gone, he reckoned that maybe he just didn't get a say anymore.

"This is shit." Adam concluded, voice louder than was by any means necessary, as the four boys made their way through the cold, hoping to end up at Gemma's house within the next half an hour.

"Thanks." John grumbled, staring up at Ross, in the form of a desperate plea of help.

"Welcome." Adam supplied, sneaking a glance across at George, who was really little more than slightly amused by the situation as a whole.

"You'll have fun. Shut up." Ross told him, pulling Adam into his side with perhaps too much enthusiasm. Adam looked like he wanted to punch him. George snorted.

"There'll be alcohol." George offered, lips twisting up into a smile. "Shut up."

Adam gave a shrug, and continued down the road. "Maybe it'll be alright then."

"You're turning him into an alcoholic, you are." Ross shot George a look, all too severely displeased for such a mildly amusing situation.

"I hardly even drink." The look George shot him back with wasn't short off incredulous.

"But Matty-"

"Hard to believe as it is, me and Matty are actually two separate people." George narrowed his eyes, shaking his head across at his dickhead friends.

They just laughed right back at him. Like the notion itself just wasn't far off preposterous.

-

It was Matty that got drunk in the end.

Beyond drunk. Shattered. Babbling and mumbling like a madman, with cheeks a deathly shade of a pale, and fingertips hooked onto George's ribs.

George carried them home in the end.

It hurt.

Not the act of carrying them. Matty was really quite light - more so than George had even thought. But just, the fact that he had to do it. That Matty had gotten like that in the first place. That he'd let them.

What hurt more, was ringing the doorbell, and looking Matty's mother in the eye. She was nice, and George liked her; he just didn't reckon she'd like him very much at all after that night.

Her eyes grew wide when she caught sight of George, struggling to keep Matty onto their feet, as they mumbled nonsense that was long beyond incomprehensible, throwing their limbs about like they didn't quite know how to control them anymore.

"They're just drunk." George saved her from asking, from the trouble of her mind, hurrying to worry about all the things that mothers did. Perhaps just on this occasion with reason, though. "Really quite drunk."

"Matty, you-..." Denise didn't quite know what to say, or if there was any point in scolding them in this state.

"They'll be alright." George wasn't quite sure if that was entirely true or not, but he didn't half hope so. He certainly didn't have the medical authority to make such a judgement, but it wasn't like he was going to carry Matty home and tell their mother that they were probably going to die.

"How much has he had to drink?" Denise's eyes grew wide, struggling to help Matty through the door.

"They." George corrected her, cheeks flushing red.

"Is that really the most important thing right now?" She raised her voice a little way, starring George down with the kind of anger that seemed so entirely out of place.

"It's important regardless." George snapped, speaking before he had much chance to think. "I think... about eight tequilas... might have been nine." He supplied, biting his lip.

"Don't fucking let them drink that much." For a moment, it looked as if she'd chosen George to blame in all of this.

The air grew cold. Like they had all forgotten, that although highly inebriated, Matty was still very much awake.

"I'm not their mum." George bit back, forgetting just who he was speaking to for a moment.

Denise let out a sigh, drawing her lips out into a thin line. "And Matty's an adult. I know. But please, fucking look after him."

"Them." George continued, feeling Matty mumble something against his chest.

"Fuck." Denise buried her head in her hands. "It's hard, you know? This is all hard, Matty's... complicated... I think sometimes, I'm not a very good mum, at all."

George didn't quite know what to say to that, as he stood there, in the nighttime air, with Matty barely conscious under his arm, and their mother spilling her heart out to him over the doorstep.

"I'm sorry." She let out a sigh, helping Matty inside. "Come on, you need to lie down."

George stayed there, out by the door, listening as she helped Matty through to the living room and set them down onto the sofa. By the time she returned, barely two minutes later, she seemed a little startled by the fact that George was still there.

When he thought about it, George was too.

"I'm sorry." He met her with a sigh. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

"No." Denise shook her head. "It's not up to you, it's up to them."

-

"Mum's told Dad you're an alcoholic."

Matty figured that just, really, there was no better way to wake up than to those words, pulled out, far too naively, from the mouth of their thirteen year old brother.

"It was one night." Matty groaned, burying their head back down into the sofa cushion. If they listened hard enough, they could just about catch the sound of their parents conversation from somewhere else in the house.

"Are things getting bad again?" Louis asked, watching Matty warily. "Because you should talk-"

"Nothing's getting bad again. It's just me. And my fucking head. And my fucking gender and fucking everything." Matty figured they were just far too hungover to think about keeping their language clean in front of their brother.

Louis looked rather taken aback, pondering over Matty's words for a good minute before they actually came to any sort of response. Matty didn't mind: they liked the peace; they needed the quiet.

"Are you not sure about your gender again? Is that it?" Louis managed to form any kind of logical conclusion from the very little Matty had given him.

Matty shook their head, managing a smile, just for Louis' sake. "No. I'm fine as I am."

"Then what is it?" He took a step closer, holding Matty's gaze with the kind of integrity that no one should possess at just thirteen years old. "I know it's something."

Matty buried their head back into the sofa. "Maybe you should tell mum and dad that I might be more inclined to come back here sober, if they just might be more inclined to stop calling me 'he'."

-

"We're trying." Denise sat Matty down at nine that night.

They'd made the simple mistake of sneaking downstairs for a cup of tea, but she'd been there, laying wait in the kitchen, as if she'd planned some form of ambush.

Really, Matty hadn't even expected that Louis would have said a word in the first place. They hadn't much cared either way, but when they faced everything so directly, it just felt wrong. Weird. To put it simply, this wasn't a conversation that Matty wanted to be having.

"I just forget sometimes. I've spent eighteen years calling you 'he', I mean, it's a change, isn't it? I forget sometimes. Especially when I'm stressed and worried, and the only thing on my mind is what you've done to yourself, never mind anybody's gender."

"Funny that." Matty snorted, shooting their mum a look. "Guess you just can't imagine, can you? Sometimes it's the only thing on my mind. And trust me, it's always there - my gender."

"Matty, you can hardly remember my birthday, this isn't..." She trailed off - truthfully, she just didn't have the slightest idea of what to say, of how to deal with this at all.

How it had been at the start, the hugs, and the persistent 'I love you's had been fine, but meeting George's the night before, catching that look like he'd wanted to physically force the word 'them' into her chest, so it might leave a great gaping hole that she'd never be able to forget - that was something else.

"I never mean to. You know that, don't you?" Matty managed a nod.

"And I'm sorry." She added, watching Matty carefully for any signs of response or acknowledgement, but found instead that she'd received no such thing.

"I just think... that how much you drank was much more of an issue. I mean-"

"What?" Matty snapped, life sparking inside of them out of seemingly nowhere. "Because my gender's a fucking issue, is it? Well sorry, for all the fucking bother."

-

"It's bullshit." Matty skimmed their words like a stone across the water.

"I'm sorry." George pulled his arm around Matty's shoulders, holding them close there in the cold, with winter really setting in around them: trees bare and each breath stark like smoke: thick in the cold air.

"It's actually fucking bullshit." Matty kicked at the ground with their toe, pulling away from George's grasp.

"I know." George assured them, for the seven hundredth time. "I'm sorry."

Matty stared out across the lake, out into the world, almost frozen over. It all felt too quick: like summer had been pulled out from underneath their feet. But back in summer, Matty hadn't even known George at all.

"I hate them. I actually hate them." Matty folded their arms across their chest: the posterchild for petulance. But still, George listened, and George considered the weight and impact of every single thing they had to say.

"I thought it was just your dad..." George trailed off, daring to reach through the icy air for Matty's hand.

Their fingers didn't met his.

"It's fucking everyone, George. It's fucking everything. I'm fucking tired. I'm fucking sick. I want to curl up and never see anyone again. I want to just fade away, to dissipate, like water droplets into the lake, like stones sinking to the bottom. I want to fucking freeze over and sleep through the whole of winter, and wake up again when it's warm, when things are better."

Try as he might, Matty's words were just something George couldn't quite swallow.

He focused on the horizon, on the blue grey sky, on the slow, steady stuttering of his heart in his chest, and Matty's hand, daring to reach for his. George gave Matty's hand a squeeze, managing a smile.

"You don't need to do that." George assured them, pulling Matty back into his chest. "I'll keep you warm."

Matty pressed their head back into George's chest and sighed: warm breath fading away into cold air. They needed a smoke. They needed a drink. They needed more than freezing December afternoons and depressing conversations. Things weren't how they used to be, but there was nothing they could do about that.

"If you try so hard to keep me warm, you're going to get cold yourself." Matty warned him, drawing their words out like tentative wavering sounds, rather than actual sentences.

"That doesn't matter." George's response was instantaneous: plummeting deep down inside of Matty.

"What? Even if you end up freezing?" Matty wondered if this was when they might have dragged out the metaphor on for too long, but regardless of anything else, things were easier to talk about that way, and perhaps that was just what they needed.

"Yeah. Doesn't matter." George moved their arm down to Matty's waist. "I want to keep you warm."

"That's a fucking stupid way to think." Because if there was one thing Matty would say they were good for, it was telling things like they were.

"I'm not even half the person you think I am."

-

"Is everything okay?"

George couldn't place how he was possibly supposed to answer that.

Unfortunately, however, that he doubted that 'sorry mum, but I've not got the slightest fucking clue' would hardly be classed as an at all appropriate answer.

"George..." She watched him carefully from across the living room. The house fell silent: the kind of unnaturally still that George hadn't seen since his childhood, the remnants of some slightly less than pleasant memories.

"I'm worried about Matty." He gave way to a sigh, words twisting around his throat as if they'd set out to suffocate him.

She softened her gaze, considering the situation in a new light. "Why? What's wrong?"

George shook his head.

"I don't really know."

-

There were marks on George's shoulders. From fingernails dug in hard, gripping him desperately, as if for life - from moments in which the world was pulled out from beneath them, like they were just floating, struggling to survive.

It wasn't about the marks themselves, but instead, what they really did mean.

The changes were subtle, but omnipresent: glassing over Matty's eyes when they fucked, and spilling out amidst a heap that eloquence had long forgotten, when they lay neck deep in unsavoury confessions, in quiet rooms, in the sinking feeling shared in two chests - things weren't like they used to be.

It scared George sometimes. Really, it had been Matty that had claimed so profusely that this was it, that this was everything, that this was that magical kind of different. But George had felt it too. Back then. Even now. But there was something else.

"Like that." Matty's tone was commanding, much more vocal than they usually were, seeming to be in a much more well put together state as well.

George grabbed Matty's wrists from where they'd lay, fingertips trailing down his chest, and pinned them back above his head with one hand. He used the other to push Matty's thigh up and back against their chest; they were shuddering slightly, as if not entirely able to keep themself in place. Yet, things weren't quite as desperate and flailing as they often were.

"Do you insist on holding me down?" Matty drew their gaze over to their wrists, pinned back on the mattress behind their head, curls fawning out like a crown of soft brown feathers.

"Do you insist on being so mouthy?" George cracked a smile, kissing Matty quickly, but Matty's lips barely moved against his own.

George stopped, pulling away from Matty, and releasing their wrists. The two just stared at one another for a minute, although it was a minute that seemed to drag on for time eternal.

"What's wrong?" George cut to the chase, biting down on his bottom lip.

Matty shook their head, stretching their hands out upwards, as if to grab George and bring him back down again. George shook his head.

"Tell me what's wrong." He told them plainly, stealing that same commanding tone back.

"Fuck me, George, please." Matty's eyes went wide: begging - the kind of desperate that only made George grow more uneasy.

"Matty..." George trailed off, everything seeming to stop inside of him.

"Please." Matty pushed themself up onto their elbows, eyes meeting George's with all the desperation in the world. "I need it."

George swallowed hard; this wasn't want, this was need. This was Matty's brain crumbling to pieces, and this was them trying to fix everything in bed. Perhaps the only way they really knew how. This was everything all over again, and for the life of him, George just couldn't see as to why.

"Tell me what's going on." George's voice was stern, persistent. "In that head of yours. Please."

Matty pulled at their bottom lip, stumbling over the possibility.

"Please." George's eyes grew pleading, lighting up with the kind of concern that had Matty dizzy.

"After." They made a hasty promise, reaching their hands up to George's shoulders.

"After?" George raised his eyebrows.

"Mmm." Matty gave a nod. "I promise."

-

It hardly came to much of a conversation in the end. George should have known better. George should have known what state Matty would be in - with eyes bleary and wide, stumbling out false hopes and apologies like they were nothing at all.

"So... what's wrong?" George lay out across his bed, still very much naked, but putting some clothes on was probably the last thing on his list of priorities for that moment.

Matty gave a shrug, falling back against George's bedroom wall. The words 'I promise' ran back through their mind, but didn't seem to make any kind of significant impact.

"You don't know?" George tried to fill in the gaps for himself - it was like that a lot of the time with Matty, but it was all beginning to wear a bit thin.

There was only a finite number of things that could go wrong, a finite number of red flags George could see, before things would have to change. And he'd have to think of something more drastic to do about it than sit around with a hazy post-coeital shadow of Matty.

Matty shook their head.

"How can you not know what's bothering you? Surely..." George dragged his words out, before giving in and shaking his head. "Is it everything? Or does it at least feel like that?"

"No." Matty shook their head again. "I know."

George stopped for a moment. He wondered if even his heart did too. It was a moment spent watching Matty, struggling to form words in his mouth.

"I can't talk about it." Matty filled in the gaps for him in the end.

George swallowed hard, attempting to regain more of a grip on himself. "You can't or you just don't want to?"

Matty gave a shrug. It was that which they didn't know.

George let out a sigh, setting his gaze across to the series of pictures on his bedroom wall. He first brought his mind back to the very first photo - the one Matty had taken of him unaware, the one they'd left with that note, with had his insides churning up and his head spinning.

The ones that followed had been taken on nights spent together, curled up in each other's arms, or in early mornings, catching beautiful sunrises in the background. There were a few just plain stupid ones - the result of lazy afternoons and empty homes.

They looked happy like that. Really in love. Like everything was good.

Like this horrible melancholy bitter sadness wasn't seeping in and slowly tearing everything apart.

It wasn't like Matty was oblivious to it; there was no doubt that they were so much more than aware. That just had George asking what had left them to such a state - what they possibly couldn't bring themself to say.

"What happened to telling each other everything?" George's voice was low, barely a whisper, like it held the power to soon be forgotten. "What happened to the Matty that barely knew me and sat down and spewed out their whole life story?"

"That was never my whole life story." Matty's tone was withdrawn, and unpleasant at best. George reckoned however, that he did largely deserve it. "That was just how I fucked up. How I ruined things with Gemma, how I needed help."

"And you don't need help now?" George was hesitant to believe such a notion.

Matty shook their head. "Not from you, no. You're my boyfriend not my fucking therapist."

George drew out a sigh. "It's me, isn't it? I've done something. Matty, please just-"

"Jesus Christ, George, not everything's about you." Their tone was harsher than they'd meant it to be, everything was all wrong: crumbling around them. And try as they might, they just couldn't stop it.

They lay there, naked and silent, like the world's most depressing couple, like they were in their forties already, like there wasn't a word to be spoken in the bedroom, like there was nothing of much meaning to spoken out of it.

And two hearts began to stutter inside of two cold chests.

-

Amber always made tea just how they liked it. Maybe that was the sole reason they'd gone over to her's in the first place - or at least just the only reason they'd dare to admit out loud.

It was a dreary Tuesday afternoon, with cloudy grey skies and enough rain to bring the whole town underwater. There was a part of Matty that day that very much liked such an idea: of everything just washing away and beginning to disappear.

They curled up against Amber's bedroom window, watching the rain as thoughts ran rampant through their head, and falsified stories began to make sense of themselves.

Amber didn't dare to approach any kind of serious matter until Matty had downed at least half of their cup of tea. As much as she wasn't Gemma, she still certainly knew the way Matty did and didn't want to talk about things. It was significant, however, that they'd taken it upon themself to come over, to admit that something was wrong, and that she needed to listen, regardless of whether she wanted to or not.

"You know sometimes..." Matty trailed off, holding their mug of tea with both hands, resting it in their lap as they watched the raindrops roll down the cold glass pane of the window.

"Mmm?" Amber gave a nod of encouragement, watching as Matty twitched nervously: drumming their fingertips against the mug, and forever tucking and untucking their hair from behind their ears.

"Sometimes you lie to people to avoid hurting their feelings. To avoid making situations worse. Because you think that then, telling a slight... deviation from the truth will just make everything better for everybody." Matty drew out a sigh, turning their head to meet Amber's gaze.

"How big of a lie?" She asked, seeing right through all the flowery bullshit Matty had needed to prelude their story with.

Matty gave a shrug. "I didn't say anything that was really entirely false, but... I just... omitted certain details, that are kind of... really essential to get any grasp of the actual... truth."

"So you avoided the truth, because you didn't want to hurt someone?" Amber watched them carefully for a moment.

Matty gave a nod. "And now, not telling him has hurt him even more. Now it's hurt us both. It's hurt me trying to hide it, and it's all... fucked."

"Has he found out?" Amber lowered her voice slightly.

Matty shook their head. "He won't. But... it's put... distance between us, because he thinks the fucking world of me, and I've... this thing... it's bad. I'm not the person anyone really thinks I am. And I feel so fucking guilty for it."

"George loves you..." Amber drew out a sigh; it didn't take much to figure that he was indeed the subject of Matty's concern.

"It was a bad lie. It was a stupid fucking lie. I just didn't want him to think any less of me, but he's..." Matty buried their head behind their mug of tea. "He knows something's up and he's desperate for me to tell him, and I just... fuck... I don't even know what to say."

"You should tell him. Before it gets even worse." There wasn't a single hint of doubt in Amber's words, and that was what Matty needed - someone to make sense of it all for him.

"He's going to hate me."

"Then let him hate you. For a while. Because he's going to come around soon enough afterwards."

Her smile seemed placid, an oddly contented kind of stern, that digged and tugged at Matty's insides, leaving their heart slowing in their chest, and their brain turning to mush up in their head. As really, they just didn't know what to think or feel at all.

-

"Mum..." Matty's voice was so tentative that it was almost forced: dragged out across the living room in the late night air.

She stirred from where she'd sat herself down on the sofa, half way to sleep, with a cup of tea going cold out on the table before her. It took her a moment to really process the fact that Matty had actually initiated a conversation with her, and not only that, but came and sat down with her too.

"What's wrong?" She held their gaze, seeing through any kind of facade instantaneously; she was their mother, after all.

"I'm sorry." They swallowed hard, bringing their hands up into their lap and sighing.

"About what?" Denise watched them carefully.

"About being a shit kid." Matty's response was as blunt as it could possibly be.

She met them with a smile. "But you're not a kid anymore."

"Yeah..." Matty trailed off, pulling their knees up to their chest. "Wish I was, you know? Wish everything was simple, and I... I hadn't messed with so many people's feelings and told so many lies, and..."

"What have you done?" There wasn't an ounce of patronisation in her voice, meeting Matty openly, with the kind of respect that Matty absolutely didn't reckon they deserved. "Look, whatever it is, I still love you, and you're still my child."

Matty's eyes grew wide. "Wow, you actually didn't say son that time."

Denise cracked a smile. "I told you - I am getting better, I am trying."

Matty watched her for a moment, in the evening light, in the world closing its eyes around them, and everything settling down into peaceful, placid shades of grey.

"I lied to George about something." Matty's explanation was reluctant at best. "Something important. Not vastly, but important, nonetheless."

"He loves you." Denise's response was immediate, and without a hint of doubt in her mind. "Tell him. He'll understand."

"Are you sure?"

"That boy's carried you, passed out drunk, blathering and groaning, all the way home. To face your, understandably, very angry mother, and whatever she had to say for him that late at night, but all just to make sure you were safe."

Matty's cheeks flushed red.

"Yes, I'm sure."

-

"You look shit, mate." Ross eyed George warily as he made his way into class that morning.

George gave a shrug: overly complacent, hiding under a facade of nonchalance; Ross knew him well enough to see right through it.

"I've not slept." Was what George supplied in the end, muttered under his breath, gaze fixated off out the window.

"Matty?" Ross raised his eyebrows, having gathered some sort of grasp on the less than fantastic situation that the two currently found themselves in.

George gave a sigh. "I'm worried."

"You've got every right to be." Ross assured him: glad to get so much out of him, especially so early in the morning.

"Still, it's not like I actually make him tell me anything, so it's all fucking... fucked. And this is going to fall apart like things fucking always do, and we'll all go back to being unhappy and boring."

Ross bit at his lip: quite unsure of what to say to that. "Explain that to them. Make them understand."

George just laughed it off. "There's no making Matty understand anything - they've either got it, got you from the first moment, or they're simply not fucking interested."

"Well, maybe." Ross let out a sigh. "Like you two have always been saying. Maybe this is just different."

-

It was late one night. It got late every night, but this one was different. Matty could almost feel their soul unravelling from inside their chest, thrusting some unfortunate conclusion upon them, and upon the rather dreary home they'd made for themself amidst all this mess.

Matty didn't say a word. But the silence was enough; Gemma read it all off the distant look in their eyes, in a way that Matty would never quite comprehend.

She didn't push it; she knew there was no use in pushing Matty - they either did or didn't want to involve you in something, and that was very much that. Instead, she moved towards the gust of late night air drifting in through her bedroom window, and lit herself a cigarette.

Matty reached for the packet Gemma had discarded down onto the bed, stealing a cigarette, more for the sake of their own sanity than anything else. They'd smoked three before anything more was said.

"There are things that... I... don't tell people." Matty's voice was soft, but confident enough to surprise the both of them.

"Mmm?" Gemma turned and caught their gaze, leaning her back up against the wall. "I know."

"And there are some of those things that I should tell people." Matty drew a shaky intake of breath. "Should have told them before everything could get into a mess. Whether that was months ago or years ago..."

"It's up to you whether you tell anyone or not." Gemma told them rather plainly, keen to see how Matty might respond. "You don't owe anyone everything."

"I owe them something when I've... lied... maybe not lied directly, but purposefully avoided the truth, don't you think?" Matty gave way to a sigh, wondering quite how they could frame this all.

Gemma gave a shrug. "That's different, isn't it?"

Matty nodded, their gaze falling down to the floor, fixated upon the movement of their feet back and forth against it.

They lit themself another cigarette. Gemma watched wide eyed, but didn't mention it.

"You remember Sarah?" Matty's voice brought a whole new meaning to murmured, but still in the quiet of the room, and still of the house, Gemma could make out every word, like each word was blasted from speakers, vibrating against her bedroom walls and enveloping her entirely.

"Course." She managed a smile. "How could I forget?"

Matty's attempt at a smile was pathetic: half-hearted at best. "I fucked her brother."

"You what?" Gemma's eyes grew so wide that Matty wondered if they might be in danger of falling out. "When? Why?"

Matty swallowed hard. "Yeah..."

"Jesus Christ, Matty, is that why she broke up with you?" Gemma turned her mind back to her teenage years, coming to picture the whole era in an entirely new light.

"No, this was after." Matty gave way to a sigh. "I know. I'm not proud of it, but I was sixteen, and I... I kind of thought I loved him, you know? In that weird way you do when you're young and stupid."

"Matty-"

"I didn't love him, though. I just loved what he could give me." Matty's words seemed so groundly finite: bringing all of the world together, under their spell, just to smash it back down into pieces.

"What he could give you...?" Gemma's voice trailed off, meeting Matty with a look of confusion.

"Yeah." Matty gave a nod. "I think you know what I mean." They drew a breath. "He was... that guy."

"That guy..." Gemma's eyes grew wide, struggling to adjust her entire perspective on the world at sixteen to accommodate Matty's long postponed confession. "And you loved him?"

"No. Never. Not really. I blushed when he called me beautiful, but that's not love - that's just human. I came when he fucked me, but that's not love - that's just the way things are. I spent a whole summer with him, but I doubt things would have really been like if it wasn't for..."

Matty trailed off, almost as if they physically couldn't force the word through their lips. Gemma offered them a sympathetic smile - it was mind numbing at best, but they appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

"Why did you never tell me that?" She asked, daring to open that box too.

"Because I'm an idiot, and I'm a fucking coward, that's why." Matty set it out simply, falling into laughter: forced and pathetic at best.

"That's not true." Gemma insisted.

Matty rolled their eyes. "I don't need you to lie to me; I've done enough of that for myself."

-

George was on his last cigarette, curled up in bed, waiting for the world to pass him by, as he pushed every slight problem and issue as physically far away from him as possible.

It was just as he began to relax into the meaningless afternoon, and the muffled sounds of his mum moving about downstairs - making dinner or something like that, that everything snapped right in two. The quiet of the house was broken with the ringing of the doorbell, and the sound of approaching footsteps, and the whole world seeming to grow louder in George's ears.

He stared down at the empty packet that he'd discarded onto his bedside table and groaned. This was all just so impossibly shit; he didn't want to think, not about stupid noises, not about whatever fucking stupid person could be downstairs - he didn't want to indulge himself with the addictive inadequacies of life. He just wanted peace, or if not that, quiet, at the very least.

But as the sounds of muffled conversation died down, footsteps didn't turn away and back up the drive, for George to peer from his bedroom window down at the figure if he so inclined. The footsteps, instead, diverted themselves inside, and up the stairs.

George felt his heart doubling over in his chest, as he let such footsteps echo through his body, lying there - not far off the simple epitome of hopelessness.

But when his bedroom door was finally pushed open, Matty was perhaps the last person he'd expected to see.

"Hey..." Matty offered George a small smile from across the room, closing the door behind them, and sitting themself down on the bed beside him. They didn't pretend like nothing was wrong; they didn't pretend like the likelihood wasn't that it was their fault.

"You don't look like you're in the best state." Matty thought it served a better purpose than an 'are you okay?' - after all, Matty was already well aware of the answer to that.

"My head's a bit... of a mess." George concluded, pulling himself up onto his elbows, and moving so he was sat down next to Matty. "How are you?"

Matty gave a shrug, resting their head against George's bicep. "Honestly, I don't even fucking know."

George managed a smile, moving his other arm to brush Matty's hair out of their face, tucking it neatly behind their ears. Matty's cheeks grew pink, like they were strangers again - perhaps for what they were about to discuss, it was easier to prepare that they were.

"Love you." George told them, heart aching in the way the words rolled off his tongue.

Matty nodded in response. "Love you too." They drew out a sigh, picking idly at their fingernails. "We need to talk, though. You know, course you know."

"About..." George trailed off, throat almost seeming to close up behind that first word.

"About something important. About why I lied, about what I said." Matty let their gaze fall to the floor, moving closer into George for comfort.

"Yeah." George gave a nod. "I think we need to."

"Just... don't... just..." Matty's words were unwilling: tentative at best. "Try not to think of me... vastly differently. I mean, you probably will, but try and keep that to a minimum. We all do fucking stupid things when we're sixteen, things we're not proud of, things we try and keep from the whole world, things we tell stupid lies and fuck with people we love to hide them."

Matty bit their lip. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that." George pressed. "You don't need to be."

"Shut up." Matty rolled their eyes. "You need to stop thinking the world of me, I'm really, I'm not the perfect person you seem to think I am."

"Matty, I don't think the world of you because I think you're perfect." George reached for their hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I think the world of you because you're you. And I love you."

"Oh..." Matty swallowed their words, leaving their mouth dry and their eyes wide, and an incomprehensible mess floating around their chest. But they'd come over to tell the truth, to fix this for all, or at least the best they could, and there was no turning back from that now.

"So..." George prompted, as silence began to settle back in around them. "What is this about?"

And Matty took a breath: deeper than they had ever before, and even with all the anxiety in the world arguing otherwise, they parted their lips.

"James." The word left Matty's chest with what felt like the weight of the entire world.

George's eyes grew widened, his face settling out into a frown as it all really began to sink in. "Oh... what about him?"

"Well, it's not really about him, it's about me." Matty lowered their voice as they spoke, as though that might make things easier somehow. "He's just... there's this thing. Like it's this one thing that... I want to hide from the world, that I never want anyone to know, because it's... it's bad. I don't want you to believe I'm better than that, because I wasn't, because I'm not."

"Does anyone else know?" It was less of a question and more of George just wondering out loud.

"Gemma." Matty explained, pulling their mind back to how things had been, back at sixteen, when the world had seemed so small and simple. When they'd almost even believed that they'd lived on top of it.

"I never told her, though." Matty continued, pulling at the hem of their shirt. "She found out. I mean, someone had to, then, when everything was such a mess - it was inescapable, really. I got bad."

"What do you mean... 'bad'?" George reached his arm down to Matty's waist in an attempt to comfort them.

"Me and James knew each other before that night. When we first kissed. I lied about that." Matty began, setting things out as plainly as possible.

"Oh..." George trailed off: unsure as to why that was particularly worth lying about.

"We'd never kissed before then, though. I guess he never knew I was into guys before that shitshow. I don't know. I never asked. We never talked about those sorts of things."

"How did you know him?" George wasn't sure if Matty even wanted him to interrupt, to ask questions, or to just let them regurgitate everything out as fast as they could.

"He wasn't a proper drug dealer, but he... knew some people, and I mean, it was just where my friends went. So, we got... acquainted, but then one of my friends got close with this guy who could get weed, so everyone went to him instead."

"Oh... alright..." George was still yet to quite see what was the great truth hidden away in all of this.

"I kept going to see him regardless. Not because I liked him. I wonder if he thought it was because I liked him in the end. I don't know. I don't care." Matty drew a sigh, throwing their gaze down to the floor.

"Then why did you? Keep going back to him?" George did everything he could to keep his mind from leaping to conclusions, but once his brain started to tick, he just couldn't stop it.

"Needed more than just weed." Matty gave way to a sigh, moving away from George and falling back onto his bed. The room fell into silence, and they just stared up at the ceiling for a while.

"Like what?" George finally dared to ask, voice cracking as he attempted to do so.

Matty didn't answer for a good five minutes, wasting away in the silence, under the moment, as the cold air blew in through the window and grasped them both in its icy grasp. For a moment or two, Matty wondered if they might ever get free.

"Cocaine."

"Fuck..." George's eyes grew wide. He pulled his eyes over to Matty, and reached for their hand.

Matty let George pull his fingers in around theirs. "I stopped. Gemma made me. It was horrible. And I'm not going to talk about that. I'm not going to think about that. But I want you to... to think, to think about me, to think about the person I am, and not the person you might like me to be. You think too much of me. We both know it's true."

George didn't say anything at all. Instead he moved closer to Matty, laying himself down beside them, keeping their hands clasped together, as he moved to press their shoulders against one another.

"Say something." Matty's words cut into the silence, leaving an ugly scar.

"What do you want me to say? To hate you for mistakes you made two years ago?" George shook his head. "That's stupid."

"To re-evaluate the person you think I am. Because I lied. I lied. I lied to you. When it mattered, when it was important."

"You lied." George gave a nod, holding Matty's gaze just for a brief moment. "And you shouldn't have, but I can understand why you did. And I'm not going to hold it against you."

"Do you just not get it? George, I'm a terrible person-"

"Matty, love..." George turned onto his side in order to properly face them. "I know." He managed a grin. "But you're also a wonderful person too. And you just don't get that, do you?"

"I'm not a wonderful person." Matty muttered, eyes fixated up upon the ceiling.

"You are." George leaned over, whispering his words against Matty's ear: like a secret between the two of them. "Let me show you that."

"How?" Matty was uncertain: eyes wide and uneasy.

George twisted his lips up into a smile. "You'll see."

-

Red.

George had chosen them not just to be sappy, but to coordinate with Matty's lipstick, of course.

When Matty opened their front door that Saturday evening, they stared blankly at the roses: a red bouquet in George's hands.

"What is this...?" Matty trailed off, eyes going wide as they took the roses from him.

"Roses." George supplied, like it wasn't obvious. "I think they're nice - match your lipstick. That's proof I put thought into it, isn't it? Because you're a wonderful person who deserves that."

"Is that... what this is?" Matty stared down at the roses, a little dumbfounded.

George cracked a smile. "Come on - we're going out."

"Where?" Matty furrowed their brow, taking the roses and placing them down on the cupboard inside. They stared at them for a good long moment. "No one's ever bought me flowers before."

George flushed red: the colour of the roses, the colour of Matty's lipstick, the colour of two hearts, beating rapidly inside their chests.

"Where are we going?" Matty pressed, attempting to regain their cool as much as they could. "I thought you were just coming over, I'm not really-"

"You look lovely." George assured them. "Come on, I'm taking you on a date."

Matty's eyes grew impossibly wide. "What?"

"A date." George repeated, reaching for Matty's hand. "Come on, I literally stole my mum's car for this, you can't bail on me now."

Matty snorted, taking George's hand. "I thought you were supposed to be the good influence."

-

"Those stars, there." George grabbed Matty's hand, directing it up at the night sky. "The ones in that group - they look a bit like a pair of tits."

"Really insightful, George, thanks." Matty couldn't help but laugh, falling back against George's chest, as they stared up at the sky.

It was something close to two in the morning, with the whole world laid out before them, as after a night out together, spent being stupid and so very in love, George had driven them out to the very edge of the town, to the top of a hill that seemed to overlook the whole world.

Matty wasn't sure if it was all the weed they'd smoked, or if they really did feel like they were very much on top of the it - together. With George's hand in their own, directing their attention to stupid conclusions drawn from patterns in the sky.

"You're a star." George had reached the sappy stage of high, pressing his finger against Matty's chest.

Matty snorted. "I'm a burning ball of gas out in space? Very romantic of you, George."

"Shut up. You know what I mean." George mumbled, pressing his words to Matty's neck between kisses.

"You should stop leaving me so obvious hickeys, you know?" Matty drew their words out like a suggestion. Truthfully, they just didn't much care either way.

George laughed against Matty's neck, locking his lips onto a spot just under their jaw. "Never."

Matty let out a mock moan of disappointment. In response, George made them moan for real.

Matty was just so awfully glad it was too dark to see their blush, because there was no way around the fact that their cheeks were just so red that they gave their lipstick a run for its money.

"I really do think you're wonderful, you know?" George mumbled as he pulled away, resting Matty's head in the crook of his neck.

"Mmm..." Matty gave a nod. "I'm aware."

"And I want you to believe it, you know?" He continued, words soft and gentle in the nighttime air.

"If I tell you I do, will it make you shut up?" Matty smirked, pulling their gaze up to George's.

"Maybe just for a while." George grinned, turning his head to press a kiss to Matty's cheek.

"Alright then." Matty gave a sigh. "I'm wonderful."

And as promised, George did shut up for a whole two minutes. And they lay, looking up at the stars, in love like the world they lived in was crafted entirely from fiction.

"Can I..." George trailed off, words beginning to form in the back of his head. "We're both high, and this isn't the best time, but it's... I... I'm a bit worried about telling my dad about you."

"Oh..." Matty did attempt to sober up a little, fixing their eyes onto George. "Is he going to be weird about it?"

"Don't think so." George drew a sigh. "Just... finding the right words. I mean... there's... Matty, and I love them, and they're wonderful, and ridiculous, and terrible all at the same time... I..." George gave up.

Matty managed a laugh.

"What would you say?" George inquired, watching Matty carefully for a few moments.

Matty gave a shrug. "I don't know. I'm not good at talking about myself, funnily enough. Like... there's this dickhead called Matty, they've got shit hair, and a shit face, but some nice lipstick, and the first time I saw them in a skirt I almost came on the spot-"

"Matty." George's eyes grew wide, cheeks flushing red in the darkness. "That did not happen."

Matty giggled, leaving George to make his own mind up about that one. "But yeah, I don't really know what to say about myself."

George pondered it for a moment more, before turning the situation on its head, hoping that might help things somehow. "What would you say about me then?"

At first Matty was hesitant, struggling to quite put anything substantial into words, but then as they caught George's eyes, everything finally began to make sense again.

"Well..." Matty smiled at George through the darkness.

"There's this boy... his name's George, and he's everything."

-

hEY GUYS I ABSOLUTELY loved writinf this fic

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