His hair was shockingly beautiful as the sun's light formed a halo around his head. He bit his lip, thinking long and hard as his pen tapped at the metal rings on his notebook. He was sitting on the windowsill, right knee bent upwards as he balanced himself; the other just dangling against the wall. He sighed, shifting his head, and the halo seemed to only grow brighter as George continued to stare at Matty.

They were back at their shared flat, and Sam had gone out to Tesco and to take Allen for a walk.

As Matty continued working on lyrics for a song that would, most likely, never be released, George was left to his thoughts. The halo, in George's mind, was some bloody twisted metaphor for how Matty would soon not be a part of life on earth anymore. The halo signified death, and George cursed the Angels for making such a beautiful thing so destructive.

Blimey, why did Matty have to be fucking dying? They were supposed to grow old together: perform in their band until Matty lost his inspiration. They were supposed to someday get married and adopt kids, or maybe another dog. George found it obvious that Matty much preferred animals over people, with George being the only exception. He wanted to cry, but he knew he had to be strong. It wasn't fucking fair.

The shorter lad was a lot paler these days, and his clothes hung off his body loosely, as though he'd lost a lot of weight. His skin was a sickly color, and deep down, they both knew that Matty was coming towards the end of his days.

George hated it. He absolutely, positively hated the thought of losing his Matty. Matty had been his best friend for over twelve years, over half of their life, and there was no way in hell was George ready to give him up yet. George loved Matty, and he'd been such an idiot for waiting so long to tell him, but he absolutely loved him.

Matty, the beautiful, curly-haired man that was currently so caught up in song lyrics. Matty, the man that had a horrific halo illuminating against his brown locks. Matty, the man that, on any day, at any time, could suddenly stop living. George's Matty.

"You can stop looking at me, you know. I'm not going anywhere." Matty smirked, looking up from his notebook and placing his pen between his teeth in amusement as he stared after his best friend, and love.

'Not yet,' George thought. Instead, he decided to stand up from his position on the couch. Slowly, he made his way over to Matty and proceeded to take the older lad's face between his hands and plant a tender kiss upon his lips.

"I love you, Georgie." Matty breathed once they pulled away, and George turned to bury his face in the curly-haired lad's neck.

"And I love you, Matthew."

Matty froze then, and proceeded to stare down at his mate. His mouth hung open, eyes wide, leaving George in a slight panic.

"What? What have I done?" He asked frantically, biting his lip. Matty only chuckled and leant forward, capturing George's lips in another kiss.

"You called me Matthew. You haven't done that since we first met. I, it's just weird to hear my birth name come from your mouth." Matty explained, giggling further and hopped down from the windowsill, leading George to the couch.

"Is it a good kind of weird?" George asked, allowing Matty to push him back onto the soft material as the smaller boy climbed into his lap, straddling him.

"The best kind of weird." Matty smirks before diving in for yet another kiss. This one grows heated rather quickly, and soon George finds himself growing excited in the kiss. With Matty's thighs resting on his waist, he feels as though he'll lose total control. Once Matty begins to play with the hem of George's shirt however, the taller lad stops his actions, interlacing his fingers with Matty's. As much as he'd love to do this, he just can't. Not with Matty in this state.

"Matty, I can't do this with you." He sighs, resting his face into the man's neck.

"And why not?" Matty's breathing is slightly layered, confirming George's suspicion that Matty grew out of breath quicker now.

"You're sick. You're dying." George claims, though Matty quickly frowns at the younger lad.

"That's all the more reason for us to do this, Georgie. I've loved you for so many fucking years, and I've waited years for you to say those three words back to me as a true sentiment and not some friendly gesture. Years, George. Years, and years, and years, and years. Yes, I am sick; and yes, I am dying. Wouldn't that be all the more reason for us to do this? My one dying wish: to finally make love to the man I love most in this goddamn, dirty, pathetic world." And as Matty delivered his speech, George had begun feeling remorseful.

"When I first met you, I fucking hated your annoying arse. You were too enthusiastic, and dressed like my bloody granddad. When I looked past all that though, I found who you really were: the craziest, greatest man I'd ever met. From that fucking moment back when we were teenagers, I knew that one day, I'd be able to tell you I loved you, and we'd share a sweet kiss, and we'd have the hottest fucking sex of a lifetime. I saw it then, and I want nothing more than to live it now. I may be dying, but I'm living now. I fucking love you, George Bedford Daniel." Matty proclaimed, and George was a goddamn, pathetic mess.

Where Matty saw the world as pathetic, George saw Matty as his world. And goddammit would he be fucking idiot to reject Matty of his deepest desires now, after so long.

"I love you." His choked voice came in a whisper, and Matty smirked.

"I bloody know you do. Now, turn off your weary thoughts and come with me, Georgie. Come and live." He said after a moment, stood up, took George's large hand in his own, and lead him down the hallway.

~

"The doctors say he hasn't got much time, Waughy." Ross sighed, leaning against the saxophonist sadly.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure every last minute he's got with us is worth it." John states, taking Ross' hand in his own, thumbing across the dark haired man's knuckles gingerly.

"Is it a bad idea for us to continue touring? We've taken this break, but I know Matty, and he'll go insane after a few days of having nothing to do. I'm sure he's already started getting the itch." Ross asked, crossing his ankles and biting his lip, as he typically did when he was nervous. He looked down at his and John's intertwined fingers and felt some of the ease leave his gut.

"If Matty wants to tour, I say we bloody do it. Though, really, it's like entirely up to Jamie on whether he thinks it wise we go on tour with Matty this ill." John stated, and Ross gritted his teeth angrily.

"Jamie'd reject our case before we'd even finish speaking it! If we're touring, Jamie's not gonna be involved." Ross spits, and John shakes his head.

"Touring without Jamie is about the dumbest thing we could do, Rossy. He has to know; and you never know, maybe he'll agree to let Matty live out his final days doing what he loves most." John smiled, and Ross only rolled his eyes.

"Extremely unlikely, Waughy. And anyways, Matty loves George far more than he loves the music, and that's bloody obvious." Ross smirks, and it's John's turn to roll his eyes.

"Well, I'm sure if we were touring. Matty'd be doing two things he loves - making music, and fuckin' George." Ross nearly choked at that. He couldn't believe that his arguably best mate, and somewhat of a boyfriend, John Waugh had just said 'fuckin'.'

~

"We're a bloody mess." Matty giggled, curling up against George's naked chest. He traced the fresh markings against his collar bones absentmindedly, while George proceeded to play with Matty's damp curls.

"You're more of a mess than me. Honestly, we really shouldn't be lying here like this. Sam could be home at any time, and if he saw us like this..." George trailed off, finding that what was the point in arguing with Matty. It literally got him nowhere.

"I'll go shower only if you agree to come with me." Matty winked, and George decided that the shorter lad had to be the cheekiest little shit he'd ever met.

In all truth, George didn't care about them lying there like that; but he didn't really want Sam to see them like this, so he knew that the shower was the best option for them. Then, they'd be cleaned up and hopefully dressed before their flat mate could return from his errands.

"I love you." He said after a moment, pecking Matty's cheek lovingly.

"And I love you, you fucking sap. So, we gonna shower, or are we gonna confess our deepest infatuations for each other?" Matty smirked, and George feigned offense.

"You literally spent like ten minutes sweet talking me up just to get me in bed with you! You're far more of a sap than I am!" He argued, but Matty just wasn't listening. Point proven.

So, the couple made their way from the bed and into the shower. Matty had been getting handsy in there as well, but George had told him to knock it off and, for once, he bloody listened! About a half hour later, the two were clean, the sheets had been stripped from the bed, and a new set had been set in its place. Honestly, George felt very productive after that, but he didn't let it show.

When Sam came home, the biggest smile erupted on Matty's face as he ran to their flat mate.

"Sammy!" He squealed, running to the dark haired lad and hugged him tight.

"H- Hey, Matty." Sam laughed, squeezing out his words as Matty continued to envelope him in a hug. Allen nipped happily at their heels. George watched the exchange from the corner of the room, arms crossed on his chest, and ankles crossed as he leant against the wall.

"Did you have fun today?" Matty asked, finally letting go of their friend.

"I did," Sam chuckled again, disconnecting the lead from Allen's collar. "Allen was great company."

"We could've totally watched him!" Matty claimed, but Sam only brushed him off.

"No, Matty. You've barely been home twenty-four hours. Settle in first, and then I'll start leaving Allen with you again. I really don't mind him joining me. He is great company, and everyone loves him. I can't even tell you how many times I'm stopped on the street when someone wants to pet him; or the rare occasion when someone recognizes me as the artist, Samuel Burgess-Johnson that I am." He stated.

"You're a wonderful artist, Sammy. Absolutely magnificent! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." Matty said, patting him on the back before plopping down onto the couch.

"Yeah, thanks Matty." Sam said, taking a seat in the recliner on the opposite side of the coffee table. Seeing as Sam wasn't going to take the place beside Matty - the place that Allen hadn't taken up when he'd jumped onto the couch - George quickly took a seat.

"How are you, George?" Sam asked, a fresh smile gracing his face.

"I'm alright! Things 've been a bit hectic what with tour and all, but I'm fine." George stated, glancing at Matty, who was far too distracted by the dog to notice the grimace that underlied George's words. Sam caught it, but he figured that maybe the two lads had just gotten into a spout about something.

Sam didn't know about Matty's head, and nobody was planning on telling him - much like Matty hadn't planned on telling George. The less people knew, the better.

In all truth, George felt horrible for Sam. He would've hated to have been left out of the grand scheme of it all, but he also didn't want to have to be the one to bear this news upon him. George felt that Matty should be the one to tell Sam, but, as everyone knew, he was stubborn.

When the time did come for Matty to die, George just hoped that the blow wouldn't be too hard on Sam. This all really just wasn't fair.