Matty was awake. He was, he really was, but he just couldn't open his eyes. The lights were far too bright, and his head felt as if multiple knives had decided to poke about at his brain. He'd been lying there awhile. He could tell that by the way he felt his head disconnecting within itself. He could feel the blood pool in places it most certainly shouldn't have.

When his eyes did open, however, he was surprised to find himself in a white bed in the hospital - alone. There was a gray, uncomfortable-looking chair beside his bed, so he figured he hadn't been alone, but whoever had stayed with him wasn't there now.

"Hello?" He called out, voice hoarse as he attempted to sit up. Finding himself stuck with IV needles, he decided it'd just be better to stay put - even though he hated hospitals.

"Ah, Mr. Healy, you're awake. This is miraculous!" A red-haired man entered the room, body clad in a professional-looking doctor outfit; complete with the lab coat. The man quickly took notice of Matty's condition, and handed him the styrofoam cup of iced water that had been poured for him. He then grabbed a tissue, and dabbed at the curly haired boy's nose gently.

It was then that Matty noticed that his nose had been bleeding.

"How long've I been out?" Matty asked, eyebrow furrowed in worry.

"Oh, only a day, sir. Your friend's just gone off to the cafeteria, asked me to keep a watch on you. I'm Peyton. I know, what an unfortunate name for a man. My parents wanted a girl, but got me instead. Anyways, it's a miracle you're even alive, Mr. Healy." The doctor spoke, a grin across his perfect teeth.

Matty frowned. He'd been out an entire day? That would mean they missed a show in Wilmslow.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sipping cautiously at his water.

"I'm a head specialist, Mr. Healy. From what I've gathered in tests, you've got a brain hemorrhage. I don't know how you're alive. The records show that you've had this going on and off for quite some time. Any other person would suffer a hemorrhage and die within that day. Why is this taking you months? Is it even possible? Are you some pagan antichrist or something?" Peyton asked, genuinely shocked as to just how Matthew Healy was lying in a hospital bed before him.

"I don't know. It's rare. Nobody knows why I'm not dead, but- wait, you said I had a friend here. Please tell me you didn't tell them about the hemorrhage." Matty groaned.

"No, no, I didn't tell the lad. He wasn't thinking right, and I contemplated placing him under intensive care as well. He was really distraught by the sight of you unconscious. You took a hard fall off the stage, as I'll understand." Peyton said.

Matty's eyes widened.

"I fell off the bloody stage?" He exclaimed.

"Indeed. Right in front of all your fans. If I could predict anything as to just why you did black out, I'd say it was to do with sensory overload. I recommend you not partake in any shows for a while, Mr. Healy." The doctor stated solemnly. "It's bad for your health. And I know you don't want to let the fans down but, face it or not Mr. Healy,"

"Matty. Call me Matty." The curly haired boy interjected.

"Matty, you're going to die. There's no way to prevent it. Whatever's wrong with your head, we can't fix it. This band you're in, The 1975, you've gotta let it go."

"Let it go? I've worked twelve fucking years on this band, and I'm not letting it go. The 1975: Adam, Ross, George... They're my family. I can't just leave them because I'm gonna die. Music is my passion. Why would you tell a dying man to let go of his dreams? You should be encouraging him to pursue them, shouldn't you?" Matty was outraged, and Peyton took a step back in fear.

"Matty?" George appeared from around the corner, a cup of coffee in hand.

"George, I want to leave. I want to get the fuck away from this pessimistic prick." Matty snapped, completely childish in all aspects.

"But Mr. Healy, this isn't wise. It's for your own safety..." Peyton spoke, frowning at the two boys.

"I'm far safer with the boys than I'll ever be in a bloody hospital." And with that, Matty forced the IV from his arm and stood up, slightly shaky, but marched right out the door - George following behind him in confusion.

"Mr. Healy!" The doctor called, but nobody ever came after them. In a way, Matty was right. Matty's dying wish was to play music, and who was Dr. Peyton Gregory to stop him?

~

"Matty! We were worried sick about you: had to cancel our show in Wilmslow and everything." Ross exclaimed, pulling the slender boy into his arms once he'd stepped onto their tour bus.

"We could always reschedule it, yeah?" Matty said nonchalantly, staring down at his nails distastefully.

"True, but are you okay? You fainted, and took a nose dive right off the bloody stage. George near had a heart attack." Ross said, looking at the drummer sympathetically.

"Guys-"

"Yeah, what was wrong? You weren't drunk, I know that. I don't think you were high... You sick?" Adam asked. If only he knew how sick Matty really was...

"I just had a headache." Matty said, and it was technically the truth.

"A headache that makes you pass out?" Ross pried.

"There are headaches that strong, Macdonald. Why don't you go slap some skin with John or something." Matty snapped bitterly, turning away from his friends.

"The doctor told me it was sensory overload. So, a headache could've made his senses act up. Leave him alone, guys. He's a bit ruffled right now." George spoke up, taking Matty's wrist before the boy could leave the room.

He looked at him in confusion, brown against brown. George only smiled in return, and then Matty furrowed his eyebrow as he looked down at their hands.

"Would you let me go?" The older of the two's voice sounded betrayed, and that caused George to let go - even though he wanted to hold on to Matty so desperately. Something wasn't right, but he knew Matty hated when people pried into his personal life. Even though he was George, and Matty trusted him more than anyone else in this world, he still had to wait just like everybody else for him to come around.

So, Matty made his way from the lounge and into his bunk, pulling the curtain closed behind him as he cried out frustratedly, going so far as to punching his pillow a good ten times.

When he eventually fell asleep, he barely paid any mind to George's soothing whispers just outside his bunk, or the faint phrases he could make out being spoken in the lounge about him. He was so done. He hated this: knowing he was going to die, but not yet dying. The waiting period was always the absolute worst.

~

"Guys, I'm worried about Matty." George spoke to Adam, John, and Ross once he'd checked to make sure the curly haired lad was fast asleep.

"We all are, mate." Adam said tiredly.

"He's not himself," George states, "and hasn't been for months now."

"Did you find out anything from the doctor while Matty was unconscious?" Ross asked.

"No, he wouldn't budge. They even made me leave the room while running tests on him. There's something going on, and I'm determined to find out what it is." George spoke confidently, looking back towards the bunks.

"George, have you ever thought that maybe Matty doesn't want anyone to know? Why're you trying to budge into somewhere that you don't belong, anyways?" John asked, leaning forward in his seat.

George glared at him, upper lip jutting out and shoulders broadening. He was at a loss for words, but didn't want them to know that.

"I-"

"He's in love with Matty, that's why." Adam stated simply, a small smirk crossing his lips.

A small gasp escaped from George's face as he stared at Adam in bewilderment, causing a hearty laugh to spill from the lad's mouth.

"I- I am not in love with Matty." He denied, shaking his head far too fast.

"Keep telling yourself that, Georgie. You're so gone for that boy." Adam smirked.

George sighed. "Am I really that obvious?"

"Yeah, mate, you are. Don't worry, though, because Matty feels the same way. He's actually told us that. I'm sure he's told you too, no?" Adam looks to the boy still standing, eyebrows raised.

George huffed. "Still, Waughy doesn't have a right to be telling me what I can and can't do, does he?"

"George, it's just a suggestion. If Matty wants us to know, he'll come around. For now, just- just be there for him. Help him to live every day as if it were his last on Earth." John sighs, understanding George's pain more so than he'd care to admit. He just wanted the best for everyone, and he understood how George must be feeling - not knowing what was wrong with the man he loved most.

"I'm tired, and I don't feel like hearing anymore of you guys' two sense. I'm going to bed. We'll talk when you all are logical." George states, shuffling towards the bunks quickly.

"The only one who needs to think logical right now is you." John calls just before George has slipped away.

As George stood amongst the bunks, he debated if he actually wanted to sleep or not - and where. On one hand, he could slip into the bunk intended for him and just think. On the other hand, he could crawl in besides Matty and take Waughy's advice - make Matty's days count as if any of them were his last.

In the end, he went with the latter, sighing contentedly when Matty cuddled up beside him, opening his eyes groggily as he looked at his brown eyed best friend.

"George?" His voice was strained.

"I'm here, Matty," he shushed him, "and I'm never leaving you again."

Matty smiled, head resting on George's chest.

"I'm okay with that." He said, and then his eyes slipped shut again.

"I am too." George whispered, almost positive that Matty had fallen asleep again. "I love you too, Matty."