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abouttofillhisshoes · 3 days

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Eat me // Hot fudge - Matty Healy

part two

A/N: heyy y'all, this is what i've been cooking up these past few days. I hope you enjoy Waiter! Matty's incessant flirting.

content warnings: mentions of alcohol, flirting

wc: 5k

Life tip number one: if you sign a lease for a new flat, and said flat happens to be in a non-smoking building, maybe don't spend your days lighting up at every possible opportunity. Seems like common sense, no? Apparently not.

Matty scoffed when the landlord came to his door, throwing (quite factual) accusations around, telling him he knew he had been smoking in the building after specifically being told to take it outside. Now, he would have happily obliged if it wasn't the dead of winter and pissing it down almost every morning, making it impossible to step out for a quick smoke break throughout the day.

Threatening eviction, Matty simply nodded and dismissed him with a wave of his hand, saying he’d cut it out (and having absolutely no intention of doing so). Even so, Matty really couldn't afford to be kicked right now, with the flat being a perfect distance from his place of work, the commute consisting of three train stops and a short 5 minute walk to the front door of Roadkill.

The face you're making right now was the same one Matty made when Ross told him “Roadkill” was the name he had chosen for his new restaurant. While it might sound disgusting and vile, the food was quite nice, so there was little room to complain.

Since they were boys, the four of them had wanted to make music. Starting in a garage, recording emo tracks with shitty sound quality had been a hobby, which slowly morphed into a passion. Fifteen years they had been doing the same thing, trying to make it big. Hann, a legend on the guitar, had tried to get them in contact with record companies, begging for any of them to sign the band. To no avail, but that didn't stop Matty from dreaming.

Dreaming of sold out arenas, thousands of fans singing his own lyrics back to him. Groupies following them from city to city, screaming their names. The classic rockstar cliché, drinking and smoking his way to festival headlines, having even the Times beg him for an interview slot.

Nevertheless, those scenarios stayed in his dreams. As he grew older, the grey in his hair properly staring him in the face, Ross had decided that it was time to move on. Shitty pub gigs were not going to pay the bills forever, not that they ever really did. Mattys mother had begged him to go to uni, or at least finish his A-levels. Telling her it was all going to work itself out, he focused on his songwriting, sitting for hours, scribbling down rhymes and melodies. George was always by his side, yapping away about some music production bullshit that didn't interest him in the slightest.

But soon enough, Matty ran out of money. Ross had taken to opening up a restaurant, the type of place Matty would be caught dead in. Glazed wooden tables, warm, orange lighting, and red leather booths and chairs adorned the space, giving it a sort of aesthetic he could only describe as “old”.

All four of them had begun working there at some point or another, refusing to leave each other. Even if it was chaotic at times, the restaurant was like their child. A symbol of what could've been if the music thing had worked out. Matty still hadn't given up on it, spending every ounce of free time dreaming up new songs and music, taking it to George the moment he’d created something “truly promising”. George had found his new passion in the kitchen, curating the entirety of Roadkill’s menu, each dish more delicious than the last.

Adam had taken to the host stand, doing what he did best, which was ordering the rest of the restaurant around. Matty was reluctant in working there at first, knowing that everyone else would think he had “finally” given up on his silly dream of being a musician. He hated being a stereotype with all his heart.

He knew his shift started in less than half an hour, and that Adam would probably beat the shit out of him if he showed up late again, but that seemed irrelevant.

The bathroom mirror was littered with fingerprints and dust, making it hard for him to see himself. Wiping at the glass, he’s greeted by his three day old stubble, faint grey hairs to be seen on his neck and face. Eyeing his razor, he decided that there simply wasnt enough time to shave, knowing his train was leaving in ten minutes.

His hands search for the tub of gel sitting next to his toothbrush, the bathroom counter covered in remnants of it. Slapping some onto the top of his head, he runs his fingers through it, slicking it back. Ross had told him multiple times to just chop it off, but Matty refused, telling him he’ll just look older.

“You already look like you watch “The price is right” every evening, so there's not much more you can do.” that earned him a smack to the back of his head and an eye roll, muttering at him to fuck off and die.

Washing his hands in the sink, he inspects his clothes. Having gone out the previous evening, drinking way too much than was necessary, he had fallen asleep in his work attire. His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled, but acceptable. A small stain was visible at the bottom, but that would be covered by the ugly apron Ross forced him to wear while he worked. “Uniform” and what not.

Mumbling to himself, Matty scrambles for his keys and phone, stuffing them into his “purse”, as George so affectionately called it. It was a leather tote bag, perfectly acceptable for any modern man, not his fault his mate was still stuck in the 1950s, in terms of fashion. Grabbing his cigarettes off the front room table, he bolts to the door, slamming it behind him.

Pacing down the street, Matty manages to fumble his light two times before finally breathing in the nicotine, effectively calming himself down. Much to his luck, the train was late, and spending the additional ten minutes in the piss smelling station just worsened his already sour mood.

Scrolling through his phone, he could hear the group of ladies next to him talking obnoxiously loud, their voices drilling a hole into his skull.

Taking several deep breaths, as to not lash out at random strangers, Matts sighs in relief as he realizes the next stop is his.

Pushing the doors open, Hann immediately appears at his side, yelling into his ear about being almost ten minutes late. His saving grace appears as you walk through the entrance behind him, spotting the host stand. Adam greets you with a fake smile, eyeing Matty in the corner of his eye, silently telling him to fuck off and go do his job. He smirks back at the both of you, walking towards the staff changing room.

“Table for two?” he asks, flipping through pages of the restaurant layout. Completely unnecessary, seeing as the place was almost empty, with only a few patrons sitting down, munching away at various breakfast foods.

“Nah, just me today.” You try to sound happy, but eating breakfast alone at a restaurant wasn't exactly how you thought you’d be spending your Saturday morning. Your mate had ditched you for her boyfriend, making up some lame excuse to stay home with him. You understood to a certain degree, but it was still a dick move leaving you stranded like that.

“Booth?” you nod, and he leads you to a red booth towards the center of the restaurant, the dim lighting making you slightly tired, even if it was only eleven in the morning.

It's cozy, you gather, small lamps decorating the table as you sit down, setting your phone onto the glazed wooden surface. Picking up the menu, you run your fingers over the leather cover, admiring the fancy golden lettering on the front.

Meanwhile, Matty had already changed in the back room, and was now lounging about the kitchen, talking to George.

“And then he threatened to kick me out, can you believe that?” Matty moves his hands around to emphasize his words, running his fingers through his hair.

“I mean, it is a non-smoking building, innit?” He rolls his eyes, hopping off the counter as George tends to the eggs sizzling in the pan in front of him. Not even three seconds later, Ross comes bursting through the kitchen doors.

“Healy, are you fucking serious?? Go do your job!” his voice booms through the room, scaring the shit out of Matty. Bowing his head apologetically, he makes his way past Ross and to the floor, looking around his section. It was nearly empty, with most people already having been served their food and drinks.

His eyes land on you, scanning the menu. Fixing his slightly too big apron, he pulls out his small notepad and strolls over to you. The layout of the place is odd, and it takes a while before he finally stands in front of you, pen on paper, waiting for your order.

“What’ll it be?” His voice is rough, deep, his lack of sleep evident. Your words are caught in your throat, and you stutter before giving up completely. You weren't expecting him to come that fast, and he had taken you slightly by surprise.

“I- uh- i'm not sure?” You know you sound pathetic, and his facial expression doesn't help curb your anxiety. Setting the menu down, your hands clasp together as you stare at him, not sure what to say next.

Matty finds your reaction endearing, his eyes softening slightly as they meet yours. The height difference was intimidating, with him towering over you as you sat.

“Well, darling, seeing as it is..” he glances at his wristwatch “about 11am, i’d use my genius food-recommending skills to suggest some breakfast? What d’you fancy?” his northern accent catches you off guard, and you give him a once over, stealing a look at his name tag. Matthew, it reads, the bold silver letters standing out against his sandy button up shirt.

“What do you usually have?” The question makes Matty raise his eyebrows, cocking his head slightly.

“I personally like the egg and bacon sandwich, but there's lots of other-” “I’ll have that then.” you cut him off, smiling sweetly, handing him your menu. He nods, taking it out of your hand, simultaneously tucking his notepad away.

“Anything to drink?”

“A glass of merlot, please.” Now this surprises him.

“Wine? At this hour?” he leans onto the table, eyeing you up and down. You feel judged, but refuse to let it show.

“You look like the last person who should be lecturing me about my drinking habits, I can recognise a hangover when I see one.” you shoot back. Matty presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense.

“That's not very polite, is it?” he says, his voice tinged with something you can't recognise. A beat passes between the two of you, the silence full of tension.

“Are you sure you want me to be polite?”

Matty’s look of surprise is horribly hidden beneath a sly grin as he turns on his heel, giving you one last look over his shoulder. You watch him leave, your heart pounding in your chest. What the fuck was that?

His breaths are shallow as he puts in your order, shouting at George to make it quickly. Grabbing a silver platter from behind the bar, he pours you your glass of wine, measuring it out perfectly. Setting it onto the surface, he walks back over rather slowly, giving himself time to collect his thoughts.

“Here you are, your food will be out shortly.” you twirl the glass between your fingers before taking a small sip, your eyes never leaving Mattys. The liquid sloshes down your throat, and you hum in approval, nodding at him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” He holds the platter in front of him, sort of like a shield. You give him another once over, before speaking.

“That's alright.” you pause “Thank you, Matthew.” your use of his first name makes his breath hitch in his throat.

“Only my mother calls me Matthew.” his nails scratch at the metal in his hands. “Please, call me Matty.”

“Matty.” you repeat, taking another sip. Your phone buzzes on the table, an incoming call flashing across the screen. Matty takes that as his cue to leave. Making his way to other tables, asking if they needed refills or the check.

You talk on the phone for a bit, quickly ending the call in favor of watching your waiter walk around the room, charming quests and handing out drinks. His features mesmerize you, and your eyes dont leave his frame until he steps back into the kitchen, disappearing from your view.

“Is table twelves order done yet? It's been ages.” Matty’s voice is tinged with annoyance, watching George plate the food.

“Oh fuck off, its been exactly ten minutes.” he grumbles, handing Matty the dish.

“Be quiet, or i'll tell Ross you keep making yourself food for free.” he threatens, grinning at the blonde man.

“You won't, because that would force me to reveal the reason behind the missing liquor bottles, and we would want that.”

Matty rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath before walking away.

The restaurant was steadily filling with more guests, with servers racing around the room, Adam looking positively stressed at the host stand. The lunch rush had officially begun. Businessmen and women sat down at tables, ordering steaks and burgers, getting annoyed when their food didn’t materialize in front of them within five minutes.

Matty hated the lunch rush, deeming it absolute hell on earth. Walking to your table, he almost drops your sandwich when another server, Jamie, bumps into him, balancing at least three platters in his arms.

“Sorry mate.” he mutters, rushing towards a table filled with what looked like accountants.

“Here's your food darling, sorry it took so long,” Mattys voice is sickly sweet, his grin never leaving his face. You smile, brushing imaginary dust off of yourself before taking a bite. Trying to keep his composure, he watches as your teeth sink into the sandwich, a content moan leaving your lips.

Your little noise makes Matty swallow wrong, sending him into a nasty coughing fit. Keeping calm, he asks you what you think of the food.

“Well, I can see why it's your favorite, it's really good.” egg yolk runs down the side of your face, and you quickly wipe it off, looking back up at Matty. “Give my compliments to the chef.” A snort escapes his mouth before he can stop it.

“Chef? That's just my mate George back there.” he gestures to the kitchen, giggling at the implication that there was an actual, qualified cook in there.

“Tell him then, I'm sure he doesn't get appreciated enough.”

“I'll let you know I appreciate him enough, thank you very much.”

His attention is pulled away by Ross shouting at him from behind the bar, telling him to get to his other tables. Your expression changes slightly, almost sad to see him go.

“Sorry love, duty calls.” Matty shrugs, his hand running through his hair once again, trying to keep in place. You nod, watching him leave.

The food is delicious, gone in less than ten minutes. Another server asks you if you want another glass of wine, and you gladly accept. Sipping and scrolling on your phone, you seem to lose track of time. People clear out, going back to their day jobs. The restaurant is emptier, the loud atmosphere finally dying down. You feel like you can think again.

Looking around to try and spot Matty, you're greeted by him already walking towards you, a plate of something in his hands.

—-----------------------------------------------

“Hey mate, make me a thing of fudge, will you?” Matty asks, seeing George wasn't all that busy. George was the head chef, making most dishes, leaving only simple things like salads and soups to the others. He had made the menu after all, so who better to cook the food than him?

“Sure, who’s it for?”

“Table twelve.” George's eyes scan the meal tickets, not seeing the order. Matty hops back up onto the counter, watching George closely.

“I don't see the order, did you forget to ring in again?” he accuses. Matty pretends to be offended, but even he knows the accusation doesn’t come without reason.

He had a habit of simply forgetting to put in orders, which always ended in him begging George to make it quickly so he wouldn't get his ass handed to him by the customer waiting 30 minutes for a simple soup.

“Nah, now stop being a twat and make it.” Matty spits, avoiding eye contact.

“Not until you tell me why.” he shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at the server expectantly.

“It's for a girl, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Jesus christ."

Now, this was definitely not the answer George was expecting from him, a small, involuntary giggle escaping him.

“A girl? Are you taking the piss?”

Matty punches his arm, silently telling him to shut the fuck up and just make it. George doesn't stop smiling condescendingly, making a show out of drawing a small heart on top of the fudge.

“Here, for your girl.” he grins, handing it to him. Grabbing it out of George's hands rather violently, Matty curses at him.

“She's not my girl.” his words sound insincere, not going unnoticed by George.

—---------------------------------------------

Matty sets the plate onto your table, scooping up the other dishes and putting them onto his platter. He grins at you as you see the heart.

“I didnt-” “I know.” he predicts your words, cutting you off before you could even finish your sentence.

“So why-” he nudges your foot, and your breath hitches slightly.

“Consider it a gift, I hope you like it.” His voice is low, gravely. His eyes pierce yours as he watches you take a bite, the fudge melting in your mouth. You let out a moan around the spoon, this time purposefully looking at him for a reaction. His lips part slightly as he watches you swallow.

“It's delicious.” you say, eyeing him up and down. “Please, do tell George his cooking is phenomenal.” The mention of another man's name makes Matty’s hands shift beneath the platter. You notice, smiling up at him, batting your eyelashes.

“Thank you Matty, you really didn't have to.” His expression softens, and he shakes his head, indicating that it was, in fact, his pleasure. Comfortable silence settles between the two of you, the cozy lighting of the restaurant illuminating his face perfectly. You admire him, memorizing every single discernable feature of his face.

You notice his shirt has the first few buttons undone, revealing a trace of a tattoo. The faded ink catches your eye, and you can't help but stare.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” His words snap you out of your daze, and you can feel a deep blush spread onto your face.

“You have tattoos.” you sound like a complete idiot saying it like that. Cringing inwardly, Matty’s laughter fills your ears, making you inevitably smile.

“I have a bunch.” he states, rolling up his sleeve to reveal multiple pieces littering his forearm.

“You’ll have to show me then sometime.” your boldness surprises him, and he takes a step towards you. You turn back to your dessert, filling your mouth with another spoonful of warm fudge.

The tension is now so thick, you could cut through it with a knife. He continues standing there, platter in hand, not moving.

“You want the check?” he asks, making a writing motion with his left hand. The dishes almost fall off of the platter in his hand, but he manages to straighten himself just in time. You giggle at the almost accident, hiding your mouth behind your hand.

“C’mon, dont hide that pretty smile from me.” You blush, eyes avoiding his.

“Just give me the check.” your voice is slightly shaky, and you cringe again, trying to regain your composure. What the actual fuck was wrong with you?

“Be right back darling, enjoy your dessert.” His casual use of the pet name made you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as he walked away. His hips swayed as he made his way toward the back, bringing the dirty dishes away.

Though he seemed unaffected, his demeanor changed the moment he was out of your line of sight.

Leaning against the wall of the walk-in fridge, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The way you flirted back at him made his head spin, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Most of the time, he flirted out of boredom, or better tips. This was different.

The reactions he got were almost always the same. A giggle, and maybe some dry conversation, and the inevitable ask for his number. He never said yes, wanting to keep the interaction strictly within the perimeter of the restaurant.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that if you had asked for his number, he wouldn't have said no. This made him feel slightly uneasy, like he wasn't in control. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, just like you had not done ten seconds earlier, he went to get the check from the register.

George winked at him as he walked by, gesturing to you, still sitting at the same table after almost three hours. He hadn't realized how much time had passed, an hour seeming like only a few minutes when talking to you. Shaking it off, he checks over other tables before finally returning to give you your bill.

“You really didn't have to pay for my dessert.” you mumble, taking the piece of paper out of his hand. When you do, your fingers brush against each other, and you can feel your heart race in your chest.

His eyes stare at you from above, and you raise your eyebrows, desperately trying to appear nonchalant. Realizing you didn't have a pen, you spot one in the pocket of Matty’s apron. Without thinking, you reach out to grab it, your hand lightly grazing his front. You swear you see his hips twitch, but convince yourself it was only a figment of your imagination.

Your handwriting is messy, the pen scratching loudly against the paper. The total came to £23, and you smile to yourself as you round up to forty, leaving him a nice tip. His eyes widen as he reads it, trying to protest.

“You don't have-”

“Just let me spoil you a bit, yeah?”

Your voice drips like honey as you swat his hand away. Matty huffs, reluctantly letting you hand him your card with a huge grin on your face.

This time, he deliberately lets your hands touch, lingering for a few seconds too long before pulling away, turning to walk towards the till located at the back.

He opens the leather check booklet, eyes raking over the paper. His breath hitches as he notices a heart scrawled next to the total. Of course you’d do that.

Reaching for your card, he flips it over, searching for your name. His heart sinks when his eyes land on two initials. No name.

Charging the card, he lets the receipt print. It takes ages, and he makes a mental note to remind Ross to invest in some decent equipment. It's not like he didn't have the funds, he just loved making Matty’s life difficult.

The walk back to your table seems endless, narrowly avoiding bumping into Jamie again. Setting the booklet with your card onto the table, he thanks you again for the tip, his hands playing with the inside of his pockets.

“Did you find everything alright?” he asks the mandatory question, unable to stop the grin that spreads onto his face as you tell him everything was absolutely terrible, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I'm only joking, I loved it. Tell the owner I like the aesthetic of the place.” Matty sighs, voicing his hatred for the dim lighting and glazed wood of the tables.

“I think it's quite nice, even if the name is a bit crude.” He laughs.

“That's what I told Ross when he opened the place, but he insisted on naming it that for some reason.” His hands move erratically as he tells you the story of him and Ross, how he had been so kind to give him a job when he was unable to hold down anything else.

“It seems like the whole restaurant is some sort of big friend group, innit?” you question.

“Sort of, we’re all mates here. Known each other since we were about fourteen.” he says proudly.

“Adam’s the one who sat you earlier, he's the responsible one. Keeps our books too. We all call him Hann though, don't think he responds to Adam anymore.” he giggles, turning to face the bar.

“Ross is our owner and resident dickhead. He bartends sometimes when he’s too cheap to pay an actual bartender.” you watch him make a drink for a disgruntled looking business man. “We all hope and pray ALE doesn't raid the place.”

He goes on about the servers: Jamie, Polly, and John.

“Again, no one really calls him John, his name’s Waughy to ‘most everyone.”

At some point, Matty had sat down across from you, and you hung on his every word. His voice made you feel entranced, the thick northern accent only pulling you in further. He talked about the fact that he was an actual trained bartender, and you make him promise to show you his skills at some point.

“So, what do you drink? Besides wine, of course.” he asks, leaning his head against his fist.

“You're gonna be disappointed.” you mumble, his smirk making butterflies flutter in your stomach. He raises his eyebrows, assuring you it can't possibly be that bad.

“Go on, tell me.” you take a deep breath.

“Aperol spritz.” the words hang in the air for a second before Matty bursts out laughing. You shoot him a look, and he collects himself before speaking.

“You just ordered wine at 11am, acting all mysterious, and you’re telling me your drink of choice is fucking Aperol Spritz?”

“Oh yeah? Don't act all high and mighty just because you probably drink fucking whiskey or some other “classy” shit.” you spit back, leaning against the leather of the booth.

“Oops, caught me.” he laughs again, childlike giggles escaping his lips.

“Shut up.” you mumble as you finish your third glass of wine, Matty insisting on giving it to you on the house. Giddy and slightly day-drunk, you realize you had been sitting there for nearly four hours.

“Jesus, I better get going.” you see Matty deflate, his shoulders visibly dropping. He gets up, taking your wine glass with him as he stands next to you, looking down.

“You never did tell me your name.” His voice is small, almost timid.

You shrug, giving him a once over before getting up. Even standing up completely straight, he towers over you, the top of your head only reaching his jaw. Craning your neck upwards, you take a small step back.

“I guess i'll just have to tell you next time, won't I?”

The implication makes Matty’s heart skip a beat. His hands wrap around the glass he's holding, gripping it tightly.

“Next time?” he asks. You nod, turning to walk away. Every fiber of his being wants him to call after you, to somehow get you to stay a bit longer. He knew it wasn't possible, and watching you go was almost painful. His eyes followed the sway of your hips until you disappeared from his line of sight.

“‘Till next time.” he mumbles under his breath, turning to the host stand, being met with more guests being sat by Adam. His section was slowly filling up again, and he got to work, taking drink orders and flirting with older women for better tips. The day continued as normal, but one thought just wouldn't leave him alone. The thought of a next time with you.

Next time.

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heyidkyay · 14 hours

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Three

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: Another update this week?? I'm as shocked as anyone else, but hopefully this one will make up a little for the last! It's longer and a little less, um, idk, I can't say emotional?? because that would be a lie:/ Still, there are some developments! Also, it'll make sense a lot later but the 2nd image and the use of a Ride song are used in this one!

Hope you enjoy! Also thank you for all the love on this current series, it means a whole lot and keeps me writing xx

Warnings: similar to that of the last post! so pls look back there if you'd like to know!:)

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

“I said no.”

Stressed was a feeling beyond words at this point. The past couple of days all I’d had was press hounding at me, calling and texting, emailing at all hours of the fucking day. They wouldn’t let up, even after I’d stayed silent. Adi reckoned it was mostly down to Teddy’s involvement in the whole thing. I didn’t want to think much more about it, although I knew she wasn’t wrong.

“Give me a reason at least?"

I shot a scathing glare over my shoulder before turning back to the filing system I’d taken to reorganising. It was my first morning back at the studio since... yeah, well Finn had Teddy- another factor to my current load of stress- whilst Adi was off doing something or other. I hadn’t asked, fearful of putting more of a strain on her current friendship- relationship??- with Ross, so instead I’d just chosen to tidy and rearrange the entire setup we had going on here. Because that was perfectly normal. And not a fucking way to evade talking or thinking about the mess that was my life. Okay?

“I don’t need a fucking reason, I just don’t want to.” I retorted, hissing slightly when I suddenly cut my thumb on the edge of a document. I withdrew my hand quickly and raised it towards my mouth, letting my eyes slip close for a moment when I heard a footfall step closer.

“Let me see.” Jamie sighed, probably thinking I’d done something worse to my hand than just a papercut. To be fair, the cabinet was old. One of them filing types from the ninety’s that we’d gotten for a score down at some boot sale, so I wouldn't be surprised if one of us did eventually end up losing an arm.

I shook my head and pushed the cabinet drawer closed, “It’s fine, just a papercut.”

Jamie huffed an amused chuckle before settling down on the edge of the desk nearby. It was Adi’s, you could tell from the sheer amount of shit she had accumulating it.

“One thing after another with you.”

My head tilted towards him with a deadened expression, “Ha ha.”

The older man raised his hands up in a mocking surrender, showing he hadn’t meant any real harm. “Too soon?”

I kicked at the toe of the leather boots he wore in retort as I moved towards the kitchenette, aware that he was just trying to lighten my horrendous mood but not really in the right mind for it.

“You want a brew?” I asked, not bothering to give him an honest reply to that question of his. Too soon? Yes, that was all too fucking true.

“Have a coffee if there’s one going.”

I dipped my head in a slight nod, filling the kettle and setting it to boil before snagging the coffee often reserved for guests on the show from a shelf nearby.

Jamie moved to better face me on Adi’s desk as I did so, wearing that same expression he’d turned up in, all concerned and weary. It bothered me a bit, seeing as though it was all I had garnered since the press had had their field day with my life, but I could also understand why. They all just seemed to feel for the idiot stupid enough to fall into another of Matty Healy’s traps.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” He wondered around a light chortle at my demand, hands falling to rest between his thighs.

I gestured towards his face whilst I poured a splash of milk into my mug, “Looking at me like that, like I’m gonna break or something.”

With a sigh, he pressed his lips together. “You know it’s not like that.” I rolled my eyes in return but he just bounded on, “You know it’s not, I just care is all.”

I forced out a breathless chuckle, “That why you’re here trying to get me to hear him out then?”

To be fair to him, Jamie had come right out with it when he’d first popped by, having messaged me asking after my whereabouts earlier this morning. I’d told him, having spoken to him quite a bit over the last couple days, and then found him on the doorstep.

Jamie had been good with everything. He’d let me vent, rally against one of his friends and clients, question his own motives- and hadn’t even complained one bit. But now he was here asking me to give Matty a chance, a lot like he’d done that first time around in that small cafe all those months ago.

“I know you’re angry, you have every right to be.”

“Of course I’m fucking angry!” I immediately shot back at him, the rattle of the teaspoon ringing out as I dropped it into a mug, “I wouldn’t care if it had just been me he’d gone and fucked over! But he brought Teddy into this shit, Jamie. My son! So tell me, how am I supposed to hear him out after he’s done something like that and then lied about it? For weeks, mind you.”

Jamie looked back at me, wearing that ‘this meant business’ mug of his. I slumped at the sight, pressing my knee against one of the lower cabinets to continue stirring the drinks. I didn’t care, I didn’t care, I didn’t care.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Mouse.”

My eyes slipped closed at his words and I took a second to just breathe. Because I wasn’t angry, not really. I was hurt and humiliated, and just so fucking sad. Fed up with it all, if I was being honest. Enough so that I knew that Jamie was being truthful here- and not just because it was a fact that I hadn’t spoken to Matty since things had fallen apart, but also because I hadn’t had the heart to ask Teddy about things yet. Or if ever.

The kid was four. Four, and asking after a man every night before he fell asleep and then as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning.

He knew something was up, he was smart like that. But what was I meant to do- to say? When I was just as confused as he was.

I’d ended up leaving him with Finn today, having had no other choice in the situation because the nursery was closed for an inset day, or some shite like that, and it seemed I had no other friends than the few around me.

Could quite literally count the lot of them on one hand.

But still, Finn and I’s relationship had still been rather rocky after that whole incident with him and Matty, and hadn’t improved since. In fact, he’d been a little unbearable about everything, always one to toot his own horn whenever he was right about something. But it was always slyly and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was a constant dig, like even when he wasn’t commenting on it he was still thinking it whenever he looked at me.

Which felt so horrible to think, let alone say out loud. He was my best friend. So I’d kept my mouth shut and just dealt with it, like I did everything else in life.

“He’s messed up about it.” Jamie then spoke, his voice having startled me a tad, breaking me out of my musings. He was watching me again, only when he did it, it didn’t feel as condescending as everyone else's. Like he understood my position. And I guessed that he probably sort of did.

“I bet.” I scoffed quietly, an airy titter escaping through my nose, and then I turned to toss my teabag away.

“It’s true.” Jamie shrugged, then nodded in thanks when I pushed a coffee his way. “He’s been ‘round Ross’s ever since shit hit the fan, hasn’t left the flat. Driving the lot of us mad, but he’s torn up, Mouse.”

Tongue in cheek, I wrapped my hands around my cup and propped my hip up against the counter, staring into the still swirling liquid. “Serves him right, I guess.” I replied with a soft shrug of my own, though we both knew I didn’t quite mean it.

Jamie looked over towards one of the windows to the right, most of them were either way too long or too tiny for the space, an odd build, but this particular one gave way to the skyline lying over the remainder of the city. I often wondered what the lower levels might look out at, thinking it was probably the majority of the surrounding buildings, and couldn’t help but feel a little thankful that we’d managed to snag this unit.

When he glanced back over at me, I took a sip and let him speak.

“A lot went on, that much I know, and it’s your choice how you deal with it. But, I saw the two of you. I saw him change. Which is stupid to say, I know, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. He was different with you, he actually tried in other aspects of his life and not just with the band and the music. He looked genuinely happy.” He smiled softly at the eye roll I gave, but it didn’t appear to deter him. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you didn’t fucking cure him. Don’t work like that, does it? But you helped. You and Teddy both.”

I looked away then, back towards the window, unable to really help it, and instead allowed my eyes to trail over the clouds which powdered the dusty blue sky.

“It was different. Things were different, and I know that there was love there. There couldn’t not have been. The way he looked at you…” Jamie shook his head ever so slightly as he breathed out, unaware of just how deeply his words had cut. But then he peered over at me and I found myself already looking back, air caught somewhere in the swell of my lungs.

“Don’t.” I choked out, the grip on my mug having tightened tenfold. “Just,” I shook my head.

Jamie put his coffee down on the desk and moved to stand, hands raised to convey he wasn't a threat. “I’m not saying this to hurt you more, love. Just telling you how I saw it.”

I licked at my lower lip, casting my eyes downwards. Our silence stretched and all could be heard was the odd car horn and chirp from beyond the walls of the studio, until-

“Anyone here?”

I blinked back the tears which had started to well in my eyes and sniffed, head shooting up just in time to spot a familiar giant ducking their head under the beam of the doorway, limbs following right after.

George entered but then stopped short when he spotted his manager stood by me, and I laughed to myself at the way the pair of them seemed to eye one another, before stepping in, “Didn’t hear you ring the buzzer.”

Kind eyes darted over to find my soft smile then, welcoming him in, and so George finally moved in closer, laying the jacket he wore to rest over one of the armchairs.

“Yeah, someone was just leaving and let me in.” He answered my unasked question, shrugging as he added, “Dunno whether they recognised me or if they just let anyone up.”

“Probably the second,” Jamie piped up, seemingly having broken himself from his previous bout of surprise, “This lot ‘round here don’t give much of a shit about crap like that.”

I rolled my eyes, but was glad to have a reason to smile slightly. “Or they spotted the BFG making his way over and wanted to avoid pissing him off.”

Jamie cackled whilst George just shot me a narrow-eyed look, “Hilarious. That pot just boiled?” He asked me as he wandered over. I nodded in turn and moved to grab him a cup, only faltering when he lowered my hand with his own and shook his head. “I got it.”

I dipped my head slightly, blinking before taking a step back to let him work. He made a quick go of it, rummaging around the cupboards briefly to find what he needed and only asking for the spoon I still held for some odd reason when he was near done.

Jamie appeared to have been watching him too, a calculating glaze to his eyes, and he chose that next moment to speak up, “How you been anyway, George? Not seen much of you lately.”

Something unspoken passed between them when George glanced over at him, but I couldn’t tell what.

“Good, busy.” Was what the taller decided on, throwing Jamie a quick smile when he crossed to toss his own teabag in the bin before settling on the counter to the left of me. “You?”

It almost sounded sarcastic, not how he said it but simply because he’d asked it at all, knowing everything that had recently occurred. It must have been a right nightmare for Jamie these last few days, what with him being the band’s main man.

Jamie just laughed though, goodnaturedly, though it was apparent that he was still trying to suss out what was going on, what with George’s sudden appearance. Seeing as I’d never once mentioned him to Jamie.

See, things with George had all started after that studio session Teddy had attended, followed by my wishing him a happy birthday just before Matty had gone and done what he did best. Wrecked it all.

Teddy had become all too smitten with the drummer since he’d first been introduced to the band and their many songs and music videos. He enjoyed the guitar he’d been gifted an awful lot, often playing with it and practising, but each time any sort of song played on the tele or the radio, or even in the car, it wasn’t hard to note the way Teddy instantly mimicked George’s swift movements, pretending to drum along to whatever beat heard.

George had messaged me on Instagram later that same day, seeing as how apparently Teddy’s appearance at the studio had stuck with him, and asked after him a little. It seemed strange worded like that, but George reckoned that Teds had a real streak of a musicality about him, even as young as he was, and wanted to see if Teddy would be up for learning some more.

Which had been a Godsend, honestly, what with how the next couple of days had gone down. I’d given him my number via dm just before the storm had started and then the afternoon that had followed the plethora of articles he’d called.

He’d asked how I was at first, almost consoling me in that easy way of his, so full of little words, which had been all too refreshing in truth.

I’d had texts and calls off of practically everyone I knew, even Ronan, the utter prick. And none had managed to soothe me quite like George’s had, seeing as the man had been there too. Not quite in my position, sure, but near enough. He’d even let a little of it slip when he’d popped on over that same day, bringing a bag of takeaway and a roll up drum mat as a gift for Teddy, who had been cooped up with me on the sofa for most of the afternoon.

The two of them had bonded over it rather quickly, Teddy having been caught off guard by George’s sincerity almost as much as I had been. But then I'd found myself getting to know the drummer too and very much appreciating the unnecessary gesture he’d made for me, even with the pair of us not knowing one another as well as we could have.

I had no idea what was going on between him and Matty, I hadn’t had the balls to ask, but he’d mentioned he hadn’t heard much of anything from him since the night of his party, as well as the fact that his girlfriend, Charli, had been just as annoyed with everything that had gone down.

I knew he’d be stopping by at some point today, we’d made plans to get lunch once he’d heard I was back at the studio on my own, but not recording. I reckoned he was concerned and this was his way of showing it, but it was hard to tell with him most of the time seeing as he’d made it out as though I was doing him a favour here. An effort I came to find I much appreciated.

“Work, you know how it is.” Jamie replied after a long pause. He was still standing in the same position he’d been in since George arrived, but seemed to move then, picking up what was left of his coffee and pouring what remained down the sink. “But I’d best be going, got a couple calls to make. You gonna be at the studio tomorrow?”

George hummed around his next sip, pulling away with only a dip of his chin. “Should be.”

Jamie smiled, nodding, “Good, I’ll let the rest of them know then.”

I caught George’s slight wince at that, though he didn’t protest his manager's comment. It made me wonder.

Jamie turned to me then, shucking on his jacket. I perked up, not having realised that he really was rushing to leave now. “Remember what I said, alright?”

I blinked, but then nodded. How could I forget? I wanted to ask, but instead said, “You don’t have to head out so quick.”

He sent me a reassuring grin as he flipped over the collar of his coat. “You won’t miss me much,” He then teased before roping me into a hug, “Weren’t lying when I said I had a couple calls though, so it’s best I get out of your hair whilst I still can.”

I smiled softly at the sound of his lighthearted chuckle and nodded before following him over to the door, “Stay safe.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, all too used to my typical parting now, though amused by it all the same. “Can’t promise anything.” He retorted with a smirk, shuffling over the threshold whilst his eyes flickered back to where George still stood once more. “So, about before?”

I inhaled shakily, though Jamie didn’t seem to notice, fingering the pockets of his jacket in search of his mobile. “I’ll think about it.” I told him.

He flashed me a grin at that, pleased, then let his heel trail over to meet the top step of the metal grating. “Talk to you later then.”

I nodded and watched for a second as he descended the staircase, head bobbing down the first set before he turned and disappeared from view. Sliding back inside, I shut the door quietly behind me, taking a second to steel my nerves before facing the room again.

During that time, George had seemingly gone and made himself comfy on the settee, his mug settled on a coffee table coaster. I moved to join him after putting both mine and Jamie’s cups under the tap to rinse before just leaving them to soak.

George was fiddling with something when I sat down beside him but shuffled over a tad to allow me to get more comfortable, “So what was that about?” I questioned.

“With Jamie?” He asked and I nodded, even though I reckoned he already knew what I was on about.

He shrugged slightly and I noted the way his finger trailed over a slip of folded paper, it was creased as though it had been played or fiddled with a dozen times too many. My brow seemed to furrow at the sight of it.

“He tried phoning a few times but I’ve not been too keen on answering, learnt that I’ll just get dragged into the drama if I do.” George finally answered, and for some reason I felt a wad of guilt pool in my stomach upon hearing it, even though I hadn’t been the one to cause this mess.

Or maybe I was just kidding myself.

“Sorry.”

George huffed as he turned to peer over at me, elbows resting on the tops of his knees. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He told me and then gifted me a sweet smile, “None of this is on you. Just thought we were in the clear, you know?” He looked away at that and his smile dimmed into something smaller, almost sadder. “Figured I wouldn’t have to go dodging my mates calls anymore, or be roped into cleaning up everyone else’s messes.”

He reached a hand out to settle on my knee then, probably having noticed the way I was chewing on the insides of my cheek, or maybe the fact that my lip was now trembling. I’d never felt so shitty. So at fault for something I hadn’t really seen coming, nor could I prevent.

“Not your fault, remember?” He reiterated to me, squeezing my joint softly before pulling away. I sniffed before looking up at him with a tiny smile.

“Promise I don’t usually cry this much. Just been a shitty week is all.” I told him, laughing pitifully as I toyed with the hem of the jumper I’d put on earlier that morning when I’d purposefully avoided the hoodie that had been left on my desk chair, as well as the cupboard full of clothes that didn’t belong to me.

I felt the settee dip slightly before I found him sitting right beside me, lifting an arm to wrap me up in a hug. His cheek came to rest on the side of my head and I felt my heart break that little bit more, because it reminded me that in a second, or two, I wouldn’t have that sense of protection he now offered, shielding me from the rest of the world.

“You’ve been put through the wringer.” George murmured and I had to laugh just a little bit, he laughed too, the sound of it reverberating through his chest to where my head rested. “Fucking cry if you want to, alright? No judgement here."

I spluttered a little on my next chuckle, smiling as I wiped at my eyes. George’s arm just tightened its hold by a fraction, as though he knew it would make things that little bit easier. We both sat there like that for a while, and I appreciated the fact that he was okay with a bit of quiet. That he didn’t run scared from it or try to start up an awkward conversation simply to fill it.

Silence was something I’d come to realise that George often favoured. Because sometimes that was all you really needed.

I don’t know how long we continued like that before he shuffled and pulled that same piece of paper from earlier back into view, holding the corner of it between his forefinger and thumb. I pulled away slightly, looking down at it and then back up at him with a small frown.

“What?”

George merely blinked, staring down at the paper with an odd look before he finally placed it in the hand I had resting on my thigh. My frown only deepened.

“What is it?” I asked him, finger trailing over an edge just as he had done when I’d first spotted it. When I went to unfold it from the opposing corner, he stopped me.

Confused, I turned to raise a brow at him, only to find him already looking back at me. He bit into his lower lip and then flattened his mouth into a stern line, “I found that when I was last in the studio.”

My chest tightened for some reason, but I was still so baffled. “Okay?”

We were sitting up better now, George’s arm having slipped from my shoulders to come to rest in his lap, fingers trailing over his left hand’s rigid set of knuckles.

“I figured you should see it.” He added in his usual drawl, though his eyes flickered up from the paper to catch mine then and I realised it must've been important. He seemed wary enough to warrant it.

I went to unfold it once again, but then his hand really reached out to stop my own, “I don’t know if I should be here when you do.”

That alone made me even more curious, although there was an edge of caution that now warred at me. “Why?”

George gifted me a gentle smile, the hand that still laid over top of my own squeezing kindly. “I’ll go grab us some food, alright? If you want to open it then do, if not. I won’t mention it again.”

He moved to stand then but my hand shot out to grab at the sleeve of his arm, “George.” But I didn’t know what else to say, I knew I was fearful though.

His fingers moved to meet mine, resting there for a short moment, “It’s your choice. Just, I couldn’t keep it from you.”

I swallowed thickly as he pushed to his feet, the scuff off his heavy boots bouncing off the hardwood floors. Slowly he moved to grab his jacket, giving me time to say no, to deny his offer. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t do much of anything really.

The door shut behind him with a soft click a minute later and the quiet of the studio suddenly consumed me. When I glanced back down at the paper I held once more I saw the slight tremble of my hands. I forced myself to exhale, but even that was shaky.

I was careful as I unfolded it, listening to the rustle it made before scrawled lines that had bled through to the other side caught my attention. Pausing, I took a moment to just look at them and then thoughtlessly hurried to reveal the rest of it, taking in its full form. My throat tightened at the sight of familiar scribbles.

You had me from the start Pulling all the stops out On the down low, secretly But I think you knew your psychology Was working on me Infatuated And doing this all wrong You've got My number and my name And you've got me going Yeah, you've got me going Can I see you every day? Do you love me Like I love you? Ah, you've got me going Yeah, you've got me going

(Song: Ride - Future Love)

It was as if something in me had shifted and then turned, sparking itself its very own flame on a bone too sharp and growing and growing until its singed edges burnt and blackened every part of me.

I must've sat there staring down at it for ages. Crying silently and alone in an empty room, something I’d been avoiding doing since this had all started. Though I supposed it had been inevitable.

His words. His thoughts. Bared to me on a single page. Him none the wiser to any of it. Probably having not even realised it was gone, or missing. And George had read it. He’d seen it and still, after everything, had given them to me.

A tear dropped from my chin then, blotting the page and I could only watch on as the dark ink appeared to cling to it, seeping further and further into the paper. Smudging the ‘Do you love me’ enough so that my breath stuttered and I was suddenly moving all too quickly for my mind to catch up with my thoughtless actions.

Not even a second later my phone was in my hand.

Messages now To: Jamie O (glasses!) When can he meet me?

–

Matty had always had a thing for Sundays.

There was just something about them. Not all that Godly shite that people preached about it being holy and the first day of the week, ‘cause to him Monday would always hold that title- and Monday’s fucking sucked dick.

No, it was because there was just something peaceful that settled on Sundays, it took him back to simpler times, of days when he’d just been a kid and roast dinners were spent ‘round his nana’s house. Or when Newcastle would play on afternoons and his dad would finally be home to watch with him.

There was just something about them, you know. He didn’t much believe in luck, typically only the bad sort. But if someone held a gun to his head and told him he had to claim a day which would forever work in his favour, it would just have to be Sunday.

Still, he was unsure on where he currently stood with that sentiment as of late. Seeing as how he was currently in the backseat of a cab, jittery hands clinging onto shaking knees whilst rows of houses, broken up by hues of green and blue, rolled on past him.

It hadn’t been a last minute thing, but it felt much like it. The anticipation was getting to him, he knew that much, sweat licking at the back of his neck whilst his shoulders worked their way up to the lobes of his ears.

Jamie had somehow managed it.

Called him up late last night just before Ross had headed off to bed to tell him that she would finally see him. Jamie’d asked if he’d be alright going alone or if they’d prefer a buffer there, but Matty had immediately declined. So he was doing it alone. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if that had been a misstep on his part, if it would have made things easier on her having someone there, or maybe just given him some semblance of relief as the car slowly drove its way over to her house. The very place he hadn’t stepped foot in since the night of George’s birthday party.

But he hadn’t earnt that reassurance. Felt wrong to bring somebody else along either way. So he was stuck, toying with his phone, hoping or praying that a text wouldn’t come through saying that she’d gone and changed her mind.

It had been just under a week since he’d last seen her. But it felt as though time had dragged out slowly, mocking him or maybe even torturing him for all of his many wrongdoings.

He fretted over what she might say when she caught sight of him, he himself having only spotted the state he’d worked himself into when he’d been getting ready that morning.

There were heavy bags set beneath his eyes from where he hadn’t really slept and his cheeks were hollowed in that way that they used to revert to when he’d have a particularly hard weekend way back when. If the papers caught wind of him he already knew what the first articles would say, what they would so obviously claim. But he knew the truth, just hoped that she would know it too.

He was startled from his mind at the jerk of the car pulling up onto the nearest curb. His eyes widened in sudden alarm when he realised just what that meant and then caught the look of dismay that crossed the driver’s face when the bloke looked back to announce that they’d arrived. If the man didn’t already think he was on something, then now he definitely did.

Matty swallowed stupidly and then tried for a smile, struggling to undo his seatbelt with the kickstart of shaking that overtook his hands. The driver took pity on him though, turning away to fiddle with something up front that probably didn’t need fiddling with, and finally Matty’s thumb managed to catch the button.

Releasing himself from the confines of the car, he paused just before the door could slam close behind him, handing the man a couple notes in tip, if only to apologise for his edgy behaviour or buy himself a little more time if the driver had somehow managed to suss him out even with his hat, hood and scarf. “Cheers.” He said.

The man blinked at the onslaught of cash and then nodded repeatedly, “Yes, thank you.”

Matty exhaled shakily and then dipped his chin in another goodbye, stepping back onto the curb and watching the cab pull away before he found himself alone once more.

This was it, he supposed.

The street hadn’t changed much in a matter of days but his mind made it seem as though it had. As though suddenly he didn’t belong. The odd man out.

He shoved his hands into the confines of his pockets, pivoting on his heel to face what he’d come here to do. But nothing had prepared him for the way his stomach suddenly bottomed out at the sight of her front door.

The sound of a car horn a way away spooked him, causing him to jump, but did eventually force him forward off the curb and onto the cracked pavement. He stared down at all the dips and curves they had to offer him the entire way up the path until finally, he reached her front steps.

If anyone asked, Matty would tell them it was as though he’d been working on autopilot when he pried the silver knocker up from the wood and let it rap twice. Though that would be an utter lie. His head screamed at him the whole while and his fingers blurred before him when he’d raised them up to grasp at the chilled metal.

He’d never felt so sick, just standing there, the seconds slowly trickling into minutes, or perhaps even hours. It honestly felt as the day was slowly growing colder the longer that he stood there, staring at a coat of familiar paint, before finally hinges creaked and the door opened, revealing a sight that would’ve surely cured sore eyes, if only it hadn’t gone and broken his heart first.

It wasn’t immediate, the effect the past couple days had had on her. It was more in the way she held herself, the sadness which clung to her every fibre, the way she wouldn’t quite look him in the eye.

She stared, caught in a standstill, and for a long moment did nothing before silently and slowly she withdrew enough to allow him through.

Matty didn’t dare utter a word, let alone breathe. Careful to avoid brushing against her or stepping on her toes as he slowly crossed over the threshold to get in, though the hands he’d hidden in his coat pockets curled into fists to keep himself steady.

The first thing he noted upon first entering was the significant state of the flat, it wasn’t messy or untidy by any means, but looked nothing at all like a house typically inhabited by a child should, or at least a monster as chaotic as he knew Teddy to be. It was almost as though Mouse had been expecting a letting agent to pass through with a couple dozen couples, what with how clean it was. He almost reckoned that if he were to crouch down right there he’d probably be able to make out the seam of his jeans in the reflection of the floors.

“You can just hang your-”

“I know.” Matty whispered, not intentionally meaning to cut her off but unable to help himself anyway.

It hurt, feeling as though he was just a guest in a place he had practically considered home not too long ago. He coughed lightly and shrugged off his coat to do so anyway, hanging it up where he usually did, something which made him pause for a split second, wondering whether this could possibly be the last time he’d have the privilege of doing so.

“Right.” Mouse murmured somewhere behind him, snapping Matty out of his thoughts. She stepped on by him just after, eyes trained on the end of the hallway until they reached the living room, “Erm, I’m just starting on a brew. You can wait here if you want.”

He wanted to follow after her, to fall down onto his knees and fucking sob there at her feet, but he was scared he’d dirty her floors or more than likely end up looking like a total knob. He would. Fucking felt like one just from thinking it. So he did as instructed, moving towards the sofa, taking note of everything and anything the room had to offer him.

Matty’s eyes flickered over to the kitchen doorway when he realised she’d stopped there, fiddling with her nails before she caught him looking and dropped her hands. “Just realised I didn’t ask if you wanted anything.”

God, it was so fucking strained.

He took a short breath in and attempted to smile, “Tea sounds good.” Was all that he said, and watched on as her brow wrinkled, head tilting with it.

“Uh, I still have that coffee you like. The one you brought over, if you’d prefer.” She told him and he recognised her confusion for what it was, or maybe it was just her weariness over letting him know that his stuff was still where he’d left it. Or, maybe, just fucking maybe he was reading way too much into everything.

“Tea’s good.” Matty murmured, feeling a little less tense now that he knew that she was sort of sitting in the same boat. “But thanks.”

Her chest rose and fell with her next breath and he watched her nod with difficulty at him, still not meeting his eye. “Right, just be a sec then.”

She disappeared past the door with that, whilst he simply stood and listened to the run of the tap and then the flick of the kettle, feeling stupid for having missed something he hadn’t even realised he’d taken note of before.

But that was just typical, wasn’t it? To miss something so mundane now that it was no longer expected.

Once he heard the clink of mugs Matty allowed his gaze to roam, trailing over the bundle of neatly folded throws settled on the wicker basket by the sofa, ones he knew that if Teddy was here would still be scattered all over the floor before the tv.

There were a couple of coasters laid out on the coffee table, though the fruit bowl had since been removed, something he knew Mouse did whenever there were only a few pieces left or none at all. There would probably be grapes or something of the sort in the fridge though.

She had a couple of receipts left out on the shelf below the mirror she’d hung up on the wall when she’d first moved in, and the picture frames beside them were still the same. Only one was missing, and he knew which.

He noticed that the candles over by the lamp were new though, expensive if he remembered rightly because he was sure that he’d spotted them round someone else’s place recently. He wondered briefly over who could’ve gifted them to her, knowing that she much preferred her usual scents, only ever splurging on the larger Yankee Candle jars they had to offer in the local Debenhams.

He found himself smiling at the thought.

It was then that she shuffled back into the room though, stalling his observations. She carried two mugs in her hand and a small plate loaded with biscuits on her forearm. Immediately Matty moved to help her, taking the plate from her even with knowing that she had it handled.

“I could’ve managed.” She murmured, though not unkindly, and then thanked him quietly once she’d gone and placed the mugs down.

Matty followed her lead, settling the biscuits near the edge of the coffee table, between the two coasters, before fumbling for a second over where to sit. Squeaks seemed to take to one end of the settee so Matty perched on the other, though closer to the middle crease than the arm.

“You got hobnobs?” Matty finally asked, breaking the silence again, eyes flicking over to the plate he’d just held before shooting back over to find her.

She blushed faintly at his comment, then shrugged. “You like them, don’t you?”

Matty scoffed lightly, a soft smile limning his lips, “Yeah, but you hate them. Once claimed that they were like digestives only after being shat out.”

She wrinkled her nose at that, though Matty was quite sure he could spot the mirth that flickered across her face. “Want them or not?”

Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation and knowing not to push it, he picked one up and settled in a little more comfortably into the sofa cushions.

The silence would’ve been almost unbearable if she hadn’t had the foresight to have turned the tv on low before he’d arrived. So whilst a documentary played on one of the many BBC channels, Matty struggled with himself to find the best thing to say. Though he needn’t have bothered, she was always one step ahead.

“So, I think I should start by saying that I um, I know I held a lot of expectations.”

Almost simultaneously, Matty frowned.

She just wrung her hands together once before thinking better of it and laying them flat in her lap. Matty merely wished to reach out and take them in his own. “And I get that it must’ve been a struggle for you, to basically go from like one end of a scale and then jump right off the other side. But, I-”

“What are you on about?” Matty interrupted, unable to help himself in truth, so beyond baffled by the sudden speech she’d started. She stopped and blinked over at him, finally looking him in the eye. At last.

“What do you mean?” She retorted with a pinch between her brows, “Listen, I planned this all out, alright? So can I just get out what I want to say?”

Matty stared, then forced out a breath of air. “Squeaks,” She shuttered at the name, closing off slightly, enough so that Matty took quick note and wished he hadn’t said a thing, but yet, he still carried on. Desperate to save any blundered attempt he’d make. “Look, this weren’t on you. None of it was, okay?”

Her eyes trailed back over towards him at that, though her expression was almost unreadable. Matty struggled with that bit the most, he’d always been able to read her for the most part.

“So, this crap about expectations and me struggling with whatever idea you’ve made up in your mind is stupid.” Her eyes narrowed then and he watched her work her jaw, obviously none too happy about his retort. He withheld a heavy sigh, “I’m not- Look, I’m not trying to be difficult I’m just saying that- What I’m trying to say is, that every relationship has goals or expectations, that’s normal. But nothing you ever did forced me do what I did. That shit? It was all on me. It was me being insecure and scared, yeah? So, don’t go trying to excuse it. Because I’ve had people do that for me for far too fucking long now and hearing it come from you...”

He sort of felt himself slump at that, a little bitter and resentful over the fact that she’d since come to think of it that way. As though his mistakes were all just down to her and her inability to do right by him. He realised though, belatedly, that if anyone else had done exactly that, or even attempted to, in any other scenario he just might have taken up the offer and ran with it. But this was her, this was Squeaks.

She was quiet for a time, then she picked up her mug, eyes trained on the movement of it before, “What then?”

“What?” Matty frowned once more, shuffling forward in his seat in an attempt to catch her eye again.

“Why did you do it then? Why’d you lie, why didn’t you tell me about Teddy?”

That knot he’d been feeling for weeks now. The one at the very end of his tongue, all tied and tangled in the back of his throat, suddenly shrivelled up and slackened, leaving a bitter aftertaste and a plethora of guilt behind.

Matty’s gaze wandered over to the window, to where Teddy’s guitar sat in its stand just before a heavy set of grey curtains. He withheld the urge to pick at his nails as he searched for the right words to give her, wanting so honestly to tell her the truth, to give her a play by play of what had happened in detail, as well as every thought that had gone through his mind.

“It wasn’t what it looked like for a start.”

Mouse scoffed a little at that, and Matty couldn’t be mad at it. If he was sat on the other end of this he’d been doing more than just that, he’d be up in arms, tossing shit about and raving to all who would listen.

Still, his eyes trailed down to where his hands now laid in his lap and he pressed his thumb to his palm. “We were on the highstreet, on the way back here.” He started, voice quiet as his stare tracked the faint lines of his hand, “The guy you saw in the pictures came out of nowhere really. Me and Teds had just been at that ice cream shop a way down, I didn’t even spot him until he was there, in my face.”

Matty wet his lower lip, mouth suddenly going dry. Mouse just waited.

“Teddy was quick to hide behind me, you know? The loudmouth didn’t even really notice him until the last minute. But you have to know, all I wanted was to get him out of there. To avoid staying too long and attracting the wrong sort of attention. Okay? So I’d said I had to get going as soon as he'd spoken, told him I didn’t have time to stay and chat.”

He took a quick breath with that, eyes still centred on the deepest groove of his palm. “But then he, then he brought up Luke. Said something about the funeral he didn't go to and wanting to celebrate his life.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Squeaks’s hands still from their previous bout of fidgeting. “But I told him I was clean. He didn’t believe me at first, which,” Matty huffed out a self-deprecating laugh, “Well, I can’t blame him for that, what with my track record.”

He heard her inhale then and looked up, it seemed as though she was going to say something but thought better. So Matty bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from asking before he exhaled slowly, digging a nail into that groove.

“He got a bit aggy, started calling me a toff and whatnot, because I 'spose I was just a rich boy who bought him a couple grams of coke every now and then.” He clucked his tongue thinking about it, but eventually shrugged. “Then I don’t know, he must’ve looked down or something ‘cause that’s when he,” Matty paused and his gaze shot over to her, then away again, “That’s when he spotted Teddy.”

Mouse wrinkled her mouth, then tried to nod, obviously wanting him to continue. Though she kept her eyes trained on the rim of her mug.

“That’s when he said some shit and I reacted.”

“Said what?”

Matty startled a little at the sound of her question but was hasty in his attempt to answer. “Just, he reckoned that Teddy was mine and that I had to have knocked someone up. So now they were just using me for the money.”

Her eyes slipped closed and her fingers tightened their grip on her cup.

Swallowing thickly, Matty went to continue, “I shoved him and told him to do one- that’s what they caught in those photos. I didn't take anything he offered, I didn't even look back after. Just walked away, thinking of Teddy, trying to get him out of there. The bloke, he kept on shouting, saying some crap about this and that. But I carried on walking.”

Matty was proud of that fact, even with everything that had happened since. Not too long ago, a different version of him would have handled it all too severely. It was a step, a tiny one, sure, but it was progress.

“Then what?” Mouse voiced, prompting him along with just a look.

“Then we walked home.” Matty replied, feeling that familiar cloud of shame dawn over him. “We didn’t really speak, I- I was a bit of a mess, trying to figure out what to do next, what to tell Teddy, to say to make it right again. But Teds, he,” Matty hauled in his next breath, all too fucking close to bawling, that he could admit. “He called for me and I looked down at him. All I could say was sorry, Mouse.”

She nodded tightly, the knuckles she had wrapped around her tea cup had whitened.

“He,” Matty felt the corners of his mouth lift as he remembered the bittersweet memory of Teddy trying to soothe him, “He told me it was alright, that we were okay, but I just kept on saying sorry. He said that the bloke was just a bad man, and I assured him of that. Wanting him to know that we were okay, that the guy was long gone. But then he-”

Matty stopped altogether then, a picture of Teddy's little face coming to the forefront of his mind, and Squeaks immediately took note.

“Then what?”

Her eyes were so full of emotion, but which ones he wasn’t too sure. Still, the sight tightened every muscle in his chest as he forced himself to finish what he’d started. “He said we couldn’t tell you.”

Matty knew he couldn’t have imagined the sharp inhale that sounded from her then, as though she'd just received a blow to the chest. And he so desperately wanted to reach out, to wrap her up and just fucking hold her. But he couldn't. It wasn't his place.

He watched on as she licked at her top lip though, blinking back the wetness that shone in her eyes, “Why?” Her voice cracked on the question but she did not cry.

It was a simple answer. “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

Mouse stood then, placing the cup down with some force before she hastily made her way over to the front window. Matty stayed seated, unsure if he’d be welcome near her.

“It fucking broke me, Squeaks.” He admitted after a moment, his lips now tingled with the sheer amount of effort it took for him to not let his emotions get the better of him. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You should have told me.” Was her reply, sharp and cutting, enough that it fucking wounded. Because Matty knew that she was right.

“I know.” He answered.

“You should have fucking told me, Matty!” She repeated, turning then to face him. He saw the tremble of her shoulders, the curve of her mouth and how it quaked. He stared, couldn't bring himself to look away.

“I know.”

He swallowed, throat almost aching as much as the hole that made up the majority of his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

“I don't know.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

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