Somewhere Between Things

"-and it's not even about, I mean, it's the principle of it, ya'know?" Matty says. "And I'm not even mad about it, I'm just confused. I mean, like, why would you even do that? And, like, I didn't do anything." Matty pauses, then, "Ok, well, I didn't do anything unusual. I didn't do anything fuckin' special. I, just, like, I didn't say anything I haven't said before, and, like, what the fuck? Ya'know?"

Matty's tirade carries on after that last 'ya'know,' but George doesn't really know, and he's more interested in letting Matty rant and get it out of his system than following exactly what he's ranting about. Instead, he focuses on Matty in his lap, back warm against his chest, and on holding Matty's hand while he rants, on tracing the little scars he knows are there, the callouses from playing guitar, the familiar curve of his wrist and line of his fingers. He'll get tired of ranting soon enough, say what he needs to say soon enough, get it off his chest soon enough. For now, George can let him talk.

George tunes back in to hear Matty ask, "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Uh, yeah," George tries. "You didn't do anything and you're confused?"

"That was, like, ten minutes ago. Do you listen when I talk or is it, like, white noise?"

"'course I listen," George says, "but you were ranting. I don't always listen when you rant."

Matty hums. "Someone less secure in their relationship might be offended by that, George."

"'s a good thing you're so secure and comfortable and that I love you as much as I do, then."

"Love you, too," Matty echoes. After a few moments, he adds, "Sorry for ranting."

"You wanna have a real conversation about it now?"

Matty shakes his head, then shifts so he can rest his head against George's shoulder.

"Tired yourself out, did ya?" George teases, pressing a kiss to Matty's temple.

Matty shrugs. "Tired of talkin' 'bout it, anyway."

“You? Tired of talking about something?” 

“Piss off,” Matty mumbles, but at the same time, he shifts, getting a little more comfortable and intertwines his fingers with George’s, clearly content to stay right where he is, even with George’s teasing. 

George presses another kiss to Matty’s temple, but he doesn’t say anything more. It seems a little bit like Matty is a little reluctant to say something more, so George leaves the space open for him to think or speak. 

“‘m sorry for bein’ obnoxious,” Matty offers after a while. 

“What on earth makes you think you’re obnoxious?” 

Matty gives a little shrug. “You don’t listen, I mean, you weren’t listening. Like, just now, I mean. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, you know. Or I hope you know. I don't mean to. I just, I can't help it. Sorry."

"What happened to being secure and comfortable?"

Matty gives a shrug.

"Sweetheart, I adore you. I don't think you're obnoxious."

"But you weren't listening."

George sighs. "Do you listen to everything I say? Even when I'm rambling or going on?"

Matty gives another shrug.

"Do you think I'm obnoxious?"

Matty shakes his head and mumbles, "No, but you're-"

"Don't say it," George interrupts. "Don't tell me I'm me and you're you. That doesn't mean anything, not really. All it means is that you're trying to come up with an excuse for why it's ok to be cruel to yourself. Nobody gets to treat you like that, not even you."

Matty doesn't say anything.

George adjusts so he can wrap his arm around Matty a little tighter, hold him a little closer. "I love you. You're my favorite person in the world. You do tend to rant sometimes, though, and I've learned that it's usually best to just let you. And I like listening to you talk, ya'know."

Matty just hums, still sounding a little bit unsure or insecure.

"Are you upset that I wasn't properly listening, or is this just the thing it's easiest to be upset about?"

Matty shrugs. "Dunno. I'm not really upset with you, I'm upset with-" he shrugs and waves a hand like it explains "-all of it."

"You wanna talk about it? Properly?" George offers again.

Matty shakes his head and shifts so he can wrap his arms around George and cuddle into his chest. "Just wanna stay here for a while."

“Stop it,” Matty cuts it, voice small. “I don’t wanna talk about whatever I have a thing about or, or this empty fucking house or George or whatever else is fucking wrong with me. Don’t. Do whatever you want, but I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“So you’ll bury your head in the sand? That’s the better option?”

Matty shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You think that’s good for anyone?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Who?” “Me?” Matty nods. “Yeah, it’s good for me.”

“You really think that?” Ross looks a little bit hurt for some reason.

Matty shrugs. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I don’t wanna think about it. You’re welcome to think about it all you want, but I don’t like thinking about how I’ve been left!”

“You’ve not been left, Matty,” Ross says.

Matty is going to have a panic attack. He’s going to start crying and panicking right here, right now, and it’s all everyone else’s fault. Maybe that’s a little but petulant, small, childish, whatever, but it’s true. He didn’t ask them to corner him. He didn’t ask them to go off on some holier-than-thou intervention speech. He didn’t ask to start with the drugs, either, for that matter. He just, he can’t help it and it’s not his fault and why can’t anyone understand? They don’t understand that he needs this, that he can’t do this on his own, that he can’t be Matty Healy, frontman of The 1975 without some kind of crutch. Without this he’s just Matty and he hates just Matty. Matty Healy, frontman of The 1975 is much more interesting, much more fun. That person is clever and funny and outgoing and beloved and he doesn’t second guess everything he does and he isn’t afraid to be seen and he is open and unabashed about everything. That person will stay and chat with fans after shows and he never hit a point where he couldn’t handle talking to another person and he could always do more. 

Just Matty is none of those things. Just Matty is sitting on the floor having a panic attack. Just Matty is a little bit quiet and introspective and a little bit timid sometimes. Just Matty is anxious and needs reassurance and doesn’t want to be entirely seen. Just Matty wants to go straight back to the bus or hotel after shows, not because he doesn’t want to talk to fans but because he’s exhausted and anxious and wants to a moment to himself. Just Matty is limited and flawed and difficult. Matty doesn’t want to be just Matty, he wants to be Matty Healy, frontman of The 1975, but he just needs help to be that. He’s self-medicating is all. That’s not that bad. That’s fine.

Maybe he can self-medicate his way out of this panic attack, too. On second thought, that’s a bad idea, or a bad look, at the very least. What he should do is go back downstairs and calmly explain the difference between Matty Healy, frontman of The 1975 and just Matty and how they can’t keep doing this if he’s just Matty but that he needs help to be the person he needs to be. He’s not an addict or a loose cannon and he’s not about to kill himself, on accident or on purposed, he just needs a crutch. Everything is fine and under control and he’s fine and under control, but maybe not because he still can’t get himself to calm down and he’s having a panic attack. 

Before Matty can really sort out what he ought to do there’s a careful knock on the bedroom door and George’s voice asking, “Matty? Can I come in?” 

Matty would like to say no, but it’s George and at the very least, George will talk him through the panic attack, so he forces himself to say, “Yeah.” 

George opens the door slowly and closes it behind him quietly, then stays there, on the other side of the room, like Matty is a wild animal or something. “You ok?” he asks, gentle. 

Matty shakes his head. 

“Yeah,” George sighs. “Can I help?” 

“Come here?” Matty asks. 

George nods and comes to sit next to Matty on the floor, letting him get close and not minding when he finally lets himself fall apart. It’s all hyperventilating and ugly crying, big sobs and an inability to get a full breath, and clinging to George as tightly as Matty possibly can. 

When Matty finally stops crying, George doesn’t move, but he quietly says, “We need to talk.” 

“Now?” Matty has to ask. 

“Yeah,” George says, a little reluctant, “now.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” 

George pauses, then, “I’m not breaking up with you, not necessarily, but I am saying I don’t know how much more of this I can do.” 

Matty pulls himself out of George’s arms and scrambles away. “How much more of what?” 

George gestures around. “This. And I don’t mean the, the crying or the needing comfort or support or any of that. I mean the using and the hiding things and the lying and the dysfunction. You,” a pause, “I can’t take it. I can’t keep watching this.”

“Watching what?” Matty tries. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. I have everything under control, it’s fine, I’m fine, George, I-“ 

“Take a breath,” George interrupts. “You’re going to panic again.” 

“You’re breaking up with me!” Matty snaps. “I’m allowed to panic about that!” 

“I’m not trying to break up with you!” George counters, raising his voice a bit. “I just, I’m, let me talk for a minute, ok?”

Matty takes a shallow breath—he really is on the edge of panicking again—and agrees, “Fine.” 

“I love you,” is where George starts. “So much. Maybe more than I should, maybe more than is healthy, but I do. This is not about love or whether or not I love you. If you get nothing else, get that, ok? Please?” 

Matty nods, small and scared.

George takes a breath and glances around the room, like he's looking for a script or something, then starts with, "We've has his conversation before, about your using, and nothing changed."

Matty nods again and tries, "I-"

"Let me finish," George interrupts. "Nothing changed and I am going to watch you kill yourself if nothing changes now. I can't watch that. I can't do it. I love you more than anything, but I can't watch you kill yourself, so you go to rehab or I don't know how much longer I can stay."

Matty thinks he's going to start crying again and he can't quite get a full breath. He wants to beg and cry and explain, but he can't get any words out.

"This isn't an ultimatum and I'm not trying to leave you, I don't want to leave you, but I can't watch you die. I can't wake up one morning to find that you overdosed in the middle of the night and I can't handle seeing you in a hospital bed and I can't handle seeing you in a morgue or IDing you when they pull your body out of some back alley or abandoned building. I can't do it."

"So you want to leave me?"

"No!" George says quickly. "It's not that I want to leave, I'm just," a pause, "tired. Watching you struggle, I, fuck, it's exhausting and heartbreaking and I don't know how much longer I can watch it, so I am begging you, go to rehab. Get some help. I want to stay, with you, that is, but you have to put in some effort, too. Get some help, ok? I will help and I will be right here, but I, I don't know what's left if nothing changes."

Matty takes a shaky breath and tries to make himself a little bit smaller and starts, "I'm ok, George, I am, I promise, I'm really ok, everything is fine and I don't need help, not for this, I just, if you take this from me then I'm just Matty and I can't be just Matty, I hate just Matty, George, and-"

"Matty," George cuts in.

Matty shakes his head and keeps going with, "No, I can't be just Matty! Just Matty is, is fucking limited and miserable and unlikeable! I hate him and I don't want to be him and you're making me! I, why, why are you-"

"Matthew," George interrupts again, firmer. "Take a breath. You're panicking again. Just take a breath and we can talk. We can figure this out."

"You wanna leave me," Matty mumbles, sniffling.

"I do not want to leave you," George insists. "I don't, but I can't watch you kill yourself."

"You do."

George sighs and glances around the room again. "You know what my favorite place to be is?"

Matty gives a small shake of his head.

George offers a very soft look, then says, "With you, when we finally get home or a night in a hotel, a night in a real bed, and you get all cuddly and sleepy and you get so close you basically on top of me and it's just us, together. That's my favorite place to be. I wanna be with you. I do not want to leave you. I want you to get better. I want to help you get better, but if you won't get better, if you won't accept some help, then I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Matty sniffles again, like he's about to cry, and in a tiny voice says, "I don't wanna be just Matty."

"What's wrong with just Matty?"

"Just Matty is timid and anxious and needs reassurance and wants to be left alone sometimes and gets tired of talking to people and boring and limited and I hate being that. I hate him. Don't make me be him."

George moves a little bit closer and gently says, "Ya'know, I kinda like just Matty. I think he's funny and clever and kind and I don't care if you're a little anxious sometimes or if you need some reassurance or alone time. And, and you're not limited or boring or whatever. You're brilliant and wonderful and I would spend the rest of my life convincing you of that, but I can't do that if you kill yourself. I'm begging you not to kill yourself, Matty. Please."

"I don't wanna be someone I don't like," Matty mumbles, glancing up with teary eyes before looking back down to the floor. There are marks in the carpet in some spots, like the furniture had been rearranged recently.

"Do you like who you are right now?" George asks, still gentle.

Matty gives a shrug.

"Hey," George says, reaching out to nudge Matty's chin up so they can look at each other, "look at me. I know you're scared. That's ok, this is scary, but not doing anything won't help. We can make this better, ok?  Let's make this better."

Matty takes another shaky breath. "I," he pauses, sniffling, then admits, "I am scared."

"I know," George answers. "That's ok."

"I don't want to."

"I know," George repeats. "That's ok, too, but you need to."

"I don't want to," Matty repeats, on the edge of tears. "Don't make me, please."

"I know," George says yet again, "but I'm asking, please, Matty."

Matty sniffles again and then asks, "Can I think about it?"

Matty doesn't quite know how long it's been since he's seen George, just that it's been days and days. He has a gap in his memory, a product of sedatives and high doses of medication, but he's come out of it a bit and he knows that it's been days since he's seen George. He wishes George would come visit, but at the same time doesn't blame him for not having visited. The hospital is kind of depressing, to say the least, Matty thinks. It's sterile and plain and orderlies and nurses line the space, ever watchful. It’s really no wonder that George wouldn’t want to come to a place like that. Maybe Matty is being selfish to want to see George so badly, to want George to come here and visit this miserable place. 

Matty doesn’t share that thought with anyone, mostly because he’s not interested in making this stay any longer than it needs to be and he's pretty sure that announcing that he can't remember half of the past week and he's pretty sure he's been abandoned by his partner. Maybe this is it for him and he's just doomed to float around the psych ward like a sad ghost. Well, maybe not sad, mad. Mental. Crazy. Abandoned. Broken. Unwanted. He's broken and unwanted and he doesn't even remember what happened. Why won’t George come back? 

Matty mumbles his way through group and sessions and doesn’t dare ask how long he’s actually been here. Ross and Adam visit, but Matty doesn’t really talk and no one talks about George. Maybe that’s not healthy. Maybe he shouldn’t be so hung up on one person. He’s not healthy, though, at least not mentally, and he is hung up on George. George left him. George is supposed to always be there, he promised to always be there and he isn’t now. Matty doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do if he’s been abandoned by the person who’s supposed to always be there. It’s easier to be a ghost. 

After a while, the days go from being obscured by the medication haze to blurred by a lack of caring and Matty continues to mumble his way through everything, quiet, empty, and sad. And then it all changes one random afternoon and Matty doesn’t even know what day of the week it is. 

One afternoon, Matty wanders into the day room, shepherded by a nurse who had told him something just a few minutes ago that he doesn’t remember. Maybe he just didn’t pay attention. He’s not really paying attention to anything right now, just looking for somewhere he can sit down and not be bothered, but as he looks around the room, is that George? It can’t be, he tells himself. There’s just a George doppelgänger standing by the window. Or maybe Matty is seeing things. Maybe he’s been here long enough that he’s lost his mind. Or maybe he’s just misplaced his mind—it’s not like he’s doing very well with keeping track of things right now. It can’t be George. George left. 

“You have a visitor, Matty,” the nurse says. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“A visitor?” Matty echoes. “Who?” 

“Uh, I think his name is George?” the nurse offers. 

Matty shakes his head. “George isn’t coming.” 

“I think he’s here,” the nurse tries. She gestures over towards the person who looks a like George but can’t be and adds, “Right over there.” 

Matty looks for a moment and it really does look like George, but why would he be here? It’s been ages. Matty got the message, George wasn’t interested in this anymore, in them anymore. But that’s George, standing by the window, where weak, gray light comes in, bundled up in Matty’s favorite sweater to steal and looking a little sad and stressed, but then he turns to see Matty, the stress and sadness vanish and he looks oddly thrilled. Matty stays still for a moment, trying to force his confused mind to work, then hurries across the room to fling himself into George’s arms. 

George accepts Matty and holds him tight, rubbing his back with a gentle hand and quietly saying, “Hey, sweetheart. I’m so sorry it took me so long to visit. Things got a little," he pauses, "well, there's no good excuse, but I'm here now.” 

Matty doesn’t have a good response. Instead he clings and presses his face into George’s sweater. He feels strangely like crying. 

“I got you,” George murmurs.

“You left me,” is all Matty can choke before he is crying. It’s not sobbing-crying, nor the quiet kind of crying where he can get ahold of himself if he takes a breath, but the kind of crying panicky where he can’t quite get a full breath. 

“You’re ok,” George tries. “I’ve got you, I’m here now. I’m here now, Matty, ’s all ok.” 

Matty wants to say something, anything, but he can’t, he’s crying too much.

George doesn’t balk, though, just urges Matty to make his limbs work so they can go sit on an unoccupied sofa. Matty follows, still clinging, and somehow gets himself into George’s lap when they do sit down. He's dimly aware that he's making a scene, but he thinks he's allowed. He's in the psych ward. A scene would probably be the most normal thing at this point.

George keeps rubbing Matty's back the whole time, gentle, kind, and caring, like he still loves Matty, like he still wants Matty, like he hasn't abandoned Matty, like he doesn't think Matty is broken. Matty is pretty sure he's broken, but the touch is nice. He feels more real than he has in ages and it's George and Matty loves him and wants him around all the time. Matty doesn't know what he's supposed to do if George isn't around.

“I’m sorry,” Matty mumbles when he feels like he can talk again. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“Everything,” Matty mumbles. “All of it. Making a scene. Being here. Making you come here.” 

“I wanna be here,” George promises. “I want to be with you and I’m so, so sorry it took me so long to get here. Things get a little mad with you out of commission, but everything's been handled and I'm here now.”

“Sorry,” Matty says again. 

“Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize.” 

“Still sorry.” 

George sighs and cards his fingers through Matty’s hair, then says, "'s ok, 's all ok. I'm here."

Matty stays quiet for several moments, then, still hiding his face against George's chest so he doesn't have to see George's hurt, quietly admits, "I didn't know if you'd come."

"Sweetheart," George sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He pauses, then adds, "I, I asked Ross and Hann to tell you, did-"

"I don't know," Matty interrupts. "I don't, I didn't, I haven't-" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head.

"Ok," George says, quiet. "I'm sorry. I, um, forgive me?"

Matty nods. "'course I forgive you." Then, "I wanna go home."

"I know," George murmurs. "Soon."

Matty tries to get himself a little bit closer and asks, "Please? Let me come home. Please?"

"Soon," George tries, rubbing Matty's back. "You can come home soon, when your doctors say."

Matty shakes his head and untangles himself to look at George and half-beg, "Now, please. I wanna go home now, please. I'll be ok at home, I promise."

"You weren't ok at home, Matty, that's why you're here. You need to be here for a little while."

"Please," Matty tries again, feeling a little like he's going to start crying all over again. "Please, please, please. I can't stay here. I need you and I need to go home. Please. Don't make me stay here. Please. George, please."

George holds Matty a little tighter and murmurs, "Oh, sweetheart."

"Please?" Matty tries again. "You can, I mean, I'll be better, I promise, I-"

"Matty," George cuts in, "You're gonna get better. You're gonna come home. Soon. I promise."

"I can come home now," Matty tries, sitting up so he can make eye contact. "I'll be ok. I am ok. I'm not mental."

George looks away and takes a breath, then quiet and sad, says, "You're not ok. You-"

"I don't even remember!" Matty snaps, finally. "I don't even remember what happened or what I did so why are you leaving me here?"

An orderly looks up when Matty raises his voice and he curls in on himself a bit. If he makes too much of the wrong kind of scene, the orderlies will drag him off to his room and a nurse will medicate him so he winds up back in that haze where nothing his real and he doesn't remember the days. This feels like some kind of bad dream. Any moment now and he'll wake up, cozy and safe and ok in bed with George. Any moment now and he'll wake up and he won't have this gaping hole in his memory, this warped sense of time, this empty aimlessness that makes him feel like he's caught in some kind of sci-fi time loop.

And George, well, George looks like Matty has just shot his dog or something, horrified and heartbroken and dumbstruck. He takes a moment, like he's trying not to start crying, then, "You were on a lot of medication and, um, your doctors said you might not remember everything, but they're not gonna let you come home yet."

"You could," Matty tries, desperate. "You could tell them I'm fine and not mental and, and-"

"I can't," George cuts in, gentle. "It doesn't work like that and," he pauses, then, "you need to get better, so you need to be here right now. Everything's ok, you're gonna be ok, but you need some help and, uh, that's ok, too."

All Matty wants is to go home. All he wants is George and their cozy little flat with the fairy lights strung through the living room. All he wants is to feel safe and warm and loved because right now he feels anything but, so he sniffles and tries, "What if I'm just like this? What if I don't get better, whatever better is?"

George moves a little bit closer and combs his fingers through Matty's hair, tucking curls behind his ear and cradling his head for a moment, then says, "You're going to get better. I know you're going to get better, but I also know you have to stay here a bit longer. That's how you get better, but I'm going to visit every day from here on out and everything's gonna be ok. I promise."

Matty shakes his head and mumbles, "Doesn't feel ok."

Most of Matty wants to leave. Most of Matty wants to go home and sit on the sofa with George’s head in his lap. Most of Matty wants to be anywhere else, somewhere this isn’t happening. He wants George to be ok. He wants George to be better, and not better as in more correct or better at things, but better as in not well. He wants George to be well. 

George isn’t well, is the thing. George is, well, Matty doesn’t know what George is right now. Not George, maybe. That’s not right, Matty thinks. He’s still George, just not well. That doesn’t change who he is, but Matty still hates this. Still, it’s not like he can leave, so he forces himself out of the car and into the imposing building. 

It’s an old building, the way most things in London are kind of old and it looks like some kind asylum out of a horror film. It’s not—Matty did hours of research before he even thought about making a decision on this. This is a good hospital, Matty knows, just like he knows that they’ll help George, but that doesn’t make it easier. 

Matty takes one more look up at the building, taking in the weathered stone, stark against the gray clouds, and the big trees and the manicured landscaping, then double checks that he locked the car and makes his way inside. Inside, the waiting room is tastefully decorated and quiet and it smells a little bit like lavender, but maybe he’s making that last point up. The nurse at the front desk knows and greets him by name at this point, but he still has to sign in and wear a little name tag that declares him as a visitor. He doesn’t really feel like a visitor. He feels more like he’s at a second home, almost like those years before he and George properly moved in together and all their time was spent moving between their two houses, but worse. This is so much worse than that. 

Matty doesn’t spend long in the waiting room before a nurse opens the locked door to let him into the hospital proper. He has to stop and empty his pockets into a locker, but the nurse lets him keep his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He isn’t sure why he gets to keep his lighter but not his car keys in the name of safety, but he doesn’t ask. There’s no point. Instead, he follows the nurse through the security doors and onto the ward. She tells him George is probably in the day room or his room, then lets him go on his own. 

Matty tries the day room first, mostly because he hopes George isn’t just hiding out in his room. Matty wouldn’t be surprised if he is, but that seems a little bit too miserable to assume from the jump. There are plenty of people in the day room, Matty finds when he gets there, but none of them are George, which means he’s probably hiding from the world in his room. That thought kind of breaks Matty’s heart, but he tries to push that down and find an expression or mood that's not so miserable. That’s hard to find though because George is so quiet and miserable here, all hunched shoulders and downcast gaze. He says the medication they’re giving him makes him feel heavy and hazy and disconnected and Matty’s knows how that goes, he’s been there, too, he’s started medication like that, too, and he knows it gets better, he got better, but this part is awful. Matty also can’t help but wonder if George would do better at home where it’s quiet and simple and just them. 

Matty tries to push all that from his head as he walks. There’s a reason George is here, not at home. He even went willingly; Matty thinks that he’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming were he to need inpatient treatment, the same way he was dragged kicking and screaming to rehab, even though he knew he needed it. Really, it’s that Matty misses George like crazy. They get a couple hours most afternoons, but Matty doesn’t really think that’s enough. He wants George back home. 

When Matty gets to George’s room, he finds it empty, so he heads back towards the day room, where he still doesn’t find George, then outside. It’s grey and chilly outside, but Matty wouldn’t be surprised if he found George in the garden. It’s quiet out there and with the subpar weather no one will be around to bother him. Matty doesn’t blame George for doing that—he did the same thing in rehab. 

It takes a minute, but eventually, Matty finds George sitting on a bench in the smoking area. He’s not smoking, but he is staring kind of absently toward the fence that encloses the whole garden. He doesn’t react to Matty’s greeting, but he jumps a bit when Matty sits down and tries again. 

“Sorry,” Matty offers. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Ya’alright?”

George nods. 

“How’ve you been?” 

George gives a shrug. “Fine.” 

Matty doesn’t really believe that George feels fine, so he gets a little bit closer, just close enough that their shoulders brush. And that does a lot. George kind of melts into that, leaning heavy against Matty’s shoulder. And Matty has missed this. He’s missed touch and closeness and the warmth of another person close. Carefully, he maneuvers them both so George can rest his head in Matty’s lap and Matty can run his fingers through George’s short hair. 

“Miss you,” George mumbles after a few moments. 

“Yeah,” Matty responds. “I miss you, too. What’re your doctors sayin’ about how you’re doin’?” 

George shrugs. “Not much. Probably means they’re gonna keep here for ages.” 

“’S it helping, do you think?” 

“Hard to tell," George admits. "I miss you more than anything, miss home."

Matty offers a small smile. "I miss you, too, and I miss you being at home, but I want you to feel ok more than I want anything else."

George just hums.

"What's on your mind?" Matty tries. He knows George too well not to know that he has something he wants to say, something he maybe needs to say, but isn't quite sure how.

"I just," George pauses, then, "when you were in rehab, did you ever feel like, dunno, giving up? Saying, 'I quit, I'm done, this isn't worth it,' and going home?"

Matty nods and keeps combing his fingers through George's hair. "Yeah. 'course I did. I hated it right up until I realized I was better than I'd been." He pauses, considering, then asks, "'s that how you feel?"

"I'm still in the hating it part."

"Oh, honey," Matty murmurs, "you're going to get better. You are, but I, I think, or I know you have to stay her a bit longer. You're doing better than you were. Even if you can't see it, I think you are."

George looks up at Matty in a way that makes him look very small and very young and very unsure to ask, "Really?"

Matty nods and offers what he hopes is a reassuring expression. "I think so. You're more, uh, engaged than you were, I think. And, um, those first couple times I came, we didn't really talk about anything, you just," Matty pauses and shrugs, a little unsure, "weren't interested, I guess, or that's what it seemed, at least. You seem more like yourself now."

George considers for a moment, then asks, "Have I told you I love you lately?"

Matty nods. "'course you have. And I love you, too." He's quiet for a moment, still running gentle fingers through George's hair, then adds, "You have as long as you need, too. This can take as long as it needs you, as long as you need it to. I miss you and I want you to come home, but I want it to be when you're ready, when it's time."

George nods. "I love you," he says again, quiet and a little choked up.

He glances over to George’s sleeping form again and lets his gaze trace the lines of George’s body as he mentally lists everything he’s sorry for. It’s a long list. He adds this when he gets to the end, then gets up, swaps his sweats for his jeans and presses a gentle kiss to George’s forehead before he leaves. Maybe, one day, George will forgive him for this.