i wanna see you undo it

about you

„this song’s more about your friends. cause your friends leave…and then it’s just you. and i don’t know i just…sit there, watch shit and i fucking wank”

part I

part II

part III

part IV

part V

part VI

part VII

part VIII

IX. my daily iteration

On the train to Manchester he watches greens that they pass. Steady rhythm of the moving surroundings. His chin resting on his hand. Music faintly playing in his headphones just to keep the noise away. Since the night few days ago when they slept together, the few days they spent together he still feels lighter. Using the key he still had he somehow ended up coming to her place after studio, which he actually managed to get to this week. Later when he came back the sound of dishes being washed. Smell of cooking food. Brush of skin to skin and exchanged affection. On borrowed time but he was like an addict convincing himself it was just that one last hit. Sharing a cigarette on her balcony. Laying down together at the end of the day and watching her use the lotion or take off her jewellery. The sight of his clothes on one arm chair with hers. Sending something close to excitement down his spine. Making him crave it. Simplicity of it. Telling her about his day.

He gets off on the station in Manchester and he gets greeted with the northern familiar air. Adjusting his coat and the cap on his head he starts making his way. Never particularly opposed to fans recognising him. No, couldn’t be further from that, he loved them. He just didn’t want to make his presence that loud. Radiohead in his headphones and he almost feels 18 again. Except he’s not. He’s almost twice that.

Life always felt slower there. Not particularly in a bad way. Even as he’s walking with his suitcase through the cramped station he somehow doesn’t feel the rush that comes with London. Turning the volume of his headphones down a notch even if still loud enough to block most of the noise. He doesn’t want to be the asshole who didn’t hear someone ask for him. Never wanting to miss a fan calling out his name. Sharp, distasteful feeling at the thought of dismissing them. Them, to whom he owned the room to make what he loved. All these people that put him on a pedestal while simultaneously taking him as the most reliable and relatable thing. He didn’t want to be explaining world to people, he was still figuring everything as he went himself through it all. Any soft spoken words, with fear of disturbing him when he passed by. I’ve been a fan so long. Thank you. You saved my life. Love you. When’s new music? We miss you guys. Feeling like they contributed to his conscience. Wanting to stomp his feet sometimes and make them understand, other times feeling like he just wanted to apologise to them for existing.

Stopping only ones to sign few vinyls and take a selfie with a guy he manages to make it to the car that was waiting for him that he ordered previously. Once the car moves and views start passing he thinks of the past few days. Actually made it to the studio instead of staring at his fifteen open tabs at home. Headache in his head less prominent when doing so. The pounding only occasional. His shoulders easing when he stepped a foot into her place. Finished the song from few days ago and even managed to help Adam with his anniversary gift. Wow. Progress.

Conflicted on the inside he didn’t know if he was supposed to blame her for the magical change in his habit of bedrotting. Was he codependent then. Couldn’t explain the feeling that he recognised only as one triggered by her. The feeling of wanting to try. As simply as it sounded. To not think just feel. Maybe it was just a pretty distraction but he couldn’t help himself being much more interested in hiding his face in the warm crook of her neck. Not naming what it was. Waiting for her to label or push him away. Wasn’t staying there in promise of sex, how awful would it be to expect that. Wished he was there purely for that purpose. Would make the whole thing easier, wouldn’t it?

Grabbing the suitcase again and slamming the door shut behind him gently once the car pulled up to his father’s house. Swallowing his breath and ringing the doorbell. He couldn’t pretend around Tim. Didn’t even want to. That was his dad. He just always knew. Comfort and worry in that. He didn’t want to fill his concerns. Dad I’m fine. Knowing he already put his father through hell and back with everything he had going on. Always filling his concerns since he was younger. Well. Drug addiction might’ve contributed to that.

The door opened and he was met with the familiar sight of hallway of long hallway filled with photos on the walls and the footsteps of his father from the kitchen. Smiling involuntarily at the sight and putting down his suitcase to go in his direction as well and lean down to hug the older man. Chuckling at the warm, harsh pats on his back that he gained from his dad.

„There’s my boy”

Settled later in the kitchen he tells him what he’s been up to. Watching Tim in different light now. He was going to be 34 in a few days. Looking at his father every time now and trying to see himself in there. Never saw himself at that age, making it that far and not as a stumbling between alleys junkie.

„I’ve actually-I’ve actually got into bit of a fit with Hann lately. Him and Carly are getting married and I just…went off like a total wanker.” He mutters as he looks at the tea growing darker in his cup. „It was so cringe too, who even says that” He recalls to him the words he used when fighting with Adam. His unfair accusations about the band. Wincing almost at the embarrassment of his own bitterness.

„Mom asked me if I was jealous when I told her at dinner last time she was in London”

Tim hummed in response almost like he was giving it a thought.

„Are you even thinking about it Matty?”

„I mean I-I should be right, guys are all like - properly finding out their places, should be me as well shouldn’t it. Growing up or whatever.” He stumbles over the words for a second. His father looking at him for a beat before continuing.

„It’s fair not to, I mean you’re a rockstar, son. You were born for this.”

„Yeah but it’s always been the four of us, it’s-this, this whole thing. It’s us not just me. I don’t want to do it alone, like ever. I wouldn’t love it half as much.” He rubbed his temple in thought, shaking his head. „No-no I couldn’t, it’s either all of us or none at all.”

„But has it ever crossed your mind Matty, that you want to get a house, a woman, family. That you want something besides the band, cause if you’re thinking one might replace the other it doesn’t work like that.”

„But you hated having to shoot abroad, it was, one way or another, somehow choosing between things”

„But I wanted both. I wanted to be a husband and a father, Matty. I loved coming home and I loved across the country even if I bloody missed you.” His father taps his own heart with his hand when he says it and he watches the whole thing with focus. „You have to want both equally as much. It’s not something you do while waiting for Glastonbury to call you and book you as headliner.” Tim’s word seems like first sobering perspective he’s been offered so far and he looks down on his hands.

„I think I could do it sometimes, you know, I-I look at her and it just seems fucking easy when things are going well.” He mutters, twisting the ring on his pointer thing. Feeling like someone splashed a bucket of cold water at his head. Realisation that he loved playing house without having to commit to it, he didn’t bring her to Manchester for his birthday. The thought crossed his head but he ended up deciding their situation was too complicated to act casual at one table with his family. Was he wishing she was here. Would he bring her if he really meant it.

„Do you love her?”

„I-I think I do…Yeah, I do.”

„You know I’d support you Matty, I would always do that. I just don’t want you to regret anything. Never look back in anger on what you could’ve done. Creatively as well.” Matty nods and bites his lip.

„The new album’s taking long.”

„You won’t rush it, you know you can’t. Time doesn’t matter. Are you writing?” He nodded again, feeling like he was 21 again an afraid the whole „band” thing will never work out. His dad never once doubted it. Had more faith in the whole thing than him. Always told his mother to let him do his own thing, convinced Matty was already a rockstar, the world just didn’t see it yet. Now, at almost 34 sat in the very same situation and wanting to believe him.

„I’m writing. I feel like-I’m actually…being quite sincere. I feel like it’s all about…the connection that I just can’t figure out. The human connection.” He rubs a mark in the wooden table mindlessly as he speaks.

„One thing Matty, one thing.” Tim says in a lower, calm tone and it makes him look up. His gaze softening once it locks with his fathers.

„Be who you are. It’s in your bones.”

He stares at him for a beat before nodding his head quickly and feeling his chin tremble, moving from his chair and Tim already opening his arms.

„There’s my boy…There you go. You’re John Lennon kid. No one can take that away from you.” He says as he rubs his back and Matty nods against his shoulder.

The days in Manchester pass in the way he likes them to, he goes out to the local pubs and sees the local scene. Gets to walk around with the headphones in the rain and reconnect again with his roots. Grey sky and rain that taps on surfaces in a way that soothes him. Rethinking the words he has written. Taking a step back. While aware this is a quick fix, he can’t help but love the way his head feels clearer. His chest lighter even as he fills it with nicotine.

He texted her once so far and gained no response. Pushed the thought away, excusing her in his head he busied himself with other things.

Going out to the pub with Louis when he came back from the fittings for the play to celebrate him landing the role. Something almost like need to make, settling in his stomach as he listens to his 12 years old younger brother tell him about getting successfully casted. Tracing the rim of his glass as he goes back in thoughts to the album. All the things he has left to do, he’s not bitter. He’s happy for him. It does make him wonder though, if he slowed down, if he’s - against his fathers claims - running in fact out of time.

The talk with his Tim served its purpose of calming his nerves and helping him sober up his mind but the thoughts were still able to make their way back in.

Laying awake at night and staring at the ceiling after doomscrolling no longer did its job of distracting him from thinking. Having played for good few hours the role of a guy who knew everything. Going online and pretending he had a clue. Truman Black. Ironic. Too sure of himself. Antics of an average bloke that still ended up alone and awake at night, with not much besides tiring thoughts. Manchester always made him look back on everything. Coming to the conclusion that he definitely escaped the three walls of his childhood dreams but also wondering where around here did he get lost. Walking through the streets and looking around as if he was expecting to see the 23 years old mess to stumble out of an alley. Laughing, high, crying, clinging on to whoever he was with. Pale body stained with sleepless nights and poor habits.

He could almost swear he heard his own laugh from back then sometimes when walking at night and smoking. Every beaten up car there reminding him of them. Driving around together. Squeezed into the rusty car, four guys and their dream of making it big.

He turns in the bed enough to grab his moleskine and flip to an open page.

To me:

VIII. caught on your coat again

„Do you like me?”

„What? Matty, you know I-„

„No-no I’m sure you do, I know - just - do you like me?”

He whispered as soon as the door opened and he stepped in. Watching now her face from within the close distance. Her eyes searching him for an explanation. She lifts her hand and it reaches his cheek so gently he could cry. Her palm is warm against his cold skin and he shakes his head instead. His arm wrapping around her smaller frame. He doesn’t have a plan, he knew he just had to end up here. Are you jealous. Sometimes.

She was so warm. Hiding his face in the crook of her neck. The thing he would do to stay there exactly in this position, with his eyes closed. Hidden. With her. Maybe things could be right then. She never hesitates to wrap her arms back around him. Gesture so tender in it’s nature he almost wants to tell her she shouldn’t act so after he bursts into her place at 5 in the morning. He turns his head. Letting his lips brush her neck. Jawline then. Testing his chances. Overwhelmed.

„Matty”

She says quietly but it’s not in the way he wished to hear it. Leaning back to look at her. Without knowing what he’s saying he starts.

„Do you ever think about it. When we were together.”

Her eyes seem to be trying to find a spot to land in that definitely wouldn’t be his face. It’s not frustration he feels but the whole consuming sense of needing to know all the answers now. Needing all the feelings it could give.

She opens her mouth but he decides to go on.

„You know, I feel like I subconsciously let you down at some point and you just have this, this hidden disgust with me. The whole „we’d have hated each other if we stayed together”….I-I don’t think I’m buying that. I feel like I’m being punished.” He adds the last part quieter, his mouth suddenly so dry. She’s so still it makes him almost angry.

„You know, I think in a way you actually like it, watching me humiliate myself like that. And you get to reject me all over again. I think there's a part of you that enjoys it. Watching me be ready to beg.”

She swallows her breath and he feels the accusation in his words that now leaves sour taste in his mouth after they had already left.

„I think about it. That you still want me even after all, it’s not easy. Part of me enjoys I think, yeah, however selfish that sounds. I just don’t think I can give you what you want.”

He closes his eyes almost to focus on the sensation of her being so close or to imagine her wanting him again.

„Will you let me kiss you?” He asks and for a second has to wonder based on her expression when he opens his eyes again, whether the words actually slipped out of his mouth. She looks at him in that gentle way like she’s considering how to say it in the most gentle way. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say no. Just looks at him. He leans down a little. Without speaking again he kisses her mouth. Everything blurred except when he hears something like her catching her breath, but she doesn’t deny him. Her lips part and meet his in slow, hesitant way. Warm mouth. Everything warm with her, even his cold dry hands. Feeling like he’s floating and falling while being still. Hand slipping around her waist and into her hair on its own as his mouth moves. Wet, her tongue he feels against his. Lightheaded. Throb of desire as he turns his head for access. Stupid. That he is, to let himself. Expecting to be met eventually soon enough with the inevitable phrase. I care for us to remain friends. Bullshit, he thinks, his fingers in her hair as he moans into her mouth so quietly. Hand slipping under the soft cotton of the shirt she slept in, warm, soft skin. Sandalwood. Rush of blood. Could beg her to remain like this. Stay like this and feel her close.

„Can I touch you?” He hates that he even has to lean back the slightest to ask. She nods, bit breathless. His hand travels further up the expanse of flesh under the shirt. Soft swell of breasts that his palm goes over and he lets out the sound involuntarily again. Tingling feeling in his fingertips and body that he considers desire. Her fingers at the back of his neck. His blood rushing. Senses absurdly that if he moves at all, or tries to speak or look at her, he might come, just like this, exhausted, oversensitive, not even doing anything, just desperate in the simplest human way.

He only realises he’s still in his coat when he feels her slightly push it down his shoulders. Taking a step further slightly without startling her but to let her lean back against the wall. Soft thud of coat dropping on the wooden panels of the apartment that he doesn’t register. Her hands now travelling across his chest. Under the sweater. He could weep like a child and ask her to never stop. To feel her wanting. To please. Trying to remember what he initially even came here for. Everything and every thought now abandoned at the urge, need, attempt to please her. Make the soft sounds escape her mouth and get lost in her. His mouth moving lower as well as he does. Kneeling in the hallway of her apartment and looking up at her. Fingers in his hair, his eyes involuntarily fluttering. I care for us to remain friends. Whimpering again, he hears himself, loud whiny stuttering sound. Her eyes, her mouth, kissing her, hearing, what she thinks, wants, pressed close against him, her small narrow body. When the fabric is down her legs and it’s just the warmth and pleasure. What a way to go. Breathing hard, his mouth working. Hands holding her hips like he’s holding on to last shreds of hope.

Later he’s watching the way her head fits on his chest. Peaceful and unconscious as she sleeps. He takes a drag from the cigarette and thinks of how they shared one earlier. Watching her lips when she exhaled the smoke and he feels a little after-rush of pleasure pass through him, involuntary, exhaling aloud, almost wanting again already. To make her feel. Finally feeling too. He feels like he’s basking in some pleasant light that came with her presence. Less to figure out. How could anything go wrong now. Why restrain from it if it’s so good. His body relaxed only in the way the blissful release can only make it. His fingers going in subconscious, calming and repetitive motion through the soft strands of her hair that he knew so well. Skin to skin. Barest you can be.

He puts the cigarette out in the little mug she left for him on the bedside table for doing so. Finds himself not wanting to fall asleep, to stretch to the moment for as long as he can.

Going back on the events of the night. Dinner with Denise. Writing. The unfinished conversation from their texting that still hangs in the air and he knows will catch on to him eventually. Sense of clarity after writing, he knew what he wanted, he thought. Staring at the ceiling now and hearing her breathe. His hand going to the small of her lower back and tracing the silky pale skin. Sheets warm around them. He’d like to be consumed by it, feels that he is.

Steady rhythm of their heartbeats, comforting sound. To know that they’re alive. Being alive feels almost good right then, not almost, actually does. Lighter. Could run down the street right now. Thinking this through, her shy smile earlier when they were done. Flush of her cheeks, cradling her head against his chest later and kissing her forehead. In companionable quiet for a time they lie there, tired he thinks, and happy, inexpressibly happy, saying nothing.

Best kind of numbness in his head, one he can’t quite achieve with different devices.

His eyes eventually fall shut as well and he sleeps so good it’s almost like he’s younger again.

He wakes up to an empty spot in bed and a missed call from Louis. Clearing his throat he calls him back. Rubbing the sleepiness away from his face as he stumbles up from the bed and goes for the bathroom, needing to piss. Phone laying on the washing machine as he yawns and stands before the toilet. The line clicks.

„Hey. What’s up, you called.”

„Can you not be pissing when I answer”

„Thought you’ll like the sound effects” He laughs and slushes the toilet. Yawning again and leaning forward with his elbows on the washing machine.

„Alright go on”

„I got the part.” The smile on his face doesn’t disappear but it stops from growing for a second like he’s holding back.

„You-you get the part, the part as in-„

„Fucking Stranger Things”

His face breaks into a grin making his eyes wrinkle. „Fuck” He laughs to himself and opens his mouth for a right thing to say. Except the tightness in his throat now that he doesn’t know where it came from. Blinks and something squeezes in his chest. Feeling a salty trail on his cheeks as he smiles.

„I’m really proud of you” he manages out, feeling more go down his cheek silently as he wipes it with the back of his hand. „This is big Louis this is-fuck I’m so goddamn happy for you. Love you mate.” He has to clear his throat and then speaks without overthinking it. „Listen I’m gonna, I’m gonna come home next week for my birthday yeah? Gonna see you and dad, we’ll celebrate.”

He looks at himself in the mirror of her bathroom. His reflection over the sink quite ordinary, his ordinary face, which he sees every day reflected in mirrors, darkened windows, the unlighted screens of devices. Appearing at times rather tired and rough, hollows under the eyes, and at others decent-looking and youthful still. Feels and looks like the latter now.

VII. it’s simple and it goes like this

It’s 2 am the same night when he decides to text her. Tired of tossing and turning and trying to bore himself into sleep with doomscrolling. Could as well be awake for a reason.

Matty: Are u up

He watches the little Delievered appear underneath before it changes to read.

yeah.

Matty: i’m thinking of when louis got the part in the west side story and you went

Matty: he’s waiting for a call from stranger things

He knows she’d lift the corner of her mouth in that way she always did when she was happy for someone. Always loved to watch her interact with his little brother. He didn’t know why he told her that, it’s wasn’t even like they recently had a conversation about that. It wasn’t a follow up to any previously mentioned thing. He just wanted her to know, subconsciously maybe, maybe still used to the way he’d tell her everything.

i hope he gets it

how was dinner with denise

He rubs a hand over his face and turns in bed. Sheets making a quiet sound. Are you jealous.

Matty: fine

Matty: told her about adam

Matty: she asked if i’m jealous

jealous about what the wedding?

are you?

Matty: sometimes

He watches the message be on delivered for a beat. Her phone was just in her hand. She’s stalling. Aren’t we all. It switches to read. It stays that way. He curses to himself and rolls out of bed, leaving behind any hopes of sleeping after killing a possible conversation with her like that. Walking barefoot through the apartment until he reaches the balcony door and pushes it open enough to stand in the doorframe and light the cigarette. Watching cars downstairs pass as the night air bites his skin a little. You muppet. He hums to himself. It was times like these he looked at his situation with some poor sense of humour that’s been born solely on it being a coping mechanism. It’s not that deep. Right. Sometimes I’m jealous. His gaze catches his reflection in the window for a second. Tired eyes in that - so called - sexy way. Cared to shave for the dinner with Denise to atleast not hear a thing about him losing audience as soon as he looses the appeal. Liked his features to be fair as cocky as it sounded. There wasn’t a way to like your own features as a man without sounding overly cocky though. He wasn’t supposed to like himself because that would mean he has too big ego and is - whatever people came up with recently - a „red flag”. Whatever the fuck that was. However, if he was to say, insecure about his looks - he would radiate such energy. That also wasn’t welcome. Accept you’re fucked and call it a day. Or fuck. If you’re feeling lucky.

He stubs the cigarette out and closes the balcony door. Throwing the lighter on the couch as he keeps on humming what stumbled into his head while he was smoking. You fucked it, you muppet. He whines exaggerated. Ends up on the couch with another cigarette as he opens the moleskine he bought few months ago for *this one*. Going through the pages and eventually cringing when he stumbles upon stuff written during some, what he called, an emo episode.

„I’m really a problem when I’m left to my own devices. There’s no way to put it without sounding quite ridiculous in an overly self pitying way. Having no reason to act like world is falling apart cause you maintain a stable life. To have a roof over your head, healthy family and not be bothered with issues many people face. It can always be worse. Awful feeling of being like a sponge you can’t squeeze anything out of anymore. No reason. Just woke up like this, went to bed and it was the same. Always hoped I’ll wake up and it’ll be gone. You don’t roll off the hill into a pool of sadness and stay there, you might as well be running around and laughing but the knot inside your chest stays. Ultimately at the end left to the cruel realisation that is it the same as it has always been no matter what you change and you’re lonely in ways that feel unfixable. Lonely with yourself when there’s nothing else you can say to you. No determination to change things when you realise it’s pointless. So many things you don’t know. It’ll just roll on and on. Screaming into the void of unanswered questions. Why me.”

He rolls his eyes at himself and flips further through the pages until he finds the notes from studio on the other day. Months ago. Written in different state almost. Before, well, everything.

I’m not in love with you

I’m not in love with you

I’m not in love with you

Remembering the time when he was with Adam at the studio months ago. Fucking around just really. Kept on going with the irony but he was the one to tell him. Just say it. Adam is the one getting married in few months. He picks up one of the half usable pens he has lying around and writes underneath.

you muppet

It’s not that deep.

His phone is still laying on his bed back in the bedroom but he doesn’t have to wonder to know that the little text under his message most likely is still read. I care for us to remain friends.

He picks up the pen that he usually left abandoned in between pages of the notebook and unscrews the cap. Letting it slide over the page in a way that always oddly satisfied him. Sometimes I’m jealous.

There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you say to you

Eventually he adds the forbidden now almost baby.

He folds and takes the guitar. Cliché.

He couldn’t sleep anyway and at least time passed. His leg starts to pace and he wishes so badly he could get high right now. He’s never been the type of man to throw fits, act with audacity but certainly the closest he has gotten was now. Do you wish it was you. Feeling of being helpless that he can’t escape. Overwhelming him. The dinner with his mother that caused the initial frustration. The uncomfortable feeling caused by her assuming she knows him. Hated it. At least the question of Adam eased something in his chest. Getting up from the couch in a way that almost felt subconscious he went to the bedroom and picked up the phone with moves quick enough to only suggest he was doing something he didn’t gave himself time to overthink. So many things he wishes he could do. To put hands on a warm body, have one next to him right now. Have her wake up wanting him. Missed himself pre the weird sexual ownership that he now felt obligated to participate in. Having always considered sex as one of true joys of life yet now he found himself stuck in it being some moral dilemma. Was minimising it to that just his way of dealing with a connection he striked for while simultaneously avoiding it, or was it ever only truly about that. Silly way men and women were about each other only not to say outright that in the end it was about the physicality of things. Pure need to fulfill and some having enough decency to cover it up with feelings. Would he be better off if he just fucked someone else. I care for us to remain friends. Are you jealous. Sometimes. Perhaps missing the body didn’t mean not missing her. Words. Smile. Eyes. Distasteful betrayal in his mouth at the thought of going out and finding another one. The other one who could mean less feelings just the release. Would he ever find another one and tell about her. What does one even say. No it was just a thing. I think about it.

He ends up pulling a sweater over his head and grabbing a cap. His own merch. Oh the irony. Part ego. Mostly ego. Sliding his arms into the coat and putting his shoes on.

Night air bites slightly into his cheeks as he walks the streets. Choosing quickest streets and skipping across streets instead of choosing the pedestrian path. Like he could run out of time even if he already did. Ends up by the familiar door and rings the bell. Once. Twice. Again. Maniac almost, the neighbours would think. Creepy stalker. Won’t leave her alone. Some parts even close to truth maybe.

„Matty?” The voice is soft like woken up as he hears it through the intercom. Doesn’t struggle to imagine the sight. Pulling on the soft cardigan that waited by the bed cause she hated being cold at night. Rushing to the door with that sweet confusion.

„It’s me love, let me in? Please? Just needed to see you.”

VI. inside your mind

Denise chews loudly to show her delight about the taste of whatever fancy dish she ordered. He picks bit of the salmon up on his fork and eats carefully like he’s making sure his teeth are not made of cotton. So caught up with getting back from her place and with sorting things out with Adam he forgot to eat till now. Dinner. Too late but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

„I visited Carly and Adam today” He tried steadying his voice after swallowing.

„Oh that is wonderful. How are they?” Her voice high in that overly cheerful way that made his temples squeeze. Scratch of the cutlery against plate.

„Good…I mean, the wedding’s in two months so, busy, but good.” He replies mechanically, not knowing how much he wants to tell her. Swallows the wine before deciding to continue.

„I was actually there to talk to Adam, we had a fight last week.”

She looks up from her plate. Lash extensions along with the lower lights of the restaurant cast shadows on her eyelids that make her look harsher. He almost feels like a teenager again.

„Why did you have a fight Matty, you two never fight. Are you back on…?”

„No god no I’m not-I’m not back on heroin.” He said quickly with a sigh, rubbing his face.

„It was about the wedding”

„What about the wedding?”

„Nothing about the wedding…we just had a fight about it. It’s fine now, I think, I hope so.”

She seems not entirely pleased with his response. Hands with manicured nails now folded as she seemed to be gathering words. He ate another bite of the salmon.

„Matty do you think you could be, jealous, perhaps”

He stills at that. Staring at his plate, his stomach almost flipping backwards. Hated the way his mother sometimes would read him well, rarely, but had that ability. Was he jealous. I care for us to remain friends. No. Just the cruel fortune of life that kept him switching between blaming his own inability to settle to deciding the person he’d like to do it with is at fault. Would sit on a rainy day sometime and wonder if he could do it, eventually coming to the conclusion that in fact, it wouldn’t that big of a challenge. Perhaps found himself wanting it even. To be with one another sewn by the words and legal papers. Permanent way maybe to keep the other one from running. Always considered himself the runner, running into the feeling then almost like an animal that heard a gunshot keeping up his pace until they ran out of forest, in his case that meant ending up alone again. In a relationship with the idea of love rather than the actual thing. Well, until her, somehow. Trying to compare it and make it even with any other feeling in his life, not the same security and steadiness he felt with guys. Not the same adrenaline rush he got from being on stage or when the notes in studio finally click. Something in between, created specifically to make him lightheaded and as if he was falling into a hole with no bottom, always expecting to finally hit it but no. The lightness of his lungs from being in the air. None of his limbs touching the ground and having to carry the weight of him. So high, I think I love you. Different kind of high. More dangerous one. He knew what to expect after a drug, he didn’t know how to predict her. Well aware of the gnawing feeling when thinking of it all.

Wanted to ask her. Can we stay friends anyway.

„I don’t recall having anything to be jealous of. Unless, assuming I’d be in love with either. That’s not the case.” He replies dryly.

„Oh I know you’re jealous of the fact that someone is taking Adam from you Matty, that’s not a difficult thing to either guess or understand. I mean, are you jealous in a way that, you wish it was you getting married.”

He thinks for a second that the piece of fish he’s swallowing will just get stuck in his throat and he’ll choke on it in front of her just not to answer that question. Not knowing the answer himself. No mom, I don’t wish it was me. Not like I knew what ring I’d get or anything.

Bitter awful reminder. Perhaps it’s better we stay friends.

How pathetic to admit he would gladly look at her first thing in the morning. Peaceful addition to life. To hand her the cup and watch her take a sip. See her smile at the taste of it. He could get it right. Real proof he could get things right if he wanted to. To put in words how he didn’t really feel ready in general but wanted to be ready for her.

To wake up wanting her and feel the warmth of skin under his palm. Feel the body so warm and alive next to him. Tell her about music and have her remind him when he’s straining from being earnest. Tell him he’s gonna be okay. Actually feel like it with her. Something pulling at his heart and wanting to guarantee her the easiest experience on earth. Her breath on his chest. Wanting her again. Need to reach out for her. Considered if it’s dependence falsely perceived as love but then why the whole consuming feeling when apart. Can I touch you. Calling her drunk. I want you. Honest laugh. Can we stay friends anyway.

„I don’t know. Not like I got close.”

Lie. The closest he has gotten. Overwhelming urge when alone to go to her place and grip her by the shoulders and ask why. Crack the head open and get the answer himself. Her words too gentle. Always feeling like there’s more to it. Worry to break his heart perhaps. Let me love you. In the middle of the night ready to beg. What will make you happy. Making you happy. Sobriety of her presence.

Clears his throat and looks at his mother, already studying his expression from above her wine glass.

„You feel so much yet say so little”

It doesn’t feel like a statement, neither does it feel like a question.

„Whatever rings at the highest volume in your head may be a squeak in the space of the world. Takes more to make things clear Matty.”

He wants to hate whenever she’s right. Like she’s not supposed to get him. Like the role he assigned her in his head is to be the irritating high pitch that’s audible every once in a while mainly to talk about herself and eventually nag him about something. Feeling like she lost the right to get him somewhere between telling him she thought she won’t be able to love him and causing a thirteen year old to learn what a tabloid magazine is and why is his name in one. Your mother is kissing teenage boys on Big Brother. Somehow she managed to know what he felt every once in a while and he hated how easily he folded into the maternal care.

Calling her sometimes by the name rather than something gentler, like mother. Easier to detach from it then.

Looks at her and almost wants to tell her that yes, he was jealous. Jealous of Adam’s ability to not feel like he’s cheating on the band. Matty’s life like a ball thrown down a hill that just kept on rolling with faster motions, centred around the band. Guilt if he stopped thinking of it. Could he be selfish for once just to be selfless towards her. Get on the knee and beg. Let me love you.