#matty fic

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The sun filters through, almost wanting to melt the glass walls of the airport. It's too hot for it to be around six in the morning, and you're sweating with the little clothing you're wearing, plus a wrinkled jacket on your arm. You regret not having shoved it into your suitcase, but you trust it might come in handy to keep you warm inside the plane.

You don't even want to think that in two days you'll be sitting in an office in southern Liverpool signing papers and drafting deeds until you complete the extra weekly hours you agreed to do, you just think about where you'll go after this trip.

Your week of vacation ended up becoming two weeks traveling through most of the islands and canals that your birthday gift covered, as if those two weeks were strong enough to make you live a summer that lasted just two weeks and felt like a fantasy. Maldives became a place you don’t want to return to, even though the people you stayed with were kind.

You hate to say you miss the heavy vibe of the UK environment, but you really do. You miss the bustle, the heavy traffic, and the crowding of people.

The layover from Maldives to Paris has given you nine hours in which you've done nothing but wrestle between sleeping for a few hours, watching series downloaded on your phone, or catching up on music albums you had pending. But you're exhausted. Just thinking about the remaining layover hours makes you anxious, you need to be on that final hour-and-a-half leg, flying back home again.

The Paris airport is abysmal if you count all the people you see running past, more than usual. Luckily, the coffee served at some of the stands is strong enough to wake you up and cheap enough that you’re not left broke at this moment.

You run your fingers over your phone, browsing online just enough to entertain yourself when you see your battery is at the limit between existing and not.

When you get up to find an empty seat near the boarding gate, you feel something bump into you, but not in a rough way.

"Yo, fuck, sorry." You hear someone mumble beside you and then feel your coffee spill on the floor.

You look at the crime scene with fatigue; your head feels like it’s about to split.

"It’s okay." You shrug, not wanting to start a fight with a stranger in an airport. You don’t even see his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"I’ll buy you another, I really am sorry." He bites his tongue trying not to say too much. He pats his pockets looking for his wallet while waiting for your response.

You size him up before answering; there’s something about the disheveled yet put-together vibe he has that unsettles you. A worn backpack hangs from his shoulders, and he’s carrying a black guitar case. You laugh when you notice he’s wearing a silk shirt with blue jeans and sneakers, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to wear.

The worst part comes when he takes off his sunglasses, waiting for you. Oh, God. You’d be lying if you said the guy you bumped into isn’t handsome—because he definitely is.

Curls fall from his dark hair, messy across his forehead and falling uncontrollably all over his head. He has brown eyes, too soft even though he’s looking at you with enough regret.

"It wasn’t even that good, but I’ll take it." You smile, and he hooks his Ray-Bans in the pocket of his white shirt.

You don’t talk much; neither of you is interested in killing the silence or making small talk at the airport. Just that, as you walk back to the stand, you wonder if, since he’s carrying a guitar, he must be a musician.

You think you recognize his face from somewhere, but the more you try, the less information comes to mind. You should ask your friends who are more into current shows in the world, but you don´t want that now.

"Latte, right?" He turns to look at you when it’s his turn, and you tilt your head. "Alright, they’ll give it to you when it’s ready."

"Thanks for the attention." You smile, a bit calmer, while he puts his wallet away again.

"It’s the least I could do, I’m really sorry. Good luck with your flight."

He disappears with a final smile, and your coffee is served at the main bar. For some reason, you have the impression you’ll run into him again even though you don’t even know his name.

You sit down once more, ready to face the last hours of your layover.

Suddenly, it’s eight thirty, and your flight is at ten.

You breathe. Almost there.

Until you see on the screens your flight number and airline with a red message that says: "Paris-Liverpool, delayed. Approach counter 102 for more information."

You let yourself fall back against the seat for a few seconds.

You were definitely in for long hours surviving on a stranger’s coffee while trying to find somewhere to recharge your phone.

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The counters numbered from 100 to 110 seem like a direct entrance to hell. You move toward your counter number with a heavy body carrying only a coffee and the heavy weight of thinking that the little you can do to kill the waiting time will be to look at work stuff, though you could save time for when you return on Thursday.

The terminal is packed, and then you see the sky and understand—the clouds sneaking in are thick and threaten to pour over the entire region. Apparently, all flights are delayed, and the look on the face of the clerk at your indicated counter confirms it.

Her face also summarizes fatigue, but in a completely opposite way to yours. She doesn’t say much, just grabs your ticket, scans it, and keeps typing.

“The flight has been rescheduled due to safety reasons, estimated departure is at 14:45. Updates will be announced at gate 10.”

You nod without trying to protest, knowing it will be in vain. You see gate 10 in the distance and hold back a bit for not having rested enough to have to drag yourself through an entire airport now. Anyway, you pass by a gift shop and buy chocolate bars and some snacks just in case.

Gate 10 seems to flicker when you get close, and when you turn down the hallway hoping to find seats by the window to lie down, it seems funny to think you’re being chased through an airport by a musician you still haven’t managed to recognize.

Leaning against the wall, he seems tense, trying to solve something on his phone. You stop at the way his cheeks hollow and he makes a pout with his lips. He has headphones on and his gaze lost on some passing object, just like you.

You don’t try to disturb him because you wouldn’t know how. You don’t want to seem weird staying by his side or making him uncomfortable; the situation is awkward enough on its own.

You wait for a response that simply never comes, and that’s how the next hours pass as if you’re carrying a stone on your back, unbearable to bear. Luckily, your message inbox isn’t full enough, leaving you free space to start reading on your laptop and uploading photos from your digital camera to your computer.

“Excuse me, do you have a type-C charger?” A rough but tired voice pulls you from your daydream some time later. You look up, and there he is again, the mysterious guy.

“Sure, here.” You hand him the cable from your backpack, grateful you charged your phone recently. “Are you going to Liverpool?” You ask, more for the need to have some interaction with someone to feel human again than out of actual interest.

“Not initially. I was going to Lisbon, but now I have to layover in Liverpool.” He replies frustrated, bending down to plug in the cable. “I hope to arrive on time or they’ll cut off my head.”

You laugh, genuinely, for the first time since you stepped in this place.

“Where are you going?” You close your laptop and look at him, sitting on the floor.

“Well, I have to give a concert. If I’d been on the previous flight I’d be there right now, but I had to sort things out in Paris.” He answers teasingly. It takes you a few seconds to understand what he means; he has a quite thick English accent.

“Oh, you’re a musician?” You ask, ignoring that you’ve been speculating that since you saw his guitar case and attitude.

“Yes, I am. I’m the singer of a band I have with my friends, we’re touring Europe.” He explains in a fairly self-referential tone, but without becoming egotistical or narcissistic, hoping you recognize him and appreciating when you don’t.

That is, Matty loves his fans. The band’s fans are amazing and have saved his life in every way. But in such a bad situation as this, he knows he can’t give his best with a fan by his side when he doesn’t know if he’ll make it to the next show, when jet lag hits him hard and he’s anxious because time changes make him grumpy. So, something calms inside him that you’re talking to him like any ordinary person.

His shirt rides up his arm, revealing the tattoos on his wrist. You don’t stop looking at him, crossing your arms when you don’t recognize him, although now his voice sounds a bit more familiar. For some reason, he doesn’t get lost in the airport murmur.

When you see his wrist decorated with the inscription “1975” and a black ink rectangle, the gears start to try to form something. It should be a harmless mark, but suddenly something shakes you inside.

You think about when one of your best friends was telling you she would fly to another city to see a band with a pretty similar name. You also remember hearing songs from that band in some pub at night, but you never cared too much about them.

Then his name comes to your mind, as if your best friend’s voice slipped into your brain and whispered it to you.

“I think I know who you are.” You murmur after a while, and he jumps up surprised by your voice. He mumbles a “Yes?” and prepares to listen to your answer. “Matty…” You pause, thinking of the last name. “Well no, I don’t have the last name. Sorry.”

He tilts his head and laughs, licking his teeth as if about to make a joke.

“I think that’s me.” He confirms calmly, running his hand through his hair.

Just as you’re about to tell him your name, or add anything else to the conversation, you hear the loudspeaker echo throughout the airport.

“Passengers of flight Paris-Liverpool, board at gate 10. Boarding will begin in five minutes.”

You almost leap from your seat when you hear the voice vibrating, practically stuffing your laptop into your backpack while looking for your passport and ticket and getting up. Matty laughs lowly at your erratic panic, but you hear him.

“That was a great conversation. Good luck in Lisbon. Goodbye!” You say goodbye as best you can, getting in line for boarding as quickly as possible. You smile at him one last time and he repeats it.

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The moment you pass boarding and find your seat in one of the last rows by the window is the moment you think you can relax for a second. The next move is almost automatic: you buckle your seatbelt, put on your headphones, and hope to be asleep when the plane takes off.

Your arms start to itch and you realize the air conditioning is blowing right at you. You spread your brown jacket over your striped shirt and curl up as best as you can in the seat.

The back pain will be brutal later.

“Hey, hi.” Someone sits next to you, and you don’t even turn to look, there he is again.

“Are you stalking me or something?” You cut him off the second you recognize Matty’s voice on your arms. “That’s an... interesting tactic.”

“No, no. Of course not. If it’s uncomfortable, I’ll change seats…” Anxiety corrupts his voice and you feel a bit sad hearing it. His erratic tone battles with something like fear?

“Matty.” You just murmur his name and turn to look at him. Your green irises collide with his brown ones. “I’m kidding, don’t move.”

“Okay.” He says, a bit calmer now. “If you see me asleep when they serve coffee, can you wake me up?”

“Sure, rest.” You smile and squeeze his arm as a sign of comfort. He doesn’t move under your touch and smiles, closing his eyes.

The whisper of the plane lifting off the ground is felt beneath your feet, and that sharp pull of about to take off forming in your stomach. The atmosphere is decorated with your companion’s soft snores.

There’s Matty, dozing with his head back, hugging his guitar, mouth slightly open and curls falling over his nose.

You take your time analyzing him, how the bridge of his nose shows little marks on his face, how his body contracts every time he breathes, no malice in his movements.

About forty minutes later, when only an hour separates you from your airport, the pilot’s voice sounds over the speaker. You hope what he says next is just a dream.

“Dear passengers, due to unsuitable weather conditions for landing, we will make a technical stop at Manchester Airport. All passengers will remain on board during this unscheduled layover. Estimated duration: three hours and fifty minutes.”

You open your eyes instantly, trying to convince yourself you only dreamed it. Matty looks at you just as confused as you.

“Manchester?” He steals the words from you and you sigh frustrated.

“We’re a damn hour from Liverpool, I could even walk home.” You’re talking without thinking and realize it when Matty’s laughter sneaks under your words.

“I’m resigned to getting home and not even knowing what time it is.” You huff, leaning your head against the vibrating window.

“It could be worse, right? You could be next to a crying baby.” He laughs, lying back again and looking at the ceiling. His voice tone is honest. “At least we can talk to each other… that doesn’t usually happen.”

The atmosphere thickens unwillingly, but you tilt your head toward him to sit sideways, causing your arms to brush.

“You have a point. Nothing better than being stuck on a plane with a rock star.”

He smiles with a very low sound. “Touché.”

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The plane lands in Manchester a few minutes later. In the distance, the airport runway looks gloomy in the darkness, but above all, empty. Only a few yellow city lights twinkle far away.

The plane stops, and with it, the seatbelt locks click open. But, obviously, the doors don’t open.

The exhaustion in the atmosphere is almost tangible to the touch—there are people sighing, people complaining, and people groaning. Still looking at him from the side, you feel a slight tug in your back. Next to you, Matty cracks his knuckles and adjusts the guitar case against the nearby seatback so that it doesn’t fall. Matty doesn’t stop smiling at you.

“So, tell me what you’re coming back from, or what you’re running away from,” he asks, clearly eager to talk to you.

“It’s nothing as grand as yours, it’s pretty simple, actually. My family gifted me a trip through several islands for my birthday, and I traded the stay in exchange for covering extra hours later.” You answer, letting your knees now brush against his. Neither of you moves.

“Where do you work?” Almost no one else is talking, which makes you laugh considering the loudest murmur comes from the two of you.

“I’m a junior lawyer, I just finished my degree.” You say, smiling with pride.

“That’s great, congratulations on the honors.”

“Thanks, but hey, I don’t want to talk about me.” You cut him off, telling the truth. You don’t like talking that much about yourself just like that. “I’ve got a crossword magazine and Snickers bars in my backpack, if that helps.”

He looks at you with a new glint in his eyes, like you’ve unlocked some distant memory in his life.

“I don’t know when was the last time I did one. But yeah, let’s do it.” He stretches and pulls from his bag a grayish hoodie along with a notebook and a pen.

You both glance at each other and look away immediately, laughing at how odd and ridiculous this is. Both trapped on a diverted plane, solving crosswords with a musician many people would die to meet, including your best friend. Or maybe because of the way Matty is scanning the pages as if he were reading a map, like it’s something very serious, he doesn’t lose his sweetness.

“This one looks good.” He points at one with his finger and looks to you for approval. You nod after glancing at it, managing to read questions about definitions, music, and novels.

He takes the cap off the pen and slides his arm into the seat armrest space, almost next to yours. You don’t even understand why it gives you goosebumps.

“Oh, this one’s easy,” he says and clears his throat. “Beatles song that starts with B.”

“Blackbird,” you both say almost in unison, counting the blank spaces.

“…Maybe, Oasis album,” you read aloud, emphasizing the question.

You try to read his face, hoping he’ll answer it right.

“Morning?” You stare at him, horrified.

“Matty!” you scold, giving him a light tap on the chest. “You can’t be a musician and not know that album. Don’t mess with me.”

“Of course I know it! I just wanted to see your reaction.” He squints his eyes and you stick your tongue out at him.

You watch him write Definitely in messy but still readable handwriting, almost mixing up the last two letters.

And that’s how the next hour goes by, with you two moving through that maze slowly, with no need to rush, celebrating each time a correct word appears. It’s dynamic, when he gets stuck, you complete it, and vice versa. Sometimes the words make him laugh, and other times you can see they trigger a memory in his head, when he drifts into a haze.

There’s a moment when you’re too focused, stuck on a clue labeled “Feeling for something that’s no longer there,” and you’re snapped out of it by Matty’s fingers touching your knees. He places his hoodie there and takes away your brown jacket.

“That doesn’t keep you warm, you’re freezing,” he murmurs in explanation, and it’s only then you realize your skin has turned to gooseflesh.

His words brim with tenderness and a kind of care that throws you off, you’re not quite sure what to say other than to nod in thanks.

The garment now covering you wraps you in a mix of cigarettes, mint, and vanilla. It softens with you, while all you can feel is the sound of paper tearing, the wind hitting the window, and time seemingly standing still.

Oh, you’ve figured out the word.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it! ‘Feeling for something that’s no longer there’ has to be nostalgia.” With that, the crossword is complete and you feel the plane vibrating under you again.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Matty lets his head drop onto your shoulder. It’s not invasive, and it doesn’t feel heavy either. He just settles in and closes his eyes.

“Wake me up in Liverpool, yes?” he whispers in your ear.

Before you even realize it, your home appears from every possible angle.

And then, Liverpool shows up on the plane’s edges.

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i reeeeeally hope you enjoy it as i did, writing this has been a wonderful dream, and i found it too soft. i would love to know what you think, leave me a comment in the question box on my profile.

also, if you want to be tagged in what i write, click here.

of course, he’s sprawled out on his bed at this second, looking ridiculously comfortable while half heartedly messing with his guitar. it takes him about three notes for you to catch on... yeah, it’s that song. the one from last week’s practice that’s been stuck in your head ever since he asked what you thought of it. as if your zero knowledge about music writing could actually contribute anything meaningful to the track. but it’s one of matty’s sneaky little ways of showing he actually cares about you.

you’re on the floor, cross legged, back against the bed frame, fidgeting every two seconds because sitting still is impossible during this moment in time. your homework’s out in front of you, basically untouched except for your half written name scribbled at the top. you can’t focus. your mind’s stuck on the same stupid thing from lunch, and it’s driving you mad. it’s impossible to shake off that you let out a long, heavy sigh before you even realize it’s happening, and immediately the guitar strings stop mid chord, leaving the room way too quiet.

“alright, what’s going on with you?”

“nothing.” you glance over your shoulder, trying to play it off, but he’s already watching you. his fingers are still wrapped around the neck of the instrument, not moving, eyes squinting enough to make it clear he’s calling your bluff.

“doesn’t seem like nothing.” he tilts his head, hair falling into his face in that pretty way you enjoy so much. “you’ve been off since you got here. you’re not even studying, which is, like, your thing. so just tell me already. what’s going on?”

there’s this tight knot in your gut that won’t give. you glare down at your notebook. maybe if you focus hard enough, it’ll magically sort all this crap out for you. “it’s nothing, matty,” you mumble, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel. “just... drop it, alright?”

there’s this awkward silence, and then the bed creaks as he scoots closer. you feel his hair brush against your shoulder, and it makes your chest tighten a bit, but you play it cool. he leans in to look at you, his face way too calm for what you’re feeling.

“not happening,” he cuts straight to the point. “spill. what’s up?”

“it’s dumb.”

“don’t care.”

you groan. “fine. it’s… something from lunch, okay?”

his eyebrows lift a little, and his expression goes softer, which only makes it harder to keep your thoughts straight. “what kind of thing?”

a loud exhale leaves your lips once again. “just… some girls were talking about making out. who they’ve kissed. all the stuff they’ve done.” you pause, your throat tight, already regretting saying anything. “then they asked me.” another pause. “and i had nothing to say. because, you know, i haven’t done much. properly.”

your voice gives up at the end. cheeks burning. brain short circuiting. full body humiliation mode activated. all you want is for the ground to do you a favour and eat you alive, but nope. you’re still here. still breathing. still sitting in front of your best friend, fully exposed, no take-backs.

matty blinks at you, and for a second, you’re fully convinced he’s about to burst out laughing, so you’re bracing yourself for it. but he doesn’t. he stares, brow creasing a little, as if you’ve dealt him some impossible equation from your old tutoring sessions instead of whatever disaster is currently spilling out of your mouth.

“okay…” he finally says, real slow.

“and then,” you blurt out as there’s no way you can stop now, “they started going on about how everyone’s kissed someone, right? and yeah, obviously i have. but not. not in the way they meant. nothing that made me, i don’t know, lose my mind or whatever. so now i’m overthinking it, because what if i’m just bad at it? what if it’s me?” your face is on fire, and honestly, it feels like the only way out of this is to ascend to another plane of existence.

he keeps looking at you, with his lips doing this twitchy thing, which only makes matters worse here. and after what feels like forever, he only shrugs. “who cares what they’ve done? they’re probably making half that shit up anyway.”

“that’s not the point, matty!” your voice comes out way higher than you meant it to. “it’s not even about them, okay? it’s just... i don’t know. i feel like i’m behind or something. that i missed the memo on how to be a normal teenager.”

“normal’s boring,” he says, completely unfazed. “you’re way better off.”

“oh, sure. easy for you to say.” you jab a finger at him. “you’ve done it. loads. apparently.”

his eyebrows shoot up so fast you can’t tell if he’s confused, offended, or pretending he didn’t hear you. “what are you on about?”

“louise and jessica. they both said you made out with them.” you reveal, “and that you were really into it.”

matty’s mouth opens, shuts, opens again, but no words come out. instead, his face goes bright red—actual, proper scarlett red—as he sits up on the edge of the bed, suddenly finding every other spot in the room way more interesting than you.

“that...” he stammers, raking a hand through his hair, which only makes a bigger mess out of it. “that’s… they said that?”

you nod, biting back a smirk because watching him squirm is pretty much the only highlight of your day. “so?” you tilt your head back against the bed, trying to seem casual even though your heart’s racing to find out more. “what was it like?”

his voice cracks. cracks. “wh—what was what?” and it’s so funny you almost lose it.

“making out with them, matty. c’mon.”

“oh my god.” he groans as if it’s apparently the most painful thing anyone’s ever asked him, dramatically throwing his hands over his face. “you’re not serious right now.”

“i so am.” you nudge his knee, curiosity totally winning out over any shred of shame. “please tell me. was it good? did you love it? what’s it even like?”

he groans louder this time, like you’re torturing him. but when he peeks at you through his fingers, there’s this tiny, almost-smile threatening to break through. “it’s… i don’t know. it’s fine, okay? depends.”

“depends?” your eyebrows raise up, and you’re full-on grinning. this is way too much fun to let up.

he gives you a look that’s so over it, but you can see the laugh he’s barely holding back. “on the person.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “well, that’s vague.”

“oh, my bad,” he shoots back, tone dripping with sarcasm. “didn’t realize i was supposed to be taking notes.”

the way he says it makes you roll your eyes, but you’re not letting this go. “but you’ve done it. many times.” you inch in closer, now watching his fingers drum against his legs, a nervous tick of his.

“yeah, i guess.”

“with who?”

he mutters something under his breath about you being insufferable, but he still answers, rattling off a couple of names.

you nod along, but let’s be real, you’re not even processing a word. your brain’s already gone rogue. it’s running this whole montage in your head. him leaning in, his hand brushing someone’s cheek, the way his mouth moves when he’s kissing them, how close they’d be. it’s stupid. straight-up torture. but it’s all you can see, and now there’s this awful, heavy feeling spreading through your chest.

“did you enjoy it?” your voice drops, barely above a whisper. 

he shrugs and keeps his eyes on the guitar next to him. “sometimes.” his answer comes out flat. “but not always.”

“how come?”

he eventually looks over, and there’s something in his face you can’t read. “just… it doesn’t always feel right. sometimes you’re doing it because you think you’re supposed to, not because you actually want to.”

and yeah. that hits. hard. because you get it. exactly. only checking off boxes, doing the thing, waiting to feel something that never comes.

you slump back against the bed, pressing your palms into the carpet to steady yourself. “i don’t know,” you mumble, “it’s just… everyone else has done it. and i’m sitting here,” you cut yourself off as you feel the heat’s crawling up your neck again, making it difficult to even finish the sentence. “it’s sad.” all you can do is stare at the ceiling.

matty doesn’t answer right away, but then you feel him shift even closer, his knee bumping your shoulder. it’s small, barely a thing, but it’s enough for now. “it’s not stupid,” he says. “and it’s not a big deal. you’ll get there when you get there.” he pauses, probably trying to figure out how to not make this weird. “and when it happens, it’ll be amazing. with the right person.”

you glance up at him, your palms and fingers starting to tingle. his face is serious, eyes locked on you, and it’s impossible to look away. he’s sitting there, saying stuff that shouldn’t matter too much but somehow does, and it’s messing with your head.

“what if it never feels right?” the words tumble out before you even realize you’re saying them, so quiet you’re half hoping he didn’t catch it.

but he does. “it will,” he assures as you drop your gaze and notice when he finally stops fidgeting with his fingers.

the room goes dead quiet again, and it’s the worst kind of silence. no guitar, no tapping of his foot, just this heavy nothingness hanging between you. you try to not let it get to you, picking at some random thread on your sleeve, pretending you didn’t make everything awkward between you two. matty shifts on the bed, and you can feel it, that little pause before he speaks. but you don’t dare look. no way. because you’re afraid of only making things worse.

“i could… you know, if you wanted to…”

you blink a couple of times. “what?”

matty immediately looks like he wants to crawl under the bed. “nothing,” he mutters, shaking his head way too fast. "forget it."

“no, seriously, what?” you sit up, narrowing your eyes at him. “say it.”

he hesitates, his face practically glowing crimson now, taking a deep breath before he stutters, “i just meant… if you wanted to practice. or, like, learn. i could… maybe help.”

your lip twitches. did he actually say that? you blink at him once more. “wait. with you?”

“yeah. i mean, only if you want to.” he shrugs one shoulder, trying and failing to look nonchalant.

your stomach flips, your mind racing, but all you can think is: this is matty. your best friend matty. the same boy who can’t match his socks but somehow always knows exactly how to make you laugh when you feel like crying. and now he’s sitting here, offering to make out to make you feel better, because that’s a totally normal thing to do.

the silence drags on, and it takes you a minute to realize he’s holding his breath, waiting for you to say something.

"okay," you whisper, the word feather-light as it escapes your lips. 

matty exhales, and for a second, he gazes at you, his eyes dark yet kind, trying to figure out if you really just said that. "now?" he asks, his voice gentle and a little shaky, too. but you agree, even if your heart is beating so rapidly you might pass out.

you intently watch as he pushes himself off the bed. then he’s kneeling right in front of you, close enough that his knees knock into yours, and yeah, okay, what the hell is going on? he drags his hands through his hair once, twice, then lets them fall into his lap, rubbing his palms against his jeans over and over. and for some reason, that makes your pulse race even faster.

“you really sure about this?”

“yeah...”

"alright," he murmurs, closing in just enough that you catch the faintest scent of him, and your whole body is suddenly on high alert as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “gonna start slow, alright?”

you nod, probably too eager, and he inches forward, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek first. barely there. over before you can process it. and you can’t help but giggle nervously as he pulls back, his cheeks still a little pink.

“that doesn’t count,” you tease, trying to mask the way your chest feels like it’s about to explode.

matty grins, then squares his shoulders. “alright. proper one, then.”

before you can overthink it, his hands are cupping your face, warm and still a little unsteady, and then he’s leaning back in. your breath catches as his lips brush against yours, calm, careful, and oh so gentle. it only lasts a fraction of a second but you already know you need more.

“you okay?” his voice is ever so quiet with a hint of nervousness behind it.

you only nod again because your throat won’t cooperate, and if you try to speak, you’re not entirely sure what will happen.

he edges in closer, lips pressing slow against yours, lingering just a little longer this time. warm and firm yet still ridiculously soft. your eyelids flutter shut, everything else fading until the only thing that exists is the way his mouth feels against yours.

when he finally pulls back, you blink to find him watching you intently.

“well?” he asks.

“i liked that.” you admit as you bite your bottom lip, and his gaze flicks down for a second before he snaps it back up.

“wanna keep going, then?” he asks after a beat, his voice careful, quiet.

“please.”

his lips curve into the smallest smile before mindlessly licking them. “alright. close your eyes again.”

you do as he says, and he tilts in closer once more, hands still delicately cradling your jaw. his mouth presses against yours, firmer, warmer, and then—oh. his lips part just enough, and before you can even think about it, his tongue barely skims your lips. your breath stumbles. you freeze for a second, unsure of what to do next. but he doesn’t rush, just pulls back the tiniest bit, his thumbs tracing little circles against your skin. “you’re okay,” he murmurs. “it’s normal to be nervous. let’s just go slow. and tell me if you want to stop, yeah?”

“yes, okay.”

then he kisses you for the fourth time, and when his tongue flicks against your lips, you don’t freak out. you just let it happen, letting him in as your head goes a little fuzzy. his tongue brushes against yours. the sensation is totally new but definitely not bad. the total opposite actually. you melt into it, letting the warmth of his mouth take over, and yeah, alright, now it makes sense why those girls lose their minds over this. maybe even over him.

the kiss deepens and you’re holding your breath like that’ll somehow make it last forever. stopping feels like the worst idea in the world because what if all the butterflies swarming inside you just disappear? it’s more wet and messier than you expected, but it’s still really, really good. maybe even perfect.

at least until your teeth knock together and you freeze, absolutely mortified.

matty pulls back just enough, as the softest laugh slips out, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes shining. “happens all the time,” he whispers, voice sweeter than honey. “you’re fine.”

you barely comprehend the words he’s saying, your ears ringing so loudly that it all feels like a dream.

“let’s try again.”

yeah, no, you’re definitely dreaming. no way this is happening.

and now it’s you who eagerly leans forward, making matty lose his balance before his hands find your waist, steadying himself before crashing back into you. it’s faster this time. it’s also then that you realize how good he tastes. definitely something you could get addicted to. your hands slide up to his neck and you swear you hear the faintest little whimper slip out of him. he probably doesn’t even realize he did it. which just makes it even better, making you grin against his lips.

“what’s that all about?” he mumbles between kisses, but you just keep smiling, shaking your head, not about to waste a single second not kissing him.

you don’t know how long it’s been. definitely not long enough. not even close. and honestly, you’d be happy staying right here forever, but then his hand accidentally drifts under your jumper, fingertips barely grazing the skin there, and you jolt, causing a tiny, embarrassing sound to slip out of you.

both of you go completely still. eyes wide, pulling back, and for one second, there’s a thin string of saliva still connecting you. then it’s gone, and so is whatever perfect little world you’d just slipped out of.

"i thi—we should probably stop.” he’s breathless, voice uneven, and yeah, there’s disappointment in it. barely there, but you catch it.

you let out a long sigh and nod, even though it’s the absolute last thing you want to do. “yeah, probably.”

the silence creeps back in, but it’s the good kind. warm, easy. you’re just sitting there, staring at each other for way too long, his eyes crinkling at the corners, your tight-lipped smile quivering because you’re not exactly sure how to feel.

then his hand suddenly moves, and before you can react, he’s swiping at your chin. “drooled a little,” he teases, already holding back a laugh.

“oh, shut up.”

you slap his hand away so fast he barely dodges it, his mouth dropping open in fake betrayal. “unbelievable and after what i just did for you.” he shakes his head like you’ve just shattered his trust. 

you can’t help but roll your eyes, way too dramatic about it, leaning back against the edge of the bed. matty drops down next to you, knees bumping yours as you pull your legs in and hug them. you turn to him, already grinning. “so… how did i do?”

he shakes his head, but that stupid smile is ruining any attempt at pretending he didn’t enjoy it. he tilts his head back against the mattress, pretending to think real hard about it, then finally turns to you, lifting a hand, palm flat, wiggling it in a so-so motion.

your jaw drops, full offense taken, and shove him hard enough that he almost tips over. serves him right. but he just laughs, way too pleased with himself, while you groan and cover your face with both hands. absolutely embarrassing.

but before you can wallow for too long, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. “stop, i’m just kidding,” and then you feel his chin rest on top of your head. he’s never done that before, causing those thousands of tiny butterflies to come back to life again.

you’d been teaching yourself for a while now, watching videos, reading chord charts, mimicking what you’d seen matty do a thousand times. you weren’t amazing, not by any means, but you could get through a few songs—easy ones, at least. and today, you want to learn be my mistake.

you loved that song. from the beginning on it was one of your favorite’s.

so you pull up a tutorial on your phone, tune the guitar as best as you can, and start slow, fingers moving tentatively along the fretboard. it is clumsy at first, but soon enough, you find a rhythm, humming along softly. the sound fills the flat, warm and low, and you feel a little rush of pride—like maybe you are actually getting somewhere with this.

you are so focused, so caught up in it, that you don’t hear the front door open. don’t hear the footsteps. don’t even realize you weren’t alone until

"what?"

you freeze. heart stops dead in your chest.

"baby, what?"

you whip around, eyes wide, cheeks burning. matty stands in the doorway, eyebrows raised, lips curled in the softest, most surprised smile.

"matty-“ you scramble to put the guitar down, but he is already walking toward you, eyes flicking between your face and the instrument in your lap like he can’t quite believe it.

"was that my song?" he asks, tilting his head. "and—fuck- since when?"

you swallow hard. "um. a little while?"

his mouth falls open. "a little while? and you didn’t tell me?"

you shift under his gaze, feeling like a kid caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. "i just—i dunno, i didn’t want to bother you. and i wasn’t sure if i’d be any good, so i wanted to, like… see if i could actually do it first."

matty exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head like he doesn’t know what to do with you. "fuckin’ mad, you are," he murmur, then reaching out, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him. "you know i would’ve loved to teach you, right?"

you bite your lip. "but-“

"nah, what. i’d absolutely adore that." he nudges his nose against yours, voice all warm and affectionate. "come here."

before you can argue, he is sitting beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. he shifts so he is just behind you, arms reaching around to settle over yours.

"show me what you’ve got so far," he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. "go on."

you hesitate for a second, then place your fingers back on the frets, strumming tentatively.

matty makes a soft noise of approval. "not bad, love. your form’s actually alright- jesus, you really have been learning. but-“he shifts your hand slightly, fingers curling over yours. "this bit here, yeah? try that."

you do, and it sounds better—cleaner, smoother.

"there you go," matty praises, pressing a kiss to your temple. "see? you should’ve told me, sweetheart. would’ve saved yourself some dodgy youtube tutorials."

you laugh, leaning back against him. "i dunno. i think i did alright."

"you did more than alright," he admits. "but still. i can’t believe you kept this from me."

"i just wanted to surprise you."

he huffs out a laugh. "well, consider me fuckin’ surprised. and impressed. and, honestly, a little bit wounded that you didn’t tell me."

you turn to look at him, nose scrunching. "wounded?"

"wounded," he confirms, though his smile gives him away. "what else have you been keeping from me, hm? secret piano lessons? a hidden talent for the violin?"

"no, just guitar. and only because i wanted to be able to play stuff i love."

his expression softens. "like be my mistake?"

you nod, a little shy. "yeah."

matty sighs, his thumb tracing absent circles against your wrist. "you’re going to kill me."

you laugh. "how?"

"just… bein’ you." he kisses your cheek, lingering for a moment before murmuring, "now, play it again for me, yeah?"

so you do. and this time, matty hums along with you, his arms around you, his lips pressed to your temple, like he never wants to let you go.

and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, matty starts to sing.

his voice is soft, almost hesitant at first, like he isn’t even thinking about it—just feeling the words, letting them slip out as he listened to you play.

he leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder, his arms still loose around you, watching your hands move along the frets. you can hear it in his voice—that little tremor, the emotion creeping in.

he falls silent mid-song.

you stop playing, just for a second, looking over at him.

his eyes are a little glossy, lips parted like he is caught in something bigger than the moment itself.

"matty?" you murmur.

he blinks a few times, like shaking himself out of it, then exhales a small, breathy laugh. "this is just perfect," he whispers, voice thick. and then he kisses your temple again, "fuck, i love you."

your heart swells. the guitar suddenly feeling like the least important thing in the world.

you carefully set it aside, turning toward him fully. matty barely has a second to react before are were kissing him, hands reaching to tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close.

he sighs into it, melting against you, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin like you are something fragile, precious.

"god," he murmurs, barely breaking the kiss. "you’re my favorite person.”

you smile against his lips. "am i?"

"mhmm," he hums, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then your cheek. "my talented, sneaky, wonderful girl."

you laugh softly, tucking your face against his neck. "i love you too, you know."

You carelessly swing the bedroom door open, tossing your bag and your dirty shoes into the corner of the room. Matty quickly rises from the bed, slowly approaching your slumped figure.

"What's got my darling all gloomy tonight?" Matty teases, his hands reaching out to run along your body, stilling as they reach your ass.

"Not in the mood." You groan, slowly peeling off your tight, agitating work clothes. You saunter over to your dresser, pulling out a simple camisole and pair of shorts. As you slip them on, Matty appears behind you, running his fingertips along your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You let out a long, exasperated sigh before muttering, "You really don't know how to listen, do you?" You turn to lightly punch Matty's shoulder, pushing him away.

"Ow!" Matty dramatically gasps, playfully stumbling back a step. "Watch out there, killer," he grinned, rubbing his shoulder. "M'just playing around, babe," he added, stepping closer to you again. "Nothing serious." You give him an unamused look, pushing past him to flop onto the bed.

Matty watches as you flung yourself onto the bed, a mix of emotions playing across his face. He sighed heavily before following after you, crawling onto the bed beside you. "What's got you so wound up?" You continue laying face down on the bed, your body sprawled out like a starfish.

"Today, it was a lot." You mumble against the sheets, tiredness in your muffled voice. Matty heard your mumbled words but didn't press for more information. He knew better than to push when you were in one of these moods. Instead, he slid his arm under you, gently pulling you against his chest.

You desperately crawl into his arms, your side pressed against his chest as you hug your knees in his lap. Matty wrapped his other arm around you, holding you close. He could feel your heart beating against his chest, and he knew that this was the only comfort you sought tonight.

"Shh," he whispered softly, running his hand soothingly up and down your back. You breathe lightly against Matty's skin, your eyes fluttering closed. You trail a hand up to play with Matty's curls, the only thing keeping you grounded.

Matty felt the soft touch of your hand in his hair, and it brought a small smile to his lips. He knew this was the only time you truly felt safe - when you were in his arms, seeking solace from the emotions budding within. You reach down to pull the covers up, nestling closer to Matty.

"There you go," Matty murmured, helping wrap the blanket around both of you. He felt your breathing begin to even out, knowing you would soon fall asleep. You wrap your arms around Matty's waist, pulling him close before you start to doze off. "I've got you," Matty whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. He held you close throughout the night, his heart full of love and admiration for this fragile, innocent thing that he couldn't help but cherish.

Your plans of spending Christmas had fallen flat because large parts of your family had contracted Covid and wanted to stay by themselves to not spread the disease. In a desperate attempt to not feel lonely, you looked up train connections to any of your friends houses that might take you in for Christmas, but there really was only one person you really wanted to see.

Two hours and seventeen minutes and you'd be in Wilmslow via Stockport. You booked the connection without thinking twice. It was only when you were actually sitting in the Avanti West Coast Train to Manchester Piccadilly at Euston station that you thought about how crazy your actions were. They were the actions of a desperate idiot in love. There was no denying you were in love with Matty but there was a great chance that to him you were probably just a friend. Just as you decided that this was a bad idea and you should go home now, the train started to move.

After a short panic attack and contemplating whether or not using the emergency break was warranted in this situation you decided to just text Matty.

You: Hey, are you having a nice time in Wilmslow?

Matty: Yeah. Well, it's family, love them but it can be a lot at once. Might head to the pub tonight to catch up with some old friends. What are you up to?

You: Nothing really. Since Christmas is cancelled this year, I'll just... improvise. Your plan sounds nice, though.

Matty: Yeah, something's missing though, to be honest. Or someone.

You just assumed he was talking about his grandma or a different family member and didn’t give it a second thought.

Me: Hope you have a great time nonetheless :)

///

You arrived in Wilmslow in the afternoon. On the train you had decided that once you arrived you'd walk around town a bit and then to get the next train home again because surprising your crush on Christmas Eve in his hometown is not the thing a normal person would do and you were definitely a very normal person and not at all a stalker.

You got out of wilmslow station and started to just walk straight ahead and see where the road would take you. You walked past parks and restaurants and shops that looked lovely but were mostly closed. Eventually the area became more residential and you couldn't help but notice that you tried to look into the windows of the houses in search of Matty. Right, that's it. It's getting dark and this is ridiculous you scolded yourself as you turned around to head back to the station.

As you walked by The Brewhouse and Kitchen you decided to get something to eat before heading back to London. The pub was crowded as you walked in. No wonder, it was one of the very few pubs that was open.

You looked around for a table to sit at when you spot Matty. You stare at him in shock. He's actually here. He sat in a corner booth with two other guys and had yet to notice you. Just as you were thinking about how you could make your way out of this scenario, Matty turned his head and looked right at you. You were fucked. There was no denying you were here now. His eyes grew wide and he stared at you with raised eyebrows. Right, this was definitely a mistake you thought but Matty waved you over to them excitedly.

When you didn't move because you were too embarrassed to do anything, Matty got up and made his way over to you. "Hii, darling, what are you doing here?" he asks excitedly. You couldn't answer. How do you tell someone that your family cancelled christmas, you were lonely and decided to go to the other person's hometown without telling them a word about it? Instead you just went up to him and hugged him. His arms enveloped you in one of his strong and warm hugs and it felt so incredibly good to be near him. "Surprise" you mumble into his chest. "Surprise indeed" he laughed. "It's so nice to see you. Come, sit with us." He lead you back to the table he shared with his mates.

After introducing you as his good friend and ordering your drink, Matty couldn't sit still. He was fumbling with either his glass, the table decorations or his fingernails until you decided to just take one of his hands in yours. An intimate gesture, you were aware of that, but it felt right and trusting your intuition was what helped you get here in the first place. Matty just looked at you with pure adoration and love as you felt him physically relax a bit.

After two more rounds of drinks, everybody decided to call it a night. You paid and made your way out of the pub where you said goodbye to Matty's mates. When they were gone, there was a brief silence between you until Matty spoke with the usual unserious tone: "You're so weird for coming to Wilmslow. How did you know where to find me?" "I didn't. I just walked around and... dunno" "I love that you're here. Come home with me?" "What and crash your familiy's Christmas, definitely not!" "Please? I can't let you take the train at this hour, it's dangerous!" we both know that's a lie "Also, what's waiting for you back in London? Please stay, my family won't mind, we're a pile of patchwork anyways" You looked at him and saw that he was actually excited about the idea. You just kept looking, noticing the light stubble on his face, the grey strands of hair at his temples, the eyebrows raised in anticipation and his lips. These fucking lips. You took your hand and raked your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered shut in enjoyment, a dopey smile forming on his lips. You decided then and there that you couldn't take it anymore. You could not go another second without knowing how his lips felt on yours, so you went up on your tiptoes, your hand anchored at the back of his head and crushed your lips to his. His hands came up to cup your face and you felt him reciprocating and deepening the kiss.

Your ears were ringing and your body felt like it was on fire. There's nothing else that mattered in that moment other than his lips on yours. After a few seconds you break the kiss and just smile. He's the first one to speak: "So it's settled then?"

You don't know if he meant the months of pining after each other or the question whether you'd stay or not but to both you just grinned and nodded.

He takes your hand and starts walking. It wasn't awkward, it was exciting. There was a lot of giggling and stopping randomly to snog on the way home but eventually Matty pointed to a house and said "that's us" as if you had always been a part of this and there had never not been an us.

Before putting his keys into the door he stops for a second and goes "Oh fuck, I'm sharing a room with my brother". You looked at him questioningly but he just continued "We have to be quiet, everybody's asleep". He opened the door and once you were inside he was on you, kissing your mouth, your jaw, a line down your throat to your collar bone. You couldn't help but let out an obscene moan and suddenly Matty stopped. He was looking at you with big eyes, raised eyebrows and a finger over his mouth that was curled into a smile, signaling to be quiet. "Sorry, sorry, fuck" you whispered with a giggle.

"Let's take the couch and figure something out in the morning" he suggested. "I can just take the couch and you sleep in your normal bed" "Baby, do you seriously think I will let you sleep alone tonight? Let alone on the couch in a house where nobody knows you are even there? If you'll have me, of course" "I really don't want to be alone, thank you" He smiled at that and kissed your lips again. So soft and so gentle.

Matty lead you into the living room and closed the door after you. The couch looked comfy, a suspicion that was confirmed when you plopped down on it. Matty laid down on his side behind you, opening his arms signaling you to lie down too. When you relaxed into his embrace as the little spoon, you felt all the anxiety and doubt and all the bad feelings leaving you. Feeling Matty's embrace made you feel invincible.

The position also let you feel something else which was the bulge in his pants that was growing and pulsing against your ass. You felt proud that you had this effect on him and so you took his hand that was resting on your hand in front of you and placed it on your lower belly, pushing it further down, all while moving your hips back into his growing hard-on. Matty let out a small groan "baby, we can't, they could hear us" "Please, Matty! I need you" you whispered, sounding incredibly needy. His hands slid under the elastic of your leggings and your underwear. "You need to be really really quiet" he warned and you believed him. His hand in your underwear spread your folds and slid through them, gathering some of the slick that had accumulated there. "Fuuuck, baby, you're so wet. Look at that, so so needy for me" he whispered, at which you just nodded. You needed him, you wanted him. You were so horny and needed some of that feeling to be released. He slipped two fingers inside and immediately started to fuck you with them. The room stayed silent except for the squelching sound of his fingers in your wetness and some heavy breathing. His movements were unrelenting. In a normal situation you would've screamed by now but you were biting your knuckles in hopes of staying silent while your orgasm was fast approaching. "Will you come for me baby, hm? Come on my fingers like the needy little thing you are?" at which you just managed to nod. Your orgasm hit you and you almost choked on the moan that was threatening to escape your throat as your walls clenched around Matty's fingers.

"That's it, baby. You did so well, staying silent." he whispered, kissing your shoulder between each sentence and you knew then and there that you couldn't go to sleep now. You kept grinding your ass against his boner and soon enough he knew what you wanted. "Fuck, baby, I can't fuck you, I won't be able to keep quiet" he whispers in your ear. "That's not fair, I need you to fill me. I feel so empty" you pouted while sliding your underwear and leggings off your legs. You kept grinding your naked ass into his boner until he was out of patience. Annoyed he kicked off his trousers and boxer shorts, flipped you on your belly and and angrily whispered in your ear "I swear to god if you make one sound this will have been the first and last time" before he lined up his cock with your entrance and started pushing inside.

The intrusion of his cock in your pussy felt divine. He was bigger than you were used to, plus you were lying on your belly which emphasised the sensation. "Oh baby, do I need to rearrange your insides to make some room for myself?" he cooed while relentlessly pushing inside you. "you're so tight, fucking hell". He stopped for a second as he buttomed out. "You alright?" "Yes, yes" you nodded.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful" he said as he pulled out until only his tip was still buried in your pussy and then slammed inside again. The slap of his pelvis against my ass rang out through the otherwise silent room. You weren't sure if you could take a pounding like that without anything to muffle your sounds so you grabbed a pillow off the couch and bit down into it but Matty wouldn't have it. He grabbed the pillow and threw it away. "You wanted this, remember? You're gonna take it and you're gonna be nice and quiet" and with that he started to fuck you in an unforgiving pace. When you were close again, you couldn't help but let out the tiniest whimper. In response Matty's hand came up to your throat and squeezed. That's what did it for you and you came on his cock, any cries that could have existed got muffled by the chokehold on your neck. "Baby, it feels so good when you come on my cock. Like you were made for taking it deep in your pussy." Your head was dizzy from the orgasm, the restricted blood flow and the praise. How did he know about your praise kink? "Can you come a third time tonight, hm?" he whispered at which you just nodded. "Oh baby, I'm gonna have to hear words, how else can I be sure?" "Please, yes" is all you managed to choke out, not able to form coherent sentences. It's all that Matty needed to hear. "On all fours, come on" he directed you to your knees and then started pounding you again. In this position he was able to fuck you incredibly deeper. His cock hit your cervix and the jolt of light pain that this stimulation triggered was making you lightheaded again. You felt so full, so incredibly, wonderfully full. When Matty's hand came round to your clit to help that promised third orgasm along you knew he had to be be close himself. "Come on, baby, come for me. Come on my cock" he was drawing quick circles with his fingers on your clit. Suddenly you could feel him spilling his cum inside you and it all became too much. You let out an overstimulated cry as you came a third time.

Matty stilled, cock still inside you and you didn't dare to make a movement or a sound. Fuck, did anybody hear you? You stayed like this for a few moments and when neither of you could hear anything in the house, Matty pulled out of you. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of the unwelcome emptiness. You stood up, bit shaky on your legs and faced Matty with an absolutely blissful smile on your lips. "Thank you", you whispered and kissed him at which Matty just chuckled "I don't think anybody ever thanked me after fucking them" "Well that's just rude, isn't it?" you laughed and kissed him again. When you were able to feel his cum running down your legs, you asked for the toilet. You cleaned yourself up, thanked your past self for getting that IUD and went back to the living room. Matty was lying on the couch again, waiting for you to slot into position as his little spoon. You happily obliged and made yourself comfortable in his arms. "What will you tell your family tomorrow?" "That my new girlfriend surprised me in town, came home with me and saw a ghost, obviously" "Obviously" You had to laugh at that.

“fuck!-,” he throws his head back against the pillows and takes a few deep breaths before looking down at her, “what’d you do that for, i was so close!”

she smiles up at him from her place between his legs, resting her head on his thigh and gently tracing circles into his skin with her nail.

“i know,” she hums, kissing the tip of his cock, “but i’m having so much fun.”

his hips buck up from the bed when he feels her soft lips against his tip and he groans. he wishes he could hold her head still and fuck her throat the way he likes; the way she likes, but no. the fluffy handcuffs around his wrists prevent him from doing so.

she had been having her fun for almost 30 minutes, every time he was on the edge of release, she would cruelly take her hand or mouth away.

she gazes up at him, thrilled by his frustration and runs a soft hand up his length, biting her lip when he moans out. it’s not often that the tables are turned like this and she’s the one in charge, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying it.

he truly was a sight for sore eyes; his eyes glassy, his cheeks flushed, lips bitten raw. the tip of his cock was a dark shade of red, pouring out an endless stream of precum that she gathered in her hand, before spreading it around.

“oh god-,” he whimpered, “you’re such a little shit, just- let me cum-.”

she tutted and removed her hand from him completely, causing him to yell out in frustration.

“now, now matty,” he opened his eyes and looked down at her shit eating grin, clenching his jaw as she smirks up at him, “i want you to beg for it.”

he growls at her and stares at the ceiling, refusing to give in to her sick games.

“beg for it matty and i’ll let you cum down my throat,” she reaches up, her bare tits pressed against his chest as she whispers in his ear, “c’mon baby, be a good boy.”

that was the last straw for matty. he yanked his hands out of the flimsy cuffs and pounced on top of her. she yelps at the sudden movement, clearly not expecting it.

he grabs onto her hips with a bruising grip and flips them over so he’s on top of her. he smirks down at her and wraps a hand around her throat. she whimpers as her eyes glaze over, already falling into the submissive headspace that he loves on her so much.

“not so mouthy now are you sweetheart?” he flexed his fingers around her throat, her mouth dropping open in response. he wastes no time before spitting harshly into her mouth, forcing it closed with his hand, staring down at her when she swallows.

he holds back a groan and moves to press his tip against her sopping entrance.

He's been counting down the days until the break in their tour schedule. They're not even halfway through the first leg when he starts missing Britt (if he's being honest, he started missing her before he even left. His whole last week at home with her was nothing but bliss and anxiety, counting down the seconds until he had to be away from her. She complained that he was freaking her out every time she woke to find him staring at her, but he didn't want to miss a thing.

He wanted to memorize the freckles on her cheeks and the pout of her lips when she frowned in her sleep. He cooled off a little bit when he realized he was counting her eyelashes like an absolute psychopath.)

There are only hours until he and George can hop on their flight to Italy, where they're about to spend the next 6 days with Britt and Charli, doing nothing. His only plans are to lay in the sand, swim in the crystal blue water of the Amalfi Coast, and peel Britt's stupidly tiny bikinis off her tanned body with his teeth.

He's present for their last gig, but he's suddenly conscious of how long some of their songs are, the seconds feeling like minutes, bleeding into what feels like hours. He practically runs off the stage into the car awaiting them at the end of the show, slamming the door shut behind him, only for it to open again as George calmly gets inside with an eyeroll.

Stepping off the plane in Naples, a weight is lifted off his shoulders as he breathes in the European air. There's something about being on home soil (kind of? Not really. You know what he means) that makes him feel completely at ease. All his stresses melt away as George winds their hire car around the cliffside of the coast, and he closes his eyes, letting the sun soak his pale skin. He'd barely slept on the flight, too excited to let his mind stop whirring away at how incredible the next week was going to be.

He opens them again when he feels the car slow down over a graveled driveway, and he peers through the windscreen as they approach a two-story villa. There are vines growing up the sides of the house that weave their spindly arms around the wooden pergola that sits above an outdoor table setting, two empty wine glasses left forgotten next to a wooden board that would've no doubt held cheese and fruit at some point.

George stops the car, sitting back and gesturing towards the wheel. He's confused for a moment before he remembers, he presses down three times in quick succession with a grin, and by the time he's opened the passenger-side door, Brittany is running barefoot across the driveway. She launches herself onto his body, and they slam against the side of the car; the back of his mind reminds him that it's hired, but the front tells him that she smells like the ocean, sunscreen, and vanilla.

Her hands pull at the curls at the back of his head, and his tongue pushes into her mouth quickly. He thinks he can hear Charli's voice, but it's hard to focus when his hands were full of Brittany Jackson.

"Alright, alright," George bangs the roof of the car. "Help me with the bags; you can mess around later."

Brittany only pulls away long enough to say, "Don't be jealous, G," before slanting her mouth over his again. Her tongue pushes through his lips, and George makes a comment about her "not being very ladylike," and he can feel her flip the drummer the bird against the back of his neck.

Once their bags are inside, and he's been given the "grand tour" (it takes all of one minute. Master bedroom is upstairs, for Charli and George, and he and Britt get the downstairs retreat), he changes into a pair of swim trunks, aware of Britt's sinful eyes as he undresses, and they head down to the beach. It's not exactly private with hundreds of tourists and locals flooding the area, but they find a secluded little spot to lay their towels and bags down, then George and Charli rush into the water, sand flicking into the air as they run.

Dropping onto the towel between Britt's legs, he passes the bottle of sunscreen behind him with a coy smile. He lets her rub the cream into his skin, and he doesn't know if it's because he still hasn't really slept or maybe the sun is already depleting him of all his leftover energy, but as her hands work over his muscles, he feels like he could fall asleep right there.

When she peels off her sundress, revealing her choice of swimwear that day and asks him to return the favor with a smirk, he's wide awake again.

Dinner is a very casual affair that night, some type of pasta that Charli made, followed up with fresh strawberries and cream for dessert as they sat under the pergola and watched the sun set for the day. Britt keeps his wine glass full, topping it up every time she sees it get low, and he doesn't expect her to wait on him, but she's never normally this attentive, and he's starting to love it.

Even earlier today, when he'd had enough of swimming around and splashing George, he'd lay on his towel and closed his eyes. He knew he should've set an alarm on his phone, lost somewhere in Britt's giant beach bag, because he would absolutely fall asleep and get sunburnt, but as soon as his head rested on the sand, he was out like a light.

He woke slightly when he felt nimble hands rubbing over his exposed skin and the coconut scent of the suncream had invaded his nostrils. Brittany had shushed him as his eyes fluttered open slightly, and he fell back asleep straight away knowing that she was looking out for him.

When she next topped up his mostly full glass, he pulled her into his lap, her arm draping around his shoulders like the vines wrapped around the house, and he carried on the conversation like normal. He was so content, his body warm with her pressed into his side, his stomach full of the amazing food, and his soul happy with the amazing company.

He tries to hold onto that feeling later that night when he can't sleep because the mattress is so damn lumpy and old. Seriously, the springs squeak when you sit down on it, and it didn't exactly ruin his reunion with his girlfriend, but it did force him to be more creative, frantically searching for other flat surfaces. He knows Britt is still awake too after she huffs, rolling onto her side again, and trying to find a comfortable position.

Eventually, he must pass out because soft morning light begins to glow in the room through the sheer curtains. Messy brunette hair is scattered all over the pillows, and he tucks himself behind her. Despite the horrible sleep, this is what he'd been missing, this is what he'd been counting down to, waking up next to her and pretending the world didn't exist for a while.

"How'd you sleep?" Her voice is still thick with sleep.

"You didn't tell me the bed was terrible." He presses his lips to the junction between her neck and shoulder, and she sighs happily.

"I didn't know."

His brows furrow, and his lips stop the assault on her skin. "What? Where've you been sleeping?"

"Charli's bed," she sighs happily, rolling onto her back and letting his hands trail over her stomach.

Britt kisses softly along his jaw, her teeth nipping below his ear as he lets this new information sink in. George has mentioned how close the girls were when they lived together, often sharing clothes and acting more like sisters than friends, but he doesn't recall them ever sleeping in the same bed.

The girls had also been staying in the villa for the last month, and he can recall many a video call where neither of them wore any clothes, a video call that he now realizes took place in the master bedroom upstairs and not the room they currently occupied. Was Charli in the room during those calls?

As Brittany's lips trail down his chest, he thinks about how they'd behaved at the beach the day before. Charli had reapplied his girlfriend's suncream when he was kind of awake, but still too tired to open his eyes, complimenting her choice in swimwear and asking to borrow it. He'd lifted his head off the sand just in time to watch them run, hand in hand, into the ocean, thinking nothing of it.

Then during dinner when Britt had eaten a strawberry straight from her friend's fingers, the clotted cream had sat on the corner of her lip, and Charli had whipped it away with her thumb before sucking the digit into her mouth. They'd eaten off each other's plates and sipped each other's wine, and he couldn't believe how stupid he was, how stupid George was too.

Pushing his girlfriend away from her place over his boxer briefs, he stood from the bed, his back cracking, and his knee groaning in protest. She looked confused and a little hurt, but he had to get out of there, had to pack his bags, get his best friend, and leave. He'd come all the way to Italy to have a romantic week away with her, and instead, she was already doing that with her best friend. He wasn't needed at all.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he stuttered out, his eyes scanning the room, trying to locate his belongings.

"It's not nothing; you look like you've seen a ghost."

"I know what's going on." He thought it was best to cut to the chase, get this over and done with, but Brittany just looked confused.

"Ok?" She drawled, waiting for him to go on.

"You and Charli."

She stared at him, waiting for more.

"Matty," she whined. "I told you that I don't get your jokes sometimes; you're making me feel bad now."

She didn't think he was being serious, and he'd give her credit, she was a good actress. If he didn't know any better, if he hadn't seen the signs, he'd probably think she was telling the truth.

"You've been too nice to me."

"Me being nice to you means that I'm having an affair with Charli?"

"No, that's—" He pinched the skin between his eyes. "You're never nice—"

"I'm never nice?" She looked like she was going to burst into tears.

He inhaled and decided to start again.

"Why have you been sleeping in Charli's bed?"

"Because I got scared!" She explained, tears still brewing in her lashes. "There were too many noises, and then I kept freaking myself out because if a murderer comes in, I'm on the ground floor, and they're gonna kill me first."

"When we're at home, you sleep closer to the door, so the murderer will get you first, and it gives me time to run away."

The answer was so farfetched that he didn't doubt it for a second. He knew how her mind worked, knew that she overthought everything to a point where she overthought her overthinking. It was the same kind of reasoning that meant her underwear drawer was organized by style, then material, then color. He thought it was just another one of her quirks, but then he messed up the sock drawer system and decided he'd never do her washing again.

(He still did it every week because her version of laundry most days was putting the clothes in the machine and leaving it there for days on end until she ran it through another cycle. He just threw her clothes into one of the baskets and left it on her side of the walk-in robe to put away now.)

"I'm not having an affair with Charli," she quietly said. "I don't know why you'd ever think that."

Her shoulders were hunched over as her knees sank into the mattress more, and he contemplated how royally he'd managed to mess up his relationship in the short time he'd been in Italy.

"I'm being an idiot," he stated.

"You are." She was staring at the wall and wouldn't look at him.

He wouldn't want to look at him either.

"I'm just really tired," he admitted, and she hummed in agreement.

"I'm sorry."

It was sincere, and she nodded, but still wouldn't look at him.