'So I guess I fucked up this time around.

Makes a change, that. Don't you think? Not that everything else is your fault - that's really not what I meant. Just that, you always blame yourself. That you always come and tell me that everything's fucked and that it's all your fault. I guess maybe it's good that it isn't this time around. Makes a change, doesn't it?

Not that- of course, it's not that I think what happened was a good thing. I just... honestly, Matty, I don't know how to properly word this. I don't think I've written a letter in a long time. And maybe this was a weird way to go about things, but I don't know, it felt right.

It was something I used to do, you know? Like a year and a half ago, I had this girlfriend, and we always used to write notes to each other - just little things, but somehow it meant so much more than just sending a text or something. I guess it was the physicality of it, you know? And knowing that someone had gone to the effort to write it out and leave that note for you, that they actually cared that much rather than to just spend ten seconds typing out a text message. It was nice, you know? But then it wasn't.

Of course, we broke up, things went weird in the end. I guess there got to be a point where we faced a dilemma that neatly handwritten apologies couldn't solve. Like, no amount of kisses on the end of letter could fix your heart. Things got bad in the end.

I hope this isn't bad. I hope this is enough. I hope I didn't fuck up that much. I really do hope you'll forgive me. I know, I know I fucked up, and I know you're upset, but it happened, and I'm sorry. I can't erase the past - we both know that, so really all I can do is hope you'll believe just how sorry I am. How much I mean this apology, and I hope the letter helps with that. I hope it was something you were happy to receive - to hear from me again, to hear my explanation.

I hope you didn't look at your name scrawled across the envelope in my handwriting and scowl. But if you did. If you did, I'm not going to ramble on and make you feel guilty for that. Because if you did, you did so with reason, and that's okay. And if you did, then I have no right to demand that you feel another way.

But I can hope. And I'll hope you'll at least read this letter, and maybe even write me back, and even if it's like I just asked for the whole world, I'd like to imagine that you'd understand.

So, that night. I was drunk. You know that. You got me drunk. But it's not your fault. Don't think it's your fault. I don't think it's your fault. I know that you pushed me to, but it wasn't like you poured the vodka down my throat or anything - I took those drinks, and being drunk doesn't take away the fact that you were responsible for everything you did.

But, I was drunk. Like, really drunk. Because I'm a fucking lightweight, and we both know it. And it's not that you don't know what you're doing when you're drunk, you just sort of stop thinking about the consequences, and you do things you wouldn't, because when you're sober you remember to think that you'd hurt someone, so you stop. And I don't know how to handle myself when I'm drunk - we've both figured that out.

And I truly am sorry. For making you feel uncomfortable, because I know I did. For staring. I really didn't mean any harm by it, I really did just think you looked nice, but, like, I couldn't quite work out how to properly express that. I'm sorry. Honestly. I'm sorry for making you feel like I'm taking you for granted or taking advantage of you, because really, that's the last thing I want to do.

But if you think I am. Then I have no right to tell you I'm not. And that's okay. I can hope that you'd change your mind, but if you can't, and if you don't want to, then that's okay.

Maybe it's not exactly okay, but I can't change your mind for you, and I have to accept that, or I'm going to drive myself mad. But honestly, from the depths of my heart, I'm sorry, you mean the world to me - you're more than your legs in fishnet tights, you're more than bright red lipstick stains.

You deserve more than me. You deserve someone who didn't make the mistake in the first place. And if I could, I would turn back time and put it right - I wouldn't look at you like I did, I wouldn't get drunk, and I wouldn't walk off with that girl, I wouldn't leave you alone like that.

And I'm not just saying that. I mean it. I don't know how I can prove that to you, but I'm trying my best.

And this girl. I don't know if I should talk about, in detail, I mean, because I don't know - maybe you don't want to hear about that at all, and really that's understandable. But it felt wrong. Like innately wrong, inside of me, I think you know what I mean, I think you've felt that sort of thing before, when you kiss someone and you feel absolutely nothing at all. But you let them kiss you still. I'm not sure why I did that.

But I felt like shit in the end. It was shit in the end. She sucked me off. In case you wanted to know. But it felt shit, because I didn't feel anything, and I didn't like her - not even at all.

I don't know why I went off with her in the first place. I think I was too out of it to really notice what was happening. But that's not an excuse and we both know that. I think maybe I wanted the attention. But it just wasn't what I needed.

I think what I need is love. I think I need something meaningful again. Everything feels all too grey, like faded out into the background. And I hate that.

But there are some things that stop that, like bursts of colour in my life. And I can't help desperately clinging to them, because I'm terrified of losing those few good things that really make me feel alive.

You're one of those bursts of colour for me. Ever since I first saw you, I think.

And if I'm being honest with myself, I can't bare to lose you. Especially not over this. But don't let me guilt trip you or anything like that, I'm just trying to be honest. I think honesty is good for me. If you don't want me back in your life, then honestly, trust me - that's more than okay.

You deserve better than that.

George

XX'

-

Matty grasped George's letter between trembling fingertips that Thursday morning. The world ran in circles around their head, and the mess of conversation that surrounded them seemed to cut into their head with a tangible kind of malice.

Really, Matty needed to sit down. And they needed to think.

But from the other side of the kitchen, their family met them with questioning glances. Or at least they had - they were dismissed soon enough - it was a Thursday morning, and a busy kind of empty breakfast, with their dad disappearing off to go to work, and Louis trying to do his maths homework at the very last minute as he ate his toast.

They glanced back down at the letter. And read it through a second time around.

Matty couldn't help themself. Somehow the world outside of George's words seemed to hold no weight at all. So much so that it even began to make them a little dizzy.

Dizzy with bright pink cheeks, a letter grasped firmly between fingertips - only shaking a little less now. Matty smiled.

"Do you want any of this toast?" His mum asked across the room, seeming to break the moment, as if on purpose.

Matty shook their head, folding George's letter up again and pushing it down into their pocket.

"You've not eaten anything." She commented, watching Matty with that all too familiar maternal concern.

"I've got to leave in like five minutes." Matty shrugged it off, running a hand back through their hair.

Denise shoot them a look like she didn't quite believe them. Matty seemed awfully offended for someone who was, in fact, lying.

"I have." They bit their lip. "My manager wants me in early today." They lied, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

-

Matty arrived at the coffeeshop half an hour early and sat themself down at one of the booths, drawing up a pen and paper out of somewhere or other, and setting their mind to think. To write. To the truth.

But the truth didn't come easily.

Words didn't appear out of early morning shadows, and the slight coffee stains left on the table. Matty's head didn't sort itself out on its own. Loneliness didn't come without prior company. It was common sense really.

But still, even with common sense in mind, Matty couldn't solve their problems.

They sat and thought. And watched as pretty people passed them by.

They sat and considered the difference between prettiness and beauty. They sat and wondered just what the two really did mean. They sat and wondered if this was enough. If this might get them somewhere. Somewhere out of early morning shadows and cramped headspaces.

Matty watched the winter morning sky - the first tentative rays of sun, and the way they seemed to case the distant glimpse of the moon right out of the sky. That morning felt an awful lot like that. That day carried much the same tone.

Matty at sat at home in bed and thought of the person they should have been. The person that wouldn't have let it all go wrong. The person that was happy. They sat and thought of Gemma. Of the distance growing between them. Of fixing that gap, of fixing themself.

In the end, the verdict was that words just couldn't do it, and neither could George. So they didn't write. Not that day, nor the next.

Matty let George's words settle in around them like dust, like ideas that could echo around their head for days. And they would, in the end. When Matty grew tired of this all - of empty weekends, and stupid apologies, and beautiful boys that meant all too much.

In the end, it was eleven p.m. on Saturday when Matty finally sat down to write.

But by eleven p.m. on Saturday, Matty finally had something to say.

-

'Which colour am I, then?

If everything feels grey, except for these bursts of colour. Which one am I?

Don't say all of them, that's cheating - that's not a real answer, that's a bullshit answer, and that just proves it's something you've made up to get me to listen. And I don't think that it is. Not really. But I want you to prove that.

So tell me, which colour am I?

I fucked up too. I mean, yeah, you were kind of a dick, and that's... that's kind of fucked with my head, because I always thought. I always thought you were like this perfect guy, who was so different from everybody else, like who could never be a dick - someone who could never hurt me.

But you're not. You're human.

Of course you are.

But that's okay.

That's more than okay. I think I needed that reminder - you know, that no one's perfect, even if they seem like it. Like, I sort of decided I needed to look for the perfect guy, now that I don't want to sleep with anyone who so much as smiles at me, but those are two very different ends of spectrum. And like, there are no perfect guys. And the ones that let you believe that they are - well they're the worst ones of all.

So I reckon I just... I need to stop thinking so much. Maybe just do what makes me happy. Try to figure out what that even is. You know? Just what feels right - instinct and all of that.

Forgiving you feels right. I miss you. Too much.

I'm sorry for not responding sooner. I've had a lot in my head. I think if I made myself reply the moment I first read this I would have instantly told you to fuck off, and don't tell me that's okay - don't let yourself think that. Because you matter a lot to me. And I'd like to think I matter a lot to you too.

I think there are a lot of things in my life that needed to be fixed, but you're not one of them. I think we're fine. I guess maybe it sounds a bit funny, but I think with us, everything's just okay. Really, now it is. At least for me. I hope it's the same for you.

But I've got a lot in my head. I can't stop thinking about bad decisions - about Charlie, about Ryan, about Gemma. I've still not spoken to Gemma. I think one week was enough, and now with two, everything's just a bit fucked. I need to figure out how to say sorry. But I'm scared. Because I'm me, and I guess I always will be.

I just wish I could take all this fear away. I wish that one day things would actually work out my way.

I'm sorry for making you drink. I'm sorry for making assumptions. You're a better guy than you think you are. And I'm the worst drunk of all. We both know that.

I think I'm a bit caught up in my own head. It's a lot to ask, but I'd love if you could come help me out of it. I feel like you could.

Meet me after work on Monday, at the coffeeshop. I want to see your face again. I miss that smile. I miss you.

If you were a colour, you'd be gold.

Matty

XX'

-

George read it for a final time as the sun began to set, and the shadows cast themselves into long foreboding figures across the street. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he just couldn't quite figure out as to whether it was down to excitement or fear.

It was quarter to five when he first arrived. It was five past five when he finally made his way inside. But it was a welcome twenty minutes, spent a little way down the street, cigarette in hand, watching the sky turn a warm brassy shade of pink.

It was a colour that felt like home. Like the colour of rosy cheeks in the cold evening air, the colour of lips against his own, the colour of forever cluttered living room walls, the colour of something out beyond him: something beyond that street and that afternoon. Something he longed for. Something he liked to tell himself he needed.

But those thoughts left him soon enough; he was hit with a gust of warmth the very moment he stepped inside the coffeeshop - enough to take the entire word out of him. It brought forth an odd kind of nostalgia: tearing him back months - to when Matty was just another face in the crowd, just a pretty barista, and this was just an idle place to waste his life away.

He wondered if, really, anything had changed, if they were really much more than strangers now, but then he met Matty's face across the room: sat down at the booth at the other side of the coffeeshop. It was George's booth, but more than that, it was theirs too.

"Thought you might not be coming in the end." Matty gave way to a breathy giggle as George approached, sitting himself down opposite them. They were nervous - the kind of nervous that had George plagued with guilt; the kind of nervous he thought that Matty ought not to be, but, of course George had no right to decide that.

"Don't be stupid." George shook his head, pressing his head into his hand, as he rested his elbow down onto the table.

Matty flashed him a smile. "You are late." They crossed their arms across their chest.

George shrugged. "Five minutes." He buried his smile into the palm of his hand.

"Still..." Matty leaned back against the sofa, resorting to just watching George for a second: contemplating all that remained unspoken.

"We're okay..." Matty dragged their words out: slow and tentative. Still lost up in that unnatural kind of anxiety that had George's stomach in knots. "Aren't we?"

"Course." George gave them a nod, pulling his hand away from his face, and doing all he could to look at Matty properly.

"I missed you." Matty bit their lip, holding in their whole world as they looked across at George. Because suddenly, that Monday evening, it was like everything all over again. Like the first time, like the same innocent smiles.

"I missed you too." George told him. Not just because he felt like he ought to. But because he meant it.

And then, as the silence dragged on, and gazes remained locked away and so very contemplative, George finally brought his head to their letters, to everything written down - everything they couldn't quite bring themselves to say out loud.

"You're pink, by the way." George began, blushing slightly.

"What?" Matty met him with a look of confusion, moving his hands up to his cheeks.

"Not... like that..." George trailed off. "In your letter... when you asked me, what colour you were." He continued to elaborate: voice slower than usual. "You're pink. A soft, warm pink. Like the sunset." He pulled his gaze towards the window.

Matty blushed like an idiot. "Fuck off." They buried their head into their hands, fingers pulling away from their eyes momentarily, just to catch sight of the sky.

"What?" George grinned, leaning back in his seat.

"Shut up." Matty grinned, finally pulling their hands away from their face. "That's such a lie."

"It's not." George uttered, voice growing softer; he meant it.

Matty glanced back up at the sky and shook their head. "In what way am I like that?"

George bit back a 'because you're beautiful' and shrugged. "I'd have to get really sappy to explain. And neither of really want that, do we?"

Matty snorted. "You're an idiot."

George couldn't help but agree, sitting for a moment, before meeting Matty with an inquisitive look to his eyes. "Why am I gold, though?"

"I'd have to get even sappier." Matty assured him, leaning back in their seat. "Trust me."

George struggled to bite back a smile.

"Gold like what though? I gave you the sunset. What am I? Gold like a rusty pound coin, the wrapper of a Lidl's own brand chocolate easter bunny, a tub of kids' craft glitter-"

"Gold like the sun." Matty cut in, shutting him up. "You idiot. I'm not looking at someone and thinking, oh yeah, they proper remind me of a chocolate easter bunny-"

"The sun isn't gold." George folded his arms across his chest. "It's fucking yellow."

"Yeah, but telling someone they remind you of a colossal burning sphere of gas doesn't sound anywhere near as nice, does it?" Matty rolled their eyes, because George was an idiot - he really was.

"Then why did you say I was?" George laughed, almost desperate to prove a point.

Matty let out a groan. "Okay, maybe not the sun itself, alright? But like..." They trailed off, thinking for a moment. "But like summer. The summer sun, and everything is warm and golden, and you feel happy, and you feel safe, and you feel alive."

Matty dragged their gaze down to the floor. "Told you I'd get sappy, didn't I?"

George's cheeks were the brightest red of all. "You did."

Matty bit at their fingernails, just watching George for a moment. Because that had felt an awful lot like flirting. And maybe things were a bit different now. But it had felt right. It had felt okay.

"I need to fix things with Gemma." Matty announced out of the silence, one leg brought up to their chest.

George nodded, pulling his head back to reality. "She misses you, you know?"

Matty shrugged: not entirely convinced that was true. "She's probably glad she's not had to deal with me moping and crying every time something goes wrong in my life for two weeks."

"Shut up." George shook his head. "You're lovely, and trust me, you're very easy to miss."

Matty groaned, burying their head in their hands. "Shut up, please." They pulled away, meeting George with a nervous smile, and all kinds of butterflies trapped in their stomach. "But is it just weird, to suddenly pop round her place, like sorry about like, being a dickhead, by the way I've changed my mind about my gender again, but I finally told George about it, so like... please accept me back into your life."

"Call her." George suggested. "Call her first. Just be honest. She kind of stepped out of line as well, I mean, I think... I think you both should be alright with each other - I mean, you're best friends, and you have been for years, is two weeks of being bitter going to change that?"

Matty looked up at George like he was the answer to everything and anything at all. "Thanks." He smiled. "Not to sound weird, but... like... when you say things, they just make sense, you know? Like... I don't know why, but just the fact that it's you like... helps."

"It's you getting stuck up in your own head, isn't it?" George filled in the gaps, not wanting to put the credit entirely onto himself. "I'm glad to help, honestly. Even if I don't really feel like I am."

"You are." Matty assured him, biting their lip. "I call her tomorrow. I'll sort it tomorrow. Make sure I do, like actually come and yell at me if I don't, I mean it."

George laughed, just watching Matty for a moment, and just letting himself be so utterly enthralled by them. "Alright. Promise."

And Matty sat for a moment, and looked at George and bit back everything inside. Just until they couldn't anymore. Until everything came out with little regard for sense or rationality. "That girl. You went off with. At the party."

"Yeah...?" George trailed off: dragging a breath straight from his lungs as if it was all so forced.

"She was... she wasn't... like... blonde... with like..." George shook his head, leaving Matty to trail off, biting their lip.

"She wasn't. Dark hair." He decided against detailing just how much she had looked like them. "Why?"

"I remembered whose party it was in the end." Matty gave way to a sigh. "You know, cause of the yearbook, and that... that fucked with my head a bit. Like... I didn't want to revisit some... old memories... and... I didn't want... shit like... someone from school seeing me like that... as... I don't know... I make out like I don't care, but I do... and then... the house sort of seemed too familiar - like something I'd tried to forget, but I was too drunk to place it, and then... I figured it out."

"Who's was it?" George watched the oddly startled look in Matty's eyes for a good moment before speaking.

"Uhh... This girl... blonde hair, blue eyes, kind of so conventionally pretty that it's just boring." Matty trailed off, twirling a strand of hair around their finger. "Her name's Sarah. My first like proper girlfriend and that... thought it might be a bit awkward, if suddenly I'm there looking prettier than her, and like, especially if she sucked your dick, because-"

"Looking prettier than her." George scoffed, but really he didn't doubt that Matty was right.

"She was kind of bad at sucking dick. I mean, at sixteen, at least, maybe she's improved now, but..." Matty trailed off. "It's been bothering me. Even if you just kissed her. She caused... a lot of shit... that... I don't want to revisit, I guess."

"That's fair." George nodded, watching Matty for a moment. "And I mean, the girl... she like walked out instantly, because I was like seconds away from puking everywhere. It was hardly romantic."

Matty snorted - that made them feel significantly better with themself. "You know? What's funny, though. Fucking Sarah, my first and only proper girlfriend..." Matty rolled their eyes. "You know why she broke up with me? Because she thought I was secretly gay."

George grinned. "Oh."

"And I mean, she wasn't wrong- just..." Matty shook their head. "That fucked with my head at sixteen. It fucked with... quite a lot... at sixteen... And I didn't want her to see me again and get the satisfaction of knowing that she was right."

George snorted, rolling his eyes. "You really are a petty fuck, aren't you?"

"The pettiest, of course." Matty grinned back, burying old memories with the sunset: leaving them to rot away with the sun, so far out of view.

And as the last rays of sunlight began to fade away, the sky burned with shades of pink and gold intertwined with one another, as if they might just stretch out like that forever.

-

"It's a peace offering."

Matty thrusted the bottle of Tesco everyday value vodka into her hands the very moment she opened her front door.

Gemma paused for a moment: staring, wide eyed, between Matty and the bottle that had almost been forced into her grip. She blinked. And looked between the two again - not entirely convinced that either of them were actually there.

"You can take it and close the door on me, or you can take it and accept it as my sincere apology for being a dickhead and wanting to fix things between us, or you could like just smash the bottle over my head or something." Matty offered her a tentative kind of grin. "I've really covered all bases here."

Gemma didn't say anything. She just looked back down at the bottle of vodka, and then back up at Matty.

"It was George's idea, really. The peace offering. He didn't quite think that, you know, vodka was the best idea, but like... you like vodka. I like vodka. So it represents our friendship. And you make stupid mistakes when you're pissed on vodka, so it represents the argument. It's bitter and fucking foul like me, but it's surprisingly comforting and I need it in my life like you." Matty eased it all over with an over confident smile.

Gemma had never quite imagine she'd ever open her front door and find Matty waxing poetic about their almost symbiotic love for her and vodka.

"George wanted me to get you chocolate or something. He's so sweet, isn't he?" Matty gave way to a grin. "Who does he think I am, though? Fucking, easter bunny or something, like going around giving people free chocolate, like, here's some cheap shitty vodka, I care about you, but I work minimum wage, and I'm not a fucking charity."

Gemma snorted. She couldn't help herself. "You fucking idiot. Fucking hell, I'd thought I fucked up. I've missed you, you know?"

She reached forward and pulled Matty into a hug. Matty wondered if they had ever felt quite so warm over the past few weeks.

Gemma felt safe. Gemma's arms around them in the hallway brought them back to better times, to when they had been happy, when things had been better - easy, even.

And as Gemma lead them into the kitchen, setting the vodka down onto the countertop, Matty felt fifteen again - getting properly drunk for the first time, and being so giddy and overexcited about it all, with drink they'd snagged off their parents, and consequences they'd come to face in time. But in that moment, it didn't matter. Nothing did. Matty thought, just for a moment, that they might give everything just to live in that world again.

"I'm sorry too." Gemma finally addressed them properly, turning to face Matty for a moment after she'd reached for two shot glasses, setting them down beside the vodka.

Matty eyed the glasses cautiously. "You want to get pissed?"

"Matty, you bought me vodka - what else are we going to do? If you want us to get all soppy sentimental, maybe you should have listened to George and brought me chocolate instead."

Matty pulled a smile over their lips, running a hand back through their hair, and just watching Gemma for a moment, because really a lot had happened in their time apart from each other.

It felt stupid, really. How quickly everything slotted back together, and how Gemma had just accepted them with, quite literally, open arms. Matty wondered, in fact, if maybe they did just need that distance - that space from each other, to grow a bit more independent and deal with their own shit. But still, there was a lot unspoken, and a lot that vodka could help them get off their mind.

"We're good now, though, aren't we?" Matty followed Gemma into her room, speaking almost nervously, as if a part of them was so very terrified of the response. "Like... forget all that... mess... and everything. We're still best friends?"

"Don't be stupid, Matty." Gemma rolled her eyes, leading the way into her room. "Course we are. I mean, come on, you fucked Ryan and we're still fine, we had a bit of a mess of an argument, but we're still fine."

"I think we just needed some space." Matty concluded, sitting themself down on the rug, shot glass between their legs. "I think... as much as I have missed you... past two weeks have been good for me... I mean... mostly. There's been a bit of a mess as well... I mean... fuck..."

"Yeah." Gemma couldn't help but agree, sitting down opposite them. "I met this guy, you see. And he's nice. Like properly nice, not just, nice to me. Like there's a difference, isn't there?" Matty nodded: knowing all too well. "And things are going well, you know? He's nice. His name's Oliver."

Matty met her with a smile. "Can I meet him? Or are you worried I'm going to fuck him as well?"

"No." Gemma leaned back against the wall: all too confident. "You're far too smitten with George to do that."

Matty's eyes widened: reckoning that now, it had to be anything but the case.

"You've been here? What? Five minutes? Ten? At most. And half the time, you've been on about him." Gemma grinned. "It's sweet though, really. Did you spend a lot of time with him? How are you two doing?"

Matty stopped for a moment. "It's going well. It's going probably the best it ever could, you know? Because we're not together, and that's fine, because it's not about like... hopping on his dick, or something. Because it's more than that. And really, I think I've just figured a lot out about myself recently... I mean..."

Gemma eyed them carefully. "What's happened?" She leaned forward, almost in disbelief. "Seriously, what's happened? There's something different."

"Yeah." Matty gave way to a laugh: nervous at best. "There's quite a lot different. I mean, for a start... I'm... I figured out my gender... again." They met Gemma with a hopeful smile. "Sorry. I know it's a mess, but I think. I think I settled on being a girl more to please other people, but this, this is to please myself. And I think that's important."

Matty paused for a moment, watching the concern grow in Gemma's eyes, and noting how the first time now, she wasn't the first person to know. "So, I'm genderqueer." They met her eyes. "So... like... a 'they' not a 'she'. But like... I'm still, as you can see, comfortable with femininity." Matty gave way to a laugh, looking down at the skirt they had on. "Just... I didn't quite know how to express it."

"I'm proud of you." Gemma meant their eyes with all the honesty in their world. "Immensely. Just want you to be happy, alright? And if this really does fit, then I'm glad."

"Just feel like I'm being a bit annoying about it like... I might as well have been every gender by now." Matty groaned, pouring themself a shot. "But that's okay, because it's... it's not about what makes other people comfortable, it's about what makes me comfortable."

"Yeah." Gemma offered them a nod. "It is."

Matty downed the shot. "Louis told me that. He's clever he is, especially for thirteen. More than I give him credit for."

"Wait..." Gemma's eyes grew wide. "Did you come out to him?"

Matty nodded, unable to bite back a smile. "About my gender and my sexuality. Not at the same time. That would have been a bit much, but he practically guessed my sexuality anyway, I mean... it was weird, he was just so nice about everything, like even though, he kind of didn't really fully grasp what my gender meant, he's still trying. He's lovely, honestly."

"I'm so proud of you." Gemma just looked at Matty, unable to quite take in all that had changed in the past two weeks.

"And I told George as well." Matty added, pulling their gaze away. "And I nearly shat myself. But it was okay, because he's George, and he's the loveliest person in the world so of course it was. I just... I guess it got to the point where I had to. And I guess that was what changed. Being honest with George, you know? About things."

"So I'm like the last to know?" Gemma narrowed her eyes, almost offended. "Well, third, really, but-"

"No, George's friends know too." Matty supplied, just to be unhelpful. "They're all really nice, and I do feel like sometimes some of them look at me like I'm a bit of a charity case, but they're lovely, and George is lovely, and I'm... I'm like... happy... now."

"That's what's important." Gemma nodded, downing her shot.

"But... I feel like people really do treat you differently, like, after I came out, like... I don't know. George looks at me differently now, not differently, but like he's let himself. Now he knows I'm not a boy, like he's letting himself be attractive to me. And as nice as it is, I don't want to be objectified, you know? Like I'm not wearing a short skirt for someone to spend a whole evening staring at my thighs, because I used to think that was nice, that I liked that, but it's not... it's not good at all, and I shouldn't let people treat me like that."

"George... is?" Gemma trailed off, eyes growing wide. "Wait is George being a dick to you."

"No." Matty shook their head. "We were both too drunk. And it was a bit of a mess. He's just... dealing with things I guess, I think this is him finally realising that maybe he's not entirely straight, and I'm going to leave him to deal with that in his own time, you know? Because I feel like it's reached this point, where we both like each other, and we both know that we do, but we're not going to do anything about it, you know? Not yet. But, like, that's okay. Because it doesn't need to happen like instantly, you know, because it's not like, it's going to be next week and I won't want to kiss him anymore. Like... it's going to happen when it happens. It's going to happen when it should."

"You've been thinking a lot, haven't you?" Matty didn't even have to answer that one for Gemma to know that it was true.

"Not really, just... there's been a lot of things. There's been a lot of people." Matty trailed off, biting their fingernails. "I had this boyfriend, you know? For like a few weeks, a little while back. I never told you about him, because I knew you would tell me to dump him instantly, that he was bad for me and manipulative, because he was. And I always knew that. I just didn't want to deal with it."

"Matty..." Gemma's eyes grew wide.

"I thought I was happy, you know?" Their voice grew quieter. "It's fucking absurd. Looking back, looking back at that and knowing that I thought wholeheartedly that it was the happiest I'd ever be. But he told me that a lot. He wanted me to think that. He was a dick, he was. His name's Charlie. I don't know if I should hate him, though, because still, he's just a person."

"Matty... that's like... emotional abuse-"

"But he called me 'she', he accepted me as a girl, and that was enough. Because I needed someone to do that for me. I needed to feel validated. That was that was about. But then it all turned sour, because of course it would. And I broke up with him, and that morning, I honestly, I think it's the bravest I've been in my life. Because there was a moment that morning when he snapped, and just... punched the wall, and like... I still can't stop thinking about it now, like that could have been me-"

"Fucking hell-"

"It was a good thing in the end." Matty decided, for the risk of sounding just a little bit absurd. "Just hear me out, alright? Because it got me here. It got me to realise that I'm worth something. I'm worth more than fucking boys that'll snap like that for no reason. I shouldn't be used, and I shouldn't believe everyone who tells me they love me. And that's important."

"You should have told me." Gemma insisted, eyes growing wider by the minute.

"I should have." Matty shrugged, pulling their gaze away. "But I didn't. And I can't change that, you know? It shaped me in the end, so it wasn't like it didn't mean anything at all."

"Still, you shouldn't have had to go through that-"

"I've already heard that all from George, alright? The whole, 'I'll fucking kill him speech'" Matty snorted. "It's okay. I get it. But I'm alright."

"Sorry." Gemma bit her lip, leaving herself to think for a moment. "He loves you. George." She looked up at Matty. "You'd believe him, wouldn't you?"

Matty hesitated for a moment. "I don't know."

Gemma looked at them as if they were mad.

"At this party. We went along to this party. And I got him drunk even though he didn't want me to, but we got absolutely pissed, and things got messy and we had a little argument, not a real fight, just a tiff, or something like that. But he went off with some girl. She sucked him off in the bathroom. Fucking epitome of romance, that. But it hurt, you know? I know we're not-... it hurt."

"Talk to him." Gemma stressed like it was the most important thing in the world.

"I did." Matty smiled, blushing a little. "We're good. I mean, we both did some shitty things, but we're okay, and you know? That's why I don't want to rush into anything? Maybe things will happen, maybe they won't. But if they do it's because they should, and if they don't, it's because they shouldn't."

Gemma wasn't sure she was entirely convinced of that - the whole putting your life into fate's hands thing. But still, she smiled and she nodded.

And that night, they sat together and got far too drunk to care about right and wrong, and whether Matty really did have their entire world sorted out or not, and if not, whether they ever really would. And if that - the not knowing - was really just so much more than okay in the end.

-

"No, George, I think the exact words you used were 'I didn't like it because it wasn't Matty'."

George buried his head in his hands; Ross was right, after all.

"So you are. Quite a bit in love with them, don't you think?" Ross' voice continued, oddly soothing from down the phone. George wondered if it was just down to the fact that he spoke like he had all the answers, and perhaps that was the kind of guidance George needed at that moment.

"What do I do about that, though?" George trailed off, biting at his fingernails as he cast his gaze across his bedroom walls, settling on one very particular photograph. The one of him and Matty, of course.

"Being in love with them?" Ross asked, finding it odd that George had actually finally come to accept what he was saying.

"My sexuality." George finished for him. He let out a sigh, stretching his legs out across his bed and getting to his feet.

"You don't really have to. I mean..." Ross thought for a moment. "I didn't really do anything, like... when I realised I was gay. I didn't like suddenly wake up from the middle of a deep sleep with an uncontrollable urge to go and suck a dick, or anything like that."

George snorted. He stopped for a moment, finding himself stood before the photograph. The one Matty had taken. He stood - just looking. Looking at the two of them like that, together. The photograph itself seemed to radiate an essence of peacefulness and safety. Even as his fingers brushed over the corner, a sudden warmth shot through his veins.

"So like... I mean... I knew I was gay, like... I mean, I sort of always figured something was up, and then there was kind of an 'oh shit' moment where everything just made sense. And it was like... eleven at night like two years ago, and I was sort of just laid in bed like 'oh shit, I'm gay'. And then I... I just went to sleep. Like... I didn't magically transform into a human rainbow or something. I just went to sleep, and I got up again in the morning and went to school. And it was kind of funny really, because I'd actually managed to forget. Until like... maths class, and there was this guy that I thought was cute, and then I made eye contact with him, and then. Then I was kind of like 'oh shit'. And like, I couldn't really concentrate on maths very well after that, but I didn't necessarily do anything."

George smiled, forcing his fingers away from the photograph. "You never told me that, you know?"

"You never asked." Ross supplied, his voice trailing off a little way. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you, it's just that I assumed you really weren't that interested, seeing as you're straight."

"But I'm not straight." George concluded, turning away from the photograph and placing his back against the wall.

"Oh?" Ross' eyes grew wide; George had somehow neglected to share such a conclusion with him, or well, anyone.

"I've had some more thoughts." George continued, biting at his lip. "And I don't think they're really thoughts that straight people have."

"Oh..." Ross struggled to remain entirely composed.

"Because it's a bit different with Matty, isn't it? Like... since they're genderqueer. Like... if I was to date Matty- hypothetically. Would that be a gay or a straight relationship?"

Ross couldn't quite figure as to whether the question was intended to be rhetorical or not. "That'd be something to ask them, really. What they would feel most comfortable-"

"It's not either, though." George cut into Ross' sentence, sounding oddly sure of himself. "It's just a relationship. So I stopped thinking about that, you know?"

"Alright..." Ross trailed off: not quite managing to follow George's point here.

"But Matty's got a dick." George continued, voice quieter than before. "And it's... I shouldn't put them down to their dick, because I know they wouldn't like that, but. If I... hypothetically... I..." George stopped himself. "I'm not really sure about other people with dicks, but... Matty... and Matty's dick... that's something I'd be okay with... happy with... you know?"

"George." Ross let out a groan - desperate to save himself from any kind of oversharing that George might have been inclined to do.

"I think it's more about the person, not the dick." George concluded, pausing for a moment. "More about the person in general, than what they've got between their legs. And I think it's just chance that I've just been with girls before. And I think... in general, that's a very... non-heterosexual way to think about things."

"So, you're like bi, or pan, or something like that?" Ross was rather relieved than George had finally been able to come to a conclusion with this, and had still spared him a full description of his feelings regarding Matty's dick.

"I don't know." George laughed, lips curving up into a grin.

"So... do you want to do something about that?" Ross thought for a moment. "Because I mean, you've basically come out to me, now. So you've done something. I never came out to anyone for months-"

"I'm in a bit of a different situation, though, aren't I?" George gave way to a grin.

"Yeah, I reckon." And then before Ross could quite think of what else to say, the worst idea had already planted itself firmly into George's mind.

"I'm gonna go and see Matty."

Ross practically choked on thin air. "You're g-"

"Yeah. Got something to say, haven't I?" George's smile took little time in curving up into a grin. "I'll text you later. Bye."

And for the few minutes that followed, as the silence closed in, Ross just stared at his phone - dumbfounded, beyond belief. And if anything, just overly eager to try and contemplate just what kind of text he'd possibly receive from George that evening.

-

Matty answered the door covered entirely in an old tatty blanket - wrapped around them like it was a cocoon. Their hair was sticking out from under the blanket slightly: sticking up wildly, and falling all over the place. Their face was an unpleasant shade of pale, looking the kind of sick that worried George enough to stop him from even asking just why Matty was cocooned up in a blanket at four in the afternoon.

"Fuck..." Matty's jaw tumbled from their mouth the very moment they realised that it was indeed George stood before them. "Sorry, I-"

"Hey..." George stepped forward, eyeing Matty carefully. "Are you sick or something?"

Matty shook their head. "No, just really hungover." They glanced up at George, blushing a bright shade of red, and really they couldn't help themself, because really, they were well aware as to how much of an idiot they looked.

"Do you want me to leave you to get some sleep?" George smiled, glancing down at Matty's blanket.

Matty thought for a moment, but then shook their head. "No. You came over for a reason - I'm guessing. And I'm bored, and lonely, and I want someone else to make me a cup of tea, in the midst of my life threatening illness.

George rolled his eyes, but closed the door behind himself regardless. "Such a drama queen, you."

"Shut up." Matty rolled their eyes. "I'm not. I am deathly sick." They added, just for the sake of it.

George wasn't convinced. But smiled at them regardless. "Alright, you go and lie down and be so very ill, while I make you that cup of tea."

Matty met George with a smile, before stumbling back into the living room and throwing themself back down onto the sofa. Matty spread the blanket back out and stared up at the ceiling - contemplating life, the universe, their current situation, and how nice George's back was - the usual.

George returned just two minutes later, with a cup of tea for the both of them, and a plate of biscuits, because there just wasn't a doubt that chocolate digestives could solve anything.

"So what happened, then?" George inquired, sitting himself down on the very end of the sofa, moving Matty's feet out of the way to allow himself to do so. "Last night."

Matty groaned, pulling themself up, as they turned to face George. "I sorted things with Gemma."

"Oh-" George wasn't quite sure how that had lead them to such a state.

"That involved a lot of vodka, and then a lot of wine. And then it's two in the morning and we're sat in her kitchen trying to make cupcakes when we're absolutely hammered." Matty moved closer to George. "Really, I can't remember the most of it. But they were shit cupcakes. I think we put vodka in them for some reason."

George snorted. "You're an idiot, you are."

Matty pushed their head into George's lap. "You're so very charming, you are."

"I made you tea." George protested, getting a little red in the face - not that it could possibly have anything to do with Matty's head in his lap, at all.

"You did." Matty agreed, kicking the blanket off of their legs and down onto the other end of the sofa. "Thank you." They added, sitting up again, and reaching for one of the biscuits George had set out onto a plate. "You're an angel, really."

And then, George properly blushed: so hard that his entire face turned bright red, and he had to bite down onto his bottom lip to keep himself from exploding.

Miraculously, Matty hadn't seemed to have noticed; they were, instead, awfully enthralled with the biscuits George had set out for them.

It was then, however, that George's eyes drifted downwards, and really came to notice that it didn't look like Matty was wearing anymore than a t-shirt. In their defense, it was a long t-shirt: covering the majority of their thighs, but, it was still just a t-shirt. And it was still doing things to George's heart. Perhaps the same kind of non-heterosexual things that he had spoken to Ross about earlier.

He contemplated his situation for a moment - how he'd come over, confident that he had a firm grasp on his life and his head. And then all that it had taken to shatter that was Matty, sat there beside him - hungover, in just a t-shirt.

By the time George had found himself back in reality, Matty had scoffed the most of the biscuits, and taken his tea in hand, curling up almost neatly beside him.

"You alright?" George asked him, following their distant gaze out across the living room.

Matty gave a nod, pressing their head against George's bicep.

"Just tired, and shitty. But I'm probably not going to throw up now, so that's good, because I don't think you'd like me very much if I puked all over your lap." Matty grinned, glancing down at George's lap as they spoke. And George laughed along too, even though he knew it wasn't true.

"And what about you?" Matty continued, pressing a finger into George's arm insistently. "Why did you come over in the first place? I mean, apart from, just to see me - I mean, why wouldn't you, but-"

George shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to bother you with it now." He reached a hand to Matty's head, twirling a curl around his finger.

"It's not a bother." Matty insisted, leaning into George's touch. "Tell me. Please. I'm guessing it had to be important for you to come running over to tell me."

George shrugged, contemplating opening his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the slam of the front door, and Matty's heart pounding in their chest - so much so that George could feel it from where they were pressed together.

"Who's-" George didn't quite manage to get the words out of his mouth, before Matty stumbled to their feet, rushing to the living room door.

"Hey... uhh..." Matty pushed the door open slightly, leaving George, sat on the sofa, and quite unaware as to quite who stood in the hallway.

"What's going on?" The voice that answered Matty was rather blunt - that was evident, even through the wall.

"Nothing." Matty insisted, cheeks turning red. "Just-... sort of..."

The living room door was pushed open. George stared across the room at a younger boy, just a little shorter than Matty, but bearing all the same features; this had to be their brother.

George wasn't quite sure why, but he found his stomach flipping in his chest, as he got to his feet, feeling rather like he was taking up entirely too much space in the room, as he glanced anxiously between Matty and Louis.

Louis' eyes widened, but he didn't comment upon the situation. He simply glanced once more between Matty and George, before he dumped his school bag down in the corner, and crossed the living room towards the kitchen.

Matty remained almost entirely frozen until Louis was safely behind the kitchen door. In that moment, they turned to George: a whole new world of emotion seeming to have collected up in their eyes as they faced him, and just struggled to think of anything to say.

"That your brother?" George already knew the answer, because found the need to fill the silence.

Matty gave a nod, biting down at their fingernails.

George didn't have time to think of anything else to say, before Louis appeared back in the living room, now with a glass of water in hand.

"So..." Louis took yet another look between Matty and George, before standing with his back to the wall, sipping on his glass of water.

"So?" Matty raised their eyebrows, meeting their brother with an almost challenging kind of look: something the situation demanded.

"So..." Louis turned away from Matty entirely, and instead looked up towards George. "You George, then?"

George's cheeks flushed red. "Yeah." He murmured, shooting a fleeting glance across towards Matty, who was yet to move away from the door.

"Thought so." Louis turned his lips up into a smile. "Would be pretty awkward if you weren't though, wouldn't it?" He cracked a grin. George smiled more out of courtesy than anything else. And Matty stood there, wanting to die.

"You done?" Matty raised their eyebrows, meeting Louis with a sterner look to their eyes. "Didn't realise you had to interrogate every one of my friends-"

"I've barely said three words to him." Louis folded his arms across his chest. "I was just making conversation, you know? If I was interrogating him, I'd probably start with asking just what you two were doing in here before I got home, especially since you're hardly wearing any clothes."

"I..." George's words were clumsy at best: unsure of quite what he could say for himself.

Matty cheeks burned an incarcerating shade of red; if Louis had given them ample time to explain themself, Matty doubted they were even in much of a situation to do so.

"But I'm not interrogating him." Louis offered George a smile. "So, I'm not going to ask, I'm going to mind my own business."

George took one moment just to allow himself to wonder just what Matty could have possibly said to Louis about him that would leave such an impression.

"It's not..." Matty trailed off: overcompensating for the silence with hand gestures. "I'm ill, you know? And George was here to... look after me."

"You're hungover." Louis' lips twitched up into a smirk. "I'm not an idiot."

"Fuck- is it obvious?" Matty grew even paler than they already were.

Louis shrugged, taking a moment to consider their situation. "You mean does mum know?" Matty couldn't help but nod. "You know she would have yelled at you for calling into work if you weren't actually ill."

"For your information." Matty folded their arms across their chest. "I have thrown up three times today." They even went as far as to hold up three of their fingers in emphasis. "Not actually ill - fuck off."

George couldn't help but snort. "Your own fault though, isn't it?"

Louis raised his eyebrows in George's direction. "Exactly."

"Oh fuck off." Matty uttered without the slightest ounce of conviction in the world.

George grinned across at them. "It is though."

"Whatever you say." Matty rolled their eyes and pushed the door open, glancing back at George just once before making their way through the door and up the stairs.

George stood for a moment - somehow hesitant to follow Matty upstairs. For a brief moment, he glanced across at Louis, and for that brief moment, the two of them shared a look, in which little short of the whole world was conveyed.

And as George reached the door, Louis stopped him with a sudden comment: perhaps even taking the both of them by surprise.

"Don't fuck up, you know?" Louis bit his lip: a little unsure as to quite how to phrase his words. "Don't take advantage of them. Don't be a dickhead. Alright?"

George pulled his lips up into a smile, finding the situation awfully sweet. "Alright. Promise." But despite the humour he found in the situation, there just wasn't an ounce of doubt in his words.

-

"That was horrifying." Matty declared: sprawled out across their bed, the very moment George walked into their room.

George struggled to subdue a grin, sitting himself down at Matty's feet. "Why? He seems nice. Cares about, you know? A lot."

"What do you mean?" Matty didn't doubt the truth behind that, just struggled to see quite where George had extracted it from.

"What he said to me, after you'd gone." George lowered his voice slightly. "About not being a dickhead to you." He hesitated before he quite managed to continue. "He wasn't interrogating me, either. I think you were being a bit harsh on him, not to sound like a dickhead, or anything."

Matty let out a groan, burying their head into their pillow. "It was just... awkward. You know... especially... when he was like... asking you if you were George... and..." Matty's face only grew more red by the second.

"And?" George cracked a smile, meeting Matty's gaze with all the adoration in the world. "What have you said to him about me? Been talking shit?" George raised his eyebrows, meeting Matty with a smirk.

"Shut up." Matty let out a groan, kicking at George with his feet. "You know I've not got one bad word to say about you in the whole world."

"That's such a fucking lie." George couldn't help but snort, grin almost glued to his face.

"It's not." Matty insisted: half as loud as before, but uttered with twice the sincerity.

"You called me an idiot, what? Fifteen minutes ago?" George fell into a laugh, moving over to the other side of the bed, and sitting himself down adjacent to Matty.

"Didn't mean it, though." Matty sat up a little, pushing their head against George's side. "I didn't tell him anything bad about you."

"Then why are you so embarrassed?" George, unbelievably, still hadn't quite gotten it.

"Got all soppy about you, didn't I?" Matty attempted to discard the merit of their words with a dash of self-deprecation - it didn't even come close to working.

George's eyes grew wide, yet seconds later, he was unable to stop the laughter.

"What?" Matty moaned, pressing their head into George's arm, almost just to be petty.

"To your thirteen year old brother?" George struggled to quite imagine how that conversation could have possibly gone down. "Just sat down with him like, there's this guy called George, and he's like really tall, and really handsome, and really amazing, and... like really angelic, and all that."

"Nah." Matty glanced up at George like he was mad. "I was a bit more eloquent about it than that."

George rolled his eyes: unable to gauge just how serious Matty was being. "Whatever it is, I'm not fussed, alright? Like you could have told him how much of a bellend I am, because it's true, isn't it? I was a bit of a bellend to you. So that's fair, isn't it? For you to express that opinion."

Matty nodded along in pacified agreement, pretending that they hadn't, in fact, detailed to Louis just how in love with George they were. Because maybe things were easier to deal with that way.

"You were going to say..." Matty was quick to draw the conversation away from the subject - instead drawing it back to the question that had left their lips just before Louis had arrived home. "About why you came."

"Oh..." George's cheeks flushed red. Matty eyed him wordlessly. "I was, yeah."

Matty offered him a nod, getting to their feet, and pushing open the window above their bed. George was left to watch as Matty stumbled around their room in search of their jacket, rummaging through the pockets, and eventually retrieving a packet of cigarettes. With the cigarettes in hand, Matty returned to the bed, a sense of pride and accomplishment slathered across their face.

As Matty positioned themself beneath the window, opening the packet of cigarettes, George rolled his eyes, placing a lighter into their hands.

"Oh..." Matty blushed, looking down at the lighter. "Thanks." They offered, lighting a cigarette, before pressing the lighter back into George's hands, along with the packet of cigarettes. "Have one."

"Alright." George sounded much less enthusiastic about the prospect than he was; his mind unable to stray awfully far off the subject of what had initially brought him to Matty's.

"It's something you don't really want to talk about, isn't it?" Matty gathered, watching as George lit himself a cigarette. He gave a nod. "You can have more than one. If you need to. It's alright."

And they sat there, faced towards each other, with all the peace and calm in the world, sharing cigarettes like they were petty childhood secrets, and they were once again, bright-eyed, over-curious children - with so much hope for the world, the kind of hope you couldn't quite find in the butt of a cigarette. But with every smile shared, they felt like that again: young, innocent, and in love, not just with each other, but with the world again.

But then, the silence ended, as the afternoon skies darkened, and the secrets they kept didn't remain quite as petty anymore.

"How did you know you weren't straight?"

George was overly soft-spoken, words leaving his lips with a well merited hesitance. To put it simply, he was nervous, attempting to ball up every part of himself inside of his bones.

Matty seemed to entirely freeze for a moment, cigarette dropping ash down onto their thighs. And even as their skin burned with the impact, their eyes remained glassed over, struggling to deal with quite what this could mean, quite what this could bring forth, and in turn, the time they'd have to delve back into.

"Got fucked in the ass and liked it." Matty at first opted for nonchalance, for the first answer that came into their mind: desperate to brush this off, and over everything else, quite unable to look George in the eye.

George grinned, stifling a laughter. "Well, yeah, I guess, but..." He trailed off: unsure if there was a better way to phrase it. "But like... I mean, you didn't just go and get fucked in the ass in the first place, for like, the sake of it. How did you like... start to... know?"

Matty bit their lip, digging their fingernails down into the pale skin of their thigh. "Are you really interested in... the story? Because it's... a mess, honestly. Or do you just...?" Matty trailed off, meeting George with a rather blunt look in their eyes. "What do you want out of this, George?"

Truthfully, George didn't quite know how to answer that question.

"I want..." He trailed off. "I want to know, how you figured out you weren't straight. How it all started. What you thought. And when you knew."

"Because it's a..." Matty was perhaps overly hesitant, but with good reason. "It's a long... kind of complicated story, and... if you just want to figure out if you're straight or not, you can just kiss me or whatever. And that'd take like ten seconds."

George's heart skipped a beat. But his mind caught hold of him before it was too late.

"You can kiss anyone and like it. They just have to be a good kisser." George shrugged, playing it off as if he was significantly less affected by Matty's offer than he was. "I'm talking about like... properly. Emotionally, and physically, and everything."

"Then fuck it, we're probably going to need another pack of cigarettes." Matty's voice was blunt, perhaps overly so.

George met them with a smile, and produced another packet from his inside pocket.

Matty couldn't subdue their grin. "You're amazing, you are. Honestly. I mean that."

George let his cheeks turn red, as Matty parted their lips, and cast their mind back over to years gone by.

"You know... Sarah...? That girl-" Matty began at the only place they could think to. It wasn't the most comfortable of situations and not something they really wanted to ever explain to anyone. But George was just different somehow.

"Your first girlfriend?" George drew his mind back to the conversation they'd had at the coffeeshop. "The one who thought you were secretly gay? The one whose house the party was at?"

"Yeah." Matty nodded, inhaling deeply before continuing. "Well so, she decided that I was secretly gay, and that was a bit... well... I was sixteen and like it kind of fucked with my head, didn't it? I mean, I knew I thought I wasn't gay, like you never... like you always just assume that you couldn't possibly be anything more than straight. And I thought I was even comfortable with that, but then it kind of went around, you know?"

"What that she thought you were gay?" George moved closer to Matty instinctively: trying so very hard to protect them, even from the past.

"No. She went around and told everyone that I was gay. Well, not everyone. But she bitched to her friends about it, and about me, and of course, it went around. We were in school - what else was going to happen? And I got shit for it, and I wasn't really that fussed, because it was just gossip, just jokes, really. And I went around at parties kissing every girl I could - just to make a point against it, but then there got to a point where girls just didn't kiss me... just didn't look at me the same anymore, and that was weird. Because I sort of needed to kiss girls... you know?"

George found that he didn't completely understand what it was that Matty was getting at, but nodded along regardlessly.

"And then we were at this party, it was like an end of school kind of thing. Sarah had thrown it, and I really wouldn't have been invited or wanted to go, but it was like the party, like end of exams and everything - everyone went. So I turned up and got a bit drunk, and then..." Matty felt a smile slipping over their lips.

"Then what?" George raised his eyebrows slightly, growing more intrigued with Matty's story by the minute.

"Sarah came over to me. Because of course she did. She was really quite drunk, to be fair, but she was being a bitch. So I told her to fuck off, and she didn't listen, and she looked ready to fucking slap me or something... but then... Gemma. Gemma... who'd had really too much drunk, but lovely, lovely Gemma, who'd always been so nice through all of this, came up and punched her. It was... she wasn't fucking around. She properly... she had a black eye. It was simultaneously terrifying and life changing. And Sarah's friends looked about ready to kill us, but Gemma sort of looked a bit mad that night - she was going through an emo phase at the time, that didn't really help - she looked like she'd really lost it. But no one from school ever said shit to me again. I mean, I never really saw most of them again, but everyone shut the fuck up."

"That's honestly amazing." George's face grew wide into a smile. "I mean... it was shit that everyone was treating you like that in the first place, but, Gemma's amazing, honestly."

"Yeah..." Matty trailed off, voice lowering a little as they drew closer to the part of that night that they were perhaps slightly less than comfortable with recounting. "It was. And then Gemma looked like she was going to throw up, which was slightly less amazing, when I was holding her hair back when she puked her guts up like ten minutes later."

George gave a smile. "We've all been there."

"But then she went to go and get a glass of water, and told me to wait for her there. And I... you know... there are some parts of your memory that are vague and fuzzy, but this whole experience, it's the clearest thing in my mind."

"Usually the bad things that are like that..." George trailed off, watching Matty carefully. "For me, at least."

"I don't know... if this was bad, it was just... very confusing. Because Sarah has this brother, he's like a few years older, I think he was nineteen, maybe twenty. You know, I never really asked." Matty forced out a nervous laugh. "His name's James, and you know? I'd been with Sarah for quite a while, so I knew him sort of vaguely. And like, he knew about all the rumours and everything. And he'd sort of been vaguely about for her party, but not really - he was mostly upstairs in his room, it was the attic, and it was always so cold... and... when Gemma left me there upstairs to wait for her, he came out of nowhere, and dragged me by the wrist and took me upstairs."

Matty's eyes grew wide: the moment frozen perhaps forever in their mind.

"And I was scared, you know? Because I didn't know what was going on, and- but then... he smiled at me. And it was such a stark smile, that seemed to contradict every part of that evening that I don't think I'll ever forget it. But then he kissed me."

"Oh..." George wondered if he ought to have guessed that it was where the story had been going, but still, it had his heart fluttering inside his chest.

"Just pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. Like... properly. I don't think my brain was even working properly, so I didn't really have any concept of time, but it must have lasted at least like a minute or two." Matty hid their face away behind their hands. "And at first I thought he was doing it as a joke, to wind me up or whatever, or like Sarah had told him to or something... but it was like... you don't kiss someone like that for a joke."

"Don't tell me you got revenge by fucking her brother?" George's eyes grew wide with disbelief.

Matty shook their head, blushing. "No, we didn't fuck. We barely even spoke. We stopped kissing, and then just looked at each other for a moment. And then he asked me if I liked it. And I... I didn't really know what was going on in my brain, with emotions, and how drunk I was, and everything, but I said yes. And looking back, I don't know whether that was the truth or not. But he kissed me again. And we just sat up in his room for like an hour... like... kissing."

"So was that when you knew?" George asked, trying to focus on anything other than Matty making out with this guy for so long.

Matty went as far as to laugh at that one. "I knew absolutely fucking nothing that night. Gemma eventually thought I'd been killed or something, so she texted me to ask where I was, because the party had got sort of awkward since she'd punched Sarah, you know? So I told James that she was looking for me, and we said bye, and then I went with Gemma, Amber, and Marika and got pissed in the park instead."

Matty let out a sigh, letting their memory fade out a little way. "I never said anything, you know? I never properly came out to Gemma. I never told her about what happened. We just got drunk and forgot about it."

"How long was it until you told her that you'd kissed him?" George couldn't help but wonder. "What did she say?"

"I never... I never did." Matty admitted, cheeks turning red. "I've never told anyone this story, you know?"

"Oh..." George's eyes grew impossibly wide. "I'm sorry, I-"

"It's fine." Matty breathed a sigh of relief. "I think I need to."

George watched as Matty finished their cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray, and lit themself another.

"I was really confused after that, you know? Because I wasn't gay, and I didn't want to be gay, because you know? I'd gotten so much shit for it, and I was very happy to just avoid everything. Seeing as I could, you know? With school over, and that I never had to see anyone again." Matty shook their head, trailing off. "But one week into summer, James turns up on my doorstep with a smile, and an apology, and the jacket I'd left in his room."

"Quite the romantic." George raised his eyebrows, leaving Matty to only blush further with recollection of the situation. "So... you and him... then... so you did fuck your ex-girlfriend's brother in the end? You're beyond petty, you-"

"No, George." Matty let out a sigh. "We didn't date. We didn't... we just snuck around with each other, and kissed in empty houses, and sometimes spent nights out together, off somewhere else where we wouldn't be recognised. And it was all so fake, and such bullshit, because he was never my boyfriend, but I was sixteen, and confused, and he was my whole world. And I never really... I still never really knew what was going on with my sexuality. I don't think he did either. We never really talked about things like that."

"Really?" George met them with confusion. "Thought it might have come up, you know? Just once?"

"We never really talked about proper things at all. He told me I had pretty eyes and left hickeys down my neck, and bought me scarves to cover them up, and I told him that it was August and that he was an idiot, so I grew my hair out instead. And then he told me that it suited me, that I had pretty eyes, and pretty curls. And he left hickeys down my chest instead. But we never talked. Not really. We only ever talked to fill the silence, not because we had anything really to say."

"You loved him... didn't you?" George's voice was quiet, bitter even.

Matty met him with eyes blown wide, and almost horrified at the prospect. "Where the fuck would you get that from?"

"The way you talk about him." George told them rather simply. "It's okay, you know? You were sixteen and-"

"Stupid." Matty finished for him. "It was a stupid summer. Because he went off to university in the autumn. And I never saw him again. And he's got a nice little girlfriend now, and he can sit around, living his nice little 'heterosexual' life, pretending that summer never happened... but... I guess I did too... because I never said a word of it either."

"Just because he was a dickhead didn't mean you never loved him. And just because he treated you badly doesn't make you wrong for loving him. You were sixteen and-"

"And it took me two years to realise I shouldn't let people treat me like that." Matty snapped, voice growing bitter.

They breathed a sigh, meeting George with pleading apologetic eyes, as they moved to his side, burying their face into his jumper.

"We only fucked once." Matty's voice was quiet, barely even audible: soft and muffled against George's chest. "And that was when I got fucked in the ass and liked it." They managed a snort. "But still, that wasn't when everything made sense. Because I liked that... I liked being fucked, and I gathered from that, that I had to be, just a bit, gay, you know? Because I liked it a lot. And I liked kissing him a lot. And I liked him alot, and-..." Matty gave way to a sigh.

"What?" George prompted for them to continue.

"You're right." Matty bit their lip. "About how I felt about him. I'm not going to say it. But you're right. Course you are."

"That's okay." George assured them, moving a hand to Matty's hair.

"And then I missed him that autumn. And it hurt like fucking hell. But I was too scared to deal with myself or anything until next spring." Matty fell into another sigh. "I never said a word to Gemma, to anyone, and I went out and eventually went back to kissing girls at parties, and no one ever thought I was anything but straight anymore. But it... felt... different. I missed something. I never quite figured out whether it was him I missed, or just being with a guy."

George watched as Matty just sat and thought for a moment: giving them the time to breathe, to be as comfortable with the situation as they could be.

"I was seventeen when I went to a gay club for the first time." Matty eventually continued, voice growing a little hoarse. "And it was all bright lights, and too many drinks. And I was very overwhelmed, and only just seventeen. And maybe it was a bad decision. But I needed to know. You know? About my sexuality. And I couldn't talk to anyone. So I just, I went out... and this guy bought me a drink in the end, and he told me I looked young, and I told him I was eighteen, and he fucked me in the bathroom. It was dirty, disgusting, and uncomfortable. But I felt like I had before again. Like I had that last summer."

Matty bit down on their bottom lip, forcing themself to raise their voice. "So... yeah... got fucked in the ass and liked it. That was when I knew."

"You're brave, you know?" George told him: meaning every word. "Like... you go through so much - so much that you never talk to anyone about, and it's... you're amazing, you know?"

"Alright." Matty rolled their eyes. "Let's not get sappy." George couldn't stop the blush that followed. "But I never... I never used the word 'gay' or... anything... like I never defined my sexuality, and I never really talked about it. Eventually like a few months later I got really drunk and told Gemma about all these guys I'd fucked with. But we never talked about sexuality, nothing properly... like... I never even considered my sexuality until I..."

Matty's eyes grew wide.

'Until I met someone who made me feel that same way again'.

They bit the words back: swallowing them with every ounce of their pride.

"Until recently." Matty explained, tearing their gaze away from George's. "About the time I started questioning my gender. About the time I first saw you."

Matty didn't ask George whether that was enough - whether they'd answered his question, and George didn't push anything more from Matty either. Instead, they just stayed together, coming to a silent agreement that they'd said entirely too much for one day.

And at first, they just sat there, smoking with each other. Smoking until they almost ran out of cigarettes. But George still wasn't quite ready to leave, so Matty brought them up cups of tea, and George put a movie on.

And they lay together like that. Happy.

Matty didn't pay much attention to the film, instead watching George, and the way he laughed, and the way his eyes shined in the evening light. He was beautiful - truly, undeniably, beautiful.

And Matty stood by their words, even if they were sappy rhetoric at best, for even in the coldest of rooms, and the darkest of nights, George shone gold.

Gold like the summer sun.

Reminiscent of the beauty in a summer that had long passed them by.

-

not to be arsey but i think I'm in love with this chapter

my favourite chapter ive ever written tbh

i hope u feel even moderately the same way

love u all so much

pls vote and comment it would save my life

lov u all so very much 

i hope, if things aren't going well for u, that they get better

because you're wonderful

and you mean the world to me

and you deserve that