george and matty, 20 or 21 (they’re kinda similar so whichever one u want!) (or both if ya feel like it!)
Hi! Thank you so much for sending in this prompt! I already filled them separately in a different ask, but I like writing pain and suffering and wanted to fill it AGAIN so here we are, filling it again.
I want to put a disclaimer / warning on this fill just in case. This fill relates to Matty's history of addiction, and if that's something that you find triggering, upsetting or in bad taste this isn't the fill for you 😬 Sorry about that!
Without further ado, I hope that you enjoy this fill and that it's what you were looking for! Thank you again for sending it in! The kiss prompts are so much fun!
❤️Ally
20. Kiss … on a scar & 21. Kiss … on a place of insecurity
“I’m ready,” Matty said, stepping into the hallway, George frowned, looking up from his phone to take in his jeans and sweater combo. He raised an eyebrow looking down at his own shorts and tee shirt.
“You’re wearing that?” he asked slowly, “It’s like thirty five degrees out, you’re going to melt.”
Matty shifted his weight, wrapping his arms around his waist, seeming to curl in on himself. George swallowed hard, regretting making Matty uncomfortable, but not wanting to let it go. Matty had always been sensitive to the heat, and George wasn’t going to let him make himself sick because he couldn’t dress properly for the weather. Matty had been back in London for a week and a half now, but this was going to be his first excursion out and about. Despite the heat wave, they were going to go for a walk in the park, before meeting Adam and Ross for a late lunch. George would have thought Matty would be more prepared for the weather after spending the last seven weeks in Barbados, he couldn’t imagine him wearing the heavy knit on the humid island.
“I’ll be fine,” Matty said, jutting his chin out in defiance, showing George a flash of the spark that made Matty, Matty. The spark had been missing since he got back. He had been quiet and subdued, retreating in on himself and tiptoeing around like he wasn’t sure of his place anymore, like he was questioning his place next to George, moving through their home like a ghost who didn’t recognize his surroundings.
“Well I won’t be,” said George standing up, and shoving his phone into his back pocket, “I won’t be able to enjoy myself if I’m worried about you developing heat stroke, go change.”
“We don’t have to go then,” said Matty, his expression unreadable, “we can just order takeaway for lunch, and have it delivered.” He paused, “or you can go and I’ll order takeaway.”
George sighed, and swallowed down his irritation. Matty had become almost agoraphobic since his return, he hadn’t left the house since the taxi ride from the airport, and it was starting to make George nervous. He knew Matty was still meeting with his therapist twice a week, that his therapist had even suggested today’s outing. But there was something keeping him tethered to the house, a nervous energy, a cloud of shame as he moved through the halls, a shadow of himself. He was at least wearing jeans today, George thought, he hadn’t worn anything but hoodies and joggers since his return.
“Please just go put a fucking tee shirt on,” George said exasperatedly. It was funny, he thought, he had spent years trying to get Matty to wear a shirt in public, and now that it was 35 degrees out he had decided to dress like he was heading to the arctic.
“Go without me if it’s such an issue,” said Matty, his voice sounding wet, he was fully hugging himself now, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself seem even smaller. George froze, realizing with a start that Matty was crying and trying to hide it. This wasn’t Matty from before, George had to remind himself, he wasn’t being difficult for the sake of being difficult. If anything, this Matty had become more passive, deferring to those around him to make decisions and trusting them blindly. If he was pushing back against something there had to be a real reason.
George found himself crossing the room before he even realized it, and tugged Matty into his arms, hating the way that he resisted for a moment before melting against him, burying his face in his chest while trying to even out his breathing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hiccuping from trying to swallow back his tears.
“What’s wrong?” George asked, running his hand down Matty’s back soothingly. “If you really don’t want to go, we can try another day.”
“No, no,” said Matty, “I want to go,” he hiccuped again, “I want to see Hann and Ross, I’m going crazy, or well, crazier, being trapped in here.”
“Then what’s wrong? Are you scared? They’re excited to see you,” said George, trying and failing to pinpoint the source of Matty’s upset.
Matty sniffled, his voice muffled by George’s chest.
“What was that?” George asked, unable to make out the words.
Matty pulled away, his cheeks bright red, his eyes wet, his head ducked with shame.
“The scars,” he said, his voice thick. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have scars on my arm, they didn’t bother me before, I was too high all the time to care.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “But now, they’re all I can think about, and I know that people are seeing them, judging me for them.”
“What are you talking about?” George asked slowly, panic setting in, had Matty been hurting himself, on purpose, and none of them had noticed?
“Track marks!” Matty snapped, “I have fucking track mark scars on my arm from when I collapsed the vein, alright?” He pulled away from George and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the curls desperately.
“I don’t want anyone to see them.”
“That’s why you want to wear the sweater,” George said, piecing it together.
Matty nodded, looking small and so much younger than his twenty eight years. “That’s why I want to wear the sweater,” he confirmed.
“Can I,” George asked slowly, “can I see?”
Matty shook his head, his curls bouncing with the violence of the motion.
“Please love?” George asked, stepping forward and back into Matty’s space, letting himself once again fall into his orbit.
“It’s disgusting,” Matty said, his voice full of more self loathing than George had ever heard before. It broke his heart in a way that he hadn’t expected. He hadn’t thought there was anything left for Matty to break, but the singer was full of surprises. “I’m disgusting.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said George, nothing about Matty could ever be disgusting he thought, and he had once found Matty passed out in the shower after vomiting all over himself, nose bleeding from doing too much coke at a party.
Matty bit his lip, his resolve wavering.
“Please?” said George, reaching forward to take a hold of Matty’s wrist, keeping his grip loose so that he could pull away if he wanted too. Matty didn’t pull away, not even as George fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater.
Matty nodded, once, sharply, a quick bob of his head. George smiled softly, and lifted Matty’s hand to his lips, pressing a comforting kiss to his palm before he carefully rolled up Matty’s sleeve, cautious of the way that Matty had his head turned to the side, unable to look at his arm, unable to look at George.
“Oh love,” said George, his heart breaking as he took in the silvery pink scars bisecting the skin. They were faint, and if George was being honest, he probably wouldn’t have noticed them on his own, but his heart broke that Matty saw them so clearly, that they were all Matty could see when he looked in the mirror, when he looked down at his body.
“It’s disgusting,” he said quietly, still unable to meet George’s eyes. “I’m just, I’m so angry that I did this to myself.” He said.
He flinched when George ran his fingers over the scars, feeling the way the skin was raised, following along with the vein in Matty’s arm.
“But you survived,” said George, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the scar, Matty flinched again as George’s lips made contact. “You should be proud,” George said, lips moving against Matty’s skin. “You beat it.”
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