we'll knock around and see - Chapter 11 - labeledbones (2024)

Chapter Text

July 5, 2023 - Afternoon

Matty gets home before Ross does. He’s nervous about seeing him which is f*cking stupid because it’s Ross, but he’s an odd mix of excited and anxious. He finds he can’t be still. He goes around the house tidying things that don’t need tidying, straightening the books on the coffee table, making the bed, organizing the dirty dishes in the sink. He tries to sit normally in the living room, but gets up immediately to turn a house plant slightly because the leaves looked weird. Then he walks around the house, looking for evidence of Ross, just to remind himself, and it’s everywhere—a pair of trainers, size enormous, by the bed, a hair tie left behind on the bathroom sink, his water bottle on the kitchen table, the smell of his cologne hanging around in the front hallway.

The whole time, in the back of his mind, he hears his mum saying, “Don’t wait too long to ask him.” Don’t wait too long. Don’t wait. They’ve done enough waiting.

And then also, in the back of his mind, he heard George saying, “You should tell him about us.” He should. He knows he should. But he pushes that thought even farther back in his mind.

He changes his clothes, suddenly finding the outfit he’d worn to see his mum absolutely dreadful. He puts on an old pair of flared jeans that are getting too tight in the thighs but the denim is soft and worn and he likes how he looks in them. The jeans Ross refers to as his “dick jeans.” And you really can see everything in them, especially now that they’re not as loose on him as they used to be. He takes too long deciding on a shirt to wear and he’s standing shirtless in his jeans in the bedroom when he hears the front door open and close.

Ross doesn’t call out any sort of greeting though and Matty is about to go find him and see what’s wrong, but then Ross comes into the bedroom with a familiar, determined look about him. “Hiy—” Matty starts to say, but Ross takes his face in his hands and kisses him before the word is out. It takes Matty a second to adjust, to settle his mouth properly against Ross’, but then he’s opening up to him, melting into the kiss. Ross smells warm, sweaty, summery, good. And he tastes like gin and lime when his tongue licks into Matty’s mouth. And his hands are warm and eager on Matty’s bare back as he pulls him in, on Matty’s thighs as he’s lifting him up.

Matty laughs, wrapping his legs around Ross’ waist as Ross moves them to the bed, drops Matty down on it and stands over him, breathing, loose strands of hair falling around his face. “Aren’t you going to say anything about my dick jeans?” Matty asks, sitting up on his elbows.

“Take them off,” Ross says as he lifts his own shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. Then he stands there, waiting, watching, his broad chest rising and falling. He reaches back and takes his hair all the way down. Matty is transfixed for a moment by the mere existence of Ross, his size, his beauty, the fact that he is here, shirtless in Matty’s bedroom—their bedroom. So, forgive him if he’s forgotten what Ross has told him to do just seconds ago. Forgive him if he’s forgotten his own f*cking name.

Ross leans down, palms Matty’s crotch and says it again, “Take them off,” his lips brushing against Matty’s. He stands back up, again waiting, again watching.

This time Matty is quick to undo his fly and push the jeans off. Ross helps him, pulling at the legs as Matty lifts his hips up, and then dropping the jeans in a pile with his discarded shirt. Matty leans back on his elbows again, looking up at Ross, bottom lip between his teeth, waiting for the next instruction. But Ross doesn’t say anything. He just looks back at Matty, his eyes slowly drifting from Matty’s face to his body and then back again.

“Tell me you love me,” Ross says, undoing his jeans and stepping out of them, eyes still on Matty’s.

Matty sits up, moves to the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. “I love you,” he says.

Ross comes closer to him and Matty puts his hands on his hips, kisses his belly and turns his eyes up to him. “Now tell me that I love you,” he says, a small shake in his voice.

“You love me,” Matty says, pressing his face into his soft middle, his hands on Ross’ back now, holding onto him.

“Say it again,” Ross says.

“You love me,” Matty says. He doesn’t know why Ross needs to hear it, but he’ll keep saying it. You love me. Something that, for so long, was a question, but now it’s a truth, a fact.

Ross steps back so that Matty’s arms let go of him. He takes off his underwear, his co*ck half-hard. “Again,” he says, touching himself.

“You love me,” Matty says, sliding off the bed, onto his knees.

He watches as Ross gets himself fully hard. And then Ross presses the head of his co*ck against Matty’s closed lips, moves it back and forth against them until Matty opens up for him, until Matty takes the length of him into his mouth. “I love you,” Ross breathes out as Matty hollows his cheeks around him.

Matty looks up at him and says it back with his eyes.

November 2018

“I love you,” Matty said when Ross finally opened his eyes. He’d been awake for nearly an hour, watching Ross as he kept on sleeping, dying to know what dreams he was dreaming, desperate for Ross to wake up and exist in the world with him again. And now, Ross smiled at him, slow and sleepy, and Matty wondered if he would ever get over it, saying the words out loud and seeing Ross smile in response. Matty wondered if he would ever get over Ross, if he would ever have to.

But right then Ross was waking up and smiling and saying, “I love you, too,” and reaching for Matty under the duvet, kissing him. Lazy, half-awake kisses that quickly turned heavier, deeper. Ross pulled Matty on top of him and soon enough they were f*cking.

It had been nearly three months since that night under the old tree, and it seemed like they hadn’t stopped f*cking since. While they had still been at the studio, in that house, with George and Hann knocking about, they snuck into each other’s rooms in the middle of the night. They went down on each other in the vocal booth when no one was around. They made out on their night walks and sometimes let their hands do what they wanted. They had gone so long without each other. Matty thought they had every right to behave like horny f*cking teenagers.

That morning, they were in Ross’ new flat. He had moved out from the one he was sharing with his bloody awful flatmates and now he had a smaller place that was just his. Now they had somewhere they could truly be alone together. Still, they were quiet, nearly silent. Something about the morning light making them want to be hushed and respectful. Underneath Matty, Ross seemed to melt, expand, sighing and breathing and closing his eyes. They came together, not long after they’d gotten started, and they both laughed at how sudden and intense and surprising the feeling was. They were ridiculous. They were in love.

“You’re different now,” Matty said, lying on Ross’ chest.

Ross had been moving a hand up and down Matty’s bicep but his hand stopped moving now. “Different how?”

“During sex,” Matty said, sitting up so he could look at Ross. “You’re just different. Softer, more open. I dunno.” He saw a troubled look flit across Ross’ face so he kissed him. “It’s a good thing,” he said. “It’s like you’re finally just being you.”

“Who was I before?” Ross asked, reaching a hand up to Matty’s face.

“Still you,” Matty said. “But I think maybe we were both playing parts we thought we had to play, you know?” He turned his face to kiss the palm of Ross’ hand. “What about me? Do I seem different?”

Ross thought for a second. “You’re just really here,” he said.

Matty moved his mouth to the inside of his wrist, his stupid f*cking penguin tattoo. “Where was I before?” he asked.

“You tell me,” Ross said.

Matty heard a downturn in his voice that he didn’t like. An encroaching darkness. An anger that was still simmering just below the surface. A reminder that they were still completely unstable and it wouldn’t take much to throw them off course again. He looked at Ross’ face for a long moment. “You’ve gotten so handsome,” he said, changing the subject, trying to steer them back. He took Ross’ chin roughly in one hand, turning his face side to side.

Worked like a f*cking charm. Ross blushed, grinned, wriggled underneath Matty’s gaze. And then he sobered up and looked back at Matty. “And what about you?” he said.

“What about me?” Matty asked, laughing, but not really wanting to hear the answer. “I’ve always been this handsome.”

Ross sat up, turning over and forcing Matty onto his back. He settled his weight on Matty who was grateful to not think about his own body and how much or how little it had changed, to just think about Ross’ body and how it felt against his. “Nothing,” Ross said, kissing him. “You’re right. You’ve always been perfect.”

Matty felt Ross’ thigh between his and kissed him back hard. “Can we have sex again?” he asked, pushing himself against Ross’ leg, not hard yet but more than willing to try. “But, like, really f*cking loudly?”

Because they could. Because there were no flatmates. Because Ross’ neighbors had no f*cking idea who they were. Because they had hours before they had anywhere to be. Because Matty didn’t know if he’d ever been this happy before and he wanted people to f*cking hear it.

Ross answered him by kissing down his chest, over his stomach, and then taking his dick in his mouth. Matty let out a rippling, bleating, unbridled sort of laugh that bounced around the room. The laughter turned into a loud, over-the-top groan as he grew hard again inside Ross’ mouth, one hand bracing against the wall behind him and the other in Ross’ hair. Ross was being loud in his own way, choking exaggeratedly, slurping obnoxiously. But Matty loved it. “Yeah, suck my dick,” he said, loud enough that the upstairs neighbors would hear. “Oh, baby, just like that.”

Ross pulled off of him, lips shining and wet as he grinned at him. “You’re so ridiculous,” he said fondly.

“Come up here and f*ck me,” Matty said, quiet this time, soft.

But he was hoarse by the time Ross was done with him, and he was certain he would have bruises on his hips and his thighs from where Ross had held onto him. He felt sore all over in a way that felt so f*cking good.

“Not gonna be able to sing tonight,” he said grimly, turning over from where he’d been facedown on the mattress. Ross was up and moving about the bedroom. It was a bigger room than the one he’d had in his old flat, with white walls and a row of windows that made it feel impossibly bright. He was tossing the condom in the bin and putting his boxers back on. Then he was standing by the window, looking down at the street, the light turning him into a silhouette. Matty wanted him again, already, always.

He turned around and came back over, bending to give Matty a long, lingering kiss. “I’ll make you some tea,” he said.

Matty didn’t like being alone, didn’t like not looking at Ross, not being near Ross, so he followed him out into the kitchen without bothering to put clothes on. What was the point of Ross living on his own if Matty couldn’t walk around his flat naked?

He wandered around as Ross was filling up the kettle. The living room had a lone couch in it and was otherwise full of boxes, some opened and halfway unpacked, others still taped up. Matty peered into one of the open boxes—some awards the band had won tossed haphazardly in with a bunch of photos and random tchotchkes. He reached in and pulled out a photo of him and Ross, an old one, from an actual film camera, framed in a cheap black plastic frame. They were young in it. Sitting on the couch in Matty’s parents’ house, looking awkward but smiling and leaning towards each other. Matty saw the teenage longing in the way he was holding his body, in the particular stretch of his smile, but he knew no one else would have been able to tell.

“Give it time, mate,” Matty said to his younger self in the photograph. “In about ten years, you’ll have his dick inside you.”

“What was that?” Ross said, coming out of the kitchen with a mug in his hand. Matty put the photo back into the box as Ross crossed the room. He handed Matty the tea and then looked down at the photo. “Your mum gave me that photo of us ages ago,” he said. “She’d found it in a box somewhere and framed it for me.”

This was a new story to Matty. He didn’t remember this photo and his mum had never said anything about giving it to Ross. “She did?” he asked, curiously, picking it up again. “When?”

“Dunno,” Ross said, meaning he knew exactly. “Whenever it was they were selling your old house, I guess.” He put a hand on Matty’s back and took the photo from him, but he didn’t put it back in the box. He walked across the room to the non-functioning fireplace and put the photo up on the empty mantle. “There,” he said, turning back to Matty and smiling.

Matty wanted to ask where the photo was usually hiding. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it before. He imagined it languishing in a desk drawer or in the back of a closet. He wanted to know if Ross ever took it out just to look at the two of them together, so young and so blissfully ignorant.

“Are you ever going to unpack?” he asked instead, looking around the room.

Ross shrugged, coming back over to the pile of boxes and kicking at an unopened one. “We’ll be on tour soon. No point to it, really.”

Matty leaned against him. “Might help it feel more homey,” he suggested.

Ross turned to face him. He took the mug of tea from Matty’s hands and placed it carefully on a shorter stack of boxes nearby. Then he put his arms around Matty and said, “Feels enough like home to me,” in a low, warm voice as his fingers laced together against the small of Matty’s back.

“Oh, you are good,” Matty said, laughing and leaning backwards so he could look up at Ross’ face. Ross bent down and kissed him and Matty wondered if this time they were really doing this. If it was real this time. If it could be as easy as just loving each other in an empty flat. If anything for them could actually be easy.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Ross asked, pulling away from him and picking up his tea, taking it back into the kitchen and putting it in the microwave.

Matty followed him, realizing he was still fully naked and none of Ross’ windows had curtains yet. He didn’t mind though. He hoped everyone saw them—him with his dick out, Ross shirtless and f*cking gorgeous—and that they were all jealous. He pressed his head against Ross’ chest as they waited for the microwave to beep. He found he always needed to be touching him somehow. The world was dull when he wasn’t.

“No, I’m not,” he said. They were playing two album release shows that night. Their first proper gigs since he’d gotten back from rehab. He wasn’t nervous about performing, but he was terrified about being in front of a crowd of people who were all expecting something from him. “What if nobody cares anymore? What if I was only good on smack? What if I’m boring now that I’m clean?”

“You could never be boring,” Ross said. He lifted Matty’s face, looking carefully at him. “And, honestly, you weren’t that good on smack.”

Matty laughed at that and fell into Ross. “f*ck you,” he said, voice muffled by Ross’ skin. He felt better, momentarily, as he breathed in Ross’ smell and felt him laughing.

Still, he held Ross’ hand tightly in the back of the cab on their way to soundcheck. Squeezing it and letting it go and squeezing it again. Ross looked out the window, squeezed back. He was wearing a purple t-shirt, a necklace Matty hadn’t seen before slipped underneath it. His beard was neatly trimmed, cheekbones sharp. He was so handsome that Matty wanted to cry. But not just because he was handsome. Because he was here, next to Matty, holding his hand. He felt a big feeling in his chest and for a moment he forgot what to do with it. “I love you,” he said, remembering.

Ross turned from the window. He had his own look of fear, apprehension on his face but then it softened. “I love you, too,” he said.

The words were enough to get him into the venue and through the tedious, boring process of soundcheck. Every thumping, vibrating note from Ross’ bass sounded full of I love you. Every glance Ross stole from him seemed to say it too.

Before the first show, Ross stood next to Matty in front of the mirror. “Hiya,” he said, pretending to fix his already perfect hair. Matty had a brief flash of his own hands lost in that hair as Ross f*cked him earlier that morning, the way Ross had sighed and f*cked him harder when he pulled on it.

“Hiya,” he said back, looking at the reflection of the others milling about behind them. He wished they were alone. He only ever wanted to be alone with Ross.

“Still nervous?” Ross asked, adjusting the cuff of his t-shirt, smoothing out the front of it. Matty had another flash of Ross taking his shirt off the night before, straddling Matty on the couch and lifting the hem up, going slow, exposing his skin inch by inch, Matty laughing at his attempt at a striptease but kissing his body reverently.

“Terrified, frankly,” he admitted. “Care to f*ck me out of it?” he asked, meeting Ross’ eyes in the mirror.

Ross cleared his throat and leaned forward, examining a nonexistent flaw on his face. “Bathroom,” he said, voice low, before walking abruptly away. Matty waited a beat and then followed after him, casual, normal.

When he stepped into the bathroom, Ross pushed him into a cubicle and closed the door. Matty laughed. “What are you—” But Ross was already on his knees, undoing Matty’s trousers. “Oh,” he said. And then Ross took him into his mouth. “Oh.”

Once his dick was hard, Ross pulled off of it. “Just thought it might help,” he said, winking and swallowing Matty back down, all the way down, choking on it and then pulling off again. “Better?”

“Oh, much better.” Matty grinned down at Ross and put his hands on the back of his head, guiding him back towards his co*ck. His head knocked back against the wall of the cubicle and he closed his eyes to the feeling of Ross’ mouth on him. His fingers were in Ross’ hair, combing gently through it, not wanting to mess it up too badly before their gig. Ross, too, had gone gentle with him after the eager and abrupt start. Now he moved slowly, almost adoringly. Like Matty’s dick was meant to be savored. And, f*ck it, maybe it was.

But they didn’t have time for slow and gentle. They had about ten minutes before they were meant to be on stage. And who knows how long before someone else decided they needed the toilet right now. So Matty pushed off from where he was leaning against the cubicle wall and f*cked into Ross’ mouth, just a small thrust of his hips to let Ross know he needed it faster, wetter, more. Ross took the hint straight away and everything turned sloppy and hurried but still so f*cking good.

And once Matty had come in his mouth, once Ross had stood up and kissed him, once Matty had brushed his fingers against Ross’ hard co*ck, once Ross had bit down hard on Matty’s bottom lip and said, “Later,” Matty did, in fact, feel much better. His body felt nice and loose. His mind had gone soft and nearly blank. Ross’ eyes were still dark as he looked at him, making Matty’s skin hum, making him feel desired. He felt drunk but he hadn’t been drinking. He felt high but he hadn’t been using.

They went back out separately. Backstage was in its pre-show frenzy, people moving back and forth, talking in low, urgent voices. But Matty felt perfectly at ease. He felt like he was drifting in an ocean. An ocean made up of Ross and his love and his mouth. He was drifting away and away and away. No one could touch him where he was right then.

The band gathered in the wings, waiting for their cue to walk out onto the stage. Matty was standing next to Ross and he noticed a bit of his shirt had come untucked, probably when he’d been on his knees. Matty reached over, tucking it back in and then making a few other small adjustments until Ross was perfect again.

“Cheers,” Ross said, smiling at him.

Behind them, Waughy cleared his throat, surprising both of them. Matty saw the smile fall away from Ross’ face almost instantly. Like they’d been caught out. But Waughy just said, “It’s time, lads. Go on,” as he gestured to the stage. For a second, Matty thought he saw something in Waughy’s eyes, anger or sadness or some combination of the two. But then Waughy was smiling and shoving the two of them forward with a light touch. “I said go on.”

On stage, Matty stepped back into a self he hadn’t inhabited in so long. He had spent the last several months trying to figure out who he was now, who he’d changed into, who he’d left behind. But when he got out on that stage, they were all there, all of his selves. New and old and yet to come. The opening guitar line for “Give Yourself A Try” started and it was like it always had been. Music took over. Music made him stop thinking about himself. He existed only in the song—but there, he existed fully.

A fitting song for the moment. The one he’d written to give himself grace for not knowing who he was, for changing too much, for growing older. He heard everyone singing it back to him, along with him, echoing every single word, and this was who he was.

They played a handful of new songs at the top of the set and they moved through them easily, excited to be playing something fresh and seeing how the crowd reacted, what the energy was like. Even “It’s Not Living” had Matty bouncing around on stage. He’d been worried about that one, about what singing it to a crowd would feel like. He wasn’t overly precious about his addiction and his so-called struggles, but there was still something deeply personal about the song, something slightly embarrassing, which is why he’d turned it into a hooky pop song, an undeniable bop. The words were superseded by the melody and the music, the uplifting sound of it.

He caught Ross’ eye after that song, seeking the reassurance of his presence. The twinkle in Ross’ eye letting him know that they were in this moment together. The small smile on his face telling Matty that he wasn’t just imagining it: things really were going well. It had been so long since he’d played a gig sober. He’d gotten used to thinking things were going smashingly only to find out later that it had been a sh*t show. But here was Ross looking at him and telling him silently that he was doing great and that all of this was real.

There was relief in sliding into a second half where all of the songs were old and familiar, classics even. It was like a homecoming. He played the riff for “Chocolate” and saw the crowd surge in collective nostalgia.

And then they hit “Robbers” and the crowd was so loud as they sang along with him. He saw that sea of faces turned up to him, screaming along to a song he’d written nearly a decade ago. It hit him then that they all still cared very much, about him, about the band, about this music. He had let them down, but they were still here. He had come back and so had they. He felt the band and the crowd all circling around him and he hadn’t realized that he’d needed it. The validation, the love, the reaffirming.

He was crying by the end of the song. Everything was suddenly overwhelming. He loved everyone. He loved music. They were playing another show in an hour or so, but he didn’t want this one to end. He stood towards the front of the stage, looking out as he allowed himself to weep. And then he felt Ross’ arms around him from behind, both of his strong arms going around his shoulders.

He felt safer than he’d ever felt, more loved than he’d ever been loved. He reached his hand up to hold onto one of Ross’ forearms as the crowd kept cheering for them, as he kept crying. Ross patted him on the back and let him go, but the feeling of his arms stuck around.

Matty was smoking outside the venue before the second show, already in the suit they’d all be wearing on stage. It was a cold night and the sky was overcast. No stars, no moon. He blew his smoke up into the dark blue nothing. He had made eye contact with Ross as he’d gone outside and now he was waiting for him to show up, come barreling out of the door. He was sure taking his f*cking time though. He took another long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke and the nicotine soothe him, steady him.

Another few minutes passed and he thought about texting Ross, but he’d left his phone inside. He was nearly finished with his cigarette so he just held it between his fingers, not smoking it. He knocked his head back against the brick wall and closed his eyes much like he’d done in the toilet earlier except he didn’t have Ross’ mouth now. He was all alone out here because apparently Ross couldn’t take a hint. He closed his eyes tighter, pulling himself together. The show had been so good and the next one would be good too. He didn’t know why he was so on edge.

He looked down and his cigarette had burned down to the filter. He dropped it on the ground, putting it out with his toe. He wasn’t ready to go back in yet though so he reached into his pocket to pull out another. And just then, Ross came bursting through the door.

“Thank f*ck,” Matty said, leaving the cigarette in his pocket and reaching for Ross. Then he was mercifully pressed between Ross and the wall as Ross kissed him, slow and deep.

“Sorry,” Ross said as he pulled out of the kiss. “Were you waiting for me?” He was smiling at Matty, laughing.

“I was,” Matty said, pouting. “What took you so long?” He held onto the lapels of Ross’ suit jacket, leaning back against the wall and looking up at him.

“I had the wrong trousers,” Ross said, looking down at his legs. “Mine and Hann’s got switched.”

Matty laughed then, picturing Ross trying to fit into Hann’s trousers. They were both tall but Ross was bigger. “S’pose it’s my fault for suggesting we all match,” Matty said.

Ross bent his head down and kissed Matty again. A soft kiss that turned into another and another and another. “You were great earlier,” Ross said, in between one kiss and the next.

“It felt great being out there,” Matty said, licking into Ross’ mouth.

“No reason to be nervous, was there?” Ross asked, bringing a hand up to the side of Matty’s face and tilting Matty’s head back as he kissed him harder.

Matty hummed uh-uh into Ross’ mouth. They stopped trying to talk then and focused on kissing each other. Matty felt the world going shiny and blurry around him as Ross kissed him so perfectly and so sweetly. “I love you,” he said as Ross dragged his lips across Matty’s cheek and down to his jaw. “I love you love you love you.”

Ross pressed a delicate line of kisses just beneath Matty’s ear and laughed gently. “You should put that in a f*cking song,” he said. And then his mouth came back to Matty’s, kissing him one more time. “And I love you, too.” He reached for Matty’s hand and pulled on it. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go back inside. It’s almost time.”

“No,” Matty said, pulling back on Ross’ hand. “Just one more kiss. Please.” He needed him desperately. f*ck his dignity.

Ross came close to him, his mouth hovering over Matty’s. “Later,” he said maddeningly as he stood up and pulled Matty towards the door.

Whatever frustration Matty had about Ross, whatever troubling and relentless longing he was working against, fell away when they were all back on that stage. All of them in their matching suits, all of them with their matching joy, all of them together doing the only thing they knew. He knew that once they were on tour, doing this nearly every single night, the feeling would fade; not completely, but it would become tarnished. He would grow tired, weary after a while. There would be nights when he would have to push through the show. There would be great nights, too. But they wouldn’t be like this. They wouldn’t have the same thrill of newness. They would be in bigger venues and lose this sense of intimacy. So he tried to hold onto it all, tried to give it everything he had.

They flew through the show and it ended too soon. He didn’t cry this time and Ross didn’t hold him, but he felt like crying and Ross’ hand trailed over his lower back as he left the stage. Matty lingered on stage, taking a long look at the crowd. He could see on their faces the same euphoria he felt and also the same enormous loss settling around them as he turned away, leaving the stage just as the house lights came on.

He found Ross as quickly as he could and draped himself over his back, his arms over his shoulders, needing to be close to him. Not bothering to notice that Ross was standing there with Waughy and Squiz and Hann. Or, noticing but not f*cking caring. Just pressing his face into Ross’ back and holding onto him until Ross laughed and shook him off. “Great show, yeah?” Ross asked as Matty settled on his feet amidst the group of them. He addressed the question to everyone, but his eyes landed on Matty’s.

“f*cking brilliant show,” Matty said, grabbing Hann’s shoulder and standing up on his toes to press a big, wet kiss to his cheek.

Hann wiped it off, laughing. “You managed to remember most of the lyrics, at least,” he said.

Ross laughed on the other side of Matty. “Forgot most of ‘Girls’ though, didn’t you? Both times.”

“Yeah, well, with all my adoring fans singing along, you could hardly tell,” he said, moving his head as if to toss his t00-short hair back and throwing a wink at Ross. He turned to Waughy then, dropping his hand from Hann’s shoulder and holding it out for him to shake. “You blew a f*cking mean sax tonight,” he said.

Waughy shook his hand loosely and smiled. “Just doing my job,” he said, his eyes darting to Ross and then back to Matty. “Excuse me for a minute,” he said, letting go of Matty’s hand and walking in the direction of some of the crew.

“Is he alright?” Matty asked the rest of them, looking back at Waughy who was now in an animated conversation with someone Matty didn’t know.

“He’s fine,” Ross said quickly while the others just shrugged, Hann and Squiz peeling away from the group and leaving Matty and Ross alone. Ross put a rough but gentle hand on the back of Matty’s head, bringing him in close. A gesture that would seem platonic, just two lads congratulating each other after a gig, but Ross’ voice was tender when he bent his mouth to Matty’s ear and said, “I loved watching you tonight.” And then Ross drew his head back slowly, his mouth not touching Matty’s but close enough. A kiss in plain sight.

Matty let that suggestion of a kiss carry him through the afterparty and all the subsequent afterparties. He drank too much and spent too much time watching Ross from across the room. He kept finding himself lost in conversations, not knowing who was talking to him or what they were talking about. Because he’d had his eyes on Ross by the bar with George, laughing as they waited for drinks. Both of them too tall for their own good. Both of them knowing secret things about him. Or, Ross in the corner of the room with a woman who must be a fan based on the way she was looking up at Ross all googly-eyed, starstruck. Matty couldn’t blame her, not really, but he did his best to shoot daggers at her with his eyes. The worst was seeing Ross flirt back because he was always too polite, could never reject anybody outright. When Ross finally extricated himself from the woman, he looked up and met Matty’s eyes.

Matty thought he might come over then, but he didn’t. He kept mingling with other people while Matty watched him. Thankfully, George saved Matty from himself, insisting Matty help him DJ which really meant just standing behind him while he DJed. But it was a good distraction and soon Matty was dancing and laughing and wrestling with George to take control of the playlist. He forgot about Ross for a while and remembered that their third album had just come out, the album Matty had worked the hardest for, the one he had needed to make the most. He found himself jumping around like he had on stage earlier, grabbing George’s shoulders and yelling along to the song he’d just put on. He was happy.

He was happier when Ross showed up though. When he came dancing awkwardly over to where George was set up, bopping his head to the music and holding two beers. Matty reached for one, but Ross pulled it back. “They’re both for me, sorry,” he said, drawing the last syllable out, singsong and drunk. He finished off one and then set the glass down, drinking from the other.

“I hate you,” Matty said, smiling at him so hard his entire face hurt.

“Hate you right back,” Ross said, touching Matty’s face briefly with beer-sticky fingers. There was foam in his mustache that Matty wanted to lick off. He thought for a moment about setting fire to the bar they were in just to force everyone out, just to be alone with Ross and kiss him amongst the flames and the ashes. Instead he pulled him over to the wall behind George where they could stand and observe, lean their heads together and talk to each other without being overheard.

“What happened to later?” Matty asked him, swiping his glass from him and taking a sip of beer, wanting his mouth to taste like what Ross’ mouth tasted like.

“What d’you mean?” Ross asked, taking the glass back.

“You said later in the toilets after you sucked me off,” he said, making sure to emphasize those last three words. “And you said it again when you kissed me behind the venue.” He had been looking out at everyone in the bar, but now he looked up at Ross. “So I’m just wondering when exactly is later and what’s going to happen then?”

Ross didn’t answer him right away. He took his time, drinking what was left of his beer and finding a table to put the empty glass on. Then he was bending his head down, again his lips close to Matty’s skin, but not quite touching. “Do you wanna leave at the same time?” he asked.

He pulled back his head and Matty looked at him, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you asking me if I wanna get out of here?”

Ross shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Do you?”

“More than f*cking anything,” Matty said, lifting up on his toes as if to kiss Ross but dropping back down before it could happen.

Matty met Ross outside after they made their separate excuses to everyone. Without a word, Ross smirked at him and then stepped off the curb, raising his hand to hail a cab for them. A show of chivalry, manliness, competence that made Matty feel like he had never been attracted to anyone or anything until this very moment. When a cab finally stopped, Ross held the door open for Matty, climbing in after him.

In the back of the cab, Matty was all at once very, very drunk. The two of them sat, turned in their seats, facing each other. The city rushed past them, streetlights blurring behind Ross’ head as Matty tried to get his eyes to focus on his face. He stretched an arm out, his fingers finding Ross’ leg, the bones in his knee, the meat of his thigh. His inebriated mind marveling at the fact of Ross having a body, having this body. His mind revolting against the fact of Ross being a separate body. “Will I ever stop wanting you?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, but there it was.

“Probably,” Ross said, covering Matty’s hand, the one that was on his leg, with his own. He didn’t hold onto it, didn’t twist his fingers together with Matty’s. He just pressed Matty’s hand more firmly against the inside of his thigh, pulled it a little higher. Matty heard him breathe in.

“I don’t think so,” Matty said, curling his fingers around the inseam of Ross’ trousers. “I think I’ll want you forever.”

Ross went quiet, looking steadily at Matty as his hand moved further, as his body leaned forward following his hand. He took hold of Matty’s hand again and lifted it away this time, placing it on the seat between them.

“You gave him my address,” Matty said, just realizing.

“I’m being a gentleman and taking you home,” Ross said.

“But what about later?” Matty asked. “I want to be with you. Don’t take me home.” He sounded petulant.

“You’re drunk and it’s late,” Ross said.

“Exactly,” Matty countered, leaning across the seat and kissing Ross as the cab went over the Thames.

Ross pulled back, his eyes moving to the cab driver who was paying them no mind, talking to someone on his phone in a language Matty couldn’t identify. Matty went in again, but Ross put his hands on Matty’s arms holding him back. He sat back obediently in his seat.

The cab pulled up in front of Matty’s flat and they got out and stood by the front door. Ross looked around and then, finally, he kissed Matty properly with his hands holding Matty’s face and their drunken mouths pushing and pulling. The street was quiet at that hour and they stood on the doorstep kissing for a long time. Matty’s hands went inside Ross’ coat, fingers pressing into the small of his back, pulling him close.

“Would you like to come up for a drink?” Matty asked, his smiling mouth chasing after Ross’, catching it, pinning it down and then letting it go. “Or some tea?”

“I shouldn’t,” Ross said, resting his forehead against Matty’s. “George will be home soon.”

“He’s not home now though, is he?” Matty’s hands moved from Ross’ back to the collar of his coat, holding on as they swelled into another kiss.

Ross pulled back again, his breath hot against Matty’s mouth. “We need to start practicing self control,” he said. “We’ll be on tour soon.”

Matty grinned, his grip on Ross’ coat tightening, He kissed Ross’ bottom lip. “Yeah, so we’ll be together constantly.”

Ross sighed. “Yeah, on an increasingly smelly tour bus with, like, six other people around.”

“We’ve f*cked on tour before,” Matty pointed out.

“It was different,” Ross said. “Last time you were—” He left it blank for Matty to fill in. “And we weren’t—” He stopped, frowning, and then he kissed Matty hard. “It matters now.”

“Because we love each other,” Matty said, his hands letting go of Ross’ collar, smoothing it out for him.

Ross’ face settled into a smile. “Because we love each other.”

Matty still wanted Ross to come upstairs, still wanted Ross’ dick in his mouth while they waited for the tea to brew, still wanted Ross to sleep next to him with his head full of private dreams. But he got it. He understood. They should try to do it properly this time.

Ross took a step back from him, put his hands in his coat pockets. “I should go,” he said, turning to leave. He went down the front steps and stood at the bottom, looking up at Matty. “I love you,” he said.

Matty mouthed it back to him, suddenly feeling too shy to say it out loud on the street. He blew Ross a kiss and Ross nodded, his cheeks flushed, and then turned again, walking down the street.

The sun was coming up, Matty noticed. No point in trying to sleep. He went upstairs, made tea, undressed, sat in his underwear by the window in his room, and watched the sky turn its brilliant colors. He texted Ross: Waughy definitely has a crush on you btw Ross didn’t respond right away. It was hours later when he texted: no he doesn’t lol

July 5, 2023 - Afternoon/Evening

Matty wonders if they’ll sell this house. An odd thought to be having when he’s got Ross’ tongue buried in his arse. But he’s here on all fours on the floor of his bedroom and he knows he’s going to have bruises on his knees from the hard concrete. So he wonders if they’ll move, him and Ross. If together they’ll find somewhere else to live, somewhere comfortable and theirs, somewhere with light and soft rugs. Maybe he’ll even f*cking let Ross have a small room where he can put up whatever grotesque wallpaper he wants. Maybe they’ll move out of London entirely, go somewhere quiet and sprawling.

Anyway, wondering about this is a f*ck of a lot better than wondering why Ross hasn’t said much beyond commands since he got home. Why Ross had cut Matty’s enthusiastic blowj*b short even though Matty had practically begged—not practically, he had begged, literally begged—him to come in his mouth. Why he had abruptly pulled his dick from Matty’s mouth and said, “No,” before telling Matty to get down on his hands and knees in the middle of the room. Not that Matty minds being told what to do, being handled. He’s always liked Ross when he’s like this, dominant and in control and—

“Oh, f*ck,” Matty says, interrupting his own thoughts, as Ross starts to f*ck him with his tongue. A quick, shallow in and out. Matty can feel Ross’ warm breath on his skin, can hear the near constant, happy humming Ross makes while he works. There’s a renewed sense of wonder to how Ross is eating him out. Like he’s rediscovering how good it is. Which has Matty rediscovering how good it is, too.

Ross slows down, his tongue licking at Matty’s hole now. He breathes in deeply and Matty twists his head around, wishing he could see him, see how much he’s enjoying himself. “Ross,” he says, pressing his face down onto the floor, lifting his arse up.

“You taste so good,” Ross says, his tongue pressing back in. Matty feels his fingers spreading his cheeks open wider, his tongue trying to get in deeper. Matty forgets about the hard floor beneath him. He stops thinking about real estate. There is only Ross and his tongue inside him and the scratch of his beard on his skin and the animal groan he makes when Matty pushes his arse back towards him.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” Matty says, somewhat astonished, completely delighted.

Ross stops what he’s doing. His hands and his tongue leave Matty. When Matty looks back, he sees Ross standing up. He watches him gather his clothes and put them back on. T-shirt, underwear, even his jeans where Matty can see his hard dick begging to be let out again. Then he stands over Matty. “Not yet,” he says, bending down and touching Matty’s face softly, taking the edge off of his cruelty.

Marry me, Matty thinks reflexively as Ross draws his hand back, stands up straight again, and then wordlessly leaves the room. He is dizzyingly in love with him and his tender roughness, his sweet denial. His body staggers backwards from the peak it had nearly reached. He sits up, resting on his heels. He breathes. He thinks he could spend the rest of his life in limbo like this, with just the aching, fluttering promise of release, if it’s what Ross wants. It would be more than alright. He doesn’t mind if he never comes again.

Still, after a moment or two, he gets up and goes to find him.

Early 2019

Matty’s hands were shaking and his leg was bouncing up and down, jittery and anxious. He looked at his phone once and then again and nothing on the screen had changed. It only showed him the time and his wallpaper which was usually a closeup photo of the bridge of his favorite guitar, but just then, for the time being while he was alone, he’d changed it to the gorgeous photo of Ross he’d taken a week ago in Belfast. He’d been straddling Ross on the hotel bed in the early morning, holding his phone over him, and Ross had been turning his head away, into the pillow, eyes closed and smiling. The low morning light made the photo seem slightly out of focus. Plus Ross had been moving too much, laughing and squirming and trying to push Matty away, pulling the sheets up over his body, his bare skin, in a display of modesty. So there was just his face, his smiling, soft, beautiful face surrounded by a blur of white sheets and a faint pink glow, a glimpse of Matty’s knee on one side of him.

Belfast had been a fluke. Their first night of tour and they were foolishly optimistic. They had hotel rooms that were conveniently adjoining though no one had requested it. Though Jamie had tried to switch them to more private rooms and Ross had casually told him, “Don’t bother them about it, it’s fine,” in a way that had Matty on his knees for him as soon as they were alone in their rooms. It had been a promising start.

But now it had been four days since they’d managed to find a moment alone together for anything more than a brief kiss. They’d managed it in Glasgow, but only because Ross had gone to visit his brother and Matty had gone on an unspecified outing and they’d met in a random pub in a tiny village off the motorway. They sat in the pub for a while before getting into the car Ross had rented and driving off, pulling over somewhere quiet, secluded and then making out heavily for twenty minutes until Matty tried to move them to the backseat.

“We can’t,” Ross said, kissing Matty in a way that was clearly meant to be pacifying.

Matty was cross, angry even. He put a rough hand on the front of Ross’ jeans, found that he actually wasn’t hard at all. “You don’t want me,” he said, sitting back in his seat, turning his head towards the window.

Ross’ hand was on the back of his neck, pulling him back, kissing him again. “Of course I f*cking want you,” he said. “But I’m also already half an hour late meeting Rob.”

Their faces were too close for Matty to properly look at him so he was looking at his mouth instead, perfectly pink from being kissed. “Just a quick blow j*b?” he asked, teeth reaching out for Ross’ bottom lip, biting down harder than he’d intended.

Ross pulled his head back, bringing a hand up to his lip as if he were checking for blood. And maybe Matty only imagined that he looked disappointed when there wasn’t any. “Matty,” he said, chiding him but also turning soft. “Isn’t it enough to just have some time together?”

Matty didn’t respond. He thought if he spoke, he might cry.

“We had a nice meal together. I got to kiss you for the first time in two days.” Ross shrugged. “That’s good for me.”

Matty wanted it to be good for him too. He didn’t know why it wasn’t. It felt like he was scratching right next to an itch, relief that wasn’t quite total. He pressed his head back into the headrest and closed his eyes. He opened them again and looked at Ross. “I love you,” he said, his voice sounding small and pitiful.

Ross touched his face, his thumb on Matty’s bottom lip. He leaned across and kissed him one more time. “I love you, too,” he said. “It doesn’t all have to be so tragic, does it?” He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood, but there was a genuine question in his voice too. Matty heard him asking if they’d made the right choice in trying again.

Matty shook his head, put on his best smile. “No, it doesn’t,” he said. He turned on the radio. A pop song was playing. Something relentlessly happy but also full of longing. Ross started the car and drove Matty back to the pub.

Now they were in Brighton, by the sea, and the smell of the saltwater put an ache in Matty’s chest. He was out on the balcony wrapped up in a blanket, with an unlit cigarette, tapping the filter against his thigh. His phone, that lovely photo of Ross, in love and happy, was telling him it was nearly four in the morning. He opened up his texts and saw the last one he’d sent Ross, hours ago: text me when you’re free. Ross had gone off after the gig to drink with some of the lads, but Matty hadn’t wanted to face being in a crowded bar with Ross. He wasn’t sure he could take it.

There was no point in sleeping now. Either Ross would text him or Ross wouldn’t. Either Ross would come find him or Ross would get too drunk with Jamie and Waughy and Hann and pass out in his bed alone. He told himself it didn’t matter. He finally lit his cigarette and pulled hard on it, letting the smoke and the nicotine occupy his body and brain for a second. When he exhaled the smoke after holding it in his lungs long enough to make him dizzy, his phone lit up in his other hand.

u still up? Ross texted. sry i know it’s so f*ckin late.

Matty felt a rush of fondness for the typo, for Ross’ specific drunk textspeak. Still, he waited a minute and then another minute, smoking down his cigarette, growing more and more agitated with himself. For some dumb f*cking reason he didn’t want to seem too eager. He didn’t want Ross to know he’d stayed up the whole night just thinking about him, imagining him here, going half crazy alone in his hotel room.

Ross wasn’t afraid of seeming eager apparently because right away he texted again: tell me i hvnt missed u. Matty smiled at his phone, feeling his agitation start to dissipate. Ross again: if ur asleep right now, i love you and i’ll see u in the moaning And then: moaning f*ck And then: MORNING. And then: sorry for yelling.

Matty laughed loudly on his balcony, the sound of it echoing out into the early morning. He finally texted Ross back: i’m awake and i’d love to see u in the moaning quite honestly. sounds f*cking hot as hell.

i’m gonna cum, Ross texted. over that is ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) And, god, Matty loved him.

Ten minutes later, Ross was knocking on Matty’s door, banging more like. Matty opened it quickly and pulled him in. “Gonna wake up the whole bleeding hall,” he said, but he was laughing and Ross was already kissing him, strong hands on Matty’s face, tilting his head back, devouring him.

“Guess what,” he said mischievously into Matty’s mouth. He was backing them farther into the room, hands still holding Matty’s face. The backs of Matty’s knees hit the bed, and he fell backwards, Ross falling with him, on top of him. He was still in his wool coat and Matty reached for the buttons.

“What?” he asked, sliding the coat from Ross’ shoulders. Ross stood up and let it fall to the floor.

He was quickly back on top of Matty, kissing him messily, mouth moving from Matty’s lips to his jaw, to his cheek, to his ear where he said in a low voice, “We were at a gay bar,” grinning into the words. He stood up again, looking down at Matty as he toed his shoes off. He didn’t come back down though. He started wandering around the room.

“It was so great,” he said, walking over to the window and standing there for a moment looking out into the darkness before turning around. “Everyone there was so f*cking lovely and so, so, so—” He came back to Matty, climbing onto the bed and lying down. Matty shifted up the bed to lie next to him. Ross touched his face. “They were all just themselves, not hiding, not sneaking around.” His voice had turned sad with those words, but it was brighter when he said, “I’m like them, you know? I’m one of them. You are, too. We’re different and it’s so f*cking great, isn’t it?” He sat up on his elbow, traced a finger down Matty’s nose. “I’m so f*cking gay for you, do you know that? There were all these guys there, so many guys, but none of them were you.” He bent forward and kissed Matty hard, a searching kiss, a kiss that was trying to discover something. He pulled away, kept talking.“I wish you had been there. I wish we had been there together. You would have loved it. I want to dance with you in a crowded bar. I want to show you off.”

He moved and was suddenly on top of Matty again, straddling him but sitting up. “I was thinking about f*cking you the whole time,” he said, moving his hips against Matty’s. His hands pushed at Matty’s t-shirt, exposing his chest. Then Ross leaned forward, licking at one of Matty’s nipples and then the other, pulling it between his lips and then biting down. Matty’s body arched forward at the feeling, but Ross was already gone again. Matty felt lightheaded. He couldn’t keep up.

“Ross,” he said, reaching for one of his hands. He squeezed it until Ross’ eyes met his.

“Matty,” he said back, sighing into the syllables.

“Slow down, would ya?” he asked, laughing.

“Sorry,” Ross said, lowering down onto the bed once more. “I’m just—” He rested his head on Matty’s shoulder, arm across Matty’s middle. “Incredibly drunk and in love with you. Does it ever make you crazy?”

“Being in love with you?” Matty asked, running his fingers through Ross’ hair, impossibly soft and silky. “Drives me f*cking mental.”

Ross snorted. “Are we hopeless?”

“I hope so,” Matty said, smiling and pulling on Ross’ hair so that he looked up at him. “Sometimes I think I’ll die if you don’t kiss me.”

Thankfully, Ross kissed him and he kept living. The kiss was slower and easier, less frenzied. Ross seemed to have found his focus, that restless energy in him subsiding. He rolled back on top of Matty and kissed him with their bodies pressed together. Exactly what Matty had been waiting all night for. The weight of Ross like an instant balm for everything wrong in the world, for everything off inside his own head.

“I don’t want you to die,” Ross said, sitting up a bit. He was incredibly sincere when he said it, his eyes actually filling up.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Matty said, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“I know,” Ross said. He shook his head and came back down to kiss Matty. “Don’t die,” he said, kissing him again and again and again. Like he really thought being kissed was keeping Matty alive. And maybe it was. Maybe he was only alive to be kissed by this man. Maybe Ross was the only reason he was still here, still existing. Maybe the universe had given him so many f*cking second chances just so he could be here in this moment with this person.

Ross moved his hips and Matty felt another reason for carrying on. “You’re not too drunk to f*ck me, are you?” he asked, his hands holding Ross’ face close to his, not wanting to stop kissing him, afraid that maybe he would die if Ross stopped now.

Ross grunted against his mouth. He kissed Matty one more time and sat back. “I want to give you everything,” he said, pulling at the hem of Matty’s t-shirt until Matty sat up and lifted it over his head. Ross ran his hands over Matty’s chest, down his stomach. “You’re so f*cking gorgeous,” he breathed out, his fingers dancing over Matty’s tattoos. “And you’re mine.”

Matty sighed, his body arching forward at the words. “I am,” he said. “Completely.” Ross’ hands moved further down his body, finding his co*ck hard inside the trackies he was wearing. “And what about you?” Matty asked, hips pushing into Ross’ hand. “Are you mine?”

“Yes,” Ross said, his hand slipping into Matty’s sweatpants, finding his skin, fingers wrapping around him. “I am.” He lowered his face and pressed his mouth to Matty’s chest, saying the words repeatedly as his mouth trailed down and over, his tongue on the tattooed rose petal that was peeking up above the waistband of Matty’s trackies. He stopped there and looked up at Matty with his lips still resting on his hipbone. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” Matty said back, pushing his own trackies down eagerly, not trusting Ross to stay focused right now. “Now, I really honestly might die if you don’t suck my dick.” Again, he thought maybe it was true. His body felt like it was disintegrating with how badly he wanted Ross, needed Ross. His skin was melting off of him, his bones were turning to dust.

Ross finished taking his trackies off, tossing them somewhere else in the hotel room. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Ross said, a sorrowful edge to his voice that didn’t bode well. It had only been a week since they’d been together like this but it had felt like so long.

“We’ve managed longer,” Matty said, pushing now at his underwear, trying to encourage Ross to keep going, trying to keep him from being distracted by the great sadness of not f*cking because they were here now, about to—

Ross pressed his cheek to Matty’s thigh, close to Matty’s dick but not nearly f*cking close enough. “We have, haven’t we?” he said dreamily. “We’ve managed to go much longer than this.” He lifted his head. “But we shouldn’t have to anymore,” he said, dreamy sorrow turning determined, stubborn, outraged. “We’re in love and we should be able to f*ck whenever we want.” He touched Matty then, thank f*ck. He closed his fist around Matty and stroked him a few times. “It shouldn’t be so hard,” he said, turning sad again.

“Darling, love, Ross,” Matty said, gritting his teeth when Ross brought his head forward and kissed the underside of his co*ck delicately, running his lips along it after. “I’m actually, quite literally begging you.”

There was euphoria in the first moment of Ross’ mouth on him. Rapture, transportation, even a glimpse of god, as Ross’ tongue swirled around the head of his co*ck. The purest sort of high when he hit the back of Ross’ throat the first time. But then the moment broke, reality breaking in again. Things turned messy and imperfect. Ross’ movements were slow and then fast and then slow again, no rhythm to speak of. He was too enthusiastic or too distracted. Matty had trouble grabbing onto the feeling.

“That’s good,” he tried to encourage Ross when he’d hit a nice tempo and whatever he was doing with his cheeks and his tongue had him ascending again. “That’s so good.”

Ross stopped then, pulling off of Matty. He had a sad, worried look about him. One of his hands was moving ceaselessly up and down Matty’s thigh while the other held onto his dick loosely. His eyes were glazed over and distant when he looked at Matty. “Is this enough?” he asked. His lips brushed against the head of Matty’s co*ck.

Matty nodded, not sure exactly what Ross meant, but wanting him to keep going. “It’s enough,” Matty said, fingers through Ross’ fringe as he took Matty back in his mouth.

He pulled off again almost immediately and Matty groaned and dropped his head against the pillow. “I just mean,” he said, the fingers of his free hand moving nervously in the soft hair of Matty’s inner thigh. Matty lifted his head to look down at him. “I think I am maybe a bit too drunk for—” He cut himself off, pressed his lips together in frustration. “I want to give you what you want, but I don’t know if I can tonight.”

Ross’ lips wrapped around his dick again, but Matty sighed and reached for him. He didn’t quite believe it when he heard himself say, “Wait,” and then, “Come up here, ya big, drunk idiot,” as his hands pulled on Ross’ biceps, doing his best to lug him up next to him.

Ross gave a small laugh as he settled next to Matty, but then he turned somber again. “I’ve ruined things,” he said. “Talking too much. Going on about gay bars and how we’re in love.”

Matty turned on his side so they were facing each other. “You haven’t ruined things,” he said. He’d forgotten that Ross was still fully dressed, and it felt strange to be naked in bed with him still in his jumper and his jeans. But it also felt safer just then. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to say this next bit if Ross was lying there naked, all of his dark chest hair, his beautiful co*ck resting perfectly on his thigh, those tattoos that were usually hidden away on full display. The mere thought of it made Matty’s dick ache. Still, he said, “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“This morning,” Ross corrected him, grinning with his eyes already falling closed.

“Don’t go to sleep yet,” Matty said.

Ross opened his eyes. “M’not,” he said.

Matty sighed and got out of bed. He started with Ross’ shoes. Untying them, lining them up by the bed, leaving Ross’ socks on because at some point he’d noticed and cataloged the fact that Ross’ feet get cold in the night and, anyway, Matty quite liked the way Ross looked in his black, mid calf socks. Endearing, f*cking cute even. God, he really was hopeless.

He moved to Ross’ jeans and their overly complicated button fly. Ross was barely conscious by then but he managed to sit up and help Matty get all the buttons undone. He dropped down to the bed and let Matty finish pulling them off. He averted his eyes from Ross’ crotch, not wanting to look at what he couldn’t have, not wanting to have to picture it. The agony of it, the misery. But he caught a glimpse of the black briefs and felt a twinge of longing. “Hello, old friends,” he said to them.

Ross opened one eye and peered at him. “Are you talking to my pants?” he asked.

Matty ignored him and lifted the hem of his sweatshirt. “Can you sit up for a second?” he asked, surprised by how gentle his voice was, how f*cking drenched in care it was. He was a goner. He was done for. Ross sat forward and held his arms up, letting Matty pull his sweatshirt over his head, and then falling back again. Matty didn’t avert his eyes this time. He allowed himself a moment of looking. Ross had gotten thin over the last year, but he was slowly starting to gain his softness back. His hips spilling somewhat over the elastic of those briefs. His belly already turning round from too much beer on tour. Matty wanted to bury his face there, nose in his belly button, let Ross’ warm softness surround and absorb him.

He patted Ross’ side instead and folded his clothes, putting them on the chair by the window. He went into his bag and found a t-shirt that was way too big on him and brought it over to the bed. “Are you cold?” he asked Ross. “Put this on.”

Ross hauled himself up and took the t-shirt from Matty, pulling it on and then looking down at it, the yellow lettering against the dark blue. “Good shirt,” he said. He was fading fast but he managed to look at Matty with clear eyes for a moment. Matty who was standing, still naked, in front of him. His eyes moved from Matty’s face, meandering down his body and then back up. “I really do want you,” he said. A hand reached out, fingers grazing Matty’s hip bone, down the side of his thigh. “I want you all the time. It never stops.”

“It doesn’t,” Matty said, stepping forward, putting his hands on Ross’ shoulders. Ross arched his neck so that his face was turned up to Matty. Matty’s hands moved to his neck, thumbs at the corners of his jaw. Ross’ eyes fell closed and then opened slowly, lips parting. Then Matty stepped back and Ross’ head dropped down.

Matty went into the bathroom and filled a glass with ice cold water, splashing some on his face while he was there. But it did nothing to stop the all-consuming need he felt, the desire that made his skin feel like it was paper waiting for a flame. He came back into the room. Ross was lying down again, but Matty could tell he wasn’t asleep yet. He put the glass of water on the table next to Ross and said, “Drink some water,” tapping Ross’ knee to make him sit up. He watched Ross drink and then got up to fill the glass again.

When he came back this time, he put his underwear back on and the t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier. He pulled the covers on the bed back, working around Ross’ big sleepy, drunken body until he was covered. And then Matty climbed in himself. Ross turned on his side and Matty pressed himself into his back, arm over his middle, turning himself into the big spoon to Ross’ massive little spoon. His face was between Ross’ shoulder blades and he breathed him in.

He’d thought Ross had finally drifted off to sleep, but he took Matty’s hand and pulled it up to his chest, holding it there. “Thanks for taking care of me,” he said in the sweetest, smallest voice.

Matty buried his face deeper into Ross’ back, trying to muffle the embarrassing sound of his crying. He didn’t know how many times Ross had cared for him over the last two years. He literally didn’t know, couldn’t remember. He only knew that he would come out of the blackness sometimes and Ross would be there, lying beside him or sitting in a nearby chair or coming into the room with a look of having not slept in days. He only knew that making sure he didn’t overdose and die had to have been a f*cking lot worse than making sure drunk Ross drank some water.

The past had its dark grip on him now so he focused on Ross who was breathing steadily, definitely asleep now, whose body was flush with Matty’s but still too far away. He tightened his arm around him and tried to press in closer, his feet wrapping around one of Ross’ ankles, trying to tie himself to him. Ross shifted in his sleep, pressing back into Matty. Still, Matty needed him closer. “I love you,” he said, lips on Ross’ spine through the worn cotton of his t-shirt. “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ross said, waking up just enough to say it back and bring Matty’s hand to his lips. He fell back to sleep with his mouth still on Matty’s fingers, his warm breath against Matty’s skin.

Matty woke up to Ross’ chin on his shoulder as he turned him over. They’d switched places at some point while half asleep, a silent adjustment, an easily negotiated rearrangement of their bodies. And now Ross was kissing him as the early light filled the room. Matty kissed him back, letting himself be pulled onto Ross’ body. Still half asleep, he thought this might be a dream. The sunlight was coming in at a sharp angle, glancing off of the mirror above the dresser and dancing around the room in a way that felt abstract, unreal. Ross’ hands were at the small of his back, underneath his shirt, and they seemed to burn Matty and then immediately soothe him. The small sound of their lips moving together, the breath Ross gave as he opened his mouth beneath Matty’s, the grunt from Matty when Ross’ hands moved down to his arse, holding Matty firmly against his erection, all of it filled the room, reverberating and harmonizing with each other. Everything was heightened, perfect, sudden.

Matty knew he was awake though because his dreams were never this kind to him. His dreams would never give him Ross, simple and lovely with golden light on his face. His dreams would never give him Ross gently taking his shirt off for him, laughing so quietly as they threw it on the floor together. His dreams would never give him the key change of quiet laughter into soft growl at the back of Ross’ throat as Matty’ hands clawed at his back, trying to get his shirt off too, willing to destroy things to get to his skin.

No, he was fully awake, fully in the world. And the world was him and Ross.

Ross’ mouth came down to Matty’s, kissing him with his sighing, open mouth. The softness of his body was pressing into Matty’s, their boundaries bleeding into each other. Matty’s knees bent at either side of Ross’ hips and they were both so hard already. He pulled his mouth away, wanting to ask Ross if he’d woken up hard for him. “Di—” But Ross kissed him again fiercely, almost punishingly.

Then Ross sat back on his heels and his co*ck was thick and perfect in those black briefs. Matty wanted to touch him, feel him, but there was a look in Ross’ eyes that told him not to move, that he should wait for whatever Ross did next.

Ross raised a hand to push his hair out of his face, his shoulders and chest broadening as he did so, the tattoos on his arm stretching with his skin, the glimpse of his armpit and the dark hair there, that animal part of him. Matty bit back an involuntary whimper. Ross seemed to be considering his options, cataloging all of the various things he might do to Matty, his eyes moving to various parts of Matty’s body, his hands skimming over his torso, his legs. A distressed, overwhelmed look passed over his face and then resolved into something determined and focused.

He stood up, taking his socks off and then his underwear. “Yours too,” he said and his voice was low but it seemed loud in the thick silence of the hotel room. Matty did as he was told, swiftly taking off his underwear and then lying back down. Ross had found the lube and condoms and set them next to his water glass. Matty’s body arched forward at just the sight of those things, the promises they held. Ross got back into bed, settling back between Matty’s knees. “Beg me again,” he said, hushed and dark, bringing one hand up to hold onto Matty’s jaw. “Like you did last night.”

Matty didn’t bite back his whimper this time. “Please, Ross,” he said, feeling their co*cks dragging together.

“Turn over,” Ross said, lifting one of Matty’s legs and moving it so that Matty could turn onto his stomach. Matty heard the cap on the lube click open and closed and then Ross drew one of his hands down his spine. Matty instinctively lifted his hip and then felt Ross’ fingers press between his cheeks, finding his hole, circling it delicately.

“Please please please,” Matty said, eyes squeezing shut. And then Ross’ index finger pressed into him. “f*ck.”

Ross sunk his finger in deeper. “Do you need me?” he asked.

Matty nodded. “I need you so f*cking badly,” he said as Ross pressed his middle finger in as well, both fingers moving in and out of him, working him open slowly. Matty pressed his face into the pillow, the one Ross had slept on, breathing in his skin and his hair, as his fingers pushed into him and dragged back out.

Ross’ other hand was on Matty’s arse cheek, moving in restless circles over his skin. “I need you, too,” he said. His fingers moved faster, crooking just so on every inward push. Matty let out a guttural sound that broke the perfect early morning quiet, shattered it completely. “I can’t believe we spent so long pretending we didn’t need this, didn’t need each other,” Ross said, pulling his fingers out of Matty who fell forward, gasping. “Denying ourselves,” Ross kept going as if he was talking just to himself.

Matty lifted his face from the pillow, breathing hard. The light in the room was pink, muted, and Ross was behind him, rolling a condom on, looking more beautiful than ever. “We were f*cking idiots,” he said softly, looking back at him.

Ross met his eyes, smiled. “I know you’ve always been desperate for me,” he said.

Matty could only nod as Ross got on his knees behind him and put his hands on Matty’s hips. Matty kept watching him, wanting to see his face in the moment. Ross positioned himself against Matty, but then he waited. He didn’t push in right away. “All those times you ignored me, pretended we weren’t anything,” he said.

“Protecting myself. And you,” Matty said, resisting the urge to push back onto Ross. Knowing he wouldn’t be keen on that. Not right now. “I needed you too much. I loved you too much. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Ross let the head of his co*ck move against Matty, the very tip of it slipping in and then out again. “And now?” Ross asked. He f*cked into Matty sharply when he asked the question.

“Oh,” Matty let out, his mind going blank.

Ross pulled out. He asked the question again. “Now?”

“Not pretending,” Matty managed to say. He was still turned to look at Ross, his neck starting to ache from the way he was holding it, but he still wanted to see him. “I need you. God, I need you. I won’t hold back anymore.”

“No,” Ross said. “I won’t hold back either.” His face had been creased with concentration, but now it went slack, turning all open and vulnerable. Matty worried he was going to lose his focus again, but he didn’t. He pushed into Matty finally, his lips parting and his eyes falling half-closed as he started to f*ck him.

Matty dropped his head back down to the pillow then, surrendering himself to Ross. Surrendering himself to the feeling of Ross inside of him which felt like Ross was everywhere, like he was everything. The entire world, universe, galaxy boiled down to Ross’ huge f*cking co*ck deep inside of him. The whole goddamn meaning of life in the head of Ross’ dick hitting at just the right angle, making all coherent thoughts leave Matty’s head so that when he tried to say this out loud, tried to communicate the feeling to Ross, what came out was, “Oh, f*ck f*cking your dick is so f*cking good f*ck Ross.”

But it must have gotten through to Ross because he started to f*ck him harder and deeper, but also slower, so that there were massive, swelling waves inside of him, a vast rolling sea that broke repeatedly over Matty’s head. He was gasping, sighing, begging Ross to save him.

“I’m really close,” Ross said. He reached for the back of Matty’s head, fingers slipping through hair that wasn’t quite long enough to hold onto, but Matty arched his neck backwards for him, lifting himself up onto all fours. Ross’ hand gave up on his hair and reached around, finding Matty’s co*ck, hot and leaking, more than ready. Matty cried out as his fingers wrapped around it. Touching Matty made Ross’ thrusts turn uneven, still forceful and deep, but the rhythm changed.

“I can come without it,” Matty said, nudging Ross’ hand away. “I’m so f*cking close. Just keep f*cking me like you were.” Ross found the right tempo again and Matty dropped his head down. “Yeah, f*ck uh huh.”

When Matty felt Ross coming he sat up on his knees, back against Ross’ chest, reaching behind him for Ross’ neck, holding onto it as he came too. Turning his head to kiss Ross messily as his hole tightened around Ross’ co*ck again and again, keeping him inside. “Oh, f*ck, I love you,” he said, licking at Ross’ tongue as he said it back.

As they were collapsing back onto the bed, having cleaned up the best they could, Matty pushing the sheets off the bed with an apologetic thought for the cleaner, both of their phones went off. It was Jamie telling everyone the bus was leaving in an hour and they better hurry the f*ck up. Matty read the text and then tossed his phone halfway across the room, climbing back on top of Ross. “f*ck them,” he said, feeling foolhardy and more than a little crazy.

Ross laughed, his arms going around Matty and pulling him down. “Yeah, f*ck them,” he said. And then he turned wistful. “I forget about the world when we’re together,” he said, lips at Matty’s hairline. “Like totally and completely forget everything except for you and me.”

Matty pushed himself up again, his hands on Ross’ chest, fingers running through his chest hair. “f*ck the world,” he said, shrugging, pinching both of Ross’ nipples until he squirmed and laughed again.

When he composed himself, he gazed up at Matty. “I meant it about not holding back,” he said. “We should have each other when we want each other.”

“You were the one who was going on about self control before,” Matty pointed out.

“f*ck self control,” Ross said automatically. “f*cking terrible idea. I’ve been practicing self control for years now. I’m over it.”

“Pfft,” Matty said, waving a dismissive hand. “Self control. Who needs it. Boring, passé.”

Ross sat up, keeping Matty in his lap and kissing him, his soft and seeking mouth not holding back.

**

“Why did you come back?” Matty asked Ross.

They were back in London for the moment, back in Ross’ flat full of unpacked boxes and unhung art, and it was snowing outside, a wet gray sort of snow that didn’t stick to anything and just made things miserable. Ross was half naked in bed rolling a zoot while Matty looked through the things he had in frames, leaning against the wall.

“What do you mean?” Ross asked, propped up an elbow and lighting the zoot.

Ross had invited Matty over, saying on the phone earlier that day, “Come help me unpack once and for all before we go back out on the road?”

“Is this a booty call?” Matty had asked. He’d just gotten out of a photoshoot where it had been just him and he felt the specific weariness from having to pose and pretend and wear strange clothes for two hours.

“No,” Ross said. “We’re gonna be good.”

But when Matty got there, when Ross opened the door to him, Ross had said, “Oh no,” groaning and giving Matty a crooked smile.

Matty reached up to brush snow from his hair, still standing in the doorway, waiting for Ross to let him in. “What?” he asked, but he felt it, the energy in the air, the desire wafting off of Ross’ body.

Matty was only in his shabbiest coat, ratty jeans, his big boots, but Ross said, “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Matty asked again, unbuttoning his coat slowly.

“Oh, it’s not fair,” Ross said, watching as Matty’s coat fell open, revealing the jumper underneath. He leaned dramatically against the open door, his face squishing against it as he looked at Matty full of affection and want.

Matty caught on but gave Ross a confused look anyway, making a show of unwinding his scarf, of biting his lip as he toed off his wet boots. “Dunno what you’re on about,” he said. “I’m just here to help you unpack. Now, can I come in or—”

Ross rolled his eyes and pulled him in by the lapels, letting the door fall shut behind them, kissing Matty fiercely in the front hallway. “How am I supposed to live?” he asked, shoving Matty’s coat to the floor, pushing his jumper up, attaching his mouth to Matty’s chest. “When you’re just existing like this?” Matty finished taking the jumper off and Ross was already undoing his jeans, pulling them down, going to his knees in front of Matty. “It’s f*cking cruel,” he said, taking Matty’s soft co*ck into his mouth.

And so, they’d spent the afternoon f*cking instead of unpacking anything. Now it was dark outside and it was snowing and awful and Matty was wondering why exactly he wasn’t miserable. He was rooting around inside his head for the dark parts, the sad winter parts, but all he could find was Ross. His face, his voice, his skin, his hands, his entire being. The whole of Ross was shoved into his skull where his brain should be.

“I mean,” Matty said, coming over to the bed and sitting at the foot while Ross took a long drag on the zoot. He leaned forward and Ross exhaled into his open mouth and then kissed him. “Why did you take me back? I thought you were completely over me.” He took the zoot from Ross and pulled on it, exhaling into Ross’ waiting mouth this time, but not kissing him, leaning back thoughtfully instead. “I dunno. I thought I’d lost you forever. But then you were back.”

Ross shrugged. “Is there anything else?” he asked. “Besides you and me?” Something sad was in his voice when he said it, like he’d tried something else, like he’d really hoped there would be something else. But Matty ignored it, taking another drag on the zoot, watching ash fall onto Ross’ duvet.

“Doesn’t seem like it, does it?” Matty said.

He suddenly felt the entire huge city all around them, full of people and cars and buses and trains, all of it moving ceaselessly outside but here it was just the two of them. And things felt quiet and still. All of the noise of the world was gone. There was just the crackle of the end of the zoot as Ross took another deep pull. The sigh of his exhale as he blew the smoke back out. The rustle of the sheets as he sat forward, resting the zoot in an ashtray and moving closer to Matty, his hand turning Matty’s face towards his. The timbre of his voice as he said, “I came back because I love you. I tried not to, but it’s impossible.”

They didn’t kiss. They did something even more awful than that, even more damning, even more destructive: they sat there, Ross’ hand on Matty’s face, their eyes locked on each other, the quiet of the flat falling around them, and they lived in the moment. Ross’ thumb moved along his cheekbone and Matty felt the love between them, really felt it. As if it were a physical thing taking up the space between their bodies, a thing with weight and substance. A thing that had value and could be broken. “Oh no,” Matty said, groaning.

Ross smiled a slow, tender smile. “What?” he asked.

Matty laughed. “You can’t do that,” he said.

“You see my point,” Ross said, raising his eyebrows, that smile of his inching closer and closer.

“f*cking cruel,” Matty said as Ross’ smile pressed against his.

They didn’t f*ck. They did something worse: they talked and laughed and finished the zoot and then Ross sat up in bed and Matty sat between his legs, leaning back against him, Ross’ arms over his arms, just holding him, the two of them just being together. The bedroom smelling strongly of old sex and fresh weed in a way that made Matty feel like he was seventeen. His addled brain imagining what that would have been like, him and Ross together when they were teenagers, when they were awkward and gangly and pimpled. “We should have been,” he said out loud.

“What?” Ross asked, laughing already.

“Together way back when,” Matty said. He was pulling at the hair on Ross’ arms and now he turned that arm over and traced along the numbers tattooed on Ross’ wrist, trying to ignore their meaning, trying to pretend it wasn’t a permanent reminder of how bad Matty had been, how low and awful things had gotten.

“Way back when when?” Ross asked, laughing harder. He always got way more stoned than Matty.

“Doesn’t matter,” Matty said, shaking the thought from his mind. He turned his head back and looked up at Ross who tightened his arms around Matty, pressed his face into Matty’s hair.

“Stay the night,” Ross said. He didn’t have to ask, but Matty liked the edge of need in his voice when he said it.

“I don’t know,” Matty said, pretending.

“Stay,” Ross said again, pressing a kiss to Matty’s temple. “Stay, stay, stay,” he said, lips on Matty’s cheek, on the corner of his mouth, and finally, Matty tilting his head just right, kissing him. “Stay,” he said, the word lost on Matty’s tongue.

“Alright,” Matty said, pulling away, laughing. “Twist my arm, why don’t ya?”

They ordered dinner, opened a bottle of wine, and started cataloging all of Ross’ art and general decor. A task Matty was happy to take on, pretending to be a gallery curator. Glass of red wine in one hand, eyes narrowed and judgmental as Ross held up different things for him to assess. Saying, “Definitely not,” to some of the art Ross had clearly been holding onto since 2013. Too masculine, too hideous. “I like that one,” Ross would say, frowning but setting it aside with the others to get rid of. Assigning rooms and placement to the things that were surprisingly decent, like the nicely framed print of a Hopper painting, the one with the doorway opening up right to the sea, the light spilling in beautifully. “Living room,” he said to that one. “Bedroom,” he said to a handful of vintage concert posters for 80s hardcore bands. “Front hallway?” he said uncertainly about a triptych of black and white photos of Edinburgh—Calton Hill, a picturesque street in Old Town, the Balmoral Clock.

Matty sat on the couch and watched Ross go around the flat, holding things up to the wall, trying to decide where they would go. “Here?” he asked, looking back at Matty, holding the Hopper print over the mantle.

“What about the far wall?” Matty suggested, pointing across the room. “Might help open up the space a bit?”

Ross skated across the room, socked feet sliding on the hardwood floor, and held the frame up on the far wall, looking back at Matty with his eyebrows raised. He had a small golf pencil behind his ear that he’d been using to mark where things would go. “Oh no,” Matty said.

Ross dropped his eyebrows, nearly dropped the frame. “What?” he asked, smiling.

Matty got up and crossed the room to Ross, taking the frame from his hands and setting it down against the wall. He put both hands on Ross’ face and looked at him. “It’s not fair,” he said as Ross bent down to kiss him, turning them and pressing Matty’s back to the wall as the kiss deepened, as Matty groaned into Ross’ mouth, hands sliding from his face to his neck, golf pencil falling and skittering across the floor.

It wasn’t fair that he was here right now in Ross’ flat, helping him decide where his art should go, but he might be gone again in a week, too scared or too weak or too f*cking stupid to keep a good thing going. It wasn’t fair that he had hurt Ross so badly and so often, and Ross still kissed him like this, still slid his hands under Matty’s t-shirt and sighed like the skin he found was his greatest relief. It wasn’t fair that this had been given to them, that this sort of love was theirs and not someone else’s, someone more deserving. It wasn’t fair that Matty was already having a vision of himself dropping it, breaking it, the pieces scattering.

“I love you so much,” Ross said when their mouths parted.

“That’s what’s not fair,” Matty said, more to himself than anything, pressing their foreheads together.

Ross lifted his head and put a finger underneath Matty’s chin, lifting it. “Let’s not get serious and sad tonight,” he said. “Let’s have some more wine and you can go through that box of books over there and judge my literary tastes, yeah?”

Everything suddenly seemed hopelessly frail, too real and soft and delicate. Matty didn’t want to hold it anymore. Didn’t want to be responsible for it. A familiar vibration was starting in his head, an old, unappeasable anxiety.

Ross was still towering over him, trapping him against the wall. Matty slid down another inch or so, making Ross seem even taller, even more looming. He saw a shadow pass through Ross’ eyes as he did it, as he made himself smaller. “You’re so f*cking massive,” he said, hands on Ross’ chest.

Ross gave a low, small grunt, his eyes staring down at Matty, his body moving in closer. “f*ck the books,” he breathed out as he simultaneously kissed Matty and lifted him up into his arms effortlessly, carrying him over to the couch and dropping him down.

“f*ck the books,” Matty echoed as Ross’ body covered his.

Matty didn’t sleep that night. And it wasn’t dark dreams or bog standard insomnia that kept him awake. It was Ross. It was just Ross lying there next to him, not even doing anything particularly interesting. But Matty found himself watching Ross take one breath and then waiting eagerly to witness the next. He would close his eyes, but then suddenly need to see Ross’ face again, as if the memory of it was fading rapidly. He would start drifting off, but be jerked back awake by Ross’ leg sliding along the sheets as he adjusted his position. And then Matty would have to look at him again, have to see what new arrangement Ross’ limbs were in. He thought about painting him in abstract blocks of color. He wanted to get up and find a notebook so he could sketch out the shape of Ross, but he didn’t want to wake him. So he memorized him instead.

He had slept next to Ross plenty so he couldn’t understand the sudden fascination. He couldn’t understand why he felt compelled to stay awake for hours and watch Ross as if he would disappear soon. He didn’t understand until dawn came, that winter dawn when everything was a deep purple-blue and the birds started singing without any sign from the sun. And then he realized, watching Ross’ face come out of the darkness, that he had somehow fallen even more in love with him. He had thought he’d reached the bottom of things, but sometime in the months since leaving Angelic, that bottom had fallen out and he’d fallen with it.

Now that it was morning, Matty got out of bed, pressing a kiss to Ross’ shoulder, mouth lingering on his freckled, tattooed skin, and then slipping out of the room, leaving Ross to sleep for another few hours.

In the living room, he found his discarded jumper from the day before, thrown over the back of the couch, and pulled it over his head, feeling the chill of cold winter air seeping through the old windows of the flat. He found his jeans in the front hallway and picked them up off the floor. He thought about pulling them on and leaving. Just quietly putting his boots on and sneaking out while Ross was still dreaming. He imagined the feeling of frigid air and warm sunlight on his face, the freedom of walking down the sidewalk, of being on his own.

But he didn’t. He made coffee as quietly as possible and then picked a box of books and set about unpacking it. A random assortment of cookbooks, novels, self-help bullsh*t, books that waxed philosophical about football, oversized art books. And then books he didn’t remember seeing in any of his previous flats. Half a dozen classic gay novels. Some Matty had read a long time ago—Giovanni’s Room, Maurice—but others he hadn’t yet—Dancer from the Dance, The City and the Pillar.

He started a stack for himself, things he wanted to borrow. Things he wanted to read and talk to Ross about. He thought about Ross coming back from that gay bar in Brighton, his enthusiasm, his thrill at being different and finding community. Maybe it was strange that they had grown up side by side, grown into queer men together, and had never really talked about that.

He was sitting on the floor, contemplating this with a surprisingly worn out copy of Brideshead Revisited in his hand when Ross came into the room. He was rubbing at one eye underneath his glasses, yawning and stretching, opening up his shoulders. Then he dropped his hand and looked at Matty. “Morning,” he said, smiling. His hair was a mess and there were creases on his face from the pillow and Matty felt frozen, stunned. He couldn’t do anything but sit there and watch this man as he scratched at his belly through his worn out t-shirt and padded into the kitchen.

“Oh, no,” he said to himself. He was suddenly gasping for a cigarette, but he stayed where he was until Ross came back out and sat on the end of the couch near him.

“I see you’ve started on the books,” Ross said, his voice was deeper than usual, rough with sleep. He took Brideshead from Matty’s hands, setting his cup of coffee on the arm of the couch and starting to flip through the pages. “This is a good one,” he said as if there weren’t dozens of dogeared pages, as if Matty couldn’t see notes on a few pages as he flipped through them.

“I’ve literally never seen you read a book like this,” Matty said. He leaned back on his hands, peering up at Ross.

Ross only shrugged. “Don’t tend to read this stuff around other people,” he said. “Might be alright for you, but I’d get questions, wouldn’t I?”

“Was it hard for you?” Matty asked, because he never had.

“What? Being a young poofter?” Ross asked, grinning despite the sadness Matty could see in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Matty said.

“Lonely, I s’pose,” Ross said, putting the book down, placing it on a stack of nonfiction. Matty didn’t bother to move it. He was waiting for Ross to say more. “Confusing, too. I didn’t figure it out for a long time. Hence these books. My way of trying to piece it together.”

Matty nodded. He’d grown up surrounded by queer culture with supportive parents. It had been relatively easy for him to figure it all out. It was almost expected of him. “I should have helped you more,” he said after a moment. “Back then. When we were just kids.”

Ross sighed and slid down to the floor next to Matty. “Maybe,” he said, putting his arms around him from the side, resting his head on his shoulder. “But I think I had to figure it out on my own.”

They sat together on the floor for a while, going through the stacks Matty had made, Ross giving a brief history on nearly all of them—where they came from, what they meant to him. Even the books on football seemed important to Ross, given to him by his dad or his brother for some milestone in his life. The self-help bullsh*t given to him by his mother in an attempt to help him when he seemed depressed or lost. Ross laughed, holding one of them in his hands, “She didn’t know I just needed you to come around and let me f*ck you.”

“Ah, yes,” Matty said, smiling. “f*cking me. Your purpose in life.”

But Ross’ face was serious when he looked back at Matty. “Something like that,” he said, reaching up to comb his fingers through Matty’s hair, his hand landing on the back of Matty’s neck.

They didn’t kiss. They looked at each other for a beat and then Matty stood up, nearly knocking over all the carefully piled up books. “Right,” he said. “So those are all sorted.”

Ross was still sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking books up and putting them down. And Matty was frozen again, disarmed by Ross’ vulnerability then, his long, pale legs sticking out of his boxers, his sleepy eyes behind the thick lenses of his glasses, surrounded by his relatively small collection of books that all meant something to him, in this empty flat that he lived in all alone. Matty was either going to cry or ask if he could move in with him, so he said, “I need a smoke,” and went out onto Ross’ tiny terrace, closing the door behind him.

It was bitterly cold outside and the terrace was wet with yesterday’s snow. Still, he lit a cigarette and stood out there for as long as it took to smoke it, looking out at the buildings, the blue sky being slowly taken over by bright winter clouds, the creeping gloom of London in the winter. He thought about Ross, and about himself, and about the two of them, about what the f*ck they were doing together, playing house in Ross’ flat, talking about love like it was something they would ever be allowed to have and hold onto. But he wanted it. He was f*cking terrified, cold with panic, but he wanted all of it, and he wanted it with Ross.

Ross stepped out onto the terrace then, hand on the small of Matty’s back. He hissed as his socked foot encountered gray slush. “f*cking freezing out here, mate,” he said, but he came and stood next to Matty anyway, shoulder to shoulder. Matty passed him what was left of the cigarette and watched Ross put it out in the snow piled up on the railing.

“I miss Angelic,” Matty said. He meant the birds and the trees and all of that green, empty space around them. But he also meant the way things had been simple. The way it had so often just been him and Ross, no noise, no bullsh*t, no outside world.

“Wonder how our old tree friend is doing,” Ross said, sighing and draping an arm over Matty’s shoulder. “Or that mysterious fox I never saw.”

Matty punched him weakly in the stomach. “She was f*cking real,” he said, laughing.

Ross hummed and pulled Matty into him, both arms around him. “I believe you,” he said quietly, kissing him and then bringing him back inside, back to his room, back to his bed.

Somehow, Matty left Ross’ flat that morning. Somehow he untangled himself from Ross’ body. Detached himself from the life Ross was unpacking and organizing in his flat. And then he was back out in the city with two of Ross’ paperbacks shoved in each of his coat pockets.

He read the books in between interviews and tour rehearsals and business meetings. He brought them with him to studio sessions with George, reading bits and pieces when George was busy fussing with the track. He read them on the Tube. He read them while Ross cooked dinner for them, stretched out on his couch, music on the stereo. He read them in Ross’ bathtub while Ross put on music and then came to sit on the bathroom floor by the tub, too big to get in with Matty, but wanting to be near him, wanting to comb his fingers through Matty’s wet hair and listen while Matty read out loud to him about gay men in New York in the seventies.

“Should we get a place on the Lower East Side?” he asked Ross, turning the page with a wet finger. “A real sh*thole sort of place that would just be ours.” He was joking, of course, but Ross seemed to consider it, resting his chin on the edge of the tub.

He wasn’t thinking about Matty’s question though. “Where does George think you are right now?” he asked.

Matty shrugged, keeping his eyes on the page. “Nowhere,” he said. “Why does he f*cking care?”

Ross gave him a pointed look.

“He made me take a drug test the other night,” Matty admitted. They’d gotten into a fight about where he’d been going. George making the obvious assumption with the way Matty was slipping in and out nearly every night. The vague excuses he’d been giving him.

“And?” Ross prompted. He lifted his chin off of the tub and took the book out of Matty’s hands, placing it on the tank of the toilet.

“Not you, too,” Matty said, rolling his eyes, but Ross didn’t say anything. “I passed with flying colors,” Matty said. He reached forward to unplug the drain.

Ross actually let out a breath of relief, like he hadn’t been sure. That breath wounded Matty. Ross didn’t trust him. Not even when he was spending nearly every waking moment with him.

“Okay,” Ross said. “So?”

“So I told him I was seeing someone,” Matty said. “Too new and too insignificant for him to worry about. Just some girl.” He shrugged.

“Just some girl,” Ross said.

Matty lifted a hand from the draining bathwater and touched Ross’ face, drops of water getting on his shirt. He stroked his beard. “Obviously you’re not new or insignificant,” he said. “Or a girl.”

Ross looked faraway, lost somewhere, but now he smiled at Matty. “Definitely not,” he said.

“Thank god for that,” Matty said, laughing and lifting his other hand from the tub, reaching down for Ross’ crotch, leaving a wet handprint on the front of his sweatpants.

The situation with George had gotten Matty thinking though. He would be thirty soon and maybe it was time to have his own space where he wouldn’t be watched constantly, where he could start to make his own life. Time to be a big boy. Plus he had money and for once it wasn’t all going to drugs. So he spent a cold, bright day in February letting an estate agent take him to different neighborhoods and show him houses he didn’t think he’d actually buy.

The first house she showed him was in Notting Hill and it was way out of his budget and had more bathrooms than he would ever know what to do with. The second was a decent enough house in Acton—within his budget, recently renovated. But something about it didn’t feel right, impersonal almost, no character.

And then the estate agent took him to a third house in Queen’s Park where the streets felt too quiet, too filled with families and prams, too clean and nice for someone like him. He wondered if he’d have to go door to door and let all the neighbors know that he was a recovering drug addict rockstar who loved co*ck.

But stepping into the house, he had a feeling like he’d been there before. The stone walls and floors, the windows letting in small amounts of light, just enough but not too much. In rehab, he had learned how to meditate and he had always placed himself somewhere like this when he closed his eyes and let go of all the bullsh*t. Minimal and cold in a way that let him exist as purely himself and not as all the terrible things he’d let define him for so long.

The estate agent seemed apologetic about how dark the house was, promising it would get more light later in the day and then proudly showing him the courtyard in the back. Gravel, a big rock, a single tree. Small, but private, surrounded by the walls of the house. It was noon and the sun was falling squarely on the courtyard, filling it with light while the rest of the house was still dark. Again, the estate agent was assuring him the gravel could be replaced with grass and the courtyard could be filled with flowers. She had no idea how at peace Matty felt standing there. She had no idea how rare peace like that was for him.

He knew he wanted the house, but he told the estate agent he wanted to think about it. What he wanted was to show Ross the photos he’d taken. He wanted to tell Ross all about how he’d felt when he walked in. He wanted to know what Ross thought about the tree in the courtyard, the arched windows in the living room, the dark coolness of it all.

Those days, without meaning to, Matty kept ending up at Ross’ flat. Any time he went out, he inevitably found himself there. Pop out to go to the shops? Wind up being kissed in Ross’ doorway. Go out to dinner with friends? That was him tipsy and leaning into Ross’ doorbell until Ross let him up and took him into his arms. He was never consciously thinking about it. He would just be led there by some invisible force.

But the last few days he’d been trying to appease George by being good and staying home. He had found himself putting his shoes on the night before last, about to head out the door at nearly one in the morning. Because a car driving past had been playing an old 90s R&B song he and Ross both loved so naturally he had to see him. But George had come out of his room and, seeing Matty tying his trainers, asked, “Where are you going?” Accusatory, suspicious, concerned, tired.

“Ran out of cigs,” Matty lied. “Just popping down to get more.”

He could tell that George wanted to offer to go with him, one of his hands drifting awkwardly to the back of his neck as he watched Matty finish tying up his shoes. His mouth opening and then closing again.

“I’ll be back,” Matty said as he stood up. He put a hand on George’s shoulder and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Swear down?” George asked with a faint smile.

“Swear down,” Matty said.

So he’d gone and bought cigarettes, smoking two of them outside, before dutifully going back up to the flat, checking in with George and then getting into his own bed. But he had trouble falling asleep. The city was too loud. His room was too quiet. The world was too big. His bed was too small. Everything too much and yet not enough.

After trying to fall asleep for a long time, he went into George’s room. George was out for the night, his huge body starfished across the bed, but Matty crawled in next to him, making do with what room he had. George muttered and adjusted his body, folding it around Matty, but not waking up.

Matty had brought his phone with him, just in case, and he tapped the screen now. That photo of Ross in a Belfast hotel room lighting up the dark. He stared at Ross’ face until the screen went black and then he tapped it again, repeating the cycle over and over, with George’s chest rising and falling against his back, until he finally fell asleep.

Now, he left that perfect, dark house and the estate agent and, just like that, he was standing outside of Ross’ flat, pressing the doorbell, desperate to talk to him, to see his face up close and in person. There was no immediate answer so he waited a moment before pressing it again. Still nothing. He stepped back from the door and looked up at the windows of Ross’ flat, not that he could see anything from down there. He went back to the doorbell and pressed it again, feeling his agitation come on strong and abrupt, muttering to himself, “Come on, Ross.” No answer.

He pulled out his phone and tried calling Ross, but it rang and rang, and then there was Ross’ voice telling him to leave a message. He hung up and tried texting him: hey, where are you? Trying to play it cool. But he was growing more and more distraught. A few minutes passed before Ross texted him back: out with some friends. why? So nonchalant, so unenthusiastic.

No reason, he texted back. Just wanted to see you.

Another interminable amount of time passed and then Ross texted: Tomorrow? xx

“f*ck tomorrow,” Matty said out loud, squeezing his phone tightly in his hand. He sat down on the front steps of Ross’ building. Tonight?? xxxx, he texted back. It was only early afternoon, but he could wait. Maybe, probably. The sun had gone away and the wind had turned raw and biting. His arse was already going numb.

I’ll text you later, Ross replied. He was giving Matty the brush-off. He was not going to drop everything and come see Matty. Fine. That was fine. He didn’t respond to that. He slid his phone into his pocket and pulled his useless coat around him a bit more tightly. He would just wait a little bit longer. In case Ross changed his mind.

He sat on those steps as the sun came back out, warming him for a bit before going away again and leaving him freezing. He smoked all of the cigarettes left in the pack he had with him. He stood up every once in a while to walk down the stairs, to the curb, looking up and down the street, and then back again. He moved out of the way for one of Ross’ neighbors coming in with his bike. He sat with his cheek against knees, knowing he should leave, go home, at least go to a nearby cafe where it was warm. But there was a stubbornness in him that kept him there on those steps. And a fear that wouldn’t let him leave either, certain that as soon as he was gone, Ross would show up.

The sun was just beginning to set when Matty heard familiar footsteps, a certain shuffle of shoes, the distinct sound of Ross’ gait. He lifted his head from his knees and there was Ross. “Darling,” he said, smiling at him, his cheeks were burning from the wind and the cold.

Ross frowned back at him. “Have you been waiting here for me?”

“Not for long,” Matty said, but when he tried to stand up, his joints were stiff and aching and Ross had to reach for his hands to steady him. “Not for that long.”

“Come on,” Ross said, his voice soft with affection. “Let’s go up.”

Upstairs, Ross drew a bath for Matty. He undressed him carefully, lovingly, and then helped him into the hot water, taking up his usual position on the floor by the tub. “You might have frozen to death,” Ross said, running a hand through the water to test the temperature.

“Dramatic,” Matty said, sliding down further into the water so that only his head stuck out.

“Says the man who sat on my front step for hours,” Ross threw back at him.

“I didn’t want to be anywhere else,” Matty said. “I’d rather be stuck in freezing limbo waiting for you than doing anything else with my time. Take it as a compliment.”

Ross sighed, pressed his lips together. “I think—” He stopped, shaking his head. Matty looked at him, waiting, wanting to know what he thought. “I love you,” was what he said in the end, a resignation to the words, a feeling of defeat almost.

“You think you love me?” Matty teased him, laughing and dropping all the way underwater before Ross had a chance to shove him down. He came back up, whipping his wet hair away from his face. “I love you, too,” he said.

Ross wordlessly stood up and took his clothes off, stepping into the tub and lowering himself down. He didn’t fit, but with some creative arranging of their legs, he was there, facing Matty. He looked ridiculous and huge in the tub, most of his top half sticking out of the water. His hands absently bringing hot water to his shoulders and his chest so they wouldn’t feel left out. Matty watched a drop of water hang from his right nipple for a moment and then drip delicately back into the tub.

“Just don’t be so f*cking stupid, yeah?” Ross said.

“You make me stupid,” Matty said. “You take everything out of my head. Nothing in there but Ross.” He leaned forward and Ross leaned forward and they kissed for the first time in days, a soft, lingering kiss, the kind that stopped and started again, over and over.

When Ross sat back again, sending water sloshing over the side of the tub, Matty said, “I found a house.”

Ross raised his eyebrows. “That was quick,” he said. His hands were running up and down Matty’s calves below the water. He leaned forward and kissed one of Matty’s kneecaps, his lips somehow warmer than the bathwater, giving Matty goose pimples. “Tell me about it.”

July 5, 2023 - Evening

He finds Ross in the kitchen, filling a glass at the tap and staring blankly ahead at nothing. When he hears Matty come into the room, he blinks and turns to him.

Matty steps farther into the kitchen. The sunlight is slanting through the house like it always does on summer afternoons. The kitchen is somehow both bright and dark, big pools of light on the floor, large clusters of shadows up by the ceiling. Ross’ bottom half is crossed diagonally with a band of sun, but Matty can’t quite make out his face. “You left me,” Matty says.

Ross takes a long drink of water, his eyes on Matty as he does. Matty who is still completely naked and still hard. “Needed water,” Ross says, a small lift of his shoulders. He takes another drink and puts the glass down on the counter. “Plus, I didn’t want you to come yet.”

Matty looks at the glass, beads of condensation running down and pooling on the counter. He wants to be the cool water in the glass, wants to slip into Ross’ mouth and be swallowed down. He wants to be the glass itself, held firmly in Ross’ big hand, fingers wrapped around him and moving wetly against his slick surface, wants to be lifted and then held against Ross’ mouth. “Please,” he says, stepping closer to Ross.

Ross gives a small shake of his head. “Not yet,” he says again.

Matty comes closer and reaches for the sweating glass, feeling its smooth coolness. He doesn’t drink from it though. He holds it up to Ross. “Drink up, darling,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to get dehydrated.”

He senses both of them slipping into their weird sex dimension where reality is ever so warped and their thoughts go crooked. Ross takes the glass from him with one hand and also takes Matty’s dick in his other hand, stroking him deliberately as he takes a long, slow drink. Matty watches him swallow, his lips wet, his eyes dark. The glass is empty now and Matty is suddenly absolutely f*cking parched. “What if I’m thirsty too?” he asks, tilting his head up at Ross with pleading eyes.

Ross lifts a hand, his thumb pulling Matty’s bottom lip down until Matty dutifully opens his mouth. Matty knows what’s going to happen, but he’s still startled when Ross spits into his mouth, letting a thick line of it hang from his lips and drop down onto Matty’s tongue. “Drink up, darling,” Ross says, and then he spits again, this time quick and dirty, his hand closing Matty’s jaw for him.

Matty keeps Ross’ spit in his mouth for a moment. The hand on Matty’s dick has stopped moving, but still holds onto him. “Swallow,” Ross says, voice ragged and dark. Matty swallows, eyes on Ross. And then he opens his mouth again, desperate for more. His co*ck harder than ever, pulsing in Ross’ fist.

Ross lets him go, both hands leaving him. He undoes the fly of his jeans and pulls his own co*ck out, looking down at it. Somehow he’s not nearly as achingly hard as Matty, somehow only halfway there and in need of encouragement. Matty looks at it and then looks back up at Ross, his mouth still hanging open. As he waits for Ross to tell him what to do, his mouth fills with his own spit, some of it spilling over his parted lips. Literally drooling over Ross’ co*ck.

Ross squeezes his co*ck and sighs, starting to stroke himself as he looks at Matty. “You want this in your mouth?” he asks.

Matty nods meekly, but doesn’t speak. He wants Ross to kiss him, spit in his mouth again, shove his dick down his throat, f*ck him rough and wild. He wants Ross to walk away from him again. He wants Ross to do whatever he wants. He wants Ross to disregard what Matty wants. But, yes, he also wants Ross’ co*ck in his mouth very badly.

“Hmm,” Ross says, thinking, touching himself absently. “Interesting.”

Marry me, Matty thinks again because he wants to play this game with Ross forever. He wants to lay himself down at Ross’ feet and say, You can have me like this for the rest of my life.

Ross tucks his co*ck away again, zipping up his fly. Matty lets out a small, mournful noise, as Ross steps forward and kisses him, rough and wet and possessive. His hands go to the back of Matty’s neck and press hard into the skin there as his tongue licks into his mouth. Matty’s body arches forward, his naked chest against Ross’ t-shirt. He kisses back, but he lets Ross do most of the work, lets Ross use his mouth how he needs to. He bites at Matty’s bottom lip and then sucks on it. His tongue feels like a teenage tongue, imprecise and seeking only the heat of Matty’s mouth. His fingers slide up into Matty’s curls, pulling his head back so that his mouth opens wider beneath Ross’. His hair falls around Matty’s face as they kiss, darkness pierced every now and then by a bright ray of evening sun.

Abruptly, Ross stops kissing him. He lets go of Matty’s hair, pulls his mouth away, and leans back against the counter just as he’d been a moment ago. Except that now his lips are bright red, shining. He shakes his hair back, out of his face, and braces his hands behind him on the countertop. And there is his thick, hard co*ck in his jeans, perfectly outlined and on display. He stands like that, letting Matty look at him, and then he pushes off the counter, brushes past Matty, and leaves the kitchen.

Spring 2019

Twelve f*cking hours was too long to be on a plane, Matty decided somewhere around hour five of their flight to Mexico. Ross sat a full four rows ahead of Matty in a single seat row while Matty was stuck next to Jamie who either wanted to talk business or, like now, fell asleep and snored loudly with his mouth open. Matty could see the top of Ross’ head, the side of his face, and he could easily imagine the rest of him—his long legs cramped in the airplane seat even though they were in business class, his elbow on the arm rest, hand propping his head up as he gazed out the window. Matty pulled his phone from the pocket in front of him and texted Ross, hoping to f*cking god he’d turned on the messaging wifi: Need you.

He saw Ross’ head bend down and then turn slightly, almost looking back but not quite. Be good, Ross texted back. As if that wouldn’t do it for Matty, as if those two words wouldn’t make his dick jump immediately.

He shifted in his seat, checking that Jamie was still out of it. Don’t wanna be good, he texted.

He heard Ross clear his throat, watched him turn more towards the window. Not even for me? Ross texted.

Matty covered his mouth with his hand, smiling into his palm and crossing one leg over the other. Ross made an excellent point. Ross was the only person he wanted to be good for. Tell me how to be good for you then, Matty replied.

You can wait patiently until we’re at the hotel tonight, Ross texted.

Matty rolled his eyes at his phone. Hours from now :(

He tried to look at Ross, but he’d turned inward too much. Matty could only see the hint of a leg, a flash of denim. And then his text: I promise it’ll be worth the wait.

Tell me what you’ll do to me if I’m good, Matty replied quickly.

Ross didn’t respond immediately. Matty saw him lower his seat so that he was mostly lying down. Matty did the same with his own seat, finding the scratchy airplane blanket and pulling it over himself.

I’ll tell you, Ross texted, but you can’t get off on the plane.

Matty was about to tell Ross he was cruel, but then Ross texted again: I want you to save it all for me. And he really was f*cking cruel, selfish too.

Haven’t you heard of the Mile High Club? ;) ;)

You know we’re not both going to fit in that toilet, Ross replied. I barely fit in there on my own.

I know somewhere else you *just* barely fit.

Matty heard Ross laugh in his high pitched, abrupt way and then immediately tamp it down. That’s why I’ll have to take my time spreading you open, Ross texted.

I’m listening.

Start with my tongue. A pause and then another text: Feel like it’s been ages since I’ve tasted you properly.

Eons, Matty responded. In reality, it hadn’t been that long; a week, maybe two. But then again, time was different for the two of them.

I wanna feel you tightening around my tongue, Ross said. Matty felt himself clench instinctively as he read the words. I wanna f*ck you with my tongue until you’re begging for more.

Please, Matty said obligingly. Under his blanket, he slid his hand down and palmed his crotch. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but he was getting there.

And then I’m going to just keep licking you, Ross texted. Because you taste so good. I can never get enough.

Love the feeling of your tongue on me, Matty replied, squeezing his dick. Next to him, Jamie snorted, shifted, kept on sleeping. It should have made him less hard, but it didn’t.

Then I’m going to spit on your pretty little hole, Ross said.

Yes, Matty responded. Please, Ross. And then, You think it’s pretty?

He heard Ross laugh again, his ears so attuned to the sound, picking up the softness of it over the plane noise, the murmur of other conversations. But Ross ignored the question, texting back: Do you want my fingers?

I want your co*ck, Matty texted back. Just being honest. He tried to look at Ross one more time, and this time he found Ross looking back at him, over his shoulder, for just a second before he turned back into his seat.

Patience, Ross said. Remember? You have to be good.

Matty groaned audibly, turning it into a long yawn and stretch in case anyone heard. I remember. I’ll be so good, he said. Promise. Yes, I want your fingers.

Under his blanket, Matty popped open the button of his jeans, eased the zipper down, and— Don’t touch yourself, Ross texted then. Matty’s eyes darted up but he only saw the very top of Ross’ head, leaning against the bulkhead of the plane. Matty reached in to feel his dick anyway, fully hard now. Bad boy, Ross texted. And, again, Matty checked but Ross still wasn’t looking.

I’m not doing anything, he lied, his hand slipping into his underwear, feeling the heat of his erection.

You *just* promised you’d be good, Ross said, but you’re being so f*cking bad right now.

Need to be punished, Matty texted with one hand, wrapping his fingers around himself.

Ross didn’t reply for a long stretch of minutes. He went completely radio silent. Matty sitting there with his hand on his dick, not moving. This was his punishment obviously. Ross would ignore him for the rest of the flight now. He’d never find out what Ross was going to do with his fingers. He’d never find out if Ross was going to eventually give him his co*ck. Maybe Ross wouldn’t even f*ck him later in the hotel room. An unfathomable thought.

He pulled his hand out of his pants, did up his fly again, and texted Ross: I’m sorry. I really will be good this time. I’ll do anything you tell me.

Both hands above the blanket, Ross responded right away. Matty knew it was all a trick of knowing Matty well enough that Ross could predict his every move and not some sort of psychic ability or stealth surveillance situation, but he still dutifully put his hands on top of the blanket where everyone could see. He wanted Ross to actually turn around and see for himself how good Matty was behaving now. But he didn’t.

Okay, Matty said. There.

Good boy, Ross texted. And, oh, Matty f*cking hated him for that one. He let out a shrill, sudden peal of laughter because he felt insane right then. He immediately covered his mouth with one of his very well-behaved hands. Ross sent another text: Now, where were we?

You were about to take me apart with your fingers, Matty said.

Ah, right. I was pressing one finger into you so so slowly, Ross replied, immediately picking the thread back up. And you’re tight but taking it so easily.

Feels so good, Matty said, biting hard on the inside of his cheek.

I can feel you trying to pull me in deeper, Ross said.

Another, Matty texted. And then, Please. And then, pls pls pls. Because he had to do something with his hands. He was glad for a moment that Jamie was sat next to him, keeping him in check.

I’ve got two fingers in you now, buried so deep inside, Ross texted.

f*ck me with them, Matty responded. He moved his hips, trying to see if he could get any friction from it, but it wasn’t even close to enough. Open me up good for that huge f*cking co*ck of yours. He decided to just go all in on what he was texting, if he couldn’t do anything for himself. He could at least try to make it good for Ross.

Never said you were getting my co*ck.

Matty felt his heart nearly give out. His dick gave a single, devastating throb. Please I’m being so good, he sent back.

You are, Ross said, but maybe I just want to suck you off while I finger you. Maybe I want to make us both wait a bit.

Matty whimpered out loud and found himself actually close to crying. Blame the altitude, blame the oxygen levels for heightening all of his emotions, blame Ross for being so in control that it made Matty feel completely out of control. Please, was what he managed to text. f*cking broken record.

Or maybe you will get my co*ck, Ross texted. Matty’s heart soared again, revived, revitalized, renewed.

I’m so f*cking ready for it, Matty responded, his free hand gripping at the blanket.

You are? Ross asked.

Matty let out a loud breath. Deliriously ready.

And then there was nothing for a moment. Matty’s heart sank once more. Was he being punished again? Had he stepped out of line? Had he been too eager? That was it. He wanted it too much. Well, how was he supposed to f*cking help that? Didn’t they both want each other way too f*cking much? Wasn’t that their whole thing?

He was working himself into a proper spiral when he saw Ross standing up, long arms stretching upwards, touching the overhead bin, his shirt rising up and showing off a bit of his belly. It was dark on the plane. Almost everyone else was asleep or zoned out in front of an awful film. Nobody but Matty was witnessing the massive hard-on Ross was sporting as he made his way down the aisle. He wasn’t looking at Matty though. Not even when he was walking by Matty’s seat. But his hand brushed lightly against Matty’s shoulder as he passed. The briefest touch but Matty felt like he was on fire.

He turned and watched Ross make his way back to the toilet and he understood. He waited a moment or two and then followed him. He knocked lightly on the toilet door and listened for the unlatching of the lock. He stepped in quietly, closing the door behind him.

Seeing Ross there, in the bright light of the toilet, after spending so much time in the dark plane cabin imagining him, was startling. There he was, looking a bit rumpled after going on six hours in the air, with his glasses on and his hoodie. Plus he seemed huge in the small space, the top of his head grazing the ceiling, his shoulders nearly touching both walls. Matty went up on his toes, wanting to kiss him, but Ross shook his head. “Down,” he said in a rough, almost silent whisper.

Matty did as he was told, not worrying about the state of the floor, not really caring about anything besides Ross opening his jeans and pulling his co*ck out, pressing the head against Matty’s lips until they opened and wrapped around him. Ross f*cked into his mouth once and then he was coming, almost instantly spilling into Matty’s mouth with a stifled groan as he slumped forward, shaking and breathing heavily.

“f*ck,” Ross sighed, pulling Matty back up and then, finally, kissing him, tasting himself on Matty’s tongue. His hand slid between their bodies, finding Matty’s co*ck, cupping him through his jeans. Matty moved away from his touch, almost on instinct, and felt Ross smile against his mouth. “Good boy,” Ross said, his tongue licking at the seam of Matty’s lips.

Matty opened his mouth to Ross, their tongues brushing as Ross pulled away again. “So good in fact,” he said. “I’ve decided you can get off on the plane.”

Matty’s stomach dropped at the thought. He realized the idea disappointed him. “No,” he said, once again moving out of reach of Ross’ hand as it was going for the button of his jeans. “I want to wait.”

An ache shot through his body, threatening mutiny, revolt. He bit the inside of his lip hard and looked at Ross. His eyes dark behind his glasses. He lifted a hand to Matty’s face, touching him tenderly, adoringly, but then his fingers slid into his hair and gripped hard. “Why?” he asked simply.

Every nerve ending in Matty’s body seemed to be concentrated where Ross’ fingers were pulling on his hair. He stepped in closer to Ross, their hips lining up so that Ross could feel how hard he still was. “I like how it feels,” Matty said, shrugging even though his body was shaking. “Wanting you this much. Needing you.” Ross had moved even closer to him. Matty took in a deep breath. “I feel so f*cking alive like this,” he let out in a whisper.

Ross’ grip on Matty’s hair loosened and he sighed, leaning down and kissing him so softly, so desperately. And then he let Matty go completely, doing up his fly, washing his hands and then leaving the toilet and closing the door behind him. Matty stood for a while, looking at himself in the mirror. His hair in the back disturbed from Ross’ fingers. His lips red and swollen from being kissed. His face looking vulnerable, open, happy but a bit lost, eyes wild and hungry. He waited until he was slightly less hard, until he was at least not as noticeably aroused, and then he went back to his seat where Jamie was still sleeping, where the top of Ross’ head was still four rows in front of him, where there were still several hours left in their flight.

I love you by the way, Ross texted him. Matty looked up and saw his eyes over the top of his seat, looking back at him.

I love you too, Matty replied.

And it went like that, all over Latin America for the rest of the month. Ross could have him whenever he wanted him, but Matty never knew when that would be. Matty was simply out at sea, being tossed around by the waves. Sometimes the current would pull him under and other times it would bring him mercifully to shore where he would have a moment to breathe. But he loved every second of it. He loved the not thinking, the not knowing. He liked the sweet anticipation, the way his body was constantly vibrating and waiting for the next time Ross would touch him. He liked giving up control of himself and succumbing to a greater feeling.

He waited for Ross’ cue. A touch of his hand on Matty’s shoulder, a specific look from across the room. Or something even more subtle. Ross clearing his throat or switching a glass from his right to his left hand or combing his fringe back with his fingers. An intricate flagging system that they never actually spoke about.

On their last night in Mexico, the cue was simply the way Ross took in a breath, the particular way his chest expanded. The whole group was having drinks at the hotel bar, sitting in the outdoor area so they could smoke, and Matty saw Ross take that breath and he knew to get up and walk towards the pool area as if he had to take a call. He wandered off, holding his phone to his ear, listening to nothing, talking to no one. The pool was up a set of stairs and away from the bar area, out of sight of the group, and it was empty just then. He stood looking at the surrounding mountains, the sky a deep purple, and then he felt a hand at the small of his back, slipping around to his stomach, and Ross’ voice low in his ear, saying, “There you are,” as he pressed his mouth to the side of Matty’s neck.

Matty didn’t care about anything other than turning around and letting Ross kiss him hard, hands on his hips, tongue in his mouth. He heard the group laughing far away and he kissed Ross back, tasting tequila on his tongue, lime juice, salt, something about it making him dig his claws into Ross’ back and kiss him ever harder.

There was a relatively secluded outdoor shower nearby and Ross pulled Matty into it. Matty laughed louder than he should have as he stumbled in behind Ross. He heard it echoing out into the night, distinctly his laugh, and he was certain the others heard it as well. Heard the love in it, the desire, and understood exactly what was going on. Ross put a hand over his mouth to stop the sound and then he turned Matty around, pressing his face against the wall of the shower. “I love you,” Matty sighed as Ross pushed up his shirt, his lips trailing down his spine. “Oh, I love you,” he sighed again as Ross reached around to undo his trousers, pulling them down along with his underwear, his mouth following. “f*ck, I love you,” he said finally as Ross spread him open, licking delicately at his hole and then more eagerly, burying his face there.

Matty was making far too much noise and Ross let him know, biting not so gently on his arse cheek when he stopped to take a breath. Biting him again when Matty automatically groaned. And then Matty went silent as Ross got back to work. He reached down to touch himself, pausing for a moment with his hand hovering near his dick, until Ross grunted his assent and he started pumping his co*ck as Ross’ tongue pressed inside him.

Matty heard footsteps, far off, but getting closer. He felt Ross pause for a second, not even a full second, and then kept going, replacing his tongue with his index finger, pushing it in rough and dry, making Matty shudder, his co*ck dripping onto the ground below. Ross’ other hand reached up, cupping Matty’s balls while the finger inside him curled slightly. Matty came abruptly, biting hard on his bottom lip to hold in the strangled cry that came up in his throat.

Ross pulled his finger out slowly and then stood up carefully. There were voices nearby, but not familiar ones. Voices speaking in Spanish, heels clicking against the cement of the pool deck. Matty buttoned himself up, watching Ross wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. They kissed one more time, lightly, trying to make it as silent as possible. And then Matty stepped out from the shower casually, looking around him like he was only exploring the area.

There were two workers standing by the edge of the pool, a bartender and one of the housekeepers. They looked at Matty strangely for a second before smiling at him with their best customer service smiles and turning to walk the other way. He walked back towards the bar area, where everyone was sitting. Ross was right behind him, dropping his hands roughly on both of Matty’s shoulders, like a chum would do, a good mate who’d just gotten back from the toilets. Not someone who’d just had Matty’s balls resting in his hand, a finger in his arse. “Another round, lads?” Ross asked, looking around the table.

And then he went back to waiting. Days spent like a vibrating guitar string, his body ringing out, waiting for a palm to mute him, still him. Days spent in a strange liminal space where nothing and everything was happening all at once. Around him, they were on tour. They were performing and then they were traveling. He was doing interviews and singing his songs. But Matty felt as if he wasn’t moving at all, as if he was suspended in time. Only when Ross touched him would he start up again, moving at twice the speed to catch up to the present moment.

In Argentina, the cue was the way Ross tuned his bass at the beginning of soundcheck, spending far longer than necessary on a string that was already perfectly tuned, purposefully taking it out of tune just to adjust it right back. Matty had been kneeling at the front of the stage, checking something with his pedal station, and when he looked up at Ross, a second cue was the way Ross was holding a pick in the left side of his mouth, between his teeth, looking back at Matty as he switched it to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. Matty knew to make an excuse and leave the stage for a moment, pretending he’d forgotten something vital, looking around and patting his pockets, making a real show of it. He handed his guitar to one of the techs and wound his way through the backstage area, weaving through crew members and stacks of equipment for other bands, and then he found an empty dressing room, stepping in and leaving the door ajar.

He got down on his knees and waited for Ross. He waited one minute and then another and then he thought maybe he read the signals wrong, maybe Ross didn’t want this. He waited one more minute and thought, no, this is exactly what Ross had in mind. He was probably still out there tuning that same f*cking string, knowing Matty was back here on his knees. Matty felt a familiar pang, a sharp buzzing going through him as his knees started to ache. He wouldn’t give himself the comfort of resting on his heels. He would stay upright on his knees until Ross showed up. Which he did, thankfully, after close to five minutes. He pushed through the door and then closed it firmly behind him.

Matty sagged with relief for a moment before straightening up again, running a hand through his hair and tilting his face up towards Ross who loomed over him now, that pick still in his mouth. Ross opened his trousers and took his already hard co*ck out, stroking himself a few times as Matty licked his lips, shook the curls from his eyes, and waited patiently. Ross held the base of his co*ck and tapped it lightly against Matty’s cheeks and lips.

“Looked so good on your knees out there,” Ross said, the head of his co*ck pulling on Matty’s bottom lip. He spoke around the pick and then spit it from his mouth, the plastic skittering across the floor, lost somewhere. “But you look better like this,” he said as Matty’s mouth fell open, his co*ck resting on the flat of Matty’s tongue.

Matty loved the heat of him, the taste of him, sharp and distinct. But he didn’t close his mouth around Ross yet. He would wait until he was told. For now, Ross seemed content to thrust slowly in and out of Matty’s open mouth, his dick dragging along Matty’s tongue, leaking onto it.

“So pretty with my co*ck in your mouth,” Ross said. His free hand drifted down, brushed some of Matty’s curls away from his face. He dragged his dick slowly from Matty’s mouth and then f*cked back into it, hitting the back of Matty’s throat. “Close, please,” he said, fingers gripping Matty’s hair.

Matty closed his lips around Ross’ co*ck and hollowed out his cheeks, sucking him off eagerly. He lifted his hands and held onto Ross’ thighs as he worked, gagging around Ross but not pulling off of him, letting his mouth fill with saliva and precome, letting it slip back out and run down Ross’ co*ck. He waited for Ross to reprimand him for making a mess, for making too much noise as he choked. But Ross was lost in it too. Matty turned his eyes up to him and saw Ross looking back, pupils blown out, eyebrows pulled together, mouth slack.

There was a knock at the door, but it sounded far away, from another reality. Not this one. Not the reality where Matty was sitting up a little straighter and moving his hands to Ross’ arse, feeling the tight muscles through his trousers as he f*cked Matty’s mouth.

Another knock but the sound had no place there amongst Ross’ huffing breaths and grunts, the wet noises of Matty’s mouth on his co*ck.

A third knock that only received an answer of Ross saying in a low voice, “God, you take my dick so well, don’t you?” And Matty responding with a garbled sound of confirmation, too focused on taking Ross’ dick so well.

A fourth knock and a voice saying, “Everything alright in there?” A voice they would be able to place if Ross wasn’t busy saying, “Such a good boy. You’re gonna make me come.” If Ross wasn’t then busy coming not so quietly down Matty’s throat.

A final knock that they both fully heard this time and willfully ignored. Matty sitting back on his heels, breathing and holding his wrist up to his mouth as he finished swallowing. Ross pulling him up onto his feet and kissing him, licking at some of the leftover come in the corners of Matty’s mouth, growling against Matty’s tongue and then laughing, his arm around Matty’s back, holding him as if they were dancing lovers.

“Whenever you’re ready, we’d really like to finish soundcheck,” the voice on the other side of the door said, sounding over it, done, but also extraordinarily unbothered. Matty recognized it as Hann then, and felt relieved. Hann wouldn’t ask questions or tell anyone or even assume anything. Hann was good in that way.

“Have we been caught?” Ross asked, worried but with a half smile on his face.

“Just Hann,” Matty shrugged, holding onto Ross’ biceps as he stood on his toes to kiss him. “And I don’t think he could tell what we were doing or who was doing it.” Matty wasn’t sure if that was true, but he knew it would make Ross feel better to hear it, and he knew Hann wouldn’t bring it up.

“Right,” Ross said. “I was just in the toilet.” Matty heard his post org*sm bliss subsiding and being replaced with his standard issue Ross anxiety.

“And I,” Matty said, looking around the room and finding a shirt that he promptly changed into, “just needed a new shirt.” He spread his arms out, showing off the t-shirt he’d swapped his other t-shirt for, and smiling broadly at Ross.

“Right,” Ross said again, but he was chewing on his lips.

Matty stepped forward, hands on Ross’ chest. “We’re fine,” he said soothingly.

“We’re being careless,” Ross pointed out.

“You’re the one in control here,” Matty said, hands moving up to his neck. “We can be as careful or as careless as you want.” He reached up and pressed his mouth to Ross’ jaw. “I’m just along for the ride. I do what you say.”

Ross laughed at that, but Matty could feel him shaking underneath his hands. “Doesn’t f*cking feel like I’m in control.”

Matty’s hands tried to angle Ross’ head down, eyes seeking his eyes, mouth seeking his mouth. But Ross was fighting against him, moving his head back, looking up and away, until he gave in and dropped his forehead to Matty’s. “I wish I could turn it off,” he said, sounding anguished.

“No, you don’t,” Matty said. His mouth found Ross’ then, kissing him deeply.

“You’re right,” Ross said, pulling Matty’s hips against his, feeling that Matty was still completely hard for him. “I f*cking don’t.”

Right before going on stage in Brazil, Matty was trying to remember the last time Ross had told him he loved him with his actual voice. He could pull up the words in a text Ross had sent maybe a week ago. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually said it. If they were alone, they were f*cking. If they weren’t alone, they were figuring out when they could f*ck. Romance had gone out the window. There was no time for tenderness, for loving embraces, for any of that bullsh*t. They had to get their release, the one they both clearly needed so f*cking desperately.

A release that, more and more, was never quite good enough. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d both actually gotten off together. Or the last time they’d even properly f*cked. The last time they’d been able to fall asleep in the same bed. He couldn’t remember the last time they had sex and it felt like he was actually with Ross. Connection and all that. God, he’d become insufferable, hadn’t he.

He didn’t care. He missed Ross. He missed him terribly. Pathetically. He cried sometimes in lonely hotel rooms at night, thinking it should be easy. Being in love with his best friend, his bandmate, the person he already spent all of his time with. It should be so easy, but it was really f*cking hard. He would make Ross shapes out of the extra pillows and cuddle them like a f*cking twat. Pressing his nose into a pillow and pretending it smelled anything like Ross.

And now, minutes before they had to be on stage, he needed to hear Ross say it. He needed Ross to tell him. Ross was a few feet away, talking closely with Waughy about something that seemed oddly serious. Both of them frowning, Ross nodding and then putting a hand on Waughy’s shoulder, squeezing it as he looked up and met Matty’s eyes. Matty nodded in a vague direction. He had no idea where they could go. He just needed to talk to Ross.

Ross said something to Waughy who covered the hand Ross had on his shoulder with his own and then looked over at Matty, something sad and curious in his eyes. Something Matty didn’t really have time to process. Maybe it was just exhaustion from traveling and performing.

Matty pulled Ross away from everyone else, looking back at everyone else, all of them busy with their own last minute things. Except for Waughy who stood on his own, arms folded, looking down at the floor.

“What’s up?” Ross asked, hands in his pockets, eyes darting around to make sure no one was listening.

“Nothing, I—” Matty shoved his hands in his own pockets, fighting the impulse to touch Ross, to fix his fringe, already sweating and mussed, to adjust the cuffs on his t-shirt sleeves. “I love you,” he said in a quiet rush.

He held his breath, waiting for Ross to say it back. Ross gave him a questioning look and a smile. “That’s all?” he asked, licking his lips.

Matty looked away, knowing they only had a minute or two. Knowing if Ross didn’t say it back right now, he’d have to go on stage with a sharp ache in his chest. Knowing he’d have to fake the whole performance then. He wouldn’t ask him to say it though. He wouldn’t beg him. He would wait until he said it. All he did anymore was wait for Ross. He had gotten good at it.

“That’s all,” he said, nodding. His hands turned to fists in his pockets.

Ross tilted his head, parted his lips to speak, and then someone was calling for Matty and trying to get all of them out on stage. Matty waited a beat, giving Ross one more moment to say it back, but he didn’t. He just smiled at him and moved past him, heading for his place out there.

In Los Angeles, on one of their nights off between Coachella dates, the cue was George. Drunk and gone, one of his arms across Ross’ shoulders and the other arm across Matty’s as they helped him from the Uber to the hotel. The cue was Ross laughing when they dropped George in the elevator, his body slumping in the corner, head back against the mirrored wall. Ross was sober and so was Matty. That was another cue. That they had both chosen not to drink too much. That Ross had sat nursing a single beer the entire night and Matty had ordered a Jack and co*ke and let it sit until the ice had melted.

Ross put George’s arm back around his shoulders when the elevator doors opened, hefting George back up into a standing position and then guiding him down the hall. “Where are we?” George asked, his eyes barely open.

“Home,” Matty said, patting at George’s pockets, looking for his key card.

“Taking advantage of me,” George grinned. Matty looked up at him, rolling his eyes. He found the key card in George’s back pocket and slid it out, holding it up for George to see. But George’s grin only widened. “S’pose it’s alright if Ross is here.”

Matty decided to play along. “Yeah?” he asked, glancing at Ross who was still holding George up. “You don’t mind if he watches?”

George laughed a dry, cracking laugh. “Is that what he’s into?” He looked up at Ross who had his hands on George’s waist, keeping him propped against the wall by the door. “Been trying to figure that out for a while now.”

Ross and George looked at each other and Matty wondered if they might kiss. An unhinged thought. A tempting thought. A thought that would make sense if he was drunker than he was. He watched it happen in his head, both of them too commanding and rough with each other, fighting for dominance. But, in reality, Ross just laughed, saying, “You f*cking wish, mate.”

George laughed too and then stopped abruptly, closing his eyes. “f*cking spinning hotel,” he muttered to himself.

Matty finally got the door unlocked then, going into the room and holding the door open so that Ross could drag George in.

“Little help?” Ross asked Matty looking from George to the bed.

Matty lifted George’s feet while Ross lifted him by his armpits. “Here we are,” Ross said as they dropped George unceremoniously onto the bed.

George opened his eyes for a second, peering up at Matty and Ross who stood by the side of the bed. “Thanks,” he said simply. But he kept looking at them and after a moment he said, “It’s always the two of you, huh?”

Matty laughed nervously. “What are you on about?”

George shook his head back and forth, slowly, eyes falling closed again. “You and Ross,” he said.

Ross glanced at Matty, but didn’t say anything.

“You and Ross are…” He trailed off, his head falling to the side, dead asleep.

The room was silent for a long time, the two of them watching George as if they were waiting for him to wake up suddenly and finish his thought, tell them what exactly they were.

After a while, Matty breathed and turned to Ross, ready to say something dumb about how pissed George was, ready to make a joke, assure Ross that George didn’t know what he was f*cking talking about. But Ross kissed him before he could speak, kissed him hard, pulling Matty into his arms and bending Matty backwards with the force of his kiss. Matty kissed him back, lifting his hands to Ross’ face, the kiss turning sweeping and romantic in the dim light of George’s hotel room.

George. Matty stopped, pulling away from Ross and looking down at George’s sleeping form. He wasn’t sure if they should— But Ross’ hands were at the small of his back. Ross’ eyes were still fixed on his face, his mouth, as Matty looked at George. So he turned back and let himself be kissed again.

There was a chair nearby that Ross led them to, sitting down and pulling Matty onto his lap. “Should we?” Matty asked abstractly as Ross’ mouth opened beneath his, as his hands ran up and down Matty’s thighs.

“He said it was alright if I was here,” Ross said, looking over Matty’s shoulder at George.

Matty sank his fingers into Ross’ hair, pulling his head back and lowering his mouth to his. “Not sure this is what he had in mind,” he said, kissing Ross and pressing himself down into Ross’ lap where he could feel Ross getting hard.

Ross pulled away again, lifting Matty’s shirt up, taking it off. He shrugged, reaching up to hold Matty’s jaw in his hand. “He seemed very curious about what I was into,” he said. He pulled Matty’s face down to his, kissing him once, roughly, and then letting him go, moving his mouth to Matty’s throat, hands moving all over Matty’s exposed skin.

“Is this what you’re into?” Matty asked, grinding himself against Ross one more time. “Having me in your lap with George passed out five feet away? Do you like the idea of him waking up and watching us together?”

Ross sighed into Matty’s neck, his breath shaky. Ross sucked hard at the skin below his jawline and then stood up, taking Matty with him. He turned the chair they were in around so that it faced away from George, so that they were somewhat hidden from his view. But when he sat them back down, Matty could still see over the top of the chair. He could still see George lying there, arms spread out, mouth half open.

Ross saw Matty looking and lifted a hand, turning his face away from George. In the semidarkness of the room, Ross’ face was shadowy, mysterious, a glint of his teeth as he half smiled and then kissed Matty again. “Look at me,” Ross said.

Matty nodded, kissing Ross as his fingers undid the buttons on his shirt. Still, his eyes wandered to George. He couldn’t help himself. Wasn’t George part of this? Wasn’t George the reason they were both already so f*cking hard for each other? Wasn’t George the reason Ross was kissing him so possessively? Wasn’t George who they were proving something to right now?

Of course, Matty had f*cked George and Ross hadn’t. Matty had f*cked George and Ross knew nothing about it. Matty knew about George’s co*ck, about his mouth, about the way he looked when he was about to come, and Ross didn’t. Maybe that was part of it too, for Matty. Maybe that thrilled him in a dark, awful way.

Ross grunted softly beneath Matty, hands deftly opening up Matty’s trousers and pushing them down along with his underwear. “Wanna show him what we are,” Ross said quietly. He was still pushing at Matty’s trousers even though they’d gone down as far as they could with how Matty was sitting in his lap. He moved his hands to Matty’s bare arse instead, fingers pressing into his cheeks.

Matty understood then that Ross was serious about this. This wasn’t one of his games where he built Matty up and then left him there. This was different.

Matty slid off of Ross’ lap and stepped out of his trousers and his underwear. He glanced in George’s direction, just checking that he was still asleep. Ross pulled him back into his lap, kissing him hard. “Look at me,” he said again, biting at Matty’s bottom lip.

Matty obeyed, pulling his mouth away and looking down at Ross. He knew the answer, but still he asked, “Are you going to f*ck me here?”

“Do you want me to?” Ross asked back, a hand slipping between them and finding Matty’s dick.

Matty breathed in as Ross stroked him once, his thumb swiping over the head. “Yes,” he said. There was no other answer.

“Do you want me to f*ck you with George in the room?” Ross asked.

George’s name in Ross’ mouth like that, when his voice was low and rough, full of lust, made Matty’s whole body shake like he was a tree and a strong wind had just blown through his branches. “Yes,” he said.

“Will you be good and quiet so we don’t wake him up?” Ross’ hand had moved away from Matty’s dick and he was now reaching into his pocket.

Matty nodded, swallowed, leaned forward to kiss him. “I will,” he said, voice at a whisper. He watched as Ross found what he was looking for, pulling out a condom and a small, very convenient packet of lube. He laughed brightly at the sight of them. “f*cking prepared, you are,” he said, turning quiet again.

Ross’ mask dropped for a second as he smiled back at Matty, looking disheveled and young, looking happy. “I never know these days,” he said, shrugging. “Rather not be caught without, you know?”

Matty held Ross’ face in his hands. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, turning his voice serious and even quieter.

“Yes,” Ross said, just as seriously, lifting his hands to hold Matty’s face as well.

“I’ve got a condom and lube in my pocket, too,” Matty said, his smile stretching.

Ross’ eyes lit up, delighted, pressing his lips together to hold back laughter. His thumb swept across Matty’s cheekbone. “Oh, I love you,” he said.

And it was like Matty had never heard him say it before. It was that first time under the oak tree again. The words like the sweetest relief Matty had ever known. His eyes filled up. His grip on Ross’ face tightened. “I love you,” he said back.

They both paused then, existing in that moment together, forgetting all about George, forgetting all about f*cking. They loved each other. And that was it. That was all there was.

But then Matty snapped back. He dropped his hands from Ross’ face and started frantically undoing Ross’ jeans, reaching up to kiss him at the same time.

“You still want to?” Ross asked, his voice still his regular voice, still his Ross voice, incredulous and surprised.

“Yes,” Matty said. But he wasn’t sure. He just didn’t want to lose this moment. He knew if they left this room, if they had to get up and get dressed and go back out into the harsh light of the hallway, they wouldn’t find each other again. They would run into someone, or suddenly realize how late it was, how tired they were. And maybe Ross would walk Matty to his room, maybe he would even come in and offer to blow Matty by the door, but that’s all they would do. It wouldn’t be like this.

How completely f*cked that the only place he thought he had a chance of being with Ross how he wanted, how he needed, was in George’s room. With George himself present. He didn’t let himself think about it too much. The thought carried a sense of doom with it. So Matty turned his attention back to Ross, back to pulling his jeans and underwear down just enough to expose his dick.

“Do you?” he asked, angling his hips so that their dicks lined up, dragging his own against Ross’.

He saw the switch within Ross then, his face darkening and tightening up. Matty tested it. He let his eyes wander over to George who had changed positions, lying on his side now but still facing Matty, and still completely out of it. “Yes,” Ross said, turning Matty’s face back to him with a rough hand. “Forget about him. Focus on me.”

Matty’s co*ck twitched as he looked back at Ross, focusing on him just like he’d been told. “I’ll be good,” he said, “I’ll be so good for you.” Ross kissed him, slow and lingering, only sharpening Matty’s need for him. “Please.”

Finally, Ross tore open the condom and Matty helped him roll it on. That tiny packet producing just enough lube. And then Matty was lifting himself just enough for Ross to line his co*ck up against him. Enough time had passed since the last time they’d f*cked that Matty knew he probably needed to be stretched, but they didn’t have time for that. They only had time for him to lower himself down onto Ross and wince at the burn, the acute ache of it.

“f*ck,” Matty said when just the head of Ross’ co*ck was inside him. Even that felt like too much, but he kept going, slow inch by slow inch. He could hear Ross breathing, holding back. He wanted to tell him not to. He wanted to tell him to just f*ck him. He wanted to say that Ross could hurt him, could take what he needed. Instead he said Ross’ name. Instead he said, “Your co*ck feels so good.” Instead he said, “Almost there.”

And then Ross was there, fully inside of him, his body opening up to him, letting him in. Both of them sighed loudly at the feeling. Matty draped his arms around Ross’ neck and brought his mouth close to his ear. “Now f*ck me,” he whispered, grinning and then kissing Ross’ ear.

Ross’ hands gripped Matty’s hips and he started to f*ck him. Slow at first and then quickly, desperately. And Matty held onto him, arms around his neck, the side of his face pressed against his. Eyes closed to the feeling of Ross’ co*ck moving inside him, hurting him just a little, just enough to feel really f*cking good. Ross adjusted how he was sitting in the chair and that small change in angle made Matty see god for a second, made Matty’s eyes fly open and lock on George’s sleeping body.

He lifted a hand to the back of Ross’ head, his other hand gripping at his neck. “Ross,” he said as Ross f*cked him earnestly.

“Matty,” Ross said back, turning his head just so, and kissing Matty on the mouth. They kissed passionately for a moment before Ross’ hips turned quick and erratic, disrupting their rhythm. And Matty went back to looking at George over Ross’ shoulder, went back to clutching at Ross and feeling his co*ck in every part of his body as he watched George’s face. He moaned loudly when Ross started f*cking into him slowly but forcefully, hitting the spot inside him just right every time.

George’s eyes blinked open at the sound and locked on Matty’s. He didn’t react, didn’t say anything. He only looked at Matty, watching as he was being f*cked. Matty’s mouth was parted, his jaw slack with pleasure, and he dragged his bottom lip across Ross’ shoulder as he looked back at George. Then it was him and George in their flat in London, George’s fingernails digging into his back, George’s voice in his ear: Tell me you’re mine. He hadn’t been George’s then and he wasn’t George’s now either. And George was seeing the proof of it. George was seeing who he belonged to, who owned him. The thought sent a dark ripple of pleasure through Matty, made him bite down on Ross’ shoulder, his eyes still stuck on George’s.

And as quickly as George’s eyes had opened, they fell closed again, George going back into unconsciousness. Matty wondered if he would remember any of it, or if the whole scene was weaving itself into whatever dream he’d woken up from and then returned to. Something he would bring up as a joke late. “Remember that time I got so pissed I hallucinated you and Ross f*cking in my hotel room?” It certainly sounded like a joke, like something from a fever dream.

Ross drew his head back, bringing himself into Matty’s line of vision. Sweat at his hairline, his brow pulled together in concentration. “Be with me,” he said gently, delicately. Not a command, an honest request.

“That’s all I want,” Matty said, turning his focus completely to Ross. His bottom lip catching the lamplight. His hand trailing from Matty’s face down to his neck, down to his chest. His co*ck moving so carefully now, dragging out inch by inch and then pressing back in, unhurried.

Matty sat back, sinking fully down onto Ross and then keeping him there. He put his hands on Ross’ chest and Ross covered them with his own. Like that, it was just them. No one else. And they weren’t in an awkward chair in George’s hotel room anymore. They were in that house Matty had seen. The one he was in the process of buying. They were in the bed Matty would buy for that house, low to the ground, mountainous white duvet. The sound of their breathing, their sighing, dampened by the concrete walls.

“I want to come with you,” Ross said, his hands holding onto Matty’s. And Matty forgot what they were doing for a moment, so caught up in his fantasy of them in that house together. And he thought he meant—

“Yeah,” Matty said, pulling himself back to reality where Ross had started to f*ck him again, where Ross had wrapped his fingers around Matty’s co*ck and was pumping him in time with his thrusts. “Yeah, I want that, too.”

“I’m close,” Ross said, moving his hand faster on Matty.

Matty realized he wasn’t close at all. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly sad. The chair was too small, his legs starting to ache from the position he’d been holding them in. The room wasn’t his and it wasn’t Ross’. It smelled like George’s cologne and George’s cigarettes. And Ross f*cking him felt so, so good, but he could already tell the relief wouldn’t be enough, would leave him disappointed, still aching for more. It wasn’t right. None of it was right.

“Me, too,” he lied. Hoping he would get there in time. He moved Ross’ hand away to take over, figuring it would be easier and quicker that way. Ross moved his hands to Matty’s thighs, running up and down them, pulling at his skin. Matty watched his face change as his org*sm started to crest. The raise of his eyebrows, that almost panicked look on his face, his fingertips bruising Matty’s legs.

“I love you,” Ross said. “Please come for me.” He leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to Matty’s. “Please,” he said against his lips before kissing him.

Matty worked his hand frantically as Ross kissed him, as Ross came inside of him with a few sharp thrusts upward. “I love you,” he said into Ross’ mouth as he came too, spilling into his fist, his org*sm powerful but brief. He dropped his forehead into the crook of Ross’ neck, breathing, starting to cry. He felt Ross put his arms around him and hold on.

After a moment, Ross ran a hand up Matty’s back and said softly, “We should go.”

Matty lifted his wet face from Ross’ shoulder and saw George there, so still and so silent that Matty watched carefully to make sure he was breathing. “Yeah,” Matty said, passing a hand over his face.

There was something so completely embarrassing about climbing off of Ross and standing naked in that hotel room. Something terrible about watching Ross stand up with his jeans around his knees, used condom in his hand, his spent co*ck nestled between his legs. Something debasing about pulling his clothes back on and turning the chair back around to where it had been before, checking that they hadn’t left any remnants of their f*cking behind, Ross burying the condom beneath the rest of George’s rubbish. Something heartbreaking about filing out of the hotel room silently and then standing in the hallway together.

“I’m this way,” Ross pointed down the hallway.

“Oh,” Matty said. So he wasn’t even going to ask Matty to stay with him. That offer was decidedly not on the table then. “I’m just there,” he said, pointing a few doors down. As if they didn’t know all of this already.

Ross turned to go, but Matty wouldn’t let him. Not now. “Stay with me?” he asked. And then he held out his hand to Ross, needing him to take it.

Ross hesitated for a heartbreaking second and then grasped Matty’s hand. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go to mine, yeah?” His eyes moved between Matty’s door and George’s door. “Farther from the scene of the crime.”

Matty laughed, but also felt panic rise up in his throat. Now that he wasn’t being f*cked by Ross, his brain had time to highlight the fact for him: They had f*cked with George in the room. And George had seen them. George had opened his eyes and looked right at Matty while Ross’ dick was actively inside him. There would be no denying it. He could only hope George wouldn’t remember any of it.

In Ross’ room, they undressed again, on their own and silently. Matty took a shower while Ross brushed his teeth. He put on one of Ross’ t-shirts to sleep in and got into bed. Ross turned out the light and then stood at the foot of the bed in his boxers, looking at Matty in the dark.

“Are we bad people?” he asked. His voice sounded hollow and unfamiliar.

“No,” Matty answered automatically. “You’re not, at least.”

Ross came around to the side of the bed and slid in carefully, slowly, like he didn’t want to disturb anything, like he didn’t want his physical presence to register anywhere just then. Matty knew the feeling well. When existence itself felt garish. “We shouldn’t have done that,” he said, lying on his back.

“Didn’t you enjoy yourself?” Matty asked, forcing his voice to be light.

Ross shook his head. “That makes it worse, doesn’t it? I got off on it.”

Matty sat up in the bed, looking down at Ross. “Did you?” he asked, surprised. He hadn’t expected Ross to admit that.

“You were there,” Ross said, smiling just a little.

“I just mean, being there in George’s room, with George passed out? Was that part of it for you?” He reached out a hand, placing it on Ross’ belly.

“Not so much the George part,” Ross said, pulling a face. “But I suppose there was a thrill.” He covered Matty’s hand with his own. “And an urgency.” He sighed heavily and ran his hand up Matty’s forearm, finally turning to look at him. “First Hann, now George. I feel like I’m not thinking clearly anymore. I only seem to think about you.”

Matty lay down again, resting his head on Ross’ chest, feeling his arm come around him. “We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” he asked, feeling Ross’ fingers in his hair.

“We’re a huge f*cking mess,” Ross said, fingertips making circles against Matty’s scalp. “What do we do?”

Matty didn’t know so he didn’t answer. They had found each other again but now they were losing themselves. Seemed about par for the f*cking course with how his life had gone so far. A darkness seemed to follow him around, relentlessly trying to swallow up anything good or true.

“Ross,” he said after a while, into the silence that had fallen.

“Matty,” Ross said back. He still had his hand on the back of Matty’s head, palm splayed over his skull, fingers lost in the curls that Matty had let grow wild.

“Would you tell me you love me again?” he asked in a small voice.

“I love you,” Ross said, his chest expanding as he took in a deep breath.

Matty closed his eyes. “I love you, too.”

Sleep came easily but not quietly. His dreams were too loud, too hectic. He was looking for Ross in every single one of them. The setting would change. The story would change. But he was always frantically searching for Ross, wondering where he’d go to, unable to find him.

July 5, 2023 - Evening

Matty staggers forward in Ross’ absence, his hands reaching for the counter where Ross had been holding on. He takes the now empty glass and fills it with ice cold water again, drinking it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ross is in the living room, sitting in the big armchair, phone is his hand, scrolling. Matty crosses the room to him and sinks down to his knees in front of him. He sits there and he waits. He doesn’t touch Ross or himself. He just sits as Ross keeps scrolling on his phone. Until Ross shifts the phone to his other hand and undoes his jeans, not looking away from whatever incredibly captivating thing he’s found on the internet. He brings his dick out again and Matty watches it spring forward, harder than it was in the kitchen. A fact that sends a thrill through Matty. Ross holds the base of his co*ck, pumps himself a few times, still looking at this phone, his face unchanging. He widens his legs and scoots forward in the chair, a cue that Matty is more than happy to take.

Matty leans forward and takes Ross in his mouth all the way, the head hitting the back of his throat, making him gag and gasp. He breathes deeply through his nose, keeping Ross’ co*ck in his mouth until his throat opens up to Ross. He pulls off slowly, sucking on the tip, licking at the slit, and then taking Ross in again. He still chokes, but less dramatically this time. Above him, Ross isn’t making a sound. Matty looks up with his lips wrapped around Ross and finds that he’s still looking at his phone but he’s not scrolling anymore and there’s a glaze over his eyes that says he’s not actually reading what’s in front of him. When Matty pulls off again, he lets Ross’ dick rest against his lips as he pushes spit from his mouth, letting it run down the length of Ross.

Ross meets his eyes then, places his phone face down on the arm of the chair. “Dirty slu*t,” he says, grinning into the words as Matty swallows him back down, wet and sloppy, noisy and eager. He looks up at Ross when he’s fully in his mouth and he smiles prettily before coming back up again.

“You love your dirty slu*t, don’t you?” he asks, holding Ross in his hand as he spits on his dick again. He’s playing the game, but he also wants to hear Ross say it right now. That he loves him. That he loves him even when they’re like this. Even when they’re so far from themselves and lost in this other plane of existence.

Ross reaches out and puts his hands on Matty’s head. “f*cking love my dirty slu*t,” he says. “So much.” And then he’s guiding Matty’s mouth back onto his dick, his fingers pulling at Matty’s hair. He says it again, “Love my pretty little dirty slu*t.” Matty hums around him, feels his co*ck leak onto his tongue, letting him know how close Ross is. He pulls in his cheeks and lets Ross f*ck wildly into his mouth. “Love you,” Ross is saying now, over and over. And then Ross sits back suddenly, his dick slipping from Matty’s mouth. Ross takes his co*ck in his hand and starts fisting himself frantically.

Matty understands right away. “Come on my face,” he says, moving in closer and tilting his head back just so. “Come on your dirty slu*t’s face.” He closes his eyes and waits, but he hears Ross’ hand stop moving. He hears Ross bite back a groan. He opens his eyes and sees Ross, once again, tucking his hard, leaking, wet co*ck back into his underwear, back into his jeans, and gingerly doing up the fly.

Ross stands up from the chair, clears his throat, looks down at Matty. Another gentle hand to his face. Another, “Not yet.” And then Ross leaves the room, leaves Matty there on his knees.

Summer 2019

They were only a few months into the tour, but it was already f*cking endless. Barring some sort of divine intervention, they wouldn’t be home, wouldn’t get a break, for another year. Matty looked down the barrel of fifteen more months on the road and felt his bones turn heavy. He wanted to know whose f*cking idea it was. And then he remembered it was his f*cking idea. His f*cking idea to make two albums back to back and do some sort of psychotic mega tour for both of them. His f*cking idea to never stop moving so he didn’t have time to think about himself or his life.

He hadn’t considered the Ross of it all. The him and Ross of it all. The him and Ross being insatiable for one another of it all. The him becoming addicted to Ross of it all.

Addict. That’s what he’d always been and what he still was now. Only his current drug of choice was Ross. He wasn’t f*cking stupid. The patterns were all the same. The way he organized his life around the next moment he would be able to have Ross. The way he built up the idea of Ross, of being with Ross, to the point where the actual thing was never quite enough. The way his insides turned itchy when he had to go too long without Ross. The way he and Ross kept coming so close to f*cking everything up simply because their desire for one another was bigger than anything else.

He’d ignored it for as long as possible. He’d called it love instead. Which was, of course, typical f*cking addict language.

And so, was it really any wonder that he found himself alone in a hotel room in New York high as a f*cking kite? Wasn’t it just so predictable, so cliché? He was giving into one addiction. Why not the other one too? The old favorite. He thought maybe just this once. Maybe he could handle it. He only wanted to be still for a moment. There was so much work. Press, gigs, planes, buses. Interviews where all anyone wanted to talk about was his addiction, his recovery. Gigs where he had to sing all his f*cking songs about drugs over and over.

He had only wanted to feel good without involving anyone else. There was so much going on in his heart, in his body. Ross and Ross and Ross. The constant spiraling deeper and deeper into love, dizzying, disorienting. Having to look down and see Ross’ heart in his hands. That terrible, awful, bleeding and beating thing.

God, he had missed oblivion.

He was being safe about it though. He knew the horror stories. Recovering addict tries to use again, ends up overdosing. He had only needed a taste. Something to submerge him for a while. No one would ever have to know. He was going to do it once and then he would be good again.

He would just sit here in his hotel room, looking out at the city, and let that euphoric blackness slowly wash over him. He would just remove himself for a little while, sort things out under the warm water. And, in a few hours, he would be brought back and he would shower and go downstairs and be a human again. A fresh, new human. Everything would be clearer then.

“What are we?” Ross asked out of nowhere the next night. They were sharing a cigarette on the terrace of Matty’s hotel room. Everyone else had gone out drinking, but Matty hadn’t wanted to go. And Ross had lied about meeting up with other friends somewhere. A vague lie, not his best work, but it had gone over fine. Matty’s excuse had been mostly true. He was tired. His high from yesterday had worn off in a brutal way. His body not as attuned to the feeling anymore. He was left feeling sluggish and odd. He had no appetite. His body felt empty.

“What?” Matty asked.

Ross passed him the cigarette and then moved to the railing, leaving Matty where he was on the terrace couch. “You and me,” he said, looking at Matty over his shoulder. “Are we—”

Matty groaned, dropped his head in his hands. “Do we have to do this right now?” he asked.

Ross came back to the couch and sat down again. He had a restless energy tonight that Matty was finding offputting. “It’s been almost a year of this,” he said, gesturing between them, “and I still don’t know if we’re—or if you’re my—”

“Please,” Matty said, pressing the heels of his hands into both eyes. Then he dropped his hands and looked at Ross. “I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted.”

Ross sat back and pulled Matty so that he was lying with his head in Ross’ lap. “I get it,” he said, but Matty heard the disappointment in his voice. “I’ve just been thinking too much maybe.”

Matty turned so that he was on his back, looking up at Ross. He held his breath until his chest ached and then he said, “I got high yesterday.”

“Oh,” Ross said. His hand was frozen in mid air, on its way to brush the hair from Matty’s forehead. “Like, weed?”

Matty smiled softly at Ross’ willful naivete. “No,” he said. “The bad kind of high.”

“Oh,” Ross said again. He reached for the cigarette in the ashtray. He pulled hard on it, looking off to the side, at the city and all of its lights.

“I want to be honest with you,” Matty said.

Ross blew his smoke out of the side of his mouth and then put the cigarette out in the ashtray. He nodded, still looking away from Matty. “Thanks for telling me,” he said quietly.

Matty saw Ross’ jaw working, and then he felt a big fat tear fall from Ross’ eye and land on his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away. He didn’t wipe the next one away either. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then he sat up. He touched Ross’ face. “Will you look at me?”

Ross finally did turn his broken face to Matty. “Why?” he asked. A simple question. A fair question. An unanswerable question.

“I don’t know,” Matty said. He brushed a tear from the corner of Ross’ eye.

The early June night had turned cool. Matty shook as a breeze came through the terrace, and Ross automatically stood up and went inside, abandoning his question and coming back out with the throw blanket from the bed. He wrapped it around Matty, rubbing at his arms. Taking care of him. Just like he’d always done.

He waited for Ross’ anger. He waited for Ross to call him a f*cking liar, call him worthless, call him weak and pathetic. He waited for Ross to realize he would never ever f*cking change and take back the love he had given him.

But Ross squared his shoulders and took Matty’s face in his hands. “Okay,” he said. “So what do we do next?”

“What do you mean?” Matty asked. He couldn’t help the laugh that came up.

Ross rolled his eyes. “C’mon mate,” he said, smiling but his voice sounded shattered. “You know I’m too bloody stubborn to just give up. Not on you. Not now.”

Matty rolled his eyes right back at him. “Why? Because we’re in love?” he asked.

Ross let go of Matty’s face. “Because we’re in love,” he said. “And because I’ve—we’ve given up so much already, haven’t we? I’ve lost you to this before. I won’t again.”

And, typical f*cking addict, the words worked on Matty. He climbed into Ross’ lap, smiling at him, hands on the collar of his t-shirt, fingers reaching out for the stubble on his neck, the roughness reminding Matty how real Ross was, how f*cking present and true he was. “You won’t?” he asked, pressing his knees into Ross’ hips, holding him with as much of his body as he could.

“I won’t,” Ross said. His mouth reached for Matty’s and they kissed desperately for a moment. They kissed until Matty felt himself slipping under, a different sort of high, wanting more and more from Ross’ mouth. “I won’t,” Ross said again, standing up, lifting Matty with him. The blanket around Matty’s shoulders fell to the terrace floor as Ross carried him inside.

Ross undressed him, kissed him all over, but he didn’t f*ck him. He stopped just short of that. The two of them were naked between the sheets, but Ross was saying, “Let’s leave it there, yeah?” He meant it in a caring way, not a cruel way. But when he got out of bed to get Matty a glass of water and something to eat, his hard-on was so beautiful, so perfect as he moved around the room. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window for a moment, looking through the snacks for anything good, and the city lights and the moonlight made his skin glow, made him seem like something from a Greek myth. A hero about to leave on some never-ending journey. Shouldn’t they be together one last time before he took to the seas?

“I want you,” Matty said from where he was stretched out on the bed. He had been ready to let Ross go not even an hour ago. Ready to let him walk away if that was what he wanted. But now he couldn’t stand the thought. Now he needed him to stay right here. Now he felt like he wouldn’t survive without him. “I need you,” he corrected himself. He was getting up on his knees on the bed while Ross was still across the room, holding up a jar of chocolate-covered raisins.

He put the candy down and walked over to the bed. “I don’t think we should tonight,” he said, pushing his fingers into Matty’s hair as if that would do anything to sell his point.

Matty dropped back down, onto his heels, still kneeling on the bed, but lower now, smaller than Ross, looking up at him pitifully. He felt Ross’ fingers tighten around his hair. “You’re probably right,” he said, leaning forward, bringing his mouth dangerously close to Ross’ co*ck.

“Matty,” Ross said, his voice half sigh, half warning. But he didn’t do anything to stop Matty from dragging his bottom lip up the length of him. He didn’t do anything but watch as Matty got himself on all fours and wrapped his lips around the head of his co*ck. “Matty,” he said again, weakly, as Matty’s tongue swirled around him, his mouth sinking further down. It wasn’t until he hit the back of Matty’s throat that he seemed to come back to himself, pulling away, stepping back.

“I mean it,” he said. His dick was glistening as he reached down for his boxers, pulling them on to cover himself. He handed Matty his own underwear, watching him until he sighed and pulled them on begrudgingly.

Matty looked down at himself and then looked at Ross, both of their erections carefully contained now. His head felt light as he came back from where he’d just gone. That place where the only thing that mattered was Ross and his body and how good he could feel. “I love you,” he said, confused by the sudden rush of that feeling, by the relief that was washing over him, by the comfort of seeing Ross go into the bathroom and come back out with a glass of water, by how badly he wanted just to be held, nothing more, nothing else.

Ross got back into bed with him, opening the jar of chocolate-covered raisins and pouring some into his hand. “You want some?” he asked, mouth full.

Matty laughed and took some from him even though his stomach turned as he was chewing them. Ross smiled and poured a few more raisins into his hand. Matty looked at him. “Don’t you love me too?” he asked, realizing Ross hadn’t said it back.

Ross dropped a single raisin into his mouth and then set the jar on the bedside table. He turned to Matty, reaching out to run a thumb over his eyebrow, his eyes full of tenderness. “I love you more than you could possibly imagine,” he said.

He was right. Matty couldn’t imagine anyone loving him enough to stick around just then. But here was Ross watching him eat chocolate-covered raisins in the same hotel bed he had relapsed in mere hours ago. Here was Ross googling things on his phone, embarrassing and depressing things, things that Ross shouldn’t have anything to do with: next steps after heroin relapse. Here was Ross asking him questions about his therapist and if he had a sponsor “or whatever” that he could talk to. Here was Ross trying his best to speak around the tightness in his throat as he asked Matty to describe it to him, the craving, the being high, all of it. “You don’t have to, obviously, if you don’t want to,” he said. “I just want to understand. Or, I want to try to.” Here was Ross, bullheaded and determined, by his side.

“I thought you were on my side,” Matty whined to Ross as he followed him around the Hudson News in JFK a few days later.

“I am on your side,” Ross said, looking at the magazines for a long time before picking a tremendously boring one about golf. Then, as if he sensed Matty watching and judging, he reached for the latest issue of the New Yorker. Matty knew he would look at the cartoons, attempt the crossword, and then leave it for Matty who would, of course, only read the Books & Culture section and flip through it for any short poems.

“I told you about it,” Matty said, keeping his voice low as they moved towards the wall of overpriced snacks. “Isn’t that enough?”

Ross grabbed a bag of almonds and, glancing at Matty, a bag of Haribo bears. He carried everything over to the checkout line. “You have to tell them,” he said, putting his things down on the counter and digging around in his back pocket for his wallet. Matty watched him smile at the woman working the register, listened to him thicken his accent as he asked her how she was and thanked her.

“Unbelievable,” Matty muttered to himself, taking the bag of Haribo from his hand and walking off, back towards their gate.

“What?” Ross asked. He jogged to catch up with Matty.

“Nothing,” Matty said, abandoning his urge to pick a fight about Ross innocently flirting with an older woman at the airport. Easier to fight about that than to fight about whether or not he had to tell the others about his big whoopsie, his slip up, his little tumble back into the arms of heroin.

“We’re a family,” Ross said, stepping on the moving walkway, standing to the right to let people pass so he could turn and face Matty for a second. “And we agreed way back when you went away that you would be honest with us about this. It doesn’t work if you’re lying to them.”

Matty scoffed. “What doesn’t work?” he asked. “And I’m not lying. If they asked me point blank” —and here he dropped his voice— “‘Matty, did you use heroin last week?’ I would tell them the truth.”

They stepped off the walkway, took a few steps, and then stepped onto another walkway. This time Matty faced backwards while looking at Ross. “Do you actually hear yourself?” Ross asked.

“Not really,” Matty said, shrugging. “I’ve learned to tune myself out.”

Ross laughed. “f*cking wanker,” he said softly.

“Love you, too,” Matty mouthed at him, grinning.

They were back on linoleum. Their gate was in view. There were George and Hann and Jamie all sitting in oddly spaced out seats like they didn’t know each other at all. George with his headphones on, head bent over his phone. Hann with head tilted back, eyes closed, but Matty knew he wasn’t really asleep. He just wanted to be left alone. And Jamie with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, scrolling through emails and periodically scanning the area for Matty and Ross. Squiz and Waughy were the only ones sitting next to each other, talking and smiling. Waughy looked up every so often too, looking around briefly, frowning.

Matty pulled Ross to the side, into a hallway that led to an area that was clearly for authorized personnel only. Ross looked at him, confused. “I’m not done being alone with you,” Matty said. But then he just stood there, holding his bag of gummy bears and looking up at Ross.

After a moment, he sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell them.”

Ross’ shoulders dropped then, as if he’d been carrying a great burden around. “Thank you,” he said.

Matty glanced around them. “Now kiss me before we get on a plane for several hours.”

Ross stepped forward, pressing him and his backpack into the wall and kissing him firmly. Kissing him good enough and long enough to get him through the flight. Things with Ross had changed in the last few days, both of them trying to pull back, rein it in, and he suspected there wouldn’t be anything sexy about this particular flight.

Still, when he was settled in his seat and the plane was about to take off, he texted Ross: need you ;)

And Ross texted back: they have Shrek on this plane. can we coordinate watching it together?

Matty pulled his jumper up over his smile and glanced behind him to where Ross was sitting next to a stranger. He quickly shot back: i don’t actually want to spend another interminable flight with a hard-on, so i dunno.

we can fast forward through anything too erotic, Ross responded.

So they watched Shrek. Matty listening for Ross’ shrill laugh at all the appropriate parts. Turning to find Ross crying at the end. Following Ross to the toilet just so he could hear him say, “I enjoyed the film,” all serious and nervous like they were at the end of a date.

“Cinema classic, that,” Matty said back. The person who was in the toilet came out, shuffling awkwardly between them.

Matty kissed him quickly once no one was around. “I had a great time,” he said, smiling at him.

“I’ll call you,” Ross said, ducking into the toilet, having to nearly fold himself in half as he went.

He told Jamie first, waiting until they’d been in Germany for two nights and enough things had gone wrong that one more thing wouldn’t seem too bad. Jamie was predictably angry and threatened to call off the rest of the tour until Matty pointed out that it would actually be a gift to him and would also cause Jamie to lose money. Eventually they settled on Matty taking mandatory drug tests every two weeks for the rest of the tour. Matty didn’t mind. He knew Jamie just needed to play father to them sometimes.

He told Hann next, finding him standing at the bar in Copenhagen, failing to get the bartender’s attention, despite looking like a lovely Danish boy. “Can I steal you away for just a moment?” Matty asked, coming up behind him.

And then he told him outside. “I had a small relapse in New York,” he said as he nervously smoked a cigarette and watched Hann’s very serious face taking it in, processing it.

“Are you alright?” Was all Hann had to say, all he was concerned about. Classic Hann.

“I’m fine,” Matty said, not sure if that was true, but it was true enough and it made Hann’s face lighten up. “It was only the once.”

Hann nodded. “Does George know?” he asked, face tightening up all over again.

He had saved George for last, knowing that one would be the hardest. He knocked on George’s hotel room door late one night in Oslo. There was no response the first time he knocked so he knocked again, louder. He heard George swear and then open the door, bleary-eyed, shirtless in trackies he had clearly just pulled on, his face already pulled into annoyance, ready to be angry at whoever had disturbed him.

“Sorry,” Matty said, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to—”

But when George blinked and realized who was at his door, he softened, smiled even, stepping back and pulling the door open. “No,” he said. “It’s alright. Come in.”

Matty stepped into the room and then stood there, unsure what to do with himself. There was nowhere to sit except for George’s unmade bed and somehow that didn’t feel like the right venue for this. “I thought you’d still be awake,” Matty said.

George was now hurrying around the room, tidying things, putting the pile of dirty clothes he had on the one chair in the room into the closet, pulling the duvet up on the bed, throwing out an old coffee cup left on the small desk in the corner. And then he too stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking at Matty. “I had just gone to sleep,” he said.

“You’re usually up late, working on something,” Matty said, looking at George’s laptop which was decidedly closed, set aside on a shelf underneath his bedside table. “And then I thought with how late the sun goes down here—” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry if I woke you, is all.”

George took a step forward. “You’re always free to wake me up,” he said. And then he smiled, laughing a little. “Just you, though.”

“You were ready to fight me if I was anyone else, huh?” Matty asked.

“Thought it might be Jamie asking me to help him get on the wifi,” George said. “Again.”

Matty sat down on the edge of the chair that George had cleared off. He had a brief flash of a memory. Him and Ross, looking at George. He shook it away. “You might want to hold onto that feeling,” he said, putting his hands together and then putting them between his knees. He felt sick suddenly, panicked and sweaty.

George sat down slowly on the foot of the bed, hands braced on the mattress. “Oh, god,” he said, forcing a laugh into the word. “What?”

“I have to tell you something,” he said, stalling. f*ck, he hated having to say the words. He hated having to keep saying them to people.

George took in a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “If it’s that you’re gay, I already know that. Obviously.”

Matty smiled wide. “Obviously,” he said. “But that’s not it.” He paused again. He couldn’t seem to make the words arrange themselves properly in his head. He didn’t know why it had been so easy to tell everyone else, even Ross, but telling George felt next to impossible.

“Out with it,” George said, his voice strained. He already knew, Matty realized. This conversation had already played out for him a hundred times. This whole scene was inevitable to George. He had been waiting for it, preparing for it.

“I had a little bit of a relapse,” Matty said.

George looked back at him blankly, nodding his head. Hours seemed to pass. “When?” he finally asked.

“In New York.”

George stood up, walked over to the window where the sun was still actively going down. He turned his back to Matty. “That was two weeks ago,” he said quietly. Matty looked at his back, the muscle there, the freckled skin, something beautiful and delicate about him.

“I know.”

George was silent for a while. Matty could only watch the curve of his spine, the bend of his neck. Would it be easier if he went to him, pressed his mouth there? Would George forgive him if he gave him that?

“I should have been paying closer attention,” George said to himself.

“It’s not your fault,” Matty said. And now he did get up and walk over to George, but he didn’t touch him. He stood and looked out with him at the midnight twilight.

George threw Matty a not unkind but also not very kind look. “I know it’s not my f*cking fault,” he said. Anger. That was good. That was the right feeling. Matty could handle anger. He wanted anger. “It’s your f*cking fault.”

Matty nodded, wanting more of that from George. More blame, more guilt. He could take it.

“Don’t you f*cking care about anything?” George asked, his voice turning small again. He moved away from the window, but had nowhere else to go so he just stood by the bed, hands hanging at his sides, a helpless, lost look on his face.

“Yes,” Matty answered honestly.

George sat down heavily on the bed again, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “Don’t you care about me?” he asked pitifully, covering his face.

Matty moved George’s hands away, stepped between his knees, and tilted his head up. “I do,” he said. George tried to turn his head away, but Matty was holding onto it firmly. “I do.”

“You’re alright, though?” George asked, looking up at him.

“I haven’t done it again,” Matty said, understanding what George was really asking him. He wasn’t alright, really. But he wasn’t going to do it again. He didn’t think he would do it again.

George reached for him, putting his hands on the back of Matty’s thighs, pulling him closer and then wrapping his arms around Matty’s waist, the side of his face smushed against Matty’s stomach. “I love you,” George said. He turned his face, kissing Matty’s stomach, his lips warm through the cotton of Matty’s t-shirt. He pushed up the shirt and kissed Matty’s skin, a hungry sound in the back of his throat, but Matty took a step back.

“I love you, too,” he said. “But we can’t do that again.” George’s face fell and Matty put a hand to his cheek. “We can’t keep trying to fix this by f*cking each other.”

Wasn’t that exactly what he was doing with Ross though? He pushed the thought down immediately. It was different with Ross. Everything was different with Ross.

“Does Ross know?” George asked, as if he could hear Matty’s thoughts. There was an edge to his voice, suspicion or just curiosity. Matty wasn’t sure.

“He does,” Matty said. “Hann and Jamie know too. Jamie’s enforcing mandatory drug tests for the rest of the tour.”

“Good,” George said, nodding.

Matty sat down next to him, leaned his head on his shoulder. “I’d promise I won’t do it again,” he said. “But I’m not sure my promises are worth anything.”

George turned his head, lips brushing Matty’s hairline. “You can still promise me,” he said.

Matty lifted his head and looked squarely at George. “I promise you I have no intention of using again,” he said.

“Thanks,” George said.

Matty moved to stand up, but George’s hand caught his and brought him back down onto the bed. “Can you stay?” he asked. His eyes were wet, red-rimmed, as they searched Matty’s face for something. His grip on Matty’s hand was tight.

“I shouldn’t,” Matty said.

George let go of his hand. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Sorry, I keep f*cking doing that. Clinging to you when you’re broken like I can fix it, fix you.” He laughed. “Can’t even fix my f*cking self obviously.”

Matty leaned his head in and kissed him, only once, briefly, chastely. “We’re doing our best,” Matty said, smiling.

George’s eyes caught on his mouth for a second before blinking back up to Matty’s face. “I’m around, you know?” he said. “If you need anything.”

“I know,” Matty said. He brushed his knuckles over George’s cheek and then stood up. This time George didn’t reach for him. He stood up himself and followed Matty to the door.

“Just talk to me, okay?” George sighed with his hand resting on the door handle, not opening it yet.

“I will,” Matty said.

They just stood there for a moment until Matty put his arms around George’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. He was sorry for relapsing, for not talking to him about things, for keeping a huge Ross-shaped secret from him, for the distance that had grown up between them in the last year, for being himself, for being a f*ck up.

George hugged him back, squeezing tightly and then letting go. “Get out of here,” he said, looking away and finally pulling the door open. “Go on before I try to kiss you again or do something else I’ll regret even more.”

Matty laughed, stepping out into the hallway.

When George’s door had closed, Matty made his way down the hall, passing by his own room and knocking on Ross’ door. Ross opened the door right away, clearly fresh from the shower, towel around his waist, water droplets in his chest hair. Matty didn’t bother checking the hallway before he kissed him hard, pushing him back into the room and letting the door close loudly behind him.

“How’d it go with George then?” Ross asked later, licking come off of Matty’s stomach.

They’d f*cked on the floor, hurriedly, barely saying a word. Matty felt the burn from the rough hotel carpet on his back, on his face. His mind was blank in that moment, focused on Ross’ tongue dipping into his belly button. The contented sound Ross made as he worked. Matty wanted to joke about how f*cking gay it was that he loved this so much.

George’s name triggered something though. Something he had hoped to leave behind in the moment that it happened, but here it was again: he had closed his eyes at some point while Ross was f*cking him, while his face was being scratched to hell by this awful f*cking carpet, and he had thought of George. He had played out a scenario where he had stayed in George’s room, where he had innocently gotten into bed with him, only to be woken up an hour or so later by George’s dick pressing insistently against his back, Matty reaching behind to spread himself open for George, letting him in. He had let himself pretend Ross’ co*ck was George’s, just for the briefest moment, and then he’d opened his eyes and turned back to look at Ross, who was grinning at him and f*cking him so good. But it was George who had brought him to the brink of org*sm, who had him telling Ross, “I’m gonna come soon. Keep f*cking me.”

He was grateful when Ross turned him over onto his back so that they could look at each other as they finished. He didn’t look away from Ross, didn’t close his eyes when he came, just kept looking at Ross’ face. Until there was nothing else but Ross.

Ross was climbing up his body now, kissing him deeply with a hand on his face, fingers in his hair. “Sorry,” he said. “I should know better than to ask you questions so soon after sex.”

Matty sat up on his elbows, looking around them at Ross’ towel discarded by the door, his own clothes strewn about the room. “It went fine with George,” he said, voice a little clipped, not really wanting to get into it now.

“Seemed like you were in his room for a while,” Ross said, standing up and taking his towel into the bathroom to hang it up.

“You know how he gets,” Matty said dismissively. He stood up too, stretching and wincing. “I’m gonna be so f*cking sore in the morning.” He met Ross by the bathroom door, reaching up to kiss him.

Ross kissed him back but it was half-hearted and he moved away from Matty, going over to his suitcase and pulling on shorts and a t-shirt. “If you don’t want to tell me about what happened with George, it’s fine,” he said, but Matty heard the jilted, jealous tone in his voice.

“Oh, he’s mad,” Matty said, grinning and stealing a t-shirt from Ross, one that was in his laundry bag, wrinkled and smelling strongly of Ross’ skin, his faded cologne.

“Not mad,” Ross said shortly. “I just don’t know why you won’t answer the question.”

The shirt he’d stolen was huge. It hung down to the middle of his thighs, the sleeves below his elbows. When Ross turned to look at him, he saw his eyes darken. “Maybe I think it should stay between me and George,” Matty said.

“Is that right?” Ross asked, tilting his head. “It’s private, is that it? Confidential?”

“He is my best friend,” Matty said. “Some things should be private.”

Ross zipped his suitcase closed with a little more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. “He’s your best friend,” Ross said, nodding. “And so what am I to you?”

They were back to this question again. “You’re Ross,” Matty said, lifting his shoulders.

Ross nodded, heading back to the bathroom. There was only so much room to pace in the tiny hotel room. “Just the person you f*ck all the time, that’s me,” he said.

“That’s not you,” Matty said. Ross braced himself on the bathroom sink and Matty put his hands on his back. “You’re more than that and you know it.”

Ross turned around, his shoulders slumping, face softening. “I’m tired,” he said, pushing off the sink, moving past Matty and going back out into the room. He turned out most of the lights and got into bed while Matty stood, watching him. “Come to bed,” Ross said eventually, his voice rough.

Matty got in on the other side, turning his back to Ross who put his arm around Matty’s middle and pulled him against his body. He kissed the side of Matty’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to fight.” His nose brushed against the back of Matty’s head. “Will you at least tell me about it in the morning?”

Matty felt cold and sad despite Ross’ warm presence surrounding him. And it wasn’t about George. Did Ross really not know what he was to Matty? Did Ross really need a name for it so badly? Couldn’t they just be together like they always had been? Wasn’t Matty enough for him?

“Sure,” Matty said after a long time. Ross was already asleep, breathing evenly onto the top of Matty’s head.

After trying and failing to fall asleep for an hour, Matty slipped out of bed. He put the clothes he’d been wearing earlier back on and stood by the side of the bed looking at Ross for a few moments, listening to him snore, watching him turn over onto his back and then onto his side again. Then he left the room.

He stood blinking in the hallway, looking to his left where his room was and to his right where George’s room was. He took a breath and then turned to the right. He knocked softly on the door, telling himself if George didn’t answer, he would turn around and go to his own room. But George did answer, not so bleary-eyed this time, like he’d been awake ever since Matty left. The room was dark though. There was only the glow of George’s laptop screen.

George didn’t say anything. He just stepped aside and let Matty in. The door closed behind them with a deafening click, throwing Matty into the darkness with George.

“You were awake this time,” Matty said. He had no f*cking clue what he was doing.

“Couldn’t seem to get back to sleep,” George said. He looked over his shoulder at his laptop sitting on the desk. “Decided to work on some of the new stuff since I was up.”

“Can I hear?” Matty asked, eager for something they could do that was not the awful, terrible thing they both were clearly thinking about doing.

George went over to the desk, sitting in the chair and then looking at Matty. He knew he shouldn’t, but he sat lightly on George’s lap, immediately pretending to be engrossed in what was on the screen. “What is this?” he asked, not familiar with the track name.

“My long form entry for the album,” George said. He leaned forward to use the keyboard and as he did, his chest pressed against Matty’s back. His body was impossibly warm. Matty didn’t think. He just let himself lean back into him. George automatically put one arm around him, his other hand hitting the play button on the song.

Matty recognized the melancholy piano line, the four trailing notes, but George had done so much with it since he’d first played that melody. The song ached so much in the beginning and Matty couldn’t help it. He turned his head and found George’s mouth with his own, surrendering to the kiss as the song swelled around them, sounds building on top of each other. The beat kicked in and Matty pulled away, looking at George with his lips still in the shape of the kiss, his eyes still closed, the perfect song he’d been working on still playing. They had been exactly here before. Matty knew how it ended.

“Sorry,” he said, standing up, running his hands through his hair.

“You don’t have to be,” George said, hitting pause on the song, and standing in front of Matty. “I like kissing you.” He moved a long, stringy curl away from Matty’s face and moved to kiss him again. But Matty turned away, taking a few steps and standing by the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, pulling open the door. He could feel the panic coming on, cold rushing through his body. He turned to leave, but turned back at the last second. “The song is your best yet, by the way,” he said.

He left and hurried down the hallway, fumbling with his key card and getting into his room just in time for a full-blown panic attack to bring him down to the floor.

He woke up in bed. He woke up to Ross drawing open his curtains. Bright sunlight spilling into the room. He groaned, turning his face into the pillow and then turning his face back out. Doing a double take. “You,” he said. Ross felt like a vision he was having as he stood at the end of the bed, blocking the sunlight. A huge, perfect silhouette.

“Me,” he said, stepping closer and coming into view. He sat carefully on the side of the bed, putting a hand to Matty’s face.

“How did you get in here?” Matty asked. He was still expecting Ross to disappear, turn into sand and get taken away by a breeze.

“You gave me a copy of your key, remember?” Ross said, smiling down at him. “For what I believe you referred to as sexmergencies.”

Matty closed his eyes, nodded. “That’s right,” he said.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” Ross said then, frowning. “So I came to your room. Found you asleep on the floor.”

“Panic attack,” Matty said before Ross could suggest the other possibility. The one that had Matty could tell had been eating at him all morning. “I had a panic attack.” He remembered doing breathing exercises but he didn’t remember falling asleep there.

Ross frowned deeper at that and then laid his head down on Matty’s chest, the angle a bit strange because he was bigger and still half sitting. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to argue with you last night.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Matty said, fingers brushing at Ross’ hair, thinking about George’s mouth on his. “I didn’t want to tell you about George because it wasn’t the easiest conversation and I wasn’t too keen on reliving it just then. He gets clingy sometimes, you know? He always wants to take control of things when they’re not working, you know?” He was skirting close to the truth, but leaving so much of it out. “But he was fine, really. Just a bit upset.”

“I get it,” Ross said, lifting his head. “He really loves you.” He paused, going somewhere else in his head, somewhere Matty wished he wouldn’t go. Then he brightened again. “We all do,” he said, bending down to kiss him.

Matty had told everyone he was fine. He was alright. But the truth of it was, that old craving was back. He’d had a taste after a long time without and now he was thinking about it constantly again. That itching, chafing emptiness was back. He spent a lot of time talking to his therapist over the phone, but it was f*cking hard to be traveling around Europe when all he wanted was to get as high as he possibly could and let go of his burdensome existence for a little while. It was like a f*cking parade of places straight from the Bad Years. Cafe bathrooms he’d gotten high in. Clubs where he’d met people who had given him drugs. Hotels where the people at the front desk looked at him warily, remembering the state he’d left things in last time.

It was f*cking hard, and he just wanted to feel good.

He didn’t tell Ross about any of this. Not directly. Instead he just let Ross f*ck him into oblivion whenever the need got too bad. Submitting to Ross was almost as good as letting heroin stop him thinking. But then when it was over, Ross was still there. And Ross wanted too much from him these days. Which wasn’t fair of Matty, really. Ross only wanted what he’d always wanted from him—love and some semblance of stability. But he acted as if Matty didn’t know how long they’d been doing this, or just how much they loved each other. Ross acted as if Matty wasn’t also constantly thinking about those things and wondering what it all meant or where they would go next.

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Ross said one night, brushing his teeth angrily. “I just asked you if you considered us to be in a relationship or not.”

Matty was getting dressed. The high from sex already lost. The org*sm he’d had a distant memory now. “And I told you I don’t know,” he said, pulling his jumper over his head. “We just are.”

Ross spit into the sink and came back out into the room. “Is it so f*cking wrong to want to know where I stand with you after a year? After what we’ve been through recently?” he asked, coming around the bed to where Matty was looking for his other shoe.

He found it and held it one hand, gesturing at Ross with it. “And is it so f*cking wrong that I like us how we are? Without f*cking societal labels ruining everything?”

Ross put his hands on his hips, standing there, angry and huge, but tired now. “f*ck you,” he said with almost no bite behind the words.

“f*ck you,” Matty said back, dropping the shoe he was holding and reaching for Ross’ face, kissing him hotly, messily.

He did tell George how he was feeling though. It felt safer to tell him, somehow. Easier, even though Matty knew that wasn’t really true. Late nights on the train to the next city. Him and George working on the new album. Ross asleep a few rows ahead of them after giving Matty a longing, sad look. Hann somewhere towards the front of the car playing Zelda with his headphones in, lost in Hyrule. Matty told George about how empty he felt. He told George about running into someone he used to score from at a bar in Stockholm and how strong the urge had been then. How often he wanted to pack up, go home.

“We don’t have to do this,” George said. They in seats that faced each other, a small table between them. Their laptops back to back, like uni students revising for exams.

“The album?” Matty said, looking at his screen where he was going through some of the art concepts Samuel had sent over. Not sure any of them were right.

“The album, the tour,” George said. “If you need to stop, we can stop.”

“No, we can’t,” Matty said. “Anyway, I’ll die if I stop.” He looked at George over his computer, smiling.

“But you’ll die if you keep going,” George pointed out, smiling back.

Matty closed his laptop and George did the same. And then they sat there, looking at each other, as the train rumbled along through the night. “So I’m f*cked,” Matty said, laughing.

George reached across the table for his hand, grasping it. “Just tell us what you need to do,” he said. “And we’ll do it.” He loosened his grip on Matty’s hand only to lace their fingers together. “I’ll do it,” he said, giving Matty a look. “Anything.”

Matty heard a sound from Ross’ seat and pulled his hand away. “It’s good just to talk about it,” he said, opening his laptop again. “So, thanks.”

George was still looking at him, a certain sad kind of hunger in his eyes. “Sure, any time,” he said, sitting back in his seat.

It was July and they had a rare stretch of days off between Spain and Portugal so of course they were all at the beach getting sunburnt and drunk. Matty sat on a towel, watching Ross and Waughy and Hann as they waded out into the water. The waves seemed choppy, the sea rough, and Matty had an instinct to yell out to Ross to be careful, don’t go out too far, but before he could even open his mouth, Ross was already gone. Already nothing more than a pale white dot amongst the blue waves.

George dropped down next to him then. “f*cking idiots,” he said, looking out as Hann went under a cresting wave and took far too long to come back up. Waughy and Ross laughing at him together, nothing but their heads above the water.

Matty pulled his eyes away from tracking Ross’ movements to look at George. His shoulders were already bright red from the sun, the tops of his thighs too. He turned back to the water, but he couldn’t see Ross anymore. “They shouldn’t be out there,” he said, squinting against the sun and scanning for Ross again. “It’s too rough.”

George laughed. “They’ll be fine,” he said. He handed Matty a fresh beer, sand sticking to the condensation on the bottle. “Ross is a strong swimmer.”

Matty turned and gave him a look that made them both laugh. He knew they were both remembering the same incident. Ross at that waterpark in Texas years back, nearly drowning in the wave pool, being helped out by a scrawny teenage lifeguard. “No, he f*cking isn’t,” he said, lifting the bottle to his mouth. He finally found Ross in the water again, his broad shoulders breaking the surface, his head tilting as he whipped the hair from his eyes.

“Still,” George said. “They’ll be fine.”

Ross was far away, but Matty could see him smiling. “Yeah,” he said, taking a sip of beer that was turning warm already.

He looked at George again and found George looking right back. “You should reapply,” George said, a hand reaching out and pressing down on Matty’s arms, leaving behind bright white marks in the shape of George’s fingers.

“Says the f*cking lobster,” Matty grinned. He reached for the tube of suncream Hann had packed and held it up. “I’ll do you if you’ll do me?”

By the glint in George’s eye and the slow smile that spread across his face, Matty knew they were wading out into dangerous territory again. But then George’s hands were on him, rubbing suncream onto his shoulders, neck, back. Rough but gentle, efficient but lingering in certain places—the nape of his neck, the small of his back. Matty closed his eyes and there was only the warm breeze, the briny smell of the water, and George’s hands on him.

“Turn around,” George said quietly, his hands moving to Matty’s chest, his arms. Matty kept his eyes closed until George stopped, his hands low on Matty’s stomach. Too low, too close. Their friends were laughing in the ocean. “Sorry,” George said.

“S’alright,” Matty said, waving a hand and smiling to let him know it was okay. He took the tube of suncream from him and squirted some into his hand. “Your turn,” he said, motioning for George to turn around so he could do his back.

But George shook his head. “I think I can actually manage on my own,” he said.

Matty rolled his eyes. “Let me at least do your back for you,” he said.

George inhaled sharply when Matty first touched him. “Cold,” he said.

George’s back felt strong under Matty’s hands. His skin so warm from the sun. Matty’s hands were between George’s shoulder blades, over the tops of his shoulders, down his spine. He worked quickly, not knowing what would happen if he took his time. His eyes darted between George’s skin and those choppy waves where he could just make out Ross’ dark hair.

“There,” he said when he was done, rubbing some of the extra suncream he had on his hands into his own legs.

He sighed with relief when he saw Ross loping up the beach, water dripping from his body and his swimming trunks. His hair a mess from being tossed around in the waves. He smiled widely at Matty, squinting one eye at him. “Bit nasty out there,” he said, sitting down on the other side of him.

Matty leaned imperceptibly towards him. “I was keeping an eye on you,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Ross leaned forward and Matty had the urge to sink his teeth into his wet shoulder, had the urge to lick every drop of saltwater off of his body. “George, mate,” Ross said. “Can I have that when you’re done?” He nodded to the suncream.

George tossed it to him and Matty stood up, needing to excuse himself. Not sure he could survive having to also watch Ross apply suncream. He took his beer and headed the to edge of the water. “Do my back, would ya?” he heard Ross say when he was a few steps away. He closed his eyes tightly for a second and then kept walking.

He stood for a long time in the soft, wet sand with cold water rushing up around his ankles. It was good to stand there and be still, be quiet. He tried his best to empty his mind, to take in a deep breath and then let out all of the bad things he was keeping in his head. On the inhale, he thought about Ross and his goodness and his love. On the exhale, he thought about drugs and whatever was starting up again with George.

“Hiya,” Ross said, appearing beside him.

“Hiya,” Matty said. He looked back over his shoulder and was surprised to see the beach empty except for the towel he’d been sitting on and the bag he’d brought with him. “Where’d everyone else go?”

“Back to the hotel,” Ross said. “They wanted to shower and get ready for dinner. I said I’d wait for you.”

Matty looked up and realized the sun was starting to set. “How long was I standing here alone like a twat?” he asked.

“A while,” Ross admitted, smiling down at him. “Seemed like you needed it though.”

Since no one was around, Matty reached for Ross’ hand. “Guess I did,” he said. “Can we stay for a bit longer?”

“As long as you want,” Ross said.

They went back to the towel and sat together. Ross leaning back on his hands. Matty leaning back against Ross. The sun slowly inching its way towards the ocean. The sky turning pink and orange. “Hey,” Ross said after a long time.

Matty turned his head up and Ross kissed him. It had been days since they’d kissed, Matty realized. Too busy working and then arguing. It was a good, slow, lingering kiss. When it was over, Matty kept his head turned towards Ross, tucked against his shoulder, breathing in his skin that smelled like the ocean, like suncream, like warmth.

A moment passed and then Ross’ hand was on his jaw, tilting his head up, kissing him again, laying him down on the towel. Waves crashed, birds called, wind blew sand towards them. But they were lost in each other, like they almost always were.

Ross pulled back, his head hovering above Matty’s. “I want to be with you,” he said. “Won’t you let me?”

Matty nodded. “I want that, too,” he said. He did. He wanted Ross. He wanted to be with Ross. It’s just that saying it made it real, turned Ross into something he could lose, something he could break.

Ross gazed down at him and then ducked his head to kiss him quickly, coming back up, somehow smiling and frowning at the same time. “Say it,” he said. “Tell me we’re together.”

“We’re together,” Matty said, touching Ross’ beard, his dimple hidden beneath it. “Me and you.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ross said, a smirk on his face as he kissed Matty again.

They stayed on the beach until it was fully dark, until the stars came out of hiding. Ignoring the texts from everyone wondering where they were. Matty heard his phone buzzing, knew it was George anxious and worried. Right then he only wanted to be with Ross, listening to his heart and watching the moon.

In St. Petersburg, Ross was scribbling away in one of Matty’s notebooks while Matty smoked a cigarette. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a song for the new record,” Matty said, eyeing him. “Something about penguins and football and how neat playing the bass is?”

Ross lifted his eyes from the page where he’d just drawn an emphatic line. “f*ck you,” he said. “I could write a great song.”

“Oh yeah?” Matty pulled hard on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes at Ross. He was sleep-rumpled and a bit grumpy this morning, his hair messy, his glasses in need of cleaning, immense bags under his eyes. Matty adored him completely. Sitting there with him on that hotel balcony, he felt so at peace, so happy. He hadn’t thought about getting high in almost a week. Maybe Ross really was the answer to everything. “What would your song be about then?”

Ross sat back in his chair, twirling the pen between his fingers. “You,” he said, a smug grin on his face.

“Very specific,” Matty said, giving him a thumbs up. Ross threw his pen at Matty, just grazing the side of his head with it. “Oi!” Matty yelled. “No throwing things at my face on a show day! You know my rule.”

“Sorry,” Ross said, not meaning it. He turned the notebook towards Matty and slid it across the table. “I’ve been making a list.”

“Of all my best traits, I’m sure,” Matty said, reaching for the notebook with a grin.

“Not quite,” Ross said. “I made a list of all the countries that hate us, that would put us in f*cking jail for loving each other.” He leaned forward. “Did you know there are still places that would put us to death for it?”

“The UAE, Malaysia,” Matty said as his eyes scanned the list. “What do the stars mean?” he asked. Ross had drawn endearingly angry looking stars next to some of the countries.

“Those are ones we’ve either already been to, or are planning on going to on this tour,” he said.

“Lot of stars,” Matty noted.

“Makes me f*cking sick,” Ross said, standing up so he could pace on the small balcony. “I know it’s our job to travel around the world and perform, but still, I—”

Watching him move back and forth, barefoot, in his boxers and his INXS t-shirt, f*cking angry at the world, angry at the very country they were in just then, Matty adored him even more. “Did you sleep last night?” Matty asked, wondering if this was why Ross looked so exhausted.

“I was up reading about Russia’s politics,” he said, sitting back down. “They won’t put us to death here, but most of them f*cking wish they could.” Ross took Matty’s cigarette from his fingers and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke through his nose.

“Okay,” Matty said, folding his arms. “So what do we do about it?”

“What do you mean?” Ross asked, stubbing out the cigarette and pulling the notebook back to his side of the table. He tore the page out and balled it up, dropping it in amongst the cigarette ashes. Then he flipped through some of the other pages in Matty’s notebook, fragments of lyrics, small observations, no coherence or sense to any of it. He eventually came to a page where Matty had only written: Ross. Small and at the top left of the page. Ross. Period. He bent down for the pen which had rolled underneath the table. He added right next to his name: Matty.

“What if I kiss you on stage tonight?” Matty said, pulling a fresh cigarette out of the packet and lighting it. Trying to act normal, casual, like the thought of kissing Ross in front of so many people in defiance of the country’s political beliefs didn’t thrill him, terrify him, turn him the f*ck on.

“Would you do that?” Ross asked, still looking at that page in the notebook. Their names side by side.

“During ‘Loving Someone’, yeah?” Matty said, taking the notebook and the pen back again and writing Ross. next to the fresh, new Matty. “f*cking gay rights and all that.”

Ross looked up at him, smiling, like the two of them sharing a kiss on stage just might actually be the end of hom*ophobia everywhere. “Alright,” he said, snatching the pen back and writing another Matty.

“I thought Ross and I might kiss tonight,” Matty said to George later, the two of them having a smoke break out behind the venue. He immediately realized how that phrasing sounded, his heart careening around in his chest. “On stage, I mean. Like a political statement sort of thing, you know.”

George went still next to him, cigarette a few inches away from his mouth. Then he seemed to start up again, the cigarette finally nestling between his lips as he said, “You could kiss me instead.”

“You’ll be back there on your little riser,” Matty pointed out. “A little awkward getting up there, yeah?”

George had been leaning against the wall and now he rolled so his shoulder was facing Matty instead of the dumpster across the alley. “Kiss Hann then,” he said, something slightly sharp in his voice.

“He’s got Carly,” Matty said, unable to think of a better excuse for why he couldn’t kiss Hann. He regularly dry humped him on stage so why not kiss Hann?

George made a short huh sound in the back of his throat and turned away from Matty. “Alright, so f*cking kiss Ross then,” he said, the sharp thing in his voice turning sharper. “Since you want to so badly.”

Matty wasn’t done with his cigarette but he tossed it onto the ground then. “It’s just for the show,” he said, sounding wholly unconvincing. He stepped away from the wall and put the cigarette out with the toe of his Converse. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

George looked at him, eyes narrowed, head tilted. Like a curious bird about to either fly away or peck Matty’s eyes out. “Is it?” he asked.

“f*ck off,” Matty said, rolling his eyes, putting on a smile. He was hoping George was only teasing him and that he would break character and laugh with Matty about how ridiculous a thought it was that Matty would want to kiss Ross for real.

George didn’t break, but he softened. “Alright,” he said, smiling around his cigarette and then taking a final drag, dropping it next to Matty’s on the ground. “Kiss Ross if you want to. Like I f*cking care.” He reached out a hand and ruffled Matty’s hair, meaning he cared very much and he could read Matty like a f*cking book.

When Matty came back into the green room, things were eerily silent. Waughy was sitting on one end of the couch. Ross was standing by the table with the sad fruit and cheese plate, looking at it forlornly like he couldn’t make the choice: shriveled grapes or a piece of hardened mysterious Russian cheese. Hann was on his phone on the other end of the couch. Even Squiz who was usually playing something to get everyone energized and ready for the gig, just sat there with his acoustic guitar perched on his lap, hands forming chords but not playing them.

“Who died?” Matty joked which only got a small snicker from Hann. “Tough crowd,” he muttered to himself.

Waughy gave him a weak smile and then got up and left the room, touching Ross’ back briefly as he passed him. Ross’ head whipped around to watch him leave and then his eyes fell on Matty. He beckoned him over with a small lift of his eyebrows.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do it,” he said quietly when Matty was standing next to him. He finally picked up a piece of cheese, holding it between his thumb and his index finger.

“What do you mean?” Matty asked. “What about f*cking gay rights?” He was relieved to hear Ross was having doubts too, but he was also disappointed. He liked angry Ross, activist Ross. He liked seeing him burning for something. He liked the look in his eyes earlier that morning, like he wanted to f*cking destroy something.

“I dunno,” Ross said, looking towards the door, looking over Matty’s shoulder where Hann and Squiz were sitting. He dropped his voice lower. “Maybe it would be too obvious. That we—That you and I are—”

Acting on an intrusive thought, Matty leaned down and took the piece of cheese from Ross’ hand with his teeth, chewing it happily even though it tasted like a moldy basem*nt. He saw Ross’ lips twist, resisting a grin. “Maybe you’re right,” Matty said. “Maybe I can’t kiss you without kissing you again.” He leaned forward, his chest against Ross’ arm, bringing his mouth near his ear. “And again and again.”

Ross laughed, pushing him away, a light hand that sent Matty staggering backwards, right into Waughy who had reappeared out of nowhere.

“Easy,” Waughy said.

Matty pursed his lips at Ross who had stopped laughing before turning around. “Showtime, lads!”

“Who’s gay or at least a bit gay?” Matty asked on stage, raising his hand. Showing the crowd what to do but also slyly indicating his own gayness. In the corner of his eye, he saw Ross’ arm lift too. Taking a very conveniently timed drink.

There was a sea of raised hands then. Matty thought some of them were likely taking the piss, raising their hand just to be involved, get noticed, but not all of them. It overwhelmed him, broke his heart a bit. He turned around, looking at the rest of the band, making his way over to George where he smiled up at him and struck a pose, arms over his head, hip co*cked.

He glanced at Ross for a second as he came back to the mic. “This one’s for you,” he said. Meaning Ross. Meaning that sea of young queer people who still had their hands raised, reaching for something, needing something from him. Meaning his own queer self who maybe needed the community this room provided more than he ever really let himself recognize.

He saw a rainbow flag waving in the crowd, words sewn onto it: NO COPS AT PRIDE ONLY THE 1975. He reached into the crowd for it, holding it up in front of himself, listening to the crowd roar back at him. He lowered the flag as if he were doing a magic trick, as if he were saying, “Ta da! I’m gay!” But he wasn’t saying that. He wasn’t ever saying much of anything, was he? He wrapped the flag around his mic stand and felt Ross watching him from the side of the stage. He wanted to be more for him, better for him. And for all of these people, too.

After the first verse, he noticed a sign in the crowd. “‘You are not your government,” he read. “I like that.” He gestured for the sign and it was willingly sent up to him. He held it, looking at it for a moment, not sure why he’d felt the need to have it. But then he saw Ross, giving him the tiniest smile, and he realized he was collecting these things for him. The flag, the sign. Little tokens of support for him.

By the end of the song, Matty was feeling so f*cking energized, inspired, affirmed. He wandered over towards Ross, unthinking, guided by instinct, by his heart. At first, he just took a drink from the glass he’d left on Ross’ keyboard, shuffling away again, but then he stopped and turned back. He tilted his head up and kissed Ross. A quick, too-brief kiss. A kiss that Ross reciprocated immediately, leaning in for the second that it lasted.

Matty heard the crowd reacting to the kiss, a loud roar of approval, and he thought about what George had said: Kiss Hann then. He thought about what Ross himself had said: Maybe it would be too obvious. So he crossed the stage to where Hann was stepping back from his keyboard. He took Hann’s face in his hands and kissed him too, Hann laughing and pushing him away before Matty could even get really into it. Then it was Jamie’s turn who smiled at Matty when he saw him coming, pursed his lips and gave him a loud, smacking kiss. Matty quite liked this actually, kissing all his mates. Waughy knew the score by the time Matty had made it back to the other side of the stage, but there was something very serious about him too, as he reached for Matty, hands on either side of his head and kissed him in a way that fell just on the other side of chaste. But he was frowning to himself when Matty pulled away, like he’d found the whole thing wanting.

The lights were starting to go dark, but Matty still had one more person to kiss. He scrambled up onto George’s platform, moving around the cymbals until he was behind the drum kit with him. He leaned forward and George lifted a hand, touching the side of his neck lightly. This kiss was soft, George capturing Matty’s bottom lip between his and staying there for just a beat too long. “Knew you’d come round,” he said as Matty pulled away and the lights finally went completely dark on them.

Matty jumped back down to the front of the stage, avoiding the pointed look Ross was giving him.

At three in the morning, Matty was knocking on Ross’ door, knocking and knocking and knocking. They’d gone out drinking after the show, as they almost always did, and then scattered to their respective rooms, an early wake up call in the morning for the train to Moscow.

Ross had avoided him all night, spending most of it in a corner with Waughy and some of the crew. When Matty had tried to get him alone by the toilets at the bar, Ross had brushed him off, pushing past him and losing himself in the bar crowd. When he had found Ross outside smoking, Ross had put his just lit cigarette out and gone back inside without a word.

And now here he was ignoring him still. But Matty was drunk enough now to not want to give up, to stand here for the rest of the night knocking on this door. He would just slide down to the floor and knock from there. He’d waited in worse conditions for Ross.

He was just about to lower himself to the carpet when Ross opened the door. He was still fully dressed and didn’t look like he’d been sleeping. “Please, stop,” he said.

“Hello to you, too,” Matty responded.

“Go to sleep,” Ross said, starting to close the door.

Matty put his hand out on the door. “Can I come in?” he asked.

Ross sighed, but pushed the door open and then turned and walked back into the room, leaving Matty to catch the door before it slammed closed and slip inside. “What do you want?” Ross asked, going back to what he’d been doing before Matty got here which apparently was emptying his suitcase and refolding everything and putting it back in.

“I want to know why you’re angry with me,” Matty said. He watched Ross take out a t-shirt and unfold it, only to refold it and put it in a pile of other t-shirts on the bed.

Ross took out a pair of jeans, holding them up by the waistband and letting them unfold. Then he dropped them back into the suitcase like that, dropping his head. “You can’t even give me one thing,” he said. “One thing that’s just for me, for us. You can’t even do that without making it a f*cking joke, without spoiling it.”

“This is about the kiss?” Matty asked. He knew, of course. He also knew acting stupid would keep Ross talking to him. “We both agreed we wouldn’t do it!”

Ross picked up the jeans again, folding them messily, and laying them on the bed. “And you still f*cking did it,” he said. “And I was so happy about it. I was so glad to be sharing that moment with you. I was so f*cking glad you ignored all of my uncertainty and just kissed me. Because I really wanted you to. I really wanted to kiss you, but I was scared.”

“I was scared, too,” Matty said softly. “But then that crowd, that song—”

“I know,” Ross said, nodding. “But then you ruined it, didn’t you? Kissing everyone else on stage. Kissing f*cking George like that. Not a political statement, not an act of love, just another f*cking classic Matty bit.” He gave up on taking everything out one by one and picked the suitcase up, turning it over and dumping everything at once onto the bed. “You won’t call me your boyfriend. You won’t kiss me and only me. You won’t even stay f*cking clean for me.”

Matty felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Ross. He had nothing to say. Everything in his head was gone. He reached into his back packet, pulling out the piece of paper he’d retrieved from the ashtray that morning, the list of places that hate them, folded up alongside the sign he’d taken from the crowd that night: You are not your government. He put them both on the bed, on top of the pile of Ross’ clothes, and stood up.

“Those are for you,” he said quietly. “Just like the song was. Just like the kiss was. Just like everything else I ever f*cking do.” His voice got louder as he spoke, anger rising up again. “I only kissed the rest of them because you mean too f*cking much to me, because if it was just you, then—”

“Then what?” Ross said when Matty broke off.

“Then everyone would know,” he said. He finally looked up at Ross. “They’d see right through me, through you, through us. And if we’re really being honest, it’s pretty f*cking clear neither of us wants that right now.”

Ross came around the bed and stood in front of Matty. “You don’t know what I want,” he said, his voice low and losing its anger. He stepped closer and tucked a piece of Matty’s hair behind his ear.

Matty drew his head back sharply. “I know you hate that I’m still an addict,” he said. “I know you wish I was better, easier.”

“I never said that,” Ross said. His hand was still hovering near Matty’s face, but he dropped it to his side now.

Matty shook his head. He was going to cry any second and he really didn’t want to do it in front of Ross. Not right then. He swallowed. “I’m gonna go back to my room,” he said. “I’ll, um, text you.” His words felt useless and hollow.

“Okay,” Ross said, just standing there as Matty left.

Matty went around the corner and knocked on another door. George answered right away. George pulled Matty into his arms right away. George let the door close behind them as Matty started to cry. “You’re alright,” he said, lips against Matty’s forehead. “You’re alright.”

When Matty had composed himself, he pulled himself from George’s arms. “Sorry about that,” he said, smiling ruefully.

George stood close to him, wiping at the tears on Matty’s cheeks with awkward but delicate fingers. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Matty shook his head, making more tears spill. This time George pressed his mouth to them, so lightly Matty could barely feel it. Except for the fact that he felt it everywhere. George kissed his wet cheeks, his closed eyes, but he didn’t kiss him on the mouth. Matty waited, but opened his eyes when it never came, and looked at George. “I just really f*cking hate Russia,” he said after a long silence.

George laughed and so did Matty.

“Can we listen to that song of yours?” Matty asked, genuinely curious to hear how it was evolving, but also wanting to get them as far away from questions about why he was crying as they could.

George took his laptop from the desk and got into bed with it, gesturing for Matty to join him. Matty looked warily for a second at the bed, at George in it, his feet bare, his dad jeans and his t-shirt. And then Matty took his shoes off and climbed in next to him.

They listened to the song once and then let it play on a loop as they lay there together. Matty’s head on George’s shoulder. He didn’t text Ross. He didn’t even look at his phone. And George didn’t press him on anything. He only asked the simple question, right as Matty was about to fall asleep, “Is this about the bad thing?”

“No,” Matty said. “Not about the bad thing.” It’s about something worse, he thought to himself.

He woke up a few hours later. George sound asleep with his laptop on his stomach. Matty quietly slid out of bed and left the room, going back to his own. He packed his things and then sat in silence by the window, waiting for when it would be time to go to the train station.

July 5, 2023 - Evening

Matty stays where he is for a while. Naked, on his knees, in front of the empty armchair. His erection starts to wilt and his mind suddenly goes clear. He slides back into the real world where there is obviously something wrong, where Ross is clearly avoiding telling him something. Matty’s avoiding telling him something, too, though. And this is what they’ve always been good at. Sex instead of talking, sex instead of actually feeling their real feelings. Sex as a deferral. And, just like always, the sex is incredibly f*cking hot. Fun, too. Some of their best sex ever really. Which is maybe something else they should talk about. Maybe they actually have a lot to f*cking talk about, years of sh*t they have not talked about.

But they are talking now. In the past, they would just f*ck until they forgot what it was they were trying not to think about. Now, Matty knows there’ll be a conversation when they’re done. There has to be. Ross can edge him all afternoon. Ross can use him however he wants. And Matty will love every second of it. But then they’re going to talk things out. They’re going to sit together and work out whatever the issue is. Now, Matty wants to talk. He wants to figure it out with Ross. He wants to start a conversation with him that never ends.

Maybe that’s growth. Maybe that’s maturity. Maybe that’s love and commitment. f*ck if he knows.

Marry me.

And so he thinks it’s okay if they hold off a little longer. They’ll have clearer heads once they’ve both finally come. He doesn’t know if he can look at Ross now and actually have a rational conversation. Especially not one about George. He’s feeling a familiar desperation for him. Like he’ll do anything just for Ross to f*ck him. He thinks after all these years, the need should feel less cutting, less intense. But it doesn’t.

He hears Ross go outside, the door to the courtyard opening and then slowly closing. He gets up and moves through the house, picking up his cigarettes and lighter and then goes out into the courtyard himself.

He finds Ross sitting on the big rock, not doing anything else. Just sitting. Occasionally looking up at the sky. There is something sad in his face that he hides away when he senses Matty’s presence. His face turns blank again, stony. He doesn’t look over at Matty as he sits down in the one chair he has out there, placing his cigarettes on the table next to it. The metal against his bare skin is hot from the sun and it takes him a second to get used to it, but then he relaxes into it.

In the chair, he’s facing Ross who’s facing the far wall. He takes in Ross’ broad shoulders, his long hair tucked behind his ears, a few strands falling around his face, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tries to pretend Matty isn’t even there. Matty reaches down and touches himself. His dick has gone soft, but grows hard again as he strokes himself and looks at Ross. His arms, his tattoos, his f*cking incredible hands, fingers so long and good it makes Matty want to weep.

Ross gets up casually, slowly, silently. He comes over to where Matty is sitting and lowers himself onto his knees in front of him. He’s looking at Matty now, but there’s a certain distance in his face, almost a lack of recognition. Matty reminds himself this is all part of the game they’re playing. That Ross isn’t really so far away, his heart is still right there in his chest. Anyway, he forgets all about everything when Ross finally touches him, those fingers wrapping around his dick.

Matty reaches for his cigarettes, pulling one from the packet and placing it between his lips right as Ross sinks down a little lower, his fingers holding the base of Matty’s co*ck. Matty flicks the lighter and Ross leans forward, kissing the underside and then running his lips up the length. And as Ross swallows his dick, Matty takes a long drag on the cigarette. He tilts his head back and blows the smoke back out and then looks down at Ross, his eyes closed, those lips stretched around him.

Matty’s free hand moves to Ross’ hair, fingers sliding through it. He gathers it up and moves it all to one side so that he can watch his dick disappearing into Ross’ mouth. He pulls on his cigarette, keeping his eyes on Ross, twisting his mouth to exhale the smoke over his shoulder. “That’s it,” he says when Ross chokes on him, his mouth filling with spit. He wants that spit. The desire is automatic and commanding. He touches Ross’ jaw roughly with his hand and his co*ck slips out of his mouth. “Parched, darling,” he says even as Ross is lifting back up on his knees so that he’s once again towering over Matty. Matty leans his head back, mouth open, and Ross spits into it and then he kisses him bruisingly before dropping back down between Matty’s legs.

Ross is nosing at Matty’s co*ck, pressing small kisses around it, turning his head and letting his lips linger against the RSM tattoo on Matty’s thigh. Incongruously tender. Painfully romantic. Matty hears himself saying, “I love you,” quietly as he brushes Ross’ hair back from his face.

And Ross looks up at him, his eyes warm and soft for the first time all afternoon. He’s Ross again. Just Ross. Just Matty’s Ross. Matty’s boyfriend. The love of his life. His f*cking person. Looking up at Matty and smiling a little with the head of Matty’s co*ck resting on his bottom lip. “I love you, too,” he says, wrapping his lips around Matty once more.

Matty sets his cigarette in the ashtray and forgets about it, focusing entirely on Ross and his mouth. He knows Ross isn’t going to let him come, so he tries to just enjoy the feeling of the present moment. The warmth of his mouth, the drag of his tongue, the small sounds in the back of his throat. All of it so good, so perfect, that Matty stops caring about coming altogether. He just wants this forever. He just wants Ross forever. Marry me.

Matty is close, very close, but he doesn’t say anything when Ross slows his movements. He doesn’t ask for more when Ross pulls off his dick. Ross sits back on his heels and looks at Matty questioningly. “You’re not going to beg me to let you come?” he asks. Matty sees his hard dick in his jeans again, the poor thing trapped away for so long this afternoon.

Matty looks back at Ross. “I know you’re going to f*ck me eventually,” he says, shrugging. He’s been on good behavior so far. He wants to be bratty, defiant for a little bit.

“Maybe I’m not,” Ross says, standing up. He squeezes his co*ck through his jeans as Matty watches. “Maybe I’ll just go back inside, take care of myself, and call it a night.”

“You wouldn’t be that cruel,” Matty says.

“Wouldn’t I?” And there’s that sad thing in his face again. There for just a second and then replaced with a steady coolness again.

Matty gets up from the chair and stands close to Ross. He plans on saying something back, something taunting and provocative. “Is everything alright?” he asks instead. “What happened this afternoon?” He touches Ross’ face and Ross instantly presses his cheek into his palm, closing his eyes. It’s like the simulation they’re in is starting to glitch, the real world breaking through, trying to pull them out.

Ross resists, snapping back, lifting his face from Matty’s palm and looking at him with dark eyes. He picks Matty up as if he’s nothing, as if he’s air, and carries him back inside the house, takes him back into the bedroom.

Summer 2019

There was forgiveness a week after Russia, in Lithuania, but it was unclear who was forgiving who, or if it even was forgiveness. It was just Ross showing up at his door with a bottle of Lithuanian vodka, saying, with such sad yearning in his eyes, “Start over?” And so they got enormously drunk, talking and laughing, forgetting the awful things they had said to each other, and just when things were tipping over into sad, just when Matty felt himself about to cry, about to start making promises to Ross about changing, about being better, about to make some declaration of eternal love, Ross got up and undressed. He went into the bathroom and turned the shower on. And Matty undressed and followed him. They washed each other clean of all of it, everything.

Then there was anger again, another week later, in Japan. Jetlag and pettiness. The two of them alone in the hotel bar, exhausted but unable to sleep. Ross lashing out about what had happened in Dubai. Matty jumping down from the stage and kissing a male fan, an act that would likely get them banned from the country. Matty knew Ross wasn’t actually angry about that, but it was something concrete he could throw back at Matty. Another example of him not giving a f*ck about Ross.

“We should be fighting these things together,” Ross said, exasperated and overly earnest. Fighting what exactly, Matty wanted to know. He’d never signed up to be the poster child for queerness. He’d never volunteered himself as a martyr for this cause. All he’d done was fall in love with Ross years and years ago. All he’d done was fall in love and then become moderately famous. And now he was supposed to be a voice for the people. And he was supposed to know exactly what to do and what to say. Seemed like a sh*t deal, to be honest.

So Matty lashed out about Ross being a selfish activist. “If you’re not getting off, it’s all bullsh*t, is that it?” Matty said. Again, not what he was actually mad about, but it was something he could hurt Ross with. “Maybe this whole thing is bullsh*t,” he added.

“What whole thing?” Ross asked, turning to Matty.

Us, Matty wanted to say, feeling exhausted and like they were hitting a dead end, but he knew it would destroy them. So he didn’t say anything and Ross eventually got up and left him there alone.

He went to George’s room that night. Needing his stillness, his calm. Needing the way he slowly opened the door for Matty. The way he smiled with his eyes mostly closed when Matty said, “It’s me.” The way he let Matty in and didn’t ask him questions, didn’t say much of anything. Just got out his laptop and brought it over to the bed. They worked on songs for a while, mostly just listening to whatever George was currently fussing with. Scratch vocals Matty had recorded against sounds George had created and layered. Words Matty had written about Ross on top of George’s music.

Matty reached over and hit the spacebar, pausing the song, right as his imperfect, unfiltered voice was singing this feeling, it could be our calling. “That’s enough for tonight, I think,” he said.

George hesitated for only a moment. “Okay,” he said, closing the laptop and setting it down on the floor. “Do you want to stay?” he asked, turning on his side, a hand landing on Matty’s hip.

Matty put his hand over George’s, lifting it and placing it between them on the bed. “I do,” he said. “But I just want to sleep.”

George’s fingers curled against the duvet, making a loose fist. Then he stretched his fingers out, splaying them widely. “Course,” he said. “I’m knackered myself honestly.”

George turned out the light, pulled up the covers, and settled into the pillow. Matty had the strongest sense of deja vu. Him and George politely going to bed together. Him broken. George desperate to fix him. Ross somewhere else, somewhere far away feeling. The love in him unsure where to go. He had done this before. He had done all of this before. He suddenly felt like none of it mattered, nothing he did mattered. He was doomed to repeat it all, doomed to fall into the same patterns again and again.

“You can kiss me,” he said to George in the dark. He knew George wanted to, and he didn’t know what the f*ck he wanted himself. He just didn’t want to cry again. He just didn’t want his brain to land on the scary thought it was circling.

George sat up a little, leaning over Matty, his hand finding its place on Matty’s hip again. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“No,” Matty said, forcing laughter into the words. He reached up, his hands on George’s neck. “Are you?”

George smiled. His thumb traced along Matty’s hip bone where his shirt was riding up. “Not really,” he said, his eyes examining Matty’s face. “There’s just something about you when—”

Matty lifted his head then, doing what George was taking too long to do. Kissing him gently and then pulling him down on top of his body.

George took over then, guiding the kiss. Keeping it light, but making it deeper. His hand slid underneath Matty’s shirt, moving up his side. He pulled away briefly, changing the angle, his tongue trailing along Matty’s bottom lip. And Matty’s brain chose that moment to land on the thought he was actively trying to avoid: Him and Ross didn’t work and they never would.

Matty put his hands on George’s chest, pushing gently. George had just slid his leg between Matty’s. “That’s it for now?” George asked.

Matty kissed him one more time. “I think so,” he said, but George’s leg was still there, his thigh pushing up against Matty. George’s mouth was still above his too, and it was easy to kiss him again. It was easy to press his own leg against George and feel him already getting hard. It was easy to open his mouth to George’s and swallow the sigh that escaped.

“Are you sure?” George asked again, laughing this time as Matty breathed and kissed him messily, moving himself against George’s thigh. He was tired, delirious, sad, but George felt good.

“No,” Matty said, smiling into the next kiss.

George’s hands were on his wrists, taking them and pinning them over his head as they kissed and moved together, holding him there. The security of it, the strength of George’s hands made Matty’s brain slow down and go quiet. George was moving more earnestly against Matty’s thigh, his co*ck fully hard now, thick and long. He groaned and then said, “I just want to put you back together,” his mouth on Matty’s throat.

Matty wanted to touch him, but George’s grip on his wrists was firm, his body pressing him down into the mattress. “Fix me,” he said, knowing he was actively breaking something right now.

George moved his hands to Matty’s biceps, still holding his arms down, but giving himself a better angle to rut against Matty’s leg. Matty looked up at George there, his dark eyes, his wild but thinning hair, the chain hanging from his neck, dangling close to Matty’s face. Matty craned his neck, catching it between his teeth for a second, tugging on it and letting it go again. “God, Matty,” George sighed.

Matty could tell George was going to come soon. Matty wasn’t. The friction and the angle weren’t enough for him. But it didn’t matter.

George let go of his arms and Matty immediately laced his fingers around the back of his neck. “Please fix me,” he said again, thinking maybe if he broke everything good enough, it would circle back around to fixed. He also knew the words would get George there quickly. Matty pulled him down for another kiss, and like that, he felt George go still with a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

“f*ck,” George said. “Sorry.” He sat back and looked down at the wet mark on the front of his trackies.

“S’alright,” Matty said.

George’s eyes fell to where his dick was half hard in his jeans. He shifted down the bed and hooked his fingers into Matty’s waistband. “Let me take care of you,” he said, eager, bright-eyed.

Matty shook his head. “I’m really alright,” he said, patting George’s hands and smiling at him. “I’m tired.”

George stayed where he was, peering at Matty curiously for a moment. Was he checking to see if this had repaired him even minorly? Was he observing all of the cracks in Matty? Was he seeking out the next bits he would try to glue back together? Then his face softened. “Another time, yeah?” he said as he moved back up Matty’s body, touching his cheek briefly.

“Yeah,” Matty said. He was grateful when George got out of bed to change, giving him a moment to breathe and swallow down the dark guilt that was suddenly caught in his throat.

Matty couldn’t face himself and Ross still felt impossibly distant so he spent each night in Japan in George’s room. Getting zooted and listening to the new album, talking about the next few gigs, sometimes kissing, touching, but never anything more, not yet.

On the last night, Matty couldn’t sleep. George was snoring loudly beside him. He was anxious about the flight back to England the next day. He was anxious about Reading and Leeds, about being home. All of this, everything that had been happening, felt safe, felt manageable, because they were somewhere else. That old, familiar bubble of tour life. But the problems would be real in England. Even if they weren’t home home. The problems and the mistakes he had made would finally cement and become permanent there.

Lying there, tangled up in George’s heavy, sleeping limbs, he realized he had to talk to Ross. Things would never be okay if they left this country without properly talking to each other. Without at least trying to.

He carefully extricated himself from George and slipped out of the room. He got lost for a bit, the hallways turning more than he remembered, the middle-of-the-night hour making them seem darker and longer. He knew Ross’ room number, knew he was three away from his own room, but he started to doubt himself. His head started to move the numbers around on him.

He was standing in the middle of the hallway, looking at one door and then looking at the one across from it, trying to decide which one was the right one, when he saw Ross at the far end of the hallway. He had his head down, hands in his pockets, walking slowly. He lifted his head after a few more steps and saw Matty standing there. He stopped completely for a moment, like he was deciding whether or not he would keep going, and then he started up again.

It was so late and the hotel was dead quiet and Ross had appeared out of nowhere and was now walking towards him, seeming to shimmer, his edges quivering a little bit. Matty wondered if this was a dream or a hallucination. He closed his eyes, shook his head. Ross was still there.

When Ross was closer, Matty noticed a flush in his cheeks, a certain looseness in his shoulders that got more and more tense as he walked.

“I was looking for you,” Matty said to him. “But I suddenly couldn't remember which room was yours.” He gestured between the two doors.

Ross tilted his head to the left. “It’s this one,” he said.

“Right,” Matty said. “I was about to knock on the other one so it’s a good thing you showed up.”

Ross smiled a tight, small smile, and pulled out his key card. He looked at Matty. “Come in for a drink,” he said. Not a question.

Matty followed him into the room and stood by the door as Ross turned on the lights. Matty hadn’t been in Ross’ room at all in this hotel, but it felt familiar. The way Ross had strewn his life around it. Not nearly as neat as George’s room. Shopping bags, empty coffee cups, his beat up laptop on the desk, his suitcase open on the floor.

“Where were you coming from just now?” he asked curiously as Ross was bending to open the minibar.

Ross hesitated, took a long time to stand back up. “Went for a walk,” he said. He had a small bottle of sake in his hand and he was looking closely at the label. He was lying, but Matty wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.

Ross looked up from the label, met Matty’s eyes. “What about you?”

And, anyway, Matty was lying too when he just said, “Couldn’t sleep.” He looked away. “So I came looking for you.”

Ross poured sake into two glasses, handing one to Matty. He held his own glass up. “To sleeping like sh*t,” he said, grinning in a way that made Matty want to throw his glass against the wall and then kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.

Instead, he clinked his glass politely against Ross’ and took a sip. He looked around the room, not sure where he should go, waiting for Ross to sit somewhere so that he could sit there too. Ross moved to the window and Matty followed him there. He didn’t look at the view. He looked at Ross looking at the view. The lights of Osaka reflecting off his face. “I miss you,” he said, not meaning to.

Ross didn’t turn from the window, but his jaw clenched and he lifted his glass to take another drink. “Yeah,” he said, looking down into his glass. “Me, too.”

Matty missed him even more then.

“Listen,” Ross said after a moment. He pulled the curtain aside, opening the window up wider. He kept his eyes on the city. “I’m sorry if I’ve been asking too much of you.” He leaned forward, his forehead to the glass. “Or if I’ve been misreading our situation somehow.” His brow furrowed against the window and he stood up straight again.

A backhanded apology then. Matty could do that too. “And I’m sorry I don’t live up to all of your expectations all the time,” he said. “I’m sorry for being difficult and slightly broken.” He thought of George who wouldn’t want him to apologize for that. Who seemed to be drawn to his brokenness, his challenging mind.

Ross sighed and finally looked at him. “I didn’t mean that,” he said, his face crumbling a bit. He reached for Matty’s glass and set it down next to his. “Or, maybe I did.” He was holding Matty’s hands now. “I don’t really know anymore. It’s gotten all mixed up.”

Matty nodded. He could at least agree with that. Everything had gotten tremendously mixed up. Even more than Ross knew. He moved closer to Ross who lifted their joined hands and pressed Matty’s to his chest.

“But you’re here now,” Ross said thoughtfully. “And I’m here now.” He pulled Matty’s hands up to his mouth, kissing each palm and then placing them on either side of his face. Matty held on. “Maybe we have to focus on that. On now,” he said, his own hands falling to Matty’s waist, bringing him in. “Maybe that’s all you and I have.”

“What,” Matty said, pressing his hands into Ross’ cheeks, wanting to feel the bones of him, “no past? No future?” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Seems unlikely. All we are is our past, our shared history. And the future—” He stopped. He didn’t know about the future anymore.

Ross’ grip on his waist tightened, pulling Matty flush against him. “See? That’s my point. Let’s just forget about all of it,” Ross said. “Enjoy what we have now.”

Matty tilted his head up to him. “And what do we have now?” he asked.

Ross lowered his mouth down and kissed Matty. A firm and steady kiss. A long kiss. A kiss that tasted different than he remembered, an unfamiliar sweetness to it that Matty chalked up to the sake. Matty dropped his hands from Ross’ face and put his arms around his neck instead, letting his body melt into Ross’.

Then Ross stopped, pulled away. “We have that,” he said, laughing softly as Matty’s mouth reached for his again. His hand stopped Matty though, gentle on his jaw, thumb in the divot below his bottom lip, holding him back. “And we have about two hours until the sun comes up.”

“I’d like to stay with you,” Matty said as Ross’ thumb dragged along his bottom lip. “For now,” he added.

He saw a glimmer in Ross’ eyes. “Cheeky twat,” he said, coming down to kiss him again.

They kissed by the window for a while with neither of them ever trying to escalate things. Eventually, Matty pulled back and reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it up just a bit, uncertain, looking at Ross and asking, “D’you want to?”

But Ross moved Matty’s hands away from his shirt. “I’m good if you’re good,” he said.

And Matty found that he was good. Though it was strange to be with Ross and not feel that overwhelming, dark need for him. Strange to kiss him and not immediately want to be naked with him. But he was actually quite content to just kiss him like this. And he was content when they moved to the bed and put a Japanese game show channel on mute while they finished the bottle of sake and talked, filling each other in on what they’d missed in the days they’d been angry with each other. Matty obviously left certain parts of his days out, and he was mostly just happy to listen to Ross talk about the sightseeing they’d all done the day before.

When the bottle was empty, they were lying together in bed, watching the sun slowly rising through the window. A strange configuration for them. Ross’ head on Matty’s stomach, his feet dangling over the foot of the bed. Matty played with his hair, pulling it, combing it, bending his head down to smell it.

“Do you still love me?” Matty asked as the room filled with orange light. He was moderately drunk and massively tired. He had brushed Ross’ hair away from his forehead and was pressing a finger to that freckle near his hairline. Remembering his buzzcut back when he was young, before all of this happened to them. The question simply came into his head and left on his tongue.

Ross bent his neck backwards to look at him. Matty’s hand moved from his hair and it fell back down at odd angles. “Right now?” he said. “Yes.”

“Just right now?” Matty asked. He traced along one of the lines in Ross’ forehead with the top of his finger. The action distracting him from his heart tearing itself in two.

“All we’ve got, right?” Ross said. He turned his head back to the window.

Matty looked with him. The sky was a muted blue now, getting brighter and brighter. “Me, too,” Matty said after a moment. “Right now, I love you, too.”

Right now passed and so did a month and so did several countries. Him and Ross were close and then they were far. They ebbed and flowed. The air in Scotland turned them unhinged and completely in love again, Ross making him come three times in a night and once more the next morning. It felt like the beginning again, after so many near endings. But then in Hong Kong, Ross turned sullen and moody, remote and hard to reach for reasons Matty couldn’t figure out, but surely it was something he’d done or hadn’t done. Matty spent that whole week in George’s room, not doing anything more than letting George hold him, sometimes kiss him. George never pressing for more than what Matty needed.

In New Zealand, he and Ross reconnected briefly, getting high on Matty’s balcony and making out like teenagers, but it hadn’t gone farther than that. Just as they were turning the corner toward f*cking, Matty with his shirt off in Ross’ lap, hands on bare skin, Ross stopped and said, “I’m tired.” Matty had climbed off of him and stood there with his arms wrapped around himself as Ross put his shoes back on and found his phone. He’d kissed Matty on the cheek and then gone back to his room. Matty hadn’t gone to George. He had just gotten into bed and cried, waking up hours later to a text from Ross that said: sorry about leaving like that. i just wasn’t feeling very clearheaded. And Matty cried again because what the f*ck did that mean? When had either of them ever been clearheaded about this whole thing?

By the time they were in Australia, it had been weeks since Matty had properly been with Ross and the need was back, that immense black emptiness inside him that only Ross—or drugs but he’d really rather not go down that hole again—could fill was back and swallowing him up. He decided he’d have to resort to seduction again. He knew Ross wanted him. He just needed a little push. Matty didn’t have tiny shorts this time, but he did have a new skirt he’d been wanting to wear.

Can you come help me with something? He texted Ross as he was getting dressed to leave for the venue in Brisbane. He had on the skirt. A gauzy, white one he’d found at a vintage shop in London and had just been carrying around with him, waiting for the right time to bring it out. He was planning on wearing black tights with it, a black t-shirt maybe. But right then he was shirtless, wearing just the skirt, loving the feeling of the fabric against his legs.

What is it? Ross replied.

Matty frowned at his phone. Already Ross was being difficult. Please just come to my room for a sec?

He legitimately did need help. His necklaces had gotten all tangled together in the back. More so than usual. They weren’t laying properly. The leather strap of one of them was all caught up in the metal of one of his chains. He couldn’t seem to get the knot undone and it would be impossible to take them all off and start again.

A few minutes later, Ross knocked lightly on his door. Matty went to the door, opening it and then walking back over to the full length mirror without greeting Ross. He was twisting about trying to see what was going on with the necklaces, but also noticing the way his muscles looked against his skin as he turned his body. He saw Ross standing behind him, saw his eyes lingering on his body, on the skirt where it sat low on his waist. “I can’t seem to untangle these,” Matty said to him, hands still fighting with the knot. “Can you look and see?” He met Ross’ eyes in the mirror as he dropped his hands and turned so his back was fully to Ross. “Please,” he added when Ross didn’t move right away.

Ross stepped towards him and Matty lowered his head, presenting the back of his neck to Ross. “Why’d you let them get so tangled?” he asked as his fingers started pulling at various things. Matty closed his eyes at the feeling of his fingertips against his skin.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. Ross ducked his head closer so that he could see what he was doing, his breath hot on Matty’s neck. He grunted as he tried to pull at one part of the knot and it didn’t give way.

“Might have to cut some of them off of you,” Ross said, continuing to work at the knot.

“I’d rather not,” Matty said, reaching up to touch the assortment of necklaces that laid against his chest. “They’re a crucial part of my signature look.”

Ross laughed, another warm puff of air on Matty’s skin. “I’ll try my best then,” he said, looking up at Matty’s reflection, his eyes on Matty’s face and then moving lower before returning to the task at hand.

Matty’s neck ached from how he was holding it, but Ross was standing so close to him and he was touching him and he wasn’t trying to get away. It was more than Matty had gotten from him in days. But it still wasn’t enough.

“Ah,” Ross said. “I think I got it.” And Matty felt something loosen at the back of his neck and then his necklaces were laying properly again.

He turned around to face Ross. “Thanks,” he said.

“Where’d you get this one?” Ross asked, touching a silver rope chain that was shorter than the rest of them, more delicate. “I don’t remember seeing it before.” He was holding it between his thumb and his index finger, examining it.

George had given it to Matty a few weeks ago. It was one he had been wearing recently, one Matty had become fixated on. Always touching it or trying to get it between his teeth when they were kissing. Until one night George had simply taken it off and put it around his neck, saying, “If it helps you, keep it,” he said. And it did help Matty. He could touch it whenever he felt anxious or sad or otherwise broken, and he would think of George and how he only wanted to fix him.

“Got it from a shop in Japan,” Matty lied.

Ross let go of it and then his hand was on Matty’s chest and he was looking at Matty with eyes that were dark and confused. He looked troubled and Matty thought they were almost there. They were so close. He just needed to—

Matty stood on his toes to kiss him, but Ross turned away at the last second. “I think I should go,” he said, taking a step back.

“Let me guess,” Matty said wryly as he dropped back onto his heels. “You’re tired.”

Ross shook his head. “No,” he said. “I just—I think we deserve more than this, don’t you?”

“More than what?”

“A rushed f*ck in a hotel room, both of us with one ear out for anyone who might catch us,” Ross said. “Aren’t you tired of it?”

Matty lifted a hand to his necklaces, finding that silver rope chain and holding onto it. “What happened to enjoying what we have now?” Matty asked. “Because this is what we have now. This is how we can be together right now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be together then,” Ross said. “If this is what it’s like.” His voice was heavy and dry like a stone.

“Fine,” Matty said, turning to the mirror and adjusting his skirt, not meeting Ross’ eyes.

Ross stood there for a moment watching Matty watch himself in the mirror. “Fine,” he said.

And then he was gone, the door clicking too softly behind him. Matty fell back across the bed, an arm over his eyes, waiting for tears that wouldn’t come. He was still lying there when there was another knock on the door. He got up eagerly, thinking Ross had changed his mind, thinking Ross would barge in here and kiss him hard, tear his skirt off, f*ck him so good he’d forget all the lyrics on stage that night.

But when he opened the door, George was standing there, one arm over his head as he leaned against the doorframe. He was smiling, but when he saw the state of Matty, his face fell and he pushed into the room, making sure the door closed behind him. He put his hands on Matty’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

Matty nodded, but didn’t say anything. Afraid his voice would give his heartache away. “Just pre-gig nerves,” he said eventually, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

George let go of his face and took a step back, taking in what he was wearing or not wearing. “You look—” He cut himself off and reached for Matty again, his hand on Matty’s waist, fingers splayed against his back. He kissed Matty then in a way he hadn’t before, commanding and strong, forceful. There was no question in this kiss, no seeking approval or permission. There was only desire, maybe desperation.

Matty kissed him back, but the kiss didn’t last long. George was already sinking to his knees in front of Matty, his hands lost in the delicate fabric, bunching it and then letting go as they moved down Matty’s legs, as George sunk lower and lower. “You look so—” George started again, looking up at Matty.

Delicate, vulnerable, weak, Matty supplied for him in his head.

“Beautiful,” George finished, his hands underneath the fabric, trailing up Matty’s thighs. Matty felt George’s hands shaking and he heard George take in a breath when he realized Matty wasn’t wearing anything underneath, when his fingers brushed over Matty’s co*ck.

Matty gasped too. He was still half-hard for Ross, but he easily transferred that feeling to George who was looking up at him with eyes that were reverential, a mouth that looked pliant and hungry. George who had seen him and wanted him right away. George who didn’t make Matty work for his desire, who gave it to him freely, openly.

“Please, let me,” George said, fingers wrapping around Matty. “I’ll do anything.”

Matty lifted up the skirt, gathering it around his waist with one of his hands while the other went to the back of George’s head, guiding him closer. “Tell me what you want to do,” he said, fingers pulling on George’s curls. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want to suck your dick,” George said, looking at Matty and then looking at his co*ck.

“Tell me,” Matty said. His mind shutting down. The rational part of himself closing up shop for the night. It was good to be the one in control for once. “Every single thing you want to do to me, tell me. Where are you going to start?”

George licked his lips, holding onto the base of Matty’s co*ck. “I want to suck on your balls,” he said, leaning forward and doing just that, taking one of Matty’s balls into his mouth and then letting it out with a pop. Matty groaned as George did the same thing to his other ball and then he was licking and sucking at them eagerly, filling the room with wet sighs.

“Then what?” Matty said, his head thrown back.

George sat back again. “I’m gonna run my tongue along your dick,” he said, and then his tongue was there, warm and wide, dragging up Matty’s length. “And then I’m gonna suck on the head.” He closed his lips around Matty, sucking gently at the head of his co*ck, his tongue circling around it.

“f*ck, George,” Matty breathed out, some of the skirt slipping from his hand, falling over George. He gathered it up again, lifting it higher, against his chest. “That feels so good.”

George pulled off, turning his eyes up to Matty. “All I want is for you to feel good,” he said.

“I know,” Matty said, his free hand touching the side of George’s face, thumb pulling at his bottom lip. A move he’d learned from Ross. He’d learned all of this from Ross. How to be in control, but still be gentle. How to recognize when someone only needed to serve you to feel good. It was all Ross.

“Now I’m going to let you f*ck my mouth,” George said, pulling Matty out of his thoughts again. George’s hands moved around to Matty’s arse, holding him there as Matty started to thrust into his mouth. He kept his thrusts shallow at first, not knowing just how much George was willing to take. But when George hollowed his cheeks and gripped hard on Matty’s arse, he started to f*ck into his mouth deeper.

“Are you mine?” he asked. Everything was slipping from his hands and he needed something to hold onto, something that was his. George hummed around his co*ck, taking the initiative to sink deeper onto him, Matty finally hitting the back of his throat. George was choking on him, but he kept going, breathing through it. That was enough of an answer, enough of a confirmation.

George pulled off again, gasping for air, his face red, his eyes dark. “Yes,” he said, his hand working Matty’s dick while he took a moment to breathe. “I’m yours.”

The words went through Matty like lightning, restarting his heart for the time being, and he pulled the skirt up even higher as George swallowed him back down, pulling the material into his mouth, bringing George’s chain along with it, tasting the metal on his tongue. Just as quickly, he let the skirt go, let it fall over top of George’s head, but he kept the chain between his teeth. “Yeah, you are,” he said around it. “Let me come in your mouth.”

George pushed the gossamer fabric up himself this time, holding it against Matty’s stomach with both of his hands as Matty f*cked his face frantically, chasing his org*sm. Matty turned his head and saw their reflection in the mirror, him surrounded by clouds of white chiffon, George with his lips stretched around Matty’s co*ck, eyes closed. Matty saw something else too. He saw Ross standing behind them, just like he’d stood behind Matty earlier, fixing his necklaces for him, his mouth forming that Ah as he finally loosened the knot.

The chain fell from Matty’s mouth as he came without warning in George’s mouth, but George didn’t seem to mind. He kept sucking Matty off eagerly, swallowing as he went. Matty pulled his co*ck from his mouth after a moment, overstimulated, but George stayed there on his knees, his mouth tilted towards Matty’s dick, wanting more. Matty obligingly tapped his dick against his lips and his tongue, a few more drops of come spilling out of him.

“I love sucking you off,” George said adoringly, laughingly, his mouth closing around the head of Matty’s dick again, still wanting, still needing.

Matty inhaled sharply and pulled away. “Too much,” he said kindly. He let the skirt fall down around his calves once more and looked at George who was sitting on the floor now, his eyes half-closed. “You liked that, huh?”

George nodded, leaning back on his hands, watching Matty as he turned to fix his hair in the mirror. George looked almost smug, incredibly pleased with himself. But then his face shifted downward. “You are alright, though?” he asked.

Matty was categorically not alright, but he did in that moment, when he was still coming down from his org*sm, feel good. “I am now,” he said, smiling at George’s reflection.

July 5, 2023 - Evening

Matty has barely processed what’s happening when Ross drops him onto the bed and climbs over him, kissing him and setting his weight down onto him. He kisses Matty roughly, beard scratching at his face, lips trailing down his neck, teeth biting at his collarbone. Meanwhile his body is pressing, pressing, pressing, all of him pushing Matty down against the mattress, crushing him, stealing the air from him. All he can do is groan and kiss Ross back just as hard.

He gets a moment to breathe when Ross sits up and takes his shirt off. Matty’s hands instantly reach out to touch him, but Ross catches him by the wrists, pinning them down on either side of Matty’s head as he grinds his dick against Matty’s. Rough denim against bare skin. Ross comes back down to kiss him some more, keeping a tight grip on his wrists. When their kissing devolves into breathing into each other’s mouths as they rut together, Ross sits up again. He lets go of Matty and starts undoing his jeans. Matty has seen this part so many times today, but he still feels excitement rush through him, lust thickly clouding his mind, as he watches Ross take his jeans and his underwear off. He still feels a surge of adoration bordering on obsession at the sight of Ross naked above him.

“I told you you were going to f*ck me,” he says, unable to help himself.

“Get up,” Ross says, climbing off of Matty and off of the bed. Matty gets up obediently and watches as Ross takes his place, lying flat on his back. He lifts one hand and places it behind his head while the other reaches down for his co*ck. “Just stay there,” Ross says, fisting himself and looking at Matty who stands there, arms at his sides by the bed. He runs his fingers along his own erection, but when he does, Ross stops touching himself. Matty moves his hand away and Ross starts up again, stroking himself so carefully and slowly. The light in the room is changing, the sun has started its slow summer descent and turned everything golden, warm. Even Ross’ face as he stares at Matty and touches himself seems softer somehow, inviting.

Matty steps closer to Ross, touches his thigh with his fingertips. “Please,” he says simply.

And Ross reaches for him, his hands on Matty’s waist as he pulls him onto the bed, onto him. Matty straddles him, moving their co*cks against each other, and Ross reaches for the drawer in the bedside table, pulling out the lube reaching between them to slick himself up. “Please,” Matty says again as Ross places the head of his co*ck against his entrance. “Please,” he says as he lowers himself onto Ross, inch by inch. “Please,” he says when Ross is fully inside of him, his mind going blank, his vision failing.

Ross’ hands move to Matty’s thighs, lifting him up and then f*cking back into him hard. Matty falls forward, taking hold of Ross’ face and kissing him. The kiss is sweet and gentle unlike the way Ross’ is f*cking him. Their mouths are soft with each other, tongues brushing together delicately. But Ross’ co*ck is moving frantically in and out of Matty. The contrast makes Matty feel dizzy, drunk. He sits up again, his hands on Ross’ chest. “Easy,” he says, sitting fully on Ross’ dick and circling his hips, trying to subdue him, calm him.

Ross has a helpless look, a wild look. He pulls his lips between his teeth and breathes in deeply, his eyes closing and then opening again. He runs his hands up and down Matty’s thighs. “I need you,” he says. He sits up on his elbows and kisses Matty. Then he switches their positions, pulling out of Matty and laying him back down on the bed. He pauses for a moment, looking down at Matty. He touches his cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’ve been so good today,” he says, and Matty feels his dick leak against his stomach in response to that. “Such a good boy,” Ross says, taking hold of his co*ck and pressing back into Matty.

Now Ross goes slow. He pushes Matty’s knees back and f*cks into him deeply, unhurried. “Why have you been so good for me?” he asks, his eyebrows pulling together.

Matty thinks about the question. “Because I like being good for you,” he says. “Because I knew you needed me to be.” He sighs as Ross drags his co*ck back out of him. “Because I love you.”

“You do, don’t you?” Ross asks, hips moving at a steadier pace now.

“I do,” he says, reaching his hands up for Ross who leans down and lets Matty grab hold of his hair. “I really f*cking do.”

“I really f*cking do, too,” Ross says, f*cking him hard and fast again.

Matty holds onto strands of his hair, not pulling, just grasping them between his fingers as he looks up at his face. Marry me, he thinks again. Even though they are so absolutely f*cked up. Even though everything about them remains so f*cking broken. Still. “Marry me.” He actually says it out loud, but quietly into a sigh as Ross reaches between them and touches him.

Ross pulls back. “What?” he asks, his eyes unfocused and dazed so Matty knows he truly hasn’t heard him. His hand keeps moving on Matty’s co*ck, and he keeps f*cking Matty, deeply and sharply. Matty has been on the verge of coming all afternoon and now he’s so close he feels faint.

“I said, f*ck me,” Matty says, wrapping his legs around Ross’ waist.

“Should I let you come this time?” Ross asks. His hand leaves Matty’s dick as he sits up straight.

“Please,” Matty says. Ross has slowed down some, but his thrusts are still even and deep. “Please let me come.”

Ross stops altogether then and pulls out of Matty who whines in protest, reaching for him. But he shifts down the bed, his mouth dragging along Matty’s body as he goes and then his head is between Matty’s legs. “Still thirsty,” he says, looking at Matty’s co*ck for a second and then taking it in his mouth. Matty comes almost immediately, sitting up on his elbows as he floods Ross’ mouth.

Matty is already waiting with his mouth open when Ross comes back up, because he knows what Ross wants to do. And he’s right, Ross grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back as he lets the come in his mouth drip down into Matty’s. Matty closes his mouth and swallows his own come, smiling up at Ross. “Dirty f*cking slu*t,” Ross says, smiling back at him and then bending down to kiss him.

Matty turns over, onto all fours, lowering his face to the mattress and presenting himself to Ross. “Come on,” he says, looking back at him. “I know you’re dying to come inside me.”

Without a word, Ross pushes into him, making him gasp and grip the sheets in his hands. Matty feels his spent co*ck try its best to perk up as Ross starts to f*ck him, quick and shallow, grunting deeply. His hand comes down hard on Matty’s arse. “Oh, f*ck,” Matty says, into the sheets, and Ross does it again. “Harder.” Ross does it a third time, the sting and the vibration of it going straight to Matty’s dick. He feels himself actually getting hard again. “Such a f*cking slu*t for you.”

Ross’ fingers are gripping at Matty’s arse now, pulling hard on his skin, trying to spread him open even wider as he keeps f*cking him. Matty can feel just the head of Ross’ co*ck moving in and out of him rapidly.

“I’m gonna come,” Ross says, hands on Matty’s hips. His shallow thrusts stop and he starts driving into him, his co*ck brushing against Matty’s prostate just right, just enough that Matty thinks he might actually come again too.

Ross flips them over again so that they’re face to face. His hair a mess and falling over his face, his skin flushed and sweaty, his chest heaving. He f*cks into Matty one more time and Matty feels him coming, his co*ck pulsing as he spills warmly inside him. Ross keeps f*cking him as he comes, and then Matty really is coming again, his hole clenching briefly but strongly around Ross’ co*ck as he does.

“Didn’t say you could come again,” Ross says, but he’s grinning down at him and he’s still moving inside of him. “But I’ll allow it.”

Matty laughs and feels like he’s stepping back into himself, back into reality. “I can’t bloody help it,” he says, his hand touching Ross’ chest, seeking out his heartbeat. And there it is, rapid but steady. “Not when it’s you.”

Fall 2019

Back in London, the leaves started changing colors, the air carried a crisp chill, and Ross called Matty one afternoon when he was sitting in a park near the flat, smoking a cigarette, and trying to read a book he’d bought while on tour, a book he’d carried around with him but never opened. His phone rang as he was reading the epigraph.

“Hi,” he said tentatively when he answered. Things had been awful in the month since Australia. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Ross had talked without anyone else around. He wasn’t even sure if they’d ended things or not. They were just suspended in air.

On the other end of the line, he heard Ross take a breath and then he said, “Hi.”

“How are you?” Matty asked.

There was a heavy sigh on Ross’ end. “Honestly? I feel bloody awful about how things have gone these last few months,” Ross said. Matty pressed his phone closer to his ear so that Ross’ voice might crawl inside.

“Me, too,” Matty interjected, before Ross could go on. “I wasn’t myself. Or, no, I was way too much myself.”

Ross laughed and the melody of it was so f*cking beautiful. Matty threw his book across the way, into a bush, an older woman passing by glaring at him but still kindly picking it up and handing it back to him. He smiled at her, but was focused on Ross. “But I feel sort of lost without you, so I just wanted to—”

“Chat?” Matty provided, brushing dirt off his book, folding back the bent corners.

“I suppose so,” Ross said, a tone of disbelief to his voice.

They lapsed into silence then. Matty was happy to just be on the line with him, to picture him in his flat, by the window, in the kitchen making tea, or sitting on his couch with his legs stretched out in front of him. “Oh, f*ck, I miss you,” he said, covering his face with his hand. Sadness, relief, joy, all at once, knocking him over.

“Tell me something new,” Ross said, a soft yearning in his voice. “Tell me something good.”

Matty searched his mind for anything worthwhile and then landed on it. “I’m closing on my house tomorrow,” he said.

“Ah, your bunker,” Ross said, teasing him.

“Come with me,” Matty said without thinking. He ran his thumb along the edge of his book, strumming the pages, while he waited for Ross’ answer.

“Alright,” Ross said after a long time. “Yeah, I will.” He sounded hopeful but also disappointed in his own quick acquiescence.

“Okay,” Matty said, reluctant to hang up.

“Okay,” Ross said back.

“I’m gonna hang up,” Matty said.

“Sure.”

“I am,” Matty insisted, smiling with his whole face. But then he didn’t.

“Goodbye, Matty,” Ross said.

“Goodbye, Ross,” Matty said.

Still, they stayed on the line.

“I’m sorry,” Matty said. “It’s just if I hang up, I’m not sure what happens next.”

“What happens next is, you’ll text me the details for tomorrow and I’ll see you there,” Ross said, sounding way more confident and patient than he had a right to sound about that.

Matty breathed. “Okay, bye,” he said quickly, and then ended the call before he could think about it any more.

He sat for a second, looking at his phone, his cigarette that had burned down to the filter while he’d been talking to Ross, both of his hands shaking because he was happy, but he was terrified. He really didn’t know what happened next.

“You’re going out?” George asked the next day as Matty was in his room, trying to decide what to wear. The bed covered in clothes, options he’d already vetoed and ones he was still on the fence about. He wanted something casual, but also something that said he had tried. He was currently in a pair of well-fitted jeans that flared out at the bottom and a jumper that was a strange shade of green, slightly neon, slightly mossy, slightly puke. Matty thought it brought out his eyes.

He turned to find George standing in the door. The door he swore he’d closed, and yet. “Signing the final paperwork for the house today,” Matty said, standing close to the mirror and looking at the outfit. Something about it wasn’t right. He took the jumper off, tossing it on the bed. He stood shirtless examining the piles he’d made, hands on his hips.

George stepped into the room, coming up behind him, sliding his arms around Matty, chin on his shoulder. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked. “For moral support?”

“I’ll be alright,” Matty said. He covered George’s hands with his own and closed his eyes for a second. Then he took hold of George’s wrists and unwrapped himself from his arms, turning around to face him. He reached for a nearby t-shirt and put it on.

They hadn’t done much since Australia, but there had been a few encounters. Matty going down on George while they were stoned and watching TV. George stepping into the shower as Matty was washing his hair and jerking him off, his own co*ck sliding between Matty’s thighs. Never full on f*cking though. They still hadn’t done that again since that first and only time. He could tell George wanted to, but he never pushed. A boundary they had silently agreed upon.

George walked over to the pile of tops on Matty’s bed, picking up an old blouse of Matty’s, frilly collar, frilly cuffs, looking at it and putting it back down. “I wish you wouldn’t move out,” George said without looking at him.

“We could both do with the space, don’t you think?”

“Do we?” George asked, looking at Matty who looked back at him pointedly.

“You certainly do,” he said, laughing.

George shook his head and picked up another top. An old Get Up Kids t-shirt that was starting to get holes in the armpits. He was examining the worn out, yellow lettering on the shirt when he said, “And what if I’m in love with you?”

Matty sighed. “You’re not,” he said, taking the t-shirt from him and putting it back on the bed. “Or, I dunno, maybe you are. But we’ve talked about this before, and I thought we both agreed that we weren’t—”

“It’s not as simple as that, though,” George said, cutting him off. “You and I, we’re all” —he stopped, searching for the right word— “intertwined.”

He was close to Matty again, and when he said the word—intertwined—he put one hand on Matty’s hip, the other on the side of his face. Matty saw his eyes unfocus, moving in for a kiss, but he stepped out of his grasp at the last second. Stumbling backwards, nearly falling over his shiny red cowboy boots.

“George,” he said gently, tilting his head to the side and looking at him. “C’mon. Not now, alright?”

“Fine,” George sighed, dropping his hands to his sides as he turned to the bed and picked out a rust red jumper. “You look good in this one,” he said, handing it to Matty.

Matty took the jumper from him, shrugging off his t-shirt and pulling it over his head. He checked his reflection in the mirror. George behind him, picking bits of fuzz off the shoulder. It was the right choice. He looked good, but he looked like himself. “Cheers,” he said, smiling at George’s reflection.

George’s eyes traveled down Matty’s body. “You’re looking proper fit for signing paperwork,” he said.

“I’m trying to look like someone who deserves a multimillion dollar home in a family friendly neighborhood in London. Not some skater kid who smokes way too much weed,” Matty said, grateful when George laughed.

George nodded, still looking at him. “You still look like you smoke way too much weed, but you look good,” he said. “Handsome even.” A beat and then, “And you were always a sh*t skater anyway.”

Matty rolled his eyes. “Do I look well off though?” he asked, hand on his hip, striking a pose. “Do I look like someone you’d feel safe pushing your pram past?”

George was lingering by the door. “Not one f*cking bit,” he said, smiling.

Matty gave George the finger in the mirror as he turned and started to walk away. He stopped again though, turning back, hand on the doorframe. “By the way, it’s not really a ‘what if’ thing. I am in love with you.”

He disappeared down the hall then, leaving Matty to stare at himself for a little while longer and think about what he did and didn’t deserve.

When Matty got near the house, he saw Ross standing on the sidewalk, holding a bottle of champagne and peering into the front garden. Matty had walked from the estate agent’s office even though it was a cold, gray day and it had started to rain after he’d walked only two blocks. He’d wanted time to clear his head, collect himself. But he still felt like a wreck seeing Ross there, in his dark jeans and his jacket with the collar turned up, the tips of his ears red from the cold, drops of rain in his hair, the bottle of champagne looking so small in his hand.

He waited at the corner for a moment until Ross turned around and saw him, smiling and giving him a two finger wave.

“You brought champagne?” Matty asked curiously instead of greeting Ross, nodding to the bottle.

Ross lifted the champagne up and frowned at it. “I wasn’t sure what to bring,” he said. “Seemed like I shouldn’t show up empty-handed though.”

Matty took the bottle from Ross and then nudged his side with his shoulder. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

The rain was coming down heavier now and Matty hunched his shoulders as he reached into his pocket for the new set of keys. He fumbled with the still unfamiliar lock for a second before it gave way and the door opened for them. He let Ross go in first, watching as he needlessly ducked his head going through the door and then stood in the front hall, hands in his pockets, looking around.

Matty came in, closing the door behind him and taking in a breath. The house was empty and cold, but Matty felt comforted by it. He felt embraced by it. Ross was looking into the living room but, right on time, he turned and reached for Matty, pulling him into his arms and kissing him deeply. Matty had keys in one hand, champagne in the other, but he got his arms around Ross as best he could, kissing him back.

The house seemed to grow warmer, fuller, as they kissed. As if it was taking on life from them.

Ross pulled away after not nearly long enough. “Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to do that the second I saw you.”

Matty laughed, hearing it echo in the emptiness. “I’ll show you around,” he said, setting the bottle down on the floor, pocketing his keys, and taking Ross’ hand.

He guided him through the house, and they kissed in every new room. By the windows in the living room. Against the counter in the kitchen. In the doorway of what would be the guest bedroom. In the dark curve of the spiral stone staircase, Ross crowding Matty against the wall.

“This is where my bed will go, I think,” Matty said in the main bedroom. And then Ross kissed him there. Matty still with his arms outstretched, demonstrating the width of the bed and how it would fit.

“What d’you think?” Matty asked once he’d finished giving his tour and they were out in the courtyard. Ross was turning in circles, taking in the small outdoor space. The rain had momentarily let up but the sky was still dark, and Ross shoved his hands in his pockets, pulling his jacket more tightly around him. “There’ll be more sun here eventually,” Matty said, remembering how the estate agent had tried to sell him on the house. Promising him light and warmth.

Ross stopped moving and looked at him. “I think it’s perfect for you,” he said.

Matty smiled. “You still haven’t kissed me here,” he said, looking around and then taking a step towards Ross. He looked up at him and saw sadness in his face, but still Ross touched his cheek and brought his lips down, touching them lightly to Matty’s.

“Let’s open the champagne,” he said as he pulled back, stepping around Matty and going back inside.

Matty stood outside for another moment and then he heard a loud pop and followed the sound to where Ross was holding the bottle over the kitchen sink to catch any overflowing champagne. “It’s warm,” Ross said. “And I don’t think you have any glasses.”

Matty patted his pockets. “Damn, I must have left them in my other house,” he said. He took the bottle from Ross and drank straight from it.

They sat cross-legged next to each other on the floor of the empty living room, passing the bottle back and forth. Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds and they watched the sunlight slowly spill across the floor, never quite reaching them. The champagne wasn’t very good, but the bubbles felt nice going down and once half of it was gone, Ross leaned back on his hands, letting Matty lean against his chest, and Matty felt warm all over. They didn’t talk. They just sat together.

“You never showed me where the bathroom is,” Ross said once the other half of the bottle was nearly gone.

Matty sat up and pointed down the hall. “Next to the second bedroom,” he said.

Ross got up slowly, carefully and then disappeared down the hall. Matty picked up the champagne, drinking the two drops that were left inside. He set the bottle down and looked around him. All the empty rooms. Their gray cement floors and blank walls. The high, cavernous ceilings. All of it waiting for him to do something.

After a while, he realized that Ross had been gone for a long time so he got up to look for him. He found him standing in the dining room, looking out through the door to the courtyard. Matty didn’t make a sound at first, he just watched him there, considering him in the context of this house. The shape of him made sense there, but the details of him seemed too loud, too distracting. The curve of his ears too hugely beautiful for this quiet house. The grace of his fingers too painfully poetic. He turned his head slightly, Matty still out of his sightline, and the slope of his nose, the curl of his lips seemed to fill up the room until Matty couldn’t breathe.

Matty stepped into the room. “Did you get lost?’ he asked.

Ross turned, not at all startled to find Matty there. “I think so,” he said, his voice strange, like he was way drunker than he should be after half a bottle of champagne.

Matty stood next to him. He suddenly knew what he had to do, what he had to say. The clouds were coming and going and he waited until a weak ray of sunlight was shining directly onto the tree outside, and then he said, “I think we need to take a break.”

Ross didn’t respond, but he shifted closer to Matty so that their sides touched, their shoulders pressed together.

“I love you,” Matty said, “but I need to be on my own, I think. Clean slate, start over, be better, all that.”

Ross nodded. Matty turned to look at him, saw tears in his eyes that weren’t spilling over. “I love you, too,” he said. And then, reaching for Matty’s hand, “Can we stay here a little longer?”

“Right now?” Matty asked, his fingers slipping between Ross’.

“Right now,” Ross said, holding tightly to him.

“Sure,” Matty said. The sky cleared entirely, bright sun filling up the courtyard. That promised light and warmth, misplaced, badly timed, but there nonetheless. “Right now, we can stay here.”

July 5, 2023 - Evening

They take turns in the shower. Matty goes first and then he changes the sheets, puts clothes in the hamper, sits in the living room as Ross takes what seems like a very long time in the shower. He hears him come out and go into the bedroom, but Matty stays where he is, waiting, until Ross’ feet are padding along the concrete floor, out of the bedroom and down the hall. Then Matty gets up one last time to find him.

The sun is nearly gone now, but there’s still a purple light coming through all the windows. They never turned on any lights in the house so everything is cast in semidarkness. The house feels different. Like they’ve been away for a long time and have just gotten back. Matty feels lost in his own home for a moment before he sees Ross’ familiar silhouette.

Ross’ hair is wet and pulled back, his glasses on. He stands in his shorts and t-shirt, looking through the door to the courtyard. Matty comes up behind him, places a hand between his shoulder blades and looks with him. In the near dark, there isn’t much to see. The tree’s branches move with the breeze. A plane cuts through the sky. “Hiya,” Matty says.

Ross startles, like he didn’t know Matty was there. “Hiya,” he says, turning to him and then turning back to the door.

“Seems like we need to talk, eh?” Matty asks.

Ross puts an arm around his shoulders and sighs. He smells clean and good and Ross-like. Matty looks down at their bare feet. Marry me, he thinks, but this time it feels sad and desperate, like he’s making a deal with some god. “Yeah, we do,” Ross says.