i think you think too much of me (Matty Healy/George Daniel)

1: i already love this fic more than ive ever loved anything in this world

"There's this boy."

His words were a gentle beginning. Soft spoken in the evening light. It was just the two of them. A night like every other: almost routine. Yet it was far from the kind of monotony that chilled Matty to the core. This was comfortable, this was good. These were the nights that made him feel safe. Whether it was the slow conversations and the understanding look in her eyes, or just the endless glasses of wine.

"There's always a boy." Gemma looked at Matty knowingly: her best friend of now coming close to five years. There was little questioning the fact that she knew Matty inside and out. She was pretty sure she'd heard this story a thousand times over already, but still she'd listen, because that was what she was here for.

"He's different." Matty continued: shaking his head: insistent. Gemma did wonder if this conversation would go the same way if they were entirely sober, but Matty never did talk about anything of importance when he wasn't drunk enough to believe it was in some way a good idea. In the absence of the bottle of red opened on her coffee table, she doubted they'd be having such a conversation at all.

"Every boy is different." She assured him, a slight roll to her eyes. "Trust me. I've been there. We all have."

"He's really different this time around." Matty did a better job of convincing himself than he did in convincing Gemma. Despite the fact that he was already very much sold on the idea, as he was with everything. Because if Matty could be described as anything, it had to be impulsive. There was little doubt in that.

"How?" She let out a sigh, accepting that Matty was set on his own conclusions about this boy; there was hardly much else she could do to change that after all. "What makes him different? What makes you sure of that?"

"I just know." Matty looked away, biting his lip. He was the kind of boy who couldn't help but feel like he knew an awful lot about the world, even at eighteen: a charming kind of pretentiously self-obsessed. The type that aimed to make a mountain out of every molehill just to climb to the top of them.

"Gut feeling." He added, doing all he could to rationalise the conclusion he'd come to.

"Gut feeling." She scoffed. "Should try thinking with your brain and not your gut, though, how about that?" Gemma's response was dry: evident that she was already growing tired with the glassy, dazed look in Matty's eyes.

The whole situation did seem harmless enough, and perhaps she should have felt warmed by the fact that Matty was comfortable enough to talk so openly about his sexuality with her. But it was the same story nearly every night; after all, Matty was the type to fall in love with everyone he passed down the street.

"Very funny." Matty rolled his eyes, placing his empty wine glass down onto the coffee table with a satisfying kind of clink. He eyed the bottle next to it almost playfully: his mind stocked with a good hundred reasons as to why another glass of wine could only do him more harm than good. Yet more than anything, he just yearned for any kind of aid in tearing away at the mess of feelings inside of his chest.

Within seconds his hand was curled tightly around a second glass of wine. However, he found himself stopping for a moment: somewhat hesitant to bring the glass up to his lips. Instead he became rather fixated on the glossy black polish on his nails. It was chipping away already, despite the fact that he'd painted them just last night.

Gemma watched him with an all too familiar look in her eyes. It was a recurring thing: Matty and the thoughts that chased him back around his head, but he wasn't nearly drunk enough to talk about them yet and they were both far too well aware of that.

"So there's this boy." Matty snapped out of it, starting again as if the past few minutes had never even taken place. He downed the glass in one go, setting it back down on the table with something closer to a slam: knuckles growing white as his fingers curled in around it.