A History [m.h.g.d.]

Hook

Matty's eyes flickered open just past midnight. His gaze blearily settled on George's still form beside him. He looked at him enviously, wishing he could sleep through the night. The bed was barely big enough for the two of them and Matty was laying close enough to notice how shallow George's breathing had become and how tightly his brows were cinched. He briefly wondered if his friend was having a nightmare and chewed at his lip in indecision, debating on whether or not to try and wake him. 

When Matty had invited him to stay the weekend, he had not been expecting George to show up drenched on his doorstep with a runny nose and a deep blush on his cheeks, insisting he was fine. George's parents were out of town, and instead of calling to ask for a ride, he had walked himself 8 kilometers down the road in the pouring rain. 

"If you're feeling shit...you don't have to stay mate. My mum can take you back home if you'd be more comfortable there..." 

Matty trailed off, knowing he didn't sound particularly convincing. 

George had just laughed in response as he tore off his shirt and started rummaging through Matty's drawers for a set of dry clothes. 

In hindsight, Matty probably should have made him a mug of tea and given him a cough sweet instead of offering up his last joint, but upon George's shy suggestion to shotgun it, Matty found himself thinking less about his friend's general health and more about how soft his jaw was as he cupped it to bring their faces closer. 

His long curls were still damp against the pillow. George had a large palm wrapped around his own shoulder as though he was cold, but when he shifted slightly, Matty could see the sweat pooling between his narrow collar bones. He gently reached out, the heat from George's cheek searing the tips of his fingers. 

Matty didn't think twice about kicking all of the blankets off the bed--and in the dead middle of winter, he readily shivered under a sheet in the hopes of easing George's discomfort, even just a little bit.