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

Sinker

In spite of himself, Matty had counted the number of days they'd been apart. For weeks he'd been caught in a cruel cycle. He tossed restlessly in his bed, gave up on sleeping, smoked by the window, tidied various corners of the house, washed all the dishes, smoked again. He always ended up sitting on his couch, staring at the door, his mind constructing different fantasies of George coming back home. 

In a recurring nightmare, George did come through the door, standing tall with a glassy and prideful look of expectation carved into his eyes. Every single time, Matty approached George. He reached for his face only to find George frozen in time. Unable to hear him, feel him, respond to him. Like a child in desperation, he would toy with and rearrange parts of George he could never hope to put back to their original state. Only to end up with someone he didn't recognize. A haunting figure standing in his home as an imitation, mocking the hole that tore visibly through his chest. Matty would wake up in a cold sweat on the couch, finally retreating back to his room to curl onto his cold mattress.

At exactly 3:06am on Monday, February 3rd the sun came out at last. When that door finally opened, George came through it, the look on his face eager, bewildered, hopeful. George approached him. Blew smoke right into his mouth. Rested their foreheads together and ran long fingers through his hair. 

And when George finally did put his arms around him, it felt like time slowed around them. Ages went by as they stood, wrapped together, preserved by the clarity of the moment. The understanding that the mistakes of their past were not undone, not erased, but forgiven. 

The understanding that it was alright. 

It was alright to simply belong to each other, even when neither of them had anything to offer. 

To belong to George. Matty had adored him so, from the very moment he saw him. Thirteen years old, pushing the hair from his eyes as he leaned down to tie his laces in the hall. Just a boy he'd encountered who fidgeted restlessly, stared off distantly, and laughed too loudly. Grown up into a man who perceived him, understood him, accepted him–wanted him. 

An odd character that he got to share his life with. 

The mattress was still on the floor. Matty didn't think he'd ever get a bed frame for it. George had fallen asleep, the slight blush across his eyelids hiding behind the dark curls that were draped over his features. Matty ran a finger slowly over the shadow on his jaw and smiled remembering how jealous he'd been when the younger man had started sprouting facial hair before him. George didn't stir, seemingly content with his knees knocking into Matty's beneath the sheet as he breathed deeply through his nose.

And Matty finally drifted to sleep, his fingers tracing over the rectangle on George's thumb as he gently pressed a smile into his neck.

Fin.

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I know there are only a few people following along, but to each of you, thank you. Truly. 

I apologize for my shyness. This is the first thing I've ever written and very possibly the last. Please know that I deeply appreciate every comment, vote and read I have received.

A large portion of this piece was inspired by the song Wrapped Up by Picture Atlantic. If nothing else, please give this gem of a song a listen. 

Much Love.