birthday surprise - matty x reader
part 2 of matty's birthday weekend a/n: this is scheduled. by the time this goes up, i will (hopefully🤞🏼) be on a beach somewhere, day drunk 😌 cw: vomit (because hungover), dramatic (because sad), once again vague descriptions of depression. some kissing and suggestive stuff. idiots friends to lovers wc: 3.1k
george’s massive hand rests on matty’s back while he retches into the toilet.
his head pounds mercilessly, the sunlight streaming in through the window is barely helping and the soured wine churning in his stomach comes back up once again, leaving him gasping for air. a loud splash echoes in the bathroom and matty groans, gagging a bit more.
george is a good friend. he lets matty lean on him and holds the glass of water so matty can slowly sip from it.
it barely works though. he feels like shit regardless, and none of it can be cured by water or food or painkillers.
george helps him get back to bed once matty feels slightly better. the whole time neither of them say a word. matty doesn’t know how much of last night has been told to his friend—does he know the precise way in which matty fucked up? did he see matty in the act? overhear the conversation accidentally?
george’s face looks completely blank. he does all the right things—sets a glass of water and a few painkillers next to matty, grabs him a bucket, draws the blackout curtains. he even offers to get breakfast.
“fry up from that small cafe down the street,” he says in a hushed voice. “come on, greasy food’s good for hangovers.”
matty mumbles something like a vague yes, if only so george would step out of the house for a bit. once he’s out, matty searches for his phone, wedged somewhere between the mattress and the headboard. the sudden brightness makes him wince but once he manages to open his eyes, he checks for messages and missed calls.
apart from one missed call from george and one from jamie, there’s nothing.
nothing from her.
not one message.
the last message he’s sent to her sits at read—it’s nothing special, just the address to the pub they were going to meet at. and then… yeah, matty remembers how well that went.
he remembers the last look on her face before she stormed off.
then it’s just a fog.
his throat feels clogged, his eyes sting but no tears come. matty just lays there, curled up like a pathetic worm, clutching his pillow until seconds or minutes or hours later george re-enters his room.
“right, come on,” he flings the covers off matty, making him feel a sudden draft of cold air. “i’m not getting you breakfast in bed, mate. you’re hungover, not an invalid.”
“‘m not hungry,” matty mumbles. his voice is hoarse and his throat hurts—probably the vomiting—but it’s nothing in comparison to his head. a delayed realisation hits him that he never took the painkillers.
george huffs. “don’t be a diva.” and if matty had any strength he would absolutely be offended by that. then again maybe george doesn’t know the full extent of last night.
“seriously george—”
“matty. you’re going to get out of bed and come to the kitchen. we are going to eat and then we are going to talk about last night.”
well… there goes that. a stubborn side of him wants to be an absolute ass and dig his feet in. say all sorts of mean things to george just so he’d leave. but isn’t that what got him here in the first place? he really isn’t in the position to hurt more people in his life.
like a small child matty drags his feet the entire way to the kitchen, turning his nose up at the food on the table. (even though it looks really good and his stomach does growl now that he can smell the food) george doesn’t egg him on any further. he just motions to the chair and slides a mug of coffee in front of him.
“you said what?”
it’s the eerily calm edge to george’s voice that makes matty shrink in his seat. he does feel better with some food in his stomach, physically at least. but the way george stares at him—eyes cold, lips pressed in a thin line—makes him feel sick to his stomach all over again.
“i said– i– i said it was the first of april, i told her it was a joke.” his voice is a pathetic whisper, words drowned by shame and guilt and self-hatred. matty wishes he could go back in time and undo it all. he won’t say any of it.
he won’t even touch the wine in the first place.
“right after you said i love you.”
“yeah.”
“huh.”
easy for george to say that. it’s not his love life blowing up in his face right now. matty stabs the tomato next to his half-eaten toast, watching it spill its guts onto the plate. red. just like last night.
he remembers that part of it.
“what happened after? how did i… get home?”
george goes a bit silent for a second, not meeting matty’s eyes which sets alarm bells ringing in his head.
“do you really not remember?”
when matty shakes his head, george just sighs and then softly says her name. “she called charli, crying a lot and i figured something went down. i called you–don’t you remember that?” when matty’s blank face gives him the answer, george continues, “you sounded really awful like… you were gasping for breath. i could barely understand you. so i thought i’d pick you up and get you home. i’m glad i did.”
in all of this the only part matty focuses on is her. and that she called charli crying a lot. of course, he thanks george but it’s only half-hearted, distracted. he can’t get the image of it out of his mind—her sobbing on the other end of the phone, barely able to get a word out. it breaks his heart all over again.
he did that.
this is all his fault.
“matty… you have to make it right.”
that’s the biggest problem of it all—he doesn’t know how. what is he supposed to do, call her up and say: hey, so you know how i drunkenly said i love after which i assumed you looked at me with disgust and then i said it was all a joke and you stormed off? well it was not a joke i am seriously in love with you and i don’t know what happens to our friendship after this.
yeah. there’s no way to put it any better.
so he just nods. at least, that way he doesn’t have to answer to george right now. he’s figure out a way to do it later, once he doesn’t feel like a raisin. he’ll figure out a proper plan, build up the courage to call her.
for now matty can only swallow the rest of the now-lukewarm coffee and hope that he can just sleep the rest of the day off.
for three days after that, his messages stay on delivered.
it’s a harrowing process, to pick up his phone and dial her number only for it to go to voicemail after the second ring. almost like she’d stabbed her thumb on the glaring red reject button.
all his messages went unanswered too. all the—
hey
can we talk please?
please!
i just want to say sorry
just hear me out
—all of them ignored, like all his other efforts to reach her through her friends.
day four charli shows up at his doorstep, face twisted in a scowl, eyes like embers ready to singe him if he stepped one toe out of line, mayhem in tow.
the puppy is his last straw. the fact that she sent mayhem back with charli instead of dropping him off herself… matty doesn’t even want to think what that means for him. for them.
he mumbles a quiet “thanks” to charli, afraid of speaking anything louder.
“if it weren’t for george—” she starts and swallows, as if she’s literally swallowing her anger. “nevermind. forget about it.”
and then she leaves him standing at his doorstep like a loser, mayhem’s leash in hand.
much later he realises that the collar is different now, it’s no longer the slightly frayed old brown collar from before. this one is new.
this one is green. a green that matches her hair…
the thought of it makes his throat clog up with tears once again. when had she even had the time to go buy him a new collar? one to match her hair so perfectly? was it before or after he fucked up? matty scratches mayhem behind his ears who lets out a soft little whine and nuzzles him in return. maybe the puppy is sad too, maybe mayhem prefers being with her instead of being with him.
the next few days he spends like a pig in a pigsty, surrounded by his own filth of food cartons and cigarette butts and coke cans. he makes it a mission to call her once every day—all of them go unanswered anyway so what’s the point?
by the time the seventh of april rolls around, matty doesn’t even bother thinking about his birthday anymore—there’s no pointing in celebrating it, he’s not even in the mood right now. one failed celebration is enough.
his friends, of course, have a whole different plan in mind.
jamie shows up at his house the evening of the seventh, not ready to take no for an answer. it’s just a small dinner, he says, only friends and family. (matty knows that’s not true, knows it’s going to be a whole surprise party) but every “no” is met with a gentle refusal to accept it and so ultimately, he gives in and dresses up in his cleanest, least sad shirt. the one that least screams “i took my first shower of the week today”.
jamie, to his credit, tries engaging him in conversation. matty, to his credit, tries not to answer in one syllable words. it gets exhausting real quick though, so they end up spending the rest of the car ride in silence.
everything that happens after is a blur in his mind—the pub looks ordinary from the outside, inconspicuous. everyone yells “surprise!” much like he predicted. matty smiles, cheery and fake. someone hands him a drink, which he tries to refuse but the person is too far away to hear him over the music now. his stomach roils at the thought of being in another pub, in the middle of another birthday party.
he just wants to go home and curl up onto his bed and never move again.
except…
matty’s heart stops when he spots a green head.
he blinks rapidly, about to rub his eyes to make sure he didn’t hallucinate. maybe there are drugs in the air, maybe the (untouched) drink in his hands is actually spiked.
but the green head moves and she steps away from behind george, a glass of some dark cocktail in her hands and her eyes trained on him. matty staggers to a stop, about to drop the glass in his hands.
“hey…” her voice is hesitant, unsure when she first walks up to him. from behind her, george throws matty a look, his brow raised as if to say one chance, matty. better make it right.
of all the things that have happened today, this… this is the real surprise.
matty stands there like an idiot, tongue-tied and wide-eyed, unable to come up with a simple “hi”.
“should we… uh, head outside?” it’s when she points vaguely behind her, to the smoking area, that he realises just how loud it is inside. the consistent beat of the song thumps through his chest, making him feel more anxious than ever. in a daze, he nods and then dutifully follows her outside.
as soon as the door to the smoking area closes behind him, she whirls around, arms crossed in front of her chest, brows knit in an indecipherable expression. “talk.”
oh.
well, that’s what he had said to her hadn’t he? in all the text messages he had sent. that he just wants to talk. he just wants one chance. and now that the chance is here, his mouth's as dry as a desert.
“i was… an idiot, no forget that, i was a real cunt to you. just like you said, i’m so sorry for the awful shit i said, i…” his words come out stilted and awkward. he has no idea where he’s going with this, he only knows he needs to earn her forgiveness somehow.
even if he has to get on his knees.
“i got drunk an–and cruel and said things i didn’t mean—”
“what things?”
“w-what?”
“the things you didn’t mean,” she clears her throat, “what things were they? the part where you said i love you or–or the part where you said it was all a joke?”
matty’s insides feel like jelly all over again. it’s like he’s back where he was a week ago—just a boy, standing in front of the girl he loves, about to say the stupidest thing in the world.
“well?”
“i didn’t mean it as a j–joke.” his voice comes out as a cowardly whisper, high pitched and barely audible. that’s no way to say the things he really wants to say!
gathering all his courage, matty steps closer to her. to his utter surprise, she doesn’t step away.
“it wasn’t a joke, what i said to you. i—” he chokes, nervously running a hand through his hair, wondering what the slight widening of her eyes means out of the million possibilities his brain’s already conjured up.
“i know i was drunk and barely making sense but i meant it… i meant all of it.”
slowly, she uncrosses her arms, letting them dangle at her sides. the crease between her brows relaxes too. suddenly, it’a her taking a step forward until they’re toe-to-toe and she has to tilt her chin up to look him in the eyes. the moonlight shines bright on her face, the glitter gleams on her eyelids, and for a moment matty is completely awestruck.
how is he meant to find words when she leaves him so completely tongue-tied?
“and what’s ‘it’, huh?”
the faint ringing in his ears starts up all over again and music from inside the pub floats through the walls, mellowed and somehow peaceful. this is it, he thinks. he fucked it up once, he absolutely cannot do it again.
“i meant i… i love you. not as a friend. i mean n-no, of course, i love you as a friend but i also meant it as something more. not that you have to reciprocate! i just–it’s just what i feel—”
the rest of his words die on his lips. get cut off by someone else’s lips more like it. her lips. against his.
matty’s eyes resemble wide saucers until her arms wrap around him, fingers tangling into his hair. her nails brushing against his scalp is what makes his body relax and suddenly matty’s kissing her back.
tenderly, he holds her cheek, tucking away stray hair behind her ear. his other hand rests on her waist, too hesitant to grip her tightly but too scared to just let go. as if once he lets go of her, she’ll float away, far away from him again, out of his reach. matty’s sure she can feel his heart hammering in his chest. he’s not super proud of it but the kiss makes him forget all about being embarrassed.
the feel of her tongue lighting teasing his lips is all that matters.
she makes a sound at the back of her throat, almost a… moan and pulls away abruptly, looking shy all of a sudden.
matty touches his lips with trembling fingers.
“was that too—”
“are you joking?!” if he though his voice was breathy before, it has nothing on what he sounds like now. the sound that comes out of him is hoarse, like he’s struggling to breathe and it’s making him feel dizzy. the good kind of dizzy. “so i fucked up, majorly, might i add! and i get rewarded with a kiss?!”
she giggles, all anger from before melting away right in front of his eyes. “it was more to shut you up honestly, you would have been here all night. rambling.”
for the first time in a week, matty can finally breathe, can finally feel the blood in his veins flow again. for the first time in a week, matty feels like a person again. “it wasn’t a reward. just because you’re pretty and a good kisser doesn’t mean i’ll forgive you so quickly.”
matty grins, “you think i’m pretty?” and promptly gets punched in the arm.
it takes them a moment to stop giggling, but when they finally sober up, she turns serious again. “seriously though, matty, it hurt me a lot, what you did. i think… i think i can set it aside for tonight but i’m going to need some time to figure things out.
matty nods. of course, he knows the impact his words must have had. shame and guilt blooms deep within him, strong and acrid.
“don't forgive me yet, love. forgive me when i earn it. forgive me when you think i’m worthy of it.”
when she kisses him again, it’s deeper than the last time. her entire body is pressed against his, so warm and soft in arms, exactly like he’s imagined countless times before. he can’t stop himself—can’t stop him from finally holding onto her waist, hand sliding down to her ass. can’t stop himself from pushing her back till her back hits the wall and a soft gasp leaves her mouth. every nerve ending in his body is on hyperdrive. everywhere she touches, electricity zings through him.
matty slides his tongue in her mouth, pulling on her bottom lip with his teeth and soothing the sting away with his tongue. every time he feels her shiver, matty presses further into her. he just wants more and more and more—more than he can do here and now on this balcony.
all his friends are inside for fucks sake.
“you can start now,” she teases, smiling roguishly against his mouth. “you’d look quite nice on your knees, i think.”
blood simmers under his skin, rushing south all at once and this time it’s matty who shivers, struggling to stand upright.
“yeah? that what you want, sweetheart?”
“take me home, please,” she says. and matty agrees in a heartbeat.
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