Chapter Text
Saturday 23rd October 5:00am-1:00pm
“Eyyyyyyy,” Matty hollered as he slid through the main entrance, much to the disdain of the singular customer; an elderly man in the corner. George followed behind, bleary eyed.
“Eyyyyyyy!” came the response from the kitchen. A head popped up past the counter, beaming behind the beard. “Oi!” Ross called. “Rude of you to be late on my last shift!” He rolled his eyes, “Bad enough making me open up.”
“We’re not late, just not early.” George reminded him, grinning in greeting as Ross juggled two sausage patties balanced on a spatula.
“McMuffins wait for no one. Hurry up, I’m on the line by myself.”
“Back in a minute.” Matty reassured him, leading them both down the corridor.
A crumpled paper ‘Out of order’ sign stared at them from the men’s toilet door.
“Ben?” George called towards the office. “Where do we get changed?”
“Stock room!” Ben yelled back. “Camera’s been cut, don’t worry.”
George blanched. The stock room was cold and had no natural light – or lock from the inside.
Matty sensed his unease and was quick to lighten the situation.
“I literally had your dick in my mouth in that room last time we were here, you can NOT be worried about getting changed in it!” George glanced round sharply, eyes wide. “Matty!” he protested, fighting the urge to chuckle.
“It’s freezing!” he whined.
“Yeah, I could tell last time!” Matty quipped, his grin getting bigger as George screwed up his face in annoyance and shoved him inside.
After nearly knocking half the stock off the shelves, they were both dressed in the drab uniform, George trying in vain to make the trouser legs sit actually on his ankles, not two inches above them. Surely the trousers had fitted him last shift? Matty was crouched on the floor, rolling the legs of his trousers up. George looked down and huffed.
“One size fits all.” He mocked.
Pulling the door open, he walked out to clock in and find a station to work. He greeted Ross, who was standing with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face.
“My last shift, a day to celebrate!”
“You’re trading this place for Asda it’s hardly a massive improvement.” George rolled his eyes,
Ross grinned. “But what you’re forgetting is that it’s not open 24 hours. Goodbye insane nightshifts, and hello bakery pastries!”
He hummed in agreement as the order was given out. “I actually don’t mind it here to be honest.” He bent to refill the empty bags, before continuing, “It’s flexible – I can work around the band, and we get free food. Will Asda let you change shifts at short notice? I had to swap mine to an early start today to make it in time for tonight.”
“It should be fine; you always see loads of people walking round Asda. Soon you’ll see me! Are you going to miss me?”
“I’ll literally see you every day, you weapon. Between the band and the fact that the Adsa’s across the road, I think I’ll be fine.”
Ross hummed, then nodded decisively. “I should change my name…”
George frowned. “What?”
Grinning, he replied, wiggling his eyebrows, “Ross Asda. Not MacDonald any more. Get it?”
George tipped his head back and groaned in mock agony, closing his eyes, but smiling all the same. He could hear Ross quietly chuckling beside him. The laughter didn’t stop, even when he opened his eyes in a glare.
“It really wasn’t that funny. What are you laughing at?”
Ross smiled slyly as he moved closer, poking him in the neck.
“Just surprised Matty could reach your neck. The size of that thing!”
Moving his palm to his neck, George could feel the heat travelling to his cheeks. He’d forgotten how Matty always managed to leave his mark; a few dark love bites covered his collarbones and up one side of his neck. Tugging his collar higher, he rolled his eyes as Ross continued to make a scene.
The muffin timer beeped, and George threw his hands up in over-exaggerated surprise.
“Muffins done – I’ve got to go!” He gestured behind himself, backing towards the toaster and ignoring Ross’s raised eyebrows.
“By the way George, are you sure they’re your trousers?” he called after him. “Only I saw Matty at the drive thru window and he looks like he’s drowning in a pair, and those ones barely fit you.”
He looked down. They were a bit small, but surely there was only one size. He voiced these thoughts to Ross, who informed him that no, they were all the same fit just with different length inseams.
He paced between the grills, dragging Matty out from the headset window and back into the stock room. He leant back against the door, fumbling for the light switch.
“This looks very dodgy to anyone who happened to see that,” Matty laughed, switching off his headset.
“We’ve got the wrong trousers on.” George explained hurriedly, plucking at the stiff material that barely brushed the top of his ankles, “They’re different lengths.”
“I’ve actually never noticed that before.” Matty shrugged, beginning to pull his trousers off. Crouching on the floor, he undid his trainers, while balancing on one foot carefully.
George smirked, before nudging him gently, tipping him over.
“GEORGE!” Matty shrieked, toppling into a loose stack of medium cups and McFlurry tubs. They clattered to the ground, covering him as George stood and howled in laughter. Fighting his way through the paper avalanche, he scowled up from underneath the heap. Weakly, he raised his arm to throw a cup, which George easily batted away, continuing to laugh at the pathetic attempts he was making to escape the pile.
The door squeaked open to reveal Ross. He took in the scene; George wiping tears from his eyes and Matty sprawled out in his uniform shirt and boxers; glasses skewed on his face, buried in cups.
He sighed and backed out, “I don’t even want to know.”
Hauling him out of the pile, George giggled. “We keep getting walked in on, this is how rumours start!”
Matty scoffed, eyeing him. “We’re not a rumour. We’re a solid fact. A thing. Do you think people don’t know about us?”
George considered this, then hummed in assent, smiling softly. “Good.”
*
George watched the hash browns bubble away in the oil; the constant beeping of that timer was seared into his brain. As the luminous numbers flashed red, he grabbed it and set the basket on the rack; the oil draining away. Turning back to the bagging area, to grab a egg McMuffin and a breakfast roll. He printed the receipt and walked it over to Matty, who proceeded to tip his head back and scream,
“51!”
George winced.
“Right down my ear, thank you Matthew. Don’t know if they heard you though mate.”
“They heard him all the way in London.” One man quipped, obviously under the impression he had reached the peak of comedy.
Exchanging looks, they both gave a half-hearted smile towards the man. It was actually relatively quiet for a Saturday morning, the only customers so far being either enthusiastic families grabbing food before starting off on a Day Out, or people coming back from a Night Out; hungover and looking for something greasy and in a bun.
“So what’s the band name tonight? Have you decided yet?” George asked, as he packaged the hash browns.
“Nope, thought we could flip a coin.”
Matty picked up a loose coin from near the till, bringing it over and grinning widely.
“Heads for Big Sleep, tails for Drive Like I Do.”
He flicked the coin upwards, both of them, and a nosy customer watching it spiral. It dropped back to the tiles with a clink, rolling under the fryer station. George dropped to his knees, grimacing in disgust at the grimy floor, and stuck his head under the machine; warm metal pressing against his cheek.
“Heads!” he shouted.
Matty clapped his hands, beaming as George resurfaced from the floor.
“Big Sleep will be performing at the Freemason’s Arms – tonight!” he announced.
“What time?” asked a woman called Millie, from near the window where she was filling drinks.
“Half eight.” George said, smiling hopefully. “Up for coming to watch?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Not doing anything else. I’ll ask my flatmate, she’ll be well up for it.”
Grinning broadly, George span around and gave Matty a thumbs up. “An audience of at least 2.” He packed the next order, calling to Ross as he walked through the grills.
“Millie’s coming tonight.”
Ross perked up, leaning on the edge of the counter. “Oh nice one! See you there then, I’m in the band too.”
She frowned. “What’s your name? I only know George, and the boyfriend who dropped his glasses in the fryer.”
Both Matty and Ross, looked put out by this, George noted to himself, Matty protesting that the glasses incident was a while ago, and Ross rushed to introduce himself.
“It’s those two, me and our mate, Adam. We’ve got someone who plays the sax, but he can’t make it tonight. I play bass, you’ll see that tonight, of course, obviously.”
He fumbled over the sentence, oblivious to the look of amusement that George and Matty exchanged.
They both giggled, George wondering to himself if they were ever quite like that. Probably not. There was a distinct lack of awkwardness when you had watched the person you love grow up. He couldn’t be shy around Matty, not after nearly 7 years of a symbiotic friendship; then relationship. They were so in tune anyway, a romantic relationship didn’t even feel like a huge change for him. There was just more kissing involved, and less of a need to find an excuse to share the same bed. George hadn’t seen it coming, until they’d gone to watch RocknRolla in the cinema. Matty was watching the screen; George was watching him. A particularly gruesome scene had left Matty grasping at his arm, halfway between laughter and disgust. Bathed in the washed out light from the screen, he’d thought, I love you . He had leaned forward, connecting their lips gently. And they’d spent the rest of the film all over each other, before the lights came on, going straight out from the back seats of the cinema into the back seats of the car Matty had borrowed from his parents. When they arrived back at his, the only questions asked were about the film, and why hadn’t George taken the bins out before leaving?
He was jolted sharply from his fond thoughts by the instruction that he and Matty were now on their break. Clocking off before picking their food, they settled on the wall lining the edge of the car park.
“One good thing about morning shifts – breakfast. One bad thing, having to wake you up at 4.” Matty said, his words muffled through his mouthful of bacon roll. “Oh shit I forgot to get any red sauce.”
George smiled knowingly, reaching back into his paper bag. He pulled out three containers much to the delight of Matty, who pressed a slightly greasy kiss to his cheek.
“Hey I thought we did alright this morning. On time, shoes cleaned, uniform ironed.”
Matty laughed incredulously. “I literally dragged you out of bed!”
“Having to wake up at four in the morning should be illegal.” George frowned. “I did iron your uniform though.”
“You’ve been domesticated now!” Nearly falling off the wall, he shook with laughter as they watched the shutters rise on the surrounding shops. The retail park was closed, their McDonald’s was the only exception. George sometimes resented that their store being open 24/7 meant insane shift patterns and unsociable hours more often than not, but the night shifts tended to be quieter. Matty had taken to bringing a notepad and pen for them to jot down potential lyrics during the quiet hours, claiming that they could use the dead time wisely. George had yet to be inspired by the picky customers or persistent cacophony of kitchen alarms. He liked the time he spent with Matty though, writing felt so unique to them. It blocked out the constant activity and sheer chaos enclosed beneath the golden arches that stood over their store like a beacon of malcontent.
Shuffling closer, he leaned in to let Matty rest his head on his shoulder, linking their fingers in his lap. After a moment of calm, he felt the bony frame he was pressed against begin to shake.
Looking down he asked, “Everything okay?”
Matty was barely stifling laughter. He began to speak, before breaking off to chuckle to himself again.
“You couldn’t have paid 13-year-old me to believe what we get up to now. A band, actually performing! A job, a flat, a life!” He turned his head up to look tenderly at George. “And you. You top that little list of things I never could have imagined in my future. Wouldn’t change it for the world though.”
George looked at him. He opened his mouth, trying to find words, overcome with love.
“I –“
BEEEEEEP
Before he could get more than one syllable out, a car roared past, honking to clear the pigeons off of the road. They both jumped a metre in the air, clutching hands in fear.
“I’ve just nearly had a heart attack.” Matty announced.
“That has completely obliterated any sentimental thing I was going to say.” George scowled at the back of the car, speeding off into the distance.
Checking his watch, he decided they had enough time left. “Come on, we can fit in a cheeky ciggie before we have to go back. That was nice before Mr Dickhead in a Volvo ruined the moment.” He grasped Matty’s hand, leading him towards the back entrance down a cramped entryway to where the crates and boxes crowded the space.
They stood behind a huge industrial bin, hunched over as George flicked the lighter repeatedly, catching the end of the cigs despite the gusts of wind. He smiled down at Matty, before turning to peer into the car park. He could see Ross walking around, like he was looking for something.
“Hey!” he called.
Ross span around, his face lighting up as he glimpsed the two of them between the bins.
“I’m going now! Wanted to say see you later.”
Huddling against the wind, they said their goodbyes, Matty miming wiping away tears. Waving Ross off, he leaned back against George, who could feel him shivering slightly.
“Cold?” he asked. Matty nodded, gesturing towards the door. They walked through,
George pulling his hoodie from his locker and passing it over. Sitting at a table opposite the counter, he checked the time.
“10 minutes left, give or take.”
Matty smiled softly at him, opening his mouth to speak, before being interrupted by raised voices coming from the counter. A man stood reaching over to grab a paper food bag, as a young boy held the other side.
“This isn’t your order, please let go.”
“It’s my food!” he shouted, face becoming increasingly redder.
“It’s number 72, and I took your order at the till myself. You’re 75! Please let go!” he protested.
The man huffed, ripping the bag away from him, and storming out. He turned back to the supervisor, who stood, baffled. George sighed. What an idiot, he thought. Interactions like these were all too common; some people carried an entitled attitude like others carried a driver’s licence.
The door was thrown open, and the same man walked back in, clearly enraged.
“You’ve got my order wrong! How hard can it be to get one order right?”
The boy at the counter nearly laughed in disbelief.
“It wasn’t your order in the first place! I tried to tell you that, but you insisted on taking the bag yourself.”
“Oh so it’s my fault now?” he roared.
Yes , George thought.
“I’m sorry. We’ll get your actual order together now. It shouldn’t be too long, sorry.”
Even sat in the lobby, he could tell that the boy was getting nervous. The man ranted in the general direction of the staff behind the counter, becoming increasingly more irate. George looked over, and stood to approach him.
Before he could get any further than a few steps, the man turned to the young boy, now with the supervisor standing behind him, and screamed, “Rats! The lot of you!” before stamping out once more.
Everyone exchanged a look, quiet for a moment, before the boy started awkwardly giggling. Soon, the entirety of the staff were laughing, still shocked by the outburst that had just occurred.
“Why’s he so fuming at 7 in the morning?“ He only looked about 16; George wished he could tell him that it wasn’t always like this, but that would be a lie.
“Alright everybody – show’s over. Back to work please. Matty and George, back behind the counter please,” the shift supervisor called.
They stood in unison, George rolled his eyes, allowing himself to be pulled back towards towards the counter as Matty linked their arms.
*
“It’s actually dead, why have they scheduled so many staff to be in?” Matty groaned, as he hauled himself up on the counter. George just smiled, drumming his fingers on the glass top.
“Only one hour, twenty four minutes left. Then we’re on our way to the pub, first proper performance in a while!”
In between work, Ross’s desire to find a new job, and Adam’s biology degree, there hadn’t been many opportunities to perform to a decent crowd. They’d moved on past town halls and school talent shows; preferring pubs or bars, or anywhere that would take them, if George was honest.
He glanced around. No managers were in sight, only crew members like themselves. “Going for a quick smoke break, back soon,” he called in the general direction of the rest of the crew. Returning the smiles and the nods, George took Matty’s hand and gestured to the staff door at the side of the store. Matty frowned, confused.
“We had a cig like, 10 minutes ago mate. It hasn’t got that bad!”
“Keep your voice down!” George whispered, frantically. “I know that – I just thought
we could take advantage of the fact that it’s quiet, and there’s no managers on the floor.”
Matty smirked, “On company time? You’re clearly the bad influence in this
relationship Mr Daniel!”
Leading him along the corridor, George leaned down to connect their lips, laughing into his mouth. Shouldering the toilet door open, he pulled Matty into his chest, hands running down his back, one travelling lower. Locking the door behind them, Matty wormed a cold hand under George’s shirt, gripping his side, as they kissed passionately. He backed up against the sink, moving a knee in between his thighs to tease him; feeling him begin to grow hard. Matty moaned softly, one hand on the back of his neck, the other resting on his arse, squeezing gently.
They moved in sync, oblivious to anything else. The general racket of the store was muffled by the grey stone walls; only panting and low gasps punctuated the cramped space. George broke the kiss and smiled down at Matty, trailing a hand down towards his waist, undoing his belt buckle. He dropped to his knees, Matty groaned, beginning to wind one hand through his hair. He shifted backwards to steady himself on the sink, taking in the sight of George unzipping his trousers. He clutched the cold porcelain, knocking something into the sink with a clatter.
Matty pulled away, resting his hands on the side, staring into the sink.
“Are you okay?” George asked, panic rising in his chest. “What’s wrong? ” He never wanted to force him into anything he wasn’t comfortable with, the mere thought of it making George feel sick.
Matty looked deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed under his cap. “I need a new look.”
“What?”
“I need a new look,” he repeated.
“Right now?” George asked, confused. They’d both experimented with different hairstyles over the years; Matty’s currently longer on top with a bit of a fringe, George’s own bleached and crammed under a uniform cap, flyaway wisps sticking out.
Matty was staring at some electric clippers that were on the floor, George realised that they must have been what he knocked off the sink earlier.
“Shave my head George?” Matty asked, looking down hopefully.
Still trying to wrap his own head around why there were clippers in the toilet, George nodded.
“They look more like beard clippers though love, I’m not sure if they’d actually work.”
Matty hummed. “Maybe just the sides then, if it won’t handle longer hair.”
“Go for a full on mohawk!” George crowed, gradually warming up to the prospect of becoming a barber for the time being.
“Might need to work my way up to that!” Matty smiled from where he was still knelt, before pulling himself up to lean over the sink. He grabbed some tissue, scrubbing at the mirror in a futile attempt to make their reflection clearer. George watched his own smudged mirror image, grinning at the absurd scene that was playing out in the cramped, cold bathroom. He ran his fingers through Matty’s hair in an effort to comb it out, before pushing his shoulder gently to urge him to lean forward.
“Tilt your head to the left,” he murmured, picking up the clippers. Matty giggled, grinding back against George.
“We should try this again when there’s no blades involved.
George grinned, “Sounds good to me,” He stopped and frowned. “But first, how far down do you want it shaved? Like just right above your ears or higher up?”
“I think higher up. About here.” Matty took his free hand, guiding it to rest a few inches above his ear. “Just do to right there maybe?”
George breathed out. Right, it’s only hair, and you’ve done this to yourself before , he told himself. Despite the clippers in his hand not being an alien experience, he could feel nerves in the pit of his stomach.
“Are you sure about this? He asked, leaning forward. Matty smiled softly at the mirror, meeting his eyes in the reflection.
“I trust you – completely. Always have done, always will do. Don’t worry mate.”
George smiled back, flicking the clippers on and holding his head gently. The low thrum filled the silence as he began to move the clippers down the natural line of Matty’s skull, other hand pulling the longer hair out of harm’s way. Brushing loose hairs off, he gestured at him to lift his head and turn it over.
“Looks good,” he reassured George, admiring his half shaved head in the mirror, before letting him start on the other side. As the persistent buzz of the clippers stuttered to a stop, they both swept at the hair clippings that had already invaded Matty’s collar, leaving him to scratch in vain, before taking his top off to shake it out.
“Not bad love, not bad at all!” Matty was pleased with the outcome; George just quietly relieved he hadn’t shaved off an ear. Checking himself out in the mirror, Matty flexed, making a face, fake grunting before they both dissolved into laughter. George wrapped both arms around his waist from behind, letting his chin drop to his shoulder to connect their eyes in the mirror.
“Looking good!” he said. And it was true, the shaved sides suited Matty, making George drawn to his eyeline. Flicking his new hair, he washed away the remains of the old down the sink.
The door shook as someone on the other side pushed at the handle. “Who’s in there - I’ve been stood out here for ages!”
“I’ll only be a minute!” Matty called out, at exactly the same time George said, “Nearly done.”
Silence.
George’s eyed widened in horror. They were both still clocked in, if a manager heard about this, they’d be in deep shit, and it wouldn’t be like the first warning for similar previous incidents.
“We have to open the door,” Matty mouthed. He looked around for a means to escape – nothing. There were no windows, the toilet and sink the only features of the freezing rectangle of a room.
They locked eyes, resigned to the fact that there was no way out of this. George screwed up his face in anticipation, then reached towards the door and unlocked it.
It swung open, revealing the friendly face of Andy, a regular on the line.
“Alright lads?” he asked, clearly confused.
“It’s not what it looks like, I swear Andy! We just shaved Matty’s hair, honest.” George was quick to try and put a positive spin on the situation. But Andy didn’t seem placated in any way by the explanation. He drew himself up, folding his arms, brow furrowed.
George could feel Matty tensing beside him. This was it. This job was over. The hours were shit and so was the pay, but the people were decent and he enjoyed the free food. He cursed himself for thinking they could get away with messing about when they were supposed to be working for so long.
“If you two have fucked up my clippers shaving half of that mop off, then you can replace them with your next pay packet!” Andy said, his deep voice filling the corridor. “Delicate things, these clippers! Cost a fortune as well.” He slapped Matty on the back jovially, moving past them to grab the clippers out of the sink, before beaming in their direction and walking towards the crew room.
They stood in shock, Matty’s jaw nearly on the floor, George basked in the relief of knowing he still had a job.
“Oh god,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “I thought that was going to be so much worse!”
Matty grinned in amazement, echoing the sentiment. He collapsed against him, George swinging an arm around his shoulder, leading him back to the front of the store to finish the remaining time, both of their hearts still pounding.
*
He punched in his employee number to clock out, before flipping on the tap to wash his hands of the tomato sauce and mayo encrusted in his nails. Matty stretched to do the same, letting his shoulders drop as their shift came to a close.
“If we leave and go straight there, we’ll be like 6 hours early. Might as well go home and shower, get the gear together, then go from there,” he suggested.
George nodded in agreement, walking towards the crew room. “Sounds like a plan, might even get a chance to kip before we have to leave.”
“Always about sleep with you!” Matty teased, pushing the door open, then immediately recoiling at the smell emanating from the room.
George backed away too, nearly gagging at the pungent stench. “That stinks worse than the van in there.” He held the door open in effort to let some air in, but it only made the smell drift towards them. “What the actual fuck is that?” he asked in morbid curiosity, watching as Matty moved into the room, covering his nose. He found where the smell was coming from, opening the lowest locker in the corner. Nearly retching, he beckoned George over, grabbing a paper towel from the shelf.
“Mozzarella sticks!” he gasped. In between breaths, he squeezed out the word, “Mouldy!”
George made a face, taking the paper towel and pinching the offending bag, jerking it out of the locker. He carried it out of the room, holding back another gag, before throwing it in one of the bins they’d stood behind that morning. Slamming the lid shut, he laughed. “That might put me off mozzarella sticks for life!” he called through to Matty, who was now standing at the door. Matty scoffed.
“You mean until tomorrow lunch time, when you decide that they’re the best thing you’ve ever eaten, get four bags and call it dinner”
George grinned sheepishly, the mozzarella sticks were heavenly, he’d spend his entire wages on the cheesy goodness if he didn’t have rent to pay, and a quarter of a band to fund. Opening the door, they walked through the seating area and into the car park. They had custody of the van today, all four taking it in turns to use it for a week before swapping over. Matty was the keyholder this week; unlocking the backdoor and swinging it open. George scrambled in among various discarded musical equipment to dump their bags in. Matty made a face of disgust,
“Take your shoes off in the back of MY van.”
“Our van!” George argued. “We share the insurance; we share the van.”
“Ok, for starters, I’ve got the keys today. Secondly, your shoes are manky – take them off!” he retorted, gesturing to the layer of filth that caked the bottom of George’s shoes. George huffed, pulling his shoes off, chucking them into the depths of the van.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Very!” Matty grinned, with a hint of smugness in his words. They sat in the front, slamming the doors, Matty started the engine. Reversing out of the car park, he swerved to avoid a pigeon.
“Fucking birds,” he mumbled, slamming his hand on the horn to clear them out of the way. George just smiled, biting back a comment about a certain dickhead in a Volvo, as they headed down the main road, towards their flat.
*
The cymbals crashed as George brought his sticks down, the noise reverberating through the crowded pub. He could only make out a few faces, grinning wildly in every direction. This was amazing. More people had turned out than they had ever expected, even some who’d just come down the pub for a drink had ended up watching. He glanced over at Matty, Adam and Ross, all three having the time of their lives. This was where he belonged, behind the drum, on the stage. Their set was coming to a close now, a 45 minute slot between an amateur comedian, and a singer. They finished with an electric performance of Ghosts, and smiled, sweaty as the crowd whooped and clapped. The landlord beckoned to them from behind the bar, Matty beaming into the mic,
“We were Big Sleep, thank you very much for having us!”
George slung his arm around Adam as they carried the bulk of their equipment off of the stage, still high off the adrenaline – and the weed they’d smoked beforehand.
“Mate!” he said, eyes wide in disbelief. “I’ve missed this so much.”
“It was incredible!” Adam agreed, running a hand through the hair plastered to his head with sweat. They were all buzzing, George ready to face the task of sorting through their equipment, when they were called over by the landlord, Gary.
“Lads!” he cried. “Fantastic! Loved it! You boys have a cracking set of songs, and the music to back it up. What can I get you to drink?” George looked around, relaying their drinks order, doubling it. They were getting paid £15 each, and as many free drinks as they could down. Taking their glasses, the four of them made their way to a corner. The pub was cosy, and had a proper atmosphere, making it a great place to play to. George leaned back on the low sofa that he, Matty and Adam had occupied, Ross pulling up a stool directly opposite. Resting an arm on the headrest behind Matty, he glanced around discreetly and bent to place a kiss in his hair. Matty looked up, smiling, bringing his glass up to clink his with George’s own.
Before long, Adam had stepped outside to phone Carly, his girlfriend, and Ross had wandered off in search of Millie, or her flatmate who had tried to chat George up earlier. He had been at a loss for words, stumbling through a horrible football metaphor about supporting a different team, but not actually playing for that team because he was taken, sorry. Matty had been quick to wrap an arm around his waist, introducing himself in a slightly passive-aggressive manner as, “George’s boyfriend, and you?”
After a few more rounds, they had decided to walk home, leaving the van and the equipment in the car park to collect the next morning. Saying their goodbyes, George pulled a scarf from his bag, hanging it loosely around Matty’s neck against the bitter cold of the wind.
“It’s freezing,” he muttered. “Why’s it so grim?”
George grinned. Oh yes. Matty had walked into this one.
“ Bolton, Barnsley, Nelson, Colne, Burnley, Bradford – “
Matty groaned as they walked through a ginnel, a singular orange streetlight shining above.
“Buxton, Crewe, Warrington, Widnes, Wigan, Leeds, Northwich, Nantwich, Knutsford, Hull, Sale, Salford, Southport – “ George continued chanting, as they rounded the corner. He’d had this memorised since he was 14, bought the 12 inch A side a few years after it had come out with all the money he had saved up from a paper round. He now had a CD version of the tune, which was currently jammed into their van’s disc drive. The track had been on repeat for weeks, and George knew Matty was sick of it. He laughed through the next lines, both of their footsteps pounding on the uneven pavement as they hurried home to the beat of George’s chorus,
“ - Lancs, Grimsby, Glossop, Hebden Bridge, it’s Grim Up North. It’s Grim Up North.”