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It was his birthday. So of course he’d end up in the hospital, because that was just his luck.
He’d been sick for a couple of days—fever, pain in his stomach, throwing up, fatigue—but the 8th of April began with him sitting on the bathroom floor after throwing up everything he’d eaten the night before (which wasn’t much) and ended with him in a hospital bed with a fresh, new scar on the right side of his stomach.
He’d made the decision to bring himself to the hospital, relieved that Uber was an option because he wouldn’t have been able to drive himself and he didn’t want to have to ask anyone else. His phone had been blowing up all day, happy birthday texts and voicemails (because he hadn’t actually picked up the phone, except for his mum) flooding in one after the other, an endless stream of names, some that he recognized, others that he did not.
The nurse at the hospital said something along the lines of “you’re lucky you came in when you did, otherwise your appendix would have burst,” and Matty figured it was a good thing that he had avoided that situation altogether. He’d have been in a lot worse shape if he allowed that to happen. He made sure to tell his mum, though, deciding he didn’t want to keep anything from her because it would all just pile up later on, she’d be saddened that she didn’t know her son was in the hospital on his birthday, and he’d feel the sharp stab of guilt that came from pushing the people he loved the most the furthest away.
It was seven o’clock now, almost the end of the day. The sun had turned golden as it began to set and he was fresh out of the operating room, his right side tender and sore to the touch, sensitive to every movement, no matter how small, because the stitches pulled against his skin whenever he shifted to get more comfortable.
His phone vibrated again under the pillow, as it had been doing off and on for the last few hours, the rate of messages and calls and social notifications gradually slowing down as it got later into the day, and he was finally starting to drift off into a quiet, relaxing haze, but he couldn’t ignore everyone all day, he knew that, and he hadn’t even spoken to the boys yet, despite knowing that they had been the first few to call and text him that morning, which now felt like a lifetime ago because he had been sick and in the hospital all day.
Alright mate I’ve been calling all day and you’re not picking up
What’s going on?
Why, Matty wondered, would George assume that something was going on. Maybe because Matty only tended to go MIA when something was wrong, closing off from the rest of the world and quietly retreating into himself when he wasn’t feeling his best. And George knew that because George knew him. Had known him since they were children.
He wasn’t surprised when, not even a minute later, the entirety of which he spent just staring at the screen of his phone, George called, his name popping up on the screen.
Matty answered before he could convince himself not to.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” George said, sounding surprised, relieved, then a pause. “Figured I’d try you one more time. Wasn’t sure you’d pick up, though.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Matty said slowly and tiredly, and he wished he had a better explanation because George wasn’t going to be pleased to hear that he was in the hospital. “Long day, you know?”
He tried not to think about the fact that this was the first birthday he’d had in years that the boys weren’t with him. He was supposed to get on a train that afternoon to see his parents and his step dad and Louis, and that was what he’d really wanted to do, just spend some time with his family, the privacy, the quiet, the slowness. No agenda, no real plans, no commitments. But that didn’t happen.
“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it, mate,” George said quickly, easy reassurances on the tip of his tongue. “I just wanted to make sure I got a chance to talk to you today.”
“Well…” Here we are, talking, he wanted to say. But he didn’t really know what to say, exactly.
He was exhausted, his head hurt, his stomach hurt with some sort of phantom pain, lingering behind even though the thing that had been causing the pain in the first place had been taken out of his body. SATVB had come to an end a little over two weeks ago and he hadn’t seen George face to face since then, communicating via brief phone calls and messages, and it shouldn’t have felt as strange as it did, to be talking to his oldest friend.
“Well,” George laughed. “Happy birthday. How does it feel?”
“Shit, if I’m being honest,” Matty sighed. He didn’t care to try to pretend he was having a good day. It was just George, after all. George, who had seen him through his drug addiction, got him into rehab, and walked with him through his recovery. George, who never judged, never looked down on him, who had always been there.
George hummed. A door closed afterwards. “Sorry to hear that,” he said, softly. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Alright, don’t freak out—”
“Fucking hell, Matty—what have you done now?”
The exasperation in George’s voice almost made Matty laugh. If he felt better and wasn’t so tired, he might’ve. Instead, it died somewhere in his chest and his lips barely twitched. He could picture George rubbing his hand down his face, already monumentally stressed out and he didn’t even know that Matty had been sick yet.
“I may be in the hospital,” Matty admitted.
It was quiet, Matty listened to the faint sound of George’s breathing through the phone, then there was a short exhale and a sharp, “What?”
“I may be in the hospital, and…I may have had an operation earlier ‘cause my appendix almost, like, fucking exploded or something,” Matty explained, then paused to take a breath. “And that may be why I haven’t picked up the phone. Sorry.”
“Are you serious? You’re in the hospital? Right now? You didn’t—why didn’t you tell me, Matty? Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve—”
“It’s fine, G, I’m sorry, I just—I just wasn’t feeling well, that’s all. The pain was getting worse and I just had to get to the hospital,” Matty said. “I could barely stand, almost passed out a couple times. But they said it’s good I came today, otherwise, it would’ve just, you know, burst. The appendix, I mean, so…yeah…”
“Well, shit,” George said in a shaky voice. Matty heard him release a breath, then he said, “Who’s with you? You were gonna see your mum today, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, she’s not here. Tomorrow, she said.” Matty stopped to think briefly. “Maybe.”
“Fine, then, where are you? I’ll come see you,” George decided, sounding like he’d made up his mind already. “Are you in London?”
Matty hummed a yes, closing his eyes. “You don’t have to do that, though. It’s getting late.”
“It’s not even eight o’clock,” George argued. “And you shouldn’t be alone in the hospital. Someone should be with you, so you’re not, like, scared or whatever—”
“I’m not scared.”
“I know you don’t like hospitals, though.”
“Who does?” Matty sighed.
“And it’s your birthday, Matty. You shouldn’t—”
“Yeah, I know, I know…I shouldn’t be alone on my birthday,” Matty finished, but, truthfully, it wasn’t horrible. He could rest, close his eyes, let his mind drift. He’d had worse birthdays than one spent in a hospital. “Thank you, really, but it’s fine. I’ll be out tomorrow, okay?”
“Matty,” George pleaded. “Come on, mate. I wanna see you. I miss you. And we don’t even have to do anything. I’m sure you’re exhausted, you can just rest. I’m not gonna show up with, like, fucking balloons and cake or whatever, right?”
Matty didn’t argue, which basically meant he had already given up and admitted defeat. He despised how persuasive George could be sometimes. “Alright. But no gifts.”
“No gifts,” George agreed. “So I’ll see you soon, okay?”
Matty hummed in agreement, but by the time they hung up a few minutes later and he’d put his head down, he could barely keep his eyes open.
He must have fallen asleep because it was dark when he opened his eyes and George was there, curled up in a chair. He studied George for a minute, then turned his phone over to check the time. 11:47 p.m. A less than ideal time to wake up.
He then had the sinking feeling that he was going to be awake for the next few hours and would just have to deal with the fatigue in the morning, and wished that he had been able to sleep through the night, but that was a rarity these days, reminiscent of long, restless nights on the bus and in hotel rooms and on planes when he’d never been able to fall asleep without some sort of chemical intervention—a bottle of pills hidden discreetly in the lining of his backpack; an injection kit that he’d take into the bathroom with him and then come back a few minutes later to collapse into bed and sleep like the dead until the morning.
He wondered how long George had been there, how he could’ve possibly been comfortable in the hard chair. Selfishly, Matty, without thinking, put a hand out to wake him. George wouldn’t mind. He’d have been more upset if Matty didn’t wake him up. He did come all that way just to see him, after all, and it was technically still his birthday.
George startled awake, and Matty gave him a moment to remember where he was, what was going on. When their eyes met, the tension bled out of George’s face, his shoulders, his back, and he smiled. “Hey, you’re awake?”
“Yeah,” Matty said. His voice was rough from sleep, and probably from throwing up so much over the weekend. “It’s still my birthday.”
George glanced down at Matty’s phone, tapped the black screen, and nodded. “Yeah. ‘Bout ten more minutes. How does it feel? And don’t say shit,” George said with a grin.
If he couldn’t say shit, then he didn’t know what to say. Truthfully, he didn’t want to talk about being thirty-five and how he felt about it. Didn’t want to even think about it. Besides, his feelings on the matter had been relatively overshadowed by the constant, agonizing pain in his abdomen, which could have very well killed him if he’d not gotten himself to the hospital in time. At least, that’s how the nurses had made it seem.
Matty shrugged, and George raised an eyebrow. His smile slipped a little bit, brows tentatively creased with worry. “Nothing?” he asked. “Okay. Then how are you feeling? How’s your—your stomach? Does it hurt?”
“Just sore,” Matty shrugged. He wanted to turn onto his side, get more comfortable, but he was overly cautious of pulling the stitches and having them rip. So he stayed still. “Not too bad.” He kept his hand where it was, on his right side.
“I think it’s worse than you’re letting on, actually,” George’s eyes drifted down to Matty’s hand as his eyebrows shot up. He looked back at Matty, and Matty shrugged again. “Can I do anything? Do you need anything? Something to eat?”
“Not sure I can keep anything down yet.”
“Water, then?”
Matty shook his head.
George shifted closer and put his hand on Matty’s forehead. Matty pulled back and sighed. “George, come on—”
“What? You’re warm—”
“It’s hot.”
“No, it’s really not,” George shook his head. “Look, it’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. You can go back to sleep, if you want.”
Matty looked at George, forcing himself to relax. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be…difficult.” Wearily, he looked up at George. “Just a shitty day.”
“Yeah, I know,” George nodded, endlessly kind and understanding, even when Matty didn’t deserve it. “Don’t be sorry. I get it.”
“I’m glad you’re here, though. It’s good to see you again,” Matty said, then, “Thank you.”
George hummed softly. “It’s funny…it’s only been two weeks since tour ended, but it feels like years have gone by. Can’t remember the last time I’ve not seen you or Hann or Ross for that long.” He looked down, shrugged, a nervous smile, downcast, but trying to stay optimistic. “It’s nice, mostly, to settle down, relax a bit, but I fucking miss you guys. Feels like I’m missing my arms and legs, you know?”
“Mhm,” Matty agreed, and he couldn’t have said it any better. If he’d tried, it would’ve just turned into a convoluted mess of words.
He could turn his darkest, most distressing and painful thoughts and emotions into lyrics in under an hour with a bottle of wine and a spliff, but when it came to trying to understand how being apart from the boys made him feel, he couldn’t. It was more than sadness. Perhaps if he’d woken up one day without his limbs, it would have made more sense. He’d have something to associate it with, then, but he still had two arms and two legs, and something about the idea of a future without being on tour, without seeing them every day, wasn’t something he wanted to imagine.
He’d have to get over it eventually, and maybe the separation would make it easier to move on.
“Yeah, I know, I get it,” he finished.
“Yeah, well, that’s me being honest, I guess,” George said with a halfhearted laugh.
After a moment, he said, “Listen, I know shit has been hard, for all of us, lately, and a lot’s changing, but you know nothing has to change with us, right? And Ross and Hann? We’re not going anywhere, you know. So if things weren’t okay, like, really not okay, and you needed someone, you’d call, right? Me? Or them? And I only ask ‘cause I know how you think, Matty. I know where your head is now that tour’s over and everything. And we should’ve talked about it before tour ended, maybe, but I just wanted to say it anyways. So you know.”
“I know,” Matty said, maybe a bit too quickly. He did know, it was the truth. But it was still hard. He still didn’t like it. “I’ll call. I promise.”
But he didn’t call today, did he? Or all week when he was home sick and in pain? When he was alone and it could have been nice to have someone else around to help out? He would’ve been there in a heartbeat if George had called him, asking him to come over because he was sick and could barely get out of bed.
“Starting now,” he added sheepishly, and George rolled his eyes, but it was good natured. It wasn’t annoyed, or disappointed, or frustrated.
“Okay,” George nodded, seeming satisfied, and Matty only hoped that he could stick to his promise.
He wanted to, more than anything, but he had a habit of isolating himself when he was afraid of being a burden on other people. George knew that, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought it up. But the second the pain was real, the second the hurt became too much, is when he tended to take a step back and pull his walls up and push them all away. Perhaps it was a lingering bad habit from the years of his addiction, when pushing people away was the only way he could keep his secret.
It had worked, for a time, but then he was only worse off down the line. He didn’t start getting better until more people started catching on. Until they started stepping in and helping. It was George who got him into rehab. It was George and Ross and Hann who were there with him every day, every step of the way. He wasn’t sure where he’d have ended up if it wasn’t for them, if he’d have even still been alive to turn thirty-five. And even if he was, he’d have just been a strung out junkie with nothing but further destruction awaiting him.
“You should get some sleep,” George said, gently resting his hand on the side of Matty’s head, and Matty realized that he had been staring and not speaking for a while. “You look exhausted and I think you probably have a fever.”
It made him feel like a child, asking George if he’d stay, but he asked anyway, and George smiled and said, “Of course, I’ll be here when you wake up,” so Matty relaxed and drifted to sleep easily. The last thing he heard was George whispering, “Happy birthday, mate,” before he fell asleep.