Chapter Text
"Matty! Long time no see," Tony greets as he walks into the room and behind his desk. "What brings you here?" he asks when he's taken a seat.
Matty nervously rubs at the back of his neck as nerves make his stomach clench, and takes a deep breath before answering carefully.
"I'm quite in trouble, Tony. I need your help."
"Of course," he nods, "Anything for an old friend!" Tony flashes him a toothy grin that sends shivers down his spine more than managing to reassure him that he has eventually found the help he’s been seeking.
Matty stands there all too aware of the two muscular men standing about six feet away behind him, opening and closing his mouth as he attempts to voice his thoughts in a way that'll make the situation bend more in his favor.
"Go on then," the mob pushes, now leaning back comfortably in his leather chair.
"I-" Matty clears his throat, "I'm going to need money," Matty blurts out, shakily wiping over his brow where he can feel a thin layer of sweat forming. Must be the temperature of Tony's office, he reasons, because the last thing he needs right now is to completely lose his shit and have this blow over in his face before it's even started.
"How much?" Tony deadpans.
"Thirty grand," Matty replies quietly and hears Tony's humourless low laugh as he holds his lit cigar between his teeth.
"I can help you, Matty – you know I will. But I’ll need some help myself." Tony quirks one bushy eyebrow, making Matty shift uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze and nod stiffly.
When Tony doesn't continue Matty asks "What do I have to do?" feeling defeated and humiliated for having turned to Tony again after years.
"Oh, nothing you haven't done before," he says with a glint of smugness in his eyes, wallowing in the smaller man's obvious discomfort. "Deliveries," he adds just to watch him squirm.
Matty knew this was coming but can't help the shaky breath that escapes his chapped lips, giving Tony what he wants.
"C'mon boy! It's a hundred thousand pounds we're talking about here! I profit without much trouble and you can of course have your share of it," Tony offers with a smirk, exhaling smoke. ''So what'd you think?''
Matty knows he could take double the amount of money he needs if he plays this game right but at the same time he is aware the older man doesn't have this in mind when he talks about his 'share' in this particular situation. He closes his eyes and takes in a sharp intake of air as his heart jumps excitedly at the words and, God, he knows this is so wrong but Matty is greedy, so when Tony chuckles his knowing laugh he doesn't say a word to correct his assumption.
"I guess it's a deal then!" Tony claps his hands, standing from his seat and extending his hand towards Matty.
"Yes," Matty agrees, his voice coming out much too quiet and gruff for his liking, and his cold clammy hand briefly shakes Tony's large one while trying to not look as petrified as he is when he sees the grin on the man's face.
"Come back tomorrow, same time. To pick up."
With a curt nod Matty paces out of the room as steadily as his shaky legs allow, craving the cool air of the night outside the club and a cigarette.
As soon as he sets foot outside he leans again the brick wall, breathing fast and unsteadily as he takes his pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket and places a stick between his teeth. He lights it and takes a couple long drags, relishing in the way it seems to clear his mind and relax his body even if slightly.
What is he getting himself into now? What the fuck is he thinking? This can't be a good idea and Matty knows because Matty's been in the game before and it didn't turn out like it usually does in his favourite films. At least he didn't end up dead – Matty sometimes laughs aloud at that thought – but he might as well have been when this had almost taken everything away from him, and yet here he is again willing to ruin everything he's managed to rebuild in four years. Unless he does take the risk though, he is going to lose his house, his car and, let's face it, this time most probably his life too, but is it even worth it?
He had got himself into the business some years back because of the same reasons that push him to do so now – he needed money because paying rent and living comfortably for a nineteen-year-old wasn’t easy. Even though the job itself was simple and fitted Matty's lifestyle of choice perfectly with a side of the adrenaline rush he so much needed in his life it had also brought so much trouble upon him and he isn't sure he wants that back.
Hell, he's almost certain he doesn't want it – ever again. But he can't think of a better way to pay off his debt before they off him. Working with Tony is the quickest and most effective solution because Tony pays well – everyone in the business knows. But god forbid anyone fails him, which is easy seeing as Tony has the shortest temper Matty has ever seen in a person – and he used to think he was hot-headed.
And not to mention that ‘almost’. Almost certain because he's almost in too deep and almost craving it – all of it – almost too fucking much for comfort, and he is unsure of whether he actually prefers that chapter in his life to the one he's been on for the last three years or so, or the promise of something stronger than weed is already fucking up with his brain once again.
With a last drag he flicks the last of his cigarette to the ground and stubs it out with his toe. He exhales the smoke as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to his car.
His knees still feel weak and the palms of his hands clammy as he drives the familiar roads back to his flat. When he starts the car he has half a mind to crash in some shitty motel for the night but it isn't worth the trouble, he decides. He knows Tony needs him now and wouldn't try to kill him; for the time being it is. However, he can't shake the feeling that has made a home in the pit of his stomach. It feels like everything points him to a different direction from the one he is heading down but he deems it too late to turn around now. Tony doesn't want him dead, he reassures himself a second time. But there is a possibility he wants him back under his protection, which would be worse than wanting him dead, and the mere thought of it makes Matty want to be sick.
A convenient parking spot is waiting for him just outside his apartment block and this must be the best thing that's happened to him all day. He parks, speed-walks inside the lobby opting for the stairs instead of the lift for once because he can't stand still even for the minute it will take to reach his floor and when he reaches his door he unlocks it and bolts inside.
The small, dim-lit living room is littered with boxes and stacks of books, records and dirty clothes, instruments, guitar cases and amps. Matty trips over one in the dark and swears loudly. George moved in only about a week ago but his things don't seem to have moved at all since then. Matty should have a word with him otherwise he will surely lose his temper one day and throw everything of his out in the street; like his last girlfriend had done with his things only a few month ago, he recalls bitterly.
He takes a cig out of his pack and rummages in his jeans pocket for his lighter but he can't find anything but residues of his weed and lint. In his frustration, he kicks a box over with a dramatic groan and feels the relief of eventually taking his frustration out on something. So he keeps kicking and stomping, managing to refrain from offering a hard kick to every single one of George's things in the room just to spite him, and instead focuses on this particular box like it has personally failed him at some point in its short stay in the flat, while screaming profanities to no one in particular. He doesn't notice when George comes in, neither does he hear him over his own yelling, until two large hands take hold of his shoulders to pull him away from the now torn up box and its hopefully-not-broken contents.
"Calm down, mate," he says firmly. "Hey!" he yelps as the smaller man spins around and goes to swing at him. "It's me, it’s me. Take it easy." George says with his hands up in the air to show he means no harm. "Calm down."
Matty looks at him for a couple seconds as if he's trying to recognise what it is he's looking at, then rakes a hand through his hair and huffs shakily as he stands there trying to control his breathing, cheeks tinted red, whether from anger or embarrassment he can't tell. George, concerned, looks over to him as he goes to open the window and then searches in his jacket pocket for his weed before he sits on the windowsill and starts rolling a spliff. Matty stalks over and leans next to George. He eagerly receives the spliff and takes a long drag once George is done and has it lit for him.
"So," George says to draw the other man's attention. "What's up?" he asks casually but the concern leaks a bit into his tone.
Matty shakes his head and allows a small smile to tag at the corners of his mouth.
"Did I wake you?"
"Yes," George smiles but soon furrows his brows in mock annoyance. "Don't try to change the subject."
When Matty doesn't reply with a snarky comment after three more drags of his blunt while effectively avoiding eye-contact the whole time, George decides to cut straight to the point.
"What happened, Matthew?" This time letting the concern in his voice take over everything else, George takes a drag, preparing for Matty's answer.
Matty swallows and snatches the blunt back from George's hand, inhaling deeply before he speaks.
"I- I made a deal," he states quietly as he looks at his feet, only managing to deepen George's still present frown.
“A deal?”
"A deal," Matty nods.
"What kind of deal?" George quizzes.
"Just a deal," Matty huffs. "Thought I'd do something about this debt of mine, is all," he says nonchalantly, shrugging one denim-clad shoulder.
"And you... made a deal?"
"Yes." George huffs annoyedly.
"What kind of deal, Matty?" he groans.
"For fuck’s sake," Matty says under his breath as he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth and rubs the side of his face.
"You came in here screaming abuse at a box and shaking like a leaf. Don't you think I should know what happened that upset you so much?" George tries again, this time going for a softer tone, to coax Matty on.
"Leave it alone, George, will you." Matty pleads and looks outright broken, sending a pang of sadness and fear to George's chest, who places a soft hand on the smaller man's shoulder making him jump slightly.
"I'm worried, Matty," he confesses and expects that this will hit some strings and have him spilling but Matty doesn't show any signs of willing to speak any time soon and his whole body is visibly tense; George can feel it along with the trembles that quake through the smaller man's rigid spine where his hand touches him. George knows by experience that it isn't wise to push Matty to speak when he is in a state, like he is now, but he takes his shots and moves closer to him, his hand moving to squeeze his other shoulder so his arm is now wrapped around him. "Come on, mate. You can tell me-" he says softly and in a split second Matty has jumped away from him like he has been burnt and turns to face him, his eyes a strange mix of fury and panic.
"Fuck off, George."
"Matty -"
"It's none of your fucking business, is it!" Matty snaps, throwing the rest of his spliff out of the open window and storming off, leaving a very confused George sitting and trying to pass this off as another one of those not-so-rare Matty moods but this time it's hard to do so.
He stalks back to the bedroom after a cigarette and a glass of water and finds Matty on his side of the bed facing the window. He is almost certain that the man is not asleep but slips under the covers as quietly as he can all the same. He is still replaying what little Matty told him in his head while drifting off but even in his half-conscious state he can't make much sense because, he thinks, if this was something he could easily guess Matty would at least have given him an idea before tonight, so he settles in thinking that Matty's just frustrated because he hasn't gotten laid in a while or he had a row with somebody in some bar or something else equally petty. However, try as he might he can't shake the uneasy feeling that's settled in his stomach and promises to ask again in the morning.