That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

Breaking Hearts

/ / B R E A K I N G  H E A R T S / /

"Disgusting!" I'm startled awake only to find myself constrained, under Matty. There's a jabbing at my neck and it takes me a moment to realize it's the arm of the couch that's hurting my neck. Matty's breaths are warm against my skin and I'm suddenly very hyperaware of every part of him that's touching me. One arm resting to the side that he's most leaned on, towards the curve of the sofa, the other hand placed firmly against my belly and his legs slotting between mine. "It smell like sex in here," Jamie comments, stepping over the threshold.

I can't find my voice, it seems wedged in my throat, so I flip him off before returning my hands to their original position, clasped around Matty's bare back.

"Did you guys – wait – here? On the couch? Oh my god – Marceline Devine, you filthy animal, you – period sex? Ew." He's going off on a rant, it seems, and I roll my eyes.

"No period," I let out groggily, scrunching my nose up at the hoarseness in my voice. I hate talking in the morning. Jamie looks at me funny, an eyebrow raised like he wants to comment, but Anna pushes past him, causing him to stumble to the side a bit.

"Is the wicked bitch of the west all chill now?" She says in the fondest voice possible and I pout at her. She walks by running a hand through my hair, pushing it back in an oddly motherly way. She ruffles Matty's hair too, but more as an excuse to actually touch it with out him fussing. He shifts slightly, nestling closer to my neck and groaning just slightly. "Cuties," Anna sighs before walking to the kitchen.

Jamie shuts the door and hesitates by the couch before deciding to take a seat on the floor beside my face. "Pass me the remote," he asks, turning back before catching a glance at my shirt – his shirt. "Is that my Harry Styles T-shirt?" he asks lowly. "Did you get your boyfriend's spunk on my Harry Styles T-shirt? Holy shit," he mumbles in awe and I try to shrink deeper into the cushions, not sure of how to answer his accusation.

"Yeah, what of it?" Matty mumbles, and I look down, startled to find him up. He's blinking slowly, like he's making an attempt to rid the sleep from his eyes, but he's not really trying.

"Can I sell it on EBay?" Jamie begs.

"You can go fuck yourself," Matty responds.

"Touché," Jamie concedes.

"Who wants breakfast?" Anna calls from the kitchen, pots clashing already.

We all say "me" simultaneously, not breaking my gaze from Jamie to Matty, Matty fluttering his eyes shut again and Jamie still staring thoughtfully at Matty.

"She's always cooking or naked, isn't she?" Matty asks lightly.

I shrug, Jamie answers, "She's a pyromaniac exhibitionist."

"A mysophobic and a pyromaniac," Matty points out before asking Jamie, "What's your issue, then – besides your distaste for Frozen."

"Shut the fuck up," he reaches over our bodies and hunts for the remote.

I grin, "He's got –"

"Shut the hell up, Marcy," He snaps snatching the remote from its wedged spot. As a side remark, "You've got a nice back, Matty."

"You'd be surprised at how many fans have told me that – all except one," he says pointedly, jabbing my side.

I giggle, squirming beneath him, "It's aight."

"Aight?" He teases, jabbing me again.

I nod my head, trying to push his hands away, "I think Adam has a nicer back."