Hurricane // Matty Healy ♣ The 1975

38. him

Matty looked at me and I looked back at him fro a minute over the tangled bed sheets. 

The sun was rising, and we must have only been in bed for a little while because our hair was still wet and our bodies coated in sweat. I needed another bath. 

"We were both pretty drunk." He finally said. I tried to make myself look like I felt the same way. 

"Yeah." I said. 

"But-" He stopped himself and sighed. He dragged his hand through his hair and shuffled up into a sitting position and grabbed a cigarette from the bedside table and poked it between his lips before lighting it. 

I inhaled the familiar smell of smoke which I only acsociated with Matty. 

I smiled, remembering how a few years back I thought smoking weas disgusting. I guess people change their minds quickly. 

Matty handed the cigarette to me and I pressed it to my lips before taking a long, choking drag. 

I shut my eyes as I breathed outwards and handed it back to him. 

"We're killing ourselves." I observed quietly as he tapped the cigarette on the ashtray he had put between us. 

He kissed the top of my head. 

"I wanted to without you here." He mumbled. I felt my throat tighten and I dragged myself away from him. 

"How can you say that?" I asked exasperatly. "How can one minute you be saying what me did last night was because we were drunk, then tell me that you wanted to fucking kill yourself when we weren't talking?" 

Matty sighed. 

"I'm sorry." He ran his fingers through the ends of my hair and I sighed quietly, trying to forget everything. 

The room was cold, it had started snowing the night before when we both emerged from the bathroom. We both got stupidly excited but we forgot about it after a few minutes when we realised the only things stopping our skin from touching completely were two towels.

I pulled the duvet closer to my body and wondered if Bryony, Slyvia, Tom or Charlie were worried about me. I didn't even bother wondering if Becca was. 

Matty trailed his fingers over my bare back, making me shiver. He pressed the cigarette to my mouth and I held it there before leaning into his chest. 

He held me tightly in his arms as I inhaled the smoke and his scent. 

We both tried out best not to touch each other in inappropriate places, comfort was at the minimum.

I looked at his thighs and the tattoos on his arms and chest and I wanted to scream out all of my anger and sadness and love. Esepecially my love. 

His hands were so gentle and small and when he locked them onto my hips I almost squealed. He placed me inbetween his legs. I kissed his forehead and then he pecked my lips gently. 

"Can we just... try to be okay again please?" I asked him. 

"What do you think I'm doing?" He kissed my chin and moved downwards slowly to my neck. 

I rested my forehead against his shoulder and let out a quiet sigh of relief.