That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

Worrying About My Brother Finding Out

I don't know their feelings about him now; I had been avoiding the topic of anything pertaining to my relationships. I just wanted things to get back to normal. Jimmy wouldn't allow me to work until I'm completely recovered; Anna and Jamie treat me like I'm a porcelain doll ready to fall. They look at me oddly, they look at me like they pity me, and then they hate themselves for doing just that. Louise brings me flowers a few times through the week since I've been off. It's a nice gesture, but even she looks at me with panic at times, filtering her words. Natalie calls me every once in a while, but I never answer. Brian has gone MIA and part of me wonders about him, part of me aches that perhaps he's completely cut me off now. I shouldn't mind it, I should be ecstatic, but with a relationship that lasted as long as ours did, it feels like he's thrown everything away once he's spotted Matty.

I've been staying at my parents' place for a few days now, only actually leaving the house to attend classes. The friends I made there asks about where I've been and if I'm okay, but I can't bear to tell them anything about it, instead I say that I've gotten sick. It's nice though, they consider it for moment and wish me a speedy recovery, then they're back to bantering. It's the only sense of normalcy I've been given.

I'm lying in my old bedroom; Ari is with me, sleeping on top of me. I make sure to keep her away from my scar, the stiches haven't quite dissolved yet, but the pain is fading considerably. Ari gives me peace, I find. I like feeling her body rise and fall with her breaths and her heart is beating into my chest and her little chubby fingers clutch my shirt. One hand is placed on her back, securing her, the other hand is linked with Matty's, who is fast asleep beside me, mirroring my sister almost.

He hasn't met my parents yet, but when they're at work, and I'm all alone with Ari, Matty comes over. We talk idly, usually; he opens a window and smokes a few drags before flicking the cig out my window. He tells me he loves me often and I genuinely smile at that. Sometimes he'd lie on my bed and talk to Stefani while I sat beside him playing with Ari. I don't mind it as much as I thought I would. I even enjoy the banter they have with Matty glaring at my wall, muttering through clenched teeth, "We are not naming him Yevgeny - with a silent "Y" - that's so flipping pretentious. You're not even flipping Russian." He censors his words when he's around Ari and it's cute, I find.

Matty doesn't treat me different, sometimes George is on the phone and overhears a sided conversation between us and tells Matty off for being so insensitive, talking about babies around me when I've technically lost one just days ago. But I assure George that I'm fine with it, that I'm proud of Matty for trying to be active in his son's life despite the distance and slice of doubt.

I've asked if he was willing to meet my parents for my birthday and he's replied with the affirmative. He seems calm and collected, even a bit excited; but I'm anxious. They adored Brian, their golden boy, but Matty is nothing like him. He smokes and drinks and acts out sometimes, he gives no shits about school, not a Man U fan, for one - that's already a schism between him and my papa - and well, Matty's never usually around. I don't think my parents would feel strongly about a long distance relationship - that and the eight-year age difference would probably be a set back.

I sigh and turn my head to him. He's on his stomach, his face pointed in my direction, a slight pout to his lips and soft little snores eliciting from him. He frowns slightly and his grip tightens a bit before he's calm again. This is the longest he's ever stayed with me, and not even an argument about how terrible he is for me has taken place. The Friday after I left the hospital was the day of his last concert before a bit of a three-month break; they restart in February all the way in Tokyo. It seems like a long while, but three months can go by quickly if it's wasted. I try not to think about it much; scared I'll finally crack with anxiety. I know he won't leave me again, he promised and I believe him. I'm not terrified of him finding someone else or forgetting about me, I'm scared of the wait until I see him again, the long days when he won't be able to send as much as a text to me, when it's three in the morning and he's just gotten out of bed. But we did it before; I have faith that we'll make it.