Pretty Kind of Dirty Face {Matty Healy}

22 // Robbers

{you've got a pretty kind of dirty face}

Weddings bring out the best in people; it's just the way life is. It's virtually impossible to look at the beautiful couple, standing up in front of everyone they love, and not feel some kind of joy. The white dress, the suits, the flowers—everything is full of splendor, and everything is perfect. People are crying and laughing and hugging and I could never get over the grand extent of their emotions.

As I stood outside of the church, waiting for the service to begin, I was overcome with the kind of joy I could only feel at weddings, the kind of excitement of the possibility of a brighter future, as long as you face it together. I smoothed out my dress, which had been pressed neatly before I left the hotel room that morning. Everything had fallen into place.

Matty rounded the corner, his plain black suit contrasting with the white button down, taking a drag of the cigarette in his right hand. "Shouldn't you be inside?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Not yet."

He seemed surprised. "Isn't it bad luck for me to see you?" Nevertheless, he snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

"No, silly," I responded, "it's only bad luck if I'm the bride."

Over the past three months of our "official" relationship, Matty and I had become expert wedding crashers. It seemed stupid to me at first—all the stress of sneaking in, finding an outfit, and lying to an entire group of people was a little too much for me. But after some coercing from Matty (aka him explaining multiple times that the free bar was the entire point, with a good party being second to that), I was in. Cecily convinced me to invest in a good dress—knee-length and floral, modest enough for the most conservative weddings, but with a neckline low enough for the most liberal ones. It was perfectly versatile for our weekend adventures in wedding crashing.

After hearing the processional end, Matty and I walked inside and found the hallway with the bathrooms, so we could time our expedition to the moment that the families left the sanctuary, just hopping into the crowd and following them to the reception venue.

Surprisingly soon after Matty and I hid in the bathrooms, the service finished and the bathroom was full of elderly ladies in pastel hats, dying to use the bathroom before leaving for the reception. I exited the stall I had found, smiling at those who were waiting. "It looks like I got here just in time," I said with a smile, washing my hands and walking out.

Matty was waiting for me; he outstretched an arm to pull me closer as I got within reach. "Ready?" he whispered in my ear.

"Of course."

* * *

The reception started just as any other, with Matty and I sneaking out to the hallway during the meal and coming back in just after the dancing began. In the flashing lights and darkness of the dance floor, no one would recognize that Matty and I definitely weren't supposed to be there. And after a half hour or hour, most people would be too drunk to care.

Immediately after entering the reception hall, Matty visited the bar, returning to where I stood against the wall with two large classes of red wine. I casually took a sip, as Matty immediately drank half of his glass. I made a snarky comment in my head, but knew he wouldn't even give it a second thought if I said it out loud so I kept to myself. We placed our glasses on the table—they were the only two without cliché beaded drink markers, which would have worried me, but we had done this too many times and now I knew no one would notice the difference—and left to go dance.