matty healy imagines

infatuation // matty

"Where you going?" he asks innocently as you begin to climb the stairs.

"To bed," you snap, not even bothering to turn back around. The digital clock on your nightstand reads 2:47am and you lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, remembering the days when you and Matty would stay up well past 2:47pm together. Matty was the one who introduced you to the concept of a night life. Before him, you'd been content with going to bed at a normal hour. You remember it being so exciting at first. The parties, the alcohol, the drugs. It was a foreign world that you delved head-first into, Matty by your side the entire time.

You were twenty four when you met Matty. You were young, excited, impressionable. Now, three years later, the original glamor had worn off. The health effects had caught up to you; things like huffing after climbing one flight of stairs, and building up an increasingly large tolerance for alcohol. You'd cut back for your own good and you'd stopped attending so many parties with Matty. The only problem was, you'd thought Matty would follow suit. You'd thought that his late twenties and your sobriety would hit him with veracity and he'd grow up a bit. You were wrong.

"You're twenty seven," you said to him, "Aren't you a little old to be getting so stoned?"

Matty got defensive whenever you mentioned cutting back on all the dope he did or alcohol he drank. So you left it alone. It wasn't worth the battle.

A few moments later you heard Matty trudging up the stairs and into the bedroom. His shadow moved around the room until he was on his side of the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress beside you, his scent filling up the room.

You turned over on your side so you'd face him, hoping maybe you two might be able to talk tonight. You admitted to be a major contributor to the increasing distance between Matty and you, but you also wanted to make things better. You felt like you were willing to put in an effort when the same wasn't always said to be true on Matty's end.

He was already breathing steadily in and out by the time you rolled over. His eyes were shut closed and his hand rested on his rising chest. You let out a heavy sigh. In earlier years, you would have rolled into his side, laying your head on his chest or nuzzling his neck, planting soft kisses over his exposed skin. But tonight you looked at him and shook your head. You were disgusted with the smell of vodka reeling off from him and instead, you curled as close to the edge as you could get and rolled over, your back facing him.

...

You're woken by another alarm in just a few short hours. This time the noise is coming from the phone charging on your nightstand. You sigh before turning if off and sitting up. You rub your eyes grudgingly before getting up to get ready.

You flip the light on as you hover outside your closet, starting the great debate of what to wear for the day.

Matty groans in the bed, pulling the sheets over his head and mumbling something incoherently.

"What?" you ask.

"I said shut the god damn light off," he barks, his face makes a reappearance as he flashes the covers up briefly.

You roll your eyes. "Just give me like fifteen minutes."

"Jesus christ," he snaps before flopping back down onto the mattress.

"Fuck off," you mutter, "if you went to bed at a normal time, you wouldn't be so pissy every morning."

Matty shoots back up at that, "Don't fucking start lecturing me. I can't take anymore of that shit."

"I'm not lecturing you," you explain, "I just wish you wouldn't drink so much."

"You sound like my fucking mum," Matty says. You gaze at his skinny figure hunched over in the bed. He's digging into his eyes with the heels of his palm, rubbing what you would assume is the itchiness, away.