// W A S T E A M O M E N T //

T W O

It had been little over two months since I had become acquainted with Matty. Christmas had come and gone. Although I had briefly met Adam, George, and Ross, my contact remained pretty much solely with Matty; he'd keep me updated on how his life was going, whichever red wine he was enjoying presently, and send amusing candid photos of the band. We had a group chat, as you do, which was categorically the most amusing one I had been part of. It was entertaining during the hell that was returning to college. Yet, I hadn't yet found a means to explain to my friends about the charmingly eccentric musician I had befriended (at a party to which I was invited by the celebrated artist I call my Uncle) who led me repeatedly chuckle to myself, reading the messages we sent between us.

With the month of February edging ever closer, I tried the best I could to prepare for the busy month ahead – what with my birthday, the launch of The 1975's second record, and the prospect of taking my A level's a year earlier than planned just because I could, and it would allow for me to go on a gap year, and focus more on my rowing. Thus, I proceeded to do what anybody in my position would: I closed myself off from the world for a couple weeks, reading a month ahead in all the subjects I was taking, so that I would not have to worry about missing anything if I happened to miss a little school. Taking into consideration that I had already read onward a considerable amount, I was contented that I would survive the imminent examinations. And, of course, I found time to train for a good 25 hours in those weeks.

My temporary withdrawals from any social interaction outside of college and training were becoming more frequent, but that was understandable with my early A level entry, and the ambition to surpass my performances at regattas last year. My dad fully supported my decisions to take all of this upon myself, and it was much appreciated, as he was not as disagreeing to my living alone in the house when he went on adventures walking deserts or rainforests with his ex-colleagues. This meant that I could rest in the comfort of my own home, as opposed to my mum's sister's house (however lovely it may have been). He even organised for the chef at the restaurant down on the seafront to cook a meal for me every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening.

At about six o'clock in the evening, on the first Thursday in February, I received a text from Matty,

From: Matty

Hey, where exactly do you happen to reside? Xx

I had only met up with him once after the party, for a coffee whilst I was in London a week or two after New Year's.

To: Matty

07 Bay View Avenue, just five minutes up from the hotel where the party was at – why? X

From: Matty

Are you home?? Xx

To: Matty

Yes, but please do tell, what are you scheming?!

No reply. That was it. I held onto my phone for the next five minutes, waiting uneasily to hear of what he was planning. It was only when I heard a knock on the front door that I took my eyes from my phone. Having reached the front door, I opened it instinctively with a "Hi..."

I looked up to discover a very enthusiastic Matty and George (whose eyes, however, indicated that he was, perhaps, a little inebriated). "You sneaky blighters!" I uttered as I engulfed them both in a hug, Georges chuckle reverberating.

"You love us really," Matty spoke.

"Sure I do," I said, rolling my eyes and ushering them in, "But, honestly, what are you doing here? Aren't you like super busy with the new album and all?"