𝐍𝐎𝐍-𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you

"C'mon, Arianna, more Vogue. Let me see how Vogue you are"

"Fuck off, Charlie"

We had spent the last two hours in the shooting and, let me tell you, Afterdream just can't do a shoot without making fun of each other.

"Are we done?", Alex asked. Alex had that face made to be on a magazine. His blue ice eyes and thick eyebrows gave him that permanently annoyed look, like he was just too important for this. He didn't really enjoy standing in front of the camera, even though he looked like a model, which was good since he decided to be the guitarist in the coolest band ever.

"Just a couple more, guys, alright?", the photographer begged us.

"C'mon Charlie, show me how Vogue you are", I told our drummer, and he rolled his eyes. Charlie was blonde, tall and skinny. He looked like a young Liam Gallagher, I've always said that. He was very proud of that, since he's a big fan of Oasis too. We've bonded on that. I've always looked at him like that brother you tease all the time but you'd be ready to fight for to defend him.

"No fighting, kids", Keith said. In this band of blondies, he made the difference. His father was English, but his mother was Filipino. Dark hair, dark eyes, he played bass and, I must admit, he was hot. Hotter than the others, and oh they were, but Keith was also so nice and gentle, and what was beauty without a good dose of niceness? Of course he was like a brother for me, as the others, and he also had a girlfriend, since forever I've been told, who happened to be one of my closest friends here in London.

We were Afterdream - that bittersweet feeling of bliss when you wake up from a beautiful dream and for a minute you blend it with reality. We were somewhere between dream pop and alternative rock. I was the songwriter and I also was now trying my best not to laugh at my friends striking a pose.

When the shoot was over, we went back to Alex's car. Him and Charlie had lived together since the end of 6th form, and have played together since forever. We spent most of the time in their flat, the place where we created our music. Well actually, in the past months we have barely been home. The tour has been long and intense, but it felt good to now have a little break.

"Alex, can you take me home? I haven't seen my apartment for days and I really need to sleep", I said.

"You can sleep in our apartment", Alex responded, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.

"The words sleep and your apartment can only be used in the same sentence if you put a is never an option in between them."

I was again hit with tiredness caused by the alcohol from last night. I took my phone to repost some videos of the set to my Instagram story. Me and my tiny orange dress looked good in that video, and I wondered what would Matty Healy think of my outfit. I rolled my eyes. Too soon for these damn thoughts, I told myself.

The boys were talking loudly and I was somewhere else. I searched him on Instagram. I typed m-a-t-t-y to find him under the username of trumanblack. I couldn't tell if it was because of Capote or The Truman Show, but Black pretty sure was representative for his prince of darkness aura. I scrolled through his pictures and, slowly, I put together the pieces of Matty Healy's life. It's funny how little you know about someone and how easy it is to enter in his world and spy on his life. There weren't many professional pictures. Matty's Instagram was basically shitposting. There were also a lot of promoting photos for his singles, backstage pics, posts supporting Amnesty's causes, plenty of t-shirts. Matty and his band mates, Matty and Greta Thunberg, Matty and Timothée fucking Chalamet. Matty and a thin, blonde, beautiful girl, Matty and a fit woman with long braids and baggy clothes.