Pretty Kind of Dirty Face {Matty Healy}

10 // Fallingforyou

{I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your neck}

Matty opened the door to a dark house, which didn’t completely surprise me. He was a fairly broody person, so the lack of lighting in his dwelling place seemed fitting. “My parents are out,” he said sheepishly, “and I think my younger brother’s asleep, so we shouldn’t be too loud…”

“You left your little brother home alone?” I said, appalled that he was so irresponsible. But then again, it was Matty I was talking about.

He shrugged. “He’s 12, he doesn’t need anyone’s help. At least, that’s what he tells me all the time.”

“Typical 12 year old,” I said with a little laugh.

Matty didn’t respond, just led me down several dark hallways until we made it to what I assumed was his room. It was decorated exactly how I expected -- minimal yet messy with white walls and a dark bedspread. It fit him and his oh-so-lovely contrasting images. He was so cocky and obnoxious and all the things I hated, but he was still sweet, even if just at moments, and he always managed to draw me in. He, like his room, was a mix of things that shouldn’t go together but did. A mix of things I hated and things I loved.

He rummaged through the piles of things near his desk in the corner of the room, mumbling to himself. With a sigh, I took a seat on the edge of Matty’s bed lightly, then laughed at myself for not wanting to mess up the already unmade bed.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling a CD case out of the rubble. He grinned at me as he walked over to the dusty stereo on the floor. “Here it is!” He slipped the CD into the stereo and turned to look at me before pressing play. He looked down at his feet, running a hand nervously through his hair. “Okay so it’s not that great and I haven’t gotten a chance to record it for real with the guys. If you don’t like it, that’s fine you can just tell me--”

“Matty,” I interrupted. “I’m sure it’s fine. Just play it.”

He let out a heavy sigh, followed by a quiet laugh. Matty was so confident with himself and with his band, I never expected him to be so worried about me listening to a simple song he wrote. But he shook his head to himself, as if he were trying to shake off the nerves he had pent up inside of him. He pushed buttons on the stereo, until a soft chord from a piano sounded. With a small smile, he came and sat next to me on the bed, keeping just enough space between us to be awkward. He stared down at his hands in his lap as his vocals came in.

What time you coming out? We started losing light, I’ll never make it right if you don’t want me round.

I held my breath. His voice sounded so tentative coming out of the speakers, a shaky melody that was so unlike his usual brash talking.

I’m so excited for the night, all we need’s my bike and your enormous house. You said someday we might when I’m closer to your height ‘til then we’ll knock around and see if you’re all I need.

All he needs. Me? From what I gathered, I was the last person on the planet that Matty needed. There were moments when I felt like he enjoyed my presence, but then he went a week without speaking to me even once. On the recording, he dropped the part he was playing with his left hand down an octave, letting me know this was an important part: the chorus.

Don’t you see me? I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you. Don’t you need me? I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you. On this night and in this light, I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you. Maybe you’ll change your mind, I think I’m falling. . . .

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No. No, he wasn’t falling for me. There was no fucking way he’d put it into words, even if it was true. Sure, he’d try to get Cecily to set us up but he barely talked to me. He barely knew me. He barely showed he cared. How was I supposed to see him? Or need him?