Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

ACT 1 // YOU

2006

I'm perched on the hood of Charlie's car, lost in thought, with my eyes fixated on nothing in particular. The air smells faintly of gasoline and cut grass, grounding me in the moment even as my mind drifts elsewhere. Charlie sits beside me, his arm comfortably draped around my waist, while his other hand gestures wildly, painting pictures in the air as he recounts—yet again—his family's summer vacation in the Far East. Hitting all the same beats, his voice rising with the same overblown enthusiasm he used earlier today—and the time before that. At least, I think that's what he's talking about. To be honest, I've lost track. The third retelling has blurred all the details into a hum of words, and I find myself wondering if anyone else has noticed how many times we've been here already.

I shift slightly under the weight of his arm, smiling faintly to keep up appearances, but my thoughts are far away, wandering somewhere neither Charlie's story nor this lazy afternoon can reach.

Vicky throws her head back in a cackle, her hand landing on Charlie's chest as if she's staking a claim. I couldn't care less. My mind was already at the party later tonight, weaving through imagined conversations and half-formed plans, when a sudden, familiar scent cuts through my thoughts like a blade.

I freeze, nostrils flaring, and dart my head in the direction of the smell. The guy standing next to me—Elijah, I think his name was—flinches, startled by the sudden movement.
Charlie's voice halts mid-sentence as his eyes flick to me. "What's up?" he asks, a hint of irritation bleeding through his tone.
"Nothing", I say and he resumes his story before I even get the second syllable out.

But I'm no longer listening. I take another deliberate sniff, the smell sharper now, leading me down the line of parked cars. Three cars down the lot from us, I see it.

The zoot pressed between a cupid's bow that dropped elegantly away from a soft and full middle. It was a mouth that made me think of forbidden things, like the forest behind my house, which I wasn't allowed to explore, or my father's Bordeaux, locked behind a glass cabinet in his study I'd been expressly instructed not to touch. That morning, the intricacies of Charlie's stories didn't interest me as much as the boy's mouth; and the face to which it belonged, I thought, was just as attractive.
He was laughing at something hysterical- his shoulders bent forward, his eyes crinkling at their corners, smoke escaping his now wide open mouth. He chortled at something his friend in the driver's seat had said and I couldn't help but notice his sharp canines. I was quite sure I'd never seen him before. Then again, I haven't been here long enough to be fully acquainted with the upperclassmen. He looked my age, maybe a year younger. He must've sensed me looking at him because before I could look away, he turns towards me and our eyes meet for a moment. He might have winked at me, but I couldn't be certain—I'd looked away just before I could be sure. I never hold eye contact for too long. Especially not if the boy was hot. A non-hot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy on the other hand... well.
Screeching tyres snap me out of my reverie. I cut a glance to him, and his eyes were still on me. It occurred to me just then why they call it eye contact.
As I watched the car the boy was in exit the parking space and drive out of the car park, I felt this weird mix of tension and excitement welling up inside of me. I don't even know what the feeling was, really, just that there was a lot of it.