Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

These Hands Weren't Made For Fighting

I am awoken by the muffled sound of Alex Turner singing about looking good on the dance floor. I peek beyond the sheets and see the unforgiving afternoon sun beating down on me. I groan loudly, and duck underneath the covers. My throat burns with thirst and I bravely hoist myself up. I look around the room. I appear to be alone.
I unscrew the cap of the water bottle on the table beside me and take a swig, for what feels like an eternity. Only after I've consumed the entire contents of the bottle do I close it again. I attempt to place it back on the table but it slips from underneath my weak grip and falls with a thud on the hardwood floor.
"What the fu-", I hear a pile of clothes say
Only when he moves around do I realise there's a human underneath that pile. And not just any human.
"What are you doing over there" I call out from across the room
"Well I was sleeping a moment ago" he says while sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes
I notice a faint bruise forming on his left cheekbone. His white shirt speckled with red spots. But I don't think it's his blood.
"Why is it that you're always either bleeding or bruised, Healy?" sigh, "what happened?"
He says nothing, opting to light a smoke instead.
He takes a drag so long and so hard, I'm convinced his lungs are nothing but smoke and sadness.
He finally exhales slowly and utters, "these hands weren't made for fighting" he hums
"But that's what you'll make them do" I reply, unsure of what else to say.