Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

Running

On my way to class, I'm still shaken from the conversation with Dad, my thoughts spiraling, when I hear a commotion at the end of the hallway. My stomach tightens, a wave of dread washing over me.

Breaking into a run, I push through the crowd that has gathered. In the center of it all, I see Charlie slamming Aidan's head against a locker, blood streaming down Aidan's face.

"Charlie, stop it! Please!" I shout, my voice frantic.

At the sound of my voice, Charlie freezes and turns to look at me. His face shifts—anger giving way to something softer, something almost vulnerable. He rushes toward me, wrapping his arms around me like he's clinging to something solid.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there that night," he says, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I would've done if—if..." His gaze drifts back to Aidan, now slumped unconscious on the floor, and his expression hardens with disgust.

"I'm okay, Lee," I whisper, cupping his face with my hands, forcing him to look at me. "I promise."

He holds me tighter, his arms trembling slightly.

"Mr. Lewis!" The headmaster's voice booms across the hall, sharp and commanding. Two security guards flank him. "My office. Now."

Charlie lets go of me, his jaw tightening as he nods.

I don't have time to process any of it. The headmaster sends me off to class, and I obey, though my feet feel heavy, like they're moving through sludge.

Since starting at Wilmslow High, keeping up with classes has been surprisingly easy. Years of bouncing between schools taught me to prepare for disruption—reading the syllabus ahead of time, keeping my head down, and avoiding distractions. No close friends meant more time to study and stay on top of things.

Normally, I'd be taking notes, answering questions, fully engaged. But today, as Mr. Morad drones on about this semester's book, I can't focus. My eyes are fixed on the wall clock, its hands moving achingly slow, each tick stretching into eternity.

Halfway through the lesson, the door creaks open. Charlie walks in, his face unreadable. He heads straight to his desk, grabs his things, and turns to leave.

The room fills with low murmurs of confusion, classmates exchanging puzzled glances. As he walks past me, he meets my eyes for a brief moment—a silent plea I can't ignore.

Without thinking, I stand and follow him.

"Miss Hastings?" Mr. Morad calls out, his voice tinged with irritation. But I don't stop. By the time he tries again, Charlie and I are sprinting down the hall, the echoes of our footsteps drowning out his protests.

Bursting through the front doors, we leave the school behind, the cool air hitting us like a slap. Only then do I finally catch my breath.