Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

A Bite Of My Heart

The next day in English, I faced Mr. Morad to apologize for walking out of class. He studied me for a moment.
"I'll let it slide," he said, "on one condition—you help me with the after-school creative writing club."
I hesitated for all of two seconds, then agreed. Graciously, of course.

With that, class began, and Mr. Morad launched us back into the world of Troilus and Criseyde, Geoffrey Chaucer's sprawling epic of doomed love. We'd been slogging through it for weeks now, parsing its labyrinthine verses and archaic vocabulary. Today, though, Mr. Morad turned his focus to the lovers' secret affair, describing their passion with such fervor that half the girls in the room let out dreamy sighs.

They sighed as if Chaucer hadn't already spoiled the ending in the very first stanza. Troilus will win Criseyde, yes—but she will forsake him. The tragedy is baked into the tale, as inevitable as the changing seasons.

And yet, knowing the ending doesn't dampen the pleasure. We read on, entranced by Chaucer's gift for summoning these lives out of the ether, lives teetering between joy and ruin. For forty minutes, I allowed myself to be swept away, seduced by the rhythm of the words, even as their weight pressed down like a forewarning.

The lunch bell jolted us back to reality.

Outside the classroom, the corridors buzzed with a chaotic energy that felt almost alien without Charlie by my side. He'd always been my compass, the person who made this maze of teenage hormones and institutional beige feel navigable.
Now, adrift, I ducked into the nearest girls' bathroom.

For a fleeting moment, I considered eating my sandwich there, perched on the edge of a sink like some cafeteria exile. The thought disgusted me. No way was I going to become one of those people—the ones who ate amidst the echoes of toilets flushing and the faint sting of disinfectant. I shoved the sandwich back into my bag, zipping it away like a reward I'd have to earn.

Not until I've found my place, I told myself, a sudden wave of determination propelling me back into the hallways. My strides were purposeful, my head high. I was a woman on a mission.

That confidence lasted exactly three minutes.

The cafeteria loomed ahead, a cacophony of overlapping voices spilling out into the hallway. From the doorway, all I could see was a writhing mass of bodies, all jostling for space, all speaking at once. The sound was overwhelming—an unintelligible roar, like the gates of some adolescent purgatory.

I turned on my heel without a second thought.

Cutting across the lawn, I found myself heading toward the library. This wing of the school was a sanctuary, quiet and shaded by a line of old trees. The air here always seemed cooler, the water from the fountains fresher. The library itself was nestled between the faculty room and the art hall, a little haven of order and calm.

But as I reached the door, my heart sank. A bold NO FOOD ALLOWED sign greeted me, mocking my hopes.

Defeated, I wandered over to one of the stone slabs by the trees and sank down, resting my head on the cool edge. The sandwich in my bag felt like a cruel joke now, its presence a constant reminder of my failure to carve out a place for myself in this school.

Just then, a sharp whistle cuts through the air, pulling my attention like a fishhook. I turn and spot Matty, half-hidden behind the bend, his dark curls catching the late afternoon light. He lifts a hand, gesturing for me to follow. There's something about the way he stands—loose and casual—that makes him impossible to ignore.

"What're you doing here?" I ask, my voice sharp as I approach him, more out of habit than intent.

"I'm always here," he says, as if that explains everything. He tilts his head, a lopsided smirk forming. "I should be asking you that. Don't the cool kids hang out in the senior parking lot?"

"Yeah, well..." My throat tightens, and I clear it before trying again, aware of how clumsy I sound. "You remember Charlie, right? My friend?" The words tumble out too fast, stumbling over one another. "He got expelled yesterday, and usually, I'd hang with him between classes, so..."

Matty raises an eyebrow but cuts me off with a shrug. "You can hang out with us if you want."

His nonchalance feels strangely reassuring, and before I can overthink it, I'm trailing after him. We wind around the back of the building, where a group of kids sprawls on the wide stone staircase, laughing and passing around snacks—or contraband. Matty stops and sweeps a hand between me and the group.

"Guys, this is T. T, these are the guys."

Before I can respond, a familiar voice squeals, "T!" Lacy jumps up and throws her arms around me. Her enthusiasm catches me off guard, but I hug her back.

"Hey, Lace. Been a while."
Lacy had always been the only person I could stand from our old group. Sweet, genuine, and just... light. But she'd drifted away after she started spending time with the tall blonde now standing beside her. George.
"I know who you are," George says without preamble, his accent sharp. "Sorry about your bloke." The comment is delivered with mock sympathy, but there's no malice in it. Still, the words sting more than I'd like to admit.

"Oh my god shut up talking George," Matty mutters, rolling his eyes.
"What? It's not like he's here to care," George continues, a grin creeping across his face. "Probably halfway across the globe by now."

The group erupts into laughter, but before I can process it, Matty's hand flicks, and something small and metallic sails through the air, landing with a smack against George's cheek. It's a lighter.

George rubs his face, theatrically offended. "That. Was. Assault, sir! But,"—he picks up the lighter and grins—"thank you. I was looking for this." He lights a cigarette, unfazed.

A tall, lanky boy with messy brown hair chuckles softly and steps forward, extending his hand. "Ignore George. He's always like this. I'm Adam." His handshake is warm, his smile even warmer. He gestures to another tall, awkward-looking boy beside him. "This is Ross. He likes penguins."

Ross waves shyly without making eye contact. I recognize them both, along with Matty, from their MySpace page, though I keep that detail to myself. No need to expose how deep I've already fallen into their orbit.

"And this is Sophie," Adam adds, nodding toward a girl with expressive brown eyes and a sharp, elegant face. She has the kind of smile that makes you feel instantly welcome.

"Hi, Sophie," I say, suddenly self-conscious.
She narrows her eyes playfully, looking me up and down. "So you're the one stealing Matty away every other day, huh?"
"What?" I stammer, my cheeks heating. "Am I?"
"Word on the street is you are," Sophie teases, her grin widening as Lacy giggles beside her. I laugh awkwardly, trying to play it cool, but my thoughts race.

"What're you on about?" Matty cuts in, clearly unimpressed.
"Oh, don't act innocent," Sophie retorts, smirking. "You know exactly what I mean, Healy."

Matty waves her off with a dismissive hand. "Whatever. I'm starving. Hand over your tiffin." He turns to Sophie with zero shame, and she rolls her eyes but pulls out a second lunchbox from her bag.
"My mum packed extra for you," she says. "She's sick of you stealing mine."
"That woman's an angel," Matty declares, already digging in. "Tell Petunia I'm coming over tonight to thank her in ways unimaginable."
"You're disgusting," Sophie laughs, swatting his shoulder

I pull out my own squished sandwich, watching as the group falls back into their easy rhythm. The laughter, the teasing, the camaraderie—it's intoxicating. For once, I don't feel like I'm trying to wedge myself into a space I don't belong. I allow myself a rare moment of ease, finally biting into my sandwich and letting the warmth of it all sink in.