Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

Fireflies

Came home to an empty house again. Technically dad and a few of his colleagues were in his study, but he closed the door behind him, so I guessed I wasn't welcome. He did shoot me an apologetic smile though, so that counts for something.
Just as well: I spent the night reading The Final Days, a book about Richard Nixon and Watergate, and listening to music that wasn't written by Matty Healy. For dinner, I microwaved a burrito and poured myself a glass of lemonade. It reminded me of nights in California- except with colder weather and a quieter house. Lying in bed and reading felt pleasantly familiar.
I refrained the urge to look up Molly on the web and decided to heed what I'm sure would have been my mother's advice and get a good night's sleep. I took a shower and then lay in bed waiting for sleep to take me. My phone kept buzzing from all the texts Lacy and Sophie were sending back and forth, making plans for the gig this weekend. I put my phone on silent and finally fell asleep at half past eleven.
A decision I found myself regretting some hours later when I awoke to a light tap on my window. I checked my phone. 1:02 a.m. 3 missed calls. It took two more taps for me to get out of bed, still half asleep. I walked to the window and opened it just as a tiny pebble came flying in and missing me by a hair.
"Fuck. Sorry", I hear his voice before I even see him.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, still a little bit disoriented
"Walk with me?" He asks softly

I zipped up my hoodie and quietly made my way out the back door where he stood.
"Come with me", he whispered.
"Where?" I ask. In reply, he took my hand and led me. The lawn was bathed in shadows from tall edging trees, and even the flower beds disappeared into inky darkness. It was chilly and I shivered in my pyjamas. He was in the same clothes as earlier, except for a jacket, a few sizes too large, that reached his knees.
We kept walking until we reached one of the stone benches next to a small pond in the garden. We sat side by side, our jackets touching without our skin touching. He lit a cigarette and inhaled for so long, that half the stick disintegrated between his fingers.
"Do you know", he finally said, "that fireflies sometimes live only for a week?"
The ones he was watching now hovered over a clump of fluff-tipped reeds.
"That's sad", I say
"Why?" he looked at me, his big brown eyes shining just as bright as the fireflies in the moonlight.
I flushed. He made me nervous.
"Why is that sad?" he repeated
"Because that's such a short time... to be alive"
"But the firefly doesn't know that"
I said that was probably a good thing.
He stubbed out the cigarette and held my hand then.
"I realised something tonight", he said. "I really really like you. And I know it's only been a week, but fuck that, I've never been the kind of person who waits around not going after what they want."
Our hands still intertwined, his thumb making slow circles on the inside of my wrist.
"There are things in my past... I'm not too proud of. But that's where they are. The past."
I say nothing.
"But you're right about saying the honest thing", he sighs. "For us to move forward, you have to know my past. And I will let you in. But I need time", his voice earnest.
I wondered why I wanted to kiss him just then, and how to disentangle the messy knots of wanting. And I wondered why I was scared to turn my head toward him. We'd kissed before, on a night just like this one, but this seemed different. Seemed more... permanent.
"Trinity?" He asks softly and I turn towards him, our eyes meeting once again.
I suddenly wanted him bad enough that I no longer cared why I wanted him. I reached over, touched his cold cheek with my cold hand, and began to kiss him.
When we came up for air, I felt his hands on my waist, and he said, "are you sure?"
I smirked at him. I liked feeling his body against mine, one of his hands tracing my spine. I felt my chest tighten, his cold lips and warm mouth, his hands pulling me closer to him through the layers of our coats. I liked making out in the still of the night.
He started kissing my neck, and a thought occurred to me: I will be gone by the end of the year.
I told myself to be in this moment, to let myself feel his warmth on my skin, but now his tongue was on my neck, and all I could think about was the absence of it, his hand sneaking under my jacket, his cold fingers against my bare skin leaving imprints that will never be the same again. I was falling for him, diving head first into the abyss. Will I ever recover?
I pulled away.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded. "I just... I'm just tired..."
If he knew something was amiss, he didn't let it be known. Instead, he offered to walk me back to my door and hugged me goodnight.