Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

A Change of Heart

-Trinity's POV-

I walked into my office building, determined to focus after the chaos of the previous night. But as I reached my desk, the air shifted. There, resting like a crown of thorns atop my otherwise mundane day, was a bouquet of vibrant flowers.

A heady mix of peonies and wildflowers filled the room with an intoxicating fragrance. Tucked carefully between the blooms was a small pack of cigarettes. My fingers hovered over it, cautious, yet compelled. Sliding the pack open, I found a note written in bold black ink:

Meet me at the diner on the corner of 6th and Houston at noon.

No signature. But it didn't need one.

As I held the textured paper closer, a familiar scent wafted up—Tom Ford's Lost Cherry.
My stomach flipped.
Oh.
He was good.
They do say smell is the sense most associated with memory.

The rest of the morning unraveled in a haze. No matter how hard I tried to focus, my mind kept drifting back to him. Matty. His face, his voice, the sound of his name rolling around in my head.

When noon came, I found myself walking toward the diner, heart heavy with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

The door jingled as I stepped inside. My eyes scanned the space, and there he was, sitting in the corner like he owned it, one arm draped lazily over the back of the booth. He looked so different from last night— clean cut and put together. His hair was shaved from the sides. I couldn't help but feel a little bit intimidated.

I took a steadying breath and approached. He stood as I reached the table, flashing a warm smile that felt practiced. "Hey," he said, gesturing for me to sit.

"Hey." I slid into the booth across from him. Two steaming cups of coffee sat between us. He'd already ordered. Of course.

"So," I said, breaking the silence. "What's all this about?"

For a moment, his expression softened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I wanted to apologize," he said, his voice low, measured. "For last night. I was... out of line."

I couldn't see his eyes behind the black Wayfarers he wore, but the sincerity in his tone caught me off guard.
"It's okay," I replied, trying to sound unaffected. "I get it. You were going through something."

What I said must've hit a nerve, because just then his demeanour shifted. He straightened up, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Little bird," he said with a hint of condescension, "you overthink everything. Last night's behind me. Tonight's show is the only thing on my mind."
I nod, not knowing how to respond.

"You would think I'd have gotten used to this by now," he chuckles as he leans back against the booth and runs his hand through his hair.
I look around the room and only then do I notice how many people were staring at him. It was clear that he was aware of all the attention he was getting, but he had always been a little full of himself like that.
"What show?" I try to change the subject.

His smirk deepened, and he slid his sunglasses down his nose just enough for me to catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. "The one we're playing at Mercury Lounge. Haven't you heard? We've gotten better. You should come and see for yourself."

The casual confidence in his voice stung, though I wasn't sure why. He knew exactly how to get under my skin, didn't he?

"Bring whoever you want," he added, leaning back against the booth. "Just let them know you're with me."

I glanced around the diner and noticed how many eyes were on him. Women whispering behind their hands. The waitress stealing glances at our table. It wasn't just his fame; it was his magnetism. Matty had always drawn people in, but now he wielded that power like a weapon.

The diner had a strange way of amplifying Matty's presence. It wasn't just the all-black outfit or the way his leather jacket looked impossibly sleek against the dim light. It was his energy—different, sharper. He leaned back in the booth, shades covering his eyes like a shield, yet his confidence was laid bare, almost daring me to notice.

This wasn't the Matty I used to know. The Matty who laughed with reckless abandon, his T-shirts riddled with holes, jeans worn at the knees. That Matty had a warmth, a humility that made him feel like home. Now, he seemed untouchable.
The shift left me unsettled, like I'd stepped into a parallel universe where he was a stranger who just happened to look strikingly like Matty.

As if he could sense something was wrong, he takes off his shades and reaches across the table to take my hand.
"I know this seems random," he said, his voice softer than I expected. "But you should come tonight. For old times' sake." His lips curved slightly. "They don't say it, but I know George, Ross, and Adam would love to see you."
His touch was brief, but it lit something inside me. I missed my old friends.

I shifted in my seat, breaking eye contact. "I don't know, Matty," I murmured.
"This feels like playing with fire."

He chuckled softly, leaning back again, shades sliding over his eyes once again like a mask. "I get it," he said, his tone somewhere between resigned and teasing. "But just think about it, yeah?"

I didn't get a chance to respond before the waitress appeared, visibly flustered. Her hands trembled as she held the check, and her eyes darted nervously to Matty. "Excuse me," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you Matty Healy? Crom The 1975?"

Matty's grin was slow, deliberate.
"Yeah, that's me," he said, his voice smooth as honey.

Her cheeks flushed, and she fidgeted with her pen. "Oh my god, I'm such a huge fan. Could I... could I get a picture? Maybe an autograph?"

He leaned back, arms draped over the booth like a king on his throne.I would love nothing more."

I watched as she snapped a photo and giggled through her thanks, clutching the signed napkin like a sacred artifact. Matty's charm was effortless, and I hated how it drew me in even as it annoyed me. He turned back to me, his grin a little smug, his shoulders a little straighter.

"Let me walk you back," he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

I hesitated but nodded. It was hard to argue when he looked at me like that, with a glimmer of something almost... genuine.

On the walk, Matty oscillated between two selves. One moment, he was the Matty I remembered—attentive, gentle, asking me questions about my job, my hobbies, my life. The next, he was all polish and practiced lines, his words smooth in a way that felt rehearsed, calculated. I couldn't decide which version of him was real, and that uncertainty scraped at me.

When we reached the entrance to my office building, he hesitated, his lips parting like he wanted to say more. But he didn't. Instead, he gave me a small, almost shy smile and said, "Goodbye, little bird."

I watched him walk away, his silhouette fading into the city, and felt a pang of something I couldn't name. As I made my way upstairs, my thoughts raced.

For years, I'd poured everything into my career, building the life I thought I wanted. But now that I had it, the restlessness returned, a void I couldn't fill. Perhaps it's a part of my nature to be restless.

Memories I'd buried clawed their way back. That night. That girl. The way she'd draped herself over him, her head on his lap, the way his head fell back and his eyebrows furrowed in that familiar way... that made me sick. I stopped short, nausea rising. The wound I thought had healed split open again, raw and unrelenting.

I sighed, burying my face in my hand, feeling conflicted and confused about what to do next.