Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

Collateral Damage

The moment we step inside, my eyes are drawn to Gemma and George by the piano. Even from across the room, I can feel the tension radiating off them, heavy and brittle. The way Gemma's face contorts—a mixture of shock, pain, and anger—sends a chill through me.

"You!" she yells, her voice cracking as she points directly at me.

Matty stiffens beside me. My own heart races as Gemma storms toward us, the room falling silent in her wake.

"So you're the reason Matty can't look me in the eye when we fuck," she spits, her words sharp enough to cut.

But before I can even open my mouth, Matty steps forward, his face is twisted in anger. "Jesus Christ. What the fuck you on about?" His voice is low but edged with rage. "I don't do missionary because it's boring, not because of some imaginary connection to her." He gestures to me, exasperated.

Gemma's gaze darts between us, her expression both accusing and desperate. Then she zeroes in on me, her voice venomous. "So, what? You're here to do what, exactly? Pick up where you left off?

I open my mouth, but Matty's hand moves slightly in front of me—a subtle but protective gesture. "Gem," he says evenly, "we've been friends with benefits. That's all it's ever been. You knew that going in."

Her eyes glisten, tears pooling at the edges as she shakes her head. "That's not the point, Matty. It's not about what we agreed to—it's about how you treat people. You make them feel like they're special, like they're safe, and then you rip the rug out from under them." Her voice falters. "You make them think they're the exception, but no one ever is."

Her words hang in the air, and I feel them hit like a stone sinking into my chest.

Matty runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. "I'm sorry, Gem," he says, his voice quieter now. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought we were on the same page, but I see now that I was wrong. That's on me."

Her tears spill over, streaming down her cheeks as she whispers, "I can't do this anymore."

"Gem," he starts, but she shakes her head, stepping back. "No, Matty. Just... goodbye."

She turns and walks away, and for a moment, no one moves. The silence in the room is oppressive, like everyone is collectively holding their breath.

But my eyes follow her retreating figure, and suddenly, I'm not here anymore—I'm back in that bar, watching Molly walk away in tears. The memory comes rushing in, sharp and vivid, though I wish it wouldn't. How is it that every person who gets close to Matty ends up like this? Shattered, humiliated, discarded.

And then I think of myself. How safe and seen he made me feel once, how his words and touch made the world disappear. But that night on the roof—I remember how sick he made me feel, how disgusted I was. The dichotomy of it all is enough to make my head spin.

Maybe my memory is foggy. Maybe he wasn't as great as I remember. Because how can the same person who made me feel so whole also make me feel so broken?

I glance at Gemma now, her shoulders shaking as she wipes at her tears, and I think of Molly. They probably thought he was perfect too, until he wasn't. Until he revealed the storm beneath the charm.

And that's when it hits me: Matty is dangerous. Not in a way that leaves visible scars, but in a way that creeps into your soul and unravels it.

As soon as she leaves, the mood in the room shifts. It's like a weight has been lifted off of everyone's shoulders. George takes control of the situation and announces that the party is over. Adam and Ross thank everyone for coming and politely ask them to leave. The room empties out quickly, and when the crowd starts thinning, I notice Noah standing off to the side. His face is unreadable, but I can tell he saw everything. I walk over, guilt already bubbling up.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, my voice trembling. "I didn't tell you about Matty and me because... because I didn't think it mattered anymore."

Noah looks at me, and for the first time, there's no warmth in his eyes. Just exhaustion. "It's fine, Trinity," he says quietly. "I get it. People like me and Gemma—we're just collateral damage."

I reach for his arm, desperate to explain, but he shakes his head. "I'm just tired," he says, turning away. "I want to go home."

I watch him walk off, my chest tightening with regret. I thought Noah was too safe, too predictable, but now I see that's not necessarily a bad thing. Safety can be a blessing. But it seems I've squandered that chance.

The irony isn't lost on me. The way Noah looks at me now, tired and disillusioned—it's the same way I look at Matty.

As I stood there, watching him retreat, I realise that when you play with fire, someone always gets burned.