Anything -- a Matty Healy Fanfic

35. The Beach

18+ :)

Also, if y'all ever see my notes/ideas for the story at the bottom when I've accidentally forgotten to delete them........ no you didn't :)

"Look at you two! You actually made it!" I heard George's voice interrupt what had become a long-winded explanation to Matty about my favourite ceramicist as we turned to see him exiting the elevator doors.

"Did everyone leave already?" I asked George in confusion as he casually strolled up to where Matty and I sat in the hotel lobby. 

"You're actually five minutes early," George replied matter-of-factly as he sat down across from us with a big smile. "I told the rest of the band 30 minutes because I knew you two would be late and I didn't want to have to wait around for you all," George said, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms behind his head, looking very proud of himself.

My jaw dropped as I looked at George in disbelief.

"You lied to me?!" I complained, offended, even though we were technically 15 minutes late... But George didn't know that.

"Well by the looks of that fresh love bite on your neck, Anna, I think I made the right call, don't you?" George said casually as his eyebrow raised behind his yellow-tinted glasses.

I blushed as I absentmindedly reached my hand to hide the hickey on my neck, remembering the way Matty's lips had felt on my skin mere minutes ago. Matty's chuckle broke me from my flashback and I whipped my head back to shoot him a look of betrayal. He raised both his hands defensively.

"He's not wrong, darling," he said innocently. I grumbled in defeat, sinking into Matty's lap as he wrapped his arms back around me, one of his hands landing on my neck, thoughtfully covering my hickey for me from George.

"So aside from sucking each other's faces off, what have I missed?" George prompted.

Matty explained how we'd just been talking about artists that had changed our lives and we all dove back into conversation while we waited for the rest of the band to show up.

Half an hour later, Matty and I lay curled up together on a large cushy daybed, hiding from the roasting hot sun under a large parasol as he read the last few lines of a poem from a Pablo Neruda book we'd bought in town on the way to the beach. We'd gushed excitedly over the book of poetry when we'd found it, happy to see it had the English translations opposite of every poem. I couldn't help but sigh from bliss as I listened to Matty's soothing voice speak these perfect words, the hum of it vibrating his chest beneath my cheek in such a comforting way.

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep"

Matty closed the book with a sigh.

"It's so satisfying to hear love spoken about in a way that resonates like that. I feel like so often I can't find the words to explain- truly explain- how it feels to be with you. And somehow Pablo figured out how to do it in a couple of sentences..." Matty ran his finger along my spine in thought as the band chattered around us, drinking beers and laughing in the sunshine.