Matty Healy Imagines

At Your Doorstep

 I stepped out the door of the restaurant where I worked, tugging my hat over my hair and I lit up my cigarette. The night air was crisp, and I zipped my jacket up, grateful for the warm respite it offered me. It was a beautiful October night and the stars were peeking out amidst the light pollution. I relished the air that cooled upon my sweaty face. It had been busy for a Thursday night and although there was a heavy rush, I made a lot of money in tips so I couldn't really complain.

My walk home was easy, I had chosen this specific restaurant for the fact that it was close to my flat. I loved walking home at night if only to look into the windows of the houses that lined the street. They always looked so cozy and warm.

I neared my house and saw someone sitting on my steps. My guard was immediately raised and I curled my hands into fists. My neighborhood was safe and I had never felt a threat before but there was always the underlying threat of merely being a woman. I crept closer, ready to shout at the stranger when I saw it was my good friend Matty.

"Matty?" I spoke into the soft night.

He looked up wearily, a cigarette burning in his hand and a bottle of wine accompanying the seat beside him. I knew something was wrong. He had never visited my home like this before.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, scared to hear the answer.

"No." He said, so quietly I almost missed it. "I feel like everything's gone to shit."

My heart fell into a million pieces. He always walked around with such arrogant bravado, but I knew this side of Matty lurked underneath.

"Come inside." I picked the wine bottle up off the floor, feeling how light it was. There was about ¼ left. I felt my skin prickle with sadness. He trailed me, still silent. I flicked my lights on and set my bag down in my entryway.

My flat was small but it was enough for just me. There was a small hallway into the kitchen and I turned the lights on in there as well. I heard Matty sink into a chair at the round table behind me. I rummaged around and grabbed a glass, filling it up with water for him. I set it down in front of him.

I wordlessly took the bottle away from him, placing it by the sink. "Do you want to talk about it or do you want a distraction."

"I don't really know what I want to be honest with you."

"That's okay too." I grabbed out a chopping board and some vegetables from my fridge. "I'll heat some broth up and make chicken vegetable soup?"

He smiled weakly. "God, what am I doing here? I'm sorry. I'm intruding here. I'll go."

"Matty what? Who said anything about intruding? You know I love your company. To be honest, I've kind of had a shit day myself. Stay. Please?"

"Okay." He stood up and opened one of the cabinets, getting noodles out. His long black curly hair was spilling around his face. He had on jeans and a simple white shirt. His tattoos were stark against his pale skin.

I felt my heart skip a beat when he came closer to me. I continued chopping up vegetables while he poured chicken broth and noodles into the pot. I felt his presence disappear and immediately felt a hollow shell where he had been before.

I heard the sounds of jazz drifting through the hall from the living room. I smiled. He had put on a record. He came back in, nodding his head along to the rhythm. "I always loved your record collection."

"Yeah because you gifted me half of it." I said back, laughing.

This elicited a small smile from him. As the soup was bubbling away, I started to wash some of the dishes and he wordlessly grabbed a dish towel to dry them.

"So tell me about your writing." I asked, casually trying to get him to open up to me.

He sighed. "Well I feel like that's the issue with me. Every time I start to write everything is so depressing and then I feel like that's all I am. Just depressing. So it's rather a vicious cycle you see."

I nodded. "I understand that. But so what? Who said music had to be happy or upbeat? It's okay to be depressed. And I know writing music helps you so I think it would be worse to not write."

"I guess so."

We talked for a little bit longer, discussing our feelings and the general state of our lives. The soup was ready and I ladled it out into bowls. After a couple spoonfuls, I could immediately see the color return to Matty's pale face. His demeanor seemed to be lifted, as though he was waking up.

"This is delicious, thank you again. For letting me into your home."

"Matty, you know you are always welcome here." With him sitting next to me at the kitchen table I felt so fulfilled. All I wanted in my life was right here in the kitchen. I guess it had taken me so long to see that. I had wanted Matty for so long and I was just so scared to admit it to myself.

"Is there something on my face?" Matty asked, brushing a hand across his face.

I shook my head. "Oh I'm sorry I was zoning out."

"You can always stare at my face, you know." He said, a beat softer than before. Something in his tone was different. Gone was the joking way he always flirted with me. There was something different now.

I laughed, uncertain how to respond. I was frozen in fear of ruining something so beautiful. The idea of losing Matty as a friend by confessing feelings ran a chill down my spine. And it would forever change the dynamic. I didn't know what to do.

We finished our soup in an uncertain silence. I stood up to refill my water glass and he grabbed my arm as I passed his chair. He rose up beside me, still holding onto my arm. His face was very close to mine and I swore he could hear my heart pounding through my skin.

He put a hand to my face. "Can I kiss you?" He asked, softly.

"Matty, you're drunk. I don't want you doing things you'd regret."

"I sobered up. All I want is you. Why do you think I showed up at your doorstep? You are my muse. And I've been in shambles for months, tearing myself up about whether or not to confess my feelings. And I decided that life is too short to hold it all in. I want you. And I love you."

I didn't say anything, instead pressing my lips to his. He embraced me and I set my glass down on the table, plunging my hands into his hair.

I would've waited eternity for this moment all over again. It was perfect. He was perfect.