playing with the air // m.h.

find me because i'll never find you // part two

            

find me because i'll never find you // part two

m a t t  y // p o v

After my endeavor at what was later announced as "loft" I decided to just head back to the hotel and regroup in the morning. Added in that I was absolutely exhausted due to the show last night. Luckily London was the last before our break, so I was able to sleep in. Unluckily, my sleeping in was interrupted by George roughly taking nearly half the covers off me; I knew I was a bit of a blanket hog, but c'moooon. So despite my late night, I found myself worming out of the king sized bed and wandering into the suite center, still only in my pants.  Adam was already fully awake and intently on his phone, while Ross was half limp on the couch watching something on the tv.

I made myself a cup of tea in one of the hotels basic white mugs, sipping on it slowly while tucked between the two boys now.

"So you didn't get it back to her?" George inquires after just walking out of our bedroom in his lounge trousers. I had tucked the case away in ours because I was trying to avoid any jabs from Adam or Ross, course I forget about my best mate. What a betrayal, George.

"No, I actually missed her by less than fifteen minutes," my cheeks flushed from the embarrassment of getting caught. "I got her home, so I'll call a car in a bit," I mumbled nervously, why was I so scared of their judgment? I wasn't doing anything bad, in fact I was being incredibly kind.

"Alright, I'll go with you," He plopped into the arm chair beside us, his longs legs a little scrunched up from lack of room. Hann and Ross shot him a skeptical look of disappointment, but just as Hann opened his mouth to make a comment George interrupts him. "What? You two are going out to visit family, and he'll go regardless if I tag along." He huffs quietly, "I don't want to be left alone in the hotel anyway, I'll get bored." With that Ross and Adam shrugged it off and went back to their electronics, not seeing a point in arguing genuine reasoning.

"No way," I spoke up. George only wanted to go because he thought she was fit, and I wouldn't have his causal flirting interrupt my interrogation. "You don't even know her."

"And you suddenly do, mate?" He shot back, not aggressive in any way.

"I was told some stories last night. I met one of her friends," I bite my lip, thinking back to the conversation last night and how my pulse sped up from the excitement of her life, even though I was only listening to second hand.

"Sod off, like what?" Ross had completely flipped his attention from the TV and turned his whole body to face me. "And what was her friend like? Just as wild?"

"I'm pretty sure he's a dealer, but they seemed close—he even had a nickname for her," I shrug, unable to think of anything else notable about that guy, "And he told me about the stuff she does, kind of bad ass truly." They all kept staring at me, waiting for me to go into detail. "Apparently she climbed the frame of the London Eye once," their eyes widened, "it wasn't very far up, but he said it was a date going bad, couldn't even bare the whole ride with him, just hopped out and down."

"How'd she even get out?" Ross asked, shocked.

"Not sure, I was too struck to really ask any questions." I start picking at my fingers, trailing onto the story about when she messed around the palace too much and had a guard chase her nearly four blocks, and then when she out bluffed the best card player in the entire casino and got his leisure car. The guys had impressed expressions on their faces the entire time. Eventually the conversation leads to other things, where they're going to meet their families in the city, what restaurant they were planning to go to for dinner, just casual things. I stayed pretty invested in the topics, until I saw the clock was a bit past ten, deciding now would be a good time to hop in the shower—before the boys left at noon. Within the shower I tried to ponder the situation better, what was I even going to say to her now that I saw her? Hi my name's Matty Healy and your drug dealer has told me a lot about you. How romantic. Wait—what, romantic? I found her fit but did I really have an interest in her personality? I couldn't, I hardly know her and she doesn't even know me; it was a fruitless thought. After rinsing out Adam's shampoo from my hair and scrubbing my body I go back to the room to grab an outfit from my suitcase. Something that said "Oh me? I was just in the neighborhood." After a few hisses of frustration, I matched my classic jeans with an entirely black oversized hoodie. I had only just tugged my trousers over my dark grey pants when George poked his head in, leaning on the door frame.

"You know I wasn't kidding about the joining you, right? I really don't want to be bored at the hotel today," he had his arms crossed and his eyes slightly hooded—indicating he was a bit high.

"Fine, but please don't shamelessly hit on her? This girl is... different," I tug the hoodie on, looking towards the wall as I mumbled the last word.

He scoffs, "As if you're one to badger, Casanova. You hit on birds all the time." I roll my eyes, unable to think of a come back. I wasn't going to just hit on Destry the entire time, but I sure as hell was going to strike a conversation with her.

"Get yourself together than, I'm calling the car now," I point to the phone and then at him.

"Yeah, yeah, give me fifteen."

About 20 minutes later we were in an Uber and driving towards her home address that the loft guy had put in my maps. As we pass more and more upper-class and modern apartments, I feel myself becoming even more befuddled about who this girl really was. George didn't look like he gave a flying fuck if she was the actual antichrist, however, just tapping his foot with the radio with some quiet humming. Finally the SUV pulls into an empty spot on the street, our driver letting us know the building to our left was it. Before I even reach for the handle I assess the architecture. It looked very basic, warehouse like even with its incredibly large windows scattered on each floor. As I'm trying to look into each of the windows, as if I'll see her there, George is tumbling out of the car with his long body; with a frantic look between him in the building I follow out, case in tow.

"What's the number?" He asks me, hands shoved in his canvas jacket.

"Apartment 6 it says." He gives me a lazy nod and heads towards the buildings entrance. We're greeted by rustic looking stairs, clearly the only way up. George and I drag up the stairs until the third level, a very plain door to the left of us with a metal six hanging off of it. I watch George step closer to the door, I'm just about to stop him from knocking first when he lets out a low chuckle.

"Nine," he half whispers.

"What?" I say with as much sass as I currently have in me. He points to the door. I step up to take a closer look, seeing directly under the numeric six, there was the long hand version of nine written in a black permanent marker. I look to George, who is wiggling his brows, and can't hold back my low giggles anymore—trying to still stifle them with my free hand.

"What a legend," George mutters, motioning at the door again presumably wait for me to knock. I think back to the instructions about the loft. Was there some kind of noise I had to make here too? Shrugging I just knock three times solid, stepping back and waiting for the door to open.

d e s t r y // p o v

            I finished rolling the bandage, setting it on the coffee table, knowing fully well Asher would throw a fit to put it back on as soon returned from work in an hour. It was irritating my socks though, its not like I was going to start doing jumping jacks after I took it off, I probably wouldn't even get up from the couch. I started on my second cup of tea for the day, genuinely relaxing in my position, happy to not work until very late.

            And just like that, with the universe saying, "fuck you", there was a knock at the door. I didn't think much to who it could be or if I was even decent as I walked to the door in only my black thigh highs, matching boy short undies (with the logo-ed waist band), and one of Asher's oversized long sleeves—featuring two girls in lingerie, heels, mysterious bunny masks over their faces, and an upside down cross drawn on ones stomach while the other holds up her middle fingers. I wasn't joking when I said Asher had a profane wardrobe.  I unlocked the handle and pulled it entirely open—again not my brightest move. My eyes take a moment to figure out whose in front of me. A tall boy with familiar grown out blond hair and a smaller one with wild curls and short sides, both darkly dressed and standing as if they were visiting a mate from school. Then the realization hits me, causing my eyes to go wide and cheeks to flush: last night, the green room at the O2. OH FUCK!

            Then I slam the door shut.