opia; matty healy.

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A/N: I just posted a preview for a new story called 'where are you now?' please go read it and get excited as I will be writing chapters ASAP (hopefully) to continue once this story is over!

Just in time for New Year's Eve celebrations, I've managed to finish my art final. I've spent the time since Christmas Day planning and completing every small detail of the project. The end product isn't exactly what I'd hope for, but it's good enough to get me a decent grade and the portfolio to go along compliments it ideally.

Matty and I have spoken a few times, once at four in the morning when he called me unable to sleep.

"You do know the time, right?" I said.

"Yeah," his raspy voice broke through the line, "I just thought that maybe if I hear your voice I'll be able to fall asleep."

He told me to tell him something, so I talked for an hour before he finally fell asleep and the line went quiet. I was tired when I ended the call, but my brain kept me awake, stimulated with teenage hormones rushing through my body and an overwhelming sense of happiness.

The second time we spoke, he texted me first. I'd been too absorbed in painting that he hadn't crossed my mind for at least an hour. The Maine's Imaginary Numbers fell across my room, blocking any outside noise – except the buzzing of my phone. His message made me laugh.

Do you think I could pull off a mullet? He wrote.

I put down the brush to reply: Are you planning on travelling back in time?

It might be possible soon, think about it.

Please don't get a mullet.

You're right, my curls might be an issue.

You're insane.

:)

I didn't respond after this, and I haven't heard from him since. The morning of the last day of the year, I finally put the paintbrush down for good. I store the painting against a wall for the time being, realising I had been painting well into the night and right 'till dawn.

I take a shower, I wash my hair and I make sure all the paint is off my arms and face. At 7 in the morning, I go to sleep, because it's the only thing I can think to do in my tired state. I sleep until 5 in the afternoon, only waking when my phone buzzes in my hand – had I fallen asleep holding it? I pick it up, my eyes still closed.

"Hello?"

"Issy!" Erica shouts, far too loud for my state of mind, "Are you coming to Ross'?"

"To what?" I ask.

"Ross is having a party- George, you said you told Isabel!"

"Please calm down," I groan, "I'll be there. Send me the address."

"Good! Bring Matty!" before I can second-guess myself – or Erica – she ends the call, leaving me in my silent room once again.

My phone buzzes soon after, a notification from Erica with Ross' address. I groan again, rolling out of bed and towards my dresser. I pull on a pair of sweatpants, trudging downstairs in search of something to eat. I'm still coming to terms with how normal things have become with my parents, finding it surprising when they're both standing at the kitchen counter in conversation.

"Where have you been all day?" Mum asks.

"Upstairs. Sleeping."

"Until five in the afternoon?" she laughs, "is everything okay?"