Fix You // Matt Healy

8

"Hey baby," 

I look up from my essay to see Matt standing in the doorway of my -- our -- room. I was working hard to hand in my final paper before my trip to America began. The only flaw: Matt decided he was going to come with me. 

It's not that I didn't want his company, but things have been tense since his latest fuck-up. I began keeping a journal of all the mistakes I've let slide just to remind myself it's okay if I need to give up. 

The pen I was holding slipped out of my hand as Matt's warm lips connected with my collarbone. His breath sent chills down my spine as he blew cool air onto the spot he just kissed. 

"I'm sorry, Elliot, I promise," he mumbles, tangling his hands in my messy hair and pulling me closer to enclose me in a hug. 

"I don't like knowing you're mad at me," he continues when he sees I'm not going to say anything, "I love you." 

Sighing, I rub my eyes roughly before I face him. I've lost sleep thinking about our fight, thinking about whether I should just say forget it and move on. 

"It's okay, Matt," I whisper, pecking him on the cheek. 

"Have a nap with me, baby, you look tired," he informs me, tugging me against him and laying down before I can object. 

I fall asleep in the arms of the boy that makes me the happiest and saddest. 

--- 

The wind dances around me as I hug my jacket closer to me and walk the short distance from my car to Aidan's house to hand in my essay. The lights are off, but he told me he would be home. 

Knocking on the door, I brace myself for the attractive face of my teacher. 

"He's not here," a gruff voice calls from the other side of the door. 

Defeated, I slip the papers into his mail slot and pray that he will be the one to find them. Matt watches me from the passenger seat of my car as I retreat back with a sour look on my face. 

"Not there?" he guesses once I'm back inside the warm vehicle. 

"Nope," I pop the 'p' before putting the car in drive and speeding down the road. 

He nods understandingly before turning the radio up and humming along to the songs. 

"Have you packed yet?" I ask him skeptically, knowing he hasn't even thought about it. 

"No, I don't know what to bring," the slight blush on his face makes me coo before pinching his cheek playfully. 

"I can help when we get home, don't worry," I assure him, a small smile rising to my lips. Instead of replying, he grabs my free hand in his and begins to trace my knuckles. The action is innocent and calming, something he's learned from me. Whenever we fight, I involuntarily play with my knuckles.