Salvation in the Secular Age {MH/GD}

Finale, Part Two

You guys I am updating after like 5,000 years of writing this freaking story! As you know, this is the LAST CHAPTER to the second (and final) part of my VERY FIRST story here. Eyes Bright, Uptight is where it all started, and I wouldn't have made so many friends and shared all my stuff with you had it not been for a silly little idea I had to write a fanfic about Matty Healy. Again, I am so sorry that grown up life has taken over and I can't update as often. I feel like this took me so long to write because it means it's like actually over over and my little characters are my little babies and I'm just having a moment... 

I hope you enjoy this! I love you all SO MUCH and thank you babies for sticking with me. 

Please play "Medicine" by The 1975 
                          "Pink Moon" by Nick Drake 

{Matty}

One of my closest mates in the universe was driving considerably over the speed limit somewhere in between Leeds and London. Because we were probably closer to Leeds than London, and my girlfriend was in labor with my first-born son, I was a little irritated and anxious to say the least.

My foot was tapping on the floorboard of Adam's new Rolls Royce, almost beyond my control, and my gaze went from the cars we flew past on the highway, to Adam's placated demeanor as he drove.

"I should call again," I said out loud, more perhaps for Hann's reassurance that it was okay to call your girlfriend for the thirteenth time as she is trying to rest and keep our baby in a bit longer.

Hann's chilly but comforting blue eyes didn't leave the road. "You shouldn't. Let her relax a bit. If anything significant happens, I'm sure George will call."

I nodded my mess of curls and took a deep breath, fumbling my fingers around and itching for a fag. I suppose I had to come to the realization that while I should have been happy that George was there to support Claire when I was hours away, there was a quite selfish and immature version of me that was jealous. Once again, I'd made a shit decision, and if I missed Leo's birth I'd never forgive myself. More importantly, Claire would never forgive me.

Hann again tried to be reassuring. "It's not like the movies, Matty. Labor takes hours--sometimes days."

Rolling my eyes, I finally found my pack of fags and lit one up, relishing in the temporary luxury of smoking. I knew I'd have to quit sooner than later because Claire thought I already had.

"Mate, can you not smoke in my car please? This is vintage but the interior is brand new and--"

"Fuck off, Hann, I'm obviously having a breakdown! The least you could do is offer a tiny bit of support, but apparently that's impossible," I said, taking a long drag and crossing my arms over the chest of my camel-colored tee shirt. "Also, you've seen those fucking shows where women give birth to babies in like, laundromats or a public toilet." I huffed the smoke from my lips. "And what if that happens to Claire? What if George can't make it because he can't drive with his disabled shoulder and they have to pull over and my little boy is born in the back of his Impala or something?"

Hann only shrugged. "It would make for a great birthing story to tell."

My lips curled up into a sneer at my dear friend and I flicked my fag in a swift, hard motion, watching the ashes disappear into the air on the road.

"I'm sorry, Hann," I breathed out. "I just--fuck, mate. I'm going to be a father. A real-life Dad."

Hann kept his eyes on the road. "Seems to be that way, yes."

"I'm not exactly the father type, you know? I mean, I chain smoke. I write depressing songs that sound happy, or happy songs that sound depressing. I'm brooding and mysterious and charismatic. Hann, what if I just don't have it in me?"