matty healy imagines

honeycomb // matty ((part four))

- via xothemonsteryoumade on a03!!

//

Matty did, in fact, hear most of what George said.

He had heard everything up to what Matty assumed was a bitter conclusion, a sad one sentence summary of a life that George seemed to think was absolutely meaningless.
In Matty's mind, it wasn't meaningless though. All lives, to him, had a purpose, a reason behind why they were here. Maybe George was still searching for his at the time of his (most likely abrupt) death, and maybe that's why he thinks he was so insignificant, so utterly unimportant.

But most don't see their purpose till the end of an old life, a life full of experiences connected to each other like constellations in the night sky, some stars shining brighter and more brilliantly than the others. But George's just couldn't see the connection, all he saw in his night sky was an explosion of chaos, a mess of glitter dumped on a dark piece of construction paper.

Matty wishes he could somehow convince George otherwise, that his life very important and that he did have quite the impact on people, but he knew there was no way he could. He didn't know anything about George besides his first name, the little scraps of memories he shared, and his complexion (which was distorted by blisters and gore). It would be too difficult to dig into his past, a past that seemed to be lost in the tiniest stretch of time.

But maybe Matty could convince George that he was important now though, after his death. He didn't know how he'd do it, but he'd manage to find a way to, because he couldn't just let George believe that he had no purpose at all. A purposeless person is usually a miserable one, and Matty just couldn't let George feel like that, he fucking couldn't.

Matty would never admit it out loud, not then, not now, not later either, that maybe this was him trying to find a purpose too. He was just as lost as George, and maybe his purpose, at least right then, was to help George in whatever way he could.

So that, he did.

x x x x x x

It was six years later. Matty was at the age of sixteen; he was much more aware of the world around him. He now knew that his mom was a prostitute, and that the 'mysterious' stain that his ten year old self found on the couch was from cum.

He stopped wondering about what his mom was saying when he heard her yelling on the phone; he had found that during the last couple years, all the wondering would do is make him feel even more anxious than normal.

Anxiousness was a constant feeling to Matty; a prickling sensation that flooded his body on a daily basis, drowning out any rational thought, his lungs gasping for air, and his brain burning up like a cigarette. He was so bloody terrified every day; he was questioning his sexuality, his gender, his whole measly existence up to this very point, and the thought of being anything that's not a stereotypical cis straight boy made him want to rip himself apart at the very seams.

He wanted to be normal, and when everyone around him seemed like they were screaming about how weird and wrong it is to not be straight, to not identify with something outside of the gender given to you at birth, he felt like he had to conform to their standards. He was already bullied enough for being mute; this would all just add on to it, and Matty didn't think he could handle that. It would be the straw that broke the camel's back, the thing that finally made Matty crack underneath the suffocating pressure of the world around him.