loving someone / matty healy

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙞 𝙨𝙖𝙮

I'd stayed awake for the rest of the night, partly because all the sleep had left my body the second I had to use all my strength to stop him from landing on his face, and also partly because I needed to make sure the idiot was still breathing.

When I knew that the sun was at the brightest it was going to get for a while, I tore open my curtains, feeling slightly bad when I took in the sight of his bruised face, but then I remembered all the times he'd done the same thing during our youth and thought... it is what it is.

His hands, which I noticed were almost as busted up as his face, flew up to his eyes, hurriedly covering them.
"Oh, you're alive"
"What the fuck was that for?" He tiredly gestured to the drapes.
"Retribution" I shrugged.

A few moments of silence passed before he looked down and realised that he was in fact topless. He looked up at me, mouth open.

"Before you try and make me seem creepy Healy, your clothes were drenched, and we used to share a bath so, nothing I haven't seen before."
"We were, like, two. A lots changed since then."
I looked up at him, for once not thinking he had said something stupid, because I agreed.
"Yeah, it has," another moment of silence. "So, you gonna tell me what happened or what?"

"How much did I say last night?"
"That some bloke battered you because you tried it on with his boyfriend," I joked, his eyes widened, and I put my hands up. "I'm kidding!"

"Good," he was biting his nails. "I mean, not about the gay thing, I just wouldn't intentionally kiss someone who has a partner."
I nodded.

He was lying on my bed, the soft pink blanket wrapped around his small body, back on the mattress and staring intently at the ceiling. He could never seem to take his eyes off that bloody ceiling. I had sat up on the seat underneath my window, reading about the discoveries of Aristotle and Dante, and sparing the odd glance at his sleeping form. I couldn't help but think of what he was dreaming about, and if he did have pictures in his head, were they as messed up as his face when he appeared at my window?

"Will you let me get you cleaned up?"
"Hmm, why not? You've already undressed me." I shot him a glare, grabbing his dark t-shirt off of the radiator in my room, launching it through the air at him.
"Happy?"
He sat up, grinning, but I wasn't so sure how genuine an expression of happiness could be when his eyes shown no sign of co-operating anytime soon.
"Mhm" was all he responded with.

"First Aid Kit's in the bathroom, follow me" and as I felt Matty's presence behind me, and as the wind breezed through the window, I became aware of the bareness of my legs, my upper thighs only just covered by the light fabric of the old shirt from Armaan - my boyfriend - I was wearing. I had meant to change, knowing he was sleeping in my room, but got lost in the book I was reading. Losing yourself in a world that will never be yours is terrifyingly addictive.

"Take one look at my arse, Healy, and your balls are getting it." He knew it wasn't an empty threat.
"I wouldn't dare" he grinned, that same false grin that, as much as I was annoyed by him most of the time now, made me sad.

"Your mum's not home is she?" I could hear the panic in his voice as he trailed behind me to the bathroom down the hall.
"Nah, she's left for work already. I'm not gonna tell her anything if that's what you're worried about." He was still silent, uncharacteristically so.

When we got into the bathroom, he hopped up onto the counter, swinging his legs back and forth while I searched for the First Aid Kit in the cabinet.

I returned to his side, stepping in between his legs as I used my fingers to gently tilt his head up, inspecting the damage as if I have a medical degree.
He hissed when I put my hand on his jaw.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
"Yeah" he sighed.
"Good"
"Fuck off" he laughed.

The evidence was clear: He'd been in a fight. But over what? Matty can be reckless and stupid, and although we're practically strangers compared to how we used to be, I still know him well enough to know that he isn't a violent person, and his fist wouldn't be as messed up as it is over nothing.

My thumb grazed over the darkening area of his eyes. He winced.
"I'll get you a pill for that, you know, for the swelling."
I took out the anti-septic wipes, raising them up to his face.
"I don't know if this is actually gonna sting, but that's what they say in the movies."
"Mhm, it actually stings" he groaned quietly once I started wiping away the, now, dried blood above his eyebrows.

Moving his curls out of the way, I dabbed away at his hairline, no wounds, really, mostly blood and bruising. His dark eyes watched me intently, not uncomfortably, warmly, more than anything. I said nothing as I examined the state he was in, wiping away any blood that was there from a superficial cut. In such close proximity, his breath smelled of smoke, something about him that I wouldn't have just discovered if we still spoke often.

"I've watched enough Grey's Anatomy to know that you're gonna be fine, but when your mum sees you, that's a different story" I patted his shoulder, instantly regretting it upon remembering that our relationship isn't as friendly as it once was. But he didn't draw any attention to it.

"Gimme your hand." He hesitantly put it forward, uncovering it from underneath the sleeve of his oversized long sleeve t-shirt that he had put back on. His hesitance made me think that perhaps he wasn't proud of the obvious fight that had taken place. My curiosity was kicking in.

I took his hand in mine, his fingers slender and longer, but rougher. His knuckles looked like they were burst, whoever he hit must have really pissed him off. It upset me, of course, to see such an external sign of pain on someone I've known my whole life, but what upset me more was the internal pain I could see when I asked him what I had been dying to know since he collapsed on my bedroom floor: "Matty, who did this to you?"