𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙮 "i loved him, but he loved the drugs more." the rushed story of a boy struggling with a drug addiction and a girl who was patient with him.

Alyssa is Dirty Hit's newest edition to the team working on the marketing for The 1975's newest album. She didn't know much about the band when she got the job but her first day in the office gave her all the insight she needed to throw herself into a world she never knew existed. Matty has always been seen as a bad influence due to his drug intake and constant partying, something Alyssa never took part in, until now. The story follows them as they go through life changes, read and find out where their adventure takes them. All scenarios are fiction.

I moved to London chasing air, distance, maybe a version of myself I haven't met yet. Music was never supposed to be more than therapy until The 1975's world cracked open right in front of me. I came here to find a job. Instead, I found them. And maybe, myself.

"you shouldn't have left, you know." "i don't know, matty. i think life's been better when i left you." - sequel to "takes a bit more" -

"You're pretty," his fingertips found my jawline, "When you cry." "Only then?" I smirked, lip quivering. My skin warmed where he touched me. He licked his lower lip, shaking his head. He palpated for my jawbone, tracing it up to my ear. "Your eyes get all glassy and bright," his other hand brushed over my lower lashes. My breath froze in my lungs as I tried to stay still for him. "Your lips blush up, all flowery and springtime." My lips parted for his thumb, which pulled and pushed my bottom lip. I was burning from his attentive gaze, his wide-open pupils and concentrated brow. I was convinced he could see the heat coming off me. "And your skin," he kissed the center of my cheek, open-mouthed and wet. "You taste like the sea." "I-" Any words I tried to form caught in my tongue as he tasted my skin, inhaling as he moved down my jaw. He exhaled, a sweet breeze, cooling my flushed cheek. "You're moonlight on water," he kissed my neck. "You're distant rain, clouds falling into the horizon." I laughed, pulling back to look at him, "What are you, then?" He shrugged, blinking, "I'm watching."

Amidst The 1975's - At their Very Best tour, a magnetic connection stirs between Isla Callaghan, a talented Irish photographer, and Matty Healy, the band's charismatic lead singer. As their bond deepens, the tale unfolds with a tantalizing undercurrent of longing, trust, and the delicate dance of unspoken desires.

You're in New York, loud, hungry, impossible New York, where everything's moving too fast and nothing ever really lands. Your best friend drags you out to some half-legal speakeasy, a hidden gem from people in the industry, swears it'll change your life like he always does, and maybe you let him. Maybe because it's easier than sitting at home with your own silence. You don't go looking for Matty Healy. You just find him, or maybe he finds you. Cigarette between his teeth, knuckles tattooed and jaw shadowed, half-drunk on something expensive and godlike without even trying. He's all sharp lines and soft ruin, the kind of man who speaks in riddles and sings like he's bleeding. You're a photographer...freelance, half-known, half-hungry..and you've made a career out of capturing chaos, but nothing prepares you for him. You shouldn't want him, you know that. But want doesn't ask permission. And once you fall in, it's like being dragged under by a current you didn't know was there. This isn't just a love story. It's about the wreckage you carry and the parts of you that music drags back to life. It's about grief that doesn't knock, about needing too much and trying to want less. You lose yourself in his world, in the green rooms and red lights, the 3 a.m. truths, the hangover confessions. The fame, the heat, the damage. And him, always him, in the eye of it all. It's not tidy, nor clean. It's real. Once it starts, there's no going back. So far, it's alright.