A Matty Healy fanfiction. CW; Drug use/abuse, mention of emotional abuse/breakdowns, sexual content, foul language. ** "Your thing is doors, yeah?" "I'm Matty by the way." "I'm Archer, what's your thing, Matty?" "Cocaine."

Their relationship had been filled with its share of flippant and careless touches from the beginning, but Matty's hand on his back in the middle of the night meant something to him. It was intentional. It always had been. A reassurance in the dark that wordlessly communicated 'I am beside you'. //// A history of George and Matty told in brief vignettes, from alternating perspectives, over the course of 10 years. 13 parts.

Anyways, back to the plan. It wasn't a plan, it was a death sentence. He was my death sentence. I'm sure you've heard of the band The 1975. Matty has a bad rep, how could you not when you smoke weed and drink alcohol all the damn time. So apparently I have his mistakes from bar fights and drug abuse, but if it helps our band then I'll do whatever it takes. Even if it means I have to fake a relationship with Matty Healy.

WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual content. Not recommended for precious little eyes. Please remember to practice safe sex always and don't fall in love with boys like Matty. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My middle finger scrolled through the questions on my laptop, tapping loudly in annoyance. "Do you find yourself interrupted by sexual thoughts or desires as you are completing mundane daily tasks?" I asked him. Matty's index finger was tracing the square of his jaw now, which was atypically speckled with perfectly symmetrical stubble. I noticed every detail about him, the curve of his lips, the slant of his brows, the itty-bitty moles scattered on his face. "Sometimes," he answered. "For example, today, I was thinking about you in the shower, about how nice it'd be to fuck you against the glass door." I grinded my teeth together and clenched my hands tight. "Matty," I said, trying to be as firm as possible. "Those kinds of comments are inappropriate." Especially because I was imagining the same thing this morning, and for him to have been doing the same thing, it floored me. "You said to answer as truthfully and honestly as possible, Jones," he shrugged, toying with his hair. "My turn? Am I frustrating you, darling?"