Exit Music
- Reads 310
- Votes 4
- Parts 19
Ongoing12h 16m
Last published Sun, Dec 12, 2021
"I- I made a deal," he states quietly as he looks at his feet, only managing to deepen George's still present frown.
"A deal?"
"A deal," Matty nods.
"What kind of deal?" George quizzes.
"Just a deal," Matty huffs. "Thought I'd do something about this debt of mine, is all," he says nonchalantly, shrugging one denim-clad shoulder.
Even though it seems stupid and reckless and like a decision he made on the spur of a moment, he's thought this through, and about any other possible solutions to his life-or-death situation, but nothing else could grand him the amount of money he has to hand in to his creditors in the three months that they promised to let him off before they bash his head in.
Or the one where Matty attempts to save his arse through a chain of poorly-thought out decisions, aggravates George, and in the process develops feelings that are going to complicate his relationship with him even more.
Trigger warning throughout: strong language, graphic depictions of violence, sexual themes, alcohol and drug use, addiction, slight non-consensual sex
All Rights Reserved
#352
the1975
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So far, it's alright.
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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦. ⁽⁽⁽ᵗʰᵉ ¹⁹⁷⁵ ᵒⁿᵉˢʰᵒᵗˢ⁾⁾⁾
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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.
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