Fell In Love In Stages // a matty healy fanfic

Last Day (Night)

We make our way down the familiar path towards the park, hopping over the very same 'No Trespassing' sign on the fence.
"So," I say, once we're settled in the middle of the grassy field. "I think I might- might- be having a harder time with this whole leaving-everything-behind thing than I thought."
Matty laughs. "You think?"
"Mine and Adam's university is just a ways ahead but I still feel this knot in my stomach. Couldn't imagine how you're feeling babe" Sophie says sympathetically.
"I mean look at us; not everyone has the honour of being in with us" George says as a joke, but I look around the circle and realise that no truer words have been said.
"It was always gonna be hard, right?" Ross quietly chimes in. "Even if we were all in the same place next year, everything would still be different, and that sucks. But it's also kind of the point, I guess. New beginnings and all that..."
A quiet falls over us and I look up at the sky, knowing that he's right. It was time to move on, and the more time we spent wishing it were otherwise, the harder it will be to let go.
"Mate," Matty says slack-jawed. "You don't say two words the whole night and you hit us with the most gut-wrenching fact out of nowhere?" To which Ross just shrugs and we laugh.
"But I still hate that you're all leaving" Lacy says with furrowed brows and arms crossed. "Seriously. It's the worst. And you're all the worst for doing it."
"I'll be here, Lace" George says with big hopeful eyes and Lacy let's out a fake cry. We erupt in laughter again and I raise my bottle to say, "To those that wish us well; the rest can go to hell"
"Cheers," the circle says, clinking bottles.
After that, the stories come thick and fast, punctuated by laughter and interrupted only by the occasional teasing. Above us, the stars burn brightly in the night sky, and the minutes continue to tick past as the seven of us sit there trading memories and fighting off sleep, hoping that this might be enough to hold back the morning.
It isn't until later, once we'd grown quiet again, once all the bottles have emptied, that Matty kicks himself off the grass, struggling to his feet with a yawn. "I think Trinity and I should head back" he says as he stretches and the rest follow suit. I hug each and every one of them and after we've said our final goodbye, Matty and I make our way to my house.
I glance at the wall clock hanging above my dresser when we enter my room. 2:40 AM.
I change into my pyjamas; Matty in nothing but his boxers, and get in bed.
"Crazy to think you're leaving already" he says, his eyes catching mine in the dark, holding my gaze, saying the word 'leaving' for the first time that day. "It's hard to imagine anyone else ever knowing me this well."
"But that's the thing," I say, looking away. "Somebody will. And then it'll seem crazy to you that you once thought nobody would ever know you as well as that random girl you dated in high school."
He smiles, a little sadly. "You'll never just be that random girl I dated in high school, you know. No matter what, even if we never talk to each other again, you're still part of my story- a big part- and I'm a part of yours. There's no changing that."

"What if one day we look back on this, and it's just a hazy memory? What if you and me—all this—what if it's not a big part of the story? What if it's just the prologue? And you said so yourself," he gives me a questioning look, "What's past is prologue."

"First of all, I didn't say that, William Shakespeare did" Matty says defensively. "And second, we must be at least up to chapter eight by now. Tonight alone has to be a whole chapter."
"You think?" I ask, fiddling with the pick he'd given me earlier.
"It is for me."
"Me too" I manage to say around the knot that's formed in my throat.
He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, then lets his hand linger on my neck, and the feel of his skin on mine sends a shot of electricity through me. His lips replace his fingers as he plants a soft kiss, and my face prickles with a sudden warmth.
This is the thing about Matty. This has always been the thing about him. He makes me forget about everything but him. I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, my bags are packed and waiting in the trunk of my father's car. Matty and I are in my garden, feeling the full weight of the moment. The time has come to say goodbye, but the words haven't caught up just yet. A breeze sifts through the branches of the trees that lean close to the house, and a few leaves come twirling down.
We hug one last time and I muster a smile, waiting for him to smile back at me, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks at me for a long time, his eyes taking me in as if trying to memorise me. Then finally, he offers a soft smile.
"So... really no contact at all?" He pleads.
For a moment, I want desperately to take it back. Because it was hard to imagine not being able to text him on the drive out there, not being able to call late at night, not getting messages from him between classes.
But I know this is the way it has to be, and so, with great effort, I shake my head.
Matty nods. "No phone calls?"
"Nope."
"Texts?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Emails? Letters? Postcards?"
"Sorry."
"Carrier pigeons?"
"Oh, sure," I say. "Pigeons are totally fine."
"Well at least there's something" he says with a grin.
"Matty," I say, grabbing the front of his shirt and giving it a little tug. Somewhere inside me, an army of tears was on the move, pressure building behind my eyes and in my throat. Soon, it will be too much.
"I..." I begin, but quickly falter.
Matty only nods. "I do to."
"I wish..."
"I know," he says. "Me too."
I step into his arms and rest my head against his chest, taking in his heady mix of cherry and tobacco scent one last time.
"It's been... sublime, minx."
When I tilt my head back to look at him, he kisses me softly at first. And then long and hard, with a sense of urgency; our kiss, only to be interrupted by a honk echoing from the driveway.
As I walk towards the car, I can't bear to look back, or I'm certain I might never actually leave, and so instead, I square my shoulders and walk straight over to the car and climb inside with my heart skidding around in my chest.

After a while of driving, I reach into my bag for my water bottle when my fingers graze past something unfamiliar. A thick piece of paper. When I pull it out, I see a vintage postcard with an illustration of the rolling hills of Wilmslow, Cheshire, we often had picnics in. I flip it over and read the words 'Please don't forget me and all the things we did. -M' and below that, a tiny 'no postcards, promise; starting now.'
I crack a bitter-sweet smile.
It was unfair. That time got in the way of us seeing this through. Whatever this may have been. We never stood a chance. I dove in fully aware of the consequences. And now I'm in freezing water.
The only thing left for us to do is to go out and find some more stories to tell, to start a brand-new collection of adventures and memories, to keep them close like the best of all souvenirs, and then one day, if we're really lucky, to find a way to bring them home again.