matty healy imagines

ink // matty

🌸 via ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult on Tumblr !!

🌼 go read angelic if you haven't yet pretty pls !!

🌻 and also go read basic space which is my rant/tag book

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 “Are you sure about this, Matty?” I asked, eyes glued to the framed black and white old school, traditional, and Japanese style tattoo examples that hung on the off-white walls in the back room of the tattoo studio.

   Matty was lying on the black leather reclining client’s seat, wearing a long-sleeve black shirt that hung off his body, showing off his previous chest piece, and tight black jeans. He seemed impossibly calm, but that could have had something to do with the cigarettes he’d smoked before we came in.

    “Positive, love. What better way is there to celebrate our anniversary than with a little ink?” Matty asked.

   “But it’s so…permanent.”

    “That’s the idea,” Matty said. “I told you that you didn’t have to come.”

    “I wanted to. Thought I may as well be supportive.”

    Matty gave me that look that told me that he knew I was lying. Well, of course I was! Ever since he told me that his anniversary gift to me was going to be a tattoo on himself, I had been trying to talk him out of it. Since he had gotten tattooed before, the pain and permanent arguments were out of the window. So, I tried to tell him how research shows that it’s rare for couples to stay together after getting matching tattoos.

   “Well, we’ll prove them wrong,” he had said.

   Honestly, I did find it endearing how he thought we were going to be together for a long time, but I didn’t want him to get a tattoo that he would regret. If he broke up, he would look at it and be reminded of the stupid mistake that he made when we were together. However, I did hope that we wouldn’t have to break up ever especially after the whole debacle with my parents.

    Leon, the tattoo artist covered in colorful and interesting tattoos, walked in and sat in the artist’s stool next to his equipment .”So, you’ve decided on what you wanted?”

   “Yeah, I want Milady written across my right hand, right below the knuckles, in this,” Matty pointed to the script in the portfolio on his lap, “font.”

    Leon looked at it and nodded. “Can do.” He looked at me. “Nothing for you?”

    “No, no, I couldn’t.”

    “Why not? You’d look proper fit with one,” Matty teased.

    “We’ve already been over this: I work in a lab twenty hours a day, five days a week, and I need to look as professional as possible—no offense.”

    “None taken.”

    “I’m just here for support.”

    “Nice girlfriend,” Leon commented.

     “Thanks,” Matty said.

     Leon began doing the outline and I shifted my weight from one Stuart Weitzman over-the-knee boot to the other. The fact that Matty was getting a tattoo for me was not only sweet but solidified the whole “bad boy not worthy of me” idea my parents had of him. The brunch that my mother had invited me to after running into Matty and me was full of berating me for even speaking to a musician like Matty.