That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

Telephone you

/ / T E L E P H O N E Y O U / /

As it turns out, after the concert means the next day when I'm sneaking into the bathroom instead of working, to answer his phone calls.

"Bad timing?" he had asked, after I had answered in a whisper. I groaned, closing my eyes before clearing my throat and speaking louder, telling him that it was fine. I'm desperate to hear his voice and its sad and pitiful, but I miss him more than videos on the Internet can make up for. I want to milk any encounter we have together because despite all that's happened, there's still a part of me that feels this is all a dream, that I'll wake up and find myself tucked into Brian's arms, and would that so happen, I wouldn't know how to possibly move on. I wouldn't be able to shake the feeling that Matty has held me like this before, that the first night we spent together, I found myself entangled in his limbs, and I shiver as if I can still feel his shallow breaths ghost over my neck and shoulders. "Aright, Marcy?" he asks.

"Hmm? Yeah, sorry – I just...sorry," I fumble and blush and before I can stop myself I say, "I miss you."

"Yeah?" He asks and its all soft but maybe it's distant, perhaps he doesn't really hear me, maybe he's paying attention to something else, a TV maybe, I don't know, maybe I've dodged a bullet, but my stomach feels heavy and – "I miss you too," he admits. "Now, I do believe you owe me an explanation. Or phone sex. Which ever comes first," he's smiling, or holding back laughter, I can hear it in his voice and my cheeks hurt from the heat seeping into them.

"I don't actually remember ever agreeing to phone sex," I admit softly, and if he can hear the embarrassment in my tone, he doesn't comment on it.

"Hmm," he hums into the receiver "It was worth a try – don't sound so eager, love," he says dryly and I think I've hit a nerve somehow, "I'm not gonna force you or summat."

"What – no; Matty...?"

"Marcy," and when did it become a thing for him to mock the way I say his name?

"You're being mean," I say quietly, picking at the fray of my shorts, leaning against the basin of the sink.

There's shifting around and for once, his side of the line seems utterly silent. "I'm sorry I just – shit, sorry, just a bit bitter I guess."

"Did something happen?" I'm slightly nervous, or maybe I'm anxious.

"It's stupid," he mumbled, "Marcy, I don't really care for an explanation, you don't have to tell me, you owe me nothing, alright? I don't mind hearing about Arabella and your parents, but I didn't call for any of that. I just wanted to hear your voice, you know?"

And it's not that I don't get it, because I do, I want to hear him talk, but he sounds so put off and I'd rather know why. "It's not stupid," I say "whatever it is, I wont think it's stupid – I cried for a week when I wasn't allowed to be friends with this girl in my class because her parents didn't approve of my dads being together..."

"Marcy, how old were you?"

"Thirteen?"

"I'm twenty five, and I'm pissed over - over...some fucking tabloid – wait you have two dads?"

"Is...that alright?"

"Of course it is, love."

"It doesn't matter how old you are, Matty, it's okay to be upset...did you want to talk about it or...?"

"Its ridiculous slander that I should probably be used to by now. Tell me about your parents. About Arabella. Just, keep talking, alright?"

I nod, and it's become a bit of a habit of me gesturing a response when I'm on the phone. I tell him as much as I can. I tell him about my parents, how they met in high school, how they stayed together for over twenty years, how they adopted me when I was only a few months old, how Ella is Vietnamese and such a sweet baby, I tell him about the flamed flowers and Anna's praise, I tell him about Jamie and his tragic kink exploration with Drew and I talk until my mouth runs dry, only hearing slight hums from him on the other side.