That 000000 & ffffff || Matty Healy

Blood Is On Your Tongue As Well As Your Hands

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He listened to the interview with Bastille, Matty's not mentioned, though, of course, there's no reason for Dan to mention him really, but still, he wonders what the scenario is, where Marcy is seated, if she's even in the room, queuing her boss on time or maybe she's in the other studio with Jamie, or maybe she's running errands with Anna. Maybe she's on a lunch break with the blue haired girl Matty wishes he could remember her name - but he had always referred to her as the pink headed girl (to which Marcy corrected, "Lilac."), but that's not really plausible, because it was about eight in the morning.

He wonders if Dan remembers Marcy, but that's something she'd have told him, right? Something like: "Matty you won't believe it, but Dan remembered me! He said 'hey, you're Matty's girl, right?'" but none of that had been said to him. He knows she managed to get her dads some sort of exclusive at the studio but that wasn't recorded and all she had reported about it was "It was great, I'm their favorite daughter again."

To which he rolled his eyes, "I don't think they can pick a favorite."

To which she said, "Yes, well. Shut up." And it wasn't joking, it was slightly clipped and he thought he hit a nerve somehow, and he didn't mean to, but it seems as everything he's saying is causing her to bite back.

She said goodbye to him at her door, half sleepy and getting ready for Uni the next day; he's not even sure if she remembered him kissing her lips, softer than anything he's felt before, pulling her shirt as if to drag her closer. He's not sure she remembers the hushed whisper of, "I'm sorry," that he had managed before he left to meet with George (who wasn't as happy as he was at the start: "I didn't fly down here with you only to be trapped in a hotel for a week while you got your dick wet, you asshole."). And it's not like he even knew what he was sorry for.

Sorry for lying and taking drugs when I told you I've stopped. Sorry for getting a supermodel pregnant, granted it was before I met you. Sorry for laughing at you when you told me you loved me when all I wanted to do was say it back and kiss you until my lips ached. Sorry for leaving you again. Sorry for not calling when I landed because I couldn't bear to hear your voice.

Their phone calls are so short now; he can feel the drift transcontinental. She talks about her day some, but it's something a child would tell their parents after school.

"How was your day, sweetheart?"

"Good."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing much."

He meets the Arctic Monkeys briefly during a festival in Australia, but its nothing more than a pass. He takes a picture with Alexa Chung and posts it on instagram, and dances with Arielle Vandenberg, not sure if he's trying to get a reaction from his girlfriend or trying to spite Alex Turner.

"Okay," Adam says taking a seat beside him on some couch in a studio because they're about to start an interview, "What the fuck is going on."

"Don't know what you mean, but I could go for some coffee." Adam doesn't get a chance to respond because they're greeted by an overly cheery cameraman and pretentious interviewer who doesn't seem to like Matty's band.

He knows he's talking a lot of shit, being more of an asshole than usual, throwing out big names and quoting Kafka and Capote, as if trying to prove a point. Adam intervenes more so than he usually would, only to try to steer the conversation to the band or the music or the fucking festival for god's sake, "Why are we talking about Breakfast at Tiffany's; we just performed in front of thousands of fans."
It's later when Matty is out on the balcony, chain smoking a pack of expensive cigarettes that are pink and probably marketed to women, but what the fuck does he care, that George finds him.