𝐍𝐎𝐍-𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒

I think I might've inhaled you

LONDON, UK
9 Months later, May
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

London in May is warmer than I expected, I thought, taking a seat. The subway train was almost empty. I still couldn't get used to getting Ubers and I didn't have a license yet. There was something romantic in public transportation anyway, something melancholic about it, so nostalgic in a dirty and mundane context — I didn't know why the only things that attracted me possessed a tired beauty, a damaged beauty.

I looked at my own reflection in the window. Strands of blonde fell over my shoulders, and my bangs were almost covering my sleepy eyes. Of course, the boys had decided it was a good idea for us to go to a party last night. They said they wouldn't have any problems with the hangover, but I told them my Italian roots could outdrink them. Of course, I was right. This morning nobody but me answered our manager's phone calls, so here we are. I now had to do a radio interview alone and I was, of course, late.

I looked at my reflection once more. I had put a white top and a denim skirt on. A pair of white Adidas on my feet. Not really the rock star look. Not that I had to impress anyone. It was just a radio interview, nobody but the radio host would have to see me.

When I arrived, a young lady showed me where to go and when I entered in the room, Zack, the guy who worked for BBC Radio 1, stood up and went to me to shake my hand.

"I'm sorry", I told him with an apologetic smile. "I still don't know how to orient myself in this city."

"No problem, Arianna. Your co-host also just arrived."

Yeah, my co-host. Our manager, Jeremy, had told me that I would be doing a co-interview with Matty Healy. I had been too busy to check on who this guy was. I had been too busy to keep up with everything in my life lately. In the last few months I had moved to London, my band had dropped our first album and we toured Europe, opening for nothing less than the legendary Liam Gallagher — still fangirling. Too busy to check who this Matty Healy was.

Zack pointed at him. I followed his finger and I looked at the guy who was already sitting behind the microphone. I knew him. Of course I did.

Matty was waiting, wearing a necklace that looked like a bike chain and a red shirt that said question authority. Silver earrings in both his ears and his curly hair fell down to his forehead. It was longer and wavier than when I saw him in August. He was the singer of The 1975. I totally forgot about that night, but now memories flocked to my head.

Now that I was closer, I could see his face properly. I could even see the freckles on his cheeks. He was pale, after too many sleepless nights and God knows what else. His eyes were dark and tired, at least as tired as mine.

"Hello, I'm Matty."

He smiled. He seemed nice. So nice. I wasn't expecting that. I could hear my friend Diana shouting, don't you think he's fucking arrogant? He wasn't.

"Hi, my name is Arianna."

He frowned. "Where you from?"

"I'm Italian", I said. My accent gets me every time.

He raised his brows, his eyes gleaming. "Italy? Where? Not that I know anything about Italian geography, by the way."

He must be a northerner, I thought. Touring with Liam Gallagher taught me how to recognize when that bunch of incomprehensible sounds that leave your mouth means you're from Manchester. I still liked his voice, though. It was deep, a bit raspy.