#75blr

God, your day has been awful.

Its the only thing you can think of as you sit on the hard concrete outside of a dingy bar in the west village. the same bar you and your boyfriend— or rather, ex boyfriend — used to frequent. The same bar that from this day forward only be known as the place you caught your boyfriend with another girl. Dancing with her, drinking with her, kissing her. It made you sick. That everything you thought you had could be thrown away, that you could be thrown away. The very second you saw them together, you knew all you needed to know. You didn't bother confronting him face to face and only sent him a lazy breakup text before slumping down against the brick wall.

You feel the backs of your bare thighs grind against the rough concrete as your cigarette loosely hangs from your middle and index finger. As you bring it to your lips, the smoke fills your lungs and for a moment everything you've felt today is melted by the heat of the burning edge. In that moment, you close your eyes and take in that hazy feeling. Its not the strongest thing you can get your hands on but it does the trick just fine.

With your eyes still closed, you feel a shift beside you. Living in New Yorks conditioned you to know that a stranger coming a little too close to you in the middle of the night means nothing good.

You quickly snatch your phone from the ground beside you and clutch it against your chest. Your just about to push yourself up on your feet again and make a run for it if need be when you open your eyes to take in who's disturbed your much needed peace.

Instead of the scraggly homeless guy you were expecting to see, your eyes are met with a much softer sight. Though he could pass as homeless still. Maybe an usually hot homeless guy.

He's got curly black hair that falls against his face in a sort of messy lob. His floral shirt is practically all unbuttoned which reveals a large circular tattoo on his chest. His black skinny jeans have a large hole on his knee and even though he's not looking at you, you can see his dark brown eyes that practically glitter with defiance.

"Have you got another?" he asks, pointing with two fingers and nodding towards the cigarette that's still in your hand. It takes you a second to answer because all you can think about is his accent. British. Weird for New York.

A quick mhm is all you can muster out as you're opening the beat up box and handing him one. He takes it, lighting it immediately, before taking a long drag and letting his head tilt back to gently hit the hard brick wall as he blows the smoke vertically up into the air.

You sit in silence for a little as he takes continuous drags before he asks, "Who are you?"

"Y/n. Who are you?" You reply.

"Matty. You look familiar." His accent is thick as ever as he pronounces his name, almost entirely skipping over the two t's.

You can't help but chuckle a little, it's much needed after the days earlier events. "You don't know me." You say, smiling.

"Not yet." He replies.

Fuck. You pray the dim lighting hides the blush that covers your face. You don't respond, instead you take a long drag of your stub of a cigarette.

"You live around here?" He asks.

"Sort of. You don't, Im assuming." You reply, trying to keep your answers vague.

"Im just passing through on tour." He replies.

So hes a musician.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" He asks.

"Same thing as you, Id imagine. Cigarette break." You reply.

"Let me take you inside. We can get a drink."

That gets your attention. The thought of going back into the bar where your ex may or may not still be with some random girl sends your thoughts into a spiral almost immediately. You can't face him, you don't even dare to take the chance.

To leave Matty in a mad rush out here would just be rude. You don't even know each other yet, like he said. But god, you want to know everything about this tattooed stranger.

"I have to go." You say abruptly, shaking your head and biting the inside of your bottom lip.

His brows furrow as you both rise to your feet. He scoffs lightly under his breath, running a hand through his messy curls. You sigh, not fully wanting to leave but also not wanting to reject him and give him the wrong impression.

You swallow hard before saying, "Uh, give me your arm!"

You make a motion for him to raise it and he does as you ruffle through your bag. You roll up his sleeve, revealing more bold patchwork tattoos. His skin feels cold as you grab his wrist with your left arm, writing your number on his bare forearm in black sharpie.

You look up as youre writing it, catching him staring at you. His mouth is open in an half-smile, his eyes wide with amusement. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip before silently mouthing 'thanks' as you turn and walk away before you can do anything stupid.

The next day, 9:00 p.m

unknown number - hey unknown number - remember me? or were you drunk? couldn't tell.

you - sorry, who's this?

You know exactly who this is.

unknown number - matty, from the bar.

you - right. hey.

matty - you got plans tonight?

After breaking up with your boyfriend quite literally the night before, you should say no. You should be done with guys for a little, you want to be done with guys. You know nothing good's going to come from this, it'll probably end the same way the last one did. But the way you caught him looking at you last night...

you - totally free.

matty - me and my mates are playing at terminal 5. 10 pm.

you - is this your way of inviting me?

matty - your names already on the list. gonna be absolutely mad in there.

you - ill be there.

Its a bad idea, you know it. You barely even know this guy, or his band. You throw your phone down onto your bed as you click send.

You keep your hair messy and tousled, barely combing through it. You throw on your studded jean shorts and a loose, almost see through, black tank top that shows your lacy bra underneath. Your slouchy bag gets thrown over your shoulder and you quickly walk out of your apartment building and onto the bustling New York City streets. Without even taking a moment to think.

When you get to the door, the security guard doesn't even bother to check your I.D or the guest list. You just prance right in to the packed backstage area.

As you walk down the long hallway, you see a dressing room door open. Loud music plays over mixed conversations and the smell of weed is so strong it almost makes you cough. You decide this must be the place where Matty is.

You walk in, everyone turns to look at you but they all quickly go back to their own conversations which are probably about tumblr or drugs or whatever indie grunge band their seeing next. Everyones got a lit cigarette or joint in their hand which makes the room a little hazy. Some are holding cups of alcohol while a few are drinking straight out of the bottle. You catch a few people doing more illicit drugs out of the corner of your eye, its nothing new or crazy to you though so you just keep looking around.

"Ay!" Matty calls out from the sunken in black leather couch where he's sitting cross legged. He's wearing an outfit very similar to the night before but instead of a floral shirt, its plain black.

"Hey." You say quietly, walking to him then standing awkwardly in front of him. There's no room to sit thanks to the two blonde girls crowding the couch around him like vultures.

He motions for them to lean in and when they do, he whispers, "I think you lot should go. Hann might need ya."

They nod eagerly and quickly get up and go over to another area in the dressing room. You sit down next to Matty, leaning on the arm rest and angling yourself towards him.

"You want a drink, love?" He asks.

"Of course I want a drink." You reply, slightly looking him up and down.

All he has to do is make a motion with his fingers and a manager is handing you a red solo cup full of god knows what.

"Thanks." You say, a little amazed that he wasn't just in some garage band but a real one, with real venues and very real fans.

"Ive got to admit, I didn't really know what you looked like. Hard to tell in the darkness of a bar alleyway. I can see you clear now, though." He says, smirking.

"Oh yeah? That a good thing or a bad thing?" You ask, half joking and half actually wanting to know if he thought you were some catfish who was only worthwhile when under the neon lights.

"You've got a face straight out a magazine." He says, fully serious.

Kind of a lot for your second time meeting. You just smile and shrug it off, not knowing what to say. He seems to do the same, just now noticing he might have said too much too soon.

"So, um, is your band any good?" You say, trying to move the conversation along.

He cocks his head at you, his expression less intense than it was just a moment before. "Yeah. I think so. Actually, I know so."

"What's your band called then?"

"The 1975." He replies, his expression turning a little more smug as your face flutters with recognition.

You should've known, they've been all over Instagram and Tumblr. Everyone loves their grunge aesthetic, some of your friends even talk about them.

Just then, a manager peaks his head through the door. "On in 5" he says, looking directly at Matty before darting his gaze over to the other band members.

"Ive got you a balcony seat. Anyone tries to stop you, tell 'em your with me. Alright?" Matty says.

You nod your head.

"I better see you out there. You don't know the words, dance for me a little at least. Brighten my show up." He says, smiling now. He puts his cigarette out on the coffee table, chugs the rest of his drink and walks towards the stage.

You, along with some other people, make your way to the balcony. You secure a seat in the front row, which gives you a perfect view of the wild pit below you and the signature neon box sign on the stage.

to be continued!!