At Their Very Best // Matty Healy
He lights his cigarette and inhales without looking at you once. Blowing out the fire in your hand, he looks to the audience and explains how he’s in control of everything and everyone around him. That when he said the word “stop” he was able to bring the whole production to a halt.
Matty Healy // OC pairing.
01 // 10
2836 words.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/48124363/chapters/121353253
You’re waiting sidestage in your white lab coat, your cue coming up soon. Your arms are filled with various drinks: water for Adam, Gatorade for George, and another bottle of wine for Matty. Your iPad dings with another incoming email on the table next to you.
“Can we try that again?”
Launching up the stairs, you enter the main stage.
Rushing amongst the other coats to each station, you place their new bottles down and take any empties away. Pulling the cork from Matty’s bottle, you place it on the piano in front of him. He pulls out a cigarette and you reach for the lighter inside your coat pocket, igniting it.
“Stop.”
You freeze, the flame still flickering.
He lights his cigarette and inhales without looking at you once. Blowing out the fire in your hand, he looks to the audience and explains how he’s in control of everything and everyone around him. That when he said the word “stop,” he was able to bring the whole production to a halt.
“Go.”
You exit the stage.
~ ~ ~
Waking up the next morning at 6 am with bleary eyes, you drag yourself out of bed. Your routine is set, never changing despite how little sleep you may have gotten the night before. Hair in rollers, makeup perfectly applied, incoming emails responded to. You text the band’s group chat with their 30-minute warning before you start knocking on doors. Getting dressed, you do a last room check before zipping your bag closed and making your way to the hotel lobby.
Walking to the elevator, you check to see who hasn’t responded to your message yet.
George. It was only ever George. Halting in your tracks, you rummage inside your bag, searching for the spare key to his room. Walking back down the hall, you knock loudly twice before going inside.
The room was dark, but the sound of his snoring could be heard several floors down, you were sure of it. Wrenching the curtains open, you greet him loudly.
“We’re on the bus in 30, let’s go!”
Standing at the concierge counter in the lobby, you collected the room keys from members of the crew already waiting with their bags. You begin the slow checkout process, signing off on each room, and arranging payment details for any damages with a pointed look in Ross’s direction (he had a terrible habit of adjusting the showerhead to be taller to accommodate his height, but they always broke. Always).
Adam hands you a paper cup filled with tea as you’re finishing up the last of the paperwork, and you smile at him gratefully when he grabs your bag, placing it with the others. You signal to your driver, William, that he should bring the bus around to the front of the hotel as you’re nearly ready to head out.
The elevator doors ding open and out pours George, his bag open and spilling its contents all over the glossy floors. Matty trailing behind him, collecting shirts and magazines along the way.
“Mate, close your bag,” he utters frustrated.
“Shut up,” George moans.
Matty rolls his eyes and walks over to you, two sets of room keys in hand.
“This for me?” he grabs the paper cup from your hand. He knows it’s not but takes it anyway.
Patting your hip in gratitude, he drinks from it as he makes his way to the bus. Dropping the last of the cards on the counter, you finalize check out with a sigh before making your way to the tour bus. Throwing your laptop bag onto the table in the front booth, you do a head count.
You’re one short.
“Where’s George?” you ask in frustration.
Loud footsteps can be heard clambering up the stairs behind you. “I’m ‘ere!”
Appearing at the front of the bus, he’s holding two coffee cups. Handing you one with a kiss on your cheek, he takes a seat in the open spot next to Matty along the window.
You turn back to William. “We’re good to go.”
~ ~ ~
“Cut!”
Your cue is announced over the speakers, and you proceed to the stage. Moving to each of the band's stations, you listen to the crowd murmur in confusion. This was always one of your favorite parts of the show, seeing the audience try to make sense of the production. Placing another deck of cigarettes on the coffee table for Matty along with a lighter, you turn around to do your last checks.
Polly’s changed guitars, her long hair tangled in the strap. Rushing up the staircase to her zone, you gently help her pull the curls out, running your fingers through the strands a few times to smooth out any knots.
“Thanks, Britt,” she offers gratefully, and you smile softly in return.
“And reset!”
Your time is up, and you rush off the stage amongst the sea of other white lab coats.
Another successful gig down, and there was no denying the boys were truly at their very best. Celebratory drinks were being passed around from the ice buckets on the coffee table, and the band was starting to get raucous.
One of the stagehands from the venue steps into the room holding a mountain of pizza boxes and paper plates. Ross moves quickly to start handing out slices to everyone.
Standing in the back corner of the room with Matty, his arm is thrown over your shoulders with a beer bottle swinging loosely from his fingertips. He’s reading over the notes you’ve taken throughout the show and adding his own.
You’ve had to get used to your personal space being invaded during this tour, especially whilst in the tight confines of the bus. George had no issues with sitting opposite you in the lounge and throwing his legs on top of yours whilst rambling about whatever topic took his fancy that day (“Do ya think coffins are bigger or smaller than our bunks?”).
Ross’s booming laugh always permeates over your headphones, even when the volume is up. He’s joined you in the hotel gym a few times too, picking the machine next to yours despite being the only other person in the room.
Adam generally keeps to himself. He’s quiet, but whenever he wants to discuss anything with you, it's always in hushed tones, so you find yourself being the one who encroaches on his space more often than not.
Matty suctions himself to your side in the front booth of the bus when you’re sending emails. He’s got a terrible habit of needing to know what you’re doing every few minutes, often making inane suggestions that are irrelevant to whatever you’re working on. You don’t mind, though.
“Yeah, the strobes during Somebody Else were too long tonight. The whole front row had their eyes shut. It was too much.”
Nodding, you type quickly, jotting down everything spilling out of his mouth.
“God forbid the crowd not see you!” Ross laughed across the room with his mouth full of pizza.
Matty nods in approval of what you’ve written and leaves your side to grab a slice, laughing sarcastically as he goes. Polly joins you next, two paper plates in her hand. She offers you one, and you accept, putting your iPad down for what feels like the first time that evening.
“Thanks for your help tonight,” she extends after a few bites.
You beam at her appreciation.
“Do you wanna be friends?”
You stop eating.
The attempt to tread the line between friendly and professional during this job had been difficult. Every day feels like an uphill climb, but you can’t see the harm in having someone like Polly as an ally. Life on the road can be lonely. It has been lonely.
You’re not close with your family, and your best friend lives back home in Australia still. It’s been hard, sometimes impossible, trying to find the time to chat with her during the tour as you’re never alone or the time zones don’t line up.
“I’d love that,” Polly grins as she bumps your shoulder. You fall into easy conversation, small talk about the show, and some of the funnier fan signs in the audience that night.
“You comin’ out tonight, Britt?” Jamie Squire calls across the room.
All of the eyes in the room cut to you, and Jamie Oborne watches your response carefully from his seat next to Matty.
Shaking your head no, the band, including Polly, all booed and threw their balled-up napkins in your direction. Laughing loudly at their protests, you go back to your conversation with your new friend.
“You have to come out with us one night, you know.” She throws her plate into the bin near you and wipes her fingers on a napkin. “We don’t bite!”
“Oi! Speak for yourself!” calls George, and the room erupts into laughter yet again.
“Maybe one day I’ll surprise you all,” you conspire, and they disagree swiftly.
Once the band and crew have packed up their gear, it gets loaded into one of the minivans to be taken back to the bus. The group that’s continuing with the evening piles themselves into another van. Calling out their goodbyes, you remind them of your 6 am departure time the following morning and where the bus will be located.
Inside your van with Jamie Oborne and the mountain of suitcases, you’re sorting through the latest schedule changes in the calendar. He’s conducting his handover to you as the executive tour assistant role as he’s departing tonight. Jamie states how impressed he’s been with you so far as you’ve not succumbed to peer pressure. You’re organized, and professional always plus the band all have nice things to say about you.
For now.
He lays out his expectations now that he won’t be at every gig. A weekly rundown every Monday morning, a daily report on show days. You can feel the pressure he’s placing on your shoulders mounting.
“You’re the one who needs to keep a clear head at all times.”
Pulling up to the airport, he gathers his things. “If you can’t do this, you need to let me know.”
You nod in understanding as he steps out of the van.
“We always have a replacement in the wings.”
With that, he slides the vehicle door closed, and you’re alone.
During the ride back to the bus, you fire off messages to the band’s partners. One to Carly with a few pictures of Adam you managed to snap during the show. Another to Charli with an image of George you took from the pit. One to Ross’s dad detailing yet another hotel showerhead fiasco. Lastly, a message to Denise Welch, Matty’s mum.
You weren’t entirely sure if the band knew that you were in contact with their family or not. You’d taken it upon yourself within your first week, before the tour had even begun, to message their “in case of emergency” contacts introducing yourself.
What started as a quick message with your information in case they weren’t able to get in contact with their loved ones became an almost daily occurrence. You traded off information between each other like passing notes in secrecy. The boy’s favorite films, the snacks they liked, the kind of tea they couldn’t live a day without. You kept the bus stocked for them with their home comforts.
Charli didn’t offer you anything to help with George, but she did send you a list of vintage store recommendations along with some fun things to do in each city you were staying in. It was nice to know someone familiar with the States as you hadn’t spent much time there in the past, favoring European summer over California.
Denise on the other hand… you’d nervously met in person during the band's two gigs at Madison Square Garden in New York. She’d entered the room with an energy that invigorated everyone, pressing kisses to cheeks, and wrapping her arms around each of the boys in a strong hug. You’d felt a twang of envy before moving to introduce yourself.
You were barely able to get a word out before she enveloped you in her embrace, “We’re a bit past formality now, darling! How are you?”
You’d made small talk with her husband, Lincoln, and Matty’s brother, Louis before it was nearly show time. Walking with them to their seats, Denise looped her arm through yours.
“I hope those boys aren’t getting you into too much mischief!”
You laugh and talk about the strict schedule that Jamie has put you all under.
“That’s too bad,” she winks.
After the van pulled up to the bus, you unlock the door and start hauling bags into the back lounge room for everyone to find in the morning. Unzipping your own, you grab your chargers and plug them in with their various devices.
Grabbing your toiletries bag and your pajamas, you spread everything out along the tiny bathroom counter. When the band was all out for the night, this was the only time you could take advantage of having the small space to yourself.
Methodically you remove your makeup and brush your teeth before getting changed. Checking your emails as you climb into your bunk, you fire off any replies needed before you check the time.
1:30 am.
You set your alarm. 6:00 am.
You turn the light off.
~ ~ ~
Moving silently throughout the bus the following morning, you do a headcount to make sure everyone made it back in one piece. Sliding the black lounge door open, you clock George and Ross fully reclined over the couches, a bucket next to each of their heads on the floor.
Turning when you hear the tell-tale footsteps of William, the driver, you give him a small smile and a wave of good morning. He settles himself into his seat with an oversized thermos and starts the engine, the quiet rumble disturbing the otherwise silent bus.
DC to Atlanta was almost 10 hours of driving, not including breaks for snacks or the bathroom. You’d stocked the bus the day before to eliminate any unnecessary stops, but you knew that William would need to pull over for periods to rest.
Once you were satisfied that everyone had made it safely back, you alert him that you’re good to go and start to get ready for the day yourself. You relish the silence of the mornings on the bus (George’s snoring not included).
Sitting down at your regular spot in the booth facing the windscreen, you boot up your laptop. It would be a few hours before anyone got up for the day, especially after their long night before. Even so, once they were awake most of the group would shuffle to the back lounge to drink their coffees and converse quietly. You watch the sun as it slowly rises over the horizon and you get to work.
Matty was usually the first to wake out of everyone. He’d stumble into the little kitchenette area, pyjama pants slung low on his hips and his long-sleeved shirt pulled over his palms. He’d boil the kettle and make a cup of tea for himself and another for you as he rubbed his eyes. Every time he placed your fresh brew on the table in front of you, he’d pat your head and mumble a raspy “mornin’” before moving to the back.
You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t one of your favorite parts of the day.
That afternoon, Polly and George have joined you at the front of the bus as they nurse their hangovers. Putting in your headphones, your search continues for images that Jordan Hughes has already edited to post on the band’s social media accounts. Frustratedly, you add organizing the Dirty Hit online server to your seemingly never-ending list of tasks.
Quickly, you notice the air in your lungs freezing. Instantly it feels like flushing in your ears and your head goes fuzzy. Closing your eyes, you force yourself to take a deep breath in before letting it back out again. The weight of this job mounts wears on you every day and the imposter syndrome settles inside. The pressure Jamie has put on you, the pressure you have put on yourself is a lot to bear at times.
You are severely underqualified for the role you’ve been thrust into, but you try to overcompensate by working hard. Jamie took a huge leap of faith when hiring you, one he’s quick to remind you of with every misstep. What you lack in experience, you make up for in your attempt to absorb everything you can around you. If Oborne wants to fire you then you’re not going to make it easy for him.
Opening your eyes, you change the music over to your running playlist. The steady beat helps push away the intrusive thoughts and you turn the volume to 100%. Sitting across from you, George and Polly are watching.
02 // 10
