#iliwys

You sat in your little room in the rehab center you had just been assigned. It wasn't bad at all. A single bed, white sheets and you had a big window that let the sun rays enter the entire division. It smelled like rain that had just stopped and the mixed scent of aromatherapy oils, it was almost calming.

You had only been admitted two days ago, but for you it looked like a whole eternity. You had a really bad problem with fentanyl, that had started when you were just sixteen years old, and now you were here, because in reality it had gotten really, really bad.

You were in for ten whole weeks, if you collaborated it would be good, you would be instantly out, you could move on with your life, maybe forget all of this.

You hadn't thought much about using for the past few days, which was a progress, the only thing that fully interested you in the moment was writing in your notebook. You wrote poetry, about life in general, Indulging your artistic self, the only way to make you forget about your current reality.

Only if you didn't have to participate in the other activities like the group therapy sessions, the cognitive behavioral therapy…

You wished you weren't here. You felt like a bird in a cage, and for an artist that felt very extreme, it just didn't feel right. You were doing it mainly for the people around you. It hurts people too much, and it's tiring, you believed that. It's tiring to always have to be looking out for someone all the time, having to be surrounded by someone with such a complex problem with drugs.

By now, you could've been in the university you had got into. You could be studying literature to be a future writer, a true one, but you were stuck here instead. For your sake, and everyone else's, you were going to try to get better, one last time.

You sighed reluctantly, and you finally decided to do something else. The bed made a little squeak as you got up. Leaving your notebook and your fountain pen scattered on the unmade sheets, that same pen was the only thing you insisted on using to write because it had been a present from your dearest father.

You didn't think the people working in the center had a problem with you leaving your room, it was free time so you could do whatever you wanted, and well, that was relative because the only thing you could really do with your spare time was sleep, write, listen to music, go for a walk or smoke a cigarette. You chose that last option.

You walked for a bit around the corridors, you wanted to find somewhere private and a bit away from everything, without any people, so you could at least have a bit of peace and smoke to distract your brain from this place. Which it was ironic, you were here because of addiction, but they allowed you to smoke, you weren't complaining though, cigarettes never hurt anybody.

You clinged to the mp3 you had in your pocket, while playing with the wired headphones you had in your ears. No phones allowed was one of the rules, thank god you had at least brought it with you, it was kind old fashioned, but you couldn't imagine yourself living without music, especially for ten entire weeks.

Hearing the faint noise of voices around you, the sound of your shoes against the ground echoing through the entire hallway, the nauseous feeling of being away from home. When you finally took a turn to a bit more private area, you thought you would be alone and get a bit of tranquility, instead, you found a man in that same place you had just found. Sitting on the floor, back against a wall, he had really messy curly hair, and a cigarette between his fingers.

He had a tired expression, seemed pretty concentrated on whatever it was on his mind at that moment, staring blankly at nowhere. Sleeves rolled, showing the tattoos in his arms. He didn't seem to notice you at first, until suddenly for some reason he got back to reality and just stared at you.

He didn't seem annoyed, actually you couldn't quite figure out what he was thinking, he just kept looking at you, until he finally cracked you a small smile, which eased your tension.

“Want to sit for a bit?” He asked you, patting the place next to him.

You nod your head in agreement, taking a seat next to the man.

You rested your head against the wall and looked at him, he seemed a bit older than you, not that much older though, probably also in his twenties.

“So, what are you here for?” He asked you. You took a cigarette from your packet, as he offered you his lighter.

“I thought you would introduce yourself first.” You said as you took one first drag of your cigarette, your answer made him laugh.

“Right, sorry love, I'm Matty.” He corrected himself, he was definitely British by his accent.

You introduced yourself too. “It's nice to meet you Matty.” His hand was already extended, warm against yours as you took it, You let your fingers linger for a bit, as you felt the rough skin of his hands.

“And to answer your question," you murmured, bringing the filter back to your lips. You took another long drag, long enough that made your head ache, watching the cigarette burn between your fingers. "I'm here because of fentanyl.”

He was silent for a moment before saying something again. “I had a friend who did it too.” Matty said. “I'm here mainly because of heroin.”

‘Mainly’, meaning he had probably done other drugs before too. Ironically, even if you were an addict, you had always been too scared to try any other things, fentanyl was the only thing you've ever done.

“How long are you here for?” You finally asked, starting to get a bit more curious about him.

“Seven weeks,” he said, followed by a long drag. I've been here for one week already, which feels like a whole year.” He jokingly said. You understood him perfectly.

“Yeah, I get that, I'm going to be here for ten weeks, it has only been two days since I entered and it already feels like an eternity.”

Matty laughed at your confession, either way it felt good to share the same feelings with somebody else.

“You can always talk to me, you know, now that I know you, we will see each other around.” He said, throwing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray he had next to him.

“That would be really good.” You said to him.

You didn't imagine that you would actually talk to anyone in this place, you considered yourself a more introverted person, you thought you would probably just try to get through the whole program, and stay in your comfort zone without really having some kind of interest in connecting with people.

Although, it felt good to know that maybe you had someone to talk and share similar experiences with.

You thought that after that, Matty would just get up and leave you there, but he actually stayed while you finished your cigarette.

He asked you questions, like what you were hearing, and you two even ended up sharing your headphones, listening to a bon iver album while talking.

You told him that you wrote, he ended up telling you he was in a band, and mainly recovering because of his mates.

You recognize the name of his band from somewhere. The 1975, probably one of your friends had talked about it to you at some point, but you weren't much into British bands, but somehow it rang a bell. Matty told you that maybe you two could write something together sometime, which excited you a lot, the idea of actually having the opportunity of composing something with a real songwriter was quite out of your reach.

When Matty eventually had to get up and leave, you were left by yourself with your thoughts, you finished your second cigarette, and eventually decided to also get up and go back to your room.

The next morning you woke up with the biggest headache, probably from sleeping too much. You had gone to bed way too early the day before, and it was hardly nine in the morning at that moment. You sat a bit groggy on the mattress, looking through your half shut window, a grey sky, very cloudy. These past days had only been like this, which didn't help you that much to try and stay positive inside of this place, although you did like the rain, it was getting depressing.

You did the usual of the past days, taking a quick bath and dressing in something else other than your pajamas.

You head to breakfast, probably had group therapy by noon, maybe you would find Matty again and try to write a couple more things in your notebook.

By the time you opened your door you heard a very familiar voice, you looked to your left and right next to your bedroom there was Matty Healy, talking to some staff person, he had his hand in his door handle.

“Matty?” He looked at you in the same moment.

You had only realized now, he was just a room away from you. He looked as surprised as you, recognizing you were actually neighbors.

“How come that I didn't know you were next door?”

“I’m surprised too, but it's a good coincidence innit?” He said. “Walk with me?”

Before you even realised you were already heading towards the cafeteria together.

It was nearly empty, except for an older man sitting alone at one of the tables flipping a journal, a woman who kept putting too much butter on her toast… The sound of drops of water falling consecutively into the sink, the sound of it echoing through the room.

Matty seemed to know exactly what he wanted, as you saw him reach for some bread and a tea bag from one of the boxes that were organized purposefully in order.

You sigh as you reach for a cup from one of the drawers heading then towards the coffee machine.

In these two days you had been there, you were already used to the idea that for the next few weeks you would have to drink bitter coffee every single day, not even sugar made it better, it just tasted really sour, nothing like the coffee you had back home.

“I hate this coffee too, you should try their tea you know? Way better and doesn’t give you a bad taste in your tongue right in the morning.” Matty suggested as he showed you one of the boxes, ‘camomile tea’.

He seemed quite observant about everything around him, even when he didn’t look like he was.

You two sat in one of the tables near a big window, you content yourself with your cup of coffee and a fresh apple.

Neither of you talked for the first couple of minutes, just enjoying the simple morning silence, Matty kept stealing looks from you though, when you finally caught his eyes he dissembled his face away from you like you didn’t just see him staring.

“Am I that interesting that you just keep stealing looks?” You asked with a tiny smile provoking him. You rested your head in your hand, trying to catch his eyes again.

“You know, you should absolutely have a try of this tea, proper good.” Matty told you as he passed you his cup of tea, trying to obviously switch the subject.

“Right, you are very good at trying to change the subject.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Matty’s mouth, his eyes locked onto yours. You rolled your eyes right back at him.

“So,” he started, shifting his weight as he leaned a bit closer. “Any plans for today other than writing?”

Aside from group therapy later, your schedule was entirely blank. Just the usual routine: scribbling down a few stray thoughts in your notebook and maybe heading out for a short walk to clear your head.

“I think we have group therapy today,” you said, testing the waters to see if he’d actually show up. “You have it too, right?”

He offered a slow nod in agreement, as he took another sip of his tea.

“We should really write something together, you know? Like I told you before.” Matty said casually, picking at the loose thread of his sleeve.

“I thought you were just being nice.”

“I’m not, I was totally being serious.”

You went quiet for a bit, looking at the tattoos in his hands, Matty seemed to notice, reaching for one of your hands and locking his fingers in yours. You instantly blushed.

“So it's a date?” He asked.

“It is a date.” You said.

Matty finished the last drops of his tea, swallowing quickly before running a hand through his hair, messing up the curls even further as he stood up.

“It’s a promise, do you hear me?” He offered a quick, small smile, his eyes flashing with a familiar wink. “We’ll see each other at group therapy.”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. Before you could even open your mouth, he was already halfway across the cafeteria, slipping through the doors and leaving you by yourself.

You let out a quiet sigh, sinking heavily against the back of your chair. Your fingers stayed wrapped tight around your mug, just holding onto the warmth, still feeling the touch of his fingers in yours.

The plastic chairs were arranged in a tight, depressing circle, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing with a low, irritating hum that made your head hurt.

You were stuck on the far side of the room, exactly opposite him.

Matty sat in his seat, his knees flared out and his chin tucked into the collar of his oversized shirt. He looked entirely checked out while one of the counselors started speaking, but the second you looked up, his eyes were already on you.

You tried to focus on the girl sitting next to you, who was crying loudly into a tissue, but every few seconds your gaze pulled right back across the circle. Matty was tracking your every move. When you nervously bit at the skin around your thumb, his eyes dropped to your hands.

Both of you knew you definitely didn’t want to be there, so many other things that you could be doing with your time but you were stuck in this therapy session you didn’t even agree with.

Matty seemed to notice how you completely lose focus from reality, your mind rambling from thought to thought. When you looked at him again, he mouthed a simple “are you okay?”. Just to make sure, it was sweet.

You had to force yourself to look down at your sneakers after, your face heating up under the sudden weight of his attention. When you risked another glance, he was tilting his head back against the wall, a tiny, private smile playing on his lips just for you.

The heavy doors of the therapy room finally swung open, and the circle scattered.

you slipped down the quiet corridor to the empty hallway right by the courtyard door, the same dead end where you had shared a lighter the day before.

Matty was already there, since he had left the session earlier.

He was sitting right on the linoleum floor, his long legs bent at the knees and his back pressed flat against the wall. His shirt was a bit ridden up around his torso, he was just taking a cigarette from his packet when you walked up to him.

He didn't say a word. He just patted the cold floor beside him.

You sat down, your shoulder brushing his as you leaned your back against the wall too. For a second, the only sound was the distant hum of the building's vending machines. Then, he turned his head, his dark eyes locked onto yours, completely dropping the playful attitude from the circle.

He reached out, his thumb catching your jawline, and pulled you in.

The kiss was a little desperate like he had been holding himself, tasted like the stale coffee from the cafeteria and the camomile tea he had before.

His lips were soft but firm, pressing against your. Your fingers tangled into the rough fabric of his tin shirt, pulling him closer until the space between you entirely vanished. He wanted to do this since the first second you had talked to him, he had only realized that now. It was weird, because you barely knew each other.

When he finally pulled back, just an inch away, his breath was warm against your mouth. You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your poor racing heart.

“That was quick,” you whispered, your voice sounding small in the empty hallway. “Since we met yesterday.”

Matty didn’t let go of your jaw. His thumb brushed a slow, comforting circle over your skin, his lips twitching into a quiet, sleepy smile.

“Too soon?” he murmured.

You quickly shook your head in denial, which made him laugh, you didn’t want him to think for one second that you had regretted this.

His two hands around your face, he kissed your cheeks, then your nose, your forehead, your jaw… small kisses all over your face that made you laugh.

He dropped his hands from your face, but only to slide one arm around your waist, tugging you closer until your side was pressed flush against his chest. You let your head sink onto his shoulder, your nose brushing his skin, as you felt the smell of his cologne.

For the first time since checking into this place, the constant noise in your head completely shut off. There were no counselors, no schedules, and no heavy feelings in the back of your mind.

Matty rested his chin on the top of your head, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your hip through your shirt.

You sighed, feeling yourself completely relaxed against him.

The rest of the afternoon was just spent tucked away in your corner of the corridor.

With the door to the courtyard propped open just an inch, you two shared a lighter back and forth, watching the grey smoke curl toward the high ceiling before vanishing into the cold air. Matty sat with his knees bent, entirely focused as you finally cracked open your notebook, his fingers occasionally reaching out to smooth down a creased page or trace the messy margins of your handwriting. There was no pressure to explain the words; he leaned his shoulder against yours, listening with a sleepy, intent focus as you pointed to stray sentences and scratched-out paragraphs.

By the time the sun began to set and turn a dull orange against the floor, the initial tension between you and Matty had completely eased into something much more comfortable.

He spent an hour absentmindedly twirling your pen between his knuckles, occasionally nodding along or tapping a steady, invisible beat against your knee while you flipped through the pages. The clinic’s rigid schedule felt miles away from the dead-end hallway. For a few hours, the entire world was reduced to the scratch of paper, the lingering scent of tobacco, and the unhurried rhythm of you two spending time together.

The next couple six weeks passed in a calm hurry, faster than you expected.

When you entered this place, you expected to be nothing but unbelievably bored and home sick, but since you met Matty, your days have become so much brighter.

You two spent quite a while together, apart from all the other activities you had to do, both of you spent your days in that empty corridor, smoking and just talking… or in your bedroom, even if it wasn’t allowed. He preferred your room, saying it was bigger when it was obviously a complete lie because they were all the same, and that your window had a better view.

You spent hours and hours laying in the unmade mattress, writing things together, and Matty would so often hum a couple of songs to you.

He told you a lot about the band, the boys, also about his parents and his little brother, his life back in London. You would equally give him pieces about your life, talking about your parents, your friends, how you planned to leave the center and go to the university to study literature and become a writer, and he fully supported your dream.

Matty talked about the future a lot, a future that included both of you out of this place. He only had one more week left, but you would still have to stay four more weeks. It wasn’t that much time, but without him it would be hell.

“You know I think a lot about the band,” Matty started to say.

You were both laying on your bed, at the end of an afternoon, and it was raining unbelievably hard out there. His head was resting in your lap, while he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Me and the lads had just released an album in the beginning of the year , we had the tour, and now I'm stuck here.”

“You are almost leaving though, you should be happy Matty.”

You told him, while running your fingers through his curls.

“Does that make you sad? That I'm leaving?”

Matty asked, and for a couple of minutes you didn’t say anything.

You were obviously sad, that was obvious, you had just got used to this routine, having him around all the time. But eventually, this would all fade. You were a normal person with a regular life, Matty was a famous rockstar in a famous band, eventually he would get out of here, probably forget about you very quickly.

“I’m sad but I'm happy for you obviously,” You replied but didn’t finish your sentence right away. “I’m just terrified you’ll leave this place and forget me.

Matty slowly lifted his head, sitting in front you, you felt the mattress move slightly beneath you. He grabbed your face softly with his two hands and made you look at him.

“I won’t forget about you.” Matty said. He looked so serious and so sure of what he was saying.

“Are you hearing me baby?” Matty said, the nickname he had gotten used to calling you. He knew you loved it.

You just shook your head in agreement, not trusting your voice to say anything.

“I will never forget about you.” Matty said, placing a slow kiss on your forehead.

“Never. Do you hear me?”

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours. All you could hear was the beat of your heart and the drops of rain against your window sill. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t want to make him even more sad.

You two were interrupted by a staff member, which made both of you immediately get away from each other, a bit awkwardly. Susan was just reminding you to take your afternoon medication and telling you that it was almost time for dinner.

You sighed, letting your body fall in the bed again, Matty looked at you, and you both just shaked your heads, knowing it was time for him to leave.

“Meet me at nine in the hallway, alright?” He said, as walking to the door.

“Okay.”

You both sat in that same empty hall as always later at night, back against the cold white wall. You sat down next to him, your knees bumping. He didn't look up, but he shifted his hand just enough so his knuckles brushed against your thigh, letting it rest there.

"I'm getting out on Tuesday," he said.

"Management called after dinner. The boys are happy I'm back."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. You knew it was coming, but hearing it out loud made the walls of the clinic feel entirely too real. "Are you ready?" you whispered.

The silence that followed seemed like the answer. He wasn't sure what to tell you.

“I’m going to want to screw up,” he murmured, his voice dropping so low you had to lean in to hear it over the wind.

“The second I get back on a tour bus, I’m going to want it. Just to get through the two hours on stage, and then the sixteen hours of staring at a highway.”

He dropped the cigarette butt, crushing it slowly under the heel of his boot. Then, he reached out, his fingers catching your chin, forcing you to look at him. His grip wasn't painful, but it was desperate.

“But I swear to God,” he whispered, his thumb pressing into your jawline. “You’re the only person I’d ever do drugs again for. If you wanted to get loaded right now, I’d do it for you, you know I would.”

“Don’t.” You answered, pulling him back.

“Don't say that,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly as you forced him to drop his hand. “Not even as a joke, Matty. Don’t.”

He didn't pull away from your grip, but his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you.

“I’m not joking,” he said softly.

“I know.” You replied, looking down at your fingers that were still locked around his tin wrist.

“And that fucking scares me, i hate hearing you say those stuffs.”

“No more of that, okay?” You said, fully turning to him, and grabbing his face with your two hands, forcing him to look at you.

“You have to promise me Matty.” You dropped one of your hands, this time, offering your pinky to him.

It was a childish thing, but still you did it, you found the pinky promise something so utterly sacred.

He placed his cold finger around yours, tightly.

“I promise.” He said and you forced yourself to at least smile a bit.

“Good, that’s good to hear Matty.”

Before you two could get caught, you decided to get back to the rooms, Matty was risking sleeping with you that night, saying he wanted to get every second he had with you left, and that your bed was much more comfortable than his, which was probably just an excuse.

You were just finishing to brush your hair, the only light illuminating the room was a small bedside table lamp, with a warm orange light that you loved, Matty was already laying down, watching you and waiting for you to get into bed.

“You are so beautiful you know? Yet so unaware of it.” He said in a low tone, that phrase made you stop what you were doing for a second.

Placing the brush on the table, you got into bed next to him, as he pushed the white covers over both of you.

“You are just saying things…” you said, playing with one of his curls.

“I’m not.” He got closer to you, you could smell the menthol smell in his breath coming from his tooth paste, a pleasant sweet smell.

Placing a quick kiss in your nose you felt your cheeks getting warmer. You got closer to him, burying your face in his pajamas.

“Sleep baby, I will be here when you wake up.”

You completely relaxed against him, letting yourself fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

The next couple of days passed in a long depressing slow motion. In between rainy days without a single sight of a sunny day, and writing poetry in your notebook, waiting for the day that Matty had to leave was like waiting for a dead sentence.

The hum of the industrial dryers vibrated through the concrete floor, a steady, heavy rhythm that seemed to mimic the pulse thudding in your throat. It was past midnight. If someone from the staff walked in, you’d both be written up, but neither of you really cared at that point.

Matty leaned his back against a row of metal washers, his knees almost touching yours in the cramped space. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, his dark hair messy and curling at the nape of his neck, but his gaze, although, was completely fixed on you.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just watched your mouth, then looked back up, his eyes heavy.

“You’re distracting,” he murmured, his voice rough and quiet.

“You’re the one who followed me in here,” you pointed out, though your voice lacked any real bite.

A small, self-deprecating smile touched his lips, but it vanished quickly. He shifted, closing the tiny distance left between you. He didn’t reach for your waist or your hair; instead, his hand came up slowly, his knuckles brushing just below your collarbone, right over your heartbeat.

His fingers were cold, you could feel them, a different type of contrast to the humid air of the room.

You caught your breath, your eyes dropping to his lips. They were chapped, slightly parted.

“Yeah,” he whispered, tilting his head down, his breath warm against your cheek now. “Well. I’m an idiot.”

He didn't wait for a reply. He caught your jaw with his thumb, tilting your face up just enough to press his lips against yours.

You didn’t want to say this was a type of cliché love story, since both of you were stuck in this place, probably just missing the real world and the needy feeling of wanting love.

“I still can’t believe I'm leaving tomorrow.” Matty whispered, head against yours.

“I still can't believe it too…” You whispered back, holding your hand beneath his.

And you really couldn't put it into mind. The day was finally coming, you just felt a sad melancholic feeling inside of you.

“Please don’t forget about me, i know i’ve said it before, but don’t think i could survive that.” You said, tears pricking your eyes, you let them roll down your cheeks without wiping them right away.

“I could never forget you baby.” He pulled back just enough to get a better look of your face, wiping your tears gently with his thumb. “

“Please don’t cry, i don’t think i can bear seeing you cry I–“ Tears were now pricking Matty’s eyes too, you both stared at each other in the dark.

“I love you, and I'm stupid for saying this but I do.” Matty confessed.

“You were my anchor, I don’t think I could've done this whole recovery without you.”

“Matty–“

You tried to say but he stopped you.

“Don’t. Let me finish please.”

You only shook your head silently in agreement.

“I won’t forget about you. I promise you that, okay?”

He traced your jaw with his fingers, making you look at him, his dark eyes were glassy, his body slightly shaking.

“We are going to go back to your room, you are going to give me your notebook so I can write something down for you.”

“We are going to sleep, I will have to leave early in the morning but i will spend the whole night by your side, alright love?”

Shaking your head, you only made a small sound while nodding, you didn’t trust your voice.

The walk back to your room felt like a long way, the silent sound of your footsteps and the sound of the wind outside, empty corridors, you two practically walked all the way in the dark, your hand gripped tightly in his until you finally slipped past your door.

The room was dark, Matty didn't wait; he sat on the edge of your mattress, clicking a small plastic pen he’d pulled from his pocket while you handed him the notebook. In the dim light filtering through the window, you watched him flip to the very last blank page. His hand was still trembling slightly as the pen scratched against the paper, leaving behind his phone number and a short note with a scrawl handwriting:

+44 20 **** ****

Don't you dare forget me.

Call me the second they let you out.

- M

When he closed the notebook, he set it on the nightstand and crawled into the small bed beside you. He pulled you instantly against his chest, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge the two of you together. Neither of you spoke. You just listened to the frantic, matching rhythms of your chests, holding onto each other in the dark until exhaustion finally took over.

It felt like only minutes had passed when the cold air of the room hit you. The sky outside the window was still deep, ink-black, the sun nowhere near rising, but Matty was already shifting out of the bed. He looked down at you, his voice a barely audible whisper as he smoothed a stray hair from your forehead. “I have to go finish packing,” he murmured, his chest letting out a heavy, ragged breath. “I’ll be back before the car gets here. I promise.”

True to his word, he slipped back through your door just as the first grey, hazy hints of dawn were threatening the edges of the sky. He was dressed for the outside world now, a heavy jacket on, his boots laced, looking like the version of him that belonged to the outside world, not this quiet room. He walked over to the side of your bed and knelt down, bringing his face level with yours. You were already awake, your eyes wide with tears you refused to let fall yet.

Matty leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, right into your hair, before his face drifted down. When his lips met yours this time, it wasn't desperate like in the laundry room. It was so gentle, he was trying to memorize you. He held the kiss for a long moment, trying to make him forget he actually had to leave.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were glossy, staring at you in the dim of the room. He slowly stood up, stepping backward toward the door, his hand lingering on the handle.

You looked up at him from the pillows, your throat tight, using the last bit of courage you had left to speak.

“Before you go,” you whispered into the quiet room, “turn the big light off, please.”