Status: one shot;
Secret Better Kept
one of one
A groan sounded next to me, the chest I've been resting my head on caving inward. Matthew Healy was awake.
I shut my eyes, feigning sleep. I felt him shift and slowly move his body off of the bed. I didn't budge or even lace my arm tighter around his waist, this time, because this was routine.
Everything about my nights and mornings with Matthew Healy is routine. At least, it has felt like it.
I laid lifelessly on the bed, curling under the comforter, and savoring the heat from where he was laying a mere minute ago.
His feet made the hardwood floor creak, but I'm pretty sure he was trying his best not to make any kind of noise, no matter how much it could go unnoticed. I could just imagine the cringe he gave off due to that small creak.
As most nights together would go, we had yet another drunken hook up hours ago. It was the night of his band's first show for the US leg of their 2013 tour. We had not seen each other for almost 3 months—the last time being their tour as support for Bastille. Last night, though, was just the start. We have a whole 2 months of this.
It is now morning. He went to and came from the bathroom. I knew just what he was doing next.
My body went tense, as his lips made contact with my forehead. And then he stroked my hair, sweeping away the ones that had gotten to my face. I knew he stared for a second, like he was taking a mental picture of me, even though we would be sharing a room again in the night.
I heard the floor creak again. This is the part when he goes out and back to the tour bus, or sometimes his own hotel room. I heard each deafening foot step he made, walking toward the door. Soon, he would be out, and I'd be left longing for the body that fit so well next to mine.
But, I guess, there's always a first for everything. I took a quick peek, opening my eyes just a slit. It was hard seeing in the dark, but I saw enough; he was making sure that the locks were set properly.
I closed my eyes fully, depending on the sounds once again. His footsteps were soon making their way back to where I was.
He wasn't at all gone.
Matthew Healy broke his routine. He snuck himself back under the comforter and wrapped his arm around me again. I adjusted myself back to my position earlier and smiled against his bare chest.
This was the first time Matthew Healy stayed for the girl that kept her company in the United States. The secret girl, now more worth it, I guess, because he was now more cautious about someone finding out about what we did behind closed doors. I was his secret—his secret kept from friends, fans, and, most especially, his girlfriend.
I shut my eyes, feigning sleep. I felt him shift and slowly move his body off of the bed. I didn't budge or even lace my arm tighter around his waist, this time, because this was routine.
Everything about my nights and mornings with Matthew Healy is routine. At least, it has felt like it.
I laid lifelessly on the bed, curling under the comforter, and savoring the heat from where he was laying a mere minute ago.
His feet made the hardwood floor creak, but I'm pretty sure he was trying his best not to make any kind of noise, no matter how much it could go unnoticed. I could just imagine the cringe he gave off due to that small creak.
As most nights together would go, we had yet another drunken hook up hours ago. It was the night of his band's first show for the US leg of their 2013 tour. We had not seen each other for almost 3 months—the last time being their tour as support for Bastille. Last night, though, was just the start. We have a whole 2 months of this.
It is now morning. He went to and came from the bathroom. I knew just what he was doing next.
My body went tense, as his lips made contact with my forehead. And then he stroked my hair, sweeping away the ones that had gotten to my face. I knew he stared for a second, like he was taking a mental picture of me, even though we would be sharing a room again in the night.
I heard the floor creak again. This is the part when he goes out and back to the tour bus, or sometimes his own hotel room. I heard each deafening foot step he made, walking toward the door. Soon, he would be out, and I'd be left longing for the body that fit so well next to mine.
But, I guess, there's always a first for everything. I took a quick peek, opening my eyes just a slit. It was hard seeing in the dark, but I saw enough; he was making sure that the locks were set properly.
I closed my eyes fully, depending on the sounds once again. His footsteps were soon making their way back to where I was.
He wasn't at all gone.
Matthew Healy broke his routine. He snuck himself back under the comforter and wrapped his arm around me again. I adjusted myself back to my position earlier and smiled against his bare chest.
This was the first time Matthew Healy stayed for the girl that kept her company in the United States. The secret girl, now more worth it, I guess, because he was now more cautious about someone finding out about what we did behind closed doors. I was his secret—his secret kept from friends, fans, and, most especially, his girlfriend.
♠ ♠ ♠
!!!