The plan was explained to you that day. They agreed you would stay in the car Matt was driving since leaving you alone could leave you in danger of being found or taken into custody. Mello would be the one to actually take Takada while you and Matt would distract her bodyguards by creating a smokescreen. They only mentioned Kira once, but you could understand the point of all of this. You knew that the only way for them to help Near was to die.
The car ride was silent most of the way. Matt couldn’t even muster up the words to hit on you. He knew he was going to die tonight; if not him then definitely Mello. Poor Mello. He remembered Mello telling him back in the day about how much he loved you, that he wanted to run away with you and live far away from everything. You didn’t even really get to say goodbye to him. Probably for the best since Mello wouldn’t have the balls to leave you if you gave him puppy dog eyes.
He fired the first shot of smoke outside the car window. You covered your ears from the passenger seat, not wanting to hear the noise of the gunfire and confused screaming. You drove off with him, watching behind you as Mello pulled up to Takada. A police chase began between you two and the authorities protecting Takada.
”Don’t worry, Babe. Everything’s gonna be fine,” Matt assured you. You had to admit he was hot. His laid back personality mixed with his good looks made him nearly impossible for you to look away. You wondered if he would come with you and Mello. You wondered if he would still be there when all of this was over. You wondered…
Police cars surrounded the two of you in a perfect circle. Matt lit a cigarette and looked out the window. As the men raised their guns at the car, Matt unbuckled his seatbelt, gave you a quick (not really) and meaningless (definitely not) kiss.
”I’ll be right back, Babe. Don’t get out.” He opened the door and stepped out with his hands up.
”Hey, come on! Give me a break! Since when were the Japanese allowed to carry around such big guns? You got me. I’m part of this whole kidnapping incident. That means you’ll have a lot of questions to ask.” He paused. “You won’t shoot-“
The sound of gunfire filled the surrounding area. All pointed at Matt. Instead of hiding away from the sound however, you watched. Dozens of bullets hit Matt. His blood stained the ground. He hit the ground, his blood staining the car window. You screamed, not caring if the police could hear you or not. You stepped out, hands up and shaking.
”Please don’t shoot! He kidnapped me! I wasn’t part of this!” You lied for your own survival. You opened the back door of the car, laying his body across the back seat. You weren’t just going to leave him there. You needed to bring him back. That’s what he deserved. One of the men talked into his comm, telling the receiver there was a second hostage. Before they could take you in for questioning however, you ran to the driver’s seat. Matt’s blood transferred from your hands to the wheel as you drove off. The car still smelled like him; smoke and natural scent. You couldn’t let yourself cry, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to see the road ahead of you. Matt was dead. Behind you. In the back seat. All those years gone. You had to find Mello, wherever he was.
Meanwhile, Mello had Takada in the back of a delivery truck. He told her to undress and to put all of it in the box in front of her. Mello watched, pointing the gun at her. To be honest, he’d never really wanted to see a girl naked. Even with you he wanted it to be special. Seeing Takada like this made him feel nothing, but he hoped he could see you like this one day in better circumstances. He threw her the blanket, giving her a chance to cover herself.
The news of Matt’s death came to him through the radio. As for the suspect who was gunned down earlier, we’re still unable to identify him. The police are still tracking the remaining suspects.
“Matt. I never thought you’d be killed. I’m sorry,” he thought. Then, he remembered that you were also in that same car. What if you were… no. If you were dead, they would’ve also mentioned you. They didn’t. You had to still be alive. You had to. You needed to be.
You were. You were still driving. You had lost the police by now and were heading towards the location Mello was supposed to be at. Matt was still in the backseat. You drove in silence until you heard a small noise. You thought nothing of it, assuming it was the wind. But then, another. A cough. A breath. Matt. He was alive.
”You really have a way of getting us out of shit, Y/N,” Matt coughed, finally regaining consciousness. You screamed, pulling over.
”Matt?! What the hell?!” How was he alive?! It was all over the news that the police had killed him! You were there! He sat up more, taking off his blood soaked jacket and placing it next to him.
”Don’t worry Doll. All that matters is that we’re not dead. How’s Mello? Any news?”
”No. I was just heading there now,” You said, still shocked. Matt laughed.
”Well then. Guess we could always-“ You cut him off.
”I don’t want you losing more blood, idiot. Besides, I’m saving myself.” He knew what you meant. He knew you loved Mello more than anything. He wouldn't get in the way of that, but he still wanted you.
Mello was stopped in an old church. He knew he was going to die. Kira would write his name and he would die there. That wasn’t the case, since you had opened the door to the truck and gotten inside.
”Hello? Who are you?” The woman said, seeing a shadowy figure enter the vehicle. She could see your name. She could’ve killed you right there. She just had to write it. She couldn’t though, since you had taken the paper from her by force and eaten it without a second thought. You left her there, helpless and confused, but not without a phone.
”Go ahead. Call Kira. You won’t be able to kill any of us.” She picked up the phone before dialing. Meanwhile, you opened the door to the truck, finding Mello with his head against the wheel.
”Mello?” He looked up.
”Y/N? Y/N!” He kissed you before stepping out of the truck to greet you from outside.
”I missed you so much,” he said, crying into your neck. He genuinely thought he would never see you again. He was prepared to die thinking of your last moment together, the years you spent together, and the years to come. He wished in the moment for everything with you. He wanted to run away, to have a house, to have a life outside of all of this. Then, Matt stumbled out of the car coughing.
”Damn, Mello.” Mello was in shock. Matt, bloodied and covered in bullet holes. He couldn’t believe he was alive. It should’ve been impossible. The car was also extremely tattered, and the three of you were still being chased.
”I’ll drive. Take care of Matt in the back. I'll get us somewhere safe,” Mello said, stepping back into the driver’s seat of the truck. You checked for Takada in the back. She was gone, which was for the best. You helped Matt onto the ground before taking any available fabric and using it to smother the wounds. Upon further inspection you realized that none of the bullets were fatal, which was surprising but miraculous.
”Yknow… Mello really does like you…” he said, choosing his words carefully.
”Yeah, I know.”
”But yknow… I like you too.” You stared at him blankly before kissing him. Suddenly, Mello’s voice filled the vehicle from the small window.
”Quit it you two.” You both laughed, which amused Mello as well. He wanted to see you both happy.
——————
Mihael stood in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the three of you. Mail sat on the couch next to you playing his game. A few months had gone by since the kidnapping, and Near had caught Kira, who turned out to be Light Yagami just as L said. Now, the three of you were living away from everything just as planned. Mihael had married you in secret with Mail as a witness, but both of them considered themselves your husband, and considered each other husbands as well. It was a balanced and mutual love that the three of you shared. That was, however, until you found out you were pregnant.
Both men hoped it was theirs, but there was no way to tell, so the best they could do was help you in any way they could. They would stand outside on the porch watching the sunset while you slept, talking about what they’re going to do.
”So… this is really happening?” Mail asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. Mihael nodded, silently taking everything in. He’d cut his hair a few weeks ago, feeling the weight being taken off of his shoulders. Then, he spoke up.
”I don’t know what to do yet, but I know that this is all the right choice. Don’t ever regret this. I love you… and her… so much.”
Warnings: Oneshot, smut, Avoidant!reader, f!reader, not proofread, small plot, use of y/n, kissing, use of ‘good girl’, fingering, abrupt ending.
You and Matt had just left his and his brothers’ birthday party. He’d driven you home and now you guys were parked in your driveway, sitting in the car.
“Did you have fun?” Matt asked as his hand rested on your thigh.
You avoid eye contact, looking out of the window. “Yeah it was cool, Nick did good on the decorations”.
Matt chuckled. “What if I did the decoration?”
You turn to look at him, shooting him a sarcastic glance. “Really? So did you decorate?”
He looks down at your lap, moving his hand up your thigh. “No…” he said quietly.
“Exactly”. You said stiffly. You glanced down at his hand on your thigh and quickly peeled it off of you.
“Y/n” His eyes focused on yours. Your name on his tongue makes you nervous so you look back out of the window. He reached up to grip your jaw turning your face back to his. You try to resist but your head is held in place by his grip.
“Ma-“ you try to argue but you’re cut off.
“Y/n” he repeats. You zone out as a few silent moments go by, your jaw still in his hand. “Hey, where did you go just n-“.
Matt’s question cut off by your mouth on his. He doesn’t protest and softly kisses you back. Quickly, you pull back. Looking at his eyes, then his lips, then is eyes again.
“Are you oka-“ he’s cut off once again by your lips on his. This time he kisses you more rough and deep. He strokes up and down your thigh until he’s had enough. “Backseat, now”.
You comply, fumbling to unlock your door. Once in the back seat, you sit waiting for Matt. The door opens and Matt climbs onto the seats swiftly.
“Matt-“ now you’re the one being cut off by both of his hands roughly gripping your shoulders and pushing you down. He clashes his lips on yours, kissing quickly down your jaw, to your neck. He sucks that sensitive spot on your neck, pulling a soft moan from you. He spreads your legs with his knee as his hand trails down under your panties. His thumb grazes over your clit, making your hips jerk up. Then suddenly he removes his hand from in your pants.
“Matt!” You protest, whining, throwing your head back against the seat.
“What? You wanna stop?” He says with faux sympathy. “Cause we can stop right now”. He begins to sit up before being pulled back down by your hand now on his shoulder.
You bring your face to his shoulder, resting your head there. “Matt, please” you whisper.
“Matt, Matt, Matt” he begins to ramble. “It’s always ‘Matt, Matt’ just tell me what you want!” He says sternly into your ear.
“Touch me” just above a whisper you respond in his ear.
“Huh?” He pretended not to hear you.
You pull back from him, resting your head back on the seat. “Touch me, Matt!” You raise your voice out of frustration.
“Good start” he whispers. “Where?”.
“Oh my god” you groan, closing your eyes. “Ma-“ you cut yourself off, taking in a deep breath.
He stares, analyzing your face, waiting for your command. “Down there…” he continues staring, waiting for more. “Fuck, Matt! My pussy, touch my pussy, please!”
A big smile grows across his face. “Good girl”. You fake cringe, pretending you don’t like the nickname. He quickly moves his hand back into his panties, where you crave it. His middle finger circles your clit slowly, drawing quiet moans from your lips. “Feel good?”
“More”. You demand.
“More?” He chuckled. “I could give you more”. He slips one finger into you, relief instantly spread across your face. You reach down to grip his wrist but he seems to already know what you need. “Yeah, yeah”. He slips another finger into you, this one leaving you with a slight burn, in a good way.
“Oh my god, Matt”. You say softly. This makes Matt let out a subtle moan. He adds his thumb to your clit, making the pressure build in your stomach.
Matt stares down at you, taking in your beauty “This what you wanted, huh?” He asks, increasing his speed”. You nod quickly. “Yeah? You gonna come for me?”
Your hips buck up into his fingers. “Mhmm” You half moan half answer as it slips past your lips. “Close” is all you can mumble out.
“I know” he smiles. “Just let go”. He whispers, maintaining his pace on your pussy. As he continues you feel yourself almost there then suddenly, your jaw drops open. A string of moans leave your throat, your head pressed into the car seats, hands trying to grab onto anything you can find. Matt continues fucking you with his fingers, letting you ride out your high.
You lay there quietly, chest rising and falling while you catch your breath.
“Got what you needed-“ Matt began before being abruptly cut off by you. Shuffling to get up, you reach over to the front to grab your bag from the front seat, then opening the back door. “What?” Matt huffs. “Y/N!” He yells, but it’s no use. You’re already halfway to your house door. Reaching for your keys to unlock it.
*Author notes*
First smut in like 2 years ahhhh. Don’t bully me omg.
Summary: the boys make a group chat, and invite you to the beach.
Read more, HERE.
The morning started with a text from Madison. Then the Sturniolos made a group chat.
You smiled to yourself, setting your phone down before looking at your reflection in the mirror.
The bright orange bikini peeked out beneath your loose white cover up, paired with light wash denim shorts. You’d curled your hair into soft beach waves and kept your makeup simple, just enough to look put together without worrying about it melting in the California sun.
You turned from side to side, making sure everything looked okay before giving yourself one final nod. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself “You’ve got this.”
Grabbing your beach tote, you double checked everything. Water bottle. Sunscreen. Sunglasses. Phone. Wallet. Perfect. Just as you slipped the bag over your shoulder, another text came through.
Matt: Outside.
You hurried downstairs, locking the Airbnb behind you before turning toward the black SUV parked neatly at the curb. The passenger window rolled down. “Morning, Canada!” Nick yelled from the back seat.
You laughed. “Morning.”
Matt climbed out almost immediately. Without saying much, he walked over and gently took the beach bag from your shoulder. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He gave you a small smile before lifting it into the trunk alongside everyone else’s things. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself. He was quiet. But thoughtful. Matt closed the trunk before opening the passenger door. “Shotgun’s yours.”
“You guys sure?”
Nick leaned forward between the seats. “Chris snores. He lost front seat privileges.”
“I do not,” Chris argued.
“You absolutely do.”
You laughed as you climbed into the passenger seat. Matt slid behind the wheel while they continued their argument before you’d even left the driveway.
“I wasn’t even asleep!”
“You were drooling!”
“I literally wasn’t!”
Matt started the engine. You glanced over at him with an amused smile. “They always do this?”
He let out a quiet laugh, keeping his eyes on the road. “Always.”
“I can hear you guys,” Nick called.
“We know,” Matt answered calmly.
You couldn’t stop smiling. The drive flew by between constant bickering from the backseat and Nick changing the music every thirty seconds while Chris complained about every song choice. “This one’s good.”
“No.”
“This one?”
“No.”
Matt simply reached over and turned the volume up. You laughed. “I think that’s the smartest thing anyone’s done all morning.”
“It usually works.”
The ocean came into view, stretching endlessly beneath the bright blue sky. Your eyes widened. “Oh wow.”
Matt noticed your expression. “First California beach?”
You nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
“It never gets old.”
The four of you unloaded towels, bags and a cooler before finding a spot close enough to the water to hear the waves crashing against the shore. You spread your towel onto the warm sand before slipping your denim shorts off beneath your cover up.
Once they were folded neatly beside your bag, you untied the lightweight shirt, revealing your bright orange bikini underneath. The California sun instantly warmed your skin. You slipped your sunglasses onto your face before laying back on your towel. The sound of the ocean. People laughing. Music drifting from nearby speakers. It was everything you’d imagined.
A few moments later you turned your head slightly. Matt was standing beside the cooler talking to Chris, but his eyes flickered toward you. Only for a second. Then he looked away. You smiled to yourself without saying anything. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you didn’t.
“Come on!” Nick suddenly yelled.
“The water’s perfect!”
Before you could answer, all three boys had already sprinted toward the waves. You laughed, quickly standing up and following behind them. The cold water rushed around your ankles as you stepped in. “You’re coming further than that!” Chris called.
“No chance!”
“You’ll regret it!”
“I definitely won’t!”
The boys immediately began shoving each other into the water, laughing so hard they could barely stay standing. Nick tackled Chris. Chris dragged Matt down with him. Matt resurfaced, running a hand through his wet hair while laughing. You stood a few feet away where the waves only reached your calves, arms folded as you watched them wrestle like little kids. “You guys are ridiculous!” you laughed.
“You’re missing out!” Nick shouted.
“I like being dry!”
Matt glanced over at you again, smiling before Chris splashed him directly in the face. “Really?” Matt laughed.
“You started it.”
“I definitely didn’t.”
After another half hour of swimming, everyone wandered back toward the towels. As you dried off, another group approached. “There they are!” Madison smiled.
Behind her were Tara, Gabi and Josh, all carrying bags and takeaway coffees. “You guys finally made it!” Nick called.
“We brought food,” Gabi smiled, holding up a large paper bag.
“My favourite words,” Chris said immediately.
Within minutes, towels had been pushed together into one giant circle. Containers of fruit, sandwiches, chips and cookies covered the towels while everyone helped themselves. Conversation flowed so naturally. You learned more about everyone. They asked about Canada. About your music. About why you moved. You found yourself laughing more than talking.
At one point, Josh accidentally dropped an entire container of strawberries into the sand. There was a collective gasp. “Five second rule?” he asked hopefully.
“No!” everyone answered at once.
Matt quietly reached into the cooler beside him before handing you another bottle of water. “You’ve barely drank anything.”
You looked down at the bottle before back at him. “You notice everything, don’t you?”
He smiled slightly. “I try.”
Your eyes met for just a second. Long enough that neither of you noticed Nick watching from across the picnic blanket. A grin slowly spread across his face. The afternoon passed quicker than any of you expected. As the sun began lowering over the ocean, everyone packed everything back into coolers and bags. “I don’t want to leave,” you admitted.
“You’ll be back,” Madison smiled.
“I hope so.”
“You definitely will,” Nick said confidently.
Matt picked up your beach bag before you even had the chance.
“I can carry that,” you told him.
“I know.”
The drive home felt quieter. Everyone was tired. Sun kissed. Happy.
Matt pulled up outside your Airbnb before putting the SUV into park. You unclipped your seatbelt and turned toward everyone. “Thank you guys for today. I seriously had so much fun.”
“You better,” Nick smiled.
Matt climbed out once again, walking around to grab your beach bag from the trunk before handing it to you.
“Thanks for driving me.”
“Anytime.”
You smiled. “I’ll see you guys soon?”
“You better,” Chris answered.
You waved before making your way up the walkway. Pulling your keys from your bag, you unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Only after the door clicked shut did Matt finally start the engine. Nick looked out the passenger window before turning toward his brother. “You waited.”
Matt looked over. “For what?”
“You didn’t drive away until she got inside.”
Matt shrugged casually. “I wanted to make sure she got in.”
Chris exchanged a knowing look with Nick. Neither of them said anything. Nick simply smiled to himself before looking back out the windshield. Matt had only known the Canadian singer for a couple days, but it seemed like they were getting closer.
“Matt I can’t do this anymore I’m sorry.” You said when you both had just started college, and the reason was that you wanted new things, especially for yourself, and all you remembered Matt saying “oh” and he walked away with nothing else to say.
And that was 4 months ago, you were still excited to experience college but not having Matt in your life anymore was still hurting more then anything, this was the first time you’ve actually been out the house.
Your friends and family hated that you broken up with Matt, too them he was “amazing” “Kind” “A good man”
And he was but they didn’t understand why you left him for college except your friends.
So when your mum pulled up to your new college and you got the car, you were excited to spend the next 3 years here.
But what you wasn’t expecting was to see Matt walk into the boys side of the campus, you’re body went into shock, your head was spinning.
“When did Matt say he was coming to this college… NEVER” you’re head screamed.
“Mum?” “Yeah sweetheart” your mum said back with a box of stuff she’s holding. “I’ve just seen Matt”
“What?” “Where.”
And as you was about to say “over there” he walked into the campus building with a box in he’s hands.
As timed past, you’d already seen your dorm room and thank god you don’t have to share it with anyone.
But all you wanted to do was call your friend ‘Lyla’ and tell her that you seen Matt…
you grabbed your phone from your bag, before calling Lyla.
The phone rang twice before she answered.
"Hey! Have you settled in already?" she asked happily.
"Lyla..." you whispered, your voice uncomfortable.
"What? What's happened?"
"I've just seen Matt."
There was silence.
"What do you mean you've seen Matt?" she finally asked.
"He's here. At this college." "No, he isn't."
"I'm serious. I watched him carry a box into the boys' accommodation."
"Oh my God..."
"I don't know what to do," you admitted, sinking onto your bed.
Lyla sighed.
"Maybe it's just a coincidence."
"A coincidence? Out of all the colleges in the country, he ends up at mine?"
“I know it sounds crazy, but you know he could have applied before you broke up?”
You sat staring at the blank wall in front of you. “Maybe…” you muttered, although you didn't believe it.
"Listen," Lyla said, "don't let this ruin today. You came here for you, remember? Don't spend your first day worrying about Matt?.
You smiled weakly.
"I'll try."
"Good. Now unpack your room, meet some people, and if you bump into him..."
"What?"
"Just be normal. You don't owe him anything." She said before ending the phone call..
you placed your phone beside, Maybe Lyla was right.
Maybe seeing Matt today was the last time your paths would cross.
With that thought, you stood up and began unpacking your clothes, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.
About an hour later, there was a knock at your door. You frowned.
You weren't expecting anyone.
Slowly, you walked over and opened it.
Standing in the hallway was a girl with long brown hair, holding two takeaway coffees and wearing the biggest smile.
"Hi! I'm Sammy," she said. "I live two doors down. A few of us are going to explore campus before the welcome meeting. Want to come?"
"Yeah... I'd like that."
The group wandered around campus laughing, pointing out different buildings and trying to work out where everything was. For the first time all day, you almost forgot about Matt.
As everyone headed towards the student union for the welcome talk, you looked up at the stage where the new students were gathering.
Your heart stopped.
Matt was standing only a few feet away, talking to another group of students.
He looked different.
His hair was shorter, he seemed taller somehow, and looking terrible.
As if he felt someone watching him, he turned his head.
Your eyes met. neither of you moved.
Then a teacher got on stage and said into the mic “hello everyone please sit down, boys on the right and girls on the left”
“Thank god” you said in your head at least now you know that he’s not doing better than you about you breaking up…
warnings: smut, p in v (not protected so wrap before you tap !), little bit of dirty talk, nicknames: darlin' / slvt, vampire bites, little bit of bleeding (heals fast !), and a little forbidden, 444 words !
you were just chilling in your coffin, with a special person... you weren't allowed to be together, basically forbidden. but here you guys are, doing it in your coffin. you know he shouldn't, baddest guy in this town, the one your family would never approve of, was in your coffin doing you. you know it's allowed, but like, what they won't know won't hurt right...?
but as much as you should tell him go get out, it's just, to good... but here you were with the baddest guy and most crushed on guy in town by every girl, doing you like there's no tomorrow, leaving big vampire marks on your neck, a little bit of bleeding, but heals fast because like, duh. but he was here making you feel so damn good and dirty talk that's even better.
"mhm, taking me so well darin'...", "yeah take it, you fucking slvt", "doing so well for me darlin', aren't you ?" and all those sorts, mix of sweet and dominance, like him. always had sweetness for you but is dripping of dominance, it's like his fragrance, and girls follow it. but parents always forbid it. but not like anyone ever cared, still doing it with him, because not only does he have the looks, he's also got something in other departments... that is another reason the girls chase, but guess who gets it more 👀 (you.)
but anyways, even after having just the roughest sex known to man, even known to vampires (not literally, figuratively.) the after care is like a whole new person, he's the sweetest guy ever like he didn't just call you a slvt a second ago. but, don't get it wrong, you love the damn rough sex, and also the sweet sweet after care... but after making you come like, so many damn times, he's giving you the sweetest after care, cleaning you up in the shower carefully, leaving little kisses on your shoulder while he helps clean you up, ironic.
but after the shower, he even helps you get changed and dry off, cause obviously, you lost the feeling in your legs due to him. but he's being so sweet with you, now just cuddling you (yes basically on top again cause the small coffin) just embracing each other's warmth / company, while kissing you, inhaling your scent.
"mhm, you smell so good darlin', i love you so much..." he says, making you smile but chuckle, bringing him into a small, soft kiss. "mhm, i love you to matt..." you say, before letting him snuggle into you, as you both drift into a soft slumber, just as the sun comes up...
authors note: okay, uh, a little shitty... but it's much better then my old vampire based fic here and this fic was based off my other post / poll and here it is since this won ! here
ILY
Matt x Bestfriend f!Reader
Mature | Smut | MDNI
A late-night porch confession finally lays years of hidden letters bare, unravelling the quiet truth of what you’ve been running from all along.
Part 9 Part 1
Nick’s sigh cuts through the kitchen like a blade through fog.
“Of course,” he mutters, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “I leave you people alone for five minutes.”
Nick standing there with his typical deadpan expression, looking at four fully grown adults having a total meltdown, breaks the tension. Chelsea’s brow unfurrows. August’s shoulders drop half an inch. Even Matt, still staring at Chelsea’s hand intertwined with August’s like it’s a math equation he can’t solve, blinks.
Then Chris barrels through the doorway behind Nick, paper plate piled high with the puff pastry no one else was eating, and says, “Yo, did someone die? Why does everyone look like they’re at a funeral? Also, this pastry thing is actually fire, your aunt’s been holding out on us.”
A beat of silence.
Chelsea snorts. It’s undignified and sudden and she claps her free hand over her mouth, but the damage is done. August’s lips twitch. Nick shakes his head, the ghost of a smirk flickering across his face. And Matt... Matt’s wide-eyed bewilderment softens into something almost sheepish, the sharp edge of his jealousy crumbling under the weight of Chris’s complete and total obliviousness.
“Nobody died, Chris,” Nick says, stepping aside so his brother can fully enter the kitchen. “Just a minor misunderstanding. Very minor. Practically microscopic.”
“Misunderstanding about what?” Chris asks around a mouthful of pastry. His gaze bounces between the four of you. Matt stoic, you tear-streaked, August and Chelsea united and he shrugs. “Whatever. Mom wants to do the cake thing soon, so whoever’s having a crisis needs to wrap it up.”
The cake thing. Your birthday cake. The one your mom spent all morning decorating, the one with the candles she bought special, the one sitting on the dining room table waiting for you to make a wish. The normalcy of it, the sheer mundane reality that life continues, that cake must be eaten and candles must be blown out and family members must be entertained pulls you back into your body.
“Right,” you manage, your voice still shaky. “Cake. Yeah.”
Matt’s eyes find yours. They’re softer now, the desperate edge replaced by something quieter, something that looks a lot like relief. He still hasn’t spoken. Hasn’t needed to. The revelation that August is taken, that Chelsea exists, that the weeks of jealousy were built on a fiction, it’s still settling over him like morning light, slow and warm and disorienting.
“Cake,” he echoes, and his voice is rough but steadier than before. “Let’s do cake.”
The party reassembles itself around the dining table, a crowd of cousins and old friends and your mom beaming at the head of it all. The candles flicker. Someone dims the lights. The room swells with the off-key chorus of “Happy Birthday,” and you close your eyes, and you wish.
You closed your eyes to make a wish and tried hard. But your mind's completely blank. You just blew out the candles anyway.
The candles go out. Applause. Your mom’s eyes are wet again. Chris demands the corner piece with the most frosting.
And through all of it, Matt stays close.
Not hovering. Not obvious. But present. A hand on the small of your back as you lean forward to cut the cake. A glass of water appearing at your elbow without you asking. His shoulder brushing yours as the party slowly winds down, guests trickling out the front door with Tupperware containers of leftovers and promises to call soon.
He doesn’t try to be casual anymore. The mask is gone. Whatever performance he was giving, the easy smile, the friendly distance, the thanks for always being there card with the apology hidden in the postscript, gone. All of it has been abandoned entirely. In its place is something raw and unpolished. Something that looks a lot like a man who has stopped running.
August and Chelsea leave together around eight, Chelsea pressing a kiss to your cheek and whispering, “We’re talking about this later. All of it.” August hugs you tight, his eyes flicking to Matt over your shoulder, and when he pulls back there’s a knowing look on his face. Not protective anymore. Approving.
“He’s an idiot,” August murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. “But I think he’s your idiot.”
And then they’re gone.
Nick and Chris are the last to leave. Chris hugs you with the same chaotic energy he does everything else, squeezing hard enough to crack your spine. “Best pickle balloon reaction of my career,” he says, and then he’s out the door, already scrolling through his phone.
Nick pauses at the threshold. His gaze moves from you to Matt, who’s lingering in the living room, pretending to examine the bookshelf. Then Nick looks back at you. His expression is unreadable, but something flickers in his eyes. Something gentle.
“Don’t screw it up,” he says quietly. And then he’s gone too.
The door clicks shut.
The house falls silent.
Your mom has already retreated to her bedroom, exhausted from the hosting and the cooking and the emotional weight of watching her daughter turn another year older. The kitchen is clean. The leftovers are packed away. The pickle balloon bobs gently in the corner of the living room, a ridiculous reminder of the day.
And Matt is still here.
You find him on the porch.
The same porch where you’ve sat a hundred times before. The same steps where you’ve shared late-night conversations and comfortable silences, where he’d walk you home after movie nights and linger just a little too long, where the line between friendship and something more always blurred in the dark.
He’s sitting on the top step, elbows on his knees, staring out at the quiet street. The porch light casts long shadows across the wooden planks. Crickets are singing somewhere in the grass.
You sit down beside him. Not touching.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks.
“I thought I was going to lose my mind,” Matt says finally. His voice is quiet. Rough at the edges. “At the villa. Seeing you with him. The dress. The dancing. The way he looked at you like—” He stops. Swallows. “Like you were the only person in the room.”
“He was being a friend,” you say. “That’s all.”
“I know that now.” His jaw tightens. “But I didn’t know it then. And I handled it terribly. The things I said to you. The way I cornered you in your room. I was—” He shakes his head. “I was so angry. Not at you. At myself. At the fact that I’d spent years ignoring what was right in front of me, and the moment someone else saw it, I wanted to tear him apart.”
The confession hangs in the air. Raw. Unpolished. Honest in a way Matt has never been with you before.
Your heart is beating too fast. “I wrote about it,” you say quietly. “In one of the letters. The night after the pool party. I wrote about how you pulled me out of the pool and put your hoodie over me and I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days. How your hands felt on my arms. How I hated you for making me feel like that and then going back to her.”
Matt turns his head. The porch light catches the sharp line of his jaw, the dark of his eyes. “I never went back to her,” he says. “After that night. I couldn’t. Every time I looked at her, I saw your face instead.”
The words land somewhere deep in your chest.
“That’s what you said,” you murmur. “In my room. You said you couldn’t touch her because all you saw was me.”
“Because it was true.”
He shifts on the step, angling his body toward you. His knee brushes yours. The contact is small, incidental, but it sends heat spiraling up your thigh.
“When I found those letters,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, “I didn’t sleep for three days. I just sat in my room and think about them. Over and over. And the whole time I kept thinking, she was right there. The whole time. Writing these things. Feeling these things. And I was too much of a coward to notice.”
“You weren’t a coward,” you say. “I was hiding. That was the point. I didn’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
The question is simple. Direct. And it deserves an honest answer.
“Because I was terrified,” you admit. “Of losing you. Of making things weird. Of being just another girl you had to let down gently.” A shaky breath escapes you. “You showed me other girls all the time. Girls who were confident and put-together and exactly your type. And I’d look at them and think—I’m not that. I’ll never be that. I’m just the one in the oversized hoodie who helps you write DMs.”
Matt flinches. “I was so stupid.”
“You weren’t. You just didn’t know.”
“I should have known.” His voice cracks. “I should have seen it. The way you looked at me. The way you were always there, no matter what. The way you—” He stops. Presses his palms against his eyes. “God. All those years.”
Silence stretches between you. The crickets fill it. The distant hum of a car somewhere.
Then Matt drops his hands and reaches into his back pocket.
“I wrote you something,” he says. “Before the party. I was sitting in the car outside your house for twenty minutes, trying to decide whether to give it to you.” He pulls out a folded piece of paper. Small. Creased. His handwriting bleeding through the back. “I chickened out. Gave you the Sandy card instead. Told myself it was better to keep it light. Keep it safe.”
He holds the paper out to you.
Your fingers tremble as you take it.
My Homegirl,
The nickname, the one he’s used for years, the one that always felt like a label you couldn’t escape. But then the rest of the letter unfolds, and the words blur and sharpen and blur again.
I’m writing this because I’m a coward who can’t say things out loud. You’d think after everything, after the rain, after the villa, after finding those letters and reading every word that I’d have the guts to just tell you. But here I am, sitting in my car, writing on a piece of notebook paper like a teenager.
I don’t want to be your best friend anymore.
Not the way I was. Not the safe, comfortable guy who shows you other girls and asks for your help. I don’t want that label if it means hiding how I actually feel. And how I actually feel is this: I’m in love with you. I think I have been for years. I think I was just too scared to admit it.
I love the way you laugh at my stupid jokes. I love the way you crinkle your nose when you’re thinking. I love the way you always know what to say, even when I don’t. I love the way you look in my hoodies. I love the way you look in that green bikini. I love the way you looked in that black dress at the villa, even though I wanted to punch August in the face for standing next to you.
I love you.
If you still want to just be friends after everything, I’ll respect that. I’ll learn to live with it. But I needed you to know. No more hiding.
— Matt
P.S. I’m not sorry for the rain. I’m not sorry for the shower. I’m not sorry for any of it. I’m only sorry it took me this long.
The paper shakes in your hands.
When you look up, Matt is watching you. His expression is open. Vulnerable. Terrified. The same expression he wore in the kitchen, backed against the counter, the mask finally gone.
“I thought I could do it,” he says quietly. “Play it cool. Be the best friend. But then August gave that toast and I couldn’t—I just couldn’t sit there and pretend I wasn’t dying inside.”
“He’s with Chelsea,” you whisper.
“I know that now.” A laugh, short and humorless. “Apparently everyone knew except me.”
“Nick knew. Nick absolutely knew and said nothing.”
“You know Nick, he doesn't like to meddle.”
The laugh that escapes you is watery and fragile, but it’s real. The tension between you cracks, just a little. Matt’s shoulders drop. His hand, resting on his knee, turns palm-up. An invitation.
You don’t take it. Not yet.
“Wait here,” you say.
You stand up. Your legs are unsteady, but your mind is clear. You slip through the front door, into the quiet house, past the dim living room where the pickle balloon floats, up the stairs to your bedroom.
The closet door creaks. The old blanket rustles. And then the box is in your hands. Heavy. Familiar. The cardboard worn soft at the corners from years of being opened and closed, opened and closed, a ritual of longing performed in the dark.
You carry it downstairs.
Matt hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting on the top step, his back to you, his silhouette framed by the porch light. When he hears your footsteps, he turns.
His eyes drop to the box.
“Is that—”
“All of them,” you say. Your voice is steadier than you expected. “Every letter. Every confession. Every single thing I never had the courage to say out loud.” You set the box down on the porch between you. The wood creaks under its weight. “Read them. All of them. Every page. And then—once you know the full, unvarnished truth of how deep this goes—we can talk about whether you still feel the same way.”
Matt stares at the box.
His jaw tightens. His hands, resting on his knees, curl into fists and then release. He looks from the box to you and back again, and something flickers across his face. Awe. Regret. Something heavier.
Slowly, carefully, he reaches into the box.
The letter he pulls out is one of the oldest ones. The paper is yellowed at the edges. The ink has faded to a soft blue. You recognize it immediately—the movie theater letter. The first one you ever wrote. The one where you described the way he made sure you had the right popcorn, the way he took the long way home, the way he walked you to your porch and lingered like he didn’t want to leave.
Matt unfolds it. The paper crackles. His eyes move across the words.
The porch falls silent. The crickets sing. The porch light hums.
You watch him read. Watch his expression shift. Softening, tightening, cracking open. You can’t do it anymore. Can’t sit here and watch him absorb years of your hidden feelings in real time. The vulnerability is too much. The exposure is too raw.
You stand up.
“Goodnight, Matt.”
His head snaps up. “Wait—”
But you’re already turning toward the door, your heart aching, your throat tight, your hand reaching for the knob—
His fingers wrap around your wrist.
Firm. Warm. Stopping you mid-step.
You turn back.
Matt is on his feet now, the letter still clutched in his other hand, his eyes shining under the porch light. Not crying. Not quite. But close. Closer than you’ve ever seen him.
“I don’t need to read the rest,” he says.
His voice is steady. Certain. The kind of voice that leaves no room for doubt.
“Matt—”
“I already know what I feel.” He steps closer. His hand slides from your wrist to your palm, fingers interlacing. “I’ve known for a long time. I was just too scared to admit it. Too scared of losing you. Too scared of ruining everything.” A breath. “But I’m not scared anymore.”
The letter flutters to the porch floor. Forgotten.
“The past doesn’t matter,” he says. “The years of hiding. The letters. The jealousy. None of it matters now. What matters is this. Right here. You and me. No more pretending.”
His free hand comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, tracing the path of a tear you didn’t realize had fallen.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m in love with you. And I don’t want to waste another second pretending I’m not.”
The night air is cool. The crickets are singing. The porch light casts gold across his face, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the dark of his eyes, the vulnerability he’s finally, finally letting you see.
And then he kisses you.
It’s different from the rainstorm. Different from the frantic collision in your bedroom. Different from the desperate, tear-stained kiss in the kitchen. This kiss is slow. Deliberate. A period at the end of a very long sentence. His lips move against yours like he’s memorizing the shape of them. His hand tightens in yours. His other hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair.
You kiss him back. You pour everything into it, the years of silence, the box of letters, the longing and the fear and the hope. He takes it all. Absorbs it. Gives it back tenfold.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours. His eyes are still closed.
“No more hiding,” he whispers.
“No more hiding,” you echo.
The box sits open on the porch behind you. The letters shift slightly in the breeze. Years of secrets, finally exposed to the open air.
Matt pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wet. His smile is small and crooked and utterly, completely real.
“Happy birthday, homegirl,” he murmurs.
And in the quiet of the porch, with the night wrapped around you and the box of letters finally open to the world, you laugh. A real laugh. The kind that bubbles up from somewhere deep and unexpected.
And Matt laughs too.
The key turns in the lock with a satisfying click.
Matt pushes the door open with his shoulder, one hand still wrapped around the handle of his duffel bag, the other reaching back to find yours. His fingers interlace with your own. Casual. Automatic. The kind of gesture that would have sent you spiraling into overanalysis months ago. Now it just feels like breathing.
"Go look at the view," he says, dropping the duffel in the entryway. "I'll grab the rest from the car."
You kick off your sneakers and pad through the beach house. It's all white walls and weathered wood, nautical stripes and driftwood accents, the kind of place that shows up on Pinterest boards titled Coastal Getaway. But the back wall is entirely glass, sliding doors that open onto a deck, and beyond the deck—
The ocean.
Endless and dark and glittering under the late afternoon sun. The sound of it fills the house. Rhythmic. Constant. The deck has two beach chairs and a small table already set for dinner, plates and wine glasses catching the golden light.
Matt's voice floats in from the front door. "Found the kitchen yet?"
"Found the deck," you call back.
His footsteps approach. Arms slide around your waist from behind, his chin settling on your shoulder. He smells like sunscreen and the faint cologne he's been wearing since you can remember, the familiar scent of it settling somewhere deep in your chest.
"One month," he murmurs against your ear.
You turn in his arms. "Is that why we're here? Our one-month anniversary?"
The tips of his ears go pink. Actually pink. Matt Sturniolo, who pinned you against a door and called you his, who carried you out of the ocean in the rain, who read years of your secret letters and kissed you on the porch until you couldn't breathe—blushing. Shy to admit to his romance.
"Maybe," he says.
"Matt."
"What? It's a milestone." He's full-on blushing now, the color creeping down his neck. "One month of not being an idiot. That deserves celebration."
"One month of us," you correct.
His expression softens. "Yeah. One month of us."
The dinner he cooks is your favorite meal. He remembered. He's been planning this for weeks, he admits, ducking his head when you call him cute. The candles on the deck table keep blowing out in the ocean breeze, and he keeps relighting them with increasingly dramatic sighs until you're both laughing too hard to care about ambiance.
"One month down," he says, raising his glass, the flame finally holding steady, "and a lifetime to go." You both laugh at his cheesiness.
The wine is cold and crisp. The food is perfect. The sun sinks lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and lavender, and Matt's foot finds yours under the table and stays there.
After dinner, you kick off your sandals and step onto the cool sand. The beach is empty. Completely private. The house sits on a stretch of coastline with no neighbors, no lights, no signs of civilization in either direction. Just the two of you and the dark, vast ocean.
A wave of bravery washes over you.
You look back at Matt, still sitting at the table, watching you with that soft expression he gets when he thinks you're not looking. You smirk.
"Race you in."
"In where?"
You don't answer. Instead, you reach for the hem of your sundress and pull it over your head. It drops to the sand. Your bra follows. Your underwear.
Matt's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Are you—"
"The water, Matt. Keep up." You're already backing toward the water, naked under the moon, the sand cool beneath your feet. "Unless you're scared."
"Scared," he repeats. "Of the ocean. Right."
But he's already standing. Already pulling his shirt over his head. Already fumbling with his belt.
You don't wait to see the rest.
The first wave hits your ankles and steals your breath. Cold. Bracing. You shriek, laughing, and plunge forward into the dark water. The sand drops away beneath your feet. The waves roll against your thighs, your stomach, your chest.
Then you're swimming.
The water is cool and alive, pulling at your limbs, filling your ears with its endless roar. You surface, gasping, and hear him splashing in behind you.
"You're insane," he calls out, his voice carrying over the waves. "The water is freezing."
"Worth it."
He moves toward you in the dark water. Pale shoulders. Dark hair plastered to his forehead. The moon catches the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his grin. Then his hands find your waist under the water, pulling you flush against his chest, and the cold doesn't matter anymore.
"You," he says, "are trouble."
His mouth finds yours.
The kiss starts playful. Wet and laughing and salty. But then his hands slide lower, gripping your hips under the water, pulling you harder against him, and the laughter fades into something heavier. Something hungrier. The rhythm of the waves matches the deep, insistent way he kisses you. Push and pull. Rise and fall.
His teeth graze your bottom lip.
Your legs wrap around his waist.
Under the water, you feel him. Hard. Ready. The contrast of the cool ocean and the heat of his body pressing against you makes your head spin.
"Matt," you breathe.
"Inside." His voice is wrecked. "Now."
He doesn't wait for an answer. His arms slide under your thighs, lifting you, and the water streams off your bodies as he carries you out of the sea. Across the sand. Up the deck stairs.
He sets you down briefly at the edge of the deck, grabbing the mounted hose to rinse the salt and sand from your skin—the cool mist making you shiver until he sprays himself down, hooks it back, and scoops you right back up into his arms. Through the sliding glass doors, which he kicks shut behind him, the sound barely registering over your own thundering heartbeat.
Water drips onto the hardwood floor. A trail of it. Footprints of water leading straight to the bedroom.
The king-sized bed swallows you both.
The sheets are white and cool against your wet skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of Matt's body as he settles over you. His mouth finds your throat. Your collarbone. The hollow at the base of your neck where your pulse beats frantic and wild.
"This month," he murmurs against your skin. His lips move lower. "Best month of my life."
Your fingers slide into his wet hair. "Matt—"
"I mean it." He lifts his head. His eyes are dark and earnest, water droplets still clinging to his lashes. "Every day. Every minute. Best of my life."
The words settle somewhere deep in your chest. Somewhere the letters used to live. But the box is empty now. The secrets are told. There's nothing left to hide.
"Show me," you whisper.
He does.
His mouth moves down your body with deliberate slowness, lips and tongue tracing paths of fire across your damp skin. The salt of the ocean lingers on your breasts, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. He tastes it. Tastes you. His beard scrapes gently against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and your back arches off the mattress.
"Still cold?" His voice is rough.
"Not anymore."
His laugh vibrates against your skin.
Then his tongue finds you, and you stop thinking entirely.
The sound of the ocean fills the room. The open windows carry the salt breeze, the crash of waves, the distant call of a night bird. But all you can hear is the wet, hungry sound of his mouth working against you. All you can feel is the slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue, the pressure of his fingers curling inside you.
Your hands fist in the sheets.
Your thighs tremble against his shoulders.
He doesn't rush. He draws it out, builds it slow, pulls you to the edge and holds you there until you're gasping his name and gripping his hair and begging in words that don't quite form. Only then does he push you over.
The pleasure rolls through you like the tide.
Before you can come down, he's moving up your body. His mouth finds yours. You taste yourself on his lips, salt and wine and something darker. His cock presses against your thigh, hot and heavy, and you reach down to guide him.
"I love you." The words fall from his lips like they've been waiting there all night. All month. All the years you spent hiding. "I love you so much."
He pushes inside.
Slow. So slow. Inch by inch, letting you feel every ridge, every vein, the full length of him as he fills you completely. Your breath catches. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
"I love you too," you whisper.
His forehead drops to yours. "Say it again."
"I love you, Matt."
He moves.
Slow at first. Deep and deliberate. Each thrust grinding his pelvis against your clit, each stroke dragging pleasure from somewhere primal. The bed creaks beneath you. The ocean crashes outside. The moonlight spills through the window, painting his skin silver, illuminating the muscles flexing in his shoulders as he braces himself above you.
"You have no idea," he breathes, his rhythm building, "how long I've wanted this. Even when I didn't know I wanted it. Even when I was too stupid to see what was right in front of me. It was always you."
Your nails drag down his back. "Always you."
His pace quickens. The slow, deep thrusts shift into something more urgent. More desperate. The sound of your bodies meeting fills the room. Sweat and seawater mingle on your skin. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching your leg higher, changing the angle, and the new depth makes you cry out.
"Right there," you gasp. "Don't stop."
"I'm not stopping." His voice is strained. "Never stopping. Never letting you go."
The pressure builds. Coiling tight. His name becomes a mantra on your lips, a prayer, the only word you remember how to say. Matt. Matt. Matt.
He buries his face in your neck. His hips piston faster. "Come for me. I want to feel you."
And you do.
The climax tears through you, arching your spine off the bed, pulling a sound from your throat that's half his name, half something wordless. Your inner walls clench around him, pulsing, and he groans against your throat, his rhythm faltering.
"I love you," he gasps, the words breaking apart as his own release crashes over him.
He spills inside you, hot and deep, his body shuddering against yours. His weight settles over you, heavy and warm, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him there.
For a long moment, the only sound is breathing. Ragged. Synchronized.
Matt lifts his head. His eyes are soft and dark and utterly open. The way they were on the porch, when he kissed you and told you no more hiding. The way they've been every day since.
He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. The sheets are a tangled mess of salt and sweat. The open window breathes ocean air across your cooling skin. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder blade.
The click of the door shutting lands harder than any slam ever could. Because he had seen you slam doors before, he had seen you lose your temper in ways that he never knew he could come back from. But this was different.
The only sound in the bedroom were Matt's faint breaths, trying to process everything you had just said. Your broken voice echoed in his mind, the way you fought to hold your tears back, how you didn't raise your voice—not because you didn't care, but because you cared too much.
The next morning, Matt woke up in his bed, but it didn't entirely feel like his. His arm stretched out, hoping to find you warm and soft next to him, hoping that it had all been a nightmare. But when his hand skimmed over the dull sheets, his stomach dropped. It was too cold, too empty, too corrupted with the words you said last night.
'I always end up alone,' replayed in Matt's head like a taunt as he forced himself out of bed. The vinyl floor was cold beneath his feet, but not as cold as the space beside him.
Matt felt his stomach churn as he looked around the room, your clothes scattered on the floor, a pile of hair ties on your nightstand, and the vanilla scented candle dropping him straight back into last night.
The cold plates, the puddles of wax on the dining room table that had once been candles. Your trembling hands, the way you made yourself so small. All because of him.
Matt passed the couch on the way to the kitchen, the blanket crumpled in the corner just as you had been the night before. The fabric was still tear-stained and damp, where your tears had soaked through.
He couldn't stop looking at it.
Because it wasn't just a reminder of last night, but of every night leading up to it. Of everything he could've done.
Your hear him as he comes into the kitchen. But you don't look up. You don't have the strength to face him right now. So instead, your eyes stay glued to the mug in front of you, the teaspoon clinking against the ceramic, although now it sounded more like nails scraping against a chalkboard.
Matt slips past you, the tension thick enough to create a gap between you, one which would usually be filled with a soft kiss to the shoulder, or a his hand brushing against your waist, but it never came. Matt wasn't sure he had the right.
He opens the cabinet, eyes landing on his mug, the one you had prepared every morning, the one with the chipped paint and cracked handle, the one you should've thrown away months ago but never did, all because he swore the tea just tasted better from that mug.
Something about it sitting there, looking at him from it's place on the shelf hurt in a way he knew it wasn't supposed to.
He took a breath as he reached for the mug, his eyes flickering to you for a fraction of a second, like he might scare you away if he looks too closely.
"A conversation? A conversation I've tried to have with you a million times, but now because you feel guilty, all of a sudden, you wanna talk?" You asked rhetorically, shaking your head slightly, holding back a scoff of your own.
Matts eyebrows furrow as he watched you move around the kitchen, trying to find anything other than him to look at. He takes a small step forward, careful not to invalidate your space, but close enough that you could reach him. "No- what? I wanna talk because I care about-"
"You care about me?" You scoffed, finally looking at him. He paused for a moment, visibly defeated as he takes in the sight of your puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes, the remnants of last nights tears barely concealed.
"Because you really could've fooled me." Your voice had returned back to that small vulnerable crack, the exhaustion heavy in your words as you took a deep breath, eyes dropping back down to the floor. "Seriously, Matt, I don't have time for you."
Something about the way you said that struck a nerve in him.
I don't have time for you.
His mind went blank as he watched you grab your keys, his lips parted as if to speak but no words came out. You slip past without so much as another word. No kiss. No 'have a good day.' Just a cold tone and barely a glance.
[💌] uhh hey! surprise i guess?? I know i said i was never gonna write again, (and technically i haven't) but this has been sitting in my drafts for a longgg time, so i thought id actually post it... mostly just to add it to the archive that is this blog <3 i hope you're all doing amazing, you're all the best!
