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cellophaine · 6 months

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Thank you so much oh my goddd 😭 Michael is a whole angst/whump (is this how you spell it?) gold mine and I’m only tapping in it now. He’s just so– he’s so– he’s like– ACK I CANT

Dark Paradise

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Word Count: 1841

Warnings: Hurt and comfort. Fluff.

Author's Note: Guess who did not work on her WIPs and started a new one? This idea struck me when I was scrolling through Twitter and I came across a photo of Charlie with his big bulky arms and my head went hmm no thought just feel. Then it took shape in my head, and now it's here! I do have more of this to make it into a small series if there is a demand for more!

P/S: This is my first time writing for Michael so it's still a foreign land for me, any characteristic is my personal interpretation of him. This takes place in season 1.

GIF Credit: @pajamasecrets

The night had pulled its inky shade over the sky, dying the clouds and its backdrop a dull shade of gray. The wind sunk its biting claws into the exposed skin on your neck and hands, which meant if you didn't press harder on the pedal, you might catch the brunt of the rain. You squared your shoulders and revved the clutch, letting the engine roar louder and carry you further away from the city.

Your eyes were on the road, but your mind was elsewhere, working to stave off the emotions from resurfacing. You could feel yourself gradually shutting off from the arduous day, putting distance to everything that happened. It numbed the pain somehow despite the taste of copper still lingering in your mouth. It was your defence mechanism, and with where you were heading to, and who you were seeing within the next minutes, you would need it.

The first few droplets of rain fell and clung to you by the time you made it to the familiar neighbourhood. The street was empty, void of sound and people, making for a surreal experience as you were so used to the noise of Dublin. It was the exact reason why you and him chose this area. Close enough to others, yet secluded enough to preserve privacy and raise no suspicion. Both of you could come and go as you pleased.

Your motorcycle pulled up at the house, and you took a moment to observe its exterior as the rain fell, dying the bricks a darker shade. The curtains were closed, but the light at the door was on.

You shut off the engine and hopped off, opening the latch of the low iron gate before guiding your motorcycle into the small front yard. You placed the helmet on top of the seat and closed the gate. Before you could place your hand on the knob of the dark green door, it flew open, revealing the man behind it. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

He looked worse than when you saw him last, which was a week ago. His hair was tousled as if he had run his hand through it so many times. His stubble had grown slightly thicker. A spark of relief flashed in his sunken eyes when they settled on you. They roamed and explored and you knew he was looking for any sign of injury. You felt the same ease. He looked tired if not injured, and you would rather take the first than the latter any day. For a long moment, you said nothing to each other, taking in the sight of the other person, silently assessing.

"Are you hurt?"

You finally found your voice, small with an edge of shakiness. Relief washed over you as Michael shook his head. He asked.

"Are you?"

You mirrored him. It was a harmless lie, one you could handle and one he didn't have to know. His features softened. He stepped back, allowing you to come in and closing the door behind you.

The house was lit in dim lights, and even though it looked cold and lacked almost everything personal, it had provided you with such great consolation for the past few months. Maybe a part of the appeal was Michael being there with you for most of your time here. You draped your jacket over the chair and turned around to meet his eyes.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

You shook your head at his offer.

"I’m fine."

You walked to the couch and sat down, pointedly leaving a space beside you so he could join you. He accepted your wordless invitation; the couch slightly dipped, bringing you closer to him. Your shoes were off, and Michael's house slippers were off too as you made yourself comfortable. One arm hung on the couch's back, the other on his lap, his body opened itself to you and drew you in for comfort. But you ignored it, wanting to distract yourself with something else. Something stronger than a soft cuddle, and louder than a comforting hug. You needed to feel a different type of heat, one that didn't originate from anger and bloodlust.

You crawled to him, settling yourself between his thighs. Michael stayed quiet, patiently waiting for your next move when you moved into his space, and took his face in your hand. You caressed the stubble, feeling its roughness and his soft exhale on your lips when you erased the distance and kissed him.

It was soft and teasing at first, then it grew harder, and greedier as you gave into your greed of him. One week without him was one week too long, and even though you knew it was a bad idea to get so attached, you couldn't help it. It was never your intention to get so hooked on his touch, his voice, and everything about him, but perhaps it was your selfish want that decided that for you. Your primal instinct, your desire that said you deserved something of your own, even when it was something unnamed, undecided by both of you. Perhaps it was just a fleeting infatuation since it couldn't possibly be love, because if it was, it would be detrimental for both of you. You knew better not to start the fire, not to give into temptation, yet you couldn't help but dive head-first into this unknown territory. That all it was, you told yourself, a guilty pleasure you allowed yourself in your situation in which what you wanted was forbidden.

Your kiss grew needy, and you pulled away for some much-needed air. You made your way down his throat, nipping and kissing at his skin, pleased to hear the soft moans reverberating in his throat. Michael's hands grabbed at you, at your clothes, and found their way under your shirt. You were so deep in the taste of his skin on your tongue that you didn’t pay attention when his hand grazed the bandage on your side. Upon the discovery, Michael pressed his fingers to it, and you gasped out of surprise more than pain. He immediately pulled away and looked at you inquisitively.

"You’re hurt."

"No, I’m not. Please–"

Another press of his finger and you hissed. Michael sat up straighter, pulling at your arms that were wrapped around your torso out of reflex to shield yourself.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Let me help you–"

"I don’t need your help."

You jerked yourself out of his reaching hands and darted to the other side of the couch. The distance wasn't much, but it made you feel protected somehow. You kept your face turned away, embarrassed that he found out the very thing you were trying to hide. Your hand found your side, touching the gauze and sighed in relief to find the gauze dry. For a little while, the air between you was tense with silence.

You could feel the frustration warm in your blood. You just wanted to forget about today, but Michael was a reminder of why what happened to you happened. It could be worse if it wasn't for his warning. You could bleed to death in a parking garage right now.

The couch dipped and moved again before you felt Michael's arms wrapping around you. He pulled you toward him like you weighed nothing, and settled you between his thighs once more. Your body was still tense, rigid to his handling. His hand wove into your hair, grasping just enough and pulling gently so you fell into him. You melted completely into him as he found the sensitive spot behind your ears and kissed it. He kissed your temple next, like an unspoken apology. You let him hold you, let his finger draw a soothing pattern on the skin of your arm, let your breathings join as one, let the weight of your day slip away from your shoulders.

"Was it Eric?"

His voice was small, timid as if he didn't want to confirm it himself. You shook your head.

"Eric could never get this close to me. Try again."

A soft chuckle and a brief pause later.

"Jimmy?"

You shook your head again. Michael was unsure now, you could tell by the way his pattern on your skin was disturbed.

"Amanda?"

You nodded.

"I know. Surprised me too."

You fell silent again. The memory of everything that went down this afternoon became fresh cut again, and it stung as reality set in. Michael spoke; his words sobered you up quickly.

"You know, my offer still stands. If you come with me, my family will know that you’re with me. They won’t touch a hair on your head. I’ll see to it myself. I’ll protect you."

You sighed heavily. Michael hadn't given up on the idea that was so fantastical that it would never come true. After all, this was real life, not a fairytale.

"And who will protect you from Eamon, Michael? He is nothing if not a vicious man who would stop at nothing just to prove a point."

At his silence, you advanced.

"He would destroy your family to get back at you for meddling with his bastard daughter."

The paradoxical nature of your relationship was a secret only the two of you knew. Beyond rivals, you were supposed to be enemies. But amidst the vendettas and vengeance between your families, you found solace in each other. In a time like this, when your families were at war with one another, if the knowledge of your clandestine bond got out, it would be a death sentence for both of you. Yet, you were willing to put your heads in the noose, waiting and holding your breaths for the moment the floor underneath your feet would give out. You were doomed from the start.

You turned in his hold to face him. You touched his chin, urging him to look at you. His expression was guarded, and his eyes were full of the sadness he tried to keep at bay. But you saw it. You saw through him as you went through similar emotions yourself. His suffering and yours were one and the same.

"Can we … not talk about it tonight? I just … want to be here, with you."

It took him a moment, but eventually, Michael nodded, and you thanked him with a soft kiss. You returned to the old position, his hold on you tighter now as you unconsciously shifted closer to him, craving the close contact. Under this roof, within these walls, neither of you was your family. You were simply two people who shared the same thoughts you wouldn't dare to name, feelings you wouldn't dare to acknowledge, because to do that was to accept that you cared about each other more than you should, that you should have never been involved in the first place. In this house, you bore no names and obligations. You could just be yourselves.

You were on borrowed time, and you knew it.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!* Follow my side blog to receive notifications whenever I post! @cellophaine-archives

#he is the loml #thank you so much for your wonderful words 😭#feedback reblog

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cellophaine · 6 months

Text

Dark Paradise

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Word Count: 1841

Warnings: Hurt and comfort. Fluff.

P/S: This is my first time writing for Michael so it's still a foreign land for me, any characteristic is my personal interpretation of him. This takes place in season 1.

GIF Credit: @pajamasecrets

Your motorcycle pulled up at the house, and you took a moment to observe its exterior as the rain fell, dying the bricks a darker shade. The curtains were closed, but the light at the door was on.

"Are you hurt?"

You finally found your voice, small with an edge of shakiness. Relief washed over you as Michael shook his head. He asked.

"Are you?"

You mirrored him. It was a harmless lie, one you could handle and one he didn't have to know. His features softened. He stepped back, allowing you to come in and closing the door behind you.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

You shook your head at his offer.

"I’m fine."

"You’re hurt."

"No, I’m not. Please–"

Another press of his finger and you hissed. Michael sat up straighter, pulling at your arms that were wrapped around your torso out of reflex to shield yourself.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Let me help you–"

"I don’t need your help."

"Was it Eric?"

His voice was small, timid as if he didn't want to confirm it himself. You shook your head.

"Eric could never get this close to me. Try again."

A soft chuckle and a brief pause later.

"Jimmy?"

You shook your head again. Michael was unsure now, you could tell by the way his pattern on your skin was disturbed.

"Amanda?"

You nodded.

"I know. Surprised me too."

You fell silent again. The memory of everything that went down this afternoon became fresh cut again, and it stung as reality set in. Michael spoke; his words sobered you up quickly.

"You know, my offer still stands. If you come with me, my family will know that you’re with me. They won’t touch a hair on your head. I’ll see to it myself. I’ll protect you."

You sighed heavily. Michael hadn't given up on the idea that was so fantastical that it would never come true. After all, this was real life, not a fairytale.

"And who will protect you from Eamon, Michael? He is nothing if not a vicious man who would stop at nothing just to prove a point."

At his silence, you advanced.

"He would destroy your family to get back at you for meddling with his bastard daughter."

"Can we … not talk about it tonight? I just … want to be here, with you."

You were on borrowed time, and you knew it.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!* Follow my side blog to receive notifications whenever I post! @cellophaine-archives

#scheduled fic reblog

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cellophaine · 6 months

Text

Dark Paradise

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Word Count: 1841

Warnings: Hurt and comfort. Fluff.

P/S: This is my first time writing for Michael so it's still a foreign land for me, any characteristic is my personal interpretation of him. This takes place in season 1.

GIF Credit: @pajamasecrets

Your motorcycle pulled up at the house, and you took a moment to observe its exterior as the rain fell, dying the bricks a darker shade. The curtains were closed, but the light at the door was on.

"Are you hurt?"

You finally found your voice, small with an edge of shakiness. Relief washed over you as Michael shook his head. He asked.

"Are you?"

You mirrored him. It was a harmless lie, one you could handle and one he didn't have to know. His features softened. He stepped back, allowing you to come in and closing the door behind you.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

You shook your head at his offer.

"I’m fine."

"You’re hurt."

"No, I’m not. Please–"

Another press of his finger and you hissed. Michael sat up straighter, pulling at your arms that were wrapped around your torso out of reflex to shield yourself.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Let me help you–"

"I don’t need your help."

"Was it Eric?"

His voice was small, timid as if he didn't want to confirm it himself. You shook your head.

"Eric could never get this close to me. Try again."

A soft chuckle and a brief pause later.

"Jimmy?"

You shook your head again. Michael was unsure now, you could tell by the way his pattern on your skin was disturbed.

"Amanda?"

You nodded.

"I know. Surprised me too."

You fell silent again. The memory of everything that went down this afternoon became fresh cut again, and it stung as reality set in. Michael spoke; his words sobered you up quickly.

"You know, my offer still stands. If you come with me, my family will know that you’re with me. They won’t touch a hair on your head. I’ll see to it myself. I’ll protect you."

You sighed heavily. Michael hadn't given up on the idea that was so fantastical that it would never come true. After all, this was real life, not a fairytale.

"And who will protect you from Eamon, Michael? He is nothing if not a vicious man who would stop at nothing just to prove a point."

At his silence, you advanced.

"He would destroy your family to get back at you for meddling with his bastard daughter."

"Can we … not talk about it tonight? I just … want to be here, with you."

You were on borrowed time, and you knew it.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!* Follow my side blog to receive notifications whenever I post! @cellophaine-archives

#michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x y/n #kin amc #amc kin

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cellophaine · 7 months

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Sad Girl (Part II)

Read Part I

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, not a happy ending.

Author's Note: Sooo, I severely overestimated how much free time I would have, and as it turns out, I have had not a lot and will have none free time for the next three weeks. My irl project is quite literally consuming me on top of the packing for an across the globe trip, so I won't be able to work actively on any writing project at all 🥲 I will be back to writing and posting in late fall/early winter! (hopefully)

P/S: I might write a part 3 to make up for the angst but uhm ... please don't come for me over the ending 🫣

GIF Credit

Judging by the sound of people and traffic outside, Matt knew he had slept in. Not that it mattered since it was a Saturday, and he had nowhere to be, especially after a night of going all out on a celebration with Foggy and Karen on the occasion of winning a big case for their client. With the new bonus lined in their pockets, Foggy gave a passionate speech about the grand plan of upgrading the office; Karen daydreamed about a proper heater for the upcoming winter while Matt zoned out, occasionally chiming in with a witty remark. He didn't enjoy his win as much as he should, as a part of him wished he could see you and tell you about it instead. He knew you would be happy for him and listen to every detail, just like you did whenever he told you about his day, when he wasn't in a hurry to leave.

The talking clock announced the time and date, and as Matt shifted back to the bed, a thought struck him. It had been three months since his last illicit affair with you. Matt sighed, pressing his face into the pillow at the thought of you. He had been thinking about you more and more every day. Matt blamed it on his coming to the acceptance that what you and he shared had long dissolved into thin air, becoming something that never was before you met. But the history was still there, at least for him. It didn't get to disappear. It stayed in his head, haunting him like a shadow at the edge of his conscience, waiting for a chance to occupy his thoughts whenever he found his mind strayed, and if he had to admit it, he didn't want to let it go. Matt replayed the last night he spent with you over and over, prying for little details of what had gone wrong, only to come up with none. You were curt with him, and the rebuttal he came up with was you were tired. You even said it yourself. Matt left you alone that night after that, and he even made sure that the two of you were okay. But he guessed it wasn't enough, as you completely shut him out afterward.

From time to time, Matt would stop by your place to check on you, to see if the wind chime returned, only to be disappointed by its absence. He would perch on the rooftop of your building, listening to the sound of your soft laugh alongside your favourite show. Matt was so close, yet so far away from you. He had gotten used to the silence, but he hadn't used to not seeing you, being around you. Even though a small part of him was crestfallen that you didn't seem to miss his presence, it made him happy to see you were still doing well. Even if it was without him.

Turning on his back, with his hand stretched over the empty space beside him, Matt couldn't help but wonder why you cut all contact with him, and why he had been so bothered by the fact. He could take the hint and accept a rejection, but he couldn't understand why your silence hurt him the most of all. Something was missing; Matt could feel it so clearly when he returned to his apartment at night after your arrangement was abruptly over. His place didn't have your scent, your candles, or even the overpowering aroma of the ointment you applied on him when he needed it. He even missed the coarseness of your fine cotton sheets on his too-sensitive skin. Yet, none of these little things could even begin to compare to how often he found himself missing your presence most of all. Your steady heartbeat and the way it quickened when he touched you. Your comforting scent when he buried his nose into your neck. The way your thighs found their home around his waist when he fucked you into the mattress, your bodies moving together in a desperate attempt at getting closer and closer until you were joined in one body made of flesh and bones. It wasn't just the sex that he missed. His heart involuntarily yearned for your laugh, your presence, being around you. He remembered how your apartment smelled like the tea you drink and how it would be cold by the end of his visits. He missed the way you seemed to know what he needed by paying attention to his body language and the way he conveyed his needs without words.

Matt ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily. He needed to take a walk, to allow his mind to be uninhabited by you.

As Matt padded barefoot through the apartment, he was reminded once again of you by the soft floral fragrance in the sweater you left at his place. It was you he smelled, a warm and sheer powdery iris that he could never mistake for someone else, and a mix of his own scent, too. When he first noticed it in his closet, his heart fluttered when he realized what it was. Now, with its new place on the top of a dining chair, the faint floral was a reminder of what you were to him. He wished he could restore it to your scent and your scent only so he could hold onto you a little longer. Matt caught his stray thought and steered himself away from reminiscing. It was dangerously close to the territory he couldn't afford to enter. So he shut it out.

He really needed that walk.

The air was crisp and clear, which made everything around him stand out more. Matt took a moment to take in his surroundings. The neighbourhood felt lively amongst the aroma of coffee, steaming broth, greasy food and freshly baked pastries. The revving of a motorcycle passed by him, making his brows furrow over the loud noise and the waft of smoke it brought. He smelled more food, more body odour, but amidst all that chaos, something familiar arose. The scent reminded him of you. And once again, his thoughts strayed as if he couldn't help himself.

How could he have predicted the way things ended with you? Even if he knew beforehand, he couldn't prevent it from happening. It simply wasn't meant to be. You and him both knew what you were getting into, and it was nothing more than a casual exchange. And if his exclusion from your life was what you wanted, he would respect that. Still, Matt couldn't make sense of his desolation. It confused him, all the thoughts running through his head, all the ache wrapping around his heart like cellophane, circling around the truth buried so deep that he couldn't feel it for what it truly was. It was almost as if his heart already knew, but his mind refused to acknowledge it.

The iris scent got stronger, and Matt directed his attention toward it. His heart seemed to recognize it before his senses caught onto it, beating faster as it came closer, accompanied by the rhythm of a heartbeat he knew so well. It was unmistakenly you, your scent, your voice, as all the tangible signals drifted to him. He was aware that you hadn't seen him yet; his feet involuntarily picked up the pace, closing the distance between you. You were closer to him now, the closest in months. He listened to your voice as you chatted with your companion, unaware of him. And when you finally saw him, Matt could tell as the breath in your throat hitched. He took a deep breath, bracing himself to say hi, a soft smile on his face.

It was only seconds, yet it felt so long as your jacket brushed over his on the busy pavement; the brief contact ended before it even began. You kept walking further away from him as Matt's heart dropped in the realization that you didn't stop to acknowledge him. The familiar ache took hold of his heart and squeezed again. Matt brushed the feeling off by taking his own steps forward and away from you, only with less certainty and excitement. He was still close by when he heard it. The conversation you had with your companion.

"Hey. You okay?"

The woman's voice was full of concern.

"Uh, yeah, I'm … I'm fine."

There was a touch of hesitation in your voice.

"Are you sure? You look like you saw a ghost."

A small chuckle.

"I feel like I did."

A brief pause and a small yet determined exhale later.

"Don't worry. It's nothing."

His heart dropped even further at your words; the pain grabbed and pulled at his heartstrings violently. What you said to your friend manifested a bitter taste on his tongue, making his stomach churn. You pretending not to know him and ignoring him hurt him more than he realized. How could you? How could you act like the ink on the pages of your story had washed away so completely that the history you shared became a blank book? Why did he become nothing to you?

Matt wanted to know the unbridled truth and get the closure he was owed. He deserved that much.

–

About a week later, Matt waited for you to return home at the front of your building instead of the usual spot at your fire escape. It was late, almost time for him to go back to his apartment so he could start the patrol for the night. But that could wait.

Matt buried his hands into his pockets to shield them from the wind nipping at his skin. Leaning onto the brick pillar at the bottom of the steps, he closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart rate, reminding himself that it was just you, the woman he had known so well. But his logic persisted. Maybe he didn't know you at all. He could barely understand himself these days. Who was he to say that he knew you for who you really were?

His heart picked up its pace again once he heard the sound of your voice neared. You were laughing alongside the familiar voice from last week; the slightest slur in your words was enough for him to know that you were tipsy. The uneven clicks of your heels on the ground became steadier as you made your way toward the entrance and stopped when you approached him.

Matt stood up straight, clearing his throat softly.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?"

You wasted no time. Your voice was cold, and your demeanour was curt.

"I need to talk to you."

Your companion's voice interrupted him.

"Who are you?"

You pulled at your friend's sleeve, and after a brief pause, she released a small gasp and a soft "Oh". She then turned to him, her voice stern, leaving no room for any other interpretation.

"My friend doesn't have anything to say to you. So you can–"

"Mindy. I got this."

"Are you sure?"

Matt listened as the conversation wrapped up, with Mindy getting into a cab and you promising to call her if you wanted to talk. You closed the door, waiting until the taxi pulled away before returning to him, still keeping your distance.

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

Matt took a small step forward.

"About what happened between us."

"There is nothing to talk about. Nothing happened."

The blankness in your voice made him feel like his skin was pricked with needles. He scoffed, bewildered with disbelief at your outright denial.

"I wouldn't call cutting off all contact, out of the blue, without an explanation, nothing."

When you didn't say anything, he continued.

"Why did you shut me out? It's like our relationship meant nothing to you."

His words seemed to get to you as you snapped back at him.

"There was nothing between us. There was no relationship."

You enunciated your words, making your intention clear.

"I cared for you the same way you cared for me. Isn't that something?"

The harsh puff of air escaped from you was scornful, and Matt knew he was getting somewhere.

"No. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I do. What do you mean by that?"

You stepped closer until you were inches away from him. You were so close that Matt could feel the tension in your body, the way your fists clenched into themselves, the way your heart pounded in your chest.

"You want the truth, Matt? The truth is I didn't want to set myself up for more disappointment, so I did what I thought was best for myself."

His brows scrunched together at the meaning behind your words.

"What kind of disappointment?"

You sighed heavily.

"The kind that came from knowing I could never be more to you. I thought you cared for me, Matt."

Your voice had gone quieter, so small that he felt like it took all of your strength to physically say it. He softened at that, and his hand reached out to find your cheek.

"I did. I still do."

But before the contact happened, you took a step back, avoiding his hand.

"No. You don't care about me like the way I cared for you. I was just your side piece that you could fuck whenever you–"

Matt was so taken aback by your firm conviction that he didn't register the latter part. He didn't care about the way you seemed to shy away from him and grasped your arms, pulling you close.

"You're more than that to me! You're my friend."

His chest heaved in exertion. He didn't know what else he could do to convince you. When you spoke, it was the way your voice shook that broke him.

"That wasn't enough for me, Matt."

Your hands came up to hold onto his arms, your grasp weak, but it gave Matt some hope. You swallowed hard.

"I lov– I liked you, so much that my heart hurts whenever you didn't stop by."

His heart rattled in its cage, wanting to break free at your confession. Your voice was so small, yet your words carried so much weight.

"I thought we could be more, but you confirmed that it wasn't in the cards for you, so … I did the best thing for both of us. I didn't want to waste anymore of your and my time."

Matt loosened his hold, his head dipped as he hoped you were looking at him.

"You knew what it would be like to be with me. I would go out and I might get hurt, and I didn't want to leave you by yourself worrying about me in case something happened."

You tore yourself away from his grasp, your voice raised in what felt like exasperation.

"You don't get it! I already went through those worries when we were still sleeping together. I was always worried about you when you got injured, when you came to my place just a little later than you said you would. I would be worried sick. So don't feed me that bull shit. I knew what I was getting myself into."

Matt fell silent, and for the first time, he lost his defence. So he returned to the start of it all.

"We agreed to be casual."

"Then why did you act like my boyfriend? Cuddling me to sleep? Making sure I was okay after a shitty day at work? I thought it was you showing that you cared about me more than just a fuck-buddy."

Your anger only intensified at his attempt at calmness.

"You're worth caring for. I didn't regret anything I did for you."

You chuckled, the sound bitter to his ears.

"Right. It doesn't matter anyway. You already have someone else waiting for you at home."

Confusion clouded his thoughts.

"What are you talking about?"

You scoffed in disbelief.

"I'm talking about Karen Page."

"What about her?"

"Don't pull that shit with me. I know you're together. I could tell by the way you acted throughout the interview and the photoshoot."

"You got it wrong. We used to date, but not anymore. We're only friends. Please, you have to trust me."

He could hear you moving toward him before feeling a jab of your finger at his chest; your face was closer to his for the first time in months.

"I don't care what the two of you are anymore, okay? It looked like that from my end. Do you know what it feels like knowing that you were made the other woman? I even defended you before my friend, saying that you actually loved me. I was so fucking stupid."

Your last words were dripped in a teary tone. Matt was speechless as you sobbed; the sound made his body throb with pain as if he was dealt with a thousand cuts. He noticed the way your heart thundered in your chest, but it wasn't out of dishonesty. It was out of the hate and love you had for him, both surging at once. Your heart thumped vigorously for him; your body burned with fervour because of him. He was too stubborn to see the signs for what they were: the affection and devotion you saved for him, reflected through the little things you did for him. You didn't have to say it. Your feeling for him was tangible and real, like the feel of your finger prodding at his chest. Real like the tears on your face at the expense of his unintentional ignorance.

Your hand fell to your side. Your anger subsided; now you were depleted, and Matt hated that he was the source of your distress.

"Please, understand where I came from. I didn't want to be a home wrecker. I just couldn't do it anymore."

He nodded. The silence stretched as the two of you let the confession infuse the air between you. Matt had asked for the truth, and he got it. Yet it was so suffocating that he felt like he couldn't breathe. All of your cards were laid on the table, and it was his turn to reveal his.

You sniffled, and your voice sobered up. But Matt could still hear the shakiness in it.

"Anything else you want to tell me?"

The words were at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to say them. He held his cards close, afraid to confront the aftermath. After all, he had so much to lose.

You took his silence for your answer. You trained your voice to be cold again.

"Right. I hope you got what you came here for."

You brushed past him and ascended the steps, leaving Matt where he was: at the front of your door, in the cold autumn wind, alone. Like he always had been.

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