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calypsocolada · 2 months

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CAPTAIN | r. zoro

synopsis: the captain of the hockey team really gets on your nerves. authors note: hi! i'm back from the dead to offer this fic! i saw a tik tok and got inspired. it was a sports au of hockey player zoro and I was obsessed and wrote this! hope you guys like :) might write a part two since I really like this pairing. also was thinking of doing a series where all the one peice characters play different kinds of sports :)

cw: sports au!, hockey player zoro, not proofread, slightly suggestive wc: 3.5k

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You would venture to say you're a pretty reasonable person. You never got angry easily, or upset. You kept it together pretty well usually.

Usually.

Today… Well, today was an exception. Actually it was always an exception when Rorona Zoro was in the rink. He was one of those rowdy hockey players that you would mostly ignore. You worked at the ice rink on weekends and most of the time you got lucky. The players would either be at away games or out partying on weekends. But not Roronoa Zoro. If you could say one nice thing about him it was that he is dedicated to his craft. You had the displeasure of being stuck talking with him and a few of his hockey buddies one day. Who knew this one day would taint the rest of the times you saw him.

His hockey friends were desperate, you’d think they’d never talked to a human woman before in their life the way they pounced on you. Asking you tons of questions about your life, if you had someone, who was your type, did you fancy anyone. By the time they were done asking you felt as though it was an interrogation. You were about to tell them you had to get back to work when suddenly Zoro spoke first.

“Leave the girl alone.” He’d walked out of the showers, his green hair damp and messy. “She clearly doesn’t like being interrogated.” He grumbles. The rest of the team sighs but they listen to the green haired man, leaving you be. You watch as they head back towards the showers, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks.” You had said, he shrugged.

“You should learn to speak up for yourself, rink girl.” He says and before you can respond he’s gone back towards the locker room.

Asshole.

After that you didn’t even spare him a glance, let alone a moment of your time. When he’d check in you’d slide the clipboard over to him not even looking up. It was a bit petty but you felt slightly vindictive towards him. Maybe not entirely towards him but also the company he keeps. His other hockey friends are atrocious to be around. They stare and ask for your number and try to eat lunch with you and just bother you relentlessly. Also despite them all claiming to have interest in you they call you rink girl because of Zoro even though your name is on a tag on the front of your shirt.

Days like today were no different. Once again two of the players were at your desk, asking about your day and pretending to care.

“Still no guy?” The blond one asks, you never learned their names since they didn’t care to learn yours. You clicked your pen, you had paperwork to do and were in a particularly bad mood.

“Still no girl?” You snap, the blond one pouts but the brunette one snorts a laugh.

“I see why Captain likes you so much.” The blond one mutters under his breath. You barely hear it, your brows furrowing.

“What?”

“Dude… shut up.” The brunette intercepts, knocking the blond in the back of the head. The familiar ding of the front door sounded as Zoro entered the building. “Oh shit… let’s go, hurry!” The blond gasps, you watch the two players practically sprint and trip over each other to get away from your desk. You furrow your brows as Zoro clears his throat. It makes you jump.

“Jesus!” You gasp.

“No, it’s Roronoa.” He says as he watches you place a hand over your heart, the other grabbing the clipboard for him to sign.

“Ha-ha.” You mock, sliding it to him. For the first time in a while you look at him. It’s cold out so he’s bundled up slightly, his cheeks lightly dusted pink from the cold. He’s almost… handsome? You never really noticed. You can’t look away… well until his eyes meet yours. You look away quickly as he clicks the pen and places it on the clipboard, sliding it back to you. When you reach to grab it back your fingers just barely grace his hand. He’s warm, despite just being out in the cold. You clear your throat, pulling your hand away quickly, busying yourself with your paperwork again.

“Hey,” He says as your hand pauses and you slowly look up at him. He looks at you for a moment, as though he’s trying to read something on your face.

“What?” You ask, slightly concerned that he’s lingering at your desk more than usual.

“I saw those two idiots talking to you.” He says and you're not sure if it’s a question or a statement so you nod your head. His jaw tenses as he sighs heavily. “Are they bothering you?” He asks. You stare at him for a moment, trying to read his face to know whether or not he was messing with you. He was infinitely serious.

“No. I can take care of myself.” You say with a tad bit of venom in your voice. He nods his head, the look in his eyes unreadable.

“Good.” He says and with that walks towards the locker room without another word. You watch him go, very confused.

A few hours pass as you walk back to your desk after lunch. The players are leaving for the day, some of them wave at you and you wave back halfheartedly. When the blond and brunette from earlier today pass they walk past you like wounded dogs, very clearly avoiding looking in your direction. Zoro isn’t with him curiously and as it gets later you see he’s the only one who hasn’t checked out and since the rink is closing soon you sigh and hop up from your chair. You walk into the locker room first, silence fills as you poke your head around the corner. Sure enough his locker is open and full of his stuff. You make your way towards the rink you know he’s in there before you even catch sight of him. You hear the sound of his hockey stick smacking against the puck sending it flying through the air, it swishes into the net with ease. A perfect shot. He hasn’t noticed you watching as he sails across the ice to retrieve the puck and set up again for another drill. He’d gotten much better in the months he practiced here. He played like a possessed man, much different from the person you watched practice months and months ago. Not that you knew anything about hockey but there was a reason this man was the captain.

“Enjoying yourself?” Zoro calls out to you. You jump again for the second time again, blowing out a breath, holding your heart again. “Someone’s jumpy.” He mumbles as he lines up a shot, sending it sailing down the ice into the goal. You clear your throat.

“We close in six minutes.” You call out to him coldly, turning.

“Hey,” He calls out to you. You're not sure why but you pause, turning as he skates to you, the only thing shielding him from you was a thick piece of acrylic glass that spanned the entirety of the ring. “You play?” He asks as you furrow your brows.

“Hockey?” You ask, looking up at him. Was he always this damn tall? He nods his head, reaching up and wiping sweat from his brow. You scoff, slightly amused.

“No.” You answer and his eyes travel from your own down your body then slowly, agonizingly slowly back to your eyes. You're blushing by the time he meets your eyes again.

“Think you can block me?” He asks and you stare at him incredulously, it takes you a long moment to answer.

“W-what?” You question, he cocks his head, smirking down at you.

“I said… Do you think you could block me?”

“I heard you.” You sigh. “And no… I don’t think I could block you.”

“Why not?” He asks, leaning against the glass.

“B-because you're like eight foot tall and hundreds of pounds.”

“Ouch… you make me sound like a monster.” He tsks, still with that grin on his lips.

“You are… you're huge.” You say and a second later your words cause you to blush and look away.

“Uh huh.” Zoro hummed, laughing slightly. You swallow, clearing your throat. “Put on some skates, Y/n, if you can’t guard me I’ll need a goalie.”

“We’re closing, in fact we're probably closed already.” You say as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Hmm… didn’t take you for the scared type.” He says, slowly skating towards the puck.

“I…” You stutter, scoffing a laugh. “Am not scared.” You finish as he shoots you a look, a challenging one. It was stupid really. Stupid that you found yourself sliding into skates and sailing right towards him in the rink. “Fuck,” You curse, not able to stop as you practically crash right into him. But it’s more like hitting a damn wall, he barely budges and grabs you before you can go down. “Sorry.” You breathe out, his hands are on your hips, stabilizing you, your hands on his shoulders trying to keep your balance.

“You can’t even skate?”

“I just haven’t done it in a long time.” You say feeling a rush of something entirely out of your control when his hands slowly let you go. “I’m fine,” You say, testing the waters as you skate around a tad bit. He watches you like a hawk and when it looks like you're about to go down he’s there in seconds, those big hands back on your hips.

“I think it’s safe to say I’ve won this game before we even started.” He says with a slight laugh as he slides off his jacket. You shake your head vehemently.

“Nuh uh! I just-- need to warm up, that’s all.” You say, staring at the ground as your hands grip his forearms.

“Here,” He says, placing his jacket on your shoulders, it smells like him, like something warm and woodsy. You slide your arms through the sleeves. “Look up,” He says. A moment later your eyes find his, something sparks between you, your stomach doing a flip. “Don’t stare at your feet as you skate.” He directs as you nod your head, not trusting yourself to speak and not mess up your words. Slowly he starts skating backwards, holding you as you keep up with his pace. Slowly you fall back into your old routine, able to skate on your own.

“See… told ya’.” You say a bit cockily, almost falling again but catching yourself. Zoro smiles softly, shaking his head. You could crash looking at the smile alone. You force yourself to look away. “So… how do we play?” You ask as Zoro grabs and tosses his stick to you, you catch it with ease.

“We’ll play for five minutes, if you can score one goal on me you win.”

“I thought I was gonna play goalie?” You ask.

“I’d rather me get hit with pucks than you.” He says, warmth spreads through you at that, so you don’t answer him. He reaches and zips up your jacket before skating towards the goal. He turns to face you, crouching slightly, nodding his head to you. Game on, you guessed.

You skated a few feet before hitting the puck hard. It sails and misses the goal by at least a couple feet. Zoro laughs.

“You’re trying right? That wasn’t even anywhere close.” He mocks as you skate to grab the puck.

“I don’t even know if I’m holding his damned thing right!” You call out, shaking his stick at him.

“You’re not.” he says and you huff.

You hit the puck again and again and again. A few times you made it close to Zoro but he just batted it away with ease. You weren’t sure how much time passed before you were hitting the puck again, missing, the force of the hit making you lose your balance and slam onto the ice. You lay sprawled out on the ice as Zoro skates over quickly to your side. You took the opportunity to hit the puck where you laid and slowly it glided into the goal.

“She shoots! She scores!” You cheer from the ground as Zoro scoffs a heartily laugh, his cheeks dusted that same pink from earlier.

“That was a dirty play.” He grins, looming above you.

“It was a play all the same right? Is that five points? I don’t know anything about hockey.” You skirk as Zoro lends you a hand, you take it.

“It’s one point.” He laughs, pulling you easily to your feet.

“One point…” You trail off. “I slammed into the ground for one point.” You say and Zoro breathes out a laugh, nodding his head. “What do I win for beating the captain? Bragging rights?”

“You can’t utter a word of this to my team.” He says in a mock serious tone as a smirk grows on your lips.

“You can’t tell me that, Roronoa, I’m the captain now.” You say as Zoro raises a brow, his cheeks going even more pink.

“Is that right?” He asks, his voice a rasp. You notice than how close you two are standing, you're still holding his hands, the warmth of them radiating through you.

“That’s right.” You confirm, keeping a well placed poker face.

“Got another round in you?” He asks as you shake your head.

“Y/N! Is that you?” Your boss called as you heard the door being pushed open. Your heart drops in your chest, the alarm showing on your face. “What’re you doing?” Your boss asks as you stutter out a sorry.

“She was helping me clean up, sir, sorry for keeping her.” Zoro calls out to your boss. Your boss buys Zoro’s words.

“Well hurry up, I need to get home for dinner.” Your boss says, walking back out of the rink. You blow out a breath, skating towards the exit, Zoro just behind you.

“Jesus… thanks.” You blow out, heart still in your throat.

“No worries.” He says just behind you.

You plop down on the bench, leaning to untie your skates. Zoro sits beside you quietly, doing the same. It's a little awkward now, especially after all that oblivious flirting you were doing. This wasn’t something you couldn't see coming.

Just last week you didn’t even like looking at this guy, now you found yourself liking looking at him. A complete turn around. Not entirely unwelcomed though.

When you finally kicked off your skates, you sat up just as Zoro reached over, warm fingers on your chin and turned your face gently towards him and pressed his lips to your own. You gasped, taken off guard, eyes wide. A spark shot through you like nothing you’d ever felt before. His fingers on your chin slid until he was gently cupping your cheek, his other hand coming up and doing the same thing on the other side of your face. He kissed you gently. Slowly your eyes fluttered closed, your hand reaching up and falling short, as you knotted it in the front of his t-shirt, pulling him by it closer to you.

“I really fucking like you.” He mumbles against your lips in between kisses, you kiss him hard at his words. Ghosted over your lips causing a shiver to track down your spine. All the pent up emotions you harbored came spilling out as you somehow ended up in his lap, the moment grew intense, a groan escaping his lips that your lips muffled. His hands found purchase on your ass as he stood, taking you with him, carrying you with one hand to press your back into the acrylic glass around the rink. One of your hands slides around the back of Zoro’s neck, tangling in his hair. Zoro makes a sound you didn’t think was possible for him to make, something that had your stomach bottoming out and your fingers barely tugging at his hair, a soft sort of whimper escaping his lips. His kisses then turn hungry, almost feverish. He’s burying his lips in yours, forgetting to breathe, his hands tightening around you, completely lost in the moment. Someone clears their throat, startling you both as Zoro lets you down. Your boss stands there, hands on his hips, a look of embarrassment on his face.

“Sir, I was helping him.” “She was helping me.” Zoro and you speak at the same time. Your boss raises his head, shaking his head as you nod your head in understanding leaving with your boss.

You were reprimanded but ultimately he let you keep your job. Yay. It was your first infraction and he said to keep it professional which you agreed with and apologized vehemently. You probably apologized hundreds of times in a five minute conversation. Your boss asked not to talk about it again and you were completely fine with that. You gathered up your stuff and pushed out into the cold winter night. The cold hitting your warm cheeks and cooling you off. You didn’t have a moment alone to think about what had just transpired.

“Y/n…” Zoro called out as you crossed the parking lot. He waved as you blushed. “I’m so sorry… you didn’t get fired did you?”

“No... What was that?” You asked as you got closer.

“What?”

“Why’d you kiss me? I-- I sort of thought you hated me.” You confront.

“What? I don’t-- I don’t hate you.” Zoro shakes his head.

“You sure? I mean-- you were an asshole to me that one time… saying I needed to learn to take care of myself and that stupid fucking nickname? Rink girl? All your teammates call me that by the way.” You say, all of it sort of falling out like word vomit. Zoro raises his chin slightly, looking down at you.

“They call you that?” He asks, his voice level as you sigh.

“Yes! They do!”

“I’ll fix that.” He promises as you stare at him. This whole night was just strange.

“Why’d you kiss me?” You ask again. Zoro’s eyes soften.

“I told you already.” He says as you shake your head.

“You didn’t tell me anything? We barely talked before today.”

“I said I like you. I said I really fucking like you.” He reiterated. You remember him saying that. The heat and warmth spread like a wildfire after hearing it again.

“Why?” You ask as Zoro sort of cocks his head.

“Why?” He echoes as you raise your brows, nodding your head imploring for an answer. “Because you're pretty. You’re funny and I like the way you ignored me all the time.” He admits as you laugh despite yourself.

“What? Y-you like that I ignore you?”

“I did. I like this way better.” He motions to you and him talking. You raise your head.

“Okay…” You say skeptically, you find your mind trailing back to the kiss and it brings a blush to your cheek. You clear your throat. “How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you liked me?” Zoro looks like he’s thinking about it for a moment.

“The first day I met you probably.” He says nonchalantly. You laugh.

“Yeah… sure.” You roll your eyes. He steps closer to you.

“I mean it. You introduced yourself and said I had green hair, not that you liked it, you just said I had it.” You remembered that, your lips part in surprise because he remembered it too.

“It’s uncommon.” You say and Zoro smiles warmly down at you.

“Still don’t know if you like it or not.” He grins as your eyes bounce to it.

“I like it.” You say and see a soft blush form on Zoro’s cheeks. “Why were you such an asshole to me that day?”

“I-- am sorry about that. I was more angry with my teammates for annoying you. I wanted you to know that you could speak up for yourself, that you could just tell them to shut up but-- I’m sorry.”

“And Rink girl?”

“Poor attempt at flirting…” He says. You start laughing, shaking your head.

“The poorest attempt. But… your words did make me speak up for myself more, so…” You relent. Zoro smiles softly. You can’t help it, you pull him against your lips. That smile was too much. You needed it pressed against your lips. His hands slid around your hips.

“Christ, Y/n… go home!” Your boss grumbles as you startle, Zoro’s hands stay planted on you as you shoot an apologetic look at you boss.

“Sorry, sir.” You say as he waves you off, slipping into his car and driving away. You start laughing, your hand coming up to cover your mouth.

“You are going to get me fired.” You grumble as Zoro presses his mouth to yours again as though he couldn’t wait another damn second, walking you back until your back is pressed against his car. He lifts you with ease, setting you on the hood as the car’s alarm sets off.

“Fucking hell!” Zoro hissed, fumbling for his keys. You dissolved into laughter.

#one peice x reader #one piece zoro #zoro roronoa #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x y/n

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writingsforwhatever · 7 months

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Part 1: Love letters to Matthew (m.s.)

summary: matt never felt the same way until he finally did.

warnings: very very slow burn. this is a long read, go get a snack! if you don't like reading, don't read it. ALSO, i have one shots based of this story. Their little moments leading up to the reader and matt confessing their feelings for each other. Let me know if you all are interested! enjoy my little bored mind.

A/N: Hi, before you continue reading this story, please be aware that I wrote this work of mine two years ago for my creative writing. It's my baby, and I hold it close to my heart. I lost inspiration for it a while back, but now I'm sharing it with the world. This is a long read because it's the entire story in two post. (Part 2 is posted). It's in no way connected or affiliated with Matt Sturniolo. I just made him the character because he fits the character's personality, and I needed to envision someone while I continued writing it, so I thought, why not?

word count: 27,231k

"If I could choose to live anywhere in the world, I would still choose to live here," she remarked, passing the bowl of Cheetos to Matt. "I mean, I could also pick a place in Sweden, somewhere in Northern Europe, but who could leave Massachusetts?"

Matt, sprawled out on the couch with the TV playing in the background, shrugged. "You could," he replied, smiling down at her. "Come on, don't be so negative. You can't possibly stay here forever."

"Why not? What's wrong with here?" She asked, standing up. She was now facing Matt, and a change of heart suddenly took hold. "I mean, I guess you're right." She flopped down next to him once more, sighing. "Do you think we'll ever fulfill our dreams and go to Europe together?"

"Of course, you idiot. We will, don't worry about it too much," he reassured her, glancing at her. It was the 19th day of December, a snowy day in the Bay State, and excitement was in the air. Airports were busier than usual, which meant one thing: Christmas was just around the corner.

September 2023

"Damn it," she cursed as she unpacked her suitcase. It was September, with summer in the process of ending and fall about to arrive. She couldn't believe her parents had thrown a "party" to welcome her back from her two-month long vacation. Before leaving, she had made it crystal clear that she didn't want any crazy shit, but it turned out that Luke had talked to her parents behind her back while she was spending time with him abroad. She glanced at the poster on her wall once again and whispered with a smile, "That idiot."

Luke.

The boy with light brown eyes reminiscent of autumn leaves, the one who swam throughout college, briefly dropped out, and then returned to college. He was the boy she met at Samantha's birthday party, the one her little cousin had a crush on - Luke.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized frantically, searching for the green tissue pack in her little bag while setting the glass of beer on a nearby table. Her white shirt was now stained with liquor, which was just great. The embarrassment of the situation was overwhelming, leaving her unable to think straight.

"No worries," Luke chuckled, clearly taken aback by the unexpected encounter. "I should've been more careful."

She handed him the tissues, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "That was so embarrassing. I'm truly sorry," she said with a sheepish smile.

"Don't worry about it. It’ll dry," he replied with a reassuring smile.

In that moment, she wished she could vanish into the ground, hoping some higher being might intervene and make it happen right there and right then.

"I’m going to miss you so much," Luke sighed, embracing her from behind.

She turned to face him, her expression softening. "Me too, but we'll see each other again on Christmas, okay?"

"That's a long time. I'll really really miss you," he admitted with a sad smile.

"Oh, shut up. You're probably tired of seeing my face every day," she giggled while still unpacking her suitcase.

"I could never. I love you too much." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"That's a nice touch," she pointed at her wall, changing the subject.

"You like it? Your mom helped me," he replied, smiling at her.

"Ya’ll are so dramatic," she chuckled.

Welcome back! – Haley, Mom, & Dad

After that fateful night in March when she met Luke, she had slowly stopped composing letters to Matthew altogether. The dynamics of her relationships with him had shifted, leaving behind a stack of handwritten words that now belonged to the past.

Matt.

Matt, with eyes as blue as a warm sunny day's sky, was someone she could lose herself in. He was the boy she loved so deeply that if her heart were torn from her chest, his name would be etched there. Matthew, the only one she had ever loved before Luke.

During the summer of ’20, she came to the realization that she had developed a crush on her best friend. On the night he drove her home, she silently prayed for God to make her feelings for him disappear. It seemed absurd; this was Matt, her very own Matt, her dearest friend in the world, and she was in love with him.

As they both grew older, she began to perceive him in a new way. He underwent changes; growing out his hair became something she loved. His height increased too. Whenever she sees him, a permanent smile adorned his face, and she found herself deeply and irrevocably in love with him. Everything he did captivated her, particularly the moment he slept on her shoulder in the car. It was ridiculous how loudly her heart throbbed at that time.

"Do you think they'll mind if it's just the two of us, Matt?" she asked, settling into the passenger seat.

"Why? We've done this plenty of times before; they'll be okay," he reassured her, quieting her with a gentle shush as he started the car.

On the day they left for LA, tears streamed down her face, staining Nick's shirt. "We'll be back for Thanksgiving, you goof," he reassured her.

No matter if it was for Christmas or her birthday, she didn’t care but the fact that her best friends were leaving at that moment weighed heavily on her. "You’re moving to the other side of the country, and I’m heading to college," she sniffled, the airport surroundings continued to add to her gloom.

Chris, empathetic, offered her a comforting a hug. "The other side of the country is crazy,” he said. "You can visit us, you know."

Her response came with a hint of frustration, "I'll be in college, Chris."

With a warm smile, Chris reassured her, “You can visit us during breaks. We're just one flight away."

She gazed at Matt, noticing his pink cheeks. "Everything's going to be okay. We'll see each other again in no time," he smiled sadly at her. She wanted to believe Matt wholeheartedly, as she always did, but deep down, she knew that things would never be the same.

August 23, 2021

Dear Matt, I miss you all so much. Mom and Dad just dropped me off at college, and my roommate, Samantha seems nice. She's from San Diego. You don't think my Boston accent is interesting, do you? She keeps saying it is, but I don't think so. I hope you're having a blast over there. I know you are. I really wish you were here. I miss you the most. Massachusetts sucks without you guys.

September 15, 2021

Dear Matthew,

I already miss you. It's funny; we just spoke on the phone, and here I am writing you a letter already. You sounded really happy, which makes me happy too. By the way, I just realized I brought Nick's shirt with me and your white hoodie too!! I didn't mention it earlier because I thought you might want them back. Haha.

Anyway, I can't wait for Fall; maybe we can visit a pumpkin patch. I know how much you love those. I'm looking forward to seeing you and everyone. Homesickness is setting in, and I miss home, especially you. I miss you the most.

P.S. Samantha thinks Nate is cute, but I don't think she’s his type.

The days went by, and she found herself missing him even more. The calls and texts lessened, she became busier, and Matt was texting her when she was at class and would reply to her when she was face down on the bed, asleep.

She struggled to admit it, but the Instagram posts featuring their new friends tugged at her heartstrings with a sense of longing. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being left out, as if life was in full swing without her presence, playing out somewhere in Southern California with her friends and the love of her life, while she sat alone at UMass, eating a sandwich in the cafeteria. She yearned to turn back time to those carefree 9th-grade days, where she’d laugh at Chris’s antics in class or when Matt and Nick would whisk her away for impromptu beach adventures.

September 28, 2021

Dear Matt,

I saw a guy today who I thought looked just like you in an ice cream shop while I was out with my friend. I think I might be losing my mind. College is going pretty well so far. Alahna sent me a snap from early 2021 last night, and it was of you getting annoyed at Nick because he had the megaphone while we were in the drive-thru. It was so funny. I thought you looked great that night, but then again, when did you ever not? Congratulations on hitting 4 million!

Oh, and does Chris have a crush on Natalie? Never mind, I'll ask him about it later. I miss you guys so much.

Years had passed since she last laid eyes on the photos that adorned the walls of her childhood bedroom. The pink and white paint of the room served as a poignant reminder of the unrequited love that had once consumed her heart.

The photos of her, Matt, and their friends playing in the snow, or the selfies Nick snapped during sleepovers when Chris and Matt would crash on the floor of Nick's room - memories she cherished dearly. The thought of past Thanksgiving gatherings tugged at her heartstrings, recalling how he'd tower over her at the table, his tender touches igniting a warmth in her skin. She loved Matt deeply, more than words could express.

October 11, 2021

Dear Matt,

I got my hair cut today. It felt weird. I was going to take a selfie to send it to you, but I got shy. I hope you're doing well over there. I heard you guys went to a party; Nick won't stop talking about it, lol.

I can't believe it's been months since I last saw you in person, even though I saw you the other day through a video call, it's just not the same... Time is flying by.

Also, Chloe just passed her driving lessons. I wish you guys were here to see it. I know she texted Nick about it, but still, I miss you, Matthew. Anyway, I'll text you later. I have this professor who's very old, and he hates late students.

She did see them on Thanksgiving, and she couldn't forget how Matt looked. Those moments made her question how she could go on with her life, knowing he was completely oblivious to her deep feelings for him. She hated herself for falling in love with him. It was a realization that left her feeling stupid.

November 30, 2021

Dear Matthew,

You looked absolutely handsome at dinner last week. I couldn't help but wonder how LA gets to see you like that every day without turning the whole state upside down. You mentioned missing me, but I'm pretty sure I missed you even more. It's odd that Mom keeps talking about how much taller you've grown, because she should have expected that. Yesterday, when you brought up about meeting a girl, my heart sank. I believe you genuinely like her. I didn't want to ask more because I didn't want to be too obvious, but I think Chris saw my smile disappear. He was kind enough not to ask about it though so it’s all good.

Why do I still miss you even when you're sleeping right beside me on the couch? It's as if you're so far away.

It was early August 2022 when she paid them a visit in California for their birthday. She could recall every detail – the weather, the ride from the airport, and the woman in his arms.

She had faced numerous challenges before, like the time she had to carry Samantha, who was far too drunk for her own good, or when Chris begged her to retrieve his backpack in subzero temperatures. However, this situation felt entirely different. As the doors swung open, she yearned to be anywhere but there – perhaps back in her small dorm room in Boston.

From within, she could hear the voices and music, the uproar of celebration and delight. Outside, the soft hum of Los Angeles traffic persisted as cars rushed by. Yet, above all else, she swore she could hear the unrelenting rhythm of her own heartbeat, as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded in that moment.

The woman was already there, wearing a warm smile, eagerly awaiting her boyfriend Matt's arrival. She couldn't help but admire Matt's taste, as in that moment, she found the woman to be stunning. With her dark blonde hair, brown eyes, and a height of 5'3, she gave off an endearing aura that she effortlessly carried with her. The woman greeted everyone with an open-hearted smile, embracing her as if they were long-lost friends reuniting after a decade apart.

"Hi! It's so great to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you," the woman's voice was flawless, yet there was a hollow feeling within her. She genuinely liked the woman and had an inkling that she would become a significant presence in their lives for quite some time to come.

Her gaze fixed on Matt, a mixture of confusion and hurt in her eyes. How was it possible that he hadn't disclosed that he had a girlfriend? Those nights when he would call her, those were the very nights she longed to be in his arms, not realizing they had already been spent with someone else.

That night was etched in her memory, a vivid recollection of the moment she had realized it was impossible for her to remain friends with him. She couldn't maintain their friendship, not while she was overwhelmed with sadness while he was immersed in happiness.

December 6, 2021

Dear Matt,

Today, I spent the day baking cookies with Haley but the real takeaway is being back in Boston and just one car ride away from you.

Weird, Nick brought up the name of the girl you're talking to, and it took me by surprise a little because you never mentioned her to me. I could sense Chris was giving me the stare, like he knows something, but that's just Chris, right?

It was a scene she had seen countless times before, both in movies and in real life – the clichéd tale of falling in love with your best friend and the inevitable heartbreak that followed.

There he sat, a picture of handsomeness in the midst of the kitchen, so immersed in what he's doing that he only noticed her staring when he looked up and playfully asked, "Any boys I should know about?" She chuckled, finding Matt's question entirely characteristic of his random sense of humor.

"No one, Matt," she replied, rolling her eyes with a smile. Inside, she thought, "It's only you. It was only ever you."

"I find that hard to believe," he said, casting a shy glance her way, his smile never wavering.

She pressed, "And why is that?"

"Because you're..." he started, his voice trailing off, leaving the unspoken feelings hanging in the air between them.

"…because you're amazing. You're good at baking cookies and-"

"Please, shut the fuck up, Matthew," she blushed, looking away.

"It's true! Ask Chris. He thinks you have a college boyfriend you’re not telling us about," he defended himself.

"Well, Chris is stupid," a small frown appeared on her face.

"Hey, I heard that!" She looked toward the boy sitting on the couch in the living room. "Shut up, Chris, Nick is sleeping."

She was standing over the kitchen counter, finishing the gifts she had prepared for her cousins and parents. She rolled her eyes, feeling a bit exasperated. "You're all so dramatic; I'm trying to do something here, fucks sake.”

"Let me help you with that. I'm almost done with this," Matt offered, standing beside her. His proximity alone nearly sent her into a frenzy.

He was incredibly touchy with her, and it only added to the intimacy of their connection. His frequent and intimate touches with her left her in a state of confusion. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was normal for best friends to share such physically intimate moments like this.

"You're terrible at this," he chuckled.

"Whatever Matt," she grumbled, continuing to tape the wrapper.

He leaned even closer, almost putting his entire weight on her. "Matt, you’re so annoying! Get off me," she exclaimed.

Years later, she learned that Chris had glanced at them, shaking his head in bemusement, and thinking about how oblivious his brother Matt was to her feelings. Chris couldn’t help but realize how deeply in love she was with his brother, even if she had never voiced it. She didn’t need to, Chris thought.

August 2022

She felt stuck in place. In that moment, she felt like time had frozen. Her feet glued to the ground.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks - he had a girlfriend, all this time, and no one had told her. It was a profound sense of betrayal and feeling forgotten, it didn't matter that their relationship is just starting, she had loved Matt for years!

It was as if she wasn't worthy of knowing this crucial piece of information about the person she had secretly loved for so long, even though he didn't know he was the love of her life. The waves of emotion threatened to make her sick, but she managed to maintain her composure.

Chris remained by her side throughout the entire party, his friendly nudges and conversation attempts providing a comforting presence. "You know, I still can't believe you're here," he remarked, genuine surprise in his voice. "It's only been a couple of months, right?"

"Only a couple of months, Chris," she confirmed, her gaze fixed on her drink.

"I missed you so much. We all did. It felt like forever since the last time I saw you," Chris continued, offering a playful smile.

She managed a smile in response, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She kept her thoughts to herself, silently yearning for the familiar comforts of Boston, even though it no longer felt like home. In truth, nothing felt like home as long as Matt was in the arms of another. Chris could see through her facade. He understood the reason behind her dull mood, realizing it was linked to the presence of two specific individuals in the room. However, he respected her feelings enough not to confront her about it here and now, choosing to let her navigate her emotions in her own time

The days seemed to stretch on, with summer taking hold. Matt's girlfriend had flown back home to Florida, they were back to their old routine, but her heart couldn’t forget the feelings she had buried deep within.

They drove her to their favorite restaurants and shops in L.A., but the nagging ache in her heart persisted. With her pretending to enjoy the days while ignoring the sinking feeling that gnawed at her treacherous heart, she tried to be as cheerful as possible before her return to the East Coast.

Until one particular car ride with Nick and Chris temporarily absent and inside Ralph's, she couldn't keep her feelings bottled up any longer and decided to have a heart-to-heart with Matt. It was a brief respite from the facade of happiness she had been trying to maintain.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It all happened so fast," he said, his eyes pleading for her to meet his gaze.

She cut him off, "It doesn't matter, Matt. I guess I just felt really sad that you didn't tell me. I'm your best friend, for heaven's sake." She fought back the urge to cry, keeping her emotions expertly concealed.

"I'm sorry, okay? It all happened in a whirlwind, and suddenly, you were on a flight from Boston to L.A.…," he trailed off. "Plus, I wanted it to be a surprise." He sheepishly smiled.

"God, Matt," she whispered, genuinely taken aback by the revelation.

She continued, "It's okay, it's all in the past now. I was surprised, no doubt."

She smiled, rolled her eyes, and forced a lighter tone into her voice. "So, tell me about her. Where did you guys meet?"

He chuckled, sensing that things were somewhat getting back to normal, but it was never quite the same, she thought to herself.

The night before she left for Boston, they drove and explored the city once more, just the two of them. Chris seemed too tired to join, and Nick had editing work to do.

"I wanted to take you here. It's one of the best viewpoints in L.A.," Matt explained, his excitement palpable.

"What, Griffith Park?" she replied, laughing. "You mean the spot from GTA, right?"

"Yeah, exactly. We used to play that game, remember?" he smiled down at her, feeling nostalgic.

How could she forget?

After several minutes of driving, Matt parked the car, and a heavy silence hung between them, no one seemingly wanted to step out. "Thanks for spending your summer here. It means a lot... That you're here," he expressed, looking at her with his blue eyes that shone through the Los Angeles darkness, seemingly even brighter than the city lights.

"Of course, anything for you guys," she replied, breaking their eye contact, and shifting her gaze to the dashboard in front of her. How could he do this to her? How could he not know? She wished she could freeze this moment in time, his face looking so soft in the gentle glow of the traffic lights. His tired eyes and tousled hair that had always made her heart leap and now, she felt like she could cry right there; she loved him so much and he didn’t know. She also wished she could tuck this memory away in the pockets of her thrifted yellow dress.

Tonight felt different, marking the end of summer, and they were both a year older. They weren't 19 anymore, and yet, she remained deeply in love with him.

Nicolas Sturniolo was a smart man, and his brothers secretly admired him for it, even if they would never openly admit it. Of course, he noticed the lingering glances she directed at Matt but never said anything. Nick believed that Matt had informed her about his girlfriend months before she arrived in LA but was shocked upon learning that his brother didn't. That explained the sudden change of mood he'd seen with her at the party.

The older brother had always had an inkling about it since they were young, ever since Matt hadn't asked her to prom. He remembered how she had waited for Matt to notice her new hairstyle, and when Matt already did compliment her, Nick swore he saw her smile so big it could light up the entire school that day. Nick thought his brother Chris was dense, but Matt was on a different level.

He had brought up the subject with Matt once, while they were in line at TSA, just before a flight to California, a mere 7-hour journey away. "You do realize she's in love with you, right?"

"What?" Matt's brows furrowed; genuine confusion etched on his face.

"Come on, Matt. We all know she's had a crush on you since high school," Nick exclaimed, adjusting his backpack.

"That's not true, Nick," Matt responded, shaking his head in disbelief. He found the idea ridiculous.

"Whatever, Matt. You guys are both stupid. I see the way you look at her, and I see how she looks at you. What's holding you back?" Nick shrugged.

"Because we're just friends, Nick? Can't two people of the opposite sex be friends?" Matt retorted, feeling exasperated.

"Okay, Matt, we get it," Chris chimed in, adding his two cents. "We're just telling you what we see."

As Nick appeared impatient and tired of the conversation, and Chris pretending to not care, Matt pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

December 18, 2021

The sight of you on my porch brought me immense happiness. Dad was yelling, which woke me up, and he said you guys were at the front door. Honestly, that pie was incredible; I couldn't believe you three made it.

I wanted to thank you for joining me today. I understand you're not a fan of walking in the snow, but I loved every moment of it.

Christmas is just around the corner, and it's only a matter of days now.

I often wonder if you notice how frequently I steal glances at you whenever I have the chance.

As I sit here writing this, I’m looking at the Christmas gift I got you. It's a necklace. It might seem cliché, but I genuinely hope it brings a smile to your face whenever you see it.

She held onto the memory of that day, those tense days after learning he had a girlfriend and before the car confrontation.

"Are you planning to sleep on the couch?" Matt asked.

"I am," she stubbornly insisted.

"Come on, you're our guest; you can sleep in my bed," Chris mumbled with a mouthful of chips.

"And have you sleep here on the couch? No way, Chris," she replied firmly.

Nick chuckled, watching Matt's obliviousness. How could his brother not realize that she was upset with him?

"Alright, then we'll both sleep in my bed," Chris suggested, glancing at Matt for his reaction.

Matt was puzzled. They always shared his bed, so what was the issue now?

Snatching the blanket Nick had given her, she hurried downstairs to reach Chris's room.

Matt's jaw hung open. "What did I do?" he mumbled, frowning at his brothers.

Nick shook his head, grinning. "I'm off to bed. Matt, quit being stupid."

"What?" Matt looked to Chris for answers. Chris shrugged, "I guess she just wanted to sleep in my bed tonight, Matt."

"But-"

"Goodnight, Maaaatt," Chris sang, leaving Matt bewildered and hurt.

"But she always sleeps with me," he whispered to himself, still trying to make sense of the unexpected change.

Lying in Chris's bed that night, she silently yearned for divine intervention. Avoiding eye contact with Matt as she passed by him on her way downstairs, she couldn't ignore the confusion and hurt etched across his face. Deep down, she desperately wanted to pull him into a hug and tell him that things were alright.

It was unusual for her to sleep in Chris's bed, given that she always slept in Matt's, so the sudden change had caught Matt off guard. She was aware of it, but at that moment, her anger towards him outweighed her care.

Earlier that day, Madi had teased her about her apparent coldness toward Matt when they were getting tacos in Melrose. It seemed that everyone had noticed her subtle avoidance of his touches and comments, leading to hushed discussions among their friends.

She was also certain that Chris was a light sleeper. He didn't snore, but he definitely woke easily.

"Couldn't sleep?" Chris whispered, turning to face her.

"Yeah, too much on my mind," she replied, exhaling wearily.

The stillness of the night, combined with their exhaustion, allowed for a comforting silence to settle between them. A beat passed, "Why don't you just tell him?" Chris suggested, his voice barely audible. She couldn't see her best friend, but she sensed the sadness in his gaze.

"Tell him what, Chris?" she deflected, shutting her eyes.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know? You might fool my stupid brother but you can’t fool me and Nick," he remarked, adjusting himself under the covers.

Silence descended once more, but this time, it felt oddly reassuring knowing that one of her closest friends was aware.

"It doesn't matter. He would shut me out."

"No, he won't. He genuinely cares about you, and you know it," Chris assured her. While Chris might not be privy to his brother Matt's true feelings, whether he reciprocated them or not, one thing was certain: Matt cared deeply for her, more than she could ever comprehend.

"It's also different now that he has a girlfriend. I don't think she'd appreciate me sharing a bed with her boyfriend. It's more about respect," she added.

Chris disregarded her attempt to change the subject and pressed on, "Matt loves you, bro. If he ever shuts you out for telling him how you feel, then he's an idiot. You have me and Nick by your side forever. If you never tell him, you'll never get the chance to express your feelings."

“You guys should talk.” He added.

"I don't think I'm ready, but I'll think about it," she replied, her exhaustion evident in her voice.

Chris nodded, even though she couldn't see him. He understood the weight of the emotions she was carrying.

"Of course, at your own pace."

"Chris?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, kid."

In the quiet of that night, as dreams and sleep intertwined, she found solace in the knowledge that Chris, her closest friend, understood the depths of her emotions. It was a small source of comfort amid the uncertainty that had clouded her heart.

As they both drifted into slumber, she imagined a future where everything would fall into place, where she could openly express her feelings to the boy upstairs. In the warm embrace of their Los Angeles home, she held onto the hope that the friendship that she shared with Matt would weather these feelings she has for him.

January 10, 2022

Dear Matt,

I have to say, you can be pretty stubborn. I warned you not to visit me and bring me food because I’d probably end up puking it all out (eww), and now you’ve gone and caught the cold too. Now everyone’s infected!

But you know what? You bringing me food made my heart leap, I’m pretty sure you know how to make me fall in love with you even more. Nick texted me earlier that he and Chris have lost their sense of taste because of Covid, but you seem to be fine already so you’re making them try different drinks.

I’m feeling a lot better now and I’ve tested negative for Covid, thankfully. Still, I’m dreading the day I go back to school. Ugh.

Alahna mentioned about wanting to visit you guys, but I know deep down she just wanted to see Chris. Haha.

Just so you know Matt, I love you. I think you probably know that already, but I wanted to say it anyway here.

She was certain that Matthew Sturniolo was going to be the death of her. The mischievous boy had cornered her against the kitchen counter, removing the chocolate residue that Nick had playfully smeared across her forehead. It was a sticky, gross mess, but Matt was attentively cleaning it up with a wet face towel. And there he stood, in all his splendid glory – tall and handsome. Nick and Chris's laughter in the background only intensified the fluttering of her heart.

"There, all gone," he confirmed, a warm smile gracing his features, the kind of smile that always had the power to weaken her knees.

"You're such an idiot, Nick," she scowled, avoiding Matt as she walked toward the center of the room.

"What? It kinda suits you," Nick replied, and the hearty laughter of Chris and Matt filled the room.

She flashed a playful smile. "Whatever. Are you guys ready to go?" she asked, her impatience showing.

The car ride proceeded as usual, with Matt behind the wheel and Chris in the passenger seat, en route to Chloe's house for a swim and to meet their other friends. The broken AUX meant the soft tunes of the radio filled the air, harmonizing with the breezy Boston weather.

"Matt, if you don't put me down, I'll kill you!" she screamed.

"Come on, it's not that serious," he laughed, making his way towards the pool.

"I don't care! Seriously, Matt, don't do thi-" But before she could finish her sentence, she found herself submerged in the pool.

"You're such an asshole," she grumbled, retaliating by splashing water at him. He chuckled and swam away.

A few feet away, Chris was engrossed in conversation with Nate about an Amazon package he had ordered, while Nick sat nearby, casually nodding and occasionally chiming in.

When she turned her attention back to Matt, he quickly splashed water on her face again. "Stop it. I mean it," her voice carried a trace of laughter.

"Okay, okay." Matt gazed at her for a moment, his smile fading.

"What?" she grumbled, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness under his gaze.

"Nothing. You're just really pretty," he said.

Moments like this only added to her confusion about where she stood in his life. Her heart skipped a beat, and she was momentarily taken aback, but she was swift to respond and hide her feelings. "Yeah, pretty annoyed at you," she said, pinching her nose to hide the forming blush.

Matt shook his head, a warm chuckle escaping his lips. He decided not to delve further into the matter. Why was he acting like this?

They lingered at the pool for a few more minutes. Matt's intimate touches making her melt, and his constant glances at her lips only added to the simmering heat of the Massachusetts summer.

The ride back home was interesting, she couldn't ignore the flutter of anticipation mixed with uncertainty that had settled in her heart. The day had been filled with subtle gestures and flirty remarks, leaving her wondering if their friendship was tiptoeing towards something more.

That night, when everyone had returned to the boys' home and a drowsy Matt lay beside her, she allowed herself to sleep soundly, knowing that something was undeniably changing between them.

February 3, 2022

Dear Matt,

I watched with Sam your new video. Chris mentioned about a little dinner you guys will have later, I’m so sad. I wish I was there. Anyway, Nick is Sam’s favorite. I couldn’t help but agree. Haha.

I know you’re busy with like stuff there and me too. My professors are killing me with these projects and assignments, also, I learned matcha helps with anxiety. I’ll have you taste it next time we see each other.

Also, you keep asking me why I’m sad, I didn’t think you would notice. How do I tell you, Matt, that the reason I’m sad is because I love you?

March 14, 2022

It has been so busy lately, oh my god. I lost my trusty pen because we moved dorms, but it’s all good now. I got so much work to do with finals coming up as well.

Anyway, I saw your tiktok with Nick today. You looked really cute with the Eeyore shirt, and I’m glad you’re still wearing that necklace I gave you last Christmas.

I miss you Matt. I’ll text you later when I’m done with class.

The car ride to IHOP proved to be quite intriguing, to say the least. Chris had evidently concocted a few surprises before their departure to California and before Spring break came to an end, forcing her to return to Morrissey Blvd.

Matt seemed unusually cheerful that day, expressing his desire to take her out, as well as everyone back home, for a little treat.

In that moment, it almost felt like things were back to the way they used to be. She occupied the passenger seat, engaged in a playful argument with Chris over control of the aux cord. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Matt, his amusement evident as he fought the urge to break into a broad smile.

As Nick and Chris hurried to enter the house after Matt had parked the car at their Somerville home, he prevented her from getting out. Matt fixed his gaze on her, a gentle smile dancing across his face, as he softly uttered, "I really missed you."

There he was again, stirring emotions within her, clouding her thoughts. "Me too," she responded shyly.

"Truth is, I wanted to spend the day with you, alone," he admitted, rolling his eyes playfully. "But I couldn't say no to them."

"That's okay."

A brief silence settled between them.

"What's on your mind, Matt?" She furrowed her brow, sensing that he had something he wanted to say something.

"Nothing. I'm just happy I'm home..." He trailed off, his voice carrying a hint of longing. "Seeing you, being here... with you."

Inside, she silently pleaded with him, "Don't do this to me, Matt. Don't say these things and expect me not to fall in love with you."

"Why? Has LA not been treating you well?" She pressed.

"No, no, LA's great," he replied, offering a smile before shifting his gaze towards their small garage at home.

"What is it?" she whispered softly, just loud enough for him to hear.

"I really don't know," he confessed.

Meeting his gaze once more, she couldn't help but smile. "Okay, then tell me once you've figured it out." She chose to lighten the mood, knowing that he was dangerously close to unraveling her with those looks he kept giving her.

April 8, 2022

Dear Matt,

Today you asked me what I want.

to be with you, that’s all I want.

September 2023

When Luke left for the San Diego, she looked around her room.

She gazed at the framed photo that hung beside her closet. In the picture, she and Matt were watching a movie, and slowly, they had leaned on each other. As they grew more comfortable, she had briefly considered adjusting her posture, but she couldn’t resist a sleepy Matt. The next thing she knew, his arms were wrapped around her, and they were nestled together, fast asleep. Neither of them had acknowledged it, but Nick had managed to sneakily capture a photo of them when he woke up at 4 a.m. to turn off the living room lights.

A bittersweet feeling loomed over her. She remembered the day all too well. With his mom waking them up for waffles and before things took a turn for the worst.

May 13, 2022

Hi Matt,

Only a few more months till I visit you guys in L.A. I’m kind of nervous but Chris assured me that everything would be fine.

I’m also excited to meet Madi, Nick said she’s nice, so I feel like we’ll get a long pretty well.

Everyone around them can see how much they love each other, from her mom and his mom to her dad, her sister, and even the entire Sturniolo family, including their grandmother. But a silent understanding prevailed; no one uttered a word about it. Perhaps they were all waiting for the day when Matt and her would finally act on their feelings. That's why when Luke entered the picture, it took everyone by surprise. Her mom, Elizabeth would drop hints about Matt’s brothers, mentioning that she saw their mom at the grocery store, and asks about Justin's new girlfriend, in which were all met with her silent nods. From behind her, her parents shared a knowing look.

Luke was the safe choice. He didn't make her feel like she had to beg for his love. He was dependable, polite to her parents, adored by her cousins, and fulfilled all the checkboxes of what she needed. He was unafraid of public displays of affection, and constantly tells that he loves her. Luke wasn't bothered by the story of her intimate friendship with Matt; he remained indifferent.

As time passed, the difference between Matt and Luke became more apparent. Luke, with his warmth and openness, brought stability and security to her life. Their relationship flowed smoothly, and the world seemed to accept them as a couple without question.

Yet, the blue-eyed boy who had once held her heart had an uncanny ability to infiltrate her thoughts. No matter how much she had tried to move on and embrace this new love, Matt remained an enigma. He was the unspoken part in her life, a book she couldn't close. She always wondered if he ever thought about her as she did about him.

It had been a few months since she had made the choice to be with Luke, months of happiness and contentment. But the heart has a way of keeping secrets, and hers held a special place for the blue-eyed boy in Los Angeles.

June 9, 2022

Dear Matt, two more months! God, I’m so over these classes, I swear. Samantha got really drunk two nights ago, it was so funny. I should’ve taken a video but whatever. Mom called me earlier today asking for my flight details, I guess she’s as excited as me.

July 16, 2022

Summer is finally here! I mean, it's been here for a while, but I'm looking forward to seeing all of you for your birthday next month. You better bring me to the thrift shops Nick was talking about the other day in the call.

August 17, 2022

I still can't quite believe you never told me about her. So, she was the girl Nick mentioned the last time you guys went home.

I couldn't help but notice the way you looked at me, and how I instinctively recoiled when she introduced herself. How did I not know? And why does she seem to know so much about me when I didn't even know her name?

Chris tried to console me that night, and I appreciated it. I also noticed how Nick was glancing at me, likely gauging my reaction to it all.

Matt, you don’t know what I’d give to stop being in love with you.

As the months passed, the girlfriend revelation of Matt was soon forgotten. She became increasingly immersed in college life. While Matt would text her from time to time and they would occasionally have video calls with Nick, she learned to accept the way things were. She had to make a conscious effort to push aside the memory of that night in Griffith Park when they had laughed and hugged, with her secretly gazing at his face and him giving her that look she adored. She came to the realization that if this was how things were going to be, she would be happy for him, even if it meant breaking her own heart. She contemplated Chris's words, but they didn't matter; what mattered was that Matthew was happy, and that's all she cared about. It seemed like everyone had forgotten about it too.

Matt was a private person, subtly posting little reminders of his girlfriend, but it didn't escape her notice how much it hurt her heart.

The longer she suppresses her emotions, the easier it seems, she believes. Suddenly, seven months have passed since that fateful night in LA, and March ‘23 is approaching steadily. Deep down, she's aware that she hasn't been honest with herself throughout this entire period, but she resigns herself to the reality of the situation. It is what it is, and she's compelled to carry on, masking her true feelings.

September 20, 2022

Dear Matt,

It's been a month since that night in LA, and Chris has never brought up our conversation again. I trust him. Life has felt quite mundane lately. I still have my moments, but I'm doing okay. I'm trying my best not to dwell on it too much. I suppose I felt betrayed, you know?

Yesterday, Chloe and Alahna came to visit, and we ate burgers. When I finally admitted my feelings to Alahna, I broke down. She told me she had always known I was in love with you, and with Chloe agreeing, both of them sharing the same sentiments, it left me wondering just how oblivious you can be.

October 5, 2022

Dear Matt,

I don’t know why you look at me that way, as though you could genuinely love me, even though deep down, I know you don't, and I know you won't.

Nick mentioned your plans for a trip to Florida to visit her. I tried to convince myself that it wouldn't hurt, but my own curiosity led me to check her Instagram. It was a mistake. I stumbled upon a photo of you two kissing on the beach, and I felt like such a fool for thinking this was something I could handle. I ended up in tears, obviously, poured my heart out to Samantha. I desperately wanted to forget, to stop these feelings.

I truly did try not to love you.

I really did.

November 3, 2022

"You know I hate these types of parties," she grumbled. "Do I even look good?"

"Girl, please, you look good every day," Madi assured her.

The night was still young, and everyone was on their way to this party the boys had been invited to. Chris was practically bouncing in the front of the car, and Matt, always effortlessly handsome, drove with calm and cool confidence.

Nick tried to comfort her. "You'll be fine. They're actually nice."

But she tuned out Nick's words as they entered the venue. The booming music only heightened her nervousness amid the lively crowd.

When Nick, Madi, and Chris entered the party, she found herself walking closely beside Matt. He was well aware of her uneasiness at these kinds of gatherings. With a gentle touch on her lower back, Matt guided her towards a group of people. Leaning in, he whispered into her ear, his face mere inches from hers, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the entire party. "You look really good tonight. Don't worry too much. I'm here."

A thought crossed her mind – he's such a flirt without even realizing it.

Under the party's red lights, his lips looked incredibly inviting. If only he didn't have a girlfriend living across the country, she might have kissed him. Of course, that's only if he wanted to kiss her too.

She sighed, as the party continued to buzz around them and the night progressed, surprisingly, she found herself genuinely enjoying the evening, engaging in conversations with Madi. However, she couldn't help but notice that Matt kept stealing glances at her. Fueled by newfound confidence, she walked up to him. "Hey, stranger," he greeted her with a smile, her savoring the sight of that familiar grin.

She could feel his warmth. "Shut up, Matthew. I'm so hot right now; you guys weren't kidding about Los Angeles being intense."

"You are hot, sweetheart."

"Yeah, this leather jacket Madi lent me—"

"No, I don't mean your outfit."

Before she knew it, their faces were inches apart, his eyes locked onto her lips. This was it, she thought. He was going to kiss her. After all those years of pining for him, the past didn't matter anymore. What mattered was now.

He was driving her crazy. And then it happened – he kissed her, and the world stopped. Their lips met in a passionate, consuming kiss. Sure, she had kissed boys in high school, but this was different. This was Matt. She could feel his hands on her neck and waist, his lips following hers when she needed to breathe. This was how it was supposed to be, she thought, her lips on Matt's. Her best friend, the boy she had loved since they were 18, kissing her beneath the Los Angeles night sky. As their lips remained locked in a passionate kiss, she felt an electric charge surge through her. All the inhibitions, the uncertainties, and the fear of what might follow were momentarily forgotten. All that mattered in that heart-pounding moment was the taste of Matthew Sturniolo on her lips, a forbidden but intoxicating sensation she had yearned for since they were teenagers.

“Five years of friendship flushed down the drain just so I could know what Matthew Sturniolo tastes like.” (Ifykyk. This is one of my favorite lines from a book!!)

When their lips brushed again, a soft moan threatened to escape her swollen lips, and her head began to swim with desire.

"Oh my god," she muttered senselessly, her mouth still locked with Matt's.

His touches ignited a fire within her, the heat of his mouth overwhelming her senses.

"Fuck," he breathed, pulling away from her and running his hands through his unruly hair. "Fuck, I shouldn't have done that."

Her stomach sank as embarrassment washed over her. She didn't speak for a moment, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss. "I'm sorry."

"No, I—" He choked on his words. Horror painted his expression as he struggled to make eye contact with her. "I shouldn't be kissing you."

His internal conflict was palpable, and the emotions on his face left her feeling utterly perplexed. They were both breathless, caught in a state of shock. She was about to cry when Chris walked in with a cup full of soda.

"Are you guys ready to go? Nick's about to beat a bitch up-" Chris asked laughing, seemingly oblivious to what had just transpired. "What happened, Matt?"

A concerned look began to appear on Chris’ face as he assessed the aftermath of the situation.

"Just let it go, Chris," Matt muttered, looking at the ground.

"Let's go," she insisted, taking quick strides past Chris to find Nick and Madi, eager to get away from the confusing situation and head back home. Meanwhile, Chris tried once more, his voice hushed as he approached his brother. "What happened, Matt?" Seeing Matt in such a shocked state had him deeply concerned and worried about his brother.

November 29, 2022

I never should have visited again and allowed you to kiss me the way you did because I couldn't stop thinking about it afterward. The pure shock and regret in your eyes were enough to shatter me into pieces. We never discussed it when we got back to your house. Chris, with his knowing glances, probably figured it out, and I know you told him but thankfully, he didn't press the issue. The morning after was just as uneasy; you didn't come out from your room until 4 pm. Nick was concerned, but I was too nervous to say anything, feeling like a colossal mistake that had happened.

But I knew, when you looked at me to say goodbye at the airport, that I was hoping it meant even a fraction as much to you as it did to me.

We didn't speak for two weeks following that day, but today you sent me a text saying you were sorry. Our conversation resumed, but neither of us mentioned it again. I didn't ask if you had told her; that was none of my business.

You have to understand, Matt, that before you kissed me, I was always yours, if only you had looked closely enough to see it.

Christopher Sturniolo had never appeared shocked in his entire life. It was as if the heavens had granted him this shocking revelation.

Nick's voice echoed, "Okay, what the hell happened between you two at that party? You've been moping for days, and you didn't even take out the trash when I asked you to!"

"We kissed!" Matt lashed out at Nick. “Happy now, Nick?”

"Oh, shit. This is good. I mean no, this is bad, you have a girlfriend," Chris winced.

Matt's thoughts raced to Florida. His girlfriend’s going to be furious.

"I know," he muttered, feeling a headache coming on.

Days had passed since they dropped her off at the airport and her departure making Matt more confused as ever.

He groaned, unable to believe he had allowed that situation to unfold. He had also been ignoring her.

"Get your shit together, Matt. Seriously, you can't just kiss her and pretend it didn't happen!" Nick's frustration was too intense for Matt's liking.

"This is bad, Matt," Madi's voice sounded small as she contemplated the situation, her thoughts divided between the girl in Florida and the other one in Boston. This was undoubtedly going to be a messy affair, she thought.

Their comments offered no solace to Matt's torn heart, a whirlwind of suppressed feelings from his teenage years. He didn't genuinely regret the kiss, but he had a girlfriend, someone good who trusted him, and he had shattered that trust by succumbing to his feelings for his best friend.

"Okay, okay, Matt, breathe," Chris tried to comfort his brother.

"I can't do this," Matt said, standing up in frustration. "Let's not talk about this again. It's too much."

He stormed off and slammed his bedroom door shut, leaving Nick, Chris, and Madi in stunned silence.

"I don't understand why he just won't admit that she's always been it for him?" Madi questioned, her gaze shifting between the two brothers.

"Because he's an idiot, Madi," Nick replied, his annoyance evident in his tone.

The situation was complicated, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing with fire. His relationship with his girlfriend was hanging by a thread, and the unspoken tension with his best friend was driving him to the brink of frustration.

Matt knew he had to make a choice, a decision that could alter the course of his life. The pain of knowing he had hurt someone he cared about and the fear of losing the person who had been his confidant for years weighed heavily on him.

He was at a crossroads, and there was no easy path to take. He couldn't escape the truth, unsure of where his heart truly belonged.

December 20, 2022

Dear Matt,

It seems like things have returned to normal. Nick has stopped bombarding me with constant texts, asking if I'm okay, and Chris's late-night calls have ceased. I heard you broke up with her, I know you'd never share all the gritty details with me, but it probably was for the best. I can't help but feel like a terrible person for playing a role in your relationship's downfall. Alahna said it wasn’t my fault, but I feel like she’s just saying that, you know? I can't shake this feeling, I keep thinking I wasn't worth the risk. But then, you had a girlfriend at the time, so I understood. You'll have to forgive me, because I've never stopped thinking about that night since you kissed me.No one will ever be able to knock the wind out of me again. Not like that, not like you, Matthew.

January 2023

Matt clung to the familiar comforts of their Boston home, the very thought of remaining in the same bed that had cradled him in warmth and surrounded by the cherished memories of his childhood with his brothers offered solace to his melancholic heart.

Despite the fact that it was only the second week of January, the jarring noise of Nick's suitcase scraping against the floor downstairs served as an unwelcome reminder of the imminent reality awaiting him in just two days.

He yearned for the days before their move to California when life was different. He pined for the crisp, cold embrace of winter and the warm, welcoming smile she had for him whenever she would visit. Without a doubt, summer was his least favorite season.

Three days ago was her birthday, yet she was still in Nantucket, enjoying a vacation with her family. She texted him just two hours ago, explaining that she would be busy exploring the place with her aunt.

He had also gifted her a necklace, a token of their shared memories, as she had once given him last Christmas ago. The necklace was a heart-shaped silver pendant, a symbolic representation of his heart. He had chosen it with such devotion that Chris had teased him, saying he was like choosing an engagement ring. Matt silently agreed, but the truth was, he couldn't forget that night, the kiss they had shared, and how she had looked painfully beautiful beneath the soft, dim lights of the party.

His mom offered a comforting hug upon their arrival from the airport; Nick had probably told her over the phone about what had happened last November. As he looked around, everything had changed, yet he always felt the same.

He noticed it, as did everyone else, when Alahna and Nate visited; she didn't come. She was distant, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. It was all his fault. He had kissed her and pretended it didn't happen, only offering a sorry that didn't even comfort his own heart. Matt couldn't help but recall the conversations he had with his brothers late at night, in the car, about her being in love with him. Had he been so foolish not to notice the longing glances she directed his way?

It was four days after Christmas when he finally got up and entered Chris's room, the brightly lit space giving him a headache.

He found his brother scrolling through his phone, stress evident on Matt's face.

"Wow, you look like shit," Chris said, looking up. "What's going on? Nate has been bugging us to go to his house. Apparently..."

"Chris," Matt whispered, frustrated.

Chris leaned in, his concern evident in his eyes. "What's eating at you, Matt?" Matt had now settled on his bed, his legs touching Chris's sock-covered feet.

Matt sighed heavily, his emotions bubbling to the surface. "It's her. Something's not right, and I can't ignore it anymore. I kissed her, and then I acted like it never happened. I gave her this weak apology that didn't even begin to cover it. Now she's distant, and I can't shake this feeling that it's all my fault."

Chris listened attentively, his brows furrowing with understanding. "You've been worried about this for a while, huh?"

Matt nodded, the weight of the situation pressing on him. "Yeah. I mean, remember we've had late-night talks about her having feelings for me? And now, I can't help but wonder if I've been too blind to see it. Maybe I've hurt her more than I realized."

Chris put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "Look, you can't change the past, but you can talk to her, try to understand how she feels. Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

A beat passed as Matt solemnly gazed at his brother.

"I think I'm in love with her, Chris. Nick was right. I am in love with her," Matt said, eyes heavy from lack of sleep.

With Matt's confession hanging heavily in the air, Chris finally broke his silence. He leaned forward, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Congrats Matt, you're the last one to know," he said. "We've known for a long time that you felt this way."

Matt sat up, eyes widened in surprise. "You have?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, it was kind of obvious, the way you'd light up every time she walked into the room. Mom mentioned before that you guys are two peas in a pod. She said it was only a matter of time before you realized she had always been here."

Matt sighed, unsure of himself. "I have no idea what to do, Chris. I'm just so scared of messing everything up."

"Well, technically you already did, idiot," Chris grinned sheepishly. “Just tell her how you feel. What's the worst that could happen?"

January 19, 2023

Chris was being weird, big time. He kept asking if I have talked to you. We talk every day, don’t we? Does he not know that?

Anyway, Chris being Chris, I guess.

You wanted me to visit for Spring break again, but I don’t think I can, but I’ll see you when you fly for Nate’s birthday in June. I cannot wait.

You seemed different these days, Matt.

As days turned into weeks, Matt struggled with his emotions in silence. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her and making things awkward between them. His ex-girlfriend didn't handle his confession well. She said had expected it and firmly told him not to contact her again.

This situation took a toll on Matt because he never intended for things to become so complicated. He was willing to do anything to prevent it.

Realizing he was in love with his best friend left a bittersweet feeling in his heart. He had been fooling himself all these time with him ignoring the intimate moments they shared and him being clueless as to why she reacted the way she did when she found out he had a girlfriend or when he kissed her.

He wanted nothing more than to fly to the East Coast just to see her, but he felt like it wasn't the right time, especially with college going on.

Matt appreciated the updates from her about school and life, but he can't help but feel things have changed in the air between them especially when she turned down the suggestion of her visiting again for the upcoming spring break. Matt understood and he knows that she too, was processing her own feelings just as he was.

Chris, talkative and ever supportive, insisted that she had always loved Matt too, with Nick joining in on the teasing, he couldn't help but feel hopeful. All of his loved ones reassuring him that things had always been this way. Two peas in a pod.

His Mom also called the other day after Nick had shared the details with her. “Oh, honey, we’ve always known,” her sweet voice comforting Matt. “Don’t worry about a thing; I’m certain she has loved you since the day she laid eyes on you.”

February 14, 2023

Dear Matt,

Samantha teased me today about not having a Valentine's date, but I told her I didn't need one. Anyway, seeing all the couples around campus makes me miss you even more and I know I might sound negative but it's a bit overwhelming.

I remember 2 valentines ago when you made me that pink cupcake with a heart on it. You were so excited to give it to me that you had a little argument with Nick in the car because he was taking too long to get ready, and you couldn't wait for me to see it. I also remember that rainy Valentine's Day when you stopped by my house just to give me the flowers you had bought earlier that day. The soft look on your face, the sly smile and damp hair was enough to make my knees weak. I also remember how Chris snickered from the passenger seat when you said the flowers reminded you of me. I miss you so much Matt. I wish you could have been here with me today, but you're in Palm Springs having a blast.

It's already February, Matt and I don't know how many more seasons I'll spend loving you.

February 14, 2019

"Hurry up, you idiot. Holy shit, I've been sitting here in the car for 20 minutes, and you're still not ready," Matt complained, clearly annoyed.

"Wow, Matt, what's gotten into you? Sorry, holy fuck," Nick responded, taken aback by his brother's sudden outburst.

Chris chimed in; his teasing tone evident as he laughed. "Calm down, Matt, I'm sure she'll understand if we're a little late."

"Shut up, Chris, it's not that. It's just the fact that Nick always does this," Matt retorted, starting the car.

"Is this what this is about? You being excited to give her your cupcake?" Nick teased, making a face at Chris and smirking.

"You're stupid, Nick." Matt grumbled, proceeding to drive down the familiar road to her house, a route he had taken many times before.

February 14, 2020

"Chris, come on, wake up!" Matt's voice boomed through his brother's room. It was 3 pm in the afternoon, and Nick had already been pestering them to go out. "I'm up, please get out of my face, Matt. I'll kill you," Chris grumbled sleepily.

With Chris in his usual grumpy state and Nick being overly excited, Matt found himself stopping by a nearby flower shop in Somerville. As he stood in front of the various types of flowers, his focused remained on a bouquet of tulips. He had heard from their mom the other day how exceptionally pretty tulips were.

Unbeknownst to Matt, Chris had slipped out of the car to join him. "You're getting flowers for her?" Chris asked, his tone laced with teasing.

"Yeah," Matt replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"Huh," Chris remarked, flashing a smile at the elderly woman behind the counter before turning his gaze back to his brother. "Why?"

"Because" Matt rolled his eyes, "why not?"

"Fair enough, geez, I'm just curious."

"Do you think she'll like tulips?"

Chris grinned and gave his brother an incredulous look, as if he found Matt's question amusingly strange. "She'll absolutely love them, Matt."

"Great," Matt said, clapping his hands together. "I'll get it," he cheerfully declared, already making his way toward the old woman.

With his usual teasing, Chris added, "Why don't you pick up some chocolates and write her a love letter too while you're at it?" He couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle.

"Shut up, Chris," Matt said dismissively.

As the rain began to pour, Chris watched his brother buy the flowers and wondered how unaware Matt can be with his own feelings.

March 2023

It was the week of Samantha's birthday, and she found herself contemplating on going. She didn't want to come across as a buzzkill for considering not attending, but the truth was, she often found immense joy in staying in on Friday nights. However, there were moments when she felt sad while lying in bed, especially upon hearing from Madi that all of them was heading to a party. Her thoughts would drift to Matt, wondering how he was doing or if he met someone. She tried to push the thoughts away still.

Matt would text her late at night updating her that he was already home, and she would read his messages in the morning. She hated how different their lives now were, with her being in college and him having the time of his life in California.

Sadness washed over her again when she remembered the kiss, they had shared last year. It saddened her to think that it might not have meant as much to Matt as it did to her, but it felt too late to bring it up now. He had apologized, and she had told him to forget about it.

With a change of heart, she confirmed to Samantha that she would indeed attend her birthday celebration. It was time to step out and have some fun, she thought. If Matt could do it, so could she.

The backyard of the Airbnb is transformed with colorful decorations and fairy lights are strung along the trees. The little bonfire in the center, surrounded by Samantha's friends chatting and laughing made her anxious, there is a lot more people than she thought.

She spotted Samantha and approached her cheerfully. "Samantha! Happy birthday!"

"Oh my gosh, you're here! I've been waiting for you. I'm so glad you made it."

"Me too," she replied, enveloping the curly-haired birthday girl in a warm embrace.

"Please, enjoy yourself tonight, alright? We have drinks and food in the kitchen, and I think Lorraine is around here somewhere," Samantha mentioned.

"Yeah, of course. You don't need to worry about me. I'll have a great time," she reassured her. "Go ahead and mingle."

"Alright, I'll catch up with you later, okay?" Samantha planted a peck on her cheek and continued welcoming other guests.

When she surveyed the crowd, she mentally reminded herself to grab a drink to avoid just standing there awkwardly. The party was in full swing, and despite her nagging desire to be in her cozy bed, she was determined to have a great time.

"Hey girl, how are you? I didn't see you come in. Have you seen Sam yet?" Lorraine greeted her with a warm hug, while Hannah waved.

"Hi, Lor, I'm good. And yeah, I just did. I just got here too so," she replied.

"That's great. You didn't get lost, did you?" Lorraine said with a playful grin.

She chuckled, “No."

Lorraine is Samantha's best friend from high school, she has long black hair, sharp eyes, and legs for days.

"Do you drink?" Lorraine asked, as Hannah busied herself mixing drinks at the counter.

"Uh, sometimes," she admitted, although deep down, she wasn't really fond of alcohol but tonight was different, though. She was feeling bold and what's a little alcohol after a rough week?

"We've got plenty here—tequila, beer, vodka, and all that jazz."

"I'll take a beer, please," she decided, opting for a more casual choice.

As the night wore, she took small sips of her drink and appreciated the light-hearted conversations with Lorraine and Hannah, which kept her from constantly checking her phone. Two hours ago, Matt sent her a text about whatever, but she ignored it. Truth is, she still feels a little hurt and awkward with him because of everything that has happened. Just for the night, she allowed herself to clear her mind of thoughts about the blue-eyed boy in California.

"I need to use the bathroom. I'll be right back," she informed the couple, receiving only nods in response.

Aware of the dangers of drink spiking, she was cautious and brought her beer with her.

The hallways were narrow, and she wondered how many people had made out in these halls. There were many rooms too and photo frames with inspiring quotes that adorned the walls. Her trip to the bathroom was going fine until she bumped into a guy.

“I'm so sorry," she apologized frantically, searching for the green tissue pack in her little bag while setting the glass of beer on a nearby table. Her white top was now stained with liquor, which was just great. The embarrassment of the situation was overwhelming, leaving her unable to think straight.

"No worries," The guy chuckled, clearly taken aback by the unexpected encounter. "I should've been more careful."

She handed him the tissues, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "That was so embarrassing. I'm truly sorry," she said with a sheepish smile.

"Don't worry about it. It’ll dry," he replied with a reassuring smile.

“"I'm really sorry," she winced as she saw him examining his now alcohol-soaked shirt.

"It's okay," he smiled softly, causing her cheeks to turn pink. When he noticed her freezing in embarrassment, he spoke up again, "Hey, apology accepted. Please don't worry about it. I can just wipe this off, and I'll be fine."

She nodded and whispered, "I'm so embarrassed."

"Really, I'm over it now. Besides, it's my fault for not looking. You got drenched too," he chuckled, glancing at her blouse.

"Yeah, don't worry about me. It's not as bad as yours. Can I at least help you with that?" she offered.

"What? Help me wipe this beer off? Nah, I'm good. You go do your thing," he dismissed her with another friendly smile.

Feeling somewhat defeated, she simply nodded and said, "Alright."

In the bathroom, she found herself shaking her head in embarrassment while trying to wash off the small beer stain on her top. The night is not going well, and she was starting to regret not staying home. Why did embarrassing situations always seem to find her at parties?

After a few minutes of recovery and self-reflection, she returned to where Lorraine and Hannah were. But before she could reach the couple, she spotted the guy she had bumped into earlier. Hannah was chatting with him and giggling, while Lorraine wore an amused expression that made her feel even more self-conscious. Great, he knew them and had definitely shared the incident with them.

Hannah noticed her approaching and said, "Oh, I see you've already met our friend, Luke!"

The mischievous glint in Hannah's eyes confirmed that he had indeed told what had happened.

"Yeah," she replied shyly, smiling. "I think he has already told you how we met."

Luke laughed while Lorraine snickered. "Don't worry, he's not upset with you. In fact, he thinks you're cute, right Luke?"

"Oh..."

"Ignore Lorraine. Nice to meet you," he said, flashing her a warm smile and offered his hand. She couldn't help but notice the dimples in his cheeks or how perfectly curled his hair was.

"You too," she replied with a smile, shaking his hand, feeling her embarrassment vanish little by little.

Matthew Sturniolo was confused once again for the millionth time in his life, and his brothers found it funny.

Just five minutes ago, Nick mentioned she was at a party. Matt's head shot up upon hearing what his brother said.

"So, that's why she wasn't replying," Matt said, fingers fast on opening Instagram. "She didn't mention about going to a party."

With furrowed brows, he watched her story, where a girl with jet black hair was seen pouring a drink into a red up. The background confirming that she was indeed at a crowded party.

"She doesn't have to share everything with you, you know?" Nick rolled his eyes, as if Matt should already know this.

Chris chuckled, rising from his slouched position on the couch. "Yeah, you guys aren't dating, so why should she keep you in the loop about everything?"

Chris was teasing him, and he was aware of it. Nick gave Chris a look that said, 'who does he think he is?'

But Matt didn't care. It bothered him that she didn't even tell him knowing how much she disliked parties. He reopened their text conversation and stared at his unanswered message.

He sent another text:

Hey, just checking in. Saw your Instagram story. Hope everything's ok 😊

Turning to his brothers, who were now grinning, Matt asked, somewhat annoyed, "What?"

"Come on, Matt, lighten up. She can take care of herself," Chris teased again.

"She's a grown woman, Matt," Nick shrugged.

"Fine, I don't care," Matt grumbled, shifting his attention to the TV in front of him.

"Except you do, lover boy," Nick replied, and Chris laughed.

Matt stayed quiet, ignoring his brothers' teasing. He didn't need to know every detail of her life, and Chris was right. She could manage on her own but tonight he just felt uneasy. Was she ignoring him on purpose? Is he losing her?

He did his best to shake the thoughts as he stared at his empty notifications bar, hoping it wouldn't bother him as the night wore.

“Trouble in paradise?” Luke asked curiously, a playful smile gracing his beautiful face as he observed her reaction to a text message she had received, which seemed to elicit an anxious sigh from her, if Luke were to point it out.

She nervously chuckled and replied, "No, it's just my best friend asking how I'm doing," explaining helplessly. Luke nodded, choosing not to press any further.

They were now outside, surrounded by the soft chatter and faint music coming from the house. Lorraine and Hannah had left them 15 minutes ago to mingle with the other guests.

"So, is Sam a good roommate?" Grateful that he was attempting to initiate conversation and maintain a lighthearted atmosphere, considering what happened earlier. Lorraine had already explained that they had all been friends since high school and that Samantha was her roommate.

She chuckled and replied, "Yes, she is, thankfully. Although she tends to dance when she's drunk."

Luke laughed and shook his head, agreeing, "I heard she could be a handful when drunk," recalling a conversation he had with his own friends years ago.

"What do you study, again?" She asked, changing the subject. Realizing she couldn't quite remember what he had mentioned earlier, as she had been preoccupied with trying to forget the awkward bathroom encounter.

"Oh, I study business at SDSU, same school as Lorraine," he replied. “You’re studying computer science, right?”

She nodded, unwilling to discuss her major further. "How's Boston treating you? Do you enjoy it here so far?"

"Well, I've only been here for three days, and I've still got two more to go, but yeah, I like it. Just not used to the weather, that's all," Luke replied, looking down at her.

"Oh, yeah, I completely agree. Boston's weather is moody, unlike California's. It's very different," she said.

"I don't mind," Luke shrugged. "It's my first time here, after all."

"Really?" She turned to face him fully.

"Yeah, don't tell anyone, but I've never actually been to any state other than where I live," he chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Well, I think you deserve a proper tour from a native!" She looked up at him, smiling.

"You think so?" Luke grinned at her knowingly, his eyes twinkling with playfulness.

"Yeah, I mean, I've got nothing to do. I'm finished with most of my projects."

She couldn't pinpoint the source of her newfound confidence, whether it was the influence of alcohol or perhaps Luke’s casual smiles and affectionate glances throughout the evening.

He laughed, obviously amused by her eagerness, and she couldn't help but notice how nice his teeth were and how his curls looked.

"What's so funny?" She raised her eyebrows at him, a faint smile on her lips.

Still smiling, Luke replied, "Nothing, you're really cute."

She went silent, a blush forming on her cheeks. She was about to speak when he continued, "But yeah, a tour would be nice. Maybe we could get some lobsters?"

She snickered, the alcohol giving her confidence once again. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"If you want it to be," he shrugged coolly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Well, it's not a date. I'm just a new friend touring my new friend in the city," she declared.

He chuckled once again, his voice ringing in her ears. "Okay then, it's not a date."

She didn't even realize how engrossed they were in each other until Samantha approached them with a wide smile. "I see you two have already met," Samantha said, her eyes holding a hint of mischief.

"Sam!" She turned her attention away from Luke, her surprise evident. "Hi. Yeah, it's kind of a long story," she said, offering a sheepish smile.

Luke chuckled. "Your roommate here seems eager to show me around the city."

"Is that so?" Samantha looked between them, clearly amused.

The atmosphere remained light-hearted. Samantha’s playful smirk hinted at her enjoyment of the situation.

“Well, if she’s offering to be your tour guide, you’re in for a treat,” Samantha said, looking at Luke with a playful glint in her eye. “She knows all the best spots in Boston.”

Luke nodded with enthusiasm. “I have no doubt about that. I’m excited.”

Samantha winked at them both. “You’re in good hands.”

She understood that Samantha was insinuating something else. She wasn't stupid and she very was certain that tomorrow, the birthday girl would pester her about this encounter with Luke.

Samantha and Lorraine gave them knowing looks after Luke offered to walk her home and after a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. It was just a 10-minute walk to campus, after all. She didn’t want to be rude, but she also didn't want to walk home all alone at night.

She couldn’t help but remember Matt. Her Matt. The Matt she had been ignoring for hours now.

It had been an eternity since someone had taken the time to do this for her. She remembered from their high school days, how Matt used to walk her to her door, the way their hands would touch a little while walking, and her secret hope that he would kiss her goodbye. Of course, Matt never did.

“It’s been so long,” she whispered, her heart aching, unintentionally saying it out loud. Luke stopped mid-sentence.

“What?” He asked, confused.

She shook her head, caught off guard by her unexpected outpouring of emotion. “Oh, I’m sorry. I got a bit lost in thought. Please continue, what were you saying?”

“You did seem a little distracted all night. Is this still about the drink you spilled?”

“No, something else,” she replied, stealing another glance at her phone. Matt’s unanswered goodnight message, sent 20 minutes ago, weighed on her. “Just a lot happening in my life,” she chuckled, attempting to make it sound light for Luke’s benefit.

“Like school?” Luke asked again, his gaze steady.

“Yeah, something like that,” she answered, slipping her phone into her jeans pocket, concealing her suppressed longing.

Matt rose from his bed, finding no solace for his troubled heart in its confines. He headed downstairs to see if Chris was still awake.

"Hey, you up?" Matt opened the door to find his brother engrossed in his phone.

Chris looked up and said, "Oh, hey. Yeah."

Matt let out a long sigh and flopped down on Chris's bed.

"Uh-oh," Chris turned off his phone and turned his full attention to Matt. "She still hasn't replied to your texts?"

"Nope," Matt grumbled. "I want to call her."

"Matt," Chris frowned, "Don't. I'm sure she's fine."

"This is just not like her," Matt added, feeling stupid.

"I thought you didn't care?" Chris teased.

"Of course, I care," Matt sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Damn, you’re really down bad.”

"Chris, what's keeping her so busy at this party? Tell me, have you ever been so engrossed at a party that you forget to check your phone all night?" Matt asked, sitting up as he tried to calm his racing mind and heart.

"Uh," Chris tried to think, but honestly, he wanted to say no. There was no plausible reason she would be so absorbed unless she was actively ignoring Matt.

"You see?" Matt widened his eyes, attempting to convince his brother. "What if something happened to her?"

Chris intervened, "Whoa, we're jumping to conclusions here. Look, Matt, I'll call her."

Matt watched hopefully as the seconds passed by.

Five rings, and then her voice came through the speakers. "Chris?" Her voice sweet as a honey to Matt's ears. She must have made it home because he couldn't hear any background noise.

How could she answer Chris and not even reply to his texts?

"Hey, look, I'm sorry. Did I wake you? Matt here has been worried sick about you. You're not replying to his texts—"

Matt snatched the phone from Chris's hand. "I'm sorry. Chris is an idiot. I'm not worried, trust me."

There was a brief silence, and Chris facepalmed, whispering, "What are you saying, Matt?"

When she didn't reply, Matt continued, "I mean, I am worried. Just checking in, you know?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sorry, no, yeah, I'm good. I just got caught up with friends, that's why I didn't get the chance to reply." A lie.

Matt paced slowly in Chris's room, trying to imagine her face. Chris gave him a look that said, 'What are you doing? Get it together.'

"I was a little concerned," Matt admitted chuckling, downplaying his worries.

"I'm fine, Matt. I just got home 20 minutes ago," she replied, her voice a whisper. She must be smiling, Matt thought, though he couldn't see her.

"Thanks for checking in, and sorry for not answering your texts," she added.

"That's... that's okay. I'm glad you're home and safe."

"Me too. This guy was kind enough to walk me home. I mean Samantha's friend from the party, Luke."

Matt and Chris exchanged surprised glances. "Luke?"

"Yeah, he was really nice. Offered to walk me. Also, I didn't tell you, but I spilled beer on him, which was embarrassing, but he was sweet about it, so we're good."

Chris snickered, and Matt shot him a hard stare, his stomach sinking by the minute. Who the hell is Luke?

"You can't be serious," Matt chuckled, trying to conceal his concern. “What?”

"No, I'm dead serious. We talked all night, and then, yeah, that's it. I offered to show him around Boston tomorrow, just to make up for what happened, I guess." She continued her story, seemingly unaware of how it was affecting Matt.

Matt couldn't hide his unease. "You just met him like 3 hours ago, and now you're spending the day with him? Who is this guy?"

"No, he's really nice, I swear. Plus, he's Samantha's friend, so..." She was quick to defend.

"I'm just saying, you don't know this guy well enough to spend your whole day with him," Matt said, growing more upset by the minute.

"Well, how am I supposed to know him if we're not going to hang out?"

Chris chuckled, shaking his head, while Matt tried to keep his feelings in check.

"Up to you. I'm just looking out for you, you know that. Again, just saying. Be careful," Matt replied, struggling to hide his true emotions.

"Yes, Dad," she teased, rolling her eyes, though she was likely fighting off a smile.

"I'm serious. I'm just looking out," Matt insisted.

"I appreciate that, Matt. Don't worry, I'll update you guys tomorrow. Also, do you still remember the address of that pasta place we visited a year ago where Chris fell in love with the chicken alfredo?"

"I'll ask him," Matt's voice sounded small. He felt like he was losing her by the second. Who was this guy? Were they going on a date? He can already feel a headache coming and a lump forming in his throat.

"I'll text you the address," Chris shouted from across the room.

"Alright, I think I'm going to bed. I'm really tired," she said, still painfully unaware of Matt's feelings.

"Okay, then. Go to sleep. Text me tomorrow," Matt pleaded, his voice carrying a sense of desperation. "Please."

"I will, Matt. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Chris."

"Goodnight!" Chris cheerfully replied, clearly enjoying the situation way more than Matt was.

Deep inside, she felt a bit guilty for distancing herself from Matt, ignoring his texts, and even considering dating other guys, possibly including Luke in the future.

However, she loved Matt for a long time, but he never felt the same way. Some days it felt like he did, especially that time he had kissed her, but it was never enough. She believed that if he had ever felt the same way about her, she would have been aware of it by now.

She was becoming tired of constantly holding onto false hope, longing for a love that would never happen and yearning for a touch that seemed always just out of reach. She desired to be consumed by his fire, even if it meant getting burned.

She craved the warmth of his affection, the reassurance of his reciprocation, and the simple comfort of knowing that her love was not in vain.

Truth to be told, she knew that Matt deserved to know the depth of her feelings, even if it meant facing the harsh reality that he might not feel the same way. Love, after all, deserved to be known. On the other hand, she feared the potential fallout – the awkwardness, the possibility of rejection, and the damage it could do to their friendship.

She couldn't escape the fact that she had held this love within her for so long, it had become a part of her very being. It was like an unspoken truth that lingered in the air whenever they were together.

"Love has a right to be spoken. And you have the right to know that somebody loves you." - Ursula K. Le Guin, A Fisherman of the Inland Sea

From the moment she pushed open the imposing wooden doors of the campus, she spotted Luke, leaning against a tree. The sunlight played upon his brown hair, making it appear lighter, and his eyes took on a golden hue.

It was undeniable, Luke was handsome. Every time she looked at him, it felt like a breath of fresh air on a crisp morning. Maybe it was something about the way his eyes locked onto her when she told stories, or how effortlessly he could reply with clever comebacks that always seemed perfectly timed. It was the way he carried himself that caused her poor heart to race a little.

When he caught sight of her, his face lit up. "Hey you," he grinned, his hands tucked into his pockets.

She returned his warm smile. "Hey yourself," she replied playfully, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, extending his arm, inviting her to link hers with his.

She shot him a look that said, ‘I’m not doing that,’ but she rolled her eyes, still smiling and continued walking.

Luke caught up with her, shaking his head with amusement.

Walking side by side, Luke kept his hands in his pockets, while she tucked hers inside her jacket to shield herself from the chilly air. She couldn’t wait for March to be over.

The curly-haired boy was surprised when he noticed a list of places on her notes app. Luke found it incredibly cute that she had taken the time to jot it all down for him.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’ve listed everything,” he chuckled, glancing at her phone to catch a glimpse of their planned destinations. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?”

Despite his best efforts to meet her eyes, she remained engrossed in her phone, her gaze fixed on the screen. “Of course. I did say I’ll show you the city, remember?”

Luke’s curiosity was piqued, and his eyebrows raised. A small smile played on his lips. “Do you always do this?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his question. It was quite out of character for her to agree to tour someone around the city, especially when they had only met the night before. But Luke had proven to be a pleasant distraction from the strange texts she had been receiving from Matt lately plus he was really cute.

“To be honest,” she began, looking up from her phone to turn to Luke, “no. I just felt like doing something different today.” Her gaze softened as she spoke, and for a moment, her thoughts drifted to what Matt had texted her earlier that morning.

‘You do know that’s a date, right?’

Her response was that it wasn’t, explaining that she was simply acting as a good friend, and this left her message without a reply.

As the day went on, she found herself more and more drawn to Luke. If she were to describe the distraction from her unrequited love, who was miles away from the East Coast, it would undoubtedly be a flirty man with curly brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, and a smile that could light up any room he walked into.

With a playful tone, she leaned in and asked, “So, what’s one more thing on your Boston bucket list, aside from the lobsters?”

They sat together at a cozy coffee shop near the school, where a handful of students were studying. The shop’s walls were adorned with rustic brown bricks, and colorful flowers added a touch of charm. As the sun began its descent, the interior was bathed in a golden hue, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.

Samantha had just texted her asking how the date with Luke in which she replied again that it was not.

Luke paused for a moment, considering the question. “Well, I’ve heard Fenway Park is pretty iconic.”

She agreed, reaching for her cup yet again. “That’s a fantastic choice! You’ll get to experience the true Boston sports culture.”

Luke grinned, appreciating her enthusiasm for everything he says. “And what about you? Any more must-see places you’d recommend?”

She thought for a moment, remembering the restaurant Chris loved, but chose not to mention it, as if she were safeguarding a secret that the world couldn’t know, the restaurant symbolizing memories that were now part of the past. Instead, she decided to keep their conversation in the present, allowing it to flow naturally.

She smiled shyly, a glint in her eyes, as she playfully remarked, “If I didn’t know any better, I think you’re just finding reasons to see me again.”

Luke's grin widened, his charm shining even brighter. "Ah, you've caught me," he admitted, "guilty as charged but who could resist an opportunity to explore Boston with such beautiful company?"

Her shy smile only added to the allure of the moment, and he couldn't help but appreciate the twinkle in her eyes. "Well," he continued, his tone dipping into a more flirtatious register, "if this is me saying I’d like to see you again, then what do you say? Perhaps you could be my personal tour guide for a while longer?"

She couldn't help but blush at him. "If that's your way of saying you'd like to see me again, then I say you're in luck,” she teased. “I wouldn't mind being your tour guide for a while longer."

Luke laughed, his face lighting up at her response, and he couldn't help but shake his head amusingly. "That's fantastic news! I supposed I'll have to come up with even more reasons to see you then."

Her smile remained coy, eyes locking onto his. "I look forward to it."

“But on a Saturday, in a café, she watched it begin again.”

(ifykyk haha)

May 2023

Nick Sturniolo couldn't tolerate it any longer; once again, his brother was wallowing in his room, shrouded in darkness with the covers pulled over his head. It seemed like Matt's sole agenda was eating and sleeping these days.

"That's enough," Nick's voice reverberated through Matt's room, with Chris trailing behind him. "This has to stop. Seriously, you need to get out."

Matt grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, Nick."

"Dude, come on." While Chris empathized with his brother's emotions, he knew that spending five days holed up in bed was far from ideal. "Have you even talked to her?"

"No," came the quiet, dismissive reply.

Exchanging concerned glances, Chris and Nick understood that Matt was avoiding them once again. Unmoved, Nick reached out and yanked the covers away, leaving Matt exposed from his warm cocoon.

"Nooo, Nick," Matt whined, rising from his bed, and walking past them into the bathroom. "Can you two just leave me alone?"

"Matt, please, this needs to stop," Nick pleaded, following him. However, Matt shut the bathroom door before Nick could utter another word.

Chris shook his head, deeply concerned. "This is getting out of hand."

"I'll call her," Nick declared, determined to mend his brother's broken heart as he headed toward the couch to grab his phone.

Chris halted him in his tracks. "Don't, Nick."

"Why not? This is ridiculous. She needs to know what's happening to Matt, you know?"

While Nick loved her just as much and empathized with her feelings for her brother, witnessing her heart break over the same guy repeatedly over the past few years, he also loved Matt and understood his reasons and he would go to great lengths to ensure he never saw his brother like this again.

"Don't do it, Nick," Chris warned again.

"Why not?" Nick persisted, challenging Chris, his frustration mounting.

"Because what are you going to tell her? That Matt's been depressed as shit because she went on multiple dates with this guy, and it all went well?"

Matt, listening from the other side of the door, emerged and interceded between them. "No one's going to tell anyone anything, okay? I'll be fine. I just want to be left alone."

"You have to tell her, Matt," Nick said, speaking more softly this time.

Chris gazed at the side of Matt's face, his heart aching at the sight of his brother in such despair. "Before it's too late," Chris added.

It pained Chris to see his brother like this, but he couldn't help but consider that maybe Matt had missed his chance with her months ago when he failed to understand why she was so upset about him having a girlfriend. Chris also couldn't deny that she had pined for Matt for years, and it had taken a long time for his brother to realize his true feelings and he also knew that even time would not wait for Matt.

In the weeks that followed, their household was like wrapped in an atmosphere of melancholy. Matt's isolation continued, and it seemed like there was a cloud of sadness hanging over them, especially when she announced that she plans to make it official with Luke.

Each day that passed without Matt addressing his feelings felt like a missed opportunity, and Nick couldn't help but wonder how much time they had left before those feelings became irrevocably entangled with regret.

He knew Matt's heartache was genuine and real. It wasn't just about a date gone well; it was about missed chances, miscommunication, and the unraveling of a connection that had been there all along. Nick also couldn't shake the nagging feeling that time was slipping through their fingers like grains of sand. It was an unspoken truth, a silent echo in the house, that they were running out of chances to mend the rift between Matt and her.

Meanwhile, Chris wrestled with his own conflicted emotions. He remembered that moment when Matt had failed to understand the depths of her pain when he had kissed her and pretended it didn't happen, his brother's lack of action when she needed him the most. It had been a missed opportunity, an oversight.

March 29, 2023

Dear Matt,

Spring’s break over. Been over for a few days. Everything is back to normal, and the air is getting warmer, which makes me a little happy. Mac Demarco’s song came on shuffle earlier on my way to class and it reminded me of when we were listening to it during the car ride back home. Remember the mint ice cream I let you try, and you hated it? Yep, that was the day.

I’ve already told you about Luke. He’s okay. He’s nice. I think I like him. I mean, what’s not to like? He flew back to San Diego, but we've been talking non-stop through FaceTime and texts. I think he might like me too, though I don't want to assume anything. You did say to get to know him better before rushing into anything.

I feel like things are changing, Matt. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. I miss you so much. I wish you weren’t so far away.

April 7, 2023

Hi Matthew,

I’m just struggling with my feelings right now. Luke admitted last night after nonstop calls and texts, that he likes me more than a friend and he wants to take things further but slow.

I was frozen for a few seconds. I like him but I don’t know. I guess I’ll see where it goes.

I texted you about it, but you didn’t reply, Chris said you were out with Nick and Madi. I’ll tell you all about it later. I wish you knew, Matt. I wish you knew. That it has always been you.

It was the second week of June of 2023 when Matt Sturniolo landed in Boston, Massachusetts. After being gone for months, he was immensely grateful he was back home. The weather was warm which made everything feel just right. Things had improved significantly with him compared to the previous month, following a heartfelt conversation with Nick and Chris. They all agreed that confessing his feelings while she was entering a promising relationship wouldn't be fair, and his brothers supported this decision.

The way she would light up when talking about Luke during their video calls was enough for Matt to accept the situation as it was. He also realized that the opportunity had already passed him. She had already met someone else, and he believed, or at least liked to believe, that this person makes her happy and that was more than enough for him.

This newfound understanding brought a sense of peace to his heart, but he couldn't deny, not even to himself, that he was truly heartbroken. Despite the acceptance, there were moments when the weight of the unspoken emotions, the timing, and the distance bore down on him.

Remembering their intimate moments together leave him with a lingering ache in his heart. Matt had been in love with her long before he could put a name to his emotions, but by the time he understood his own feelings, it was already too late.

"Yo, Nate just texted me," Chris said while munching on chips and leaning against the kitchen counter. "He said shit’s ready."

"Wait, I need to take a shower first, and then we can head out," Nick shouted from the other room.

Matt appeared from the laundry area, a sock on one hand, and asked Chris about his outfit, "Do you think this looks good?"

"Yeah, that's alright. I really like that shirt," Chris replied.

Matt smiled and said, "Me too."

Impatient, Chris sighed and yelled, "Can you hurry up, Nick? Alahna just texted me, she said they already pulled up to Nate’s house."

Nick shouted back, his words somewhat unclear, "Yeah, I'll be quick."

Silence enveloped them again. After a moment, Chris whispered, "Are you sure you'll be okay there, Matt?"

"I'll be fine, Chris. It's Nate's birthday," Matt responded, still engrossed in his phone.

Chris sent him a half smile. “You know she’s never going to replace you right? Your friendship with her is already special in its own right.”

Matt looked up, his expression softening but still uncertain. He nodded, agreeing with his brother's words, though not entirely convinced.

"Alright, I'm ready to roll," Nick announced after 20 minutes, already heading for the door.

Chris could sense Matt's tension and placed a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Matt," he began, his tone gentle. "It's gonna be okay."

Matt leaned on him, nodding. "Thanks, Chris."

With a nod, Chris turned to Nick who's already impatiently waiting by the car. "Let's get going then. Nathan's waiting."

Hands on the wheel, Matt did his best to focus on the familiar road ahead of them. Nick sang along to the radio in the backseat, while Chris stared out of the window. Deep down, Matt wanted to turn around and retreat to the safety of his bedroom, but he hid his anxieties by remaining silent.

As Matt parked the car and they approached Nate's house, he couldn't shake the nervousness that had been building inside him. Chris and Nick walked ahead towards the sliding door in the backyard, where they greeted Nate's family.

For Matt, however, it was as if time had slowed down. As he scanned the gathering, he saw familiar faces - people he had known since middle school, some high school, and some he forgot the names of. Life appeared to have moved on for them, unaware of the feelings he was facing with.

With his hands in his pockets, he looked timid and shy. But then, as if the universe conspired to grant him a moment of relief, he saw her. It had been seven months. Seven long months since he had seen and kissed her, and it felt like finally witnessing the sun after a cold winter night.

Nick was approaching her first, and she welcomed his brother with a big smile on her face. Matt couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in her appearance - her hair now cascaded just below her collarbone, framing her face beautifully. Her smile, however, remained as radiant as ever, perhaps even more so. The way she held onto Nick, the carefree way her hair danced in the breeze, the sunlight gently touching her face made her seem almost unreal. The summer air had given her a healthy flush on her cheeks, making them pinker than he remembered. Her laughter like music to his ears.

After what felt like an eternity of hugging and catching up with his brothers, she began searching for him in the crowd. Her eyes eventually found him, standing there in all his handsome glory. With knowing smiles exchanged between Chris and Nick, his brothers left them alone. Matt approached her slowly, his hands still tucked in his pockets. "Hi," he greeted her with a shy smile.

She looked up at him, biting her lip, her voice now softer compared to when she had greeted his brothers. "Hi."

Subtly and unwittingly, her body leaned towards his, just like old times, and reached out to embrace him. Matt couldn't help but notice the familiar scent of her hair, the same fragrance that used to linger on his pillow for days after she had slept over.

As always, good things must come to an end, and she reluctantly pulled away, her eyes sparkling with happiness as she looked up at him. They were so close that they could feel each other's breath.

"Missed you," Matt blurted out, unable to contain his feelings. He had truly missed her more than she'll ever know.

"I missed you too, Matthew. How are things?" Her affection for him was evident in her words. Matt, who had been the love of her life for years, was now back home.

"Things are good," he replied, his voice carrying a mixture of emotions. "I'm so glad to be back home."

"Finally," she murmured softly, the word laden with longing and spoken with an intimacy meant only for his ears. Her gaze remained locked onto his, they were so absorbed into each other that they didn't notice that their friends were watching them, both oblivious to the hushed whispers in the background.

"Yeah, finally," Matt whispered, eyes steady with hers.

Observing this interaction, Nate nudged Chris gently, nodding towards them. His eyes wide.

"Oh no, Matt," Chris whispered, seeing Luke, who stood a few feet away and had seen everything. Her and Matt are standing really close, almost as if they were about to kiss. "Don't do it, Matt." Fearing his brother would do something stupid, again.

A faint clearing of the throat from behind them interrupted their moment.

"Luke," she whispered, surprised and wide-eyed. Luke responded with a polite smile, concealing his uneasiness.

Watching from a distance, Chris's heart continued to race.

Feeling embarrassed, Matt wished he could disappear. He had let his emotions get the best of him and now found himself in an awkward situation. Sensing her pull away, Matt watched as she moved closer to Luke's side, putting some distance between them.

"Luke, this is Matt," she introduced them, her voice slightly small. She gestured towards both of them. "Matt, meet Luke, my boyfriend." Matt hid his true feelings behind a polite greeting and shook Luke's extended hand but from a distance, Chris and Nate could see the sadness in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between the new couple.

"Nice to meet you, Matt. I've heard a lot about you and your brothers." Matt couldn't help but find irony in the situation, as he remembered the night in Los Angeles when he had introduced his ex to her, and his ex had offered similar words of welcome.

Matt smiled and nodded, his gaze lingering on the way Luke held her waist.

Luke started a friendly conversation, trying to ease the obvious tension in the air. "So, when did you guys get back from L.A.?"

"We got back just two days ago," Matt replied casually, shifting his gaze to Chris and Nate a few feet away from them, who was now stopped dead in their tracks, watching their interaction unfold. "What about you? I heard you're from California, right?"

Luke, keeping things relaxed, replied, "Yes, San Diego. I've been here for a week. Planning to stay for the rest of the summer."

"Oh," Matt struggled to find the right words. Spending a whole summer, indicating a serious step into their relationship.

"That's cool. Boston has nice beaches, although they might not compare to the ones on the West Coast."

Her gaze remained locked on his, searching for a reaction. Nathan, Matt's best friend since they were 13 has always known the right words to say. He swooped in just in time to save Matt from a potentially explosive situation.

"Hey, you guys, do you mind if I borrow Matt here for sec?” Nate asked casually, offering them his playful smile. "We need help with the ice and stuff." He said cooly, earning a knowing glance from Matt.

This was Luke's first time meeting Matt, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the history between her and her best friend. After witnessing their intense interaction moments ago, he wondered if it has always been like this. As Nate led Matt away, a moment of silence settled between Luke and her. She could sense the curiosity in Luke's eyes. Finally, he broke the silence with a gentle tone, "You guys seem very close. Is there more than what I know?"

She took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt. "We've been friends for a long time, you know that." she replied, her voice a mixture of apprehension and vulnerability.

"I just never expected you two were that close," Luke chuckled lightly, making an effort to lighten the mood.

When she didn't reply, Luke gently continued, "Hey," speaking in a softer tone this time, he turned his entire body to face her, ensuring she could look into his eyes. "I'm not worried about anything. If you say you guys have been nothing more than friends all this time, then I believe you."

She smiled, feeling grateful that Luke had gracefully dropped the topic. But there was no lie in that statement; they were just friends. Matt had never reciprocated her feelings, and it had always been that way. She should be happy that she has a love like Luke's. A love unwavering, ever-present affection that wraps her in a sense of security and even though this love was just starting, it's here. It wants to spend the whole summer with her. It kisses and hugs her at night. A love that loves her back.

Chris followed Nate and Matt into the house and found them already engaged in a conversation. "Dude," he began. With Nate, deeply looking into Matt's eyes Chris knew he was helping calm his brother down. “What was that?”

Matt snapped, growing irritated with Chris, feeling the situation become more increasingly awkward and cringeworthy. "Just be quiet for a second, Chris."

“You need to keep your feelings in check before it gets complicated,” Chris informed, arms up in defense.

Matt sighed, realizing the truth in his brother's words. "Was it really that bad?"

"Bro," Nate gave him a sideways glance.

"Matt, with how close you two are, you might as well just kiss her," Chris whispered loudly, scanning the room for any guests who might have overheard them.

"It was like you guys were the only ones in the room," Nate chimed in, to which Chris nodded in agreement.

Matt hung his head in shame, anxiously sighing once more and burying his face in his hands. "I can't handle this."

"Yes, you can," Nate reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're here for my birthday, nothing else and you're gonna go out there and we're gonna have fun. Look, look, Karl's already setting up the barbeque."

Matt can only nod. Tonight was all about Nathan, and no boyfriend was going to ruin it for them.

Truth was, Nate was hesitant when she asked the question of whether she could invite Luke as her plus one. Deep down, he understood that she was slowly unveiling to the world the fact that this charming, curly-haired brunette with captivating brown eyes is going to be in their lives whether they like it or not. Nate was also aware of the feelings Matt is dealing with, feelings he suspected had been simmering beneath the surface ever since he witnessed them sharing a slice of pizza in his very own backyard three years ago. He feared that Matt wouldn't take this well, and the feelings of regret over missed opportunities might shadow him as he watched her with Luke. Yet, despite these, Nate couldn't bring himself to say no. He firmly believed that she deserved to show her love, just like anyone else and to Nate, this love was something his best friend would ultimately need to come to terms with.

The night proved to be a blur for her, with Matt's presence lingering nearby like a shadow. Just the knowledge that he was only a few feet away made her stomach churn. It hadn't always been like this; typically, she had a firm grip on her emotions and could maintain her composure, but the situation earlier, with the three of them – herself, Matt, and Luke – had left her wanting to go home and avoid talking to anyone ever again.

It had been a slip, a slip that should never have happened. The way she had clung to him, waiting for any sign, anything that might reveal his disapproval of her relationship with Luke. But when he walked through the door with Chris and Nate trailing behind him, she realized she had been fooling herself once again.

Matt had calmed himself down, thanks to Nate and Chris. With Nick giving him raised eyebrows as if to say, 'What the hell just happened? We'll talk about this later.' he shifted his focus to the food that was being handed around, attempting to divert his thoughts.

The night progressed smoothly, and the final blow came when Matt sat across from her in the group circle. Chloe, who had joined them, shot knowing looks her way as she sat beside Matt. "So, what are your plans for the summer?" their friend asked.

Various answers were heard from the group. "What about you and Luke?"

"We're going on Europe with Luke's friends from New York," she blurted out, her eyes finding their way back to her hands, avoiding Matt's piercing eyes.

She could hear the excitement and wows reverberated around the circle.

Luke chimed in, adding, "Yeah, it's going to be fun. I’m excited."

The conversation continued, with the group asking about when they will leave, and some were sharing recommendations for must-visit spots in Greece. She tuned them out, feeling smaller with each passing moment.

A European adventure was Matt and Her’s secret dream, a dream they had shared only in the quiet of the night, under the covers, with Nick sleeping on the couch nearby. It symbolized another significant step in their relationship, something that Matt couldn't help but notice.

Matt felt his heart break a little more with each passing moment, like a series of painful stabs. Of course, he didn’t forget the plans to elope in Europe and here she was fulfilling those dreams with another man.

When their eyes met, he masked his pain with a faint, forced smile.

Finally, the night ended with Chris giving her and Luke a friendly hug. With Matt already in the car avoiding the couple and Nick in the back saying his own goodbyes to Alahna and Nate.

Matt went straight to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Chris stopped Nick in pestering Matt and asking him about what happened at the party, he insisted that they give their brother space to work on his feelings.

"You're awfully quiet," Luke nudged her gently. They sat in the living room, surrounded by her sister and cousins, watching cartoons as the warm Boston summer air flowed in through the open windows of the house.

"Just lost in thought," she sighed.

"What's on your mind?" Luke asked, rubbing her hand while his gaze remained fixed on her face.

"Nothing much, just a bit nervous about meeting your New York friends," she chuckled, trying to keep her tone casual.

"They're not that bad," he reassured her, his fingers now absentmindedly playing with hers. "They'll love you. Who wouldn't love you?"

One person, she thought, but she managed to smile at Luke, appreciating his warmth. It had been a week since Nate's birthday, and Matt hadn't reached out. Part of her was secretly relieved; she wouldn't know what to say to him anyway. She knew Matt tended to withdraw when things got awkward.

This had been her problem since they were young. Matt always looks at her like he could love her, and she fell for it every time, only to have her heart broken again.

She knew she was lying to Luke about her old feelings for Matt, but she was determined to bury those emotions and start fresh with Luke.

"What if they don't like me?"

"They have no choice but to like you; they're going to spend two months with you in Europe," Luke chuckled before giving her a sweet kiss.

"I guess," she replied.

Silence settled between them once more. "Is everything ready for you? We leave really early tomorrow," Luke asked, mentally checking if he had brought everything he needed in his head.

"Yup, all packed and ready. Actually, I think I'm going to visit Nick and the boys later, you know to say my goodbyes," she shrugged.

She could feel the mood had shifted between her and Luke.

Luke straightened up, letting go of her hand. "Oh. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, that's fine. Nick has been bugging me to hang out since they got back. He wanted to catch up and stuff."

"Alright," Luke nodded, smiling at her, not pushing further.

Setting foot in her lifelong friends' house brought a wave of nostalgia; it felt like an eternity since she had last visited. Nick welcomed her at the front door with a cheerful smile, the sounds of a heated argument between Chris and Matt can be heard from the kitchen.

"You just don't get it. I didn't know it was yours," Chris defended himself, dressed casually in shorts and a white shirt.

"Well, you should've asked me! Can't you leave a soda in the fridge for 24 hours max?" Matt shouted, clearly agitated. "Geez, you're so fucking grumpy today, is this because-" Chris replied, and Nick cleared his throat, worried that Chris might say something she should not hear. Chris noticed her presence first and practically lunged at her, almost knocking the air out of her. "Oh my god, I missed you so much."

She smiled and patted his back, returning the hug warmly. When he released her, he continued with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a playful tone, "I'm so sorry we couldn't talk much at Nate's party. You were so busy."

"Chris," Nick warned with a pointed look. Chris shrugged, still grinning.

"I missed you too and no, I wasn’t," she chuckled, glancing between Nick and Chris, offering a reassuring smile.

"Yes, you were. You were busy with your new boyfriend," Matt snapped, his tone cutting and bitter, causing her smile to slowly vanish. He wasn't looking at her, not acknowledging her presence and not even trying to hide that he doesn’t want her there.

The room fell silent, Chris and Nick exchanging shocked and speechless glances in response to Matt's outburst, making the atmosphere tense.

"In fact," Matt added, his voice sharp as knives, "you were so busy with your new boyfriend that you forgot we had plans to go to the beach with Chloe yesterday."

His words were meant to hurt, like venom injected into her heart. "Matt, please." Chris intercedes, but the tears and the lump in her throat were already starting.

"Shut up, Chris. It's true! She's Miss College-this and Miss College-that. Why are you even here? Aren't you supposed to be in Europe with your boyfriend?" Matt sneered, his blue eyes piercing through her soul, oblivious to how much his words were hurting her.

"What the hell, Matt?" Nick glowered at Matt; his eyes wide, unable to believe that his brother was speaking to her like this.

"No, it's okay Nick, leave us," she whispered, stopping him. She swallowed hard, attempting to hold back the tears and keep her composure.

Chris, sensing that this was a necessary conversation between her and Matt, guided Nick out of the kitchen. He believed in her; if anyone could handle this, it was her.

"What's your problem?" She approached Matt slowly, keeping a comfortable distance, with the kitchen counter acting as a physical barrier between them.

"You! You're my problem," Matt mumbled, avoiding eye contact, turning his head, and looking towards the window.

In the years of friendship with Matt, they never once had an argument like this. Matt had never been this upset with her, especially over missed plans. She had missed one or two in previous years, but he had never been this furious.

Her heart ached trying to understand Matt’s current level of distress. She was not understanding why the boy in front of her was seething with frustration, his cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, and his eyes usually so warm and inviting now looks exhausted and empty.

This was not the Matt she had grown so close to.

"How am I your problem? Are you seriously this fucking upset because I forgot about our plans to go to the beach yesterday?" She was getting angrier, and her voice was rising.

Matt finally looked at her again. "Just forget it."

He tried to walk away, but she blocked his path. "No. Tell me. What's wrong?"

She peered into his bloodshot eyes; he looked so done. But before she could speak again, Matt beat her to it. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's just great. Go back to your perfect boyfriend; he must be worried about you."

"He's not worried about me, Matt. Are you kidding me? What did I do to make you this upset? Look, I’m sorry, okay? We had to pack-"

Matt didn't answer and brushed past her, bumping her shoulder in the process, his back turned to her.

"Seriously, you're just going to leave? So this is about Luke? Are you jealous? Do you think I'm too busy for you guys now that I have a boyfriend?"

"I'm in love with you, okay!" Matt turned around, facing her. His blue eyes now on the verge of tears.

She stood there in stunned silence, her feet rooted to the spot. She couldn't believe it — Matthew Sturniolo, her best friend, and the boy she had secretly pined for over the years, was in love with her.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Chris and Nick listened in wide-eyed shock, their brother’s confession echoing through the house. Chris exchanged a surprised glance with Nick, who couldn’t help but roll his eyes, muttering, “Finally,” under his breath.

Matt continued, his voice frustrated, "I cannot, for the life of me, forget the day I kissed you and how much I still wanted to. How much I wanted to chase after you that night, to kiss you again, I cannot stop thinking about it."

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo x reader #Creative writing

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pochipop · 1 year

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＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — LET ME PAINT YOUR SKIES (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — moira, a frustrated geneticist in the throes of an impossible war against her superiors, meets a despondent young artist drowning sorrows at the bar. as it turns out, the latter is a particularly good listener, and the former is the type of woman you’ve only met in your wildest dreams .

#. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — light angst, mentions of alcohol consumption, extreme slow-burn .

#. word count! — 11.7k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — sorry i've been gone so long, got busy w/ school and irl stuff :// feel free to hmu to play overwatch lol (i swear i'm not ass all the time!!) anways, moira kissers, this one's for you!!

This place is as rundown and decrepit as they come these days, —a hole-in-the-wall type of establishment with old, creaky stools and paint that chips off into the drinks from time to time. Fruit flies are more regular than most customers, and they provide little bits of extra protein to those either too wasted to fish them out of their shots or unfortunate enough to not notice them. It's incredible that this place hasn't been permanently shut down, actually, with health and safety hazards galore. . . And yet, despite all its undeniable (and very obvious) flaws, you quite like it here. It's where you come when you're stuck in a rut and need to drink away some sadness.

Sure, it's not the healthiest of habits, but everyone has their vices. This is yours, —but it's an occasional thing, for the most part. You go months at a time without so much as glancing in the direction of any alcohol whatsoever, and most times when you indulge, it's more of a social thing than that of a desire to get plastered. Unfortunately, old habits die hard, as they say, and being an artist has its ups and downs. The highs are more intoxicating than any alcoholic beverage could ever be, but the lows hit you like a semi truck. They claw at your ankles and pull you down into the depths so mercilessly, as if feeding on your sorrow is the feast of a lifetime.

Thus, here you are again for the first time since mid-November of the prior year. It's been roughly five months since you've sat on this stool, ordering shots from the grumpy bartender who never remembers your name and doesn't care much about conversing with his customers. This time, however, a fresh face stands out to you. She'd come in when you were still nursing a whiskey on the rocks, insisting that tonight would be different, that you wouldn't leave with your head all foggy or your balance thrown completely off. You've since changed your stance on that, of course, —as one simply does when they're wrung dry of artistic inspiration and turn to seeking some sort of haven in an unhealthy vice.

Still, the woman at the other end of the bar has your full attention, even if she hasn't realized it yet. Even from her slouched position you can see that she's quite tall, —and equally as thin. She's dressed in more formal attire than yourself, a starkly white button-up and a pair of black dress pants as opposed to your own ill-fitting jeans and a greyish-blue sweater you'd picked up simply because it was seventy-five percent off. It's certainly comfortable, but stylish is most definitely up for debate.

Her foot taps against the bar counter, the toe of her black flats ringing out in little thumps that nobody seems to notice but you. She swirls a shot glass in her elegant hand, —her long, lithe fingers adorned with lengthy nails all painted a uniform shade of violet. Strands of short, ginger hair fall over her forehead, clearly unstyled after a long day. Whatever she's going through, you're sure it isn't pleasant for her to have ended up here alone on a Thursday night. Even so, you silently wonder if she's aware of just how attractive she is. In a sense, she's almost ethereal to you, with her extended limbs and sharp lines. . .

You reach for a napkin and are pleasantly surprised when the rusted dispenser sitting loose just a seat away isn't completely empty as it usually is by this time of night. Digging in your bag for a moment, you find an old ballpoint pen buried at the bottom. You try to take something to write or sketch with wherever you go, —but sometimes you still find yourself wholly unprepared for when inspiration strikes.

It takes a bit of scribbling before the ink begins to flow. Even then, it's rather choppy and doesn't come out in a smooth line. But, it's the best you have on hand, and so you're sure to use it to your advantage in whatever way possible (which isn't many.) Your gaze flickers between the woman at the end of the bar and the napkin you're sketching her likeness on in inconsistent ink. It's certainly rough, but it's the first thing you've drawn all week that you haven't felt the urge to light on fire, so you're considering this a win.

You get a little carried away with the shading and the general environment, adding flowers that aren't there and little markings all around for some additional texture and pizzaz.

"Interesting," a low-toned, curious voice says from just over your shoulder.

You startle at the sudden interruption, nearly scribbling a horrendous line across the center of your sketch. The woman had been so silent in her move, (or perhaps you'd just been too engrossed to hear her make her way over) that you were left flinching under her looming shadow.

She seems fittingly confident for the aura she gives off, —like some kind of CEO.

"Uh. . . Sorry," you apologize, hoping the mood won't become too awkward. "This must seem pretty weird."

This is pretty weird, actually, and you can acknowledge that much. After all, when someone trudges to the bar late at night, it's not as if they go there expecting that some equally as frustrated stranger will see them and be unable to resist the urge to sketch their likeness on a painfully thin napkin.

"I've seen weirder," she replies, —and though you don't ask for examples of that, you're rather curious about what she'd give as some.

She sits next to you now, on the bar stool just to your left. Her knee brushes against yours as she does so.

"You're an artist then, I presume?" She asks without missing a beat.

You nod, letting your pen drop to the bartop, giving her your full attention now. Something about her demands it (not that you're complaining.)

"Yep," you answer, though you can't bring yourself to sound particularly stoked by that admission at the moment.

She takes notice of that much too quickly for having just met you.

"You don't seem very pleased about it," she notes. "Trouble in paradise, perhaps?"

An Irish accent clings to her words; not a heavy one, all things considered, but more than enough to be obvious. It's quite attractive.

"Yeah, something like that," you say with a bitter laugh, —one directed more at yourself than her statement. "Nothing I'd want to bore you with."

She hums in acknowledgement, not trying to pry anything out of you that you aren't readily willing to share. That makes you like her all the more.

"I understand that quite well," she seems to sigh. "I'm a geneticist, —seasoned and well-ingrained in my field."

That makes sense. She speaks with an air of confidence that you assume comes with not only age, but experience, and it's clear she's well-educated.

"Yet here I am, constantly being pestered and questioned by those around me," she complains. "They insist upon checking and checking and checking again for ethical violations, —as if any true scientist has ever been able to examine the fullest potential of life without bending a few rules."

You gather rather quickly that she likely just needs someone to vent to, and a stranger is as good as anyone else. Though you're sure it won't be long before she gets into specifics and you lose the plot entirely, you have no qualms about keeping her company for the time being. In fact. . . This might as well be just as much for you as it is for her.

"They say rules were made to be broken," you quip, hoping it'll be enough to keep her talking.

"I don't know that I'd go quite that far, —but what I will say is that being ethical will do no good if it leaves us plateaued and unable to advance," she says. "Humanity is shackled by so many things. I am searching for the key to those shackles, —searching for the means by which to unlock the true potential of human beings. Just imagine what could be achieved if every individual was consistently performing at their highest levels of functioning. Productivity would skyrocket, advancements that have taken decades in the past would come about in less than half the time. . . There's so much waiting to be discovered, and yet so many seem to want to stand in the way of that."

"I'm sure that's frustrating," you acknowledge. "Obviously I'm not familiar with your field, but it seems a bit counterintuitive to stunt your progress when advancement is such a crucial part of today's society."

At this point, you're just speaking and hoping something sticks. It'd be nice to have someone to share time with, even if all she does is rant about things you're nothing short of completely removed from.

"Exactly," she practically hisses. "Sometimes, I'm utterly convinced that I'm surrounded by fools. Fools who haven't a clue what it means to strive for the betterment of humankind."

Truth be told, she knows you don't get it. She knows you're telling her what you think she wants to hear from you. . . But, at this point, it's enough. She doesn't have the patience to keep it all bottled up anymore, and your vague attempts at encouragement are something she's rather pleased by (for the time being, anyway.)

As a result, she goes on, and on, and on, well into the early hours of the morning. She drinks, but seems to hold her liquor so well that it hardly affects her at all. Or, perhaps you're just a bit sensitive in that department. Either way, she finds you to be a tantalizingly good listener, even if she lost you the moment she started detailing something about stem cell research and the possibility of using the brain's localization to its 'fullest potential.'

By the end of your time with her, you're drunk less on the drinks you've admittedly been nursing, and more on her. A woman of such. . . Confidence and refinement. Perhaps in great contrast to the artist at your core, who craves some semblance of chaos and passion that burns so hot you can feel it course through your veins.

It's only after you've parted ways with her that you realize you never caught her name.

You return to the bar several times after that, though you seldom have the urge to drink any of your problems away. Your long, strange conversation with that enchanting force of a woman weighs heavily on your mind. Her very likeness on its own had helped to chip away at your stunted inspiration, giving birth to new designs and a perhaps pretentious series of paintings in which long, slender fingers with sharpened nails painted a deep violet color held different types of flowers. A part of you wonders if she’d like them. . . After all, they were born only because you’d had the chance to meet her (and spend at least a good two hours staring at her hands.)

Now, however, you’re content with staring at the art displayed at this gallery. It’s clear many of the paintings are uninspired, simply taking the form of references, —which is all well and good, of course. . . But there’s a sense of romanticism missing from most of them that isn’t quite scratching the itch inside your chest.

You stand before one such piece; a beautiful painting of a teacup filled nearly to the brim with amber liquid. It’s accompanied by a few cookies, ones that look delectable in spite of their bland appearance. The scene is nothing revolutionary, but there’s a sense of warmth it exudes that the other works here lack, so you’ve chosen to camp here for a bit, if only to bask in its delight for a while longer.

“I don’t presume this is one of yours.” You’d know that voice anywhere.

Perhaps a bit too quickly, your head whips to the side, eyes immediately scaling upward. You meet the duel-colored stare of the woman you’d met at the bar, and the intensity of her gaze leaves butterflies tickling your stomach. She’s dressed much the same as the night you first crossed paths with her, but her hair is pushed back completely, —not a single strand out of place. She wears some subtle makeup, a bit of color on her lips and liner on her eyes. You couldn’t even begin to picture her in casual clothing.

You blink, clearing your throat as you remember that she was likely looking for a response.

“No, not quite,” you reply.

She hums in acknowledgement. Her hand almost looks empty without a glass in it, you note, but choose to say nothing of it.

“I’m y/n, by the way,” you introduce yourself, hoping that she’ll follow suit. . . Hoping that she’ll take it as a sign that you’d like to see her again at some point, even if just at random.

“Moira.”

You swallow. It’s a name that sounds so elegant, and it suits her completely. Before you can compliment it, she turns her full attention to you, no longer dividing it between the painting. She never seemed particularly interested in that one anyhow.

“Are any of your pieces displayed here?" She asks. "I'd be interested to see them."

You swear the smallest semblance of a smile quirks at the corners of her lips as she speaks now.

"No, unfortunately not," you reply. "The deadline was too tight, and. . . Nothing I'd created recently felt worthy of the spotlight."

Untrue. The few paintings you'd stayed up until ungodly hours to finish were more than suitable; but they were of her. Only her hands, thus far, but. . . You still felt the urge to keep them to yourself. That's why you'd lugged them back to your apartment instead of keeping them at your worn-down studio.

She hums in acknowledgement.

The conversation is running thin, and you feel your chest tighten. She’d gone out of her way to speak to you first, so you assume there’s some semblance of a spark here, even if only a little one. You yearn to keep it safe from anything and everything hellbent on snuffing it out before it even has the chance to burn brightly.

“How’s work been for you, then?” You ask, somewhat desperate to keep her talking.

Moira heaves a heavy sigh, —not so much at you, but at the mention of work. You take that as ‘less than stellar.’

“It could be better,” she replies bitterly.

It’s then that you let impulse take over. Working as an artist is the culmination of your life’s devotion and effort to refining your skills. . . But it can be a bit lonely. Usually, that doesn’t bother you much, —it’s a feeling that rarely bubbles up enough to even cross your mind; but since you’d met Moira, it’d been much more difficult to ignore. In the end, you took a chance, perhaps a bit rashly. And yet, it paid off.

“I’d be willing to listen, if you’d like someone to talk to,” you offer. “There’s a little cafe just down the block. I’ve heard the pecan pie is to die for.”

She stares for a few moments, as if eyeing you down like prey. At the very least, Moira seems to be giving some thought to your offer, and you consider that as good a sign as any. Eventually, she breathes out through her nose just loud enough for you to hear it (and make note of the amusement it carries.) A smirk tugs visibly at the corner of her pretty mouth, and this time, it’s not one you’d have to squint to catch sight of.

“Suppose I am feeling a bit peckish,” she notes, then tells you to lead the way.

You’re almost dumbfounded that you’ve gotten this far. It’s all too easy to abandon the gallery and travel with Moira to the newly opened cafe just a ways off. You’d stopped by a few times since its grand opening just a few months back, but had never ordered anything more than a simple drink. You’d also never taken the time to sit down and enjoy the sweet atmosphere of the establishment, always rushing about too frantically to even consider the possibility.

This time is different. You sit with Moira by a large window, tendrils of sunlight pouring in from above, creating long shadows on the table between the two of you. She orders a simple cup of dark roast, but decides for the both of you that the pecan pie does, in fact, look too heavenly to pass up; so she requests one slice with two forks.

She tells you about her day, —about her work and her ongoing struggles to convince her superiors that she knows exactly what she’s doing and should be permitted to do as such. You still don’t understand most of it, but you make sure she knows she has your full attention nonetheless.

And then she makes the decision to turn the direction of the conversation.

“How has life as an artist been treating you since we last spoke?” She inquires.

You’re almost thrown off by the sudden reciprocation of curiosity. Between the both of you, you’d simply assumed she was leading the more interesting life, and had been completely content to listen to her spew her frustrations while sipping on coffee for an hour or so.

Still. . . It felt nice to know she cared about your own ventures, if only out of politeness. (Though, really, Moira didn’t seem like the type who’d ask a question she didn’t care about receiving a genuine answer to for the sake of saving face.)

“Better,” you smile softly. “I was struggling to find inspiration, —worried that everything I was producing was just bland and uninteresting. But, after speaking with you, I started digging myself out of that rut. Since then, things have steadily been getting back on track, so I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Moira hums in acknowledgement.

“I’m happy to have helped, though I’m not certain I truly know what I did to spur any of your artistic inspiration,” she admits.

“You’re alluring,” you tell her without thinking the compliment through.

You qualify: “Unique. Very visually striking.”

She raises an eyebrow at the sentiment, then offers you a low chuckle in reply.

“Is that why you asked me here?” She questions, though she doesn’t seem perturbed by the idea. “To be your muse of sorts?”

Your heart thumps a little louder in your chest now, though you’re not sure why.

“No,” you answer honestly, shaking your head a bit, “—but I’m sure that’ll be a secondary benefit.”

Will it ever.

“I take it you simply enjoy my company then?” Moira continues.

“Precisely,” you nod. “It’s exactly that.”

She stares at you for a moment longer, her eyes all but boring holes into your own. In a good way.

Finally, she cracks an amused smile, and mumbles: “Likewise.”

At that, you’re certain you’ve won the lottery. You talk with her a bit more about a variety of things; what it’s like to be a full-time artist, about her nails (press-ons, apparently, —you could hardly believe the notion), —about how right everyone was about the pecan pie. She disappeared before you could say a proper goodbye, paying the bill and scribbling her phone number down on a napkin that she left at your seat while you were in the restroom. You grin to yourself the whole way back to your apartment, letting the day’s events wash over you like the evening tide.

Just before you turn in later in the night, you send a quick message to her phone thanking her for paying the tab and telling her that next time is your treat. She responds in almost record time, and you let yourself believe for a moment that maybe she’d been waiting around for you to reach out since she’d left the cafe.

Looking forward to it.

As late spring turned to early summer, you kept in contact with Moira, if only passively. She was a busy woman, unsurprisingly, and despite the continued conflict with her peers and superiors, she remained wholly devoted to her work and ideals. It was easy to recognize that you came second, —if you even made her list at all.

But that was okay. It didn’t weigh heavily on you as it might have if she were anyone else.

You saw her only a few times here and there over the weeks, returning to that same cafe to chat for a bit over coffees, venturing to a steakhouse on the far end of the city for a night of fine dining, and attending an opera performance with her after she’d been given tickets by a work colleague as a regifted-gift when that individual had no interest in attending themself. Each time, you saw a new side of Moira; getting to know her better, getting to experience the many shades of her.

It was mid-June when you heard your phone buzz late at night, vibrating against the oakwood of your bedstand. On the off chance it was Moira contacting you at such a strange time, you shot upright, startling yourself awake in the process. You snatched your phone off the surface, squinting at the brightness only to realize it was a completely unrelated, automatic notification from an app. But you sat there that night, your stomach tied in knots, that device clutched a bit too tightly in your hand, only to realize something all at once.

You were falling for her. For Moira. And you were so certain that that was a terrible idea.

You laid awake, thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong in the face of this newfound revelation. Really, had anyone else had a say in the matter, the more shocking part of it all would have been that it took you so long to put two and two together. —She’s addicted to her work, utterly devoted to her job. That had long been established. Any plans you sought to make with her had to first be run through her hefty work schedule; the one that was so bizarre and so obscure that you’d given up trying to make sense of it a week into your acquaintanceship.

Any relationship you could hope to forge with her would be a lowly affair. Her first love was destined to be science. Still, you rationalized that Moira wasn’t much unlike you, in that sense. You too were deeply devoted to your career, thinking of it often, keeping your art at the forefront of your mind more often than not.

Even that aside, there was so much that could go wrong here. If she were to feel the same way, which seemed so unlikely to you that even considering it felt like something akin to a cruel joke, —it was more likely to be fleeting than anything else. Yet, a part of you still wanted it. . . Wanted the push and pull, the long weeks of her undoubtedly forgetting that you even existed, just to fall back in her arms at the first sign of affection. Foolishly, a part of you still wanted the late nights and early mornings, —wanted to feel your own heart break as you watched her slip out of your bed through hazy eyes, leaving you lonely without a proper goodbye.

Obviously, you were getting miles ahead of yourself.

Still, the fact remained that you liked Moira. . . You just weren’t sure what exactly you were supposed to do about that.

The summer heat became sweltering before long. Moira traded her long-sleeved dress shirts for short-sleeved ones in the same color and style, and you began to stare not only at her hands, but at her arms now when the two of you found time to get together. You��d sit and listen to her frustrations, —always about her working life and how it was so difficult to deal with being stifled, told that she couldn’t do this or that because someone had deemed it inappropriate by their own standards.

Admittedly, you still didn’t get it. Her work was so different to your own, and in the end, she didn’t really get yours either. But, each of you managed well enough. Your relationship was symbiotic. She had someone to vent to, you had someone to lust and desire for, someone to get your inspiration pumping. . . And that was good enough.

Until it wasn’t.

You did your best to drown your feelings out. There was too much at stake, what with Moira being your closest friend in the city, you assumedly being hers (since she often made note that you were the only person she spoke so candidly with,) —and you didn’t want to disrupt the balance the both of you had created together. It worked, and they say what isn’t broken doesn’t need to be fixed.

But it was breaking you, little by little. It was something you could ignore at first, until ignoring it became much more difficult, and you defaulted to stuffing it down on purpose, forcing thoughts about the bow of her lips and the dips of her waist into the back of your mind. If she ever caught sight of your wandering gaze, she never mentioned it. Still, you were prepared to chalk it up to admiring her frame for artistic purposes, and Moira likely would have bought that without much thought otherwise.

And then came the banquet, —the gathering, the party— whatever the hell it was. You didn’t really know what it was about other than that it had to do with Moira’s work, and that in itself was enough to signal to you that you probably wouldn’t have been able to make much sense of it anyway. She’d asked you to attend alongside her, saying that it would go much smoother with someone there to talk to (presumably so she could ignore everyone else that would be lapping at her ankles, vying for her attention.)

Whether her colleagues liked or disliked her and her methods, it was surely undeniable that Moira was intelligent and could provide insight into just about anything (within reason.) Thus, she’d requested that you come along as her so-called “plus one.” It didn’t help that when you mentioned that you’d likely be out of place at such an event, she responded by assuring you that many of the scientists would surely be taking their partners and spouses along with them.

“So, this is your way of asking me on a date?”

It was a joke. You gave a sly smile to project that, and it seemed that she understood the intention. You just hoped she didn’t catch sight of the desperation that lingered in the back of your stare, —desperation born from the desire to cross every line known to man and then some.

The worst part is that she didn’t deny it. She seemed unphased by the proposition even, telling you to “call it what you’d like.” And you would, albeit not to her face again. In your mind, this was a date. Perhaps one of convenience more than anything else, —but a date nonetheless.

When the time comes, you meet Moira just out front of your apartment. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen her sleek, black car in person. She’d made mention of it before, (only when you’d asked first), but your get-togethers with her had been within comfortable walking distance of most things in the city. This time, however, the venue was a bit further out, and because the occasion called for fancier clothes, Moira decided driving there would be the best option.

You watched through the slightly tinted windows as she reached over the passenger seat, her long, slender arm easily reaching the inner handle of the car door. She pushed it open for you, and you got in, feeling like some kind of moviestar. It wasn’t often that you saw a car as expensive and luxurious as hers around your admittedly worn-down apartment complex. It was even less often that you got to ride in one.

“Wow,” you note, slipping your seatbelt on, “I figured you’d drive something nice, but this is really something else.”

She lets an amused tuft of air escape her nostrils.

You turn to look at her now, taking her in as the last rays of dying sunlight spill down from the sky. She’s in a nice suit, as expected of her, —one that compliments her lengthy stature noticeably even in a sitting position. The fabric of her blazer is a deep, crimson red, a few shades darker than the scarlet iris of her right eye, and it’s paired with a black undershirt and black dress pants to match. Her hair is slicked back, and her hands are hidden under a pair of black gloves. She’s almost too stunning to be real, you think as she seems to examine your own attire.

Though Moira pays you no compliments, the light smirk that curves her lips upward ever so slightly says enough.

“I’ll have you home before it gets too late,” she says. “This is more for appearances than anything else. Those matter much more than one might think in the scientific field.”

Unsurprisingly, she seems less than excited about all of this, and you temper your own expectations as a result. It wasn’t so much the event itself you were looking forward to, —it was just getting to spend time with her that really lit your fuse, so to speak.

“I’ve got nothing better to be doing,” you note. “I’m yours for the night.”

Maybe that was a little too forward. As soon as you’ve said it, a part of you wishes you hadn’t. . . But Moira gives you a little hum in reply, throwing you a final glance before fixing her eyes ahead, and that’s the end of it. You like to think she was pleased with that admission, though. The drive is quiet, but in a comfortable sense. She seems to be in neutral spirits in spite of her distaste for the final destination, and you’re glad for it (not that you mention it.)

The venue was about as extravagant as you would expect; chandeliers hanging from the ceiling in the party hall, well-dressed staff members carrying platters of red wine and bubbling champagne, weaving their way through the guests with surprising grace and elegance. You can’t help but think to yourself that you’d never survive a day doing their job.

Moira snags the both of you some wine.

“Can’t help but think this is a bit nostalgic,” she comments as you put the rim of the glass to your lips to take a small sip.

The dark red liquid almost matches her outfit.

“I guess so,” you smile sheepishly. “It’s been a bit since we first met, and that’s the last time we drank together.”

“Indeed.”

She takes her own sip now, her lipstick clinging to the glass. You let yourself stare for a moment, gaze caught on her mouth. . . You let yourself wonder what it’d be like to pull her in, match your hand to the curve of her neck, —kiss her, taste the wine on her lips. It’s a bad idea, of course, but. . .

You just can’t help it.

“I suppose I should give you a proper thanks,” Moira notes after a few moments of silence. “I’m sure this kind of event isn’t much like anything you’d be used to.”

“Not in the slightest,” you shake your head.

She appreciates the candid way you answer, not trying to soften the blow for the sake of saving face. Your honesty is part of your charm.

“Lucky you,” she notes. “These things are practically the bane of my existence. They’re just glorified circle-jerks, —everyone squanders their time meeting here to drink alcohol and grit their teeth while they speak with colleagues they haven’t seen since the last one, even though they promise to keep in touch every single time.”

You get the feeling she’s quite pleased they never actually go through with that. The very prospect seems more like a threat than a broken promise.

“Sounds. . . Fake,” you answer lightly.

“Utterly synthetic,” Moira says, venom lacing her words.

She really isn’t holding back tonight, and there’s a certain luster that comes with it, —the kind that makes your insides twist into pretzels. Though she’s seldom the type to be vulgar for the sake of it, her gloves seem to be off tonight. Metaphorically, anyway. The actual gloves on her pretty hands are still there, tightly fitted to her elegant fingers. You’d be a tad more bitter about the view they steal away from you if not for how nice they look on her.

“Worse off, you may think idle workplace gossip would be less common in a career such as mine, —but you’d be wrong,” she tells you. “The amount of nonsense they spew never ceases to amaze me.”

And here you thought it was an impossible task to impress her. Imagine your shock when you found that a tried and true way of doing so was just to spout off pointless grains from the rumor mill. . .

“Seems hellish,” you remark.

You shiver at the mere thought of it, your eyes surveying the loose crowd now, looking for anyone who seems to be questioning your presence at Moira’s side or making assumptions about whether you really belong here. You don’t, and that just makes the anxiety worse. Another sip of wine down the hatchet, but your worries don’t go down with it the way you’d hoped they would.

“Hellish may be a bit of an understatement,” Moira mumbles sourly.

“Really though, a proper thank you for coming along is in order,” she sighs. “If you have anything you’d like in return, do tell. Money isn’t much of an obstacle, —within reason, of course.”

Unsure of how to say that all you really want is for her to pull you in and let her body meld into your own, you give her a little nod and a polite smile instead.

“I’ll let you know if anything comes to mind.”

She seems pleased enough by your confirmation, swallowing down the rest of her wine in a few ungraceful gulps. The way her throat contracts as she tips the glass back sends a shiver down your spine. Everything she does is so mesmerizing, and at this point, it’s just unfair. No one person should be able to captivate you; mind, body, and soul the way she always has, even from the very start. Sitting at a rundown bar, standing tall before a painting of tea and cookies, —drinking down blood red alcohol under dazzling chandeliers and crystalline lights that dance off her eyes like fireflies in mid-July.

You stand by as the night drags on, going much too slow for Moira, and far too quickly for you. It’s clear she’s not content to just be by your side here, and that hurts a little more than it should. She has another two glasses of wine and leaves a lipstick stain on each of them. . . And she doesn’t know just how much you’d risk for her to leave that same mark anywhere on you.

For the briefest of seconds, you consider asking that of her in return, but you banish that thought to the shadow realm just as quickly.

A few fresh faces greet Moira with varying levels of that synthetic politeness she’d mentioned not long ago. Seeing it in real time is like looking through a kaleidoscope of disgust, and you have to force a scowl off your face. You try your best to zone out when they come around, figuring that you’re not supposed to be privy to whatever information they’re sharing, —and that you wouldn’t understand much of it anyway. Unless they were suddenly struck with the urge to discuss color theory or artistic interpretation, you were pretty certain you wouldn’t be of much help. Moira’s field of expertise was worlds different than your own.

“Doctor O’Deorain,” a pretty blonde woman greets, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and a little black dress clinging to her body in all the right places.

Moira regards her with less hostility than the others, her expression softening a bit.

“I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up,” she continues with a familiar giggle, losing the formal nature of her address. “I’m almost afraid to ask what you were offered in exchange for your attendance.”

If she’s comfortable enough to joke with Moira, you assume she’s known her for long enough to have built that kind of comradery. Maybe it was just a hunch of yours, but you’d have been willing to bet that Moira didn’t ease up to people very quickly. You like to think you were a slight exception to the rule.

“More like what they threatened to take away if I didn’t,” Moira answers, that characteristic bluntness still present in her tone, —but it’s softer with this woman, for one reason or another.

The blonde laughs again, seeming content in the redhead’s presence. Jealousy prickles at your heart, making you feel utterly ridiculous. Her blue eyes finally travel to where you’re standing, as if she’s just now realizing that you’d been standing there the entire time.

“You brought a friend along?” She inquires, her kind smile never fading. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Moira beats you to the punch.

“Lover, actually,” she corrects, one of her gloved hands sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer and nearly knocking you off-balance in the process.

Your throat goes dry, face falling into an expression of panic, but you gather yourself before the blonde woman can take notice. Though you have no idea why she’d lie about such a thing, you can only assume that Moira has her reasons, and the last thing you’d want to do is correct her in front of a colleague, —even about something like this. You’ll probably never see this woman again anyway, so no harm, no foul. (Well, maybe some harm to your heart, but what else is new.)

The woman seems shocked by even the idea of it.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” you say with a forced smile.

It’s not that she isn’t kind or easy to talk to. She’s both of those things, actually, and you can admire that (and you do.) But you’re still reeling from Moira’s sudden concession, and making small talk is the last thing on your mind.

The rest of the conversation is a blur. You do your best to fall into the background, hoping that each of them might just forget you even exist. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, beating something dangerously close to out of control.

The feeling of her hand on your waist all but burns itself into your flesh.

By the time they’ve said their goodbyes, she’s taken it away. But it’s far too late to fix the damage she’s done.

Moira never does explain herself that night, and you don’t have the nerve to ask. Questions are ripe on the tip of your tongue the entire ride back to your apartment, but you sit in silence just as you did before, —albeit much less comfortably.

It’s then that you’re forced to acknowledge the crueler parts of her. . . And yet, you fear, you’re still falling for her anyway.

Communication is brief and inconsistent over the rough week and a half following the event. You send a few messages out of nicety, hoping she might choose to spark up a conversation. . . But she doesn’t, and you chalk it up to her being busy with work. At least, that’s the story your rational mind would like you to believe. The part of you that you’d like to shut out completely warns you only of the possibility that you’re being overbearing, and it’s pushing her further away.

You begin to worry that it’s now or never. If things continue as they are, Moira might as well just be another person who only contacts you when it’s convenient or they’re feeling a little nostalgic and want to hear a whisper from a ghost of their past.

As a means to counteract that possibility, you decide that it’s time to put that favor from Moira to good use. Best of all, —it’s utterly free of charge.

She agrees to meet you at your little painting studio to provide some assistance. Upon arriving, she walks around and gazes long and hard at each of your pieces, —finished and unfinished alike, sparing you the flurry of compliments she’s sure you’ve heard a million times over. If she were anyone else, her silence might have been a bad omen, but you know her well enough to understand that she means well.

“I’m not certain I can really be of any help,” she says, giving you a sidelong glance over her angular shoulder. “I enjoy art, but I haven’t the slightest clue how to create it. I leave that to the lot of you who’ve crafted your skills and put in the time.”

“For many of us, —myself included— inspiration is just as important as skill,” you reply. “These days, it’s been running a bit dry. But I was hoping you could get the wheels turning, if you know what I mean.”

Moira thinks she has a good idea of it.

“And how, pray tell, should I go about that?” She asks. “Do I just need to sit here and pose?”

“Actually,” you say, hoping to rip this off like a bandaid, —because you know it’s bizarre and that she might well say no, but you’re sick of wondering about it.

As it goes, you’ve prepared for the worst, but you’re hoping for the best.

“I’d like to paint on you.”

She looks at you evenly, as if she’s not shocked by the request at all. You’re more surprised by her lack of a visceral reaction than she is by your requisition.

“Interesting,” she notes, though it doesn’t sound like this is particularly intriguing to her, “—where, exactly?”

“Just like that?” You laugh. “No hesitation? You’re just gonna let me do it?”

“That’s dependent on the where,” she replies, an amused smile thinning her lips out. “If I’m right to assume you’re keen on keeping this within a certain boundary, I see no real reason to object. I do owe you, after all.”

Above most things, Moira is practical. She sees this as repayment, not only for your attendance at her working banquet, but also for the many afternoons, evenings, and nights she’s talked your ear off, sharing her own disgruntled feelings over coffee, steak, and whiskey neat respectively.

You offer her an appreciative smile, as if she’s done something so loving for you out of the kindness of her beating heart.

It’s more out of obligation, you fear, but you’re fine to ignore that for now.

“Will an arm suffice?” She asks.

“Maybe two,” you answer cheekily, and she doesn’t object.

You grab her a wooden stool to sit on, one much less rinky-dink than the barstool she’d sat on the night you first met as you go about procuring your materials; paints, brushes, —the necessities for this kind of ordeal.

“Can you roll your sleeves up a bit more for me?” You request.

“Would it be easier to just discard the shirt?” She asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. Yes, she’s probably right in some sense. . . That likely would make this process increasingly easier in a pragmatic sense, —but you’re certain seeing her in such a state would do numbers on your heart that you’re not sure you’re really equipped to handle.

“I. . . I suppose so,” you nod.

You try not to stare as her elegant fingers undo the buttons of her shirt with ease, like she’s a master of the craft. Her back arches ever so slightly as she slips her arms out, long and limber as they fall to her sides and she keeps the mess of white fabric balled in her hands now. Her bra is a stark black, the kind of deep shade that really contrasts with every inch of her pale, porcelain skin. You swallow nervously at the sight of her, taking the shirt from her hands to drape it over an unused easel.

She seems to have no reservations about this. Maybe it’s because she’s simply confident in every aspect of herself, —or maybe it’s because she trusts you enough to remain stoic in the face of it. You don’t ask, and Moira doesn’t tell.

“Any ideas?” She says instead, “—For the artwork.”

“I was considering something floral and nature-themed,” you answer, focusing in on that aspect of the ordeal so as to forget that she’s sitting in front of you like this, so much of her on display for your eyes only.

“Butterflies with carnations,” you add, “—or daisies, perhaps.”

“I’m impartial to hyacinth myself,” she notes.

It’s not so much a suggestion for your art piece as it is something Moira simply wants to share with you. Still, you think it best to run with it, and you give her a slightly lopsided smile.

“Hyacinth it is.”

She watches with curiosity as you go through the motions, —mixing colors, cleaning your brushes between them, dabbing them dry. It’s not often that Moira has the luxury of watching something like this in person. . . In fact, now that she’s thinking of it, she’s not sure she’s ever witnessed an artist work firsthand at all. In her lifetime, she’s seen innumerous things she would personally describe as incredible, —and unbeknownst to you, this is one of them.

“This is actually quite relaxing,” she says. “Like a massage. I don’t fancy those much, I loathe the thought of a stranger touching me so extensively, —but this is nice.”

You offer her a small smile.

“I’m glad,” you reply. “I knew it was a bit of a strange request, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for turning me away, but I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to allow it.”

“Perish the thought,” Moira shakes her head slightly. “If anyone knows about unconventional methods, it would be me. I know better than most that in order to reach one’s full potential, sometimes it’s necessary to step outside the proverbial box.”

That wasn’t quite your mindset going into it, but if she was ready and willing to place a perfectly good excuse for this in your lap, then so be it. Truth be told, you were simply a conduit of passion to your very core, and in a perhaps distorted sense of the word, this was romantic to you.

You hum in acknowledgement.

“While you’re here. . . Can I ask you something?” You inquire.

Though it feels like your heart is in your throat now, you manage to keep your hand steady enough to continue your work with little disruption.

“You can ask,” she says, “though my ability to answer might waver depending on what the question is.”

“At that event. . . You told that blonde woman we were lovers. Why?”

It’s been eating at you since it happened, in more ways than one, and now seems like as good a time as any to get it off your chest. You steal a peak at Moira’s face, noting the way she remains completely composed, even in the face of such an off-color inquiry.

“So I did,” she says plainly, certainly not the type to deny responsibility or deflect accountability for her own actions. “It’s an unfortunate fact for me that my colleagues can be quite. . . Eccentric. And by that, I mean they often poke their noses in the affairs of others with something similar to reckless abandon.”

Her brows furrow now as she thinks about it, clearly agitated.

“It’s not uncommon for them to pry into my personal matters, and I was hoping to quench their overbearing interest in my romantic life by giving them a glimpse into it, —if only a false one. Like I said before, everyone there is in it for themselves. It’s all synthetic. . . An act they put on to please one another a few times a year. That night, it was my turn to do the pleasing.”

“That makes sense,” you acknowledge.

Of course it did. You weren’t expecting anything less from her of all people.

“Did it work?”

A low rumble of brief laughter resounds from her chest, —husky and divine.

“Like a charm,” she tells you. “I’m sure they’ve found another staff member to harass with their incessant yammerings about intimacy and partnership.”

“You’re not a fan of those?” You ask, and the question is punctuated by the quiet ripples of your paintbrush through water as you clean it.

Moira is silent for a few moments, as if pondering on your inquiry.

“I don’t. . . Dislike intimacy,” she replies, —though she doesn’t sound as sure of that response as she normally would have had the two of you been discussing anything else.

“Rather, I don’t dislike the idea of it,” she corrects quickly. “In practice, I suppose that’s a different story. I don’t offer my trust like candy, and for me, intimacy only follows trust.”

“I’d argue this is quite intimate,” you note softly, blending two shades of deeper purples together on her bare skin. “Does that mean I’ve won your trust?”

You fear you’re pushing your luck here, but can’t stop yourself from asking. Eventually, Moira lowers her chin a bit, seeming amused by your line of questioning.

“I suppose so.”

Bingo.

If nothing else, that was your win for the day. If nothing else, —Moira trusted you. . . And that was more than enough for the time being.

You thrive off the high of that evening for the next several days. You don’t even worry when things go silent on Moira’s end. It’s all too easy to simmer yourself down now that you know for certain she trusts you, —and it’s almost elating to hold that information so near and dear to your heart. She invites you for a drink that Saturday night, in the cooling heat of summer, and you jump at the first opportunity to see her in person again.

This time, the bar isn’t quite so run down. It might just be the fanciest one you’ve ever set foot in, and the outfit you wore that you were worried would come off as overdressed now feels like the opposite. Things like this remind you of just how different you live in comparison to Moira. . . It’s easy to forget that she’s quite wealthy, and though you’re well past your struggling artist phase, you’re far from living the way you imagine she does day in and day out.

She’s not keen on discussing work tonight, so you sit around nursing lemon drop martinis with sugar-lined rims, hanging off her every word like the admitted lovesick fool that you are.

It’s nothing profound, nothing inherently important in the grand scheme of it all. . . But it’s nice to know that her favorite season is autumn, and it’s nice to know that she can play a bit of piano. It’s then that you really understand just how much little things really do matter, even within the finite days we’re given. Especially within them.

Just like your drink, it’s slightly bittersweet.

You talk with her well into the night, eventually forgoing the bar to simply walk around under the stars and the city lights. And maybe it’s alcohol or that aforementioned trust she’s placed in you, —but she tells you that she misses her home on nights like these, and when she sees you shiver, she drapes her jacket over your shoulders and walks a little closer to you now. So close that the back of her hand brushes against yours, —once, twice, thrice— but the fourth time never comes.

Instead, she reaches out in between the hum of passing cars and the hollow breeze that swishes by, and takes your hand in her own. You don’t bother to bite back the smile that graces your lips.

That night, you consider telling her all the things you’ve been keeping bottled up inside, —all the time you’ve spent groveling over her and her unfair ability to captivate you like no other. But, a part of you is almost certain she already knows now, as if the poetry written in your heart has all but flowed right into her own from the lines in your palm.

As summer moves both far too slow and much too fast all in a single breath, Moira becomes a semi-frequent guest in your studio. Sometimes she simply watches as you work on canvas, and at others, she becomes the canvas herself. You have a little collection of photographs of her now, —posed according to your will, displaying her painted arms in the process. It must be hours upon hours now that you've spent gracing her skin with your brushes, listening to her tell you about her day; the good and bad parts.

She leaves out the finer details, not wanting to bore you with the intricacies of a job one could only understand through years of training and experience. Still, you know more than you probably should about her research, and you're there when the scientific community at large decides that she's a perfect fit for their next public enemy.

For how harsh the punishment is, you'd think she would have been more upset, —but she remained indifferent to it all, as if taking it in stride was the only way she knew how to cope with it. Moira asked that if you stumbled across any articles of her, you pay them no mind. . . And you didn't. Maybe that was a naive choice, but her work was only your concern to a certain extent, and you were already well aware that she was prone to bending ethical guidelines. At the end of the day, you knew her as a woman rather than a scientist, and that was that.

You have to admit, it’s a little tortuous seeing her so often, being constantly reminded of just how hard you’ve fallen, and yet never having the courage to act on it. You often hype yourself up, readying yourself to shoot your shot, —but as soon as Moira is actually in front of you, all the confidence you’d spent the prior day and night building up all but crumbles to your feet in pathetic little pieces.

You sit with her at that cafe again, sipping on lattes together in the early afternoon. She seems more relaxed today than she is most of the time, —like something amazing has happened, though she hasn’t told you what. If anything even happened at all. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she’s just happy to be here with you.

The new employee of the quaint shop slips you a napkin with some scribbled numbers on it, and you feel a sense of deja vu. It wasn’t too long ago that Moira gave you her phone number in much the same way.

“His number, I presume?” Moira inquires.

You nod.

“I was wondering when he’d decide to make a move,” she laughs. “He’s had his eyes on you since you sat down.”

“O-Oh?” You utter, heat rising to your cheeks, “—Has he? I didn’t notice.”

You were a little distracted by the way she held the handle of her cup, though you’re keen on keeping that particular detail to yourself.

“Indeed,” she confirms. “So, any plans to take him up on it?”

“Ah. . . No, I don’t think so,” you shake your head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered and all, I just. . .”

“He isn’t to your liking?” Moira guesses.

She’s so nonchalant about this that it’s close to driving you wild.

“I don’t know that I’d say it like that,” you mumble.

“He’s not your type, then?” She revises.

“I don’t think I have any specific type,” you answer.

“Perhaps there’s someone else?”

Your face falls and it doesn’t go unnoticed no matter how quickly you right yourself. There’s no hiding that it’s the case now, —but you have a feeling she already knows as much. She’d known it for days, weeks, —maybe months. Maybe she knew you were falling for her before you yourself had the wherewithal to pick up on it.

“Something like that,” you mutter, taking a long, drawn out sip of your drink.

Something like that.

She doesn’t press it any further, letting it drop completely for the time being. You part ways as you exit the cafe, and while she spends the rest of her day in her lab, you meddle about your studio, unable to keep your focus steady enough to get much done.

Perhaps there’s someone else. . .

You sigh deeply, frustrated and overwhelmed. If there was ever a time when you wished she’d be as blunt as she always seems to be, —it’s now. A part of you is certain even rejection would hurt less than this; less than the unknown. You’re sick of sitting in this pit of misty grey indifference, stuck in limbo, always waiting for the right time (that never actually comes.)

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. “Fuck.”

You feel pathetically underproductive, sitting against the wall in your studio as the sun begins to set. You’ve done so little, but your mind has been racing for hours, and there’s still no sure-fire way you’ve found to reason yourself out of this mess. Telling her how you feel is always an option, but there’s a risk there that you’re just not comfortable with as things stand now. Moira pushes and pulls, and you don’t know what to make of it.

She makes that choice for you, as expected of her.

When your phone buzzes, lighting up with her name on the screen, you’re close to jumping out of your skin. It says so little, but it makes you feel so much.

Dinner?

Though you’re not particularly hungry despite having eaten very little all day, you quickly agree, if for no other reason than to bask in her presence and soak her in for everything she’s worth (which is more than any simple number could ever do justice, no matter how large.) For the sake of having an idea of how to dress, you ask where.

My place.

And so it goes. You get her address and she tells you to swing around by 7:30. You’re there by 7:28, spending the last two minutes outside her door, preparing yourself for whatever is to happen next. This building is incredible, —clearly high-class and unsuitable for the average working person based on price alone. You’d expect nothing less of Moira.

The outside pales in comparison to the inside, however. Her bookshelves are filled to the brim with titles, —some academically inclined, and others more for pleasure (though you’re not certain Moira would see much of a difference between the two.) She greets you in her typical attire, dress pants and a white button-up, although the top two buttons are undone tonight and her hair lacks any form of styling. You’re staring as she sits you down at a table overlooking the city, but you can’t help it, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. There’s something about her tonight that has your heart shivering in your chest.

“Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes,” she tells you. “Feel free to look around. I don’t mind what you touch as long as it isn’t broken.”

There’s a twinge of a smile on her lips and eyeliner slightly smudged beside her eyes. This is probably the closest you’ve come to seeing Moira in her rawest state, topping even the version of her you saw that night at the bar. It seems like that was so long ago now, but also feels like it was just yesterday somehow.

“You’re cooking?” You inquire.

“I dabble,” she replies. “It’s a necessary skill. I’m no Michelin star chef, mind you, but I can manage a proper meal.”

She hasn’t even set the food before you yet, and you already know she’s being far too humble. In the meantime, she pours you a glass of champagne, apologizing for the fact that it’s all she has on hand besides whiskey. You think nothing of it. If you didn’t know better, you’d consider this a date. . . And maybe you will, if only to yourself.

While she’s off in the kitchen, you run your fingers along the many book spines of her collection, imagining what she’d look like just sitting near a window in this place, a cup of tea resting near her, those elegant fingers flipping through pages.

Dinner is mostly quiet, but delicious. As you’d guessed, she was certainly being humble about her own culinary skills. She takes your compliments with lilted smirks. Moira seems more comfortable here, which makes sense. . . This is where she lives, after all, where she sleeps and spends a fair amount of time (you’re assuming) when she’s not in the lab or off doing something with you. She keeps her space impeccably neat.

You ask about the things strewn about her place, —about some of the awards she displays on a shelf all to themselves. It’s pressed into a corner, like she isn’t much proud they’re even there. She doesn’t seem to mind telling the tales, but doesn’t jump at the opportunity; like she’s doing it to quench your curiosity rather than stroke her own ego. She gives you a few book recommendations after gauging your tastes, —offers to let you borrow her copies, and you tell her you might just take her up on the offer, even if you won’t.

“It’s a bit late,” she says at a quarter past ten, “I hadn’t meant to keep you so long.”

But she doesn’t apologize for it, and Moira doesn’t seem sorry at all.

“I can drive you home,” she continues, “—or I could walk with you.”

She leans in a bit closer now, and you swallow nervously. You’re convinced you’re misconstruing something, but her lips are so near to your ear that you can almost feel them ghost against your skin.

“Or you’re welcome to stay,” she says softly, “if you’d like.”

You’re scared she can feel your heart hammering away in your chest. A part of you wants to just do as she’s offering, —stay the night with her, let her crawl under your skin, let her wrap you up in her arms and melt into her. But you’re not certain you’re ready for that yet. It’s a leap, and the both of you know what happens between adults when the lights dim and you stay over.

When you say nothing, she places one of those beautiful, elegant hands on the side of your face, cupping your cheek. You never really knew Moira could be that gentle. She waits, watching as your eyes flicker about for a moment, then leans closer; almost touching, but not. Like she’s waiting for permission or rejection. You meet her gaze, then let it flicker off nervously, and a smirk grows on her face.

Moira’s lips fall just to the side of your own, pressing a light kiss to the corner of your mouth. She leans back, standing to her full height, letting her hand linger on your face before pulling away. You were hesitant, and she could feel it.

“Goodnight,” she says, —as if she already knew how this night was going to end.

She’s not upset, and you let yourself smile up at her.

“Goodnight, Moira.”

This thing with her is intoxicating. It’s like a drug, and it’s getting in the way of everything. You’re finding it difficult to even be in her presence now without your eyes wandering or thoughts sneaking off somewhere they need not be. You fantasize about her more than you’d like to admit.

And now, you know that she must like you to, —at least to a certain extent. There’s plenty you aren’t certain of, plenty you’ll likely overthink in the future, but. . . You want this. You want her. You’ve known that for weeks, and now the only question left is what the hell you’re going to do about it.

You tell yourself the next time she comes onto you, you’ll accept her advances more readily. You’ll ask for the kiss she silently offers, tell her you want to stay the night. . . Maybe you’ll take the initiative, grab her by the ivory button-up and stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against her mouth, even if it’s somewhat out of your character.

But then what?

What happens after, when the heat has cooled down, when the water’s stopped boiling, —when her dry luster has dimmed and you’re tired of being tossed to the wayside everytime she’s set her mind to something else? What happens when you’ve fallen down the list of her priorities and she has a million and one things to think about before she ever gets to you?

What happens when you run out of excuses to make for her. . . ?

And why doesn’t that seem to matter to you as much as you know it should?

You wonder if that’s what it means to love someone. . . To know that there are parts of her you’ll likely wretch at the sight of, to know that there are facets of her that you’ll find absolutely fucking repulsive, —and you’ll love her in spite of it, just as you do now.

Or maybe you’re just a lovesick fool.

She kissed you a few nights later in your shabby little studio. Your eyes had flickered from the roses you were painting on her arm to the glimmering red and blue of her irises that still shone even in the yellow lighting of the dying bulb above your heads, and then to the bow of her lips. Moira reached out, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, as if this was how she’d chosen to test the waters. Your stare was so tender, and even she, in all of her romantic ineptness, could see that you were practically begging for her to make the first move so you wouldn’t have to be the one to break the ice.

You felt one of her fingernails trace your jawline from chin to lobe, then back down again. She cupped your cheek that time around, her surprisingly smooth palm sitting warmly against your skin.

You’ll never forget the way she paused just then, or the way she met your gaze just to lean in closer, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips before she asked simply: “May I?”

And even when you were still uncertain of what that really meant, —uncertain of what she’d do in the moments that followed your approval, if only naively, you gave her a nod, because you trusted her.

Her lips were soft and imperfect, and her lipstick wasn’t the type she could kiss with and leave nothing of the remnants behind. The reddish-orange color left an imprint on your mouth, faintly, of course, but it was there. It served as proof that what happened wasn’t just in your imagination anymore. You felt your heart stutter when she pulled away, and your head was swimming.

Since then, you’ve gotten that same feeling more times than you can count. Sometimes, it seems to live in the marrow of your bones. You had it for hours on end the first night you spent with her, all but glistening in afterglow under your worn-out covers. She never complained about the quainter life you lived, even though it often paled in comparison to her own. Moira held you just the same whether on your creaky frame and dreary mattress or on the king-sized bed in her luxury apartment that overlooked the cityscape.

You get that feeling when she takes your hand in her own, —when she traces shapes and cursive letters against your flesh under humble moonlight. You get it when she peels you apart, when she looks inside your chest with a single glance, when she soothes your deepest flaws simply because she can.

And it’s not always perfect. Sometimes she’s snippy, sometimes you’re sensitive, and sometimes you sleep in the spare room of her apartment just to make room for your thoughts. Sometimes she doesn’t call when she knows she’ll be working late, and sometimes you don’t see her for a few days when her workload piles up too high and she shacks up in her laboratory. Sometimes she forgets to make the most of every moment, and sometimes you shut her out when you know deep down that you shouldn’t.

But there’s always love to be found, —no matter where you are. She attends company banquets with you on her arm, just to show you off like a prize. You sit and watch her with stars in your eyes when she cooks, when she reads, when she paints the press-on nails she wears like claws for protection. She makes your coffee for you in the mornings, memorizes the way you like it, and keeps the additives on hand (even when she drinks hers straight from the pot.) You make her your greatest source of inspiration, filling in page after page of her likeness, never tiring of a single thing.

It’s not always easy. Love never really is, —not even in most of the movies these days. But as Moira crawls into her bed, —your bed—, the bed you share now more nights than not, her hair ever so slightly longer now than on the night you first met, she drapes a thin arm over your waist and welcomes your warmth, pulling you closer, smelling faintly of the perfume you gave her for her birthday, —you’re certain some things are not just meant to be, but are meant to be maintained: and this love is one of them.

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