hiba ౨ৎ

The waitress comes by, getting our drink orders. A soda for me, and one Pepsi and one water for Chris. When she walks away, I look up at him with smile.

"So no Shirley Temple?" I whisper, looking down at my menu. He chuckles, "Nah, $15.99 is kind of crazy." "Damn, yeah."

The date was...nothing less than wonderful. I learned so much about him. He's a triplet, he's from Boston, and he really really likes Pepsi.

As we were walking out of the restaurant, I spot a glowing claw machine. I gasp and jog over to it, my pumps clicking. "I wanna do it!" I look through my purse for some quarters.

"Here, y/n." He says, handing me a $10 bill. I quickly shake my head. "No, no." I grab some money from my purse. "No. I said here." He pushes my hand away stubbornly. I grab the bill with a huff and pay with it.

I squeal and move the claw around to get the cute little olaf. Chris watches me, I can see his gaze in my peripherals. Not the claw machine. No.

Me.

I whine when I don't get the stuffed animal in time. He chuckles. "Lemme try." He clicks the button, waiting for the countdown. He looks up at me and winks before moving the claw around with precision. His movements calculated, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.

"Which one you want again? That fat fucker?" He smirks. I gasp. "It's Olaf." He rolls his eyes, then gasps, the claw slowly lifts Olaf up, then drops it in the hole. I squeal and hug him.

He giggles and hugs me back. "Yay! Thank you, Chris!" I pull away, quickly bending over to grab the Olaf.

"You're awesome." I murmur, hugging my Olaf. "You too, y/n." He whispers, blushing. I smile. "Okay, lets go. It's almost 9. I have work tomorrow." I say, grabbing his hand to walk out, as we walk, he stops, pointing.

A photobooth.

"You wanna...take a photo?" He asks, smiling, pushing his hair back. I nod immediately. I open the curtain. Small bench.

"That's too small." I whine. He stares at the bench, thinking. "If you wanna sit on my knee you can." He shrugs, putting his hands in his jacket pocket.

Sit...on his knee? Who'd say no to that?

I nod with a shrug, trying to be nonchalant. He nods and sits, I sit down on his lap. Warm. He gently pulls my skirt down so it covers my thighs more. Oh fuck. I gently clear my throat and click the button.

5...4...3...2...1...

"Uhh...peace sign?" He smiles and throws up a peace sign, I do to, Olaf in my other hand.

5...4...3...2...1...

"Heart hands!" I squeak, I quickly do heart hands, he does too.

5...4...3...2...1...

"Uhm, maybe a-" he gently kisses me, his hands go to my waist, my hands wrap around his neck. FLASH!

We slowly pull away, I stare up at him. "That was better than my idea." I whisper. He smiles and gently pecks my lips once more then helps me out, still in a kiss-haze.

I take one of the photos, and he takes the other, I tuck it in my purse.

The drive home was nice, comfortable and quiet.

"Y/n, can you grab my wallet and make sure my black card is in there? I think i may have accidently forgot it." I grab it from his pocket and look in. There we are.

Folded photo of us from the photo of us, folded to it's the photo of us kissing. I smile and nod. "Yeah. It's here."

As we drove, I slowly fell asleep, Chris noticed but didn't wake me, instead he kissed my temple and pulled into my driveway. He gently rubbed my shoulder.

"Y/n...We're here." I slowly wake up, I sit up and yawn. "Home?" I whisper. He chuckles and nods, rubbing my back. He unbuckles my seatbelt and walks me to my door.

He stands there, under my porch light, looking down at me with his grey eyes, sharp jawline, and stubble.

He gently holds my hands. "I had a really nice time. It's been awhile since I've been on a date, kind of rusty." He admits.

I giggle, "Me too, don't worry."

He smiles, staring down at me. He gently leans down and kisses me. I wrap my arms around his neck, rubbing the nape of his neck, he gently caressing my lower back. It was different than the first kiss.

It was more romantic, dazed.

When we slowly part? We're both smiling like idiots. He pecks my lips once more.

"Goodnight hon..." He whispers, gently hugging me.

"Night, Chris...Thank you." He smiles and kisses my temple, he walks off, waving softly. I blush and open my front door, Lola wagging her tail from the couch.

I scoop her up and squeal. "Mommy's gonna be wifed up!" I giggle, dancing around my kitchen. I look out. Chris chuckling to himself as he exits my driveway. Chris caught me dancing and smiling from the kiss.

"A-fucking-gain?!"

i think this is the worst one ive wrote....

I had a horrible first day at my new job. 'Sugar Society'. It sounded good to me. Very valley girl, matcha's, claw clips, some Sabrina Carpenter shit. And it was!

Except the disrespectful customers.

I mean come on. It was my first time at that place to use the cash register and the iPad. They would huff when I took too long, or roll their eyes when I asked nicely for them to repeat their orders.

The last thing I wanted to do was go out.

But I was so excited to see Chris. He's all I've been thinking about all day.

I smile at myself in the mirror and fix my hair, a pretty blowout. I do my makeup next. A natural look. And finally my outfit!

I decided to wear a white lace bustier-style top with ruffle details and a bow on my chest, paired with a light-wash denim mini skirt.

For my shoes, I chose a cream-colored open-toe mules with bow details, gold and white clover earrings and a matching bracelet. I also wore Lavanila Vanilla Coconut perfume, which has a fresh and sweet scent.

I grabbed my cream colored purse and looked at myself in the mirror.

This...looks good!

I grab my phone, 6:47. That means he would be here in 13 minute-knock knock knock.

My eyes widen, he's here?!

I quickly put my phone in my purse and open the front door, my pumps clicking with each step.

And there he is. Chris. I swallow thickly.

He's is wearing a brown leather bomber jacket over a plain black T-shirt. He paired it with dark, wide-leg jeans and tan work boots.

He smelled like Dior Sauvage and wood. Then...I look down at his hands. A beautiful bouquet of flowers. I gasp.

"Chris this is...wow." He hands them to me, I look up to him, he's got a big smile on his face, a toothpick half way out his mouth.

"I stopped by Trader Joes to get these. You do like these flowers, right? I just said "fuck it" and grabbed a random one." He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. His hair looked nice when it wasn't in a hat.

I giggle and shake my head, "I love them, thank you." I give him a small hug then step out my house.

"Anytime." He smiles. He is so handsome. "I came a little early. Are you good or do you need more time?" He asks, stepping back a bit. I quickly shake my head. "No, no I'm ready." I undo the flowers and put them in the vase sitting on my kitchen island.

"Perfect" I whisper.

I turn, "Okay, lets go," I announce. He nods to his car. I follow behind him. Getting into his car. It was nice as hell, a Audi RS5. He opens my door, helping me get in. He gets in on the other side.

His car smells like cologne and car oil. Probably from being a mechanic.

"You smell nice," He murmurs with a smirk. I blush and look up at him, smiling. "Thanks." I giggle.

A few moments of comfortable silence.

"Where is Emma? I ask gently, rubbing lip gloss on my lips.

"She's with her mom." He says flatly, putting his hands on 10 & 2, starting the car.

I nod and tuck my lipgloss away.

Awkward silence.

"So...How do you like LA?" He asks, sipping some water from this half empty plastic water bottle. I shrug.

"Okay I guess." I mutter, fidgeting with my pearl bracelet. He stop at a red light and looks down at my wrist. I stop fidgeting, he looks back up.

"That's it? Just okay?" He chuckles, pressing gently on the gas at the green light.

I sigh and tell him about work, how different it is than when I lived in a small town, and how I don't have a lot of people here. He nods, listening.

"People are fuckin' idiots here. Glad I got a cool neighbor like you." He says with a smile and jokingly pushes my shoulder. I giggle and smile.

Damn.

GUYS IM LOWK EDGING YALL W THE DATTTEEEE sorry. next part hopefully out within a few days??!?!?! masterlist out soon. thank you so much babies. rusturn love you guys. 🤍🤍🤍

You freeze.

He's reading. His eyes move across the page of the letter in his hands, crumpled notebook paper, the ink slightly smeared where your hand dragged through it years ago, and his voice carries the words into the dark like a confession.

"You didn't even notice me across the room. You were too busy watching her. And I was too busy watching you watch her, memorizing the way your smile crinkled your eyes, the way your thumb rubbed the edge of your glass, the way you leaned into her space like gravity had shifted and she was the new center of your universe."

The letter. You know which one it is. The night of Chris's birthday party, two years ago, when Matt spent the whole evening with a girl with jet black hair and a laugh like wind chimes. You'd worn a blue dress, the only nice thing you owned at the time, and he'd said "You look nice" without ever really looking. You went home and wrote seven pages. Seven. Front and back. The ink had bled through to the other side.

Matt reads the last line aloud, his voice cracking on the final syllable.

"I keep telling myself that someday you'll see the girl in front of you. But I've been saying that for years, and I'm starting to think I'm invisible."

The letter drops.

His fingers release the page like it's burned him. It flutters to the floor, landing among the others, and his hands come up to cover his face. His shoulders hitch. The amber light catches the tear tracks glittering on his cheeks, the wetness in his beard, the way his jaw clenches and unclenches like he's trying to chew through something too big for his mouth.

He doesn't look angry.

That's the worst part. Anger you could handle. You could deflect anger, match it, throw it back at him like a weapon. But this, the devastation carved into every line of his face, the guilt that seems to be physically crushing him into the floorboards, this you don't know what to do with.

"I was just looking for a blanket."

His voice is barely a whisper. His hands drop from his face, and his eyes finally lift to meet yours. The contact is a physical blow. Your stomach knots.

"You were shivering." He says it like an apology. Like an explanation. Like a defense he's already given up on. "In your sleep. You were shivering, and I didn't want to wake you, so I got up to find another blanket. In the closet. The top shelf. I wasn't—" His voice breaks. He swallows. "I wasn't snooping. I wasn't trying to find anything. My hand just caught on the corner of the box when I reached for the shelf and it all came down and I saw my name and I—"

He stops. Breathes. His hands are trembling again.

"I'm sorry."

The words hang in the air. Small. Inadequate. A pebble thrown into an ocean.

You can't speak. Your throat is locked. Your tongue is a dead weight in your mouth. You're frozen in the bed, the sheets pulled up to your chest, your bare shoulders exposed to the cool air, and all you can do is stare at him—at the wreckage of him—and try to remember how to form words.

He doesn't wait for your response.

His hands move. Slow at first, then faster. He gathers the scattered letters, stacking them with a care that seems almost reverent. The one he dropped—the one with seven pages and smeared ink—gets folded along its original creases. Another, the angry scrawl from the night he left your room after the flu, gets tucked into its own creased folds. One by one, he places them back into the box.

You watch.

You can't do anything else.

"This." His voice comes out strangled. "All of this. All these years. You were—" He can't finish. His hands pause over the box, trembling. "You helped me. Every time. Every girl. You proofread my messages. You told me what to say. You smiled and hyped me up while I was—" A sound tears from his throat. Not quite a sob. Something sharper. "While I was destroying you."

Your lips part. Nothing comes out.

"I don't—" He shakes his head. His hands resume their work, placing the last of the letters into the box, closing the lid with careful, deliberate pressure. "I don't know how to fix this. I don't know if I can."

He stands.

The movement is shaky, unsteady, his legs clearly stiff from being sat on the floor. He's still wearing only his boxers, his chest bare, the skin you'd clawed hours ago now marked with faint red lines. The lamplight catches the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his waist, the vulnerability he never shows anyone.

He crosses to the nightstand.

The heavy metal spare key. The one your mom gave the triplets years ago. It's been sitting there since he let himself in, a silent accusation. He picks it up. The metal clinks against the wood.

And then he sets it down. Deliberately. Carefully. Right beside the lamp, so you'll see it the moment you wake.

So you'll know.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his voice scraping through the quiet room as he bends down to scoop his shirt from the floor. He jerks it over his head, the movement tight and stiff. "For everything. For tonight. For what we—for what I—"

Another swallow. Another crack. He reaches for his pants, shoving his legs into it with a rough, defensive finality.

"You were vulnerable. You were upset," he continues, his voice steadier now. Emptier. He doesn’t look at you as he picks up his jacket, his fingers trembling against the sleeves. "And I just—I came in here and I—"

He can't say it. Can't put words to what happened hours ago—the confrontation, the confession, the frantic sex that followed. He hooks the heavy metal spare key from the nightstand and sets it down flat with a soft, definitive click, relinquishing his access to your space.

"I shouldn't have," he whispers, grabbing his sneakers and backing toward the door. "Not after reading those. Not after knowing. I should've just left."

He stops. His hand drops from the key. He doesn't look at you.

"Take the key. It's yours. I don't deserve it."

And then he leaves.

The door doesn't slam. It clicks shut, soft and final, and then there's just the sound of his footsteps in the hallway. The front door opening. Closing. The distant rumble of an engine turning over.

Then silence.

Pure, absolute silence.

You don't sleep.

You don't move. For hours, you don't move. You lie in the tangled sheets, staring at the ceiling, your body a foreign thing that someone else inhabited hours ago. The letters. The box. The key on the nightstand, gleaming in the lamplight like a dare.

He knows. He knows everything. Every thought, every fantasy, every pathetic, desperate admission you've ever scribbled onto paper. The anger, the want, the jealousy, the hope. The letter from the night after the rainstorm, the one that ended with I'm done, the tear that smeared the ink. The letter from the night of the villa, I hope my face is the only thing you see in the dark. All of it.

He knows.

And he left.

The sun rises pale and gray through the half-drawn curtains. You watch the light change, watch the shadows shift across the floor, watch the empty space beside you remain stubbornly, impossibly empty. Your phone lies on the nightstand, face-down. You don't check it. You can't.

When you finally drag yourself out of bed, it's nearly noon.

The box is still there. On the floor by the closet. Closed now, the lid pressed down, everything neatly tucked away. Matt did that. Even in his devastation, he was careful with your secrets. He put them back exactly where they belonged.

Your body moves on autopilot. Shower. Clothes—an old hoodie, the softest one you own, the one that smells like nothing but laundry detergent and loneliness. You don't brush your hair. You don't look in the mirror. You shuffle to the kitchen, pour a glass of water you don't drink, and stand at the counter staring at nothing.

Your phone stays face-down.

The first text comes at 1:07 PM.

Chelsea: You alive? Gus said you were radio silent. Brunch was epic tho. Call me when you're conscious.

You stare at the screen. The words blur. You type back something brief, something meaningless—I'm fine, just tired, talk later—and then you turn the phone over again.

The second text comes at 2:43 PM.

August: Hey. Just checking in. Chelsea's worried. I'm worried. You good?

You don't answer.

The third text comes at 3:15 PM. It's not from Chelsea or August.

Chris: yo you alive?? matt's been a nightmare all morning. locked himself in his room. won't talk to anyone. we were supposed to film today. did something happen at the party??

The phone slips from your fingers. Lands on the couch cushion. You stare at the screen until it goes dark.

He's locked himself in his room. Refusing to talk. Being a nightmare.

The words circle your brain like vultures. He's not ignoring you out of anger. He's not pretending nothing happened. He's hiding. Just like you. Just like you've both always hidden, from each other, from yourselves, from whatever this thing is that's been burning between you for years.

You think about calling him. You think about texting. Your thumb hovers over his name—Matt—and you can see the last messages from before all of this, before the rainstorm and the villa and the letters, when you were still his safe, comfortable friend who gave him advice about other girls.

You can't do it.

The day stretches on. Gray afternoon light bleeds into gray evening light. Your mom comes home from her weekly grocery run, calls out a greeting, and you respond with something automatic. She doesn't notice the cracks. She never does.

You eat dinner. Or you sit at the table while food is in front of you. Same thing.

The phone stays silent. No texts from Matt. No calls. Nothing.

You go to bed. The sheets are cold. The pillow still smells faintly of him.

You don't sleep.

Monday morning. Sunlight. The ceiling. Dust motes floating in the golden beam cutting through the curtains. Your body feels like it's been hollowed out and filled with lead. Every movement takes deliberate effort. Every thought is a weight you have to drag behind you.

The key is still on the nightstand.

Your phone is still empty of him.

Another text from Chris. Seriously what is going ON. Matt's like a zombie. Nick won't tell me anything. Are you guys fighting???

You type back: I don't know.

It's the most honest thing you've said in days.

Tuesday passes in the same gray haze. You don't leave the house. You don't answer calls. Chelsea leaves a voicemail—"Okay, seriously, you're scaring me. Call me back or I'm sending August over there with snacks and questions"—and you text her some excuse about a migraine. August sends a string of emojis that you assume are meant to be supportive.

Nothing from Matt.

Nothing from Nick, either, which is almost worse. Nick always knows. Nick notices everything. The fact that he's been silent means he's either respecting your privacy or completely in the dark about what happened, and you're not sure which option is more terrifying.

Wednesday morning.

You wake up and something has shifted. The numbness has curdled into something sharper. Not anger, not yet, but a desperate, clawing need to fix this. To bridge the gap before it becomes a canyon. To salvage whatever scraps of your friendship might still be intact.

You reach for your phone. For a long moment, you stare at his name. Matt.

Your thumb presses the call button before you can stop yourself. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

Voicemail.

You hang up.

The terror that floods your system is immediate and paralyzing. He's avoiding you. He saw your name on the screen and let it ring. He doesn't want to talk to you. He's done. He's completely done. You've lost him. You've lost everything.

Your fingers are shaking as you scroll through your contacts. You need to talk to someone. You need to tell someone. You can't carry this alone anymore, can't keep it locked in your chest like another unsent letter, another secret burning a hole through your ribs.

Nick.

He picks up on the first ring.

"Hey." His voice is cautious. Curious. Not surprised, exactly, but guarded. "Everything okay?"

"No." The word cracks down the middle. "No, Nick. Everything is not okay. I need—can you—are you busy? Can you come over? Please? I need to—I have to tell someone—"

"Whoa. Hey. Slow down." The caution in his voice shifts to something firmer. Something protective. "I'm not busy. I'll be there in ten minutes. Just breathe."

He hangs up before you can thank him.

Nine minutes later—you count—the doorbell rings.

Nick is standing on your porch in his usual effortless uniform: dark jeans, a crisp t-shirt, his hair perfectly tousled like he just rolled out of bed looking like a magazine spread. But his eyes are serious. Focused. The way they get when something actually matters.

"Hey," he says again. Softer this time.

"Hey." You step aside to let him in.

The room is a mess. Blankets draped over the floor. Empty water glasses on the bedside table. The remnants of three days of barely functioning. Nick doesn't comment on it. He just sits on the bed, rests his elbows on his knees, and waits.

You sit opposite him. For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

"He found the letters."

The words fall out of you. Simple. Direct. No preamble.

Nick's eyebrows lift. "Letters?"

"The box." Your voice is steadier than you expected. "The box on my closet. The one with—" A breath. "With years of letters. To him. Unsent. Every thought, every feeling, every pathetic fantasy I've ever had about him. All of it. He found it."

Nick doesn't say anything. His expression doesn't change. But his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—are working overtime.

"When?" he asks.

"After the party. After I came home with August. He was here." You swallow. "He'd let himself in with the spare key. He saw me with August and he—he lost it. We fought. We yelled. He said—" You can't repeat it. You're mine. It feels too raw, too private, too precious. "And then we—"

"Okay." Nick holds up a hand. "I don't need the details of that part."

"Nothing happened." The lie is automatic. "I mean—nothing that—we just—" You stop. Take a breath. "He found the box while I was asleep. He read them. All of them maybe, I'm not really sure. And then he left. He hasn't spoken to me since. He won't answer my calls. Chris says he's locked himself in his room and won't talk to anyone."

The silence stretches.

Nick leans back against the headboard of your bed. His gaze drifts toward the window, toward the gray morning light filtering through the curtains. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

"God, that explains why he's been so incredibly cranky the past few days. He's been locked in his room since the party. Refusing to talk. Refusing to eat. Chris tried to drag him out for a video shoot and he just—" Nick shakes his head. "Nothing. Wouldn't even open the door."

"He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you." Nick's response is immediate. Certain. "He's terrified. There's a difference."

"Terrified of what?"

"Of losing you. Of what he did. Of what you wrote in those letters, probably." Nick's eyes find yours again. "How long?"

You blink. "How long what?"

"How long have you been in love with him?"

The question lands somewhere in your chest. It's the first time anyone has said it out loud. The first time the word love has been spoken in relation to you and Matt by anyone other than yourself, scribbled frantically onto paper in the dark.

"Years," you whisper. "Since the beginning. I liked him since I can remember. I don't even know when it started. It just—was. It's always been there."

Nick nods. Slow. Thoughtful. "And you never told him."

"Every time I tried, he'd show me someone new. Some girl he was into. Some dream girl he was too scared to DM. And I'd look at them—polished, confident, everything I'm not—and I'd think, what's the point? He doesn't see me like that. I'm just—" Your voice catches. "I'm just the safe one. The comfortable one. The best friend who helps him write messages to other girls."

"Until the villa."

"Until the villa."

Nick is quiet for a moment. Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and fixes you with a look that's softer than his usual sharp assessment.

"For what it's worth," he says, "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Not ever. Not even close."

Your throat tightens. "Then why did he leave?"

"Because he's an idiot. Because he feels guilty. Because he just found out that the person he cares about most in the world has been silently breaking her own heart for years because of him." Nick's voice is gentle but firm. "That's a lot to process."

"Or maybe he's just done. Maybe he realized this isn't worth it. The drama. The letters. Whatever this is." You gesture vaguely between yourself and the empty air where Matt should be. "Maybe he decided the friendship isn't worth saving."

Nick doesn't answer right away. He looks at you. Studies you. Then he says, quietly, "Do you want to save it?"

"Yes." The word is immediate. Raw. "More than anything. That's all I want. I don't care if he never—if we never—I just want my best friend back. I can't do this. I can't live in this silence. It's killing me."

"Then tell him that."

"I tried. He won't answer."

"Then try differently."

The words hang in the air. Try differently. You think about the box. The years of letters. The secrets you've been keeping. Every confession you've ever made has been on paper. Every truth you've ever told him has been with ink instead of your voice.

Maybe that's the problem.

You stand up.

"Where are you going?" Nick asks.

"I need to write something."

The desk in your room is exactly as you left it. The notebook. The pen. The vanilla candle burned down to nothing. You sit. You pull out a fresh sheet of paper. For a long moment, you just stare at the blank white space.

This isn't like the other letters. The other letters were secrets. Confessions meant for no one but yourself. This one—this one has to be different. This one has to bridge the gap.

The pen touches paper.

Matt,

I'm sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry for being a coward.

The words come slowly at first, then faster. The pen scratches across the page, and you don't stop to think, don't stop to edit, don't stop to second-guess.

I should have spoken the words aloud years ago instead of hiding behind ink and paper, leaving you to piece together a puzzle you didn't even know you were playing. I locked those letters away because I knew the truth: I am so very far away from your type. I watched the girls you chose, the girls you fell for, and I knew I could never compete with that. So I stayed in the dark, choosing to be your safe, comfortable backup rather than risking losing you entirely.

But please, if you can find it in yourself, just forget about the letters. Pretend you never found the box. Pretend you never read a single line. And please... let's just forget about everything else that happened in my room. The things we did, the lines we crossed—the things best friends should never have done. Let's push it all away.

I don't want to destroy what we have. More than anything, I just want to save our friendship. Please don't let my cowardice cost me my best friend.

You don't sign it. You don't need to. He'll know.

The pen clatters to the desk. Your hands are shaking. But this time, the shaking isn't from fear. It's from something else. Something that feels almost like hope.

You fold the paper. Once. Twice. Your fingers are steady now. Deliberate.

When you turn back toward the bed, Nick is still leaning against the headboard. He looks up as you step closer, his eyes dropping immediately to the folded paper in your hand.

"This one you're sending," he says. Not a question.

"This one I'm sending." You hold it out to him. "Can you—will you give it to him? Please? I can't—he won't—"

Nick takes the letter. His fingers brush yours. "Of course."

"Don't read it."

"I wouldn't." He tucks it carefully into his jacket pocket. "I'll make sure he gets it. Today."

"Thank you."

He stands. Crosses to where you're standing. For a moment, he just looks at you, those sharp eyes softening into something gentler than you've ever seen from him. Then he pulls you into a hug. Quick. Firm. Brotherly.

"Whatever happens," he murmurs, "you're family. You know that, right? No matter what."

The tears you've been holding back for three days finally spill over. You bury your face in his shoulder, just for a moment, just long enough to let yourself break. Then you pull back, wipe your eyes, and nod.

"Go," you say. "Before I lose my nerve."

Nick squeezes your shoulder once. Then he's gone, the front door clicking shut behind him, the letter tucked safely against his chest.

You stand in the living room. In the silence. In the gray morning light.

And you wait.

-----

You remember it like it was yesterday. A random Tuesday morning, you were exhausted from unpacking all of your things, so you decided to visit a coffee shop not too far from where you live. When you walked in, the line was long, but the smell of caffeine kept you there. The guy in front of you seemed super happy to be there, so you looked up. He was ordering three different drinks and some kind of pastry. Why he needed that much coffee was beyond you, but hey, it’s LA so anything is possible. He must have felt you staring because he turned around, looking at you before turning to the cashier and paying.

When he was done, he stepped to the side, let you order, and then grinned. “I’m going to say this is your first time in LA?” he asked.

“How can you tell?” You asked softly.

Nick just laughed and shrugged. “You didn’t really recognize me. And you look like you’re petrified.”

You blushed and laughed softly. He then followed you to a table, and you both sat and talked for what felt like forever. He gave multiple tips on making a name for yourself, who to avoid, who to be friends with, and the best way to avoid the horrible traffic in downtown.

It was pretty much everything you needed. Nick was the whirlwind of endless friendship and charm. By the time you were ready to leave, you had exchanged phone numbers, and he made you promise to text him, because now you were, in his own words, “besties”. A few hours later, you texted him, and he sent you a list of the best places to eat at and an invite to his trivia night. That was the friendship that started everything you knew and hoped for.

Over the following months, Nick became your rock. LA didn’t seem so scary when he was around; it seemed almost calm and manageable. You two went to different restaurants, different events, and even found time to just be normal friends and swim at your place on weekends. Nick held so many stories about everything and everyone. It made you wonder whether he actually slept or was just constantly out, given how many people he truly knew.

There was always something you wondered about: his family. Specifically his brothers, Matt and Chris. You heard stories about them, but there was never a time when you could meet them. The triplets were inseparable, or so you had heard from others you talked to. And you did see glimpses of that when they posted TikToks or Instagram posts, especially in their YouTube videos. That was the only time you saw Chris and Matt, but you really wanted to meet them in person because they were two-thirds of your best friend. It really was important to you.

Then you finally had the chance to do exactly that when Nick invited you to Gabi’s birthday party.

“[Y/N]. You have to come. You know Gabi, and plus you can actually meet my brothers. Please.” Nick begged, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes.

You sigh, “Fine. But you know how I am with a ton of people I don’t know.”

Nick promised that everyone would love you once they met you. He even promised to stay with you until you felt comfortable enough to be alone with the others.

You spent the days leading up to the trip stressing over what to pack and wear. You wanted to show them all that you belonged with their crowd. Standing out was the last thing you wanted. When the day came to head to the house, you decided on jean shorts and a white lace halter top. It was stylish and cute without being over the top. You felt confident in it, and you thought it would show the other girls that LA was a place where you could belong.

When you arrived at the house, it was already alive. Laughter and music filled the air around it. The backyard was set up with balloons and lights. The pool was beautiful, shimmering under the warm sun. As you wandered into the house, you could smell the food, as if something were being grilled or cooked to perfection.

You had only made it about five feet before a group of girls came over, smiling widely. Gabi squealed and hugged you tightly, happy to see you again. She looked absolutely beautiful, as always. Grace had a kind smile, but her humor was sharp and playful, and that alone made you feel less anxious. Sofia had such a contagious laugh, and the way she looked at you while talking and engaged with you so easily made it feel like you had known her forever. Rainbow kindly offered you a drink and excitedly told you that you’d be sharing a room with her. She called it a mega sleepover. It made you smile.

“I’m so glad you came! I missed you so much!” Gabi said, linking her arm through yours as you walked towards the chairs by the pool.

“Gabi hasn’t stopped talking about you. She said Nick has the best new friend and that we were going to love you.” Grace said, smiling as she sat on the other side of you.

I grabbed the drink that Rainbow got for me, and all of us sat in a sort of circle over the few chairs we had. The girls asked me questions about everything. From how I felt about moving to LA to how I have managed my life here so far. Opening up to them was easier than I thought it would be. I shared stories that I hadn’t shared in months.

Grace told stories about her and Blake, which made most of us laugh at how goofy they are. Sofia was sharing what it was like to live in LA and to be an influencer without it getting overwhelming. Rainbow told me if I ever really wanted to make a name for myself, she could maybe pull some strings and get me a guest appearance on some show she is on. Gabi just sat there, smiling at me, assessing how well I was fitting in and how comfortable I was becoming.

Nick came over like he promised and smiled. “Everything okay? Just checking on my bestie.”

I smiled and nodded. “I think I’m just fine. Thank you, Nick.”

Nick squeezed your shoulder, walked back over to a group of boys, and started talking again. You were so grateful that he checked on you.

You finally realized it was getting dark out. You were so into talking with the girls that time just slipped away. The air got slightly cooler, like it normally does in California. The mood of the party was starting to wind down, and you realized Sofia wasn’t going to have that happen. She ran off and grabbed a karaoke machine. All the girls cheered and ran over. Before you knew it, everyone was crowding the area, and the karaoke party was just starting.

As soon as you walked up, you saw Nick and two other boys grab the mics. You knew it was Matt and Chris; it wasn’t hard to tell since they all looked the same. You watched them whisper to each other quickly, debating on a song to pick. Chris or Matt? You weren’t sure which one suggested a song and the other two smacked him upside the head. Nick then whispered something, and the other two rolled their eyes. Finally, the last boy whispered a song, and you watched as Nick and the other one nodded fast and smiled widely.

You giggled as soon as you heard the opening notes of  “Since U Been Gone”. They were all trying to be serious. That didn’t last.  Nick started to dance silly, and the other two somehow began screaming into the mics instead of actually singing it. But the one with the tattoos next to Nick? Even though he was acting like a fool, you two would occasionally make eye contact. You felt your heart skipping a beat.

Grace came over and whispered in your ear teasingly. “Oh, it seems like somebody has caught the eye of Matt.”

You blushed, your eyes briefly leaving Matt to look at Grace before going right back to him.

“He’s cute. I’m not afraid to admit that.” You spoke confidently.

Grace laughed and playfully bumped me. “He’s also very single. Just putting that out there.”

At that moment, all three boys started pointing to follow along with part of the song, and you could’ve sworn that Matt pointed right at you, sending goosebumps all over your skin.

Once the song finished, Nick put his mic on the table and came over to you. “Ok! Time to meet Matt and Chris!”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your arm and dragged you with him. You both stopped right in front of his brothers, and you were silent, suddenly shy. Chris smiled softly, and Matt just looked you up and down.

“So I’m guessing that you’re [Y/N]?” Chris joked. “Nick hasn’t stopped telling us how great you are and that we just have to meet you.”

You looked at Nick, then back to Chris and shrugged. “I guess? I just am here. Love a good Yelp review from Nick though.”

Chris laughed and then hugged you. “Well, it’s great to meet you finally.”

Matt was still just standing there, his eyes never leaving you. It made you almost uncomfortable. You looked around nervously.

“Nick didn’t mention that you were cute.” Matt blurted before going red. “Oh fuck. Uh. I mean—”

You smiled and could tell he was panicking. You squeezed his arm. “Thank you. I appreciate the compliment. It’s nice to meet you too.” At your words, Matt instantly relaxed and smiled.

The four of you found a rhythm of talking for what felt like hours, just enjoying the company and learning more about your best friend’s brothers. Chris was clearly the more energetic one, with no filter to his words most of the time, but Matt’s humor was sarcastic and quick-witted. He carried himself as someone more private and reserved, someone who made you curious to know more.

Sofia came over and was passing out birthday cupcakes, insisting that the birthday girl said we had to eat one. As you calmly ate the cupcake, you watched Sofia go up to Chris and smash it right into his face, saying something about payback for the prank he pulled on her earlier. You all laughed, and Matt pulled out his phone to take a quick picture of his red face with frosting all over it.

“That is so going to be held as blackmail.” Matt smiled.

“What the fuck? Matt, you better not post that.” Chris tried to shove his cupcake in Matt’s face, but he easily dodged him.

You slowly move closer to Nick as you both ate your cupcakes. You looked at him and asked, “Are they always like this?”

Nick laughed and nodded. “Sometimes they are even worse.”

The party eventually started to thin out. Some went to bed from going hard all day, others trying to sing one last song, and some headed to the kitchen to eat more food and soak up all the alcohol that was consumed. You were slowly walking towards the pool, where Matt was sitting with his feet in the water. Sitting down slowly next to him, you put your feet into the water. The moon cast a beautiful glow across his face.

The silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, this was the most comfortable you had felt all day. You just listened to the laughter and singing happening behind you both, enjoying the white noise. Matt was fixed on moving the water with his legs, occasionally pausing to look at you before quickly looking away.

“Nick has said nothing but really great things about you.” He whispered. “It made me really nervous to meet you.”

You looked at him, shocked, then smiled softly. “Honestly? I was nervous too. You are a big deal, well, according to Nick. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Nick is full of it. We are just three boys from Boston. But I’m glad he holds us to high standards.”

The conversation took off from there—weird things he witnessed in LA, his favorite childhood memory, and how being at the beach at night was the most therapeutic thing ever. Matt shared what it was like to be a triplet and with them, how there were lots of sleepless nights filled with laughter and pranks that drove their parents insane. You shared stories of your small town, how summers were different, and how there wasn’t much privacy because everyone knew everyone and everything.

At some point, Rainbow walked over and joined us. She asked why, out of all the songs to pick, they chose Kelly Clarkson. Soon, Sofia and Grace joined as well. We were all laughing as they told a story. It was about a concert that went wrong for them. Matt shared a story about their last tour and how stressful it was when they weren’t having fun. The stories weaved in and out of seriousness.

Gabi finally came over and dragged us all away from the pool, demanding that we all take a group picture before anyone went to bed. Tiny party hats were handed out, and we all posed with silly faces. Then just the girls took a picture, and we were all smiling. When you looked over, you noticed that Matt was taking a picture as well, a small smile on his face before he noticed you staring and then quickly looked away.

Afterward, when most people left, you were sitting on a lounge chair and looking at the stars. Matt walked over and sat quietly next to you. Finally, he spoke up, “Hey… Uh, would you like to maybe hang out sometime? Just us?”

Your heart started to beat fast. “I’d really like that.”

His face relaxed, and a smile went across his face. “Cool. There’s a bowling alley that’s really fun. Or we can go do mini golf. Whatever you’d like to do, really.”

You giggled, “It sounds like a plan. Here, give me your phone. I’ll put my number in it.”

You quietly put your number into his phone. When you went to hand it back, he gently grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. “I meant it earlier.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you mean?”

Matt blushed, but kept holding your hand. “I think you’re beautiful.”

The words put a warm feeling into your stomach. “Thank you, Matt.”

He gave a soft nod, let go of your hand, and stood up. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You sat there in shock. You went from knowing only Gabi and Nick at this party to suddenly making friends with all the girls and getting Matt’s number. Nick walked over and sat next to you.

“You look oddly happy.” He smiled.

You smiled back and whispered, “Thank you for bringing me. Really.”

Nick laughed and hugged you tightly. “I told you that you’d fit right in.”

The next morning, you had to leave for an event you had agreed to attend. Once you said goodbye to everyone, you drove home and smiled the whole way. As you were driving, you felt your phone vibrate. When you reached a point where you could stop, you pulled out your phone. There were three messages.

Nick: Ok, I don’t know what witchcraft you did to Matt, but he looks so lost without you here now.

Gabi: (sent the group picture) So… You and Matt are cute. Look at you two right next to each other.

Matt: I am really glad I met you last night. I can’t wait to see you again.

You smiled and put your phone away as you continued driving back to your place. But your mind was on a certain blue-eyed boy who captivated you the minute he started to sing poorly. You were sure Nick would have a lot of questions, but for now you were okay with this just being yours. Life felt good for once, like LA could truly be the start of everything for you.

M yaps: I thought of this idea back when the party happened, and just ran with it. I love me some good fluff.

Requests are open! 

╰┈➤ Likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated!

╰┈➤ Everything tag list 2

╰┈➤ Smut tag list

╰┈➤ Fluff/angst tag list

╰┈➤ Masterlist here!

As always: Have a great day, be kind -M

Divider credit: @/diviniyae