birdie ⎕

“jesus—fuck, baby…” he pants as his nails run along your scalp. he can barely look at you at this point, too overcome with desire, his head feels like it weighs ten tonnes.

breathing through your nose you take him even further down your throat, you moan around him as he pulls on your hair. “oh my god, baby…fuckin’ good girl.” you grip the edge of the couch to control yourself, thighs squeezing together desperate for relief. catching your squirming, he smirks.

“look at you, darling…such a filthy girl,” you whimper and move your hands to his thighs, “you couldn’t even make it to the bedroom.” this is true. but it’s his fault, you swear.

you’d both been round your friends house for a barbecue. he’d been teasing you all day. between glances across rooms and matty’s wandering hands, you were a mess. a proper mess. you kept blaming the heatwave on your absent mindedness, but really it was the filthy words matty whispered to you every time you were near.

that was his plan though. mould you into a perfect, needy mess. he succeeded every time. so when you arrived home and he sat down on the couch with his legs spread wide, you couldn’t get on your knees fast enough.

“don’t even need to look to know your knickers are soaking.” you let out a shaky moan around him and he gives your hair a little tug, “breath, baby.”

you pull up slightly to give yourself a bit more breathing room, using your hand to stroke whatever part of his spit soaked dick that’s not in your mouth. he shivers, lifting a hand to brush the hair out of your face.

“so pretty on your knees for me like this, my perfect girl.” your eyes flutter shut at his soft praise. you’ll never understand how he manages to do it. always melting your insides with the softest words even as his cock is literally in your mouth.

he tuts, “eyes open, baby. watch what you do to me.” you look up at him and nearly fucking die at the sight before you. he looks like a god. cheeks flushed, hair messed from running his fingers through it, his shirt pulled open, a slight sheen of sweat over him making him glow. you groan and your hand takes over to stroke him as you pull off.

“you look so fucking sexy…” voice slightly scratchy from all the deep throating. he grins, “yeah?” you nod and slow your hand to make him properly feel it. he looks huge in your hand and you feel your clit throb at the sight.

precum spills from the tip and you glide your thumb to collect it. the wet clicking sounds that come as you wrap your hand around him again with the added lubrication makes the two of you groan in unison.

“c’mere, baby.” his hands start to pull you up. your hands find his knees to push yourself up and straddle his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. he guides your hand right back to his leaky dick. “i didn’t tell you to stop touching me.”

your hand wraps back around him as your head falls into the crook of his neck with a whimper. a hand grips you hair as he pulls you right back up to be face to face. he smirks when he sees your face. “you’d think you were the one getting off right now with the way your acting.”

“can’t help it.” you huff and tighten your hand around his length. “i know you can’t, baby. give me a kiss.” you dive straight in and smear your lips against his. he responds with just as much fervour. it’s wet, hot and messy. just the way you like it.

his hand drifts down between you, under your skirt, fingers ghosting over your core. inching back, he speaks tenderly, “oh, baby. you soaked right through your pretty knickers.” your hips buck against his hand, desperate for any touch he’ll give you. “should’ve told me, honey. you that desperate?”

“please, matty…” your whining now and you don’t even care. laughing softly he pushes your underwear to the side and runs a finger through your folds. his breath hitches slightly, “jesus, what’s got you this worked up? practically dripping down my finger already.”

“you-…fuck. you, matty. you were teasing me all day.” you mewl as his finger dips into your slit. “i know. i know, baby. i’m so mean.” he lifts his hands from between your legs and brings it to you face. “open.” you oblige immediately and his finger, soaked in your arousal, lands on your tongue.

a deep groan bubbles from his chest as your lips wrap around it. “such a good girl, baby.”

deciding he’s had enough of teasing both of you, he lifts you up slightly. “cmon, sit on me.” your head falls back with a moan as his dick brushes your while he positions it to entrance. he pulls you right back up. “watch.”

your foreheads fall together as you both look down to watch his tip breach your hole.

“f-fuck, matty.” your hands move to his shoulders for support. he pants as you sit down further. “fuck me, look at that. like you were made to take me.”

it feels like he’s in your lungs by the time your fully seated on him, your brain turned to mush. matty’s not faring much better, his head thunks against the back of the couch. “my god, y/n. you feel fucking amazing, jesus christ.” his hands are gripping on to your hips.

“nghh-…so deep.” you whimper. “yeah,” his hand moves to your lower stomach, “i’m all the way in here, baby. such a good girl for taking all of me. you ok?” your heart tugs as he checks in on you. “yeah, feels so good.”

he grins and kisses you cheek, “start moving a little bit. will feel even better.” you start to grind your hips and your head falls into his neck, he lets you stay this time as his hands help your hips move a little faster. “just like that, love.”

matty’s in heaven as your hips roll against his. your velvety walls feel fucking unreal wrapped around him. you keep this pace for a while until you start to get a little too desperate, your hips begin to speed up.

“mmph—yeah, baby. cmon, bounce on me. stop teasing.” that’s all it takes for you to sit up and start properly riding him. “oh good fuckin’ girl.” his hands move to pull your top down so he can watch your tits bounce.

“m-matty, oh my god.” you moan loudly and bounce harder as leans forward to wrap his lips around your nipple. “gonna make me cum so fast, baby.” he groans.

when he pulls back both your nipples are shiny with his spit. a shiver rolls down your spine as the air hits the wet skin.

matty’s a mess. his back is arching off the couch and his hands have a bruising grip on your hips. you love seeing him desperate like this so you move faster, torturing him. “f-fuck, baby. nghh…i’m not—fuck i’m sorry, not gonna last. you feel too fucking good holy shit” his hand moves to your clit to help you get there faster. “need you to cum for me. be good.”

his thumb glides over the sensitive bundle of nerves and you cry out, head falling back. “yeah? you close?” you pull your head back up to nod. “yeah, yeah—fuck, matty, keep touching me like that.”

the tip of this cock is hitting your g-spot perfectly with every thrust, this position never letting you down. each time you hear the wet slap of skin as you slam your hips against his, your stomach flutters. “m-matty, fuck baby. gonna come.” the dual sensation of him deep inside you and his thumb on your clit makes you feel stupid.

“let me have it, baby. c’mon. let me see you cum. please…” his plea sends you hurtling over the edge with an unabashed moan. your hands grip his shoulders as your spine locks.

what does it for him is your gummy walls contracting around him. “that’s it, baby. such a good girl. oh fuck…f-fuck, mmph—coming, i’m coming.” another cry escapes you as you feel him spill inside you. you’ll never tire of that feeling.

his arms lock around your waist to keep him buried as deep as possible as your orgasms wash over you. “jesus christ.” he huffs a laugh as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

everything slows down as you hold each other tight into the afterglow.

“you alright?” he asks softly. “yeah. you?” you run a gentle hand through his curls. lifting his head, he responds , “i’m fucking perfect.” a giggle escapes you and you press a kiss to his cheek. “m’sweating though.”

you can’t help but agree, both of you still mostly clothed as your need for each other overtook practicality. “shower?” he smirks, “i’m still inside you and you’re already talking about round two?” you swat his chest. “shut up, that’s not what i meant.”

he grins and pulls you up off him, apologising softly as you wince at the loss of him inside you. “right, come on. we stink and you’ve cum dripping down your legs.” you roll your eyes at his crassness but let him pull you up regardless.

you do really need a shower

He’d left London at dawn, caught a flight to Pisa, and driven the rest of the way with the windows down and an old playlist of Italian folk songs looping quietly. No entourage. No security. Just two suitcases, a couple of guitars in the back, and six weeks of forced nothing stretching ahead.

Richard Arden had called it a “quiet place to reset.” Harry had laughed at the time, but after the last tour wrapped, the idea of disappearing into the Tuscan hills had started to sound less like exile and more like survival. Burnout wasn’t dramatic, it was just this heavy quiet exhaustion that made even writing feel like a chore. Richard, his old mentor from years back when Harry had taken a short music theory course in London, had offered the family villa without hesitation.

“Place needs some life in it anyway,” Richard had grunted over the phone. “Elena and the kids are there for the summer. You won’t be completely alone.”

Harry hadn’t minded the company. Solitude was fine in small doses, but six weeks of total silence might have driven him mad.

The Fiat crested the last hill and there it was: Villa Lira, perched on a gentle slope with cypress trees along the driveway. The house was big and old, eighteenth century, Richard had said, with walls the color of faded egg yolk, peeling in long strips that revealed the rough stone underneath. Green shutters hung at angles on some of the windows and the garden spilled out in every direction, overgrown and wild. Roses gone half feral, lavender bushes heavy with bees, and somewhere beyond the house, the glint of turquoise water from what Richard had casually described as “the pool.”

It looked less like a luxury retreat and more like a place that had been gently surrendering to the summer for decades.

Harry killed the engine and sat for a moment, letting the cicadas fill the silence. Their buzzing rose and fell in waves, loud enough to feel like a physical presence. He smiled faintly. This would do.

He stepped out and stretched, loose linen shirt sticking slightly to his back from the drive (🫦). The heat wrapped around him immediately. He grabbed his smaller bag from the passenger seat and started toward the front door which stood half open under a stone archway.

Before he could knock, a voice drifted from inside, sharp, Italian accented English.

“Willow, for God’s sake, stop hovering and actually do something useful. The guest is arriving any minute and you’re still in those shorts.”

A softer reply, almost too quiet to catch: “I was helping Nonna with the lemons.”

A sigh, dramatic and tired. “Always an excuse.”

Harry paused on the threshold, not wanting to walk into the middle of whatever that was. He cleared his throat lightly and rapped his knuckles on the open door.

“Hello? Richard?”

Footsteps. Richard Arden appeared first, tall, gruff, mid to late fifties, with a salt and pepper beard and the kind of permanent frown that came from too many years grading mediocre student compositions. He wore a wrinkled button down and held a glass of what looked like red wine even though it was barely past noon.

“Harry,” Richard said, voice rough but not unkind. He extended a hand. “You made it. Drive okay?”

“Not bad. GPS tried to send me down a goat path at one point, but we sorted it.”

Richard gave a short laugh. “That’s Tuscany for you. Come in. Elena’s around somewhere. Kids too.”

Harry stepped inside. The entrance hall was cool and dim after the blinding sun, high ceilings with exposed beams. The air smelled of old wood, garlic from somewhere deeper in the house, and a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

A woman appeared from the hallway to the right, Elena Arden, he assumed. Fifty-something, sharp features, dark hair pulled back tightly, a cigarette already between her fingers even though she hadn’t lit it yet. She wore a loose silk blouse and linen trousers that looked expensive but slightly wilted in the heat.

“Mr. Styles,” she said, switching to a polished smile. “Welcome to Villa Lira. Richard has told us so much about you. We’re honored to have you.”

“Harry, please,” he said easily, offering his hand. “And thanks for having me. Place is beautiful.”

Elena’s smile tightened just a fraction. “It has character. Some might call it neglected, but we like it that way.”

Before Harry could reply, movement caught his eye at the top of the wide staircase.

A girl (young woman really) stood halfway down, one hand on the banister. Long, messy dark hair fell past her shoulders, half tangled from the humidity. She wore an oversized white t-shirt that had seen better days and soft cotton shorts. In her arms she held a tiny scruffy puppy that wriggled and tried to lick her chin.

Their eyes met for half a second.

Harry felt it more than saw it, a quick startled flicker across her face, like she’d been caught off guard. Then she dropped her gaze to the puppy, cheeks going faintly pink under the tan.

Richard didn’t seem to notice. “That’s Willow, our youngest. Back from Florence for the summer. Willow, come say hello properly.”

Willow descended the rest of the stairs slowly, the puppy still squirming. She stopped a few feet away, shifting her weight like she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.

“Hi,” she said softly. Her voice was lower than he expected, a little husky from the heat maybe. “Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t quite look at him directly. Her eyes kept flicking to the floor, to the puppy, to the peeling paint on the wall behind his shoulder. There was something almost painfully shy in the way she held herself.

Harry offered an easy smile, the kind he’d perfected over years of meeting strangers who already thought they knew him.

“Nice to meet you too, Willow.” He paused, then added lightly, “Or should I call you Wills? Feels friendlier.”

Her lips twitched but she didn’t answer. Instead she adjusted her grip on the puppy who let out a small yip.

Elena made a noise in the back of her throat. “Willow, put that dog down before he ruins your shirt. And maybe change into something decent before dinner? We have a guest.”

Willow’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “He’s fine. I was just-”

“You were just what?” Elena cut in, voice sweet but edged. “Standing around again? Your sister would have already offered to show Harry to his room.”

The comparison landed like a small stone dropped into still water. Harry saw the way Willow’s jaw tightened, the quick swallow. She murmured something too quiet to catch and turned toward the kitchen hallway with the puppy still in her arms.

Harry watched her go, something uneasy stirring in his chest. He’d only been here five minutes and already the undercurrents were visible.

Richard cleared his throat. “She’s a good kid. Sensitive, though. Takes everything to heart.” He said it like it was a mild character flaw. “Your room’s at the end of the east wing. Quietest spot in the house. I’ll show you.”

They headed upstairs, Richard pointing out creaky floorboards and the best places for signal if Harry needed to make calls. Harry’s room was large and airy with tall windows overlooking the garden and the distant hills. A four poster bed with mosquito netting, a writing desk pushed against one wall, and French doors that opened onto a small private terrace shaded by a wisteria vine.

“Perfect,” Harry said, setting his bag down. “Thanks, Richard. Seriously. This is exactly what I needed.”

Richard waved it off. “You’ve earned a break. Just don’t expect total peace, Elena likes her routines, and the kids… well.. kids… theo’s sixteen and willow still acts like a teenager,” He paused, then added gruffly, “Dinner’s at eight. Nonna Sofia’s cooking. She’ll feed you until you burst.”

Harry nodded, already wandering toward the open doors. The view was ridiculous, rolling hills, cypress trees lining the property, the cracked turquoise rectangle of the pool shimmering in the distance. Overgrown gardens stretched out. He could hear the cicadas even louder up here, a constant metallic hum that somehow felt soothing rather than annoying.

He unpacked slowly, hanging a few shirts in the wardrobe, setting his guitars carefully in the corner. One acoustic for writing, one for messing around. No pressure. That was the point.

By the time he wandered back downstairs an hour later, the house had filled with more sounds. Clattering from the kitchen. A teenage boy’s voice, Theo presumably, laughing at something on his phone. The faint click of a lighter as Elena lit her cigarette on the back terrace.

Harry stepped outside barefoot, the warm stone of the patio heating the soles of his feet. The garden was even wilder up close, lemon trees heavy with fruit, herbs running riot between cracked flagstones, a stone fountain that had long since stopped working and now served as a planter for trailing geraniums.

He spotted Willow near the edge of the overgrown lawn. She was sitting cross legged on an old blanket, her puppy tumbling around her in clumsy circles. She’d changed, not into anything fancy just a different oversized tee and the same shorts but her hair was pulled up into a messy knot. She was tossing a small ball for the puppy, her movements soft and unselfconscious for the first time since he’d seen her.

Harry hesitated, then walked over slowly so he wouldn’t startle her.

“Mind if I join for a minute?”

She looked up quickly, that same startled expression flashing across her face. The ball rolled forgotten toward the grass. The dog pounced on it with a triumphant yip.

“Uh… sure,” she said. Her voice was quieter out here, almost swallowed by the cicadas. She scooted over a little on the blanket, making room even though there was plenty of space.

Harry lowered himself down, folding his long legs easily. Up close she smelled faintly of sunscreen and something citrusy, lemons maybe, from helping in the kitchen earlier.

“Cute dog,” he said, nodding at him, who had now decided Harry’s bare foot was the most interesting thing in the universe and was attempting to chew on his toes. “What’s his name?”

“Aris.” Willow reached over and gently tugged the puppy back. Her fingers brushed Harry’s ankle for half a second and she pulled away like she’d been burned. “Short for Aristotle. I know it’s stupid. He was supposed to be smart but he mostly just eats socks.”

Harry laughed softly, “Aristotle’s a solid name. Better than half my friends’ dogs I’ve met.”

She risked a small smile at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Instead she looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.

Silence stretched for a moment, not entirely uncomfortable but charged with her obvious nervousness. Harry could feel it radiating off her like she was bracing for something, or maybe just waiting for him to lose interest and walk away.

“So,” he tried again, keeping his tone light and easy, the way he did when he wanted someone to relax around him. “You study in Florence, right? Graphic design?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Second year. It’s… okay. Lots of deadlines.”

“Sounds creative. You any good?”

Willow shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. My professors say so sometimes. My mom says it’s not a real job.” The words came out flat like she’d heard them enough times that they no longer stung as sharply.

Harry tilted his head, studying her profile. There was something delicate about her features, wide eyes, soft mouth, but she carried herself like someone who expected the next comment to be a criticism.

“That’s shit,” he said simply. “If you like it, it’s real enough.”

She glanced at him then. Surprise flickered across her face, followed by something softer, almost grateful. Then the shutters came down again and she focused on Aris who had flopped onto his back for belly rubs.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Another beat of silence. The cicadas droned on. From the house came the faint sound of Elena’s voice calling for Theo to set the table, irritation threading through every syllable.

Willow’s shoulders tensed at the sound.

Harry noticed. He kept his voice gentle. “You alright? First impressions and all that.”

She let out a small breath that might have been a laugh or a sigh. “Yeah. It happens.” Pause. “They’re just like that.”

“Doesn’t seem right,” he said quietly echoing the thought that had crossed his mind earlier.

Willow picked at the blanket again. “It’s just how they are.”

The words hung between them, simple and heavy at the same time. Harry wanted to say more but he barely knew her. Pushing felt wrong. Instead he reached out and let Aris sniff his fingers properly, the puppy’s tiny tongue tickling his skin.

“Anyway,” Harry said after a moment, shifting to a safer topic, “I’m here to try and write some stuff. Acoustic, mostly. No big productions. Your dad said the old study has decent sound. If it gets too loud or whatever, just tell me. I don’t want to be that annoying houseguest.”

“You won’t be,” Willow said too quickly then she caught herself and added more softly, “I mean… it’ll be nice having music around. The house is usually pretty quiet. Except when Theo blasts youtube videos.”

Harry smiled. “I’ll take requests. Within reason.”

She almost smiled back.

Nonna Sofia appeared at the edge of the terrace then, an older woman, seventy something, sturdy and no nonsense in a floral apron. She called something in rapid Italian toward the garden. Willow answered in the same language, her voice lighter and more fluid than when she spoke English.

Nonna spotted Harry and waved him over with a broad smile. “Vieni, ragazzo! Mangia! You look too thin.”

Harry stood, brushing grass from his shorts, and offered Willow a hand up without thinking. She hesitated for a split second before taking it. Her palm was warm, slightly calloused from who knew what, art supplies maybe. The contact lasted only a moment but he felt the quick flutter of her pulse before she let go.

“Thanks,” she mumbled scooping up Aris.

They walked back toward the house side by side, the puppy trotting between them. The sun was dipping lower now, painting the peeling yellow walls in deeper gold. Inside the kitchen smelled like heaven, roasted vegetables, garlic, fresh bread, and something lemony and sweet.

Elena was already at the long wooden table, wine glass in hand, cigarette extinguished but the smell lingering. Richard poured himself another generous measure. Theo slouched in, earbuds half in, skateboard under one arm.

“Harry!” Theo said, perking up visibly. “Sick. You brought guitars? Can I see them later?”

“Sure, mate. Tomorrow maybe.”

Nonna Sofia moved between the old oak table and the stove with surprising speed for a seventy two year old, muttering Italian under her breath as she plated up mountains of food. The long wooden table could easily seat twelve, but tonight it held seven: Richard at the head, Elena to his right, Theo slouched halfway down one side, Harry across from Willow, and an empty chair where Lila would have sat if she’d been there.

Nonna had already set out baskets of warm focaccia, a huge bowl of caprese salad glistening with olive oil, and a platter of grilled zucchini and eggplant. Now she was bringing out the main, slow roasted chicken with potatoes and herbs, the skin crackling golden.

“ Mangia, mangia,” Nonna commanded, sliding another generous portion onto Harry’s plate before he could protest. “Italian summer will fix you.”

Harry laughed softly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not going to argue with that. This smells incredible, Nonna Sofia. Thank you.”

The older woman beamed and patted his shoulder as she passed.

Elena poured herself another glass of the cheap local red that Richard had opened earlier. The bottle was already half empty. She took a long sip, then looked across the table at Willow, who was quietly cutting a piece of chicken into small bites.

“Willow, you’re picking at your food again. If you’re going to waste Nonna’s cooking, at least have the decency to eat properly.”

Willow’s fork paused mid air for half a second. She didn’t look up. “I’m eating, Mom.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Elena replied, voice light but edged with that familiar sharpness. “You’ve been living on coffee and those awful energy drinks in Florence, I’m sure. No wonder you look tired all the time.”

Richard grunted, reaching for the wine. “Elena, leave her alone. She’s fine.”

“She’s not fine, she’s stubborn,” Elena said, as if Willow wasn’t sitting right there. “Always has been. Too much like her father in that regard.”

Theo snorted, scrolling on his phone with one hand while shoving potatoes into his mouth with the other. “Can we not do the family therapy thing at dinner? Harry just got here.”

Harry kept his expression neutral, though he felt the shift in the air. He speared a piece of zucchini and glanced at Willow. She was staring at her plate, shoulders slightly hunched, the messy knot of her hair slipping loose so a strand fell across her cheek. Aris had somehow snuck under the table and was now pressed against her bare foot, a small warm weight.

Harry cleared his throat lightly and turned to Richard. “So, the old study upstairs, does it still have that upright piano? I remember you mentioning it years ago.”

Richard brightened a fraction, happy to talk shop. “It does. Bit out of tune, but serviceable. I used to record demos there when the kids were small. You’re welcome to it whenever. Just don’t expect miracles with the acoustics, the walls are thick but the windows rattle when the wind picks up.”

“Better than nothing,” Harry said easily. “I’m not looking for perfection this summer. Just you know space to breathe.”

Elena smiled thinly. “Space is one thing we have plenty of. Though with all your friends coming and going, I hope it stays peaceful. Richard said you might have visitors?”

Harry nodded, keeping his tone light. “A couple of mates, yeah. Tom, my producer, will be here for a couple of weeks. Maybe a few others drifting in and out. Nothing too chaotic, I promise.”

Theo perked up immediately, earbuds dangling from one ear. “Wait, Tom? The one who worked on your last album? That’s sick. Can I hang out when he’s here? I play guitar a bit.”

“Sure,” Harry said with a small smile. “As long as you don’t mind terrible early drafts.”

Willow stayed quiet through most of it, but Harry noticed the way her eyes flicked up whenever he spoke, then dropped again quickly. She was nervous, painfully so, around him. Every time their gazes almost met, she’d focus harder on her plate or reach down to stroke Aris under the table. The crush (if that’s what it was) was written all over her in small unguarded ways: the faint flush on her neck, the way she bit the inside of her cheek, the soft way her fingers trembled slightly when she lifted her wine glass.

Nonna Sofia appeared again, this time with a bowl of fresh peaches and a pitcher of cold water with lemon slices. She set it down and gave Willow an extra scoop of roasted potatoes without being asked, along with a quiet pat on the shoulder. Willow offered her a small genuine smile, the first real one Harry had seen all evening.

“Grazie, Nonna,” Willow murmured.

Elena watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. “You’re spoiling her again. She needs to learn to eat like an adult, not a child hiding vegetables.”

Nonna ignored her completely, which seemed to be a well practiced habit. Instead she turned to Harry. “You like peaches? Sweet this year. Good for the blood.”

“Love them,” Harry replied. He reached for one and, on impulse, slid the bowl slightly toward Willow. “You should try one. They look perfect.”

Willow’s eyes widened a fraction then took a peach with careful fingers. “Thanks,” she said softly.

Elena let out a small sigh. “See? Now she’ll eat fruit but not the proper meal. Always doing the opposite of what she’s told.”

Richard poured himself more wine, clearly tuning out. “Elena, enough. Harry doesn’t need to hear our domestic nonsense on his first night.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Elena replied coolly. “It’s concern. Willow spends all her time hiding in her room or running off to Lucca with that loud friend of hers, Mira. God knows what they get up until dawn. And then she wonders why she feels ‘overwhelmed’ all the time.” She made air quotes with her fingers, voice dripping with mockery. “Too difficult, that one. Always has been. Remember when she was little and—”

“Mom,” Willow cut in, her voice tight “Please. Not tonight.”

The table went still for a beat. Even Theo looked up from his phone.

Elena raised an eyebrow. “Not tonight? When then? You’re home for the summer. We’re a family. We talk about these things.”

Willow’s cheeks were flushed now, but she kept her eyes on her plate. Her free hand had slipped under the table again, probably stroking Aris for comfort. Harry could see the way her jaw worked, the effort it took not to shrink further.

Harry spoke before he could think better of it, keeping his voice calm and even, almost gentle.

“Willow, that chicken looks good. You tried the rosemary on it? Nonna’s got a heavy hand with the herbs in the best way.”

It was a simple redirect, nothing confrontational, but it worked. Willow glanced up at him, surprise softening the tension in her face. For a moment the guarded look slipped, and she gave him the smallest nod.

“Yeah,” she said, voice a little steadier. “It’s really good. Nonna always makes it perfect.”

Nonna Sofia, who had been hovering near the sink, made a satisfied noise and muttered something approving in Italian.

Theo grinned, seizing the chance to change the subject. “Harry, you ever skateboard? I’ve got a ramp set up behind the olive trees. It’s shit, but it works.”

Harry chuckled. “Not since I was your age, mate. I’d probably break something. But I’ll watch you if you want to show off.”

“Cool.” Theo looked genuinely pleased.

The conversation drifted after that, safer ground. Richard asked about Harry’s recent tour dates, Elena made a few polite comments about the music industry, and Theo peppered Harry with questions about famous people he’d met. Harry answered easily, dry humor slipping in naturally, keeping the mood lighter.

Throughout it all, Willow stayed mostly quiet, but she ate a little more. Every so often her eyes would lift to Harry, quick nervous glances that lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. When he caught her once and offered a small reassuring smile, she looked away fast, the flush returning to her cheeks.

The peach she’d taken sat half eaten on her plate.

As plates were cleared and more wine poured, Elena lit another cigarette right at the table, blowing smoke toward the open window. “Well, Harry, I hope the noise from the cicadas doesn’t drive you mad. They’re relentless this year.”

Harry shrugged leaning back. “I like it, actually. Feels alive. Reminds me I’m not in a studio.”

Willow spoke then—soft, almost to herself, but loud enough for him to hear across the table.

“I really like them too. They make the nights feel full.”

Their eyes met again. This time she didn’t look away immediately. There was something vulnerable and hopeful in her gaze. Like she was testing the waters, seeing if he’d dismiss her the way her family often did.

Harry held the look for a long moment, his expression gentle.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, just for her. “They do.”

Elena stubbed out her cigarette with a sigh. “Romanticizing insects now. Wonderful.”

Richard stood, stretching. “I’m turning in. Early start tomorrow, some papers to grade. Harry, make yourself at home. Willow, you and theo help Nonna clear the table, would you?”

Willow nodded without argument and began stacking plates. Harry stood too, picking up his own and a couple of others to help.

“You don’t have to-” Willow started but he waved it off.

“Least I can do after that meal.”

They worked side by side at the sink for a minute while Nonna fussed with leftovers. The running water and clinking dishes gave them a small bubble of semi privacy.

He wanted to say something, but Nonna was right there, and the moment felt too fragile for anything anyway. Instead he bumped her elbow lightly with his own playfully.

“Well, if you ever need a break from the cicadas or the family noise, I’ll be in the study butchering some chords. Company welcome.”

Willow’s lips twitched again, “Maybe,” she whispered.

His chest did something complicated. Protective instinct mixed with a quieter warmer pull he hadn’t expected on day one. She was twenty one. He was thirty two. And he was here as a guest of her father. But there was something about the way she went quiet around him, the way her crush (he hoped so) showed in small unguarded flickers, that made him want to be careful with her.

Like she needed someone to treat her softly for once.

Later, Richard and Elena moved to the terrace with more wine and cigarettes. Theo disappeared with his skateboard toward the driveway. Nonna Sofia shooed everyone out of her kitchen so she could clean in peace.

Harry stepped outside again needing air. The night had cooled just enough to be bearable, stars pricking through the dark above the cypresses. The cicadas had quieted to a lower chorus.

He wandered toward the cracked pool, its surface reflecting moonlight in fractured shards. The tiles around the edge were chipped and mossy in places. It looked like no one had swum in it properly for years.

Soft hesitant footsteps behind him

Willow appeared at the edge of the pool deck, Aris trailing sleepily at her heels. She stopped a respectful distance away, hands clasped in front of her like she was unsure if she should have followed.

“Couldn’t sleep yet?” Harry asked, keeping his voice low.

She shook her head. “I usually go out at night. With friends. But tonight…” She trailed off shrugging.

Harry nodded. He sat on the wide stone ledge of the pool, feet dangling just above the water. After a moment she joined him, leaving a careful foot of space between them. Aris curled up between her crossed legs and promptly fell asleep.

They sat in silence for a while listening to the rustle of leaves and the occasional distant cars on the valley road.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me, you know,” Harry said eventually, “I’m just some burnt out musician hiding from the world for a bit. In your villa. Not that interesting.”

Willow let out a small huff of breath, half laugh half disbelief. “You’re Harry Styles.”

He turned his head to look at her. “And you’re Willow Arden. Graphic design student. Dog mum. Apparently the only one in this house who helps Nonna with the lemons without being asked twice.”

She blinked, surprised he’d noticed details from earlier. The corner of her mouth lifted in a real albeit tiny smile.

“Um yeah i know that’s me?”

He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her snarky comment that he hadn’t really expected.

Another silence, warmer this time.

Harry leaned back on his hands looking up at the stars. “This place feels like it could be good for writing. For figuring shit out. Hope I don’t disrupt your summer too much.”

Willow was quiet long enough that he thought she might not answer. Then, very softly:

“I think it might make it better.”

She said it so quietly he almost missed it under the cicadas. But he heard. And when he glanced at her, she was staring at the water with flushed cheeks again.

Harry felt the slow pull in his own chest, protective, curious, and something warmer underneath that he wasn’t ready to name on the first night at all.

The summer stretched ahead of them, hot and sticky and full of possibility. Peeling yellow walls. Overgrown gardens. Cheap local wine waiting on the table. Arguments that would echo through the house on other days.

But right now it was just the two of them by the cracked pool, a tiny puppy snoring between them, and the first tentative threads of something beginning to form in the dark.

Harry smiled to himself, small and private.

“Night, Wills,” he said gently.

“Night,” she whispered back.

She stayed a few minutes longer before standing quietly and padding back toward the house with Aris in her arms. Harry watched her go, the oversized t-shirt swallowing her frame, bare feet silent on the stone.

He stayed by the pool a while longer letting the Tuscan night settle around him.

Six weeks.

Robin is antsy beside you. You can feel her restless energy radiating off her in waves—the way her leg bounces under the desk making the whole row of connected seats vibrate slightly, the way she keeps shifting her weight, the constant clicking of her pen cap on and off until you want to reach over and take it away from her.

You glance over and see her writing something in her notebook, but it's clearly not notes about "The Sun Also Rises." Her handwriting is messier than usual, more frantic, crossing out and rewriting the same lines over and over.

You lean slightly to peek at what she's written.

Nancy... I've been trying to find the perfect time to tell you...

Robin grunts in frustration, scribbling it out so hard the pencil nearly tears through the paper. She scratches at it with aggressive strokes, then throws her pencil down with more force than necessary. It rolls off the desk and clatters to the floor.

She puts her head down on the table with a soft thunk, sighing so heavily you feel the gust of air. Then she turns her head, cheek pressed flat against the fake wood grain surface, looking at you with those big, expressive eyes.

"How do you do it?" Robin asks, voice low enough not to disturb the handful of students actually paying attention up front.

"Do what?" you whisper back, genuinely confused.

Robin sighs again, breath stirring the loose papers on her desk. "How do you not feel things intensely?"

You're startled, brows furrowing together, a little offended by the question. You snort. "What?"

Robin shrugs, as much as she can while still laying on the desk like a deflated balloon. "I don't know... even when you're mad or upset, you don't—" She pauses, searching for words. "I don't know how you're always kind of cool about it. Like, sure, you can say things that let me know you're pissed, but I don't think I've ever seen you yell. Or cry in front of people. Or have a total meltdown." She groans, lifting one hand to place it on top of your head like she's actively trying to merge your souls together through physical contact. "Can we share a brain? Or like, swap bodies? Just for one day?"

You laugh—awkward and slightly too loud. Professor Morrison glances back at you with a disapproving look, and you duck your head apologetically. You move Robin's hand away from your head, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself.

You lean in closer, voice dropping even lower. "Rob, saying 'I love you' doesn't have to be a huge deal."

Robin's face immediately transforms like you've said a curse word in church. Her eyes go wide, scandalized. "But it's my first time ever!" she hisses. "I want it to be special. I already have it all planned out." Her voice goes dreamy, wistful, and she props her chin in her hand, staring off into the middle distance with a soft smile. "A late-night walk on the beach. The waves crashing. Maybe the moon reflecting on the water. And I'll turn to her and say it, and she'll say it back, and it'll be perfect."

You pretend to pay attention to Professor Morrison, who's now drawing something on the chalkboard that might be a timeline or might be abstract art—you honestly can't tell. You chew on your bottom lip, not looking at Robin when you ask quietly, "What does it feel like?"

"What?" Robin asks, startled like she's been pulled from her daydream mid-kiss.

"Being in love," you clarify, voice even softer now, almost shy. "What does it feel like?"

Robin turns her whole body in her seat to look at you, eyebrows raised. "You've never been in love before?"

You shrug, shaking your head, suddenly very interested in the corner of your notebook where the pages are starting to come loose from the spiral binding.

Robin's expression softens, going tender in a way that makes your chest tight. "It feels like..." She pauses, thinking, then smiles. "Like coming home after a really long day and everything is exactly where you left it. Like being understood without having to explain yourself. Like laughing so hard your stomach hurts and knowing the other person thinks you're funny even when no one else gets the joke." Her smile grows wider, more radiant. "It's terrifying and safe at the same time. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and knowing someone will catch you if you fall, so you're not afraid to jump."

You try very hard not to think about the way Steve flashes across your mind as Robin explains this. Try not to picture his smile when he sees you, the way his whole face lights up. Try not to remember how it felt waking up in his arms in the tent, or the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not paying attention, or the warmth that spreads through your chest when he says your name.

You fail spectacularly.

"You okay?" Robin asks, nudging your shoulder. "You look weird."

"I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about all the packing I still have to do."

Robin accepts this with a nod, going back to staring at her ruined confession in her notebook, and you spend the rest of class trying very hard not to think about Steve Harrington and failing at that too.

After class finally, mercifully ends, you and Robin step out of the building into the warm afternoon sun. The campus is already half-deserted, groups of students loading cars with suitcases and coolers, excited chatter about beach destinations and ski trips filling the air.

Steve is waiting off to the side of the building, leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He's wearing his glasses and you can tell the exact moment he spots you because his posture changes—shoulders straightening slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting.

He catches your eyes first, and you both break into huge smiles simultaneously. Your heart does that stupid fluttering thing it's been doing lately, and you almost forget yourself—almost forget that you're not the one "dating" him, almost start running up to give him a hug the way your body is screaming at you to do.

But you catch yourself, stopping short when Robin brushes past you and goes straight to him. She plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and grinds it out under her sneaker with more force than necessary.

"What the hell?" Steve complains, looking down at the crushed cigarette with genuine mourning. "I just lit that."

"I'm not going to be stuck in a car with you smelling like cigarettes," Robin says firmly, brushing ash off her fingers.

"You've never complained before," Steve grumbles, pouting at the cigarette on the ground like it personally betrayed him. Then he looks up, and his eyes find yours over Robin's shoulder. His pout transforms into a smile—soft and private and meant only for you. "Hey, Hot Shot."

You feel your face heat up immediately, a bashful smile taking over your features before you can stop it. "Hey, you."

God, you want to mentally kick yourself. You've had this man inside you multiple times in multiple positions, and now—just because you've realized you have a crush like some ridiculous teenager—you're acting like this? How pathetic.

But also, how is he so attractive? Standing there in his navy blue polo that brings out the blue in his hazel eyes, that mustache you spent twenty minutes kissing yesterday, his honey-brown hair catching the sunlight and turning golden at the ends. His glasses gleam in the afternoon sun, and you can see the smile lines at the corners of his eyes.

He chuckles—low and warm and knowing—like he can read exactly what you're thinking. Then he turns to Robin, slinging an arm across her shoulders in that easy, familiar way they have. "Ready to go pick up your sweetheart?"

Robin beams, her whole face lighting up like she's been plugged into an electrical socket. She turns to you, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Hot Shot, you sure you don't want to come?"

Your eyes go wide, panic fluttering in your chest. Steve and Robin are driving to the bus station to pick up Nancy so she'll be in town for the weekend, and then you're all leaving together for the airport Sunday morning for Miami.

But the idea of being trapped in a car with Steve for that long sounds like actual torture. And that's not even considering the dread of the spring break trip itself. A whole week of this. Of pretending you’re not feeling what you’re feeling. 

You shake your head quickly, maybe too quickly. "Uh, no. I'm gonna finish some last-minute things before break. Laundry and packing and stuff."

You glance at Steve, who's still grinning at you, hazel eyes twinkling. There's something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or affection, or something else you're too afraid to name.

"Guess I'll see you at the party tonight?" he says, and you hate how much your stomach flips at the casual way he says it, like you're just friends, like you haven't memorized the taste of his skin. "It won't be that big, but some of the guys wanted to have one last blowout before everyone ditches town for the week."

You nod, not trusting your voice to come out normal.

Robin leans over and kisses your cheek, her lips warm and slightly sticky from lip gloss. "See you in two hours, babe! We'll come grab you before the party!"

And then you watch Steve and Robin walk off, hand in hand, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand the way he does with you when he thinks no one's looking. They're laughing about something, heads bent close together, and they look perfect. They look real.

You know it's fake. You know it's not real, that it's all an elaborate performance for parents and society and the future they're building together.

But standing there watching them go, a part of you wishes it was you holding Steve's hand in the sunshine, you making him laugh, you walking to his car with the promise of two hours alone together.

You turn and walk back to your dorm, and you absolutely do not let yourself think about how Steve's hand felt in yours, or how he smiles differently when it's just the two of you, or how many days you have left before this crush becomes something you can't ignore anymore.

Two hours later, Robin and Nancy show up at your dorm, but something is off immediately.

Robin's mood is completely different than it was earlier—all the nervous, giddy energy from class has been replaced with something darker, more agitated. She's snapping at nothing, moving with jerky, frustrated movements as she rifles through her closet looking for something to wear to the party.

Nancy, on the other hand, is still chipper, seemingly unbothered. She's sitting on Robin's bed, legs crossed, flipping through a magazine and humming softly to herself.

"How was the drive?" you ask casually, pulling your own outfit from your closet—a simple top and jeans, nothing special.

Robin huffs loudly, yanking a shirt off a hanger so hard the hanger goes flying. "Fine."

Nancy looks up from her magazine, gives you a look that clearly says don't ask, and goes back to reading.

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, but apparently it's not between Robin and Nancy because Nancy seems completely at ease. So what happened?

You open your mouth to ask, but Robin disappears into the bathroom with her clothes, slamming the door harder than necessary. You hear the shower turn on, the water pressure making the pipes groan.

Nancy catches your eye and shakes her head slightly. Later, she mouths.

So you get ready in silence, the only sound the running water and the occasional curse from Robin when she drops something in the shower, and you wonder what could have possibly happened in two hours to change her mood so completely.

.-.-.-.

Robin, Nancy, and you walk up to the Pike house as the sun is setting, the sky streaked with orange and pink. You can hear the muffled roar of voices and laughter spilling out onto the front lawn. The smell of cheap beer and cigarette smoke hangs in the air, mixing with the scent of recently mowed grass.

You're shocked to see a miserable Eddie stationed at the front door, playing bouncer. He's slouched against the doorframe, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else, barely glancing at people as he waves them through. His usual manic energy is completely absent, replaced with a kind of defeated exhaustion that sits wrong on his features.

When he sees the three of you approaching, his frown deepens, carving lines around his mouth.

"I thought you wouldn't have to do this anymore since Steve became president," Robin laughs. She has her arms looped through yours and Nancy's—her excuse to touch Nancy in public without raising suspicion, though anyone paying attention would notice how her thumb keeps stroking Nancy's wrist.

"Yeah, well, your boyfriend is PMSing or something," Eddie grumbles, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and sticking it between his lips without lighting it. "He's been a total dick since he got back from dropping you two off. Snapping at everyone, drinking like it's his last night on earth."

Robin rolls her eyes, but there's tension in her shoulders that wasn't there before. "He's still pissy? Don't worry, Eds. He's mad because I told him something he didn't want to hear on the way to pick up Nancy."

"That's why he was acting like that?" Nancy asks, a small laugh escaping despite the concern evident in her voice. "What did you tell him?"

Robin opens her mouth, then gives you a sideways look—quick, furtive, guilty. "Nothing important. The truth about something. He didn't like it, so now he's acting like a baby." She tugs at both of your arms, pulling you toward the door and effectively ending the conversation. "Eds, where is he?"

Eddie shrugs, finally lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag. "Probably out back doing another keg stand. Been at it for the past hour."

"Oh my god," Robin says, exasperation coloring her voice with frustration and something that might be worry.

Robin cuts through the side gate to the backyard, pulling you and Nancy along with her. The moment you step through, you're hit with the full force of the party—the air thick and humid with body heat, drenched in the smell of spilled beer and weed and cigarette smoke layered so thick it's almost visible. The music thrums against the windows, bass so heavy you can feel it in your chest, vibrating through your ribcage. You wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors called in a noise complaint within the hour.

There's chanting and hollering coming from the middle of the yard, voices raised in drunken unison.

"Steve! Steve! Steve! Steve!"

You can only see a pair of feet in the air at first—New Balances with the laces untied, dangling loose. Robin pulls you and Nancy toward the crowd, bodies pressing close as you push through the ring of onlookers.

Closer now, you see Buck holding Steve up by his legs, Steve's face red from being inverted, his navy blue polo riding up from gravity to expose his stomach. His happy trail. The scars on his torso glistening with a mixture of sweat and amber liquid, like someone had sprayed him with beer. His arms hang down toward the ground, hands gripping the keg, throat working as he chugs.

Finally, he jerks his legs forward, signaling Buck to bring him down. Buck helps him right himself, and the crowd erupts in cheers. Steve is smiling—grinning, really—licking beer off his lips, more of it rolling down his chin and soaking into his collar. You can't deny how attractive he looks, flushed and pleased with himself, hair falling into his eyes.

But then you notice it.

His hair is shorter. Much shorter than you've ever seen it, cropped close on the sides and longer on top, parted down the middle instead of swept back. The blonde highlights are completely gone, cut away, leaving only his natural dark brown. And his face—he's clean-shaven again, the mustache you'd spent the better part of this week kissing completely gone.

He still looks attractive, objectively handsome in that way Steve Harrington has always been handsome. But you're grieving the old look, the version of him you'd woken up next to Wednesday morning, the one who'd made you Eggo waffles and kissed you goodbye in his car.

Robin lets go of you and Nancy, crossing her arms over her chest. A scowl settles on her face, jaw tight.

You're still staring at him—ogling him, really, unable to help yourself—when a girl materializes at his side. She's blonde, wearing a tight top and high-waisted jeans, and she places her hand on his chest like she has every right to touch him. Her smile is wide, practiced.

"Steve, that was so awesome," she coos, voice pitched high and breathy.

You can hear him through his smirk, words slightly slurred. "Hey, Amanda. How are you?"

The name clicks into place. Amanda. One of Steve's old hookups—you remember Robin mentioning her once, remembered seeing her at a party months ago hanging off Steve's arm.

You're waiting for him to remove her hand, to step back, to do literally anything to create distance. He doesn't push her off. Amanda sees Robin's glare and lets go of his chest, but she doesn't step back, doesn't leave. If anything, she moves closer.

"I'm good," she says, batting her eyelashes in a way that would be comical if it wasn't making your stomach twist. "How are you?"

He looks her up and down—slow, assessing—and even though Steve told you he ended things with all of them, Amanda clearly didn't get the memo. She's biting her lip, looking him up and down in return, playing the game they used to play.

You don't have time to fully process the sharp pang of jealousy that shoots through your chest, or to question why it hurts so much to watch, because Steve's eyes flicker over to Robin. His face falters, the smile slipping for a fraction of a second.

Then, for the briefest moment, his gaze shifts to you.

Your breath catches. His eyes meet yours, and there's something in them you can't read—something dark and hurt and angry all at once. Then he looks away.

"Yeah... good. I'll see you later, yeah?" He pats Amanda's shoulder dismissively and starts walking toward you, Robin, and Nancy, a grin spreading across his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He immediately embraces Robin in a hug, and you're close enough now to smell him—that deep musky scent that is distinctly Steve, but mixed with beer and weed and something sharper, more acrid. Desperation, maybe. Robin grimaces when he plants a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek, his hands gripping her waist, only looking at her like you and Nancy aren't even standing there.

He puts his forehead against hers, swaying slightly.

"Steve—" Robin scolds, trying to pull back.

"What?" He draws the word out, lazy and defiant. "I'm playing the part, right?" His voice drops lower, meant to be private but still audible. "Isn't that what you want?"

Robin and Nancy exchange a look—awkward, uncomfortable, like they're witnessing something they shouldn't. Your stomach twists tighter.

Robin's jaw tightens, muscles flexing under her skin. "That's not what I'm talking about," she hisses in a whisper. "How much have you had to drink already?"

Steve blows a raspberry, the sound wet and childish. "What? You're the only one who can have fun?"

Nancy steps in, voice gentle but firm. "Steve, that's not why she's concerned."

He rolls his eyes, head lolling back dramatically. "Relax. I'm having fun, yeah? Not going to do anything stupid." He leans his head back forward, hands running up Robin's arms, squeezing. "Come on, let's go dance, Rob. You always want me to dance with you. I feel like dancing..." His words run together, vowels blending, consonants softening, and you don't know how he manages to sound drunk and coherent at the same time.

You realize with a sinking feeling, Steve has not once looked at you. Not directly. Not acknowledged your presence at all.

Robin sighs, defeated. "Okay, but you're drinking water first."

Steve kisses her cheek again—wet and loud—already pulling her away toward the coolers by the back porch. Robin looks over her shoulder at you and Nancy, and the expression on her face is pure apology, eyes saying I'm sorry and help me all at once.

"What was that all about?" you ask Nancy, unable to tear your eyes away from Steve and Robin. He's forcing down a bottle of water now, Robin's hand on his shoulder, both of them bobbing slightly to the music pumping through the outdoor speakers.

Nancy sighs, watching them too, but her expression is distant, eyes glassy with unshed emotion. "Apparently they've been fighting all day. She won't tell me what about. But she mentioned something about people noticing they've been distant lately, asking questions about whether they're okay."

You look over at them. Robin's back is pressed to Steve's front now, his arms wrapped around her waist, both of them swaying awkwardly to a song that doesn't match their rhythm. They're both staring off in different directions—Robin toward Nancy with naked longing, Steve toward nothing in particular with empty eyes. Neither of them looks like they want to be touching the other.

Your heart flips violently when Steve's eyes catch yours across the yard. His jaw flexes, muscles jumping under skin. Then he looks away again, pulling Robin closer in a way that looks more like desperation than affection.

"I thought things were better," you say out loud, voice small.

It was true. You thought everything had improved since you helped fix the spring break situation with Robin's parents. You thought it was better now that Steve was making choices for himself, declaring his major, standing up to his father in his own way.

Nancy swallows hard, throat working. "I think they forget they're not really together sometimes."

The words hit you like cold water.

You think about your own feelings—the ones you only admitted to yourself last night, staring at the ceiling of your dorm room while Robin snored softly in the bed next to yours. You don't know how long you've actually felt this way. Maybe weeks. Maybe months. Maybe since the first time Steve kissed you and you realized kissing him was different from kissing anyone else.

Last night you couldn't stop smiling, caught in the memory of the planetarium, of Steve's hands on your face, of the way he said your name like it meant something. And then you'd looked over at Robin sleeping peacefully, and the guilt had settled over you like a heavy blanket.

Nancy's observation sits uncomfortably in your chest because she's right. Even you forget they're not really together. It feels like betrayal—like cheating—to entertain the idea that maybe, possibly, you could change Steve and Robin's minds about their arrangement, about their promises to each other.

But you're not different. You're not special. Nothing will change.

"Can I tell you something, Nancy?" you ask softly, still watching the couple that's not really a couple swaying in the middle of the lawn.

Nancy looks at you, and when you turn to meet her gaze, her expression isn't pity. It's sympathy—soft eyes, gentle understanding, the look of someone who already knows what you're about to say.

"I know," Nancy offers quietly, saving you from having to speak it into existence. Because if you say it out loud, it becomes real. Undeniable.

You swallow hard against the lump forming in your throat. You've never been quick to emotion—or maybe you've never allowed yourself to be. The same way you've never allowed yourself to feel this way about anyone, to get close enough for it to hurt.

Your chest feels like it's caving in, ribs pressing toward your lungs, making it hard to breathe.

You think about the rule Steve made—that if either of you caught feelings, you'd end it. But then he'd said the rules didn't apply to you, that there were never really rules when it came to you. So does that mean all of them? Or none of them? Or only the ones that were convenient?

You chew on your bottom lip, tasting cherry chapstick and uncertainty. "I need to end it, don't I?"

For a second, you think Nancy might tell you no. Might tell you to go for it, to fight for what you want, to be selfish for once in your life.

But Nancy closes her mouth. Looks back at Robin and Steve—his arm slung over her shoulder now, talking to a group of Pike brothers like they belong exactly like this, like they'll always belong like this.

"Before you fall in love with him," Nancy says slowly, carefully, each word deliberate. "Before it's too late to turn back, then yeah. You should."

Her honest truth hits you like a million tiny blades, each one finding a different soft spot to sink into.

And then Nancy's eyes light up, something hopeful sparking there. "Do you..." She pauses, choosing her words. "Do you love him?"

The same clouded, confusing thoughts that ran through your head when Max asked you this question on Tuesday come rushing back. You look at Steve across the yard—at the way the string lights catch in his newly short hair, at the strong line of his shoulders, at his hands that know every inch of your body.

You think about the pieces of yourself that belong to him now. The ones you gave freely, the ones he took without asking, the ones you didn't even know you had until he found them. Pieces you've refused to give anyone else because they were his before you knew what you were giving away.

It started because of trust, because he was your friend, because it was safe and uncomplicated. Something he wasn't six months ago when he was someone you actively avoided at parties.

Your heart races looking at him. Your stomach flutters. Heat pools low in your belly even from across the yard, even angry at him, even knowing this can't go anywhere.

You open your mouth to answer—not really sure what will come out, not ready to hear yourself say it—when a voice calls out.

"Hey, Hot Shot! You want a turn?"

You look over to see Buck grinning at you, pointing at another keg that's been set up near the fence. The crowd around it is already chanting, waiting for the next victim.

Suddenly, the idea of standing upside down chugging cheap beer out of a questionable spout seems infinitely better than answering Nancy's question.

You see Steve look over the moment Buck touches you—Buck's hand on your lower back, helping you up onto the keg platform. Steve's face transforms, features twisting into something dark and possessive. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle jump from across the yard.

And it pisses you off. He let Amanda touch him. Let her flirt with him, look at him like that, put her hands on his chest. You're not dating—you've never been dating—but how could he say the things he said to you and then ignore you tonight? How could he touch you the way he touched you and then pretend you don't exist?

You don't only get drunk on the keg stand—though you do, Buck's hands firm on your stomach as you chug, the crowd counting, your vision swimming when he rights you and everyone cheers. You don't only get drunk on the cheap tequila shots that burn going down, or the beer pong game you lose against one of the Tri Delt sisters who's wearing a "Spring Break or Bust" tank top.

You get drunk on something worse, something more dangerous.

You get drunk on the pathetic, inevitable realization that you're going to have to talk to Steve tonight. That you're going to have to tell him this isn't working anymore. That you can't do this—can't keep pretending you don't feel what you feel, can't keep being his secret while he plays boyfriend to your best friend.

But finally—finally—he's looking at you.

You're dancing with Robin and Nancy now, the three of you pressed close, giving Robin and Nancy the excuse to touch each other, to be close in a way they can't be normally. Nancy's hands are on Robin's hips, Robin's head thrown back in laughter, and you're moving with them, lost in the music and the alcohol and the heat of too many bodies in too small a space.

And Steve is watching you from across the room.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, tracking your every movement. You can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, sliding over your exposed collarbone where your shirt has slipped off your shoulder, down to where your jeans sit low on your hips, back up to your face. The air between you feels electric, charged with something dangerous and inevitable.

You dance harder, throwing yourself into it, letting your hips sway in a way you know drives him crazy. You run your hands through your hair, tilt your head back, expose your throat. You're playing a game you know you shouldn't be playing, weaponizing your body against him the same way he's weaponizing his indifference.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip. His fingers tighten around the red Solo cup in his hand, plastic crinkling under the pressure. He shifts his weight, adjusting himself in his jeans in a way that would be subtle if you weren't watching for it.

The song changes—something slower, bassier, all rhythm and want—and you turn, putting your back to him, rolling your body in a way that's absolutely, unquestionably meant for him to see. Nancy and Robin are lost in each other now, foreheads pressed together, swaying more than dancing, and you're alone in the crowd but you don't feel alone because Steve's eyes are burning holes in your back.

You glance over your shoulder, find him still staring, and the look on his face is pure hunger mixed with something that might be anger or might be desperation or might be both.

Steve crosses the room.

He moves through the crowd like he has a purpose, shouldering past people without apology, eyes locked on you the whole time. When he reaches your group, he slides in next to Robin, his hand grazing across the small of your back as he passes. His fingertips find the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up, and the touch is electric, sending shivers racing up your spine.

"I'm going upstairs to lay down for a bit," he tells Robin, voice rough and low. But his hand is still on your back, fingers pressing slightly, a message meant only for you.

He walks over to the makeshift bar someone has set up on the porch table, pours a shot of something clear—vodka or tequila, you can't tell—and shoots it back without a chaser. His eyes find yours as he swallows, throat working, and he jerks his head toward the foyer where the stairs are.

"Gotta... pee," you announce to Nancy and Robin, trying to sound casual even though your heart is hammering against your ribs.

Nancy and Robin nod, barely hearing you, completely entranced in each other now that the alcohol has lowered their inhibitions. Nancy's hand is tangled in Robin's hair, Robin's lips close to Nancy's ear, and you leave them to it.

Steve has already started making his way inside. You trail behind him, keeping enough distance that it won't be obvious you're following him, but close enough that you won't lose sight of him in the crowd.

Your core is already warm, heat pooling low in your belly at the thought of what's about to happen. Your heart hammers against your ribs—anticipation and dread in equal measure.

Steve says something to the two pledges guarding the stairs—PJ and someone whose name you don't remember—and they look back at you still a few paces behind. Steve must have said something convincing because they part immediately, letting him through, then stepping aside for you when you reach them.

You climb the stairs, legs unsteady from alcohol and want and the weight of what you know you need to do. Steve is ahead of you, taking the steps two at a time, and occasionally he glances back over his shoulder—checking that you're still following, eyes dark with intent.

Neither of you says anything. Not when you reach the second floor, not when he leads you down the familiar hallway to his room, not when he opens the door and holds it for you to enter first.

The moment the door closes behind you, shutting out the noise of the party below, you're on each other.

Your lips crash together with the force of tension finally breaking. It's not gentle—it's desperate and messy and tastes like beer and tequila and want. His hands are immediately in your hair, gripping, angling your head to deepen the kiss. Your fingers scrabble at his shoulders, his chest, trying to pull him closer even though there's no space left between your bodies.

He walks you backward until your back hits the door, the solid wood cool against your shoulder blades. His body presses against yours, and you can feel how hard he is already, pressing insistent against your hip.

He breaks the kiss to mouth at your jaw, your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks you'll have to hide tomorrow. His hands slide down your sides to grip your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

But then he stops. Pulls back slightly, breathing hard, and his hands move to the hem of your shirt. He pauses, fingers just under the fabric, eyes searching yours.

"Do you want this, Hot Shot?" His voice is rough, wrecked, but the question is genuine. Even drunk, even desperate, he's checking. Making sure.

And even though you're both drunk, even though this is probably a terrible idea, even though you know you should end this before it goes any further—you want him. You want this. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

"Yes," you breathe. "Of course I want you, Steve."

Something flashes in his eyes—relief or pain or something else you can't name—and then he's pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His mouth finds your neck again, sucking, biting, marking you as his in a way he has no right to do but you're letting him anyway.

Your feet don't work properly as he tries to pull your jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. You're both too drunk, too eager, coordination shot. You stumble, and he catches you, but the momentum sends you both tumbling to the floor.

You land on the carpet with an "oof," Steve's weight half on top of you, and you should probably be more concerned about the fact that you're on his floor, but instead you're pulling him back down into a kiss, refusing to let the moment break.

"Where's your glasses?" you ask between kisses, breath hot against his lips. You're used to them now, used to the way they press against your face when you kiss, the way he pushes them up his nose when he's concentrating.

"They broke earlier," he says, and the casual way he says it—like it doesn't matter, like they were disposable—makes something pinch in your chest. "Fell off during a keg stand. Someone stepped on them."

The way he says it, the tone of his voice, the emptiness in his eyes when you pull back to look at him—it all feels wrong. Different.

He's touching you differently too. His hands are on you—sliding under your bra, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples—but there's a hesitation to it. A heaviness. Like he's memorizing rather than discovering. Like this is the last time.

The thought sends a spike of panic through your chest, sharp enough to cut through the alcohol haze.

"Steve—" you start, but he kisses you again, swallowing whatever you were going to say.

You ask if you can take off his pants, and he nods, helping you, both of you too eager to do it properly. You only manage to drag them down to his thighs—those thick, hairy thighs you've become intimately familiar with—his cock springing free, already hard and leaking.

Your bra is still on, your breasts spilling over the top, nipples hard and visible through the thin lace. Your jeans and panties are somewhere across the room, abandoned in your haste.

You straddle him right there on the floor, the carpet rough under your knees, and his eyes are drunk—from weed, from alcohol, from lust, from all of it. He bites his lip watching you spit into your hand, pump him a few times, watching the way his cock twitches in your grip.

Then you're sinking down onto him, taking him in slowly, and your head lulls back at the stretch, at the familiar burn and fullness. You sit there for a moment, completely still, just feeling him inside you. His warmth, his thickness, the way he twitches like sitting still is torture for him too.

His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, but he doesn't make you move. Doesn't thrust up into you. Like this moment—being buried inside you, connected in the most intimate way possible—is enough. Like he's trying to make it last.

It's nearly sobering, the intensity of it grounding you through the alcohol. The stretch of him, the way he fills you so completely, the way his eyes are locked on yours like he's trying to memorize your face.

Finally—finally—you lift up almost all the way off him, and then slam back down. The sound you both make is obscene—half moan, half sob, pure desperate pleasure. You bounce on him, setting a punishing rhythm, leaning forward to brace your hands on his chest. You push his shirt up with your fingers, revealing his soft stomach first, then his chest, pushing the fabric all the way to his collarbone but not removing it entirely. Holding it there while you continue to ride him, his skin hot and damp with sweat under your palms.

The pace gets more erratic, sloppier, your thighs burning from the exertion but you can't stop, won't stop. He's hitting spots inside you that make you gasp for air, that make stars burst behind your closed eyelids, that make you forget why this is a bad idea.

The usual banter is lost—no teasing words, no challenges, no playful arguments. Just moans and whimpers and the obscene sound of skin on skin, of wetness, of your bodies coming together again and again.

You lean down, changing the angle, and the new position sends pleasure pulsing through you both. Steve's hips buck up involuntarily, back arching off the floor.

"Fuck!" he whines, voice high and wrecked.

You lean further, putting your mouth right over his pec, and bite. Hard. Your teeth sink into his skin, and Steve lets you, lets you mark him, a moan torn from his lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispers under his breath, the words running together. He says your name—your actual name, not Hot Shot, not baby, not anything else. Your name like a prayer, like a confession, like goodbye.

You kiss the spot like you can fix it, like you can erase the damage, but you can already see the teeth marks in his skin, the tiny bit of broken skin surrounded by red that will absolutely bruise by morning. Evidence. Proof. A mark that says I was here.

"Baby," he whimpers, eyes squeezed shut as you put your hands back on his chest to steady yourself, to get more leverage.

Steve's grip tightens on your hips, fingers grabbing at the soft flesh there before one hand moves between your bodies to find your clit. He slaps it once—sharp and surprising—and you mewl, the sound embarrassingly needy.

He rubs it with his thumb, sloppy and uncoordinated but still good, still enough. The pressure builds in your core, winding tighter and tighter like a spring about to break.

You feel your walls start to clench around his cock, fluttering, and Steve groans at the sensation.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he pants. "So fucking good, baby. Come for me, please,” he begs. 

Until finally you can't hold back anymore, crying out his name, "Steve!" Your orgasm crashes through you. Your whole body goes taut, back arching, stars bursting white behind your closed eyelids.

Steve grips your hips hard, keeping the brutal pace, thrusting up into you through your orgasm, chasing his own. He groans, head lulling back, and you can see the tendons in his neck, the veins protruding, his mouth falling open as he gasps through his own release. You feel him pulse inside you, filling you with warmth.

His hand comes up to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair at the base, gripping and pulling you down into a heated kiss. Desperate and messy and tasting like salt and want and ending.

Then, even though you're both still buzzing with alcohol and endorphins, the kiss settles into a steadier rhythm. Slower. Softer. Small pecks that feel more intimate than anything that came before.

You're still hovering over him, both of you breathing hard, when you look into his hazel eyes. He brushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, his touch gentle, reverent.

And you can see it. The emptiness in his eyes. The finality.

You have to tell him. Have to let him know what you're feeling. Or maybe—maybe you need to make sure this is the last time before you say something you can't take back.

"I'm going to go clean up," you say, voice shakier than you'd like.

You hurry to his bathroom, gathering your clothes as you go, not looking at him because if you look at him you might start crying and you refuse to cry over Steve Harrington.

You clean up mechanically, movements robotic. You sit on the closed toilet seat after, face in your hands, breathing hard—either from the exertion of sex or the dread pooling in your stomach or both.

When you finally gather the courage to leave the bathroom, your stomach drops at the sight that greets you.

Steve is fully dressed again. Sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers threaded through his short hair. Clearly thinking. Clearly working up to something.

When he looks up at you, you know from his eyes—from the set of his jaw, from the way his shoulders are tensed—that he has something to say.

Your throat tightens. You lean back against the wall, not looking at him directly, focusing on a spot just over his shoulder because if you look at him you'll break.

Steve rubs the back of his neck, the gesture so familiar it hurts. "I think this is the last time we'll be seeing each other," he says quietly. Almost too quiet, like if he said it any louder he would mean it more, and he's not sure he can handle meaning it more.

And even though you were thinking the same thing downstairs with Nancy, hearing him say it out loud makes you realize you didn't actually want this to happen. That some part of you hoped you could have both—could keep sleeping with him and keep your feelings and somehow make it work.

Your defenses slam into place immediately—anger, deflection, anything to find blame in him rather than face the complicated mess you've brought upon yourself.

"But I didn't break any rules," you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

A curl falls on his forehead when he looks up, and he straightens, jaw tense. He's looking you up and down, evaluating you, scanning your face like he's trying to figure something out, solve an equation that keeps changing.

"Yeah, we did," he says slowly. "And we—I think we took it too far."

"You're kidding me." You can hear the venom in your own voice, the way it drips with hurt disguised as anger. "You told me—" You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I followed your rules. You were the one who told me it was okay. That I was the exception."

"Yeah, well..." He trails off, searching for the right words. He groans, putting his face in his palms before standing up to face you properly. "Maybe I said that so I could see what it was like to be normal for once."

The words hit you like a slap.

You nod slowly, mechanically. "So you wanted one last fuck? Is that it? String me along until you got what exactly?"

Steve shrugs, his expression stony, unreadable. His tongue presses into his cheek, a habit you've come to recognize as him holding back words he doesn't want to say. "Look, Hot Shot, I'm sorry. I really tried to see if it would work for me, but it doesn't. Can't."

You cross the room in three strides, closing the distance until you're right in front of him, close enough to smell the beer on his breath, close enough to see the way his pupils dilate when you get near.

"You don't get to call me that anymore," you snap, finger jabbing into his chest right over where you bit him.

Steve rolls his eyes, looking away, arms crossing over his chest in a mirror of your defensive posture. He lifts one hand in a placating gesture that makes you want to hit him. "Look, this doesn't mean we can't still be friends—"

"Oh, fuck off, Steve." You press your finger harder into his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your fingertip, fast and erratic. "Friends don't fucking cum inside other friends. Friends don't say the shit you said to me. Don't look at me the way you look at me." Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. "Admit you're an asshole who can't decide what he wants."

"Or maybe I'm an asshole who's bored of you," Steve snaps back, and his eyes burn with something dark and empty and hurt all at once.

The words steal the air from your lungs.

Your face falls, the anger draining out of you and leaving behind only the raw, exposed hurt underneath. Tears brim in your eyes, hot and unwelcome, blurring your vision.

"Go to hell, Steve," you whisper, voice breaking on his name.

You take a deep breath, trying to hold yourself together for a few more seconds. Your lip quivers despite your best efforts. You take one last look at him—really look at him, memorizing his face because this is it, this is the end—and your heart breaks into a million pieces, each one cutting you on the way down.

Then you turn and walk out, leaving him standing alone in his room, and you don't look back.

.-.-.-.

Your eyes are caked with crust when you finally wake, eyelids heavy and stuck together like someone glued them shut while you slept. You peel them open slowly, immediately recognizing you're not in your own bed. The sheets are wrong—navy blue instead of your floral pattern, softer than the scratchy dorm-issue linens. The room smells different too—like laundry detergent and cologne you don't recognize, masculine and clean.

You know where you are before you're fully conscious. Sammy's room. The minimal furniture, the textbooks stacked neatly on his desk, the clothes strewn on the floor that aren't yours.

You sit up, still wearing your clothes from last night—jeans twisted uncomfortably around your legs, shirt wrinkled and smelling like cigarette smoke and spilled beer and something else underneath that makes your stomach turn. Steve's cologne. You can still smell him on you.

On cue, Sammy walks in, already dressed for the day in jeans and a sweater, hair a little messy like he slept on the couch and didn't bother with a mirror. He's holding two mugs of coffee, steam curling up from both. He smiles at you—awkward, uncertain, like he's not sure what the protocol is for this situation.

"Good morning," he says, handing you one of the mugs.

"Morning." Your voice comes out rough, throat raw from crying or screaming or maybe both. You can't quite remember.

The coffee is hot against your palms, almost too hot, but you hold onto it anyway because it gives you something to focus on that isn't the pounding in your head or the hollow ache in your chest.

"You sleep okay?" Sammy asks, hovering near the door like he's afraid to come too close, like you're a wild animal that might bolt.

You nod, not trusting your voice yet. "Yeah... thank you. For letting me crash here."

"Of course," Sammy mutters, looking down at his own mug.

The memories from last night come back in fragments, disjointed and painful. Leaving the Pike house through the back gate, tears streaming down your face, mascara probably running in black streaks. Finding Eddie smoking by his van in the driveway, asking him to tell Robin and Nancy not to worry about you. The look on his face—concern mixed with understanding, like he knew exactly what had happened upstairs even though you didn't say a word.

You didn't want to face Robin. Didn't want to see the pity in her eyes or hear her try to make excuses for Steve or worse—didn't want to hear her say she'd warned you this would happen, that getting involved with Steve was always going to end badly.

And you didn't want to face anyone else either. But someone who felt safe enough, someone who wouldn't ask questions or demand explanations, was Sammy.

You'd arrived at his frat house around midnight, still crying, and he'd seemed surprised to see you. Especially since you still hadn't really talked to him except for that one awkward encounter in the library and the brief exchange about picking up your things.

But he didn't ask questions. Didn't demand to know what happened or who hurt you. He pulled you inside, gave you a glass of water, and told you that you could take his bed. That he'd sleep in the common room downstairs.

You'd crawled into his bed fully clothed and cried into his pillow until you finally passed out from exhaustion sometime after two in the morning.

He slept on the couch in the common room, and you don't know whether to feel guilty, relieved, or disappointed about that. Guilty because he gave up his bed for you. Relieved because you couldn't handle anything more complicated last night. Disappointed because—

You cut that thought off before it can finish forming.

You rub your face with one hand, the other still clutching the coffee mug like a lifeline, and swing your legs off the bed. Your feet hit the cold floor, and the shock of it helps clear your head slightly. You chew on your bottom lip, and your stomach sours at the memories flooding back.

Yesterday morning feels like a lifetime ago. Waking up happy, excited about spring break, thinking about Steve and the planetarium and the way he'd looked at you like you hung the moon. Everything had been honey and sweet and perfect, and you had no idea it was all about to crumble.

What changed? What did you do wrong? What did Robin say to him in the car that made him look at you like you were nothing?

Sammy clears his throat, pulling you back to the present. "I, uh... need to leave soon. Going home for spring break. Not trying to rush you out or anything—you can stay as long as you need. I don't mind."

You look over at him, really look at him for the first time this morning. He's a good person. Kind, patient, understanding. All the things you should want.

"Sorry, yeah. I'll leave now." You stand up, and the movement makes your head pound harder, dehydration and hangover and heartbreak all mixing together into one miserable cocktail.

You hate that you can still smell Steve on you—his cologne mixed with the smell of sex and sweat, clinging to your skin, your hair, your clothes. It makes you want to vomit. Makes you want to scrub yourself raw in the shower until every trace of him is gone.

You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, and you rub them aggressively, refusing to cry in front of Sammy. You put on your shoes—the ones you'd kicked off carelessly last night, now sitting neatly by the door where Sammy must have moved them.

"Hey," Sammy says your name gently, softly, like you're something fragile that might break. "Everything okay?"

"What?" You shoot up too fast, and your head pounds in protest. "Oh... yeah. I'm fine. I'm—" You look at him, really look at him, and you wonder what's wrong with you. Here's someone who is simple and easy and showed genuine interest in you. Someone who wanted to know you, who asked you out properly, who didn't play games or set up impossible rules.

"I'm sorry," you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

"What for?" He tilts his head, still looking hesitant, unsure.

"For never really allowing us to have a shot." You mean it to a degree, though your feelings are so clouded and confused right now that you're not sure you mean anything you say. 

Sammy looks taken aback, eyebrows rising. He shrugs, trying for casual but not quite hitting it. "It's okay. Really."

"No... I..." And then you understand why you feel so horrible, why the guilt is sitting so heavy in your stomach. "It's not cool what I did to you. Making you feel disposable or used. I'm really sorry."

Sammy doesn't argue against it, which somehow makes it worse. He nods in acknowledgment, arms crossing over his chest. "Look, I... know I wasn't the best either. I wanted to know things about you, but I didn't want you to feel smothered or pressured or anything like that. I was trying to give you space, but maybe I gave you too much."

You can't help it—feeling vulnerable and raw and desperate for something that makes sense. "Do you still want to know things about me?"

Sammy laughs, a real smile breaking through the awkwardness. "Of course I want to know things about you." Then his expression shifts, going shy, earnest. "But... not like the way before. Not casual. Properly, like..." He pauses, gathering courage. "Like dating. Like... I don't know. Like a boyfriend."

Your breath hitches, caught in your throat.

You feel a flash of anger at Steve for breaking his own rules, for making "once a month" meaningless, for letting you get close enough to fall. If he'd kept his distance, if he'd stuck to the original arrangement, maybe you'd feel less confused. Maybe you could see yourself as Sammy's girlfriend. Sammy, who knows what he wants. Sammy, who isn't afraid to say it.

"I..." You don't know what to say. Don't know what you want. Don't know anything except that everything hurts.

"You don't have to answer now," Sammy says quickly, seeing the panic on your face. "Think about it. Over break. And when we get back, you can let me know."

You nod, grateful for the escape, and leave before he can say anything else.

When you get back to your dorm, Robin and Nancy are both there, and they visibly relax when you walk through the door.

"Oh thank god," Robin says, launching herself at you and pulling you into a tight hug. "Eddie said you left with him but wouldn't say where you went. I was worried."

"I'm fine," you lie, extracting yourself from her embrace. "Sorry I disappeared."

"Where'd you go?" Robin asks, and there's genuine concern in her eyes, no judgment.

For once, you're honest. "Sammy's."

Nancy, who's been sitting quietly on Robin's bed, perks up. "Who's Sammy?"

Robin grins, immediately latching onto the distraction, her voice going sing-song. "Hot Shot's boooyfriend."

Nancy looks confused, glancing between you and Robin.

"He's not my boyfriend," you say quickly, turning away to hide your expression. Then you sigh, because you need at least one thing out in the air, one burden not sitting solely on your shoulders. "But he did ask to be. This morning."

Robin gasps, bouncing slightly. "What'd you say?"

Nancy's expression stays neutral, but her eyes are sad, knowing.

You turn away from both of them, pretending to look through your suitcase for tomorrow's flight, organizing clothes you've already organized three times. You chew on your bottom lip, the skin already raw from nervous biting. "I told him I'd think about it over spring break and let him know."

Your words come out soft, uncertain, and when you turn back around Robin is squealing like it's the best news she's heard all year. But Nancy is looking at you with sad, sympathetic eyes that see right through you.

The next morning, everyone is packed into Eddie's van again—bright and early to drive to the nearest airport. The sun is barely up, the sky still that pale gray-pink of dawn, and you're all moving like zombies, running on coffee and determination.

Steve looks rough. Rougher than you've ever seen him. He's wearing sunglasses even though the sun isn't up yet, a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, and he hasn't said a word to anyone. His jaw is tight, shoulders tense, and he radiates an energy that says don't fucking talk to me.

You hear Eddie tell Robin in a low voice, "He's got a hangover. Drank more beers than I could count last night. Found him passed out on the bathroom floor around three."

Robin winces, glancing at Steve with concern, but she doesn't approach him.

In the van, Steve puts headphones on and plays his Walkman, sitting in the front passenger seat with his head pressed against the window. You can see his reflection in the glass—eyes closed, jaw clenched, looking like he's in actual physical pain.

You're in the back with Robin and Nancy, trying not to stare at the back of his head, trying not to notice the way his shoulders curve in like he's trying to make himself smaller.

Before you take the highway to the airport, Eddie makes one last stop. Your heart sinks when you see bright red hair, a cheerful wave, a familiar face standing on the curb.

Polly.

Steve is the one who gets out, greeting her with a side hug that looks stiff and uncomfortable. He takes her luggage—a large pink suitcase covered in stickers—and throws it in the back of the van. The force of it hits the back of your seat hard enough that you feel it, and you snap around to look at him.

His jaw tightens when he sees you looking. He slams the trunk shut without a word.

Polly crawls into the van, all smiles and sunshine, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "Thank you guys so much for letting me join last minute!" She turns to you specifically, beaming. "Especially for letting me room with you! We're going to have so much fun."

You look at Robin and Nancy, and neither of them looks surprised by this news. They already knew. Everyone knew except you.

Finally, Steve turns and looks at you—still wearing those sunglasses so you can't see his eyes. "Shit, sorry. Must have slipped my mind to mention it. Hope you don't mind."

You could punch him. For putting you in this position, for making you the bad guy if you say anything. How did they even manage to find another plane ticket so last minute? Spring break flights are always booked solid.

But you can't tell Polly no. Can't say you do mind without looking like a petty bitch. So you force your best smile, the one that doesn't reach your eyes but looks convincing enough. "Of course not! We're going to have a blast."

Polly squeals and throws her arms around you, and you catch Steve's expression over her shoulder—something that might be guilt or might be satisfaction. You can't tell with the sunglasses.

Polly ends up sitting next to you on the plane, chattering away about how excited she is and how she's never been to Miami before. Steve sits next to Eddie several rows ahead, and Nancy and Robin are somewhere in the back—you can hear Robin's laugh occasionally, bright and happy.

You watch Steve flag down the flight attendant for his third glass of whiskey, even though it's not even noon yet. He and Eddie are the only ones old enough to order alcohol on the flight, and Steve seems determined to take full advantage.

Polly is a talker, and you find yourself not shying away from the conversation. In fact, you hate how much you actually like her. She's studying to be a STEM major, still figuring out if she wants to go into pre-med eventually. She's smart and funny and kind, and under different circumstances, you could see yourself being friends with her.

Which somehow makes everything worse.

The plane lands in Miami in the early afternoon, and the moment you step off and into the airport, you're hit with a wall of humid heat. It's different from the heat back home—thicker, wetter, smelling like salt and tropical flowers and jet fuel.

Outside, palm trees sway in the breeze. The sky is impossibly blue, dotted with white puffy clouds that look like they were painted on. You can hear the distant sound of car horns, music playing from someone's radio, the chatter of tourists in a dozen different languages.

They all pile into a bus that will take them to the resort, bags shoved into the overhead compartments. Nancy tells everyone that Jonathan will meet them for dinner that night—he's been on set all day but will be done by six.

The resort is huge, sprawling across what looks like several acres of beachfront property. It's packed with other college-aged students, all in various states of undress—bikini tops and swim trunks, sunglasses and flip-flops. The lobby is chaos, people checking in and out, bellhops rushing around with luggage carts, the smell of chlorine from the pool mixing with sunscreen and coconut.

It's not a fancy hotel, but it's not trashy either. It seems designed specifically to encourage partying—the staff all look young and fun, wearing Hawaiian shirts and leis, and there's already a group doing shots at the tiki bar even though it's barely two in the afternoon.

Eddie manages to flirt with a bellhop—a cute guy with dark curly hair and dimples—into sneaking a bottle of rum into his room without charging for it. Eddie winks at him, slips him a twenty, and the bellhop grins and promises to "take good care" of him.

You're able to forget about the tension and anger and sadness for a few minutes, caught up in the energy of the place, the excitement of being somewhere new.

Until you get stuck in an elevator with Steve and Polly, heading to the same floor because of course you are. Because someone—you and Steve—made the stupid decision to have his room and your room right next to each other.

The elevator is small, mirrored on three sides, and you can see infinite versions of yourself standing stiffly in the corner while Steve and Polly chat. He's taken off his sunglasses now, and you can see his eyes are bloodshot, the skin underneath dark and puffy.

Steve only talks to Polly, catching up about school, asking about her classes. She mentions his big test next Thursday, and he motions to the backpack slung over his shoulder that apparently contains his textbooks.

"Gotta study," he says, and his voice sounds rough, damaged. "Can't fuck this up."

You stare at the elevator numbers, watching them tick up. Third floor. Fourth floor. Fifth floor.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Polly bounds out first, already digging in her purse for the room key. You follow more slowly, and you can't help but watch Steve over your shoulder.

He glances at you briefly—so quick you almost miss it—and there's something in his expression you can't read. Then he turns and disappears into his room, letting the door swing shut behind him with a decisive click.

"Oh my god!" Polly squeals, and you turn to see her standing in your doorway, looking inside with wide eyes. "We have a balcony!"

She runs inside, and you follow, dropping your bags just inside the door. Polly is already sliding open the glass door to the balcony, the sound of crashing waves immediately filling the room along with the smell of salt and seaweed.

She steps out onto the balcony and leans over the railing, breathing deeply. "We don't have water this pretty in Texas," she sighs dreamily, looking out at the ocean—turquoise and sparkling in the afternoon sun, waves rolling in steady and hypnotic.

She turns back to you, beaming. "Do you want to go down to the beach with me? I'm dying to feel the sand between my toes."

You look at the clock on the nightstand. It's barely three. Dinner isn't until six. You should go, should say yes, should try to have fun.

"Oh... uh... I'm feeling a little tired. I think I might take a nap before dinner."

"Okay!" Polly shrugs, already stripping off her clothes right there in the middle of the room. "I'll ask the others."

You look away quickly, startled by her lack of self-consciousness.

Polly gasps. "I'm sorry! I should've asked if that makes you uncomfortable."

"Oh, no... I didn't expect it, is all." It's not like you and Robin don't get dressed in front of each other. But you and Robin are best friends. You barely know Polly.

Polly continues to undress, and you try not to look, try to give her privacy. But you catch a glimpse anyway as she pulls on her bikini top—a fresh purple hickey on her breast, just visible above the line of her swimsuit.

Your stomach drops. Tears prick at your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

"I think I'm going to take a shower first," you manage to say, stumbling toward the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

You run the shower as hot as it will go, strip off your clothes, and finally let yourself cry. Really cry, the way you've been holding back since last night. Ugly, gasping sobs that echo off the tile, mixing with the sound of running water.

Two hours later, the phone on the nightstand rings, jarring you awake. You'd fallen asleep without meaning to, curled up on top of the covers in your towel, hair still damp.

You grab the receiver, groggy and disoriented. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Nancy. We're meeting at the restaurant downstairs in forty minutes. The one off the lobby. You can't miss it."

"Okay," you mumble, still half-asleep. "I'll be there."

You hang up and drag yourself out of bed, finally bothering to put on actual clothes. You wander over to the balcony, sliding the glass door open and stepping out into the warm evening air.

The sun is lower now, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and purple. The beach is still packed with people—students playing volleyball, couples walking hand in hand at the water's edge, groups gathered around bonfires even though it's not dark yet.

The breeze is warm and smells like salt and sunscreen and grilled seafood from one of the beachside restaurants. Seagulls cry overhead, wheeling in lazy circles.

Then you hear laughter—familiar laughter—and your eyes are drawn down to the beach below your balcony.

Steve and Polly are walking together, close enough that their arms brush with every step. Steve is wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, unbuttoned enough that you can see his chest, and black swim trunks. His hair is messy from the wind, and he's smiling—actually smiling, not the fake one he's been wearing since yesterday.

Polly is wearing jean shorts and her bikini top—purple, the same one from earlier—and her breasts bounce perfectly with each step. She's laughing at something Steve said, head thrown back, hand coming up to touch his arm.

The jealousy bubbles up inside you again, hot and acidic and all-consuming. You watch Steve look up, like he can feel you watching, and your eyes meet for a fraction of a second before you quickly back away from the railing, heart pounding.

You're out of tears. All cried out. Nothing left but this hollow, aching anger.

Dinner with everyone is surprisingly normal, or at least everyone is pretending it is. The restaurant is open-air, right on the beach, with tiki torches and string lights and a live band playing reggae covers of popular songs.

Robin and Steve seem to have gotten over whatever they were fighting about—or at least they're pretending they have. Though you notice they're not sitting next to each other, not touching the way they usually do when they're playing couple. Maybe it's because they finally don't have to pretend here, where no one knows them.

Robin does lean over occasionally to tell Steve to slow down on his drinking, giving Nancy a knowing look whenever he mutters bitterly, "It's vacation, Rob. I can do what I want."

Before dinner started, Robin had pulled you aside and quietly informed you that Polly knows everything—about the fake relationship, about Robin and Nancy, all of it. "You can trust her," Robin had said.

And that makes more jealousy bubble up inside you. Polly gets to be in on the secrets now. Gets to be part of the inner circle. Gets to be close to Steve in a way you never will be again.

Why did she have to come? Why is she here, inserting herself into this trip, into your room, into your life? Why is she so fucking nice? 

Jonathan spends most of dinner telling everyone about what filming in Miami is like. Which is him spealing most of his day in a golf cart driving different crew members to different sets, but he seems to genuinely love it. He can't talk about the movie—signed an NDA—but maybe he could sneak them onto set one night if they wanted.

Eddie immediately perks up at that. "Hell yes. I want to see behind the scenes of a real movie."

"It's not that glamorous," Jonathan warns, laughing. 

Eventually, as dessert is being served, Polly leans forward with a conspiratorial grin. "So, a boy from UCLA told me about this party on the beach tonight. Like a huge one. Apparently they do it every year during spring break."

"Count me in," Eddie says immediately.

Robin and Nancy exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them, and they both nod.

"We're in," Robin says.

Everyone looks at you. At first, you almost tell Polly you're not going. The thought of going to some massive beach party, of watching Steve flirt with other girls, of pretending everything is fine—it sounds like torture.

But later, back in your room while Polly is getting ready, she insists. "Come on! This is the perfect time to let loose. Get drunk, dance, make out with random people you'll never see again."

She's slipped into another bikini top—red this time, equally small—and jean shorts that sit low on her hips.

And suddenly, the thought of making out with some random stranger to get the lingering taste of Steve Harrington off your lips sounds incredibly appealing.

"Okay," you hear yourself say. "Yeah. Let's go."

The beach party is exactly what you expected—chaos barely contained. There must be two hundred college students packed onto this stretch of beach, music blaring from speakers the size of refrigerators, a bonfire so large it looks dangerous, red Solo cups everywhere.

The air smells like beer and weed and salt water and smoke. The music is so loud you can feel it in your chest, bass thumping with each crashing wave. People are dancing, making out, playing drinking games, swimming in the ocean despite the darkness.

Nancy and Robin disappear into the crowd almost immediately, finally able to dance together and kiss without anyone batting an eye. You catch glimpses of them occasionally—foreheads pressed together, Robin's hands on Nancy's waist, both of them smiling so wide it makes your chest ache. They look free. Finally, truly happy.

Eddie has somehow already made friends with a group of stoners, sitting in a circle and sharing stories about the craziest people he's sold to before. You even take a hit of a joint being passed around, letting the smoke fill your lungs, make everything softer around the edges.

But your focus keeps drifting to Steve, who's drinking a beer and letting some girl roam her hands over him—fingers in his hair, touching his chest, his arms, his face. They're dancing, or what passes for dancing when you're drunk. More like grinding, really.

You notice Steve isn't really paying attention to her. His eyes are distant, unfocused, and he's not touching her back. She's all over him, and he's standing there like a mannequin, letting it happen but not participating.

You can't help it. Angrily, you stand up from the circle, brushing sand off your shorts. You need to get away from this, need to find a drink yourself, need to do something other than watch Steve let that girl touch him.

Instead of finding the makeshift bar, you find yourself walking toward the water's edge, away from the noise and the people and the chaos. You stand there staring at the empty dark sky—no stars visible through the light pollution and cloud cover—with the music still blaring in your ears but more distant now.

You wish you could melt into the water, let the tide carry you out to sea, drift away from all of this. You regret coming on this trip. Regret every choice you've made this year. Regret Steve Harrington and his stupid rules and his beautiful face and the way he made you feel things you didn't want to feel.

You see Jonathan off to the side, away from the main party, nursing a beer and looking out at the ocean. And you can't help it—you walk up to him, and he looks startled when you appear at his elbow.

"What did you mean?" you ask without preamble. "At the camping trip. You said Steve talks about me all the time. Why?"

Jonathan's eyes widen, and he looks like a deer caught in headlights. "Oh... uh... what?"

"You told me that he talks about me. Why does he talk about me, Jonathan?"

Jonathan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I... I don't think it's my place—"

"Please, Jonathan." Your voice comes out teary, desperate, and you hate yourself for it. You're buzzed from the drinks and the joint, and everything feels too big, too raw.

He looks at you for a long moment, clearly debating whether to tell you. Then he sighs again, deeper this time.

"I don't know exactly. He brings you up a lot when we talk. Tells me about things you do, things you say. How cool you are and you don't even know it. How you're different from other girls he's—" Jonathan cuts himself off, looking uncomfortable. "He told me that you're pretty. That if things were different, he'd ask you on a date. But..."

"But?" you demand, voice shaky, tears threatening.

Jonathan looks down at the sand, digging his foot into it. "You know why. Robin."

"But Robin isn't even—" You stop yourself, because Jonathan knows. He knows it's fake. "Right. Robin."

Jonathan looks at the ocean, giving you privacy for your pain. "I'm sorry. I really am."

You look out at the dark water, waves rolling in steady and relentless. "I fucking hate him."

"No, you don't," Jonathan says quietly.

You snap your head toward him. "Yes, I do."

He gives you a knowing look, sad and sympathetic. "Our brains can get hate and love mixed up sometimes, you know? The wires cross."

The tears burn hot against your cheeks, and you don't bother wiping them away. The ocean breeze is cool on your wet face.

"Let me take you back to your room," Jonathan says gently. "You look exhausted."

You don't argue, and you let him guide you back across the beach, trudging through sand that keeps getting in your shoes, making each step harder.

Polly spots you halfway to the hotel and runs up, slightly out of breath, giggling. "Hey, uh..." She looks sheepish. "Don't worry about me if I don't make it back to the room tonight, okay?" Then her expression shifts, concern creeping in. "Wait, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. I'm tired. Jonathan's walking me back." You nod, and you're not sure if you're pissed that Polly gets to enjoy her night with whoever she wants while you feel alone and miserable, or if you're grateful she won't be there to witness your breakdown.

Jonathan walks you all the way to your door, and you thank him quietly.

Before he leaves, he stops you with a hand on your arm. "If you need anything—anything at all—let me know. I'm in room 412."

You nod, watching him walk back down the hall toward the elevators, his footsteps muffled by the hallway carpet.

You end up actually taking a shower this time, sand everywhere making you feel uncomfortable and grimy. You scrub your skin until it's red, wash your hair twice, trying to wash away the feeling of Steve's hands on you, the memory of his skin against yours.

You take one last look outside from the balcony, down at the party still raging on the beach a few hundred yards away. You wonder if Steve is making out with that girl he was dancing with. Wonder if he's thinking about you at all, or if you've already been completely erased from his mind.

A feeling of resentment toward Robin arises—sharp and unexpected and unwelcome. But you quickly push it away, not ready to examine the complicated depths of your friendship with her, especially when she has no idea what's been happening. None of this is her fault. She didn't know. She couldn't have known.

You can't sleep. You toss and turn, tangling yourself in the sheets, punching the pillow, trying to find a comfortable position. You tell yourself it's because of the music from the beach, still faintly audible through the closed balcony door. But really, you can't stop your brain from thinking.

Around two in the morning, you hear the door to the next room—Steve's room—finally close.

You try to talk yourself out of it. Try not to get up, not to open your door, not to stare at the door next to yours. But you fail. You find yourself standing in your doorway in your pajamas, staring at Steve's door like it holds all the answers.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you knock three times. Quick, light, barely audible. You're already turning to run back to your room when the door opens.

Polly stands there in a towel, hair wet, face flushed. She looks surprised to see you, but she's smiling that bashful smile that means something just happened.

Inside, you can hear the bathroom door open, the shower still running. Someone—Steve—humming in the shower. Some song you don't recognize, voice slightly off-key, and it's so painfully domestic it makes your chest constrict.

Your eyes widen. "Oh... sorry!"

Polly looks at you questioningly, head tilting. "It's okay... do you need something?"

Your mind blanks. You can't tell her the truth—that you wanted to see Steve, to yell at him or kiss him or both. "Is there an extra pillow? There weren't any in our room."

It's a terrible lie. You have plenty of pillows.

Polly's smile widens. "Oh! Yeah, hold on." She closes the door, and you stand there in the hallway feeling like an idiot, listening to Steve's muffled humming through the wall.

She comes back with a pillow—one of the decorative ones from the bed. "Here you go!"

You stand there for a moment, both of you looking at each other awkwardly. You can smell Steve's cologne wafting out from the room, mixed with steam from the shower and something else. Something that makes your stomach turn.

"Right. Thanks. See you... tomorrow," you manage, and then you bolt back to your room like something is chasing you.

You wrap yourself in your bed, pulling the covers over your head like you did as a kid when you thought there were monsters in the closet. Hiding from things that couldn't actually hurt you, except this time the monster is real and it's wearing Steve Harrington's face.

You listen to the distant music from the beach party still going, gradually getting quieter as people filter back to their rooms.

And then you hear it.

The wall across from your bed starts thumping. The rhythmic sound of a bed hitting against thin plaster, over and over. Creaking springs. A high-pitched moan that definitely isn't Steve.

Then Steve's voice, low and rough, saying something you can't make out. Another moan, louder this time. The unmistakable sounds of two people coming together, of pleasure, of intimacy.

The thumping gets faster. The moans get louder. And you lie there in your bed, covers pulled up to your chin, choking on a sob you refuse to let out.

The sounds reach a crescendo— Polly’s whines, Steve groaning, the bed slamming against the wall one final time before everything goes quiet except for heavy breathing and low murmurs.

You know with absolute certainty now that you would never be the exception. That what Steve said was true—he was bored of you. That everything he made you feel was a lie, a game, a way to pass the time until something better came along.

And you know with equal certainty that you do fucking hate Steve Harrington.

You hate him for making you fall for him. Hate him for every soft word and gentle touch. Hate him for the planetarium and the tent and the way he looked at you like you mattered.

You wake up Monday morning the same way you had fallen asleep the night before, wrapped up in Matty’s arms. His feet tangled with yours beneath the bedsheets, his knees in the bend of your own, his bare chest pressed to your naked back with no room to spare, his tattooed arms wrapped around your waist to hold you flush against him as his lips pressed softly to the back of your neck. 

The kisses he littered your neck with now were as slow and calculated as his breath that fanned against your skin and raised goosebumps in its path, waking you up in the all too familiar way that he had lulled you to sleep the night before, a task that wasn’t too hard to do after the events that had unfolded.

The way Matty had cleaned you up after spilling inside of you for the first time, eating his own cum out of you as if he was starving for it, moaning and whimpering against your cunt as he licked up every drop of him. It made him so worked up that by the time you were falling apart again, Matty was ready to go for round two. Well, two and a half if you count the way he fingered the cum he spilled inside of you for the second time back where it belonged before making you clean the rest off of his fingers with your tongue. 

You were rather weightless after that, actually thankful to not have Matty between your legs for once after he finally finished playing with you and decided to come cuddle instead. He didn’t even bother with the task of finding the clothes he’d tossed off the side of the bed first before falling into you and murmuring promises you could only hope he’d keep against your skin.

You had found comfort against his frame quickly, unable to ignore the intimacy of it all as you drifted off to sleep naked in his arms, fighting to not think about how perfectly you fit together as if you belonged there all along.

You were nervous to open your eyes now, terrified that it all might be a dream and none of this was real. Not the coffee or the bagels or the dinner he cooked for you, not the soap and shampoo of his you had used and was embedded in your skin and hair if you searched through all the layers of sweat from the night before, not his feelings that he had confessed for you.

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

It’s the last thing you thought about when you fell asleep in his arms last night and the first thing on your mind the second you started to stir awake from the feeling of Matty’s curls brushing against your jaw with his lips pressed softly to the back of your neck this morning. 

Why didn’t you say it back? Why haven’t the two of you talked about it yet? Hell, did he even mean it? Or was he just high on an impending orgasm and drunk on pussy that he was about to spill inside of?

And as insistent as those three little words swirled through your mind all night long, as badly as you wanted to know the truth behind them, you were terrified to know the answer. 

If what he felt for you was real, if he truly meant it, he could tell you tonight.  

Because tonight he’s breaking up with her, tonight he will be single, tonight he will be all yours. 

Finally. 

Matty’s hand slides down your waist and you get chills from his cold fingertips running along the expanse of your naked frame, your stomach flipping when his hand settles at your hip, gripping it in a way that has anticipation creeping up your spine as his kisses grow a little less soft and a lot more filthy. 

You shift in his bed, slow and subtle, hopeful that it wouldn’t make your intentions too obvious as you press your body more flush against his own and turn your neck to the side ever so slightly just to give him more room to work with. 

Matty’s blunt fingernails dig into your hip harshly, enough to bring a jolt of pain and let you know that you hadn’t been subtle at all. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel ashamed, not when he takes the silent invitation and trails filthy, open mouthed kisses along the newfound expanse of your neck in a way that has you gripping the duvet a little tighter and praying that this all wasn’t just some wet dream. 

Matty uses the leverage he has with his hand at your hip to pull you back on him in tune with him pressing against you and you nearly moan at the feeling of his hard length rolling against you. The feeling has you nearly ready to beg for him to lift your leg and slide home as his teeth graze against your neck before he bites down softly and soothes the area with his tongue. 

“You awake?” Matty mumbles against your neck, his voice rough and raspy from sleep, it shoots straight down to your core and makes your thighs clench in a way that Matty surely doesn’t miss. 

“No.” You mumble, nuzzling your head more into the pillow as Matty laughs softly into your neck before littering more kisses up the side until his breath is fanning against the back of your ear, you hum at the feeling. “What time is it?”

“Early.” Matty offers as his tongue licks over the shell of your ear and you can’t help but shiver as he breathes hotly into it. His blunt fingernails dig into your flesh as he rolls his hips against your backside, making you feel as though the rough edge in his tone was due to more than just the early hour. Suddenly you felt wide awake. Matty’s teeth nip at your earlobe before he whispers into your ear. “Roll over.”

The raspy command served as a bucket of ice water, effectively removing what tiredness that lingered behind your eyes as you finally opened them softly and took in the sight of the navy sky out the window adjacent to the bed and drew the conclusion that it was in fact early, nowhere near the time the alarm was set for. 

You hum as if you were considering it, nuzzling your face deeper into the pillow as if you were going to fall back asleep even as your hips roll back against his own in a way that makes him moan into your neck and causes you to feel all too powerful. 

“Oh, don’t tell me that you woke me up just so you could fuck me.” You tease in a faux annoyed tone, your toes already curling just from the feeling of his hard length grinding against you in desperation. 

“You woke up on your own.” Matty argues, pinching your hip as he smiles against your neck and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes softly despite the fact that he couldn’t even see you. “C’mon baby, roll over.” Matty tempts you yet again, the desperation clear in his raspy tone as his lips trail down the side of your neck until he’s kissing along the backs of your shoulders. “Know you want my cock.”

And you couldn’t help the way your stomach flips as the filthy words melt again your skin, feeling a bit embarrassed by how true that statement was because even though Matty had fucked you every which way for two days straight, you still wanted more, you still craved him. He was like a terrible addiction that you just couldn’t seem to kick. 

“Or,” You draw the word out and Matty is already digging his teeth softly into your shoulder at the sound. “you could use your right hand?” You offer, rolling your hips back against his own for extra measure as you tease. “Haven’t you had enough of me already?”

And you were fully prepared for Matty to grab you by the hips and roll you over himself, manhandle you in a way that would have you begging for him to fuck the brat out of you. So you couldn’t help but feel shocked when Matty smiles against your shoulder, digs his teeth a little harsher into the flesh before mumbling against your skin. 

“Okay.” He concedes, pressing one final kiss to your shoulder and giving your hips a squeeze as his rough, raspy tone conveys that he was about to snatch all that power from you. “Whatever you say, princess.”

And then he was gone. 

His body rolls away from your own so quickly that it pulls your stomach down to your toes that were uncurling at the loss of him, your body already growing cold from the lack of warmth, your heart racing out of fear that you had just teased your way out of getting what you really wanted. 

Maybe being a brat was finally about to bite you in the ass.

You hear Matty shuffling behind you, your body moving slightly with every dip and movement from the mattress beneath all of Matty’s shifting as he settles into a comfortable position. You knew that he was only testing you, teasing you, seeing how far he could go before you caved in and admitted defeat like you always did. 

You told yourself that you’d stay strong and keep your back turned towards him, knowing that if you even glanced his way that you’d be wrapped around his finger and that was exactly what he wanted. 

But he was the one who was so desperate for it that he pulled you out of your slumber just to have you, he was the one who started this whole mess in the first place, surely he’d be the one to break first. He’d probably only last four or five pumps of his right hand before crawling back to you, begging for you in ways you’d only dreamed of. 

And that all might have been true but you’d never know because all Matty had to do was moan once and you were caving, quick to turn over so you could watch the show he was so loudly putting on for you.

And my god, did he look downright filthy doing it. 

The duvet was thrown off of his body in a half hazard manner to fully expose his naked frame that was all too tempting. Your tongue thickens at the sight of his mouth dropped open in a long drawn out moan that was surely exaggerated, his face screwed in pleasure as his hand pumps his length slowly, precum already leaking from the tip and making you wonder what Matty could have possibly dreamed about to make him this desperate. 

“Matty.” His name falls off your tongue in a breathless whisper that makes him groan at the sound and you couldn’t help but feel envious of his own hand bringing him the pleasure and not yours. 

Though, you didn’t necessarily mind watching it all unfold. Even as the jealousy for his hand burned through your veins, the desire you felt for the man pleasuring himself under your watchful eye pooled even hotter between your thighs that clenched as a deep moan rips from his throat. 

You were mesmerized by the sight of him. The way his thick eyebrows furrowed with every moan fallen from his tongue. The way his dark eyes would roll when he’d squeeze the base a little before dragging back up to the tip. The way the veins in his hand flex with each passing pump and the way his face crumbles in pleasure at the sensation. He was impossible to pull your eyes away from. 

“Fuck.” Matty groans, his left leg twitches next to your thigh from the jolt of pleasure his hand brings him, hissing as he swipes his thumb over the tip. “Was dreaming about you.” He confirms in a ragged voice that has your thighs clenching all over again, cursing under his breath and barely heard through the slick sounds of him pumping himself. “Y-Your mouth.”

And oh, maybe you still held all the power after all. 

“Yeah?” Your own voice barely more than a whisper, biting your lip as you inch closer to the older man, the duvet falling down your frame as you slide your hand across the mattress until your fingertips are brushing against his arm. Matty twitches at the contact. “This what you usually do when you dream about me?” Your tone was innocent enough, a complete contrast to your hand that slides across his arm and down his abdomen until it joins over his own pumping himself, guiding his hand in a pace you deemed worthy. “About my mouth?”

“Fuck.” Matty groans, his dark eyes quick to fall on the sight of your hand over his own that guided his hand to pump his cock in a much more antagonizingly slow pace than he had set before. “Y-Yeah.” He nods, his curls tangling against the pillow beneath his head as your own leans forward enough to where you could press a kiss to his abdomen. “C-Can’t help it, you drive me so fucking crazy.”

“Oh, I know.” You mumble against his skin through a smile and a patronizing tone that has Matty desperate to pick up the speed of his hand over his length but your grip over his own prevents him from doing so. “You called me last time, remember?” 

You tease and the memory of your own hand between your thighs beneath the bedsheets as you listened to Matty whine and beg for you burns through your veins until you’re dizzy. 

“You couldn’t do it on your own, had to have me talk you through it.” Your lips grow more bold against his abdomen, trailing open mouth kisses as filthy as the desires in your mind down his stomach until his fingertips are brushing against your cheek with each passing pump. “Just like now, hm?” Your teeth graze over the rose tattooed on his lower stomach. “Can’t do it on your own, have to wake me up to do it for you.”  

“I can take care of it myself, sweetheart.” Matty argues with a smug grin that you wipe clean by licking over his rose tattoo. “But why would I want to when I have a perfectly filthy princess laying right next to me?”

And you couldn’t help the way your core clenches through the way you practically preen at his words, effectively knocking his own hand out of the way so you could fully take over his pleasure now and Matty groans at the feeling of your softer fist pumping his length. 

“How often?” You mumble against his skin, trailing open mouth kisses across his lower stomach until you’re peppering them up the length of his cock. 

“W-What?” Matty gasps, his dark eyes burning a hole through your head as you pump him slowly and kiss over the veins just as much. 

“How often do you dream about me?” You clarify, blinking up at him in an all too innocent way as your plump lips pout against his cock in a kiss that he crumbles at. “How many times have you wished your hand was my mouth instead?”

“Fuck, baby.” Matty groans, his cock twitching in your hold as your tongue sticks out to follow a vein up the side of his length. “E-Every time, been picturing you since the day I-I met you.” His words have a sinister image burning through your mind of a blonde head of hair between his thighs as he fights to not moan your name instead and you can’t help but hope he’s slipped up at least once as you kiss up his length. “But it’s never enough, never as good as you.”

And god, if that didn’t make the image burning through your mind travel down to pool between your legs until you were finally caving. 

“‘Course not.” You giggle, sliding your head down his cock to squeeze at the base before staring up at Matty’s with a smirk as you lean forward to kitten lick his tip and you weren’t quite sure if his dark eyes were rolling at your words or the pleasure he was already drunk on. “I could’ve told you that.”

Matty huffs out a laugh, shaking his head softly as his fingers thread through your hair in a way you can’t help but nuzzle into until you’re gasping from the quick pain of them twisting your strands. 

“No, it’s never as good when I don’t have a bratty fucking mouth to fill.” Matty coos, that condescending tone dripping off his tongue and letting you know that at the end of the day, he was always the one in control. “So maybe you should fill yours before you get too ahead of yourself.”

And while every stubborn bone in your body is screaming at you to stand your ground, to not cave and give him what he wants at the first tremble of dominance in his tone, to make him beg for you, you couldn’t. 

Not when he was looking at you like this, not when his fingers were threaded through your hair and tugging so sharply it sprung tears to your eyes. Not when his cock was already right in front of you, leaking precum and practically begging for you to lick it up.

The desire to please the older man burned through your veins more than what was pooled between your thighs and you couldn’t help but lean forward and cave to give Matty exactly what he wanted, like you always did. 

“Oh my god.” Matty groans, his stomach rising and falling in quick succession with the pants falling from his tongue as your mouth slides down his cock in a way that makes him breathless “Oh my- fuck, baby.” Matty whines, his fingers tugging on your hair out of instinct as you pull him in until your nose is brushing against your fingers still wrapped around the base of his cock. “S-Shit.”

You nearly smile around a mouth full at the desperation pouring from Matty’s tongue, swallowing around him before slowly pulling off of his length and pumping your hand over him in your absence. 

“What’s got you so worked up?” You pout, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly and relishing in the way Matty was already panting through pink stained cheeks. 

“Don’t tease me.” Matty says through a clenched jaw that tightens at the sight of you sticking your tongue out to swirl around his tip in an obscene manner that makes his cock twitch. “You- fuck, please don’t tease me, baby.” Matty begs as his fingers tighten in your hair, his tongue peeking out to lick over his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth. “I-I need you, please, I- fuck.”

Matty gasps out a choked off moan at the feeling of your lips wrapping around his tip before sliding down his length once more, his face quick to crumble in pleasure when you obey his wishes and choose to bob your head in a brain melting rhythm as your hand pumps what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. 

“S-Shit, baby.” Matty whines, tossing his head back against the pillows in a moan pulled from his toes as you suck his cock as if you had something to prove. 

And really, you did. 

That insistent image of a blonde head of hair in your exact position right now fueled your need to give him a blowjob as filthy as your desire to ensure that she’d never be on her knees for him again without him thinking of you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you focus on the task at hand, twisting your hand at the base of his cock while your head bobs in a perfect rhythm that pulls pitiful whines from Matty’s throat that you could barely hear over the obscene sound of you swallowing around him. 

“My god.” Matty groans, deep and rugged as his other hand comes to join his fingers already wrapped in your hair until all your strands are pulled into a messy ponytail to keep it out of your face while you work. “Fuck.”

You fight off a smile as you hallow your cheeks and bob your head a little faster before pulling off of him so you could take a deep breath, quick to pump your hand in the absence of your mouth that was still connected to his cock through a string of spit linked from your bottom lip to his tip. 

You glance up at the older man and he crumbles at the sight of you, gripping the makeshift ponytail a little tighter as he hisses. 

“Y-You’re so fucking pretty, baby.” Matty stutters through breathless pants as you pepper kisses down his length before tracing a vein up the side with your tongue and swallowing him back down. “Oh, f-fuck, princess.” He groans as his thigh twitches from the pleasure of you swallowing around him. “So fucking pretty with your mouth stuffed full of my cock.”

You couldn’t help but moan around his length as his filthy words wash over you and settle between your thighs that clenched in a desperate attempt to ease some of the ache between them. The vibrations only have Matty tightening his grip on your makeshift ponytail for some form of purchase as spit drools from the corners of your swollen lips from how filthy and obscene you were sucking him off. 

You pump what you couldn’t fit in your mouth a few more times before pulling your hand away in favor of taking a deep breath through your nose and relaxing your throat before sinking your throat down further and further on Matty’s cock until he’s whimpering and your nose is brushing against the hair on his abdomen.

“F-Fuck, I- oh my god.” Matty gasps, his grip on your hair tight as ever as you hold yourself in place and blink away the tears brimming at your eyes as you deepthroat him. “Shit, princess.” He whines, his thighs trembling beneath you as you swallow around him. “You take me so fucking well, baby girl, y-you’re so fucking good for me.” 

Matty brags and you practically preen, rewarding him by swallowing around his cock once more before pulling off of him long enough to catch a breath in a deep gasp that mirrors the one he releases when your swollen lips slide back over him. 

“Such a filthy fucking girl.” Matty groans, struggling to decide if he wanted to stare at your swollen lips wrapped around his cock, the spit pooling out the sides of them or the tears streaming down your face at the stretch of him. “My filthy girl.” He emphasizes and you couldn’t help but moan around him, earning a sharp tug at your hair as the sensation rolls through him. “Would spend all day on her knees sucking Daddy’s dick, wouldn’t she?”

You moan around his cock, nodding as best as you could with a mouth full and his tight grip in your hair as you continue to bob your head and wrap your fist back around his length to pump what you couldn’t fit. 

“Yeah?” Matty coos and his tone of voice is already enough to have your core clenching. “Maybe I should just hide you under my desk all day and keep that pretty mouth of yours busy while I’m in meetings.” Matty tugs on your hair sharply and you moan at the pain. “You’d be more productive that way.” 

Matty teases and you couldn’t help but graze your teeth softly against his cock before doubling your efforts over him, desperate to shut him up and knock him off of his power filled pedestal for once. 

The obscene sounds of you slurping around Matty’s cock echo off the walls bounce back to settle between your thighs that were surely dripping with as much desperation as the spit drooling from your mouth as you bob your head faster, pump him quicker, pulling out all the stops to make him fall apart down your throat. You woke up craving the taste. 

“Fuck me.” Matty groans, tossing his head back in a long, drawn out moan before rolling it to the side so he could watch the show you were putting on for him. “I-I- shit, princess, oh my god.” He hisses, tightening his hold on your makeshift ponytail and pulling so harshly it springs a fresh set of tears to your eyes as he pants through breathless moans. “F-Fuck, baby, I’m s-so fucking close.”

And you couldn’t help but take a page out of Matty’s own book and pull off his length just in time to make him whine at the loss, to drive him crazy as you blink up at him innocently and tease. “Already?”

Matty’s fingers tighten in your hair and thrill creeps up your spine at the dangerous look in his eye as his cock twitches in your hand that still pumps him slowly. 

“Don’t get fucking smart.” Matty warns through a hard face that crumbles when you lean forward to kitten lick his tip that was red and leaking precum. “Fuck, get up here.” Matty groans, tugging on your hair in an attempt to pull you up towards him and repeating the action a little harsher when you just stare up at him in confusion. “Come on, don’t make me say it again.” 

And while your eyebrows were still furrowed in confusion, you’re quick to obey and scramble to climb up Matty’s body through his hands tangled in your hair that guided you. Matty releases the makeshift ponytail he had made in your hair in favor of settling his hands down at your waist and manhandling you until you were in a position he deemed fit. 

“Don’t wanna cum down your throat, baby.” Matty explains as your knees settle on either side of his hips as he grips your own in one hand while his other trails between the two of you to take hold of his cock, pumping it once or twice before guiding it between your legs and running his tip through your dripping core in a way that makes you crumble through a gasp. “Wanna cum inside of you.”

And whatever words you were about to say get ripped from your throat and replaced by a gasp at the feeling of Matty slowly pushing inside of you, the hand he had used to guide himself was now holding your other hip and gripping the area so tightly you feared it might bruise as he bottoms out in you. 

Your mouth was dropped open in a long drawn out moan as you adjust to the burning stretch of his length inside of you, your face screwed in pleasure as your manicured nails dig into the heart tattooed on Matty’s chest as you grow accustomed to the feeling, gasping from a loose jaw when you clench around him softly. 

“Fuck me, you feel so good.” Matty groans through breathless pants, his mouth curved in a lazy smile as his dark eyes scan over your frame shamelessly. “So fucking pretty when you’re sitting on my cock.”

“Matty.” You sigh, clenching around him tighter now as you dig your nails a little harsher into his chest, your face screwed in pain mixed pleasure at how full you felt. 

“I know, baby.” Matty coos, using the grip he has on your hips to lift you ever so slightly and drop you back down, you both shiver at the pleasure it brings. “Fuck.” Matty groans, his blunt fingernails digging into the flesh until your eyes are locked with his own that fall down into a wink as he smugly teases. “As you were.”

You roll your eyes softly and blush at the implications as you slowly drag your nails down Matty’s chest and sit up a little straighter, staring down at the older man as if you held all the power in the world as you roll your hips in an experimental way that makes his face crumble. 

And oh, how you’d love to see that again. 

You dig your manicured nails into his stomach a little meaner now as you lift your hips up just enough to drop back down and pull a rough moan from his throat, the sound settles in your core and encourages you to repeat the action a little quicker now, desperate to draw more out of him and quick to find a rhythm that gave both of you exactly what you wanted. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” Matty coos. “There she is.” He brags as his dark eyes slowly fall down your frame to settle on the way he was disappearing inside of you, relishing in the view for a few passing bounces before his dark eyes are back on your own. “There’s my good little girl.”

“Matty.” You gasp out his name and the corners of his mouth twitch at the sound, something you knock loose by leaning forward just enough to raise your hips until it was just his tip inside of you before slamming back down on his length in a way that pulls a guttural groan from both of you. 

“Baby.” Matty whines, his blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips as you lift and drop them in a dizzying manner. “Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good.” Matty praises through a moan that has you feeling on top of the world, practically preening on top of him as you ride him with a little more fever now. “Love watching you bounce on my cock.”

And you couldn’t help but crumble a little bit, clenching around his length as you dig your nails into his chest, your rhythm falters a bit and you have to take a deep breath before falling back into it as delicious and mind numbing as before. 

You’d lost count on how many times you’ve rode Matty into his office chair, most of the time with his right hand wrapped around your throat and his left sticking two fingers in your mouth to keep your sounds at bay so you didn’t get caught. Or how many times you’ve bounced in his lap in the backseat of his car during your lunch break on days he didn’t think he could keep you quiet. But you’ve never rode him like this, laid out in a bed, fully in control. 

You slowly trail your manicured nails down his stomach until they were running up your thighs instead, traveling up your own stomach until your hands were capturing your bouncing tits in palms that Matty couldn't be more envious of, his dark eyes glued to the way your hands squeezed your tits as you bounce on his cock in perfect rhythm. 

“What happened to that smart mouth of yours, hm?” The condescending tone drips from his tongue and makes your core clench around him in a way that makes him moan. “I stuff you full with my cock and suddenly you can’t do anything but moan and whimper?”

“Still- fuck.” You cut yourself off to moan, nearly proving his point as you squeeze your tits to relieve some of the pressure and start again. “Still here.” You promise, staring down at him with a wicked gleam in your eye as you tease. “Because I’m still doing all the work.” You emphasize by rolling your hips in a sinful manner as you point out, “I’m fucking you.”

Matty huffs out a laugh and tightens his grip on your hips and really, you should’ve known that was the beginning of the end. 

“Yeah? You think so?” He raises a thick brow, almost challenging you, a smirk slowly breaking out on his face when you nod in response. Matty tsks. “You’re cute.”

Matty plants his feet on the mattress and holds onto your hips tightly as he fucks into you so deeply that you nearly felt him in your stomach. 

“Matty.” You gasp out, face screwed in pleasure when he snaps his hips up into your own yet again before quickly finding a rhythm that puts you back in your place. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Matty practically boasts as he fucks into you with such precision that it was hard to do much of anything other than moan and crumble into him, barely catching yourself on the headboard that you grip tightly as his cock drills into you. 

Your tits hang in Matty’s face at this angle, bouncing with each and every thrust the older man fixed you with and if he tilted his head up just enough he’d be able to-

“Oh my god.” You practically whine as his tongue swirls over your hardened nipple before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking until your eyes are rolling back. “F-Fuck, Matty.”

Matty hums around your nipple, his eyes staring up into yours as his cheeks hollow out from the way he was sucking on your tits as he fucks into you with fever, the mattress squeaking beneath the two of you as you hold ont the headboard tightly for support through it all. 

“So fucking full.” You nearly slur out, so drunk on pleasure that your vision starts to blur. “C-Can feel you in my stomach.”

And almost as though he wanted to test your theory, Matty’s right hand slips away from your hip in favor of spreading out over your stomach just to feel the way it bulges with each passing thrust. Matty smirks against your tit at the feeling and can’t help but press down on your stomach just enough to heighten the feeling of him fucking into you until your arms were shaking and you were a whimpering mess. 

“F-Fuck.” You whine through breathless pants, swallowing down a moan when Matty’s teeth graze over your nipple before swirling delicious circles around it as you attempt to meet his thrusts before eventually giving up and succumbing to the pleasure he was providing. “You know, f-for an old man, your ability to hold off from cumming is actually quite impressive.”

And you weren’t even trying to be a brat this time, it was impressive. A few minutes ago Matty was about to spill down your throat and now it seemed as though he was hell bent on making you fall apart first as his hand pressed down over your stomach trails down lower until his thumb was swirling over your swollen, neglected clit. 

A pitiful whine rips from your throat at the relief and you couldn’t help but become rather dizzy from the feeling of his lips wrapped around your nipple, his cock drilling inside of you and now his thumb swirling tight circles over your clit. You were nearly overwhelmed by all the pleasure coursing through you. 

You stare into Matty’s dark eyes that gleam back up at you and fall into a wink and the sight makes one of your hands fall from the headboard in favor of wrapping around his throat. 

It was a position you had found yourself in many times before, Matty’s hand around your throat, but the roles had never been reversed before. 

You give Matty’s neck a soft, experimental squeeze and the older man practically growls against your tit at the feeling, his dark eyes rolling back softly as he doubles his efforts over you and barrels you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, Matty, I-I’m so fucking close.” You pant, the headboard slamming against the wall in tandem with the powerful thrusts he was fixing you with as his thumb swirls over your clit in tight circles alongside his tongue over your nipple. “I-I’m so- fuck.” You whine, that all too familiar heat climbing up your spine and making you feel numb as you succumb to the pleasure. “M-Matty, I- ah!”

The chord inside of you snaps and you’re falling apart on Matty’s cock, mouth and fingers so intensely that you nearly blackout as your mouth falls open in a silent moan while your orgasm rips through you. 

Your body shakes uncontrollably as Matty continues to fuck you brutally, his hips still drilling, mouth still sucking, thumb still swirling all while your high crashes into you. You could do nothing but lay there and take it while squeezing Matty’s neck for some form or purchase while it all washes over you. 

You weren’t sure if it was due to the inability to hold out any longer, the way your walls were fluttering around his cock as you fell apart on top of him or the way your hand was still wrapped around his throat that sent him over the edge, but he only lasted two more thrusts before he was following in the footsteps of your body that was still trembling through the aftershocks. 

Matty pulled off your tit with a pop in favor of tossing his head back in a deep, guttural groan as he spilled inside of you, his hands quick to find home at your hips to hold you in place as his own body convulsed through a high that he’d been chasing since the dream he had about you. 

You loosen the grip you had on his neck but kept your hand resting there as you watched Matty’s eyes roll back as the waves of his orgasm rolled through him, a pitiful whine ripped from his throat as you clenched around his length to milk him for all that he was worth. You felt more full than ever still stuffed with Matty’s cock and now his cum too, maybe you were filthy after all. 

“Fucking hell.” Matty groans, his head tipped back to stare up at the ceiling as the final waves of his high roll through him, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly through desperate pants. He rolls his head to the side now to look at you with eyes half lidded and still full of lust, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he teases. “Where did that come from?”

You could tell by the gleam in his eye what exactly he was referring to, your hand wrapped around his throat and you couldn’t help but blush. Your cheeks were as hot as the desire for him still burned through you as you stared down at him beneath you, clenching around his length still buried deep within you until he’s groaning and digging blunt fingernails into your flesh. 

You shrug, tracing over the lines of ink tattooed on his chest faintly with your fingertip as you will the pink tint burning your cheeks away. “Felt inspired.”

“Hm.” Matty hums, his mouth twitched into a half smile now as his dark eyes scan down your body quickly as his thumbs rub soothing circles over your hips. “Crazy move to pull out for the first time at this hour.” He teases and you weren’t sure if your blush would ever fade as he pinches your hip softly until you’re looking at him again, his dark eyes quick to fall into a wink. “Not that I mind.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes softly as you mindlessly trace over the heart tattooed on his chest. “What time is it? You never told me.”

Matty hesitates, almost as if he feared your reaction as he mumbles. “5:17.”

Your mouth drops open in a gasp and the hand that had been tracing his tattoos softly comes to smack him on the chest. “You woke me up at five in the morning just to fuck me?”

“Technically you woke up on your own.” Matty defends through a shit-eating grin that makes you want to smack his face instead but you refrain. His hands rub up and down your sides as he tilts his head and coaxes you into forgiving him. “Can’t help it, was craving you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s not like you haven’t had me enough already.” You scoff, rolling your eyes once more while Matty just smiles through it all. 

“Never get enough of you.” Matty argues, rolling his hips enough to make you feel his length that was still inside of you and you fight to ignore the desire already pooling back in your stomach. 

“Don’t get any ideas, mister.” You scold, raising your eyebrow at the older man as you clench around him once more. “I’m going back to sleep until at least seven.”

“Or we could go shower,” Matty offers, capturing your wrist in his hand to bring up to his mouth so he could kiss the inside of it, mumbling against it. “let me clean you up.”

And while the idea was tempting and the feeling of his lips on your wrist had you nearly ready to fold again so soon, you couldn’t help but give him a hard time. 

“I don’t know.” You drag the words out in a song-like manner. “We don’t have to be at work for hours.”

“Well, then that’s plenty of time for me to make it worth your while.” Matty counters with a smug grin spread on his face as if he already knows he’s won because of course he has. “C’mon,” he pinches your hip, tilting his head towards the direction of the bathroom door, surely already planning what position he was going to put you in. “I’ll even cook you breakfast after.”

And how could you possibly say no to that?”

—

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” The words come out in a rushed panicked as Matty grabs the nearest dish towel and starts to scrub over your blouse where the dark liquid was already soaking in. 

Matty had kept his end of the deal and made you breakfast after your long and steamy shower together, leaving you to get ready for the day alone in his bathroom while he cheffed away in the kitchen. The two of you shared the meal over flushed cheeks and tangled feet until it was nearly time to head into the office, quickly cleaning up and sharing a kiss near the sink that sent Matty’s elbow into the mug of coffee in your hands to spill all over your blouse. 

“It’s okay, it’s fine.” You assure through a wince as the hot coffee seeps into your shirt and slightly burns your skin. You watch Matty frantically try and clean you up, his thick eyebrows knit tightly to concentrate as he continues to mumble apologies while getting practically nowhere in getting the stain out. “It’s not going to come out.”

“No, it is, it will.” Matty nods, full of determination as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and reaches to run the dish towel under some water before bringing it back to your blouse, you hiss at the cold feeling. “Fuck, can you just take it off?” And you shoot him a pointed look that Matty just smiles at in response, shrugging as he winks. “So I can get a better grip.”

You roll your eyes but ultimately cave, not wanting to be the subject of all Matty’s scrubbing any longer. You huff as you unbutton your blouse enough to pull it over your head, smacking Matty in the chest with the shirt when his eyebrows raise at the sight of you standing in his kitchen in nothing but a bra and a pencil skirt.

“You know, on second thought, I don’t even think you need a shirt.” Matty practically drools as his dark eyes scan over your chest as if it’s his first time seeing your tits even though he’d had them in his mouth for most of the weekend. 

“Yeah?” You cross your arms over your chest and Matty nods slowly, his eyes locked in on the way your stance pushes your tits up higher. “Well, I’m sure Luke would love to see that.”

And that was enough to snap Matty out of it, the older man quick to take your blouse and lay it down over the counters to try and scrub it out more roughly now that it wasn’t on your body. 

It takes Matty all of a minute to huff and admit defeat. 

“Okay, fine.” He sighs, tossing the dish towel off to the side. “You were right, it's not coming out.” 

“I always am.” You boast, giggling when Matty just rolls his eyes in response. “It’s fine, I can just run home really quick and grab another one.”

Matty stands before you deep in thought, his thick eyebrows nearly quivering as he mulls over an unknown decision in his head before nodding to himself and holding up a finger at you. “Wait here.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion faster than Matty can even take a step away from you. “Where are you going?”

It’s a question that remains unanswered, a question you couldn’t wait any longer to know the answer to as you follow him blindly into his bedroom just in time to see him pulling a pink blouse from the closet. 

You freeze almost immediately, staring at the baby pink fabric held on a hanger between his fingertips and stare at the older man as if he’s grown two heads. 

“Are you serious?” You nearly laugh, glancing back and forth between Matty and the pink blouse. “Is that hers?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name. Not when you had spent the weekend in her apartment, sleeping in her bed. Not when you had just eaten breakfast on her plates, using up the last of her milk. Not when you were standing in her bedroom, staring at a shirt that you were almost positive belonged to her. 

“Well, it’s not mine.” Matty tries to joke, already removing the pink blouse from its hanger and holding it out to you. “Here, you can wear this.”

“I’m not wearing that, are you crazy?” You scoff, taking half a step back and staring at Matty with wide eyes that grow even bigger when Matty looks back at you as if he’s confused as to why you wouldn’t want to. “That’s your girlfriend's shirt, Matty.”

“I know.” Matty nods slowly as if he still doesn’t see your point. “But I don’t see what the big deal is, she hasn’t worn it in ages.” He shrugs, wiggling the shirt in his hands to tempt you to take it. “It’s shoved all the way in the back of her closet, she won’t even notice it’s missing.”

You couldn’t help but notice his refusal to speak the blonde's name, you didn’t know if it was his own conscience or him just following in your footsteps. 

“Or we could avoid the possibility altogether and I could just go home real quick and change?” You offer a plan that seems much more appealing than wearing something that belongs to Farrah. Even the idea of going down the block and buying a new shirt seemed like a better idea than wearing hers. 

“But then you’ll be late.” Matty argues, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“Well, it’s not like Thomas is going to reprimand me.” You shoot back and can’t help but smile at the pointed look Matty throws back, the slight clench in his jaw, the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly on the pink blouse. 

“Of course he won’t, he’d never punish his gold star girl.” Matty spits off with a roll of his eyes that you couldn’t help but giggle at. “But if you’re going to take advantage of the favoritism Thomas has for you, wouldn’t you rather be late because I had my head between your thighs?”

“Matty…” His name falls off your tongue in a warning that he ignored, his long legs already making slow strides towards you and you didn’t even consider backing up. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We don’t if you leave.” Matty nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he comes to stand right in front of you, raising his eyebrow as he offers the temptation on a silver platter. “But if you stay…” 

He trails off, dropping to his knees in the middle of his bedroom at your feet and your stomach practically does a somersault at the sight. He rests the pink blouse over his  own thigh and his hot hands are quick to travel up the side of your leg, fingertips brushing under the hem of your skirt to push it up a little higher so he could lean in to place a kiss at the middle of your thigh that trembles at the contact. 

“Matty, we can’t-” You attempt to stand some ground but Matty is quick to interrupt you. 

“C’mon baby.” He mumbles the plea against your flesh, grazing his teeth over the area before biting down softly in a way that makes your thighs clench, the action doesn’t go unnoticed by the older man. “Just wear the shirt and let me have my way with you.” His hands travel deeper beneath your skirt, his mouth leaving open mouth kisses up the expanse of your thigh and raising goosebumps in its path as his fingertips toy with the waistband of your black thong that you had just put on half an hour ago. “We won’t even be that late. You know I can get you there fast, won’t even need to use my hands.”

You could almost feel the smug smile spreading across his face against your inner thigh as he brags about his ability that you both know he’s more than capable of. And while you had a gnawing feeling in your gut to just go home and change, the overwhelming tingle of Matty placing a soft kiss over your clothed core outweighed your intuition and you found yourself threading your fingers through his already styled curls and caving. 

“Fine, give me the shirt.” You huff, tugging on his hair as some form of punishment for making you agree as you accept the pink blouse that the older man blindly holds up for you to take. You slip your arms through the holes and try to ignore the fact that the blouse was a perfect fit as Matty hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and slowly pulls your thong to the side. “Just try not to wrinkle it while you’re down there.”

—

Shockingly, you and Matty were only a sensible fifteen minutes late to work. 

And it wasn’t shocking because Matty lacked the skill to make you fall apart quickly, but because he didn’t let up when you were falling apart the first time. He didn’t pull his head away from between your thighs until he was satisfied from you crumbling on his tongue twice and you hated the smug smirk plastered on his glistening lips when he finally pulled back because he had made you cum twice in the matter of minutes and he didn’t even use his hands. 

Matty walked in first and you followed a sensible seven minutes behind, knowing Thomas would be more lenient on you for being later. And while you were pretty positive nobody around the office knew about the little affair the two of you had going on, but you couldn’t help but feel like a giant spotlight was placed on you as you walked through the cubicles to make your way into your own office. 

You couldn’t ignore all the stares as you walked by. Jill the receptionist, who looked you up and down when you first stepped out of the elevator. Maeve and Alyssa from accounting, who were whispering until you got too close and then stopped to stare. Even Luke’s eyes lingered on you for a second too long as you walked past his cubicle and made your way down the corridor. 

Christ, could they smell him on you?

Because their lingering stares and hushed whispers were most likely innocent and had nothing to do with you, but you couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that everyone knew. 

And while that was an impossible conclusion for them to draw from something so simple, it wasn’t a crime to show up to work seven minutes later than your coworker, the burning stares as you walked by had you feeling as though maybe you should have sat in Matty’s car for another fifteen first. 

You had finished the walk to your office at a faster pace, quickly shutting the door and locking yourself in with the goal of keeping your distance from Matty for the rest of the day. Because while you were certain you were just on edge, you couldn’t risk it, terrified that a coworker would see the two of you standing by one another and be able to sense that you had just spent the entire weekend being bent over every surface of Matty’s apartment. 

You had made pretty good work of keeping to yourself all morning, quickly becoming lost in paperwork and spreadsheets and losing track of time until three knocks at your door pulled you out of concentration, not even waiting for you to give the okay to come in before opening your office door slowly. 

You sigh, grabbing a stack of papers off the top of your desk and straightening them just to keep your hands busy. 

“Matty, I don’t have time for- Oh!” You glance over at the door and stop dead in your tracks, thankful that you didn’t wait a second longer to look at who was walking into your office before finishing that sentence. “Hey!” 

Your voice was a higher pitch than normal as you shot a forced smile that you could only hope hid the way your face surely fell and paled at the sight of Farrah standing in your doorway. 

“Hey!” Farrah gives you a soft wave and it takes everything in you not to hurl all over your desk just from the sight of her. 

“You’re back early.” It’s the first thing that comes to your mind and you immediately shake your head softly at how stupid you sound, so thrown off by the blonde’s presence that you couldn’t even function properly, quick to give an excuse as to why you’d know that information. “M-Matty mentioned you were coming home tonight, he’s really excited.”

The bile rises up your throat as the lie spills off your tongue, somehow upset over something you had just made up on the spot because what if it was true? What if he was excited to see her?

“Yeah, yeah, I um…” Farrah trails off, her eyes falling to the ground quickly before sighing and bringing them back up to look at you, giving you a smile just as forced as your own. “I’m home.”

You nod slowly, heart racing in your chest as the two of you stare at one another for what felt like an eternity. You were unsure if you had even taken a breath the entire time, desperate to fill the silence in the room and find out why Farrah had come knocking on your door instead of her boyfriends. 

“I’m pretty sure Matty’s in his office right now.” You speak softly, hopeful that she doesn’t notice the tremor in your tone as you try and make a joke to ease the ache in your own chest at the sight of the blonde. “I don’t think you’d be interrupting him or anything, he’s probably just playing solitaire or fucking around on Google.”

The two of you share a giggle and the mixture makes you feel sick. 

“Oh, he’s not.” Farrah waves you off. “He’s um- he’s in a meeting right now. At least, that’s what Jill told me anyway.” The blonde laughs softly and rolls her eyes just as much, picking at the skin around her fingernails as she swallows thickly. “I actually came to talk to you.”

Oh.

You feel dizzy from how quickly your heart drops to your stomach, your ears practically ringing as your heart beats wildly in your chest as the possibilities of what Farrah could possibly be here to talk to you about whirl around in your mind and they all lead back to the same conclusion, she knows. 

“Oh, yeah, of course! Come in.” Your voice is a little too enthusiastic to be deemed natural as you shake your head softly and shift in your office chair to sit more comfortably, suddenly feeling as though you were under a giant microscope as Farrah takes a step further into your office, already closing the door behind her before you have the chance to give her the permission. “You can shut the- okay, perfect, you already did.” You laugh softly, smoothing out sweaty palms on your thighs before gesturing towards the empty chair in front of your desk. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

Farrah nods and follows directions with ease, wiping her own hands on her hips before taking a deep breath and sitting down in the chair across from you while you are stuck holding your breath as you wait for the blonde to finally clue you in as to why she was here so you could stop drawing your own conclusions. 

It takes half a minute of silence and a deep breath before she finally does.

Farrah sighs. “Do you remember the other day when you caught me in Matty’s office drunk?” 

Oh, god. How could you forget? Images of purple lace blur through your mind and oh my god you were about to be sick everywhere. 

“Tipsy.” You nod, mimicking the way Farrah had corrected you when you deemed her as drunk that night and thankfully the joke lands. The blonde huffs out a laugh, you couldn’t help but follow suit and for a second she’s just a girl. “Yeah, I remember.” You nod and quickly assure, “but don’t worry, I-I haven’t said anything to Thomas or anyone about it. I won’t.” You reiterate the genuine promise you had given her a few nights ago. “We said we’d-”

“Forget about it, right.” Farrah finishes for you with a slight nod and a hefty sigh. “And we will, I promise, it’s just-” The blonde cuts herself off to tip her head towards the ceiling, rubbing her hands over her face quickly before facing you again, hesitating before dropping the bomb on you. “You know how I said that I thought Matty was cheating on me?”

The question hits you like a freight train, barely even heard over the ringing in your ears and insistent pound of your heart. You swallow thickly, nervously, practically gulping as you nod. 

“Y-Yeah, I remember.” The nerves clear in your tone, desperate to save yourself from what felt like the inevitable as you try and shift the direction this conversation was headed. “I told you that I really didn’t think that he was and-”

“And I believed you!” Farrah interrupts again and your stomach rolls with nausea. “I-I thought I was crazy.” A laugh full of self pity falls off her tongue as she shakes her head softly, her blue eyes pinning you to your office chair. “But I don’t think I’m so crazy anymore.”

You feel dizzy, your heart nearly beating out of your chest and landing on the desk between the two of you as you stare into the blonde’s teary eyes and the reality of the situation comes crashing down over you. 

She knows.

“Oh.” Your voice barely more than a whisper, full of a nervous tremble that rattles down your spine as you build up the courage to ask. “What changed?”

“Well, I got home from my trip about an hour ago.” Farrah sighs as she retraces her steps. “And as soon as I walked in it just felt-” The blonde hesitates and you hold your breath. “Off, you know?” You nod, willing her to get on with it before your stomach spills all over your desk. “The apartment was clean, too clean.”

And that might have been due to the extensive work you and Matty had put in to ensure there wouldn’t be a trace left of you behind before you set off to work this morning. Refolding blankets, taking out the trash, you even scanned the couch extra hard for any stray hairs left between the cushions. 

“It felt like he was trying to hide something, someone.” Farrah laughs half heartedly, her blue eyes rolling slightly. “He honestly did a pretty nice job. I probably would have assumed that the clean apartment was just him doing something nice for me to come home to if he hadn’t forgotten one little thing.”

Your stomach drops down to your toes. 

Did you overlook a thong left in the middle of his bedroom? Had you forgotten your tube of mascara on his bathroom counter? Was there an earring lost and tangled in his bedsheets?

“There were two wine glasses left in the kitchen sink.” Farrah delivers her evidence and it hits you like a blow to the chest, a bitter laugh falling from her glossed lips as she shakes her head. “What an idiot.”

Your eyes squeeze shut for a split second. How could neither of you think of that? After all that time spent cleaning up this morning, checking every detail, you were about to get caught over something so simple, so obvious. 

“Maybe they were both his, just from different nights?” You suggest weakly with a pounding heart, guilt pooling in your veins as you try and convince her she’s reading into things when in reality your fingerprints were all over the glass. “I mean, you were gone for two days, right? Maybe he just had a drink each night and felt too lazy to clean it up.”

You felt awful making excuses for the man you knew was guilty, guilt pumping through your veins with each pound of your racing heart. Sneaking around was a lot more fun when you weren’t face to face with the victim. 

“No, I think he had someone over this weekend.” Farrah is quick to shut you down, so sure of herself and it doesn’t go unnoticed that she says someone instead of pointing the blame on you. “I-I don’t know who or how he had the time to find someone when he fucking lives up here and-“ The blonde cuts herself off as if a lightbulb just went off in her head and your heart drops, holding your breath as you wait for the inevitable blow. “are you sure it’s not Maeve?”

And suddenly you could breathe again, air reaching down to your lungs for the first time since Farrah stepped into your office. 

This whole time you’ve been holding your breath and preparing for her to jump across the desk to maul you for sleeping with her boyfriend, this whole time you were convinced she knew that it was you and she in reality, she had no idea. 

“I know it sounds crazy because I have no evidence against Maeve other than how she was staring at him at the Christmas party, I just-” Farrah sighs, defeated. “are you positive that it’s not her?” She asks again, the desperation clear in her tone. “I don’t know why, I just have this gut feeling about her. I mean she is his type and…”

You couldn’t help but tune Farrah out after that. You didn’t want to hear how Maeve, who was nearly a carbon copy of Farrah, was his type when you looked like neither of them. 

It was almost comical at this point, how Farrah could still sit there and never assume that you were the other woman. 

Because if she’d just take a step back, she’d realize that she has all the evidence right in front of her, something stronger than a gut feeling. 

Farrah was so busy watching Maeve watch Matty at the Christmas party that she didn’t even realize that Matty was watching you and the way your nearly too short dress rode up on your thigh when you crossed your legs in a way that flashed him your red thong and was all too tempting. 

Yes, she was right, Matty did live up at the office. How would he possibly have time to find someone to cheat on her with when he’s always at work? So yes, it has to be someone he works with. 

And no, it wasn’t Stephanie from HR or the new temp that you hadn’t been bothered to learn the name of yet and it sure as hell wasn’t fucking Maeve from accounting. It was you. 

You were the one she nearly caught with his cum all over your face just a few nights ago, you were the one who had spent the entire weekend getting railed every which way all over her apartment, you were the one she’d taste if she went and kissed Matty right now because you were the one who’d been fucking her boyfriend for ten months.

All the evidence was right there, right under her nose and somehow she was completely blind to all of it and so dead set on a girl he’d probably spoken five words to. And for a brief second, you almost consider blaming it all on Maeve just to ensure you were in the clear and buy you and Matty some more time. 

But at the same time, you wanted her to know. You wanted to grab her face and scream at her. It’s me. It’s ME. IT'S ME. She shouldn’t be thankful to catch you alone with Matty after office hours, she shouldn’t be confiding in you about her rocky relationship, she shouldn’t be convincing herself that it’s anyone but you because she had all the proof right at her fingertips. 

She just had to open her eyes and see it for herself. And maybe she never would, maybe that was a good thing, maybe you can come out of this clean and free from any blame. 

“Which would make sense as to why he sent me away this weekend, I should’ve fucking known.” Farrah sighs, holding her hand up to her forehead, laughing at herself. “God, I am such an idiot.”

You finally tune back into Farrah’s rant just in time to catch a small detail that had your heart dropping all over again. 

“Wait a second, he sent you away?” You couldn’t help but question, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you stared at the blonde and shook your head softly. “I thought you were out of town to visit your family in Pennsylvania?” It doesn’t go unnoticed the way Farrah’s eyes squint ever so slightly and you’re quick to cover up your reasoning for knowing that “M-Matty mentioned it to Thomas and I overheard.”

Which was a lie, of course. Matty told you himself that’s where Farrah was, two hours away in a different state because it was her mother’s birthday. 

“No?” The confusion in Farrah’s tone matches the way it’s written all over her face. “My family lives in Brooklyn?” And you could practically see the wheels turning in the blonde's head. “I was in Pennsylvania because Matty sent me away on a spa weekend to the Poconos to make up for being such a shitty boyfriend the past few months.”

And oh my god you were about to be sick all over again because Matty lied to you. He didn’t invite you to stay at his apartment this weekend because it happened to be empty, Farrah was gone because he planned for her to be. This entire weekend was meticulously thought out to get her out of the house and you into it without either of you batting an eye and it worked. 

“Which at the time seemed like a sweet gesture even though I was confused as to why he wasn’t coming with me, you know?” Farrah squints, tilting her head to the side. “If he was planning this trip to say sorry for being such a shitty boyfriend then you’d think he’d come with me but he didn’t and now I’m realizing that’s because he didn’t send me away to apologize.” The blonde laughed bitterly, as if it was all finally clicking in her head and it took everything in your power not to spill all over the desk between you. “He sent me away to have our apartment all to himself so he could have a girl over.” Her blue eyes stare at you wide and all knowing, brimmed with tears as she nods. “Matty’s cheating on me.”

You couldn't even dwell on the fact that Farrah had fully, finally come to the realization that Matty was in fact cheating on her all this time because you were so busy spiraling about how he had lied to you and why?

Why would he lie to you about where Farrah was? Why would it matter if she had left Manhattan on her own or if he sent her there himself? What was the reasoning behind Matty making you believe she was away at her parents in Pennsylvania when they didn’t even live there and she was actually at a spa unless he was lying to you about more than just her location. Planning a spa getaway as an apology for being a shitty boyfriend sure didn’t sound like a man who planned on ending a relationship. 

“I should have known when he only answered my calls in the middle of the night while she was probably sleeping in my bed.” Farrah scoffs, you could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as the past ten months all come back to her in a new light. “Hell, I should have known when he stopped fucking me months ago.” Her blue eyes roll, a hefty sigh falling from her glossed lips. “I knew something was wrong. He’s been different ever since that night we almost broke up and he came home from the bar with fucking glitter on his neck.”

Your heart drops. 

You remember that night vividly. Your back pressed to the wall of a dive bar bathroom, legs wrapped around Matty’s waist as he fucked you fast and filthy, the shimmering glitter lipgloss you had chosen to wear that night left as evidence on his neck when the two of you parted ways without even exchanging phone numbers. You didn’t even think you’d ever see him again. 

And while Matty didn’t necessarily lie to you that night because you never actually asked him if he had a girlfriend or not, you just assumed he was single by the way his hand brushed against your thigh as he bought you a drink, you couldn’t shake the fact that he had lied about Farrah's location and were desperate to find out if he had lied about anything else.

You think back on the morning after Farrah nearly caught the two of you, how Matty had come groveling into your office to apologize for the blonde being there and swearing that he didn’t fuck her in his office because he hadn’t fucked her at all. ‘Not since we started.’ You recall him promising. 

You had to know. 

“How long?” You couldn’t help but ask, terrified to know the answer. “H-How many months has it been since the two of you-” You cut yourself off, not even able to bring yourself to say it. “you know.”

Ten months. That’s how long it’s been since the two of you started, that’s how long it should be since he’s touched Farrah. ‘I wouldn’t do that to you.’ He promised and practically begged you to believe him and you did. Ten months. Please say ten months. 

“Three.” Farrah says through a pitiful, breathy laugh and you could practically feel the world beneath you crumbling. “We haven't slept together in three months, can you believe that?” No, you couldn’t. “A-And it’s not like I haven’t tried, believe me, I have he just- he doesn’t want me anymore.” 

It took everything in your power to not fall apart right then and there. Why would he lie to you about something like that? Why would he lie completely unprompted? You didn’t even ask him how long it had been, he lied to you for no reason and for what? Just so you’d forgive him? Has he just been a master manipulator all this time?

“You know, I disregarded the glitter on his neck when he came home that night because at least he came home to me at all, right?” Farrah’s voice was choked up, her eyes wet. “I-I didn’t want to believe that he cheated on me because I love him and if he came home to me that meant he wanted to be with me. I-I told myself that he loves me, he would never cheat on me.” 

You couldn’t help the way your own eyes teared up, quick to blink them away as the guilt consumes you. 

“But now I’m really thinking about it and maybe it’s not Maeve after all.” And your heart starts to race all over again. “Maybe he did meet some girl at the bar that night and they’ve been sneaking around my back this entire time.”

And if Farrah doesn’t stop talking she’s about to figure it all out. 

Suddenly it felt hard to breathe, as if your office walls were closing in on you, practically suffocating you as the past ten months full of lies and deceit all come crashing down on you. 

“Oh my god, that’s why we haven’t been back to that bar since that night.” Farrah continues word vomiting all the revelations she was having while you were forced to swallow down bile as you come to terms with your own. “That’s why he- oh my god, I am so fucking stupid.” Farrah practically pulls her hair out. “Do you think she works there? D-Do you think she even knows about me?”

You felt dizzy, your stomach twisting with such intense nausea that your face was surely green, your eyes swelled with tears you prayed wouldn’t fall as you shake your head softly. 

“N-Not at first, I- she-“ Your voice was breathy even in your panicked state, shaking your head more intensely now to stop yourself from slipping up. “I-I didn’t- I-I don’t think she knew about you when it started, no.” You swallow thickly, wiping sweaty palms on your thighs and shaking your head vigorously when the first tear falls. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ The words nearly slip out, the guilt practically eating you alive as you stare into Farrah’s eyes. “know. I-I didn’t know. And by the time I did it was too late and I- fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“What?” Farrah interrupts, concern written all over her face as she takes in your panicked state. “Are you okay?” And the question only springs more tears to fall from your eyes, your head shaking rapidly as she leans across the desk to place her hand over your own. “You didn’t mean to what?”

Her touch is like a burning flame to your skin and you’re quick to pull away from the fire before you turn to ash, standing up so quickly that your office chair clatters to the floor in a way that makes you both jump and the concern on Farrah’s face grow deeper. 

Christ, she was so nice, so clueless. 

“I need to go to the bathroom.” The words fell out rushed, panicked, scared that if you kept your mouth open for too long that you’d spill your guts all over your desk and you needed to put some distance between you and the blonde before you did. You tug on the collar of your shirt that felt as though it was suffocating you and the action brings Farrah’s attention to the pink blouse. “I-I need to-“

“Hey, I have the same top.” Farrah smiles softly, wiping a stray tear that had fallen down her cheek. “What are the odds?”

You glance down at the blouse you were wearing and you freeze. You were so caught up in your own head that you had completely forgotten that the blouse you were wearing belonged to Farrah, you’re quick to cross your arms over your chest to try in a poor attempt to hide the top that the blonde had already recognized. 

“I haven’t worn mine in so long because it has an ink stain on the-“ Farrah’s smile drops as fast as your heart does down to the floor, her blue eyes blinking fast and eyebrows twitching as you could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. All the color drained from her face as her plump, glossed lips fall open in a small gasp that nearly breaks your heart in two when her eyes full of betrayal meet your own. “Oh my god, it’s you.”

You had never wished so badly for the ground to open and swallow you whole, feeling so small with her blue eyes staring at you in a newfound light she never had before. Your arms feel numb as you hug them tighter across your body in an attempt to shrink yourself as your bottom lip trembles. 

“Farrah, I-“ 

“You’re the girl Matty’s cheating on me with.” Farrah stares at you in astonishment, her blue eyes wide and manic as her head shakes slowly. “Duh!” She emphasizes through a sharp laugh that makes you wince. “Oh my god, am I fucking blind?” Her eyebrows scrunched in genuine confusion. “How did I not see that?”

“Farrah-“

“Did this just start three months ago?” She cuts you off once more, her voice full of desperation as the questions whirl around in her mind. “Is that why he stopped fucking me because he was too tired from you?”

The bite in her tone hits you like a slap to the face. You swallow  thickly before your eyes fall to the desk and you shake your head slowly. 

“This whole time?” She gasps, the wheels still turning in her mind as she thinks back on all the times she’s been around the two of you. “T-That day I met you for the first time, when I saw the two of you having lunch and he told me you were his coworker, was he fucking you back then?” 

You hesitate, the memory of that day coming back and burning through you like wildfire as you remember how angry she was for catching him with another woman and how pissed you were with him to find out that he had a girlfriend the whole time and yet somehow he smooth talked his way into you both forgiving him without a scratch. 

You glance up to meet her gaze, nearly gulping before slowly nodding and quick to wince when Farrah throws her face in her hands and starts to cry harder. 

“But I-I had no clue that he had a girlfriend when it all started.” You explain as if that’s going to make any of this better. “I didn’t know you existed until you walked away from the table, h-he never mentioned you.” You squeeze your arms tighter around yourself, your voice softer now.  “Not until he had to.”

“Okay, so that explains why you looked so fucking angry with him for introducing you as his coworker and for-“ She cuts herself off to laugh, wiping her wet cheeks and rolling her blue eyes softly. “finding out about me that way, I guess.” 

“I-If I had known he had a girlfriend when I met him I wouldn’t have-“

“But you kept fucking him after you found out about me, right?” Farrah interrupts, her bloodshot blue eyes pinning you in place and for a split second you consider your chances at  survival if you just jumped out your office window. You nod and Farrah mirrors the action. “So it doesn’t really matter what you would have done.” 

You shift on your feet, digging your manicured nails into your arm as you mumble weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“How long was he working here before he pursued you?” Farrah asks in a tone that says she’s terrified to know the answer, a certain gleam in her eye tells you that what you’re about to say will shape the outcome of how this ends. “I mean, I’m just assuming that he pursued you because you’re too pretty to go after a man in his thirties.”

And while you were fairly certain this was a conversation she should be having with Matty, there was a part of you that needed to be honest with her, Farrah deserved to know the truth and you weren’t positive that she’d get that talking to him. 

“Before.” You mumble, digging your nails into the flesh of your arm harsher as if you were punishing yourself before sighing and letting it spill. “I-I knew him before he started working here.” Farrah’s face falls and you’re quick to assure her, “but not for long! I had just met him the Saturday before he started, I-I had no clue he was going to work here.” You explain, practically word vomiting just to fill the silence in the tense air. “We didn’t even exchange numbers, I-I thought I’d never see him again! It wasn’t supposed to turn into…” You trail off, trying to find the right word that wouldn’t make her frown any deeper. “this.”

“So the glitter was from you.” Farrah comes to the conclusion all on her own, the mysterious case of the glitter left on Matty’s neck finally solved when you nod. “Wow.” The blonde sighs and the pain was evident behind such a simple word. “I didn’t take you for a glitter girl.”

And it’s not because you didn’t want to be, it’s because you couldn’t be. Once you started sneaking around with Matty, you had to become very conscious about the makeup you wore, always careful not to leave a trace behind. It was-

“Too risky, I guess.” Farrah laughs bitterly, shaking her head slowly. 

“I-I’m sorry, I-“

“You two had me fooled.” Farrah interjects, her blue eyes falling back down to her pink blouse clinging to your frame, zoning out on the fabric as her bottom lip trembles. “Do you know how many times we fought about you?” And you can’t help the way your stomach rolls at the thought. “How many times he swore to me that you were nothing more than a coworker to him?” Your heart has the audacity to crack. “How many times he called me crazy for assuming there was something going on between the two of you?”

And the truth was that, no, you had no clue any of this had happened at all. Matty had always made it seem as though Farrah never questioned, well, anything. You had assumed she’s just been clueless this entire time, you had no idea Matty was off spewing promises of how you meant nothing to him. 

“It took me months to believe him after catching the two of you out at lunch that day.” Farrah shakes her head softly, her voice cracking from the emotion pouring from her eyes. “I mean, why wouldn’t I be insecure over a pretty, young, smart girl working across the hall from him? Of course I had my doubts.” 

She wipes her cheeks, squeezing her eyes shut briefly before finding the courage to look at you again and you nearly hurl at the sight of her. In the back of your mind, you knew this would all come crashing down eventually, you just selfishly always thought Matty would get the brunt of it. You never thought you’d have to see how broken the truth would make her feel and you could barely even breathe through all the guilt you were drowning in. 

“But then I met you, like really met you, not just in passing. A-And I got to know you and I-“ Farrah’s face twists in sadness as a new wave of emotions wash over her and pour from her eyes. “I trusted you.” Your eyes squeeze shut as the three words hit you like a bullet to the chest, digging your fingernails into your arms so harshly you might draw blood as Farrah sobs in front of you. “I confided in you and you told me there was no way that he was cheating on me when you knew that he was.” 

“Farrah, I-I’m so sorry.” Your voice is not much more than a whisper, your bottom lip trembling through the tears pouring from your own eyes as the shame creeps up your spine to mix with the guilt already eating you alive. “I’m so fucking sorry, I-“

“Does he love you?” Farrah interrupts to ask a question she’s terrified to know the answer to, you could tell she was holding her breath as she wipes her cheek and reiterates. “Is he in love with you?”

It was the same question that had nearly kept you up all night. 

Was Matty in love with you?

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

It sure seemed like he was, sometimes, especially after this weekend. When his eyes would gleam up at you a little too long while you were sitting in his lap, when your fingers tangled under a blanket you shared while the opening credits to your favorite movie rolled, when his fingers slowly scrubbed the shampoo in your hair when you were showering together this morning. In those moments, it felt like he was in love with you. 

But how could he be in love with you and still put you through the absolute hell that he has for the past ten months? How could he be in love with you and still not break up with his girlfriend? So did he really mean it last night when he moaned it in your ear or was it just a form of dirty talk that went way too far? 

You wanted to believe him, you needed it to be real. But Farrah had just finished saying how Matty swore to her that you were nothing more than a coworker to him, that you meant nothing to him and you weren’t quite sure which girl actually got the truth, if either of you did at all. 

“I-I don’t know.” You mumble an honest answer because you truly weren’t sure if he did or not and that kills you. “Maybe.”

Farrah nods, sniffing while wiping her cheeks and you don’t miss the pained look in her eye at your inability to answer, almost as if that was worse than hearing you say yes. 

She opens her mouth and hesitates, almost as if she was debating if she actually wanted to know the answer before finding the courage to ask, “Are you in love with him?”

And Christ, you didn’t even have to think twice about it. 

Your bottom lip trembles as you stare into Farrah’s blue eyes that pour with tears as if she already knew the answer before you even get the chance to nod, too ashamed to say it out loud. 

Farrah squeezes her eyes shut and you couldn’t help but do the same, feeling guilty for even crying at a time like this when the blonde girl's entire world had just been flipped upside down, but you couldn’t help it. This wasn’t how you imagined it to go, the moment you finally admitted how deep your feelings for him truly go, you never thought it’d be like this. Full of pain and guilt and shame and disgust with yourself for falling in love with a taken man. 

“I-I’m so sorry.” Your voice cracks from the emotion pouring from your eyes. “I never meant for it to go this far, I-I swear. I tried to stop it so many times, I just-“ You take a deep, wobbly breath, staring up at the ceiling as the tears trickle hot and fast down your cheeks. “I just couldn’t.”

Farrah releases a hefty sigh, wiping away final tears and drying her wet palms on her thighs before standing up from her chair and facing you eye to eye. For a split second you’re convinced she’s about to slap you across the face and while she doesn’t end up scratching the itch she surely has to do it, her words hit you just the same. 

“You’re too pretty for him.” Farrah nods with a sad smile, her blue eyes scanning over the features of your face as if she was trying to memorize them to compare to her own later. “I know that you love him, but so did I.” She nods, her voice cracking and she's quick to clear her throat of any leftover emotion. “You deserve better than this, we both do.” She decides, blinking away a fresh batch of tears before locking her gaze with your own. “Remember that the next time he inevitably comes crawling back to your door.”

And you’d be damned if her kind words didn’t make you feel worse than being caught fucking her boyfriend because how could she possibly look at you after everything she knows and still be so nice? It made you feel awful, disgusted with yourself, practically out of your own body as you stare at the woman whose entire life you just ruined. 

Not only did you wreck her home, her relationship, her trust but you also completely destroyed whatever confidence and self-esteem she had. You could see it in the way her blue eyes couldn’t stay still for too long on one part of your face, overanalyzing each and every feature to most likely find what he liked better about you that she didn’t have, too terrified to ask him herself. 

You knew this because you had spent the past ten months doing the same thing with her, wondering why he wasn’t choosing you over her and trying to find the reason why in the features of your face, your body, everything. 

You were about to get everything you wanted, finally ready to call Matty yours and you couldn’t even be happy about it because you had completely ruined a woman’s self-worth in the process. 

Four knocks delivered in a rapid succession beat against the door to your office and jolt you out of your spiral, quick to wipe your tears and take a deep breath to try and compose yourself before the person who you hoped and prayed didn’t have curly hair walked in. 

You’ve never been so relieved to see Thomas knocking at your door in your life. 

“Hey, have you gotten the chance to look over those- oh! Hey, Farrah! What are you doing here?” Thomas speaks in a bright tone that makes it clear that he doesn’t immediately pick up on the tension in the room. “Matty’s in his office, meetings over so he’s all yours.” Your boss teases in a flirtatious tone that makes you nauseous, one glance at Farrah and you can tell she’s feeling the same. “Just don’t make him too tired, yeah? He’s got to meet with a client in half an hour.”

And Jesus Christ, someone please shut this man up. 

“Oh, don’t worry.” Farrah sighs, giving you one last glance before turning on her heels to make her way out of your office. “This won't take long.” 

Thomas laughs as if there’s some innuendo hanging in the air, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the girl who was making her way across the hall. 

“I like her, she’s- oh.” You both flinch at the loud bang of Matty’s door being slammed shut and the way it echoes in the defending silence that falls over the office floor sends shivers down your spine. “Well, someone is sleeping on the couch tonight.” Thomas grimaces through a laugh and you feel nauseous all over again, your heart pounding so rapidly that your ears start to ring as you could only imagine the conversation happening across the hall. “Hey, are you alright?”

You flinch at the sound of Farrah yelling through the unforgiving walls, your body growing numb as you realize that she wasn’t going to be the only one to find out about your office romance today, everyone was about to. 

You could only imagine the judgmental glares they’d give as you walked by their cubicles, how they’d whisper behind your back at the copy machine, how they wouldn’t be able to look at you the same.

You would never be able to step foot in this office again after today without everyone knowing what you and Matty were doing behind closed doors that were only sometimes locked and oh my god you needed to get out of here before they had the chance to find out through these paper thin walls. 

“I-I feel sick.” You mutter as best as you could, stuttering through a racing heart and a dizzy head as you stare at Matty’s closed office door and fight to not spill your stomach all on the floor. “I need to leave.”

And you don’t even wait for a response from Thomas before you’re practically sprinting on numb legs that didn’t quite feel attached to your body through the corridors and straight to the elevator, rapidly pressing the button over and over again in hopes that it’d open before another coworker asked if you were okay. 

Thankfully the doors close faster than they took to open and as soon as you’re met with the blurry gaze of the chrome fully shut, you finally let the reality of the situation wash over you, an audible sob ripping from your throat as you crumble to the floor of the elevator and let it all out. 

Normally when you’re in the contraption, you’re annoyed by the slow pace, tapping your foot and wishing the floors would go down faster so you could go home already. But right now as you hyperventilate on the floor of the elevator, hidden from the world and all its judgement for what you’ve done, you couldn’t help but want to stay behind the chrome forever. 

—

The hot water from the shower head pelts against your skin and burns in a way that feels like a punishment you more than deserve. Your skin practically scrubbed raw as you try and wash away all the guilt and shame down the drain. 

Though it only intensifies the longer that the image of Farrah’s heartbroken face festers in your mind. The way her blue eyes glowed brighter as more tears fell down her cheeks, the way her bottom lip quivered as she tried to speak, the last look she gave you before turning on her heels and entering Matty’s office. You couldn’t stomach it. 

What happened in his office? How did their conversation go? How did Matty react? Was Farrah still there? Was Matty?

Oh, Matty, Matty, Matty. 

You scrub the loofah against your skin a little harder now, enough to pull a sharp hiss from you as the soap suds against your skin that you hope would cleanse you of him, of Farrah, of everything. 

You’d never felt so disgusted with yourself before. 

It was never supposed to go this far, god, why did you let it get this far? Why didn’t you stop it, why didn’t you stop him? You knew he had a girlfriend and yet you continued to fuck him over and over and over again until you deluded yourself into believing that you actually meant something to him. 

Christ, you were so stupid. 

You grab onto the shower wall for support as a sob racks over you, digging your nails into the tile while the water beats down your back. How could you be so stupid?

You do another rinse on your body, standing up straight under the heavy stream of hot water in hopes that this time it’d wash away all your guilt, all that shame, the pain. You nearly scream when it doesn’t work, when you stare at the soap swirling down the drain and still feel just as filthy as the first attempt. 

God, how did Matty do it every night? How did he come home from fucking you over his desk and not feel any remorse while kissing Farrah at the front door? How did he live with himself? You could barely breathe through all the guilt and he probably felt nothing and-

“Fuck!” You couldn’t help but scream, taking all of your anger out on the knob of the shower that you practically punched to the left, a slight shiver ran up your spine now that the hot water had stopped pouring and you were left standing in the steam. 

You wave the stinging pain in your hand off as you huff out a deep breath and stare at the tiled wall of your shower, debating if you felt cleansed enough of your sin or if another attempt would make you feel any better. Your eyes roll when you quickly realize that it would take a lot more than soap and hot water to make your skin stop crawling, maybe you should try a different approach and try to drown it all out instead. 

You take one step out of the shower and immediately catch sight of Farrah’s pink blouse  sitting in the corner of your bathroom floor, all crumbled up and thrown with a fist of fury. You couldn’t even stomach the sight of it now, one glance at the pink fabric and you’re nearly ready to hop in the shower all over again to ensure that you had scrubbed all of Farrah away. 

You dry your body off in slow movements, in no rush to return to reality, nearly falling into a trance as the events play back over and over again in your mind. You couldn’t help but be thankful for the fogged up mirror so you wouldn’t have to look at yourself, the blurry outline already enough to make you feel sick and if you stare at it long enough you might have a fist full of broken glass. 

That thought alone has you quick to snap out of it, drying off the rest of your body with rushed movements before tossing your towel over the rod of the shower and throwing an oversized t-shirt over your head. It was a shirt you had thrifted years ago, a vintage Yankees tee that fell down to the middle of your thighs and had only ever seen the walls of your apartment. It was something you had only ever worn to bed and you honestly couldn’t wait to crawl into your sheets now, even if it was still the middle of the afternoon. 

But not until you had a massive glass of the bottle of wine that was calling your name, hopeful that if you drank enough of the merlot that it would help you forget about Farrah’s face when she found out. 

If you couldn’t wash the guilt down the drain, maybe you could drink it away instead. 

You were standing on your tip toes in the kitchen, reaching for a wine glass tucked away in the top cabinet and cursing yourself for putting it so high when a knock came at your front door. 

Three knocks. 

The familiar cadence makes your stomach drop, quick to tighten your grip on the glass you had finally secured so it wouldn’t have the same fate as your feet land flat on the floor and your head turns to stare at the front door of your apartment. 

Maybe you were just hearing things, maybe the knock was coming at your neighbors door instead and the thin walls of New York City apartments did a shit job at muffling the sound, maybe you had finally gone mad. 

And just when you had convinced yourself that you had made it all up in your head, the sound repeats itself. Three knocks at your front door that were louder this time around and made you certain they were for you, your heart drops down to your toes. 

It had to be him. 

The three knocks were nearly a dead giveaway, it was something you’d heard countless times over the past ten months, always delivered to the doorframe of your office before tilting his head to the side and leading you off somewhere so he could have his way with you. You had no doubt in your mind that he was standing on the other side of your door and you can’t help but curse yourself now for allowing him to drive you home after work on a rainy day a few months ago, surprised that he still remembered the address. 

You set the empty wine glass on your kitchen counter and weigh out your options, you could stay silent and pretend that you weren’t home, maybe he’d give up and leave if you iced him out long enough. Or you could open the door and hear him out, maybe he had a good reason for all of this. And while you didn’t really think that was true, you couldn’t help but wonder what bullshit he’d spin to talk his way out of it this time. 

The knocks come at your door again, three that were quicker in succession this time, more full of desperation as they pound against the wood with more force. And like a moth to a flame, you find yourself answering his call yet again. 

Your feet carry you across your apartment floor until you’re standing in front of your door, your hand hesitant to reach out for the knob as Farrah’s face flashes in your mind. 

“You deserve better than this, we both do…remember that the next time he inevitably comes crawling back to your door.” 

The last words Farrah spoke to you spin around in your mind and make you second guess even opening the door at all because she was right, you did deserve better and you knew this but that still didn’t stop you from wanting him. Even though you had just spent nearly an hour trying to scrub Matty and the pain that came with him away, your chest still ached to see him, to know what he was thinking, how he was feeling. 

Fuck, you were in so deep. 

You take one last deep breath before unlocking the door to swing it open and the sight of him alone nearly knocks you off your feet, his brown eyes blown wide and full of nerves that were surely eating away at him as they don’t hesitate to scan down your frame and bring that never ending nausea back up your throat. It nearly spills out of you when they lock back with your own, his dark orbs swimming with worry as he clears his throat from any emotion that might have built up on his drive over. 

“Hey.” He mumbles, glancing at your apartment behind you in some unspoken request to be let in and while you probably should have slammed it right back in his face, you find yourself silently stepping to the side and allowing the older man through the threshold. 

You close the door behind you with a soft thud and stare at the wood until you’re brave enough to turn around and face him, the skin you had scrubbed raw already itching from the way it crawled at the close proximity to him. You could already feel your resolve growing weaker and weaker just from the smell of his cologne. 

“How are you feeling?” Matty asks softly, the concern for you clear on his face. Your stomach rolls at the question, your brain already in pain just from the idea of trying to put how you felt into words. “Thomas told me that you felt sick and had to come home, I-” He hesitates, clear that his mind was whirling with a million thoughts. “Are you okay?” You hate the way your eyes immediately brim with tears, those three words cursing your plan to act unaffected by it all. “I brought you some soup. It’s chicken noodle, I-I thought it might help.”

Matty holds the takeout bag up to bring your attention to it and you couldn’t help the way your eyebrows come together ever so slightly in confusion at the sight. Why would Matty bring you chicken noodle soup at a time like this? I mean, surely he knew you left work feeling sick about Farrah coming up there and finding out about the two of you, right? 

Matty takes a step toward you and places the back of his hand on your forehead, your cheeks, surely checking to see if you were feeling warm and had a fever and oh he truly thought you were sick. He had no idea that you knew about Farrah finding out, for all he knew you left before she ever arrived, completely clueless to everything that went down in his office an hour ago. 

And now that you knew that he thought you were in the dark, you were able to notice the signs you had somehow missed. His muscles were more rigid than normal, his dark eyes blinking excessively and full of an unshakable worry, his hand shaking as it lowered from your forehead back down to his side. 

He was nervous and you had never seen him this way before. You couldn’t help but be curious to know if those nerves were due to him telling you about it or him hoping you’d never find out. 

“Yeah, I-I’m fine.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to bring yourself comfort as you take a subtle step away from him and cast your eyes on the floor. “I just felt a little nauseous.”

And you weren’t necessarily lying, you did leave work because you felt like one more minute in your office and you would’ve spilled your guts all over the floor, you just didn’t mention why you felt that way to begin with. You wanted him to be the one to tell you about Farrah all on his own, it was a test to see if he’d be honest with you, for once. 

“Oh.” He pouts, setting the soup down to be forgotten. “A Sprite might have been better then.” You can’t help the way your nose scrunches up at that and Matty chuckles at the sight. “Yeah, yeah, I know you don’t like Sprite but you would have lived.”

The sound of Matty’s soft laughter in your apartment only intensifies the ache in your chest, wanting nothing more than to jump into his arms and pick up where the two of you left off this morning, desperate to go back into your little bubble that had already popped. 

“It’s okay.” You wave him off, giving him a soft smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes as you lie through your teeth. “I feel better now.”

“Good, that’s good.” Matty nods and you can practically see the wheels turning in his mind, your heart starting to race the longer the silence lingers between the two of you. 

You nod slowly and stare at him as if you’re daring him to address the elephant in the room, to tell you the truth, to give you an explanation for everything because you deserve it. Matty looks as though he’s having an internal battle of his own in his mind, his dark brown eyes scanning over your face rapidly as he surely fights to find the right words to say and you hoped he did fast or you were about to spill your guts all over his shoes. 

“So,” Matty starts, his voice meek and full of nerves, scratching the back of his neck as he hesitates through a squeeze of his eyes before taking a deep breath and delivering the news that you are already more than aware of. “Farrah knows.”

He says it as if he’s dropping a bomb on you, as if he was about to turn your whole world upside down and really, if you didn’t already know, it probably would have. But you did know, you were the reason she knew anything at all and Matty had no clue.

“I-I don’t know how she figured it out but she came by my office today and she-” He cuts himself off to sigh, rubbing a sweaty palm over his face. “She knows.” He glances at you through his fingertips before dropping his hand altogether. “She knows about you, a-about us.”

And even though you were already aware, your heart drops anyhow because he was staring at you as if he was waiting for you to react and you didn’t quite know how. Should you continue to play clueless or should you be honest and tell him that you were the reason?

“I-I’m so sorry.” Matty stresses, taking a step forward to grab your hands and settling for your elbows when you don’t uncross your arms for him to do so. “I don’t know how she figured it all out just from seeing two wine glasses in the sink? I-I don’t know how she-

“I know.” You cut him off, squeezing your eyes shut through a racing heart, hating the fact that you could never lie to him. You take a deep breath and stare into his dark eyes that hopefully wouldn't lose their gleam when he looks at you as you admit, “I told her.”

Your stomach churns as Matty’s face falls. You can practically feel the way his body tenses while his eyes lose their gleam to be replaced with betrayal, slowly pulling his hands away from your elbows as his eyebrows furrow softly and he practically gasps out, “You what?”

The nausea comes back to you at full force.

“Yeah, I uh-“ You clear your throat, squeezing your arms tighter around yourself as you shift the weight between your feet. “I guess she didn’t mention that to you?”

“No.” Matty’s voice was so soft you barely heard it, his thick eyebrows furrowing together more as the betrayal seeps into his veins. “No, she didn’t mention it.” He shakes his head, his dark eyes squint at you slightly. “Why would you tell her?”

You hated the way he was looking at you, hated knowing that his entire perception of you had just changed in a blink of an eye, hated that you still cared. 

You sigh. 

“That night that she almost caught us, when I found her in your office, she um- she confided in me.” You explain and Matty’s eyes squint further. “She thought you were cheating on her with Maeve.” You nearly laugh and can’t help but roll your eyes. “I told her you weren’t, of course.” And you can’t help but tack on a snarky, “You’re welcome.” 

“Maeve?” Matty’s face scrunches up further. “I barely even speak to her?”

“Yeah, well, apparently she was making eyes at you at the Christmas party.” You huff out a laugh, shaking your head softly. “Because that clearly was more proof than your eyes on my legs all night.” And you’d be damned if Matty’s eyes didn’t fall down to them now. “I thought she’d drop it and she would have if we just remembered to clean up the wine glasses in the sink.”

Matty sighs. “Yeah, that’s my fault.”

Everything was, you wanted to snap back at him but refrain because really, you were just as much to blame. 

“So today she came into my office crying about how she knew you were cheating on her and I obviously panicked because I thought she knew it was me.” The panic bubbles in your chest now as you relive it all. “But she didn’t know it was me until she saw my shirt- well, her shirt.” You grimace and shrug. “She kinda figured it out on her own after that.”

“So that’s it?” Matty’s face softens a bit, his eyes scanning all over your face. “You didn’t actually tell her, she just figured it out because she noticed you wearing her shirt?” Matty was desperate for an explanation, swallowing thickly as he shook his head softly. “That’s not your fault.”

Well.

“No, it is my fault. I-I told her.” You stress, squeezing your arms tighter around yourself as Matty’s face twists in confusion yet again. “After she noticed that I was wearing her shirt, I told her everything.” You could barely stomach the look in his eyes, the hurt and betrayal behind the brown orbs enough to make your stomach roll. “She was asking me all these questions and I-“

“And you answered them?” Matty interrupts, his voice growing in volume as he stares at you in bewilderment. “You didn’t think that was something she should hear from me?”

“You have no right to be mad at me.” Your head shakes. “You weren’t there.” The tears build up in your eyes despite your best efforts to prevent them. “You didn’t have to see her face when she found out.” 

Matty’s face softens when he notices your tearful eyes, rubbing a hand over his face as he takes a deep breath and a beat to collect his thoughts. 

“I-I’m not mad at you.” He speaks to you softer now. “I just don’t understand why you would-“

“Because she deserved to know!” You can’t help but interrupt in an outburst that makes Matty flinch, your own voice still full of fire now. “After everything we put her through, the least I could give her was the truth and I wasn’t sure she would get that from you.” 

The insult falls off your tongue with a bite that immediately shifts the air between the two of you. Matty raises a thick brow, taken aback by your words that practically slapped him in the face. 

His dark eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you really expect me to believe that you would have been honest with her?” You can’t help but fix him with an unimpressed glare that he swallows thickly at. “I mean, after all the lies and bullshit you’ve fed us both for ten months, I find that really hard to believe.”  

“Both?” Matty’s eyes narrow further with an impressive display of confusion that was nearly believable, would have been if you didn’t already know better. The dark orbs fall down ever so slightly. “I have never lied to you?”

And it takes everything in your power not to slap him. Did he really think you were that stupid?

“Look me in my eyes and tell me that again.” You challenge him, even provide him with a beat to do so, shaking your head softly when silence is all you’re met with. “You can’t do it.” You laugh weakly through a scoff, proven when his eyes meet your own again now. “You can’t do it because you know that you have.”

“Name one time.” He argues weakly, as if he already knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on yet he can’t stand to not defend himself. 

“Oh, just one?” You snap back, your voice dripping in sarcasm. “How will I ever choose just one?”

“Well, that’s a little bit dramatic don’t you think?” Matty scoffs. 

“Really?” You narrow your own eyes at him now, cocking your head to the side and practically smiling when you ask, “When’s the last time you slept with Farrah?”

The question hits him like a freight train, you can see it in the way his face falls as the words wash over him, the way he gulps before shaking his head. “What?”

“You heard me.” Your voice is strong, solid, surprisingly so considering the way your legs felt like gelatin as you await his response. 

You had never stood up to him like this before, never called him out in such a way, never intimidated him before and you could see behind the nerves in his eyes that you were doing so now. 

“I-I already told you that I haven’t-” Matty tries to reiterate his same argument as he had in your office the morning after Farrah nearly caught the two of you but you’re quick to put a stop to it. 

“Matty, you’re lying to me right now.” You laugh in disbelief. “It’s actually unbelievable.” You shake your head in astonishment at the older man standing before you. “Don’t you think if I’m asking you about it that means Farrah already told me?” You make a valid point that he couldn’t argue with, accepting defeat with a hefty sigh as you repeat the question. “How long has it been?”

Matty rubs a hand over his face out of frustration and stares up at the ceiling as if he’s trying to decide what to do, how to answer, or maybe he’s calculating the months in his head. “Five months.”

And it once again takes everything in you not to slap him for having the audacity to lie to you again even after you said Farrah had already told you the answer. 

“Three.” You correct, unable to hide the disappointment in your tone as you roll your eyes softly. “It’s been three months since you and Farrah slept together.” Further explaining as if he needed you to spell it out for him. “Not ten, not five, three.”

Matty’s face twists in confusion, holding his fingers out to count the calculations in his head and shaking his head out of disagreement while doing so as if you were the one lying to him. 

“No, it’s been five.” He stands his ground. “I slept with Farrah on her birthday and that was the last time, I-I swear it.”

“You’re lying to me.” You shake your head softly, almost admiring the way he refused to give in. 

“I’m not lying to you.” Matty stresses, his thick eyebrows knit together and trembling from the pressure. “What good would it do for me to lie to you when I know that you already know the answer?”

“Exactly!” You laugh. “So why are you saying it’s been five when Farrah told me it’s been three?”

“I don’t-” Matty sighs, his dark eyes falling to the floor as the wheels turn in his mind, fighting to think back on what happened three months ago and you could practically see the light bulb go off when he realizes. “Well, I didn’t know that we were counting oral!” 

And if looks could kill, he’d be laid out on the floor of your living room right now. 

“Her, not me.” He’s quick to clarify as if that was going to make all the difference. “I-I woke up to her sucking my-”

“Oh my god, I don’t care!” You cut him off, finally unwrapping your arms around yourself to cover your ears as a preventative measure so you wouldn’t have to hear the details that would surely send that sickness you’ve been feeling for the past hour up your throat. 

You squeeze your ears tight enough for them to ring and relish in the pounding of your own heart for a beat. When you’re confident that you’re in the clear, you loosen your hands from over your ears in favor of bringing your fingers to rub at your temples to ease some of the ache in your overworked mind. 

“I don’t care that you slept with her, that’s not my point.” Your voice is softer now, more defeated. “She was your girlfriend, I expected you to be fucking her, I-I can’t be mad about that.” Because it wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into by sleeping with a taken man, you might not have liked to think about what they were doing behind closed doors but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware it was happening at all. “But why would you lie about that? Why would you make me believe that you weren’t sleeping with her when you were?”

Matty opens his mouth but quickly closes it with a sigh, running a sweaty palm through his hair out of frustration before throwing his hand up in defeat. 

“I-I don’t know.” Matty huffs, his brown eyes slightly glossed over and you hate the way that your heart aches at the sight. “I guess I thought it’d help convince you that my feelings for you were real.”

“Convince me?” You can’t help the way your voice booms yet again. “There are a million ways you could have shown me that your feelings for me were real and instead you chose to lie about something that I didn’t even ask you about.” You laugh in disbelief, pressing your fingers into your temple until the pain is too sharp to handle. “I never asked about your relationship with Farrah other than when you were going to end it. You lied about that completely unprompted, for no fucking reason!”

Matty grimaces. “I-I’m sor-”

“Do you understand that I’m not angry with you for fucking your girlfriend?” The heat simmers behind your eyes and tears bubble beneath the steam, brimmed and blurry as you explain, “I’m angry with you because you lied to me about it and made me feel so special that you hadn’t.” You can’t help the way your voice cracks, a single tear finally falling from your eye as the emotions boil over. “Like I was so important that you would do that for me without me asking.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Do you understand why I’m angry about that?” You ask yet again, more fire behind your tone now as you deliver the question in a way that makes Matty flinch, the intimidation he felt towards you surely growing. 

“Yes, I understand that and I-I’m sorry!” Matty stresses, taking a step towards you and gulping when you take one further away from him. “I don’t know why I lied about that, okay! I-It just slipped out and once I said it, I couldn’t take it back. I’m sorry, please.” 

He takes another step toward you and you remain in place this time, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as his hand reaches out to graze your arm and the ghost of touch alone has you ready to give in to him.

“But my feelings for you are real, okay? I-I just didn’t know how else to make you believe me because you weren’t listening to me.” He explains as his hand slides down your arm with the intention of sliding his palm into your own but he’d never reach it there because he was about to dig his own grave. “And one little lie shouldn’t-”

“One little lie?” Those three words snap you out of whatever trance he was putting you under, quick to pull your arm away from his touch and return to reality to fix the older man with a wide eyed glare. “You can’t be serious.” You scoff, disgusted with yourself for almost falling into his trap yet again. Not this time. “Where did you say Farrah was this weekend?”

Matty freezes, staring at you for a beat as if he was trying to decipher if this was a trick question before answering with a calculated. “Pennsylvania.”

And that wasn’t a lie, you’ll give him that. Farrah was in Pennsylvania, she told you as much, but not for the same reason Matty had.

“Yeah.” You nod, cocking your head to the side. “To visit family, right?”

Matty doesn’t answer, he just swallows thickly in the silent tension between the two of you, surely knowing at this point where you were going with this and deeming it better to just remain quiet than to try and come up with an excuse. 

“Right.” You answer for him. “You know, it’s so funny because Farrah was just telling me about her family.” You explain with a certain flair in your tone that makes Matty’s heart sink. “Her family who live in Brooklyn, by the way, not Pennsylvania.”

And you can nearly see the way Matty’s stomach sinks, his dark eyes filled with a newfound worry that he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of it this time. 

“But you know what is in Pennsylvania?” You ask knowing that Matty wouldn’t respond. “The Poconos! They have these incredible resorts there with mountains, lakes, spas.” You emphasize that word in particular, sure that it hit close to home by the way Matty’s eyebrow twitches now. A sickeningly sweet smile spreads on your face as you sarcastically tack on. “So beautiful, so romantic, don’t you think?”

You allow the thick silence to linger between the two of you long enough to make him shift uncomfortably under your heated gaze, his mind surely whirling with ways to dig himself out of this hole. 

“Farrah sure thought so, she had a lovely time.” You nod, making it clear to Matty that you were more than aware of the plan he had devised. 

Matty’s face falls, his heart surely with it. He tugs on the collar of his shirt as if it’s choking him and you were all too familiar with the feeling, having felt it underneath Farrah’s stare only hours ago.

“And, you know, maybe you can help me with this because I just can’t seem to figure it out.” You speak through a soft laugh. “But why would a man who intends on breaking up with his girlfriend plan such a grand, romantic gesture to apologize for being a shitty boyfriend?” You speak slowly to ensure that he didn’t miss a single word. “Unless, that shitty boyfriend didn’t plan on breaking up with his girlfriend at all.”

“Yes, I was.” Matty argues. “I told you that I was breaking up with her when she got home today, I promised you that.”

“But you weren’t going to!” Your bottom lip quivers, another tear betraying you to fall down your cheek. “Yes, you promised me, but we both know that come tomorrow morning you were going to be groveling in my office about how you just couldn’t do it.” You nearly mock, having heard the bullshit reasons for ten months now, you knew this script by heart at this point. “You don’t send your girlfriend away on a trip like that just to break her heart as soon as she gets back home.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Matty shakes his head, his curls with it. “I promise, I-”

“That night that she almost caught us, that scared you.” You effectively shut him up. “And you weren’t just scared of losing me, you were scared of losing us both.” A sad smile twitches at the corners of your mouth as another tear falls. “You were scared that I was going to freak out about seeing Farrah wearing lingerie in your office and you were scared that she wasn’t as drunk as she seemed and she knew about us.” 

All those attempts at scrubbing away your guilt in the shower opened your mind to see things for how they really were. 

“You could feel her putting all the pieces together, so you had to find a way to convince her that she was just reading too much into it.” You emphasized his words from earlier and delivered them like a slap to the face that he surely felt by the way he flinches when they’re spat off your tongue. “But what about me? H-How do you prevent me from walking away?” Your voice cracks. “You send Farrah off on a trip that’s just far away enough to give you the comfortability to invite me over. Maybe if you make it feel special, if you make it feel real, I’ll forgive you too.” You laugh wetly. “And it worked.”

“Baby-”

“My god, you’re a fucking genius!” You laugh once more, pushing more tears to fall from your eyes that melt into your cheeks. “A-A master manipulator or some shit I mean, how the fuck do you even keep up with it all?” You ask him genuinely, wiping away stray tears before they reach your quivering lips. “You found a way to save your relationship while still keeping me in your back pocket and wrapped it all up in a little bow to give to us on a silver platter and we both ate it up.”

Matty runs his hands over his face, scrubbing hard enough to leave a little pink tint on his cheeks when he pulls them away to slide through his curls instead, tugging on the strands a little out of frustration before fixing you with a pointed glare. “Are you done?”

“I-I don’t know yet.” You bite back with a racing heart. “Maybe.” You shrug before crossing your arms back over your chest, glaring into his dark eyes as you try and find something else to tack on and sighing when you come up empty handed. “Yeah, okay, I guess I’m done.”

“Good.” Matty nods, the frustration clear in his tone and you weren’t quite sure if you were ready to be the brunt of it yet. “I didn’t send Farrah away to save my relationship.” He scoffs at the mere idea of it. “I sent her away so that I could be alone with you for longer than ten minutes tucked away in a fucking supply closet.” He throws a hand up in defeat. “I planned this weekend for us, not her.”

“You shouldn’t have to send your girlfriend away just to have a weekend alone with me.” You cry. “Not when you could just fucking break up with her and have me all the time.” Your head shakes, your heart aches. “You didn’t do this for us, you did it for you.”

“I-I don’t know what else you want me to say.” Matty sighs, rubbing his forehead. “My relationship with Farrah is over, I have no interest in being with her.” He stresses through dark eyes that captivate you and pull you in. “I want to be with you, only you.”

“Well, if you want to be with me so bad then what the fuck took you so long!” You can’t help the yell, the words booming off your tongue and blowing into his chest as hard as your hands do, pushing him back just enough to catch him off guard and make him stumble. “Why would you swear to me for ten fucking months that you were going to break up with her and never do it?” 

The outburst opens the dam in your eyes and the tears flow freely down your cheeks as you finally let all that pent up disappointment out. 

“I-I mean, I cannot find one logical answer as to why you would keep her around other than the simple fact that you wanted her there!” You laugh wetly. “Her, not me!” You emphasize by shoving his chest again though he’s more prepared for it this time, standing his ground as you take your anger out on him. “How can you stand there and tell me that you have no interest in being with Farrah when you did everything in your power to prevent having to break up with her?”

You go to deliver another blow to his chest but Matty is quick to catch your wrists, your eyes quick to lock with his own as he squeezes them softly and holds them in place. You stare into his big brown eyes and can’t help but want to kiss him because even though you were so angry with him, he looked so unbelievably pretty right now. And that makes your fists clench even harder because my god, can you get a grip?

Matty’s eyes fall down to your lips and that’s all you needed to snap you back into reality, quick to pull your wrists from his hold and take a step back from him as you wipe your cheeks clear of tears that were still pouring. 

“I mean fuck Matty, you still haven’t broken up with her.” You laugh maniacally, wiping your wet hand on the oversized shirt you were wearing. “After all this time, all these promises you made to me, she broke up with you.” You scoff through a giggle. “I mean, it’s so fucking ironic.”

“I didn’t get the chance!” Matty finally blows up, his voice cracking with emotion as it booms through your living room. “What did you want me to do, hm? Stop her from screaming at me for cheating on her to say oh, can you hold that thought so I can dump you first?” He scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I mean, come on, what was I supposed to do?”

“Break up with her ten months ago!” You fire back at him, your voice already hoarse from harboring so many emotions, so much pain. “I would have even settled for five months ago, or three. Fuck, I would’ve been happy even if you had just done it prior to this weekend and avoided sending her away at all.” You cry, resisting the urge to shove his chest again. “Because that would have proven to me that you were serious about this, about me.”

“How would that have proven I was any more serious about you than what I’m saying to you right now?” Matty’s thick eyebrows furrow deeply, his dark eyes scanning all over your face. “Or what I said to you last night?”

Your heart drops at the mention. 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Because why wait?” You exasperate, feeling like a broken record at this point and nearly exhausted from constantly repeating yourself. “Why go through the struggle of sending her away when you could have just broken up with her right then and been done for good?” A question that he still hadn’t provided an answer for, your heart nearly breaking in two as you come to the realization. “You still want to be with her.”

“No, I don’t.” Matty is quick to shut the idea down. “I-I don’t want to be with her, I want to be with you.” He stresses, taking another step forward and placing his hands on your shoulders to ensure you were staring into his eyes as he promises. “You.”

“If she hadn’t found out about us, would you be here right now?” You can’t help but wonder, dread swimming through your veins as the terrifying thought swirls through your mind, a stray tear trailing into your mouth as you ask, “If she hadn’t broken up with you, would you even be standing in my living room?”

“Wha- yes, yes!” Matty emphasizes by squeezing your shoulder. “Of course I would be.”

“See? That's the problem,” Your voice barely above a whisper as you shake your head softly. “I don’t believe you.”

“I promised-”

“You promised me for ten months, ten.” You’re quick to cut him off, face screwed in an overwhelming wave of emotion. “And not once did you follow through, it was always fucking something.” You scoff, rolling your eyes softly. “Farrah had a bad day at work, Farrah had a flat tire, Farrah got a paper cut today.” You can’t help but laugh breathlessly. “I mean, it was always Farrah, Farrah, Farrah. Well, what about me?” You cry, your bottom lip quivering and eyes brimmed with so many tears that Matty’s face grew blurry. “What about my feelings?”

“What are you talking about?” Matty stresses, you could practically hear the panic in his tone. “I-I care about you, of course I care about your feelings.”

“You don’t.” You argue, swallowing down the lump in your throat as the pain pours from your eyes. “You have never thought once about how these past ten months have affected me because you knew all you had to do was drop to your knees and I’d forgive you.” 

You feel ashamed now even admitting it because it was true, it happened countless times before. You’d get angry at Matty and he’d drop to his knees, spread your legs until you forgot why you were even angry with him in the first place. You could only assume he was considering trying it out now by the way his eyes fell down to your legs that were only covered by the hem of your oversized tee. 

“Poor Farrah couldn’t get her heart broken because she got a fucking speeding ticket but you had no problem crushing mine week after week, you fucking asshole!” The anger bubbles up inside of you until you're shoving at his chest yet again, the blow knocking his hands off your shoulders and back to his sides. “You fed me bullshit for months and I believed you!” You cry, amazed at yourself for not seeing through it all sooner. “When in reality, the timing was never right because you didn’t want it to be.” You shove your finger into his chest, delivering a heartbreakingly weak realization. “You were never going to break up with her.”

Matty’s face falls and you hate the way your chest aches at the sight, hate the way that after everything you still couldn’t stomach the sight of him being upset. You squeeze your eyes shut to block it out now and the tears race down your face to see who would be the first to roll down your neck and seep into the neckline of your t-shirt. 

“And some part of me always knew that but I had convinced myself that I was wrong because I wanted to believe you.” You shake your head softly, opening your eyes slowly and the breath gets knocked from your lungs at the sight of him, the view clearer now that your eyes weren’t so blurred from all the tears. “I needed to believe that one day you were going to break up with her. That one day this would all amount to something, that somewhere deep down inside of you, you had real feelings for me and this wasn’t just about the thrill.” You confess with a voice that cracked with emotion. “I needed to believe that because it made it all hurt a little less.”

You bring your hands up to your head and shake your head to try and make the jumbled mess of a million thoughts whirling around in your brain makes some sense.

“A-All the sneaking around, the lying, the guilt. It would all be worth it someday because you were going to break up with her and finally choose me.” You sigh, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as a fresh batch of tears roll down your cheek, your voice barely above a whisper as you mutter. “And you never did.” 

“I am choosing you, I-I’m choosing you right now.” Matty stresses, his tone full of panic as his dark eyes brim with tears that you weren’t sure were genuine or not. “You want me? You have me.” He promises, reaching up to take hold of your hands that were still resting on your head, quick to intertwine his fingers with your own before you could pull away from him. “I-I’m right here.”

Your eyes glance up to the ceiling, pursing your lips in hopes that it would stop them from quivering. You knew that if you stared at Matty for too long that you’d give in and you couldn’t, you refused because Farrah was right, you did deserve better than this.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” You sigh, eyes stinging ever so slightly from the light up on the ceiling that you were staring at, choosing this vice over the one in front of you because Matty’s gaze burned more fiercely. “How many nights I’ve dreamed about you showing up on my doorstep? Single, begging for me.” 

It’s something you fantasized about more often that you cared to admit. Zoned out during meetings, watching a rom-com with your best friends on a Friday night, when you were tossing around in bed unable to fall asleep. You thought about the day Matty would come running to you constantly, you practically wished for it with every penny you threw into a fountain, but you never thought it’d happen like this. 

“This is all I have wanted for so long.” Your voice breaks, face twisting in sorrow as you blink away the sting from the light on the ceiling and find the courage to look into Matty’s dark eyes again. “You’re finally choosing me and I can’t even be happy about it because I will never know if you’re choosing me because you actually want me or just because Farrah didn’t give you any other choice.”

The words sting as they fall off your tongue, the idea twisting your stomach with a deep nausea that makes your legs feel weak as you stand before him.

“Are you kidding me? Of course I want you.” Matty squeezes your hands still intertwined with his own softly. “It wouldn’t matter if Farrah gave me a choice or not because the result would be the same, I would still be standing right here with you. Y-You have to believe me.” Matty begs, squeezing your hands even tighter now out of fear that you might leave him. “I want you, not her. I-I haven’t proven that to you?”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, the emotions pouring from your eyes had built up too large of a lump in your throat to swallow, all you could do was stare into his glossy, dark eyes and shake your head slowly. Matty’s face crumbles at the sight and the first tear falls from his eye at the impact, his own lip quivering as he opens his mouth and hesitates before rubbing his thumbs over the backs of your hands.

“I know you heard me last night.” The softly spoken words pack quite the punch, practically knocking the air from your lungs and cutting your heart strings to drop it to the floor. “You’ve been pretending like you haven’t this whole time, but I know that you did.” He nods as another tear trickles from his eye, inching his face ever so slightly closer to your own so he could stare deeper in your eyes. “I love you.” His voice is sure and strong, full of emotion, pulled from his gut. “I-I’m in love with you, you know that I love you, is that not proof enough?”

You had dreamed about what it would feel like to be loved by Matty, if you’d be swept away by the butterflies swarming in your stomach when he finally admitted it or so consumed with happiness that you would burst on the spot. You never dreamed that the three words falling from his tongue would fill your stomach with dread, that hearing them would make you feel nauseous and skeptical because under the circumstances that he was saying them to you, you just couldn’t believe him. 

“No.” You shake your head softly, the word barely more than a hushed whisper, painful as you admit it. “Fuck, Matty, do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say this to me? A-And now that you are it’s-” A crack in your voice cuts you off, pulling your hands from his own to wipe your tears away. “No, i-it’s not enough because how do I know that you actually mean it?”

Matty’s face twists in a newfound pain, as if the accusation hurt more than if you had just slapped him in the face instead. 

“Of course I mean it, I-” His head shakes, his eyes brimmed with tears thick brows knitted tightly and you can’t help but cast your eyes to the floor to distract yourself from the sight of his own aching heart. “I love you. Hey, look at me.” He stresses, his hand quick to grab onto your face and maneuver it in a way that has your red eyes fixated on his own again as he repeats more slowly, more intentionally. “I love you.” His dark eyes roam all around your face, a deep set panic behind the tearful glaze. “I would never lie about that.”

“Ten minutes ago you were swearing to me that you had never lied to me at all.” You laugh weakly and his hands settled over your cheeks burn like fire as they wipe collect the tears falling from your eyes. “We both see how that turned out, so how can you expect me to believe you now?”

Matty’s face crumbles in defeat, his hands gripping onto your face tighter as his head falls back in a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling while a stray tear trickles from his eye. It nearly reaches his quivering pink lips before he’s tilting his head forward again and locking his gaze with your own. 

His thumbs stretch out to carefully wipe beneath your eyes, handling you with such care that it only makes you cry harder and you’re so wrapped up in your own emotions that you don’t even realize Matty’s leaning in to kiss you until his lips are already pressed against your own. 

It was only a peck, as if he was testing the waters, a kiss just long enough to make your heart flutter and miss him when he pulled away to whisper “I love you.” in the inch of space between your lips before diving in for more. 

His lips slide against your own in a familiar display of desperation, practically pouring all the thoughts he couldn’t find the words to express out loud into your mouth through his tongue, holding onto your face tightly as if he feared you were about to slip through his fingertips if he loosened his grip at all. 

You couldn’t help but melt into him, his tears dancing with your own in a salty mix that  only makes you all the more desperate to drink him in, your hands nearly ready to slide up his chest so you could wrap your arms around his neck and fall victim to the never ending cycle once again. 

You were seconds away from it, your fingertips twitching at your sides to reach out and touch him, so wrapped up in the way his lips felt against your own that you would’ve done anything for him if he hadn’t slid his fingertips in your hair and snapped you out of the trance.

You’re quick to place your hands on his chest and push him away with so much force that you both break away from the kiss in a gasp, the two of you practically panting as you stare into each other's eyes.

“No.” You stress through a new wave of tears, shaking your head to further get your point across. “No, I-I’m not letting you manipulate me into forgiving you again.” You take a step back to put some distance between the two of you, terrified that if you stared at his swollen lips for a second longer that you’d throw caution to the wind and dive back in. “You can’t just kiss me and expect it all to go away, not this time.”

“I’m not kissing you to manipulate you?” Matty looks pained at the accusation. “I’m kissing you because I love you and it’s the only way I know how to prove that to you.” He takes a step forward to try and grab your hands but you're quick to cross your arms over your chest and prevent him from doing so, hurt flashes behind his brown eyes and makes you feel ill for rejecting him. “I love you and I-I want to be with you, please believe me when I say that.”

“And I want to be with you, more than anything.” You can’t help but admit through a weak, defeated tone. “But I-I don’t know if I can.”

“Why?” Matty exasperates, the frustration clear in his tone. 

“Because what if you do it to me?” Your voice is not much more than a whisper as you finally admit the fear you’ve had all along, sniffing and rolling your eyes slightly before continuing. “What happens when a younger, hotter, smarter girl who wears her skirts just a little too short starts working at the office and you decide she's the one?”

It was a fear you’ve had the entire ten months you’ve known Matty, that some fresh out of college intern would start working there and he’d forget all about you, toss you to the side the second someone new and more exciting came along. 

“I don’t want to wake up in two years and realize that I’m Farrah.” You cry, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you shake your head to confirm. “I won’t.”

“I would never do that to you.” Matty promises and you can’t help but laugh weakly at the irony. 

“Don’t you think Farrah believed that too? That you’d never do something like this to her?” You don’t even have it in yourself to be angry anymore, your voice full of defeat and sorrow as you sigh. “Look at her now, I mean, we ruined her and all because you wouldn’t just man up and end it.” 

You couldn’t help but throw the blame on him because yes, you were partially to blame but at the end of the day, none of this would have happened if it wasn’t for him being unfaithful. 

“And you still can’t even admit that the only reason you wouldn’t break up with her was because you didn’t want to.” You nearly felt numb at this point, your eyes swollen with pain from crying for so long, wishing that you had never opened your door at all and just left Matty sitting on your doorstep. “There were never any speeding tickets or flat tires, that was all just bullshit to buy yourself more time.” You scoff. “It didn’t matter what I did, what I said, it never mattered because I was never going to be yours.” Your heart cracking in two and the pain from it shines clearly in your voice that breaks as you whisper through tears. “And that’s all I ever wanted to be.”

“You’re not listening to me. I want you to be mine, baby.” Matty chokes out, his eyes full of desperation and a silent plea for you to believe him. “Y-You are mine, you-”

“I’m not.” You sigh. “I never was.” The words sting as they fall from your tongue, you didn’t even need Matty to help break your heart, you were doing a fine job of it all on your own. “And the only reason you want me to be now is because you can’t have her anymore.” You wipe at your cheeks and roll your eyes softly, even give yourself a laugh of self pity. “I will always be your second choice and I feel like the biggest idiot in the world for falling in love with you.”

You grimace as soon as you say it, squeezing your eyes shut tightly, a stray tear falls down your cheek rapidly from the impact. You couldn’t believe that after all this time, after all the ways you had envisioned it happening, that this was how you finally admitted it out loud. 

“You’re in love with me?” You could practically hear the astonishment in his whispered tone, the breathless way it fell from his lips that were surely quivering with emotion. 

“Oh, don’t pretend like you didn’t know that.” You laugh weakly, opening your eyes just to roll them but keeping them downcasted on the floor, sick just from the sight of your bare feet parallel to his shoes. “It’s not like it wasn’t written all over my face anytime you gave me some attention.”

The silence that lingers between the two of you is suffocating and you’re plagued by the torture of not even knowing his reaction to your admission because you were too cowardly to take a peek. You continue to stare at the ground and watch the way Matty’s shoes shift on the floor in front of you, listen to the way he sniffs and wipes away tears of his own as he processes the words you never thought you’d have the guts to say to him. 

“Why didn’t you say it back?” The pain is clear in his voice and the sound makes your chest ache. “Last night, why didn’t you tell me that you loved me too?”

Your heart drops at the question, memories of you tossing and turning in Matty’s arms all night as you stew on those three words play in your head and make you desperate to turn back time and start the day all over. 

You sigh. Well, it was already all out there in the open now, might as well be honest. 

“Because I was your best kept secret and that was mine.” Your heart climbing up your throat to spill out all over his shoes that you couldn’t stop staring at. “And what if I finally admitted that secret I’d been hiding for so long just to find out that you had only said because you were about to cum.” A huff of laughter in the form of air exhales from your nose as you shake your head at the ground. “I-I couldn’t say it back until I knew for sure that you meant it.”

There’s a beat of silence that feels as though it drags on for an hour and the sound of Matty sniffing breaks the allusion. 

“And now?” He asks, leaving room for you to answer him and sniffing once more when you don’t even make an attempt. “You know that I mean it? Y-You do know that I love you, right? Please tell me that you know that.” He stresses as you watch the way his shoe steps closer to your bare foot and suddenly his hands are on your face, pulling your head up so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “Look at me, I love you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You whimper, your bottom lip quivering with overwhelming emotion, an indescribable pain shooting through your chest. “I-It’s too late, you’re too late.”

“It’s not too late.” Matty is quick to argue, his fingers holding onto your face for dear life. “We can fix this, I can fix this.” He promises through a stream of tears that your own eyes mirror. “I love you, please let me fix this.”

“You can’t.” It pains you to admit because if there was even the slightest chance that he could reverse all the damage he’s done, you would give him the opportunity without any hesitation. “I wish that you could, but I-I don’t think I could ever trust you enough to be with you.” Matty’s face crumbles through your admission, so much pain behind his eyes that you knew you’d be haunted by the image forever. “I-I’m sorry, I just- I-I can’t.” You hiccup through a painful cry, feeling as though your heart was ripping in two as you whisper. “I-I think that you should leave.”

“Please don’t do this.” Matty begs, his dark eyes wide and wet with tears. “Please don’t end this, I-I’ll do anything, baby, please.”

“I have to.” You whisper, hesitating before reaching out to wipe his own tears away softly with your thumb and nearly break at the way he leans into your touch. “Please let me.” You plead, holding onto his cheek and cherishing the feeling before it was gone forever. “Please. I-I have tried to end this for ten months now and you have never let me follow through with it, you always find a way to reel me back in and I-I can’t let that happen this time.” Your head shakes, your heart aches. “You have to let me end it, you have to leave.”

“No.” Matty argues, standing his ground with a newfound fire in his eyes hidden beneath all the heartache and despair. “I’m not leaving, I-I’m not giving up on you, on us.”

“You have to.” You stress through a pout that trembles at the sight of him crying over you. “If you don’t leave then I’ll never end it and I have to end it because you are killing me, Matty.” You choke out. “Being in love with you is killing me.” Your thumbs swipes under his eye to collect the fresh tears falling from his beautiful brown orbs. “I-I can’t have you around me anymore, you have to go.”

Matty’s face twists in deep sorrow, his hands sliding from your cheeks to run through your hair, his eyes scanning every inch of your face as if he was fighting to memorize every feature so he’d never forget a trace. “But I love you.” 

“I know.” You smile softly, rubbing your thumb soothingly across his cheek. “And I love you.” You nod, your stomach twisting in pain at the realization that this was the first and only time the two of you would ever exchange the sentiment. “But you have to leave, you have to do this for me.”

Matty shakes his head, sliding his hand to the back of your neck to pull you in for a desperate kiss that you don’t stop him from, allowing him to pour out every unspoken emotion through his lips that press against your own that understand every silent word. 

He pulls away from the kiss after what felt like a lifetime, his eyes bloodshot from all the tears that had poured from them as he laughs weakly. “I don’t know how you expect me to leave now.”

You smile softly, leaning up on the tips of your toes to press one last kiss to his quivering lips. 

“Because this is your chance to prove it.” You nod at him in reassurance as you wipe another tear from his cheek. “If you truly love me then prove it to me and walk away.” You try to stand strong but your voice betrays you in the way it breaks from the emotion pouring from your eyes, begging Matty one last time. “Let me end it, please.”

You stare into Matty’s dark eyes and could practically see the internal war happening in his mind through the pupil, surely outweighing his options and deciding if it was better to fight for you to prove his love to you or listen to your request and lose you forever. 

His decision takes a lifetime and you get lost in his eyes as you await his next move, hopeful that he’d comply and let you win for once, you weren’t sure if you had any argument left in you. 

Matty’s hand trails up your neck to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb soothingly beneath your eye as he takes a deep breath and finally caves, nodding his head and accepting the fact that if he wanted to prove his love for you, this was the only way how. 

Your stomach rolls at the pain behind his eyes as they scan over your face one last time before he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead, allowing it to linger there long enough for you to feel the way his lips quiver against your skin, your eyes squeeze tight at the feeling. He pulls back far enough to press another kiss to your hairline before nodding once more and walking away despite everything in his body screaming at him to stay.

Your chest aches more and more with every step he takes toward your front door, feeling numb when he hesitates as he grabs your door knob and glances over his shoulder at you to ensure that this was what you really wanted before he left your apartment. And even though you were the one forcing him to leave, you couldn’t bear the sight of watching him walk out of your life forever, you stare at him for one more gulp before casting your eyes down to your bare feet that immediately blur from the tears that pool rapidly. 

Matty lingers for ten more seconds, you knew because you were counting, getting one last look at you before turning the knob and leaving you and your apartment for good. 

The door shuts softly yet the impact of the moment makes it feel as though it was slammed, shattering your heart into a million pieces the second you hear it close, knowing that you were all alone and immediately crumbling down to your knees in the middle of your living room at the sickening realization that this is how you’d feel for the rest of your life, alone. 

You couldn’t help but allow the emotion to overtake your body, spilling out of you in a painful way now that you didn’t have someone to be embarrassed in front of, nearly hyperventilating through sobs as you grip the floor of your apartment for some support through it all. 

This was not at all how you envisioned this day to go. 

You woke up in Matty’s arms this morning with the confidence that it was where you would fall asleep tonight, fully convinced that this was the time he'd be honest with you and finally break up with her, this would be the time he would choose you. 

And that all may have been true, but you would never know.

Your chest burns with fire now from the sobs that wrack through your body as you come to terms with the fact that you would never truly know if Matty was being honest with you or not. If he hadn’t forgotten to clean up those fucking wine glasses, if Farrah hadn’t figured the two of you out, would Matty have followed through and broken up with her anyway? He could scream empty promises that he was going to until he was blue in the face, but you would never know if he was being truthful or not.

Matty was the only one who would ever know how this day was going to initially end and that killed you.

You wished more than anything that you could crawl inside of his mind and discover the answer because you needed to know, you craved it. You needed some sort of comfort that you hadn’t just wasted ten months of your life on a man that was never going to choose you and the fact that you would never have it was going to haunt you forever. 

And while you know it’s for the better, you know that it’s a good thing that Farrah found out because it led you to realize all the lies you’ve been blindly believing for the past ten months, there's a small part of you that wants to stand up and sprint out of your apartment to catch him before it was too late. 

Maybe he was leaning against your apartment building right now, smoking a cigarette and wishing his lips were wrapped around you instead. Maybe he was out pacing in the cold and regretting every stupid decision he made that led to his inevitable downfall, god, you hoped that he was. Or maybe he was still sitting right outside, maybe his ear was pressed to the wood and he was listening to you sob and scream for him and fighting not to bust down the door to come back for you. 

You have to dig your nails into the floorboards to prevent yourself from crawling over to your door and opening it to check if he was still sitting out there because you knew if he was that you’d cave and let him back inside and you couldn’t do that. As badly as you wanted him, you couldn’t have him. You deserved better than someone who took ten months to finally choose you, you had to let him go.