Suddenly, the end had arrived much sooner than expected, streamers catching on doors and zippers, class reps trying to collect photos of each student for the farewell mural, playlists being debated, maybe even a band invited to play. The hallways, mostly empty now, echoed only with murmurs of boys nervously asking girls to the dance, beside bins full of old exams that no longer mattered.

It was a confusing feeling: a euphoric anticipation for the dance wrapped in the realization that life would move on after this night, though not in the same way for everyone.

These past weeks, you’ve drifted somewhere between a sweet sadness and a bitter joy. Your final afternoons of high school were spent sifting through scraps of fabric, searching for something that would make the dance feel worthwhile, capturing what you saw with your father’s old camera.

You liked to pretend it didn’t affect you. But it did. Pretending otherwise would be a lie. That no one had invited you shouldn’t have mattered, but in the glow of celebration, even the thought of showing up alone left a bitter taste. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to be seen differently for once, even if only by some sports-obsessed idiot from school.

Your dress had been hanging in its garment bag for days. You believed it was the most delicate thing you could’ve found, but even if you didn’t want your worth to rest in someone else’s hands, it still hurt knowing you wouldn’t wear it for someone special.

But if you think about it, you’re going with Joan. Since joining the photography and art workshop two semesters ago, the two of you had become almost like siblings. He was caught up in some infatuation with a redhead named Mary, who lived near the volunteer center he helped at. Your friendship had become a shelter.

Everything had gone a bit gray after one of your closest friends moved away without much of a goodbye. School turned unbearable, sometimes uninhabitable. Every step you took felt monitored by loneliness.

Then you realized solitude wasn’t the worst thing. Silence could be productive. Maybe you didn’t need anyone, not really. And perhaps everything would begin again once school wasn’t the rhythm of your days.

Then the school’s photography room opened a spot on the newspaper committee, and you found your escape. You spent your days there, sharing long afternoons with Joan and the rest of the group whenever you weren’t studying.

“Olivia, can you help me with the bags?” your mother asked, snapping you out of the fog as the car pulled into the driveway. You nodded, carrying the groceries to the back door.

There was noise inside already, which meant sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight. Thursdays were now George’s band rehearsal nights.

Things with Matty had changed. Drastically. And part of you believed it was your fault.

Since that night you’d cleaned the blood from his face in your room, things had grown distant. You didn’t really understand why, but you barely saw each other now. And when you did, it was awkward, strained.

You didn’t let yourself cry behind your door, but you were scared—scared you’d crossed some invisible line you didn’t know existed. Still, you missed him. Missed staying up late talking when he’d randomly appear between rehearsals to ask about your school drama.

There was something in him you longed for, even if you didn’t know what it was. Lately, you’d started smoking menthol cigarettes to make up for the scent of his cologne no longer lingering in your room.

Pretending he wasn’t gone only made things worse.

…

Hours later, the crisis seems to have settled.The sunrise light brushes y our figure through the window. You look like someone else, your reflection in the mirror makes you appear older than you feel. You pleat the silver dress hugging your waist, playing with the small embellishments along the bodice. The off-shoulder sleeves make it sweet yet unpredictable, and you think that's why it suits you so well.

Perfume drips across your shoulders; your red lips match the waves in your hair. You feel far too sober for a night you’re already convinced you’ll end up wasting.

You sigh and leave the room. You promised you'd stay for an hour, and you think that’s enough.

George parks the car a few blocks before reaching the school gates. You know he’s doing it because of the traffic, and to give you an escape route, just in case. It took him less than ten minutes to throw on a suit and decide to come with you, because this is his way of looking after you.

“My prom sucked too,” he says, trying to sound casual. You glance at him and sigh; he gives you a smile in return. “You look amazing, Olivia. It’s a shame no one will see you.”

The comment doesn’t make you feel better, even if you know he means well.

George opens the door and helps you out, careful not to let your dress catch. He makes a face when he sees you, he can't tell if you look eighteen or twenty-five, but suddenly he realizes his little sister has grown up too fast. The two of you walk toward the entrance.

The gym looks like it’s straight out of a movie, decorated in colors that seem to scream that your dress blends in with them. The lights blink with a robotic rhythm, as if flickering was the only way to escape them. The music pulses in your ears, and you glance around.

“I’m gonna go say hi to Joan,” you whisper to your brother, trying to spot him tucked near the entrance.

“Alright. I think Ross is around here somewhere.” You raise your eyebrows in confusion. “He’s dating Molly now.”

“Oh, didn’t see that coming,” you say, surprised. He shrugs, and you smile at him before slipping away.

You find Joan shortly after, who offers you a cup of what you assume is punch. He hugs you, rubbing your back.

“You look like part of the decor,” he teases, and you stick your tongue out.

“One hour, and I’m out. Seriously,” you repeat to him, and he nods.

“Good luck with the pictures. I can’t do this tonight.”

“You okay?” he turns to look at you. You shrug.

“Just tired, that’s all.”

You disappear before he can argue. You don’t have the energy to be here, any other place would be better than this. You hate being so blunt with one of the few people who treats you kindly, but your head feels like it might explode.

You walk over to the bleachers and sit there, watching everything. Everything feels so small around you. You stay there for a while, occasionally chatting with a few teachers, though nothing of consequence. You watch the balloons begin to deflate.

You cross and uncross your legs until the bleachers stop being comfortable. You’re not even sure how long you’ve been sitting there, but it’s long enough. You need to leave, you don’t know if to smoke or to just go home, but you need to get out.

Then, just as you stand, a gaze sweeps the gym in seconds, scanning every corner to find you from afar.

Matty.

He was leaning against the wall near the entrance, his usual distant look in place, like nothing could touch him. His hands were in the pockets of his black dress pants, and you were certain he’d just come in from smoking. No jacket, just a black shirt, half-untucked like he’d rolled out of bed and thrown it on. His hair was a mess. More than usual.

You weren’t sure what he was doing there. Maybe he came with Ross. But suddenly, the reason didn’t matter.

For the first time, someone really saw you.

Even across the space between you, his gaze held. It lasted longer than a best friend of your brother’s should’ve allowed. You froze. You didn’t know if he was looking at you, or if it was just a passing glance.

Minutes passed, or maybe they were just seconds that felt like hours. Then you climbed down the bleachers. He began to walk toward youslowly, deliberately.

You shifted your feet nervously as he neared. You weren’t sure if you should hold his gaze or avoid it. You chose the latter, scanning the room for anything else to look at.

But he looked at you truly looked. As if he recognized something beneath the surface.

Something in him shifted. Maybe, just maybe, he’d started feeling something for you long ago. Something he never could explain. Maybe it’s why he pulled away. Because more than anything, he cared too much to risk hurting you. But now, in this moment, he couldn’t hide it anymore.

He looked at you like he hadn’t been allowed to before. Like he was seeing you—not George’s little sister, not the kid around the house, but you—as if rediscovering every part of you for the first time.

He didn’t know if it was the way the dress fit you, or the bare shoulders, or the way you suddenly looked older. But something knocked the wind out of him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you murmured. “But… hi, Matty.”

He looked away, as if afraid you'd read him too well.

“Neither did I,” he replied. “Ross kind of surprised us.”

He smiled, just barely.

The silence hung between you. Not quite awkward, but heavy. Neither of you knew what this was, or where it was going.

“You—you look different,” he said, fumbling.

Different.

Not good, not bad. But maybe the only word he could find.

“And you look amazing.”

To him, you looked like something unreal.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, despite his casual tone.

“Thanks.”

Your words hang in the air alongside the balloons near the ceiling. Matty scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable, on the verge of saying something but backing out at the last second.

“It’s good to see you, Matty. I haven’t, in a while.” You smile at him with all the calm you can fake, as if saying that didn’t burn through your chest. But something tells you you shouldn’t stay much longer. “See you, I guess.”

The music shifts right behind your words, like a reflex. Now it’s a slower song. There are no euphoric screams, only a calmer atmosphere and people dancing in pairs.

“Olivia, do you wanna dance?”

He asks, turning slightly toward you. He doesn’t invade your space, doesn’t touch you—just waits there, suspended.

You look at him with hesitant brows. His distant expression contradicts itself the moment his arm lifts from his side.

There’s no better answer than simply taking his hand, firmly. There’s a spark between you that both of you choose to ignore.

Your hand feels small in his, but before you can think about it too much, he spins you around and pulls you into his arms, every movement gentle, with a careful distance between you both.

You move slowly, as if the world were collapsing the second your hands met. You don’t want it to end too soon.

Matty keeps averting his gaze, like looking at you would reveal something inside him he’s not ready to admit—not yet, at least.

Your feet step on each other’s without meaning to, and you both laugh in each other’s arms. Your dress brushes against his trousers.

Your fingers press firmly against his shoulder, and you grip his hand a little tighter.

His fingers hover lightly over your waist, unsure of how much pressure to apply, but when he barely touches your skin, something in you dies and is reborn. You’re burning under his touch.

There’s a quiet urge to ruin the moment that sneaks into your thoughts to ask what happened, why you don’t talk like you used to, why he doesn’t share coffee with you anymore on your sleepless nights.

And you think he’s fighting the same thing, every time he seems to brace himself to speak, takes a breath, but stays silent.

Still, the answers are all there, in the silent touch he leaves on your skin, flickering.

In a quiet act of finding each other again, you let your head fall on his shoulder, and he pulls you closer. Your nose fills with the scent you’ve missed these last few days. He smells like mint and cigarettes.

You look at him from where you are. His eyes have a light in them you can’t quite explain. There’s a flicker of tenderness in the way he looks at you, completely absorbed, like a child, like the world can’t touch either of you as long as you’re dancing.

You could melt into his arms if you let yourself.

When the song ends, he steps away from you and lets go of your hand with a brief smile, like the distance between you has taken a back seat now.

The world begins to murmur again.

“I’m glad I came, actually,” he mumbles. And somehow, the ambiguity between you two disappears. He smiles, shyly, over his shoulder.

“I’m glad too.”

You smile, waiting for him to say something else. But instead, he just takes a step back.

“See you, Heids.”

And he leaves. Just like that. But as he turns, with his hands back in his pockets, he gives you one last smile.

He leaves you wrapped in the scent of tobacco and mint, with the nickname only he uses for you floating in the air again, and with a feeling you can’t quite describe, but you know it’s real.

When you get home, and in the days that follow, you replay the scene over and over again in your head.

Years later, when everything turns upside down with fame and addictions arriving at your brother’s door and his friends’, whenever it all feels too out of place, when you lose your sense of what’s real,you always go back to the most human moment Matty ever had with you when you were eighteen.

You return to that scene because it’s a feeling that connects you to him even when you’re far apart. And even in the worst moments, you hold on to the belief that that Matty is still somewhere inside him.

That version of Matty who, for once, was just himself. Who wasn’t pretending, who was opening up to you.

That Matty who looked at you like the only stable thing in a world constantly spinning was you. That Matty who always tried to hold you without breaking you.

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hope you like it, thanks for reading <3!

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