Matt zipped up his duffel bag with finality, the sound slicing through the soft silence of the morning. He took one last look at the cozy room he'd stayed in—photos of Nate's family on the walls, a blanket folded neatly on the bamboo bench, the faint scent of rice and lemongrass still lingering from the previous night's dinner.
He quietly slipped outside, careful not to wake anyone. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, casting only a faint golden glow over the mist-covered land. His SUV sat alone by the dirt road, packed and waiting.
Matt gripped the car keys tightly in his hand and took a deep breath.
This is the right thing, he told himself.
Nate has Gabriel. He deserves something simple. Something that won't break him.
He didn't hear the crunch of sandals on gravel until it was too late.
"Seriously?"
Brice's voice rang from behind him, thick with sleep and annoyance. "You're really gonna sneak out like some tragic drama lead?"
Matt closed his eyes for a second before turning around. "I didn't want to wake anyone."
Brice crossed his arms. He was wearing an oversized T-shirt and flip-flops, hair sticking up like a storm cloud. "Cut the crap, Cohen. You're running."
"I'm leaving," Matt corrected, trying to keep his voice neutral. "There's a difference."
"Oh, please." Brice scoffed, stepping closer. "You've been mooning over Nate since day one. Now what? One letter from childhood crush-boy and you fold?"
Matt's jaw tensed. "It's not about that."
"Then what is it?" Brice demanded, quieter now, but more pointed. "Why are you really leaving?"
Matt looked away, toward the fields, where a lone farmer was starting his early rounds with a carabao.
"I don't want to force anything," Matt said finally. "I've messed up enough. If Nate's happy with Gabriel... then maybe it's time I stop getting in the way."
Brice studied him for a beat, then spoke flatly. "And if he's not happy? You still walk away?"
Matt didn't answer.
Brice shook his head, disappointed. "Coward."
Matt flinched—but didn't fight it. He looked down at his bag, at the keys, at the choice in front of him.
Nate sat up abruptly in bed, blinking against the soft sunlight filtering through the window. Something felt… off.
The room was too quiet.
He stood and padded barefoot to the kitchen, expecting to see Matt half-asleep with a mug of coffee or joking with his dad while peeling fruit.
But no Matt.
He peeked out the bamboo-slatted window—and froze.
There, in the driveway, was Matt. Bag slung over his shoulder. Talking to Brice. Looking like he was about to disappear.
A strange twist curled in Nate's chest. Not panic. Not anger.
But something heavy.
Something real.
He hadn't realized how much space Matt had quietly taken up in his mornings.
And the thought of him gone?
It stung more than it should have.
________
Late morning. Backyard kitchen. Everyone's prepping for lunch.
I swear, if one more mosquito bites me, I'm officially moving to Bangkok and never returning to this countryside mosquito apocalypse.
I flip the fish on the grill with a little more aggression than necessary. Brice eyes me from the shade with a knowing smirk as he fans himself dramatically using a plastic plate.
"Bad mood or just your yearly full-body detox?" he asks, raising a brow.
"Shut up," I mutter, flipping the fish again.
Zeke leans closer, whispering, "Still no word from Matt?"
I don't answer. I don't have to. The fact that I'm about two seconds away from body-slamming a tilapia onto the ground is enough of an answer.
He left.
No goodbye. No note. Not even a goodbye text.
Classic Matt Cohen Reyes. Vanish like a magician once things get too real.
I poke the fish again.
"This fish didn't flirt with Gabriel, Nate," Luther says suddenly, deadpan. "No need to punish it."
Brice snorts while sipping iced tea. "Right? Someone's grilling their heartbreak instead of the actual lunch."
I glare at all of them. "I'm not mad."
"Sure," Brice says. "And this isn't the fourth fish you've sacrificed to the flames because someone didn't hug you this morning."
Before I could launch the spatula at him, a distant engine rumbled from the front gate. I hear a vehicle door shut. Then—
"Oh, Nate!" my mom's voice echoes through the yard. "Come help Matt with the grocery bags!"
...
Hold up.
Matt?
I whip my head toward the path. And there he is—sweaty, grinning, and struggling to carry three large paper bags like he's auditioning for Husband of the Year. My mom is trailing behind him, holding a basket of eggs like they just came from a Sunday date at the farmer's market.
"Surprise," Matt says, breathless, as he stops at the edge of the porch.
My brain goes blank.
This man… he left. I woke up and mourned him like a ghost. I mentally held a funeral in my heart. I plotted angry letters I'd never send. And now here he is, acting like he didn't just emotionally abandon me 12 hours ago.
"I—what?" I blurt.
"Went on a little trip to the next town with your mom," Matt says casually, setting down the bags. "She said you were craving that sour tamarind candy and the supermarket here ran out."
"You left in the morning," I say. "Silently."
"I didn't want to wake you," he shrugs. "You looked peaceful. Like a very angry angel."
Brice chokes on his iced tea behind me. "He said angel—I'm not okay."
I glare daggers at Matt. He just smiles.
"Oh, and I got that special rice brand you like. Also, your mom picked out this weird seasoning that she says makes your sinigang taste like a love confession."
"You—" I feel my eye twitch. "You went grocery shopping. Instead of telling me you weren't actually leaving."
Matt raises a brow. "You seemed convinced I was leaving. I figured it wouldn't hurt to let you miss me a little."
Luther whistles. "Bro brought groceries and emotional manipulation."
"Okay, you know what?" I throw the spatula onto the table. "You're annoying."
Matt steps closer, lowering his voice. "But you're smiling."
"Because I'm about to stab you with a lemongrass stick."
"Still a smile."
I hate him. I hate him so much my chest feels warm and my lips won't stop twitching. My mom walks past us, humming, like she's not the co-conspirator in this entire ambush.
"Lunch soon, kids!" she says brightly.
Brice whispers, "Your mom ships it harder than Twitter."
Matt winks. "Can I help with the fish?"
"Touch it and I throw you in the pond."
He laughs. "So romantic."
And just like that, the tension of the day melts. Not fully. Not yet. But enough.
Because maybe he didn't run.
And maybe… he came back because he wants to.
________
Lunch was served under the bamboo canopy beside our house, complete with fresh grilled fish, stir-fried greens, and my mom's famous tamarind soup that could probably end wars if bottled correctly.
I sat at the head of the long wooden table, trying very hard not to look directly across where Matt was currently helping my little cousin peel shrimp like he was applying for the role of "Local Son-in-Law."
He was being absurdly charming again. Laughing with my uncles. Complimenting the sinigang. Helping my dad scoop rice. The nerve.
"Mind if I join?"
Oh no.
I looked up to see Gabriel striding over with that boyish smile, hair effortlessly tousled, holding a tray of skewers like he was about to host a cooking show.
Brice, who had literally just taken a bite of mango, blinked at me and whispered, "Love triangle incoming in three... two…"
"Of course, Gab," my mom beamed, clearly still in love with the idea of marrying me off to my childhood neighbor. "Come, sit beside Nate!"
I barely had time to react before Gab slid into the seat next to me. Not across. Not diagonally. No. Next to.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked softly, nudging me with his elbow.
"Yeah," I said quickly. "Totally. Just focused on not letting my rice fall apart."
"Still remember how you hated veggies?" he teased. "I used to bribe you with sour candies to eat kangkong."
"That was one time—"
"You spit it out dramatically and cried," Gab said with a grin.
Across the table, I saw Matt's brow twitch. Just slightly.
Brice looked at Zeke. Zeke looked at Luther. Then all three looked at Matt, silently saying: You good, bro?
To Matt's credit, he smiled.
"So," he said with a bright tone, interrupting the moment like he was in a sitcom. "Gabriel, right? Childhood crush? Local legend? Great biceps?"
Gab laughed. "That's a weird intro, but yeah—Gabriel."
"I've heard a lot about you," Matt said, his tone sunny—but his eyes? Chaotic sunshine. "Like how you saved Nate from a goose attack in 5th grade?"
"Traumatizing," I muttered.
"It had a name," Brice added. "Gregory."
Matt leaned in with a grin. "See, I've only known Nate during our 'fake relationship' era—post-goose trauma. But you? You had the prequel."
Gab chuckled. "True. But I think I missed the plot twist where he started dating a singer."
"Oh no," Matt said dramatically, "that wasn't in the original script. Total rewrites. The writers went wild."
The tension at the table was thick enough to grill.
I took a bite of fish to avoid participating, but Brice, traitor that he is, asked, "So Matt, how do you feel about having to compete with Gregory the Goose's arch nemesis?"
Matt wiped his mouth with a napkin and said calmly, "Well, it's hard competing with someone who has years of inside jokes and a mom-approved smile."
Gab looked flattered.
"But," Matt added, casually spearing a shrimp with his fork, "I have great calves. And once, Nate said I made really good garlic rice. So, you know... balance."
The table howled. Even my uncle choked on his soda. I gave Matt a look, to which he only grinned smugly and chewed like he just dropped a diss track.
Gab tilted his head. "I mean, garlic rice is hard to beat."
"I train daily," Matt replied with a wink.
My brain short-circuited for a second.
"Okay," I said, grabbing the ladle just to do something, "everyone focus on food. No one is fighting over me. I'm just trying to digest in peace."
"But it's cute," Brice whispered, scooping more rice. "The pining. The passive-aggressive shrimp duels. Iconic."
Matt looked across the table and met my eyes briefly. He didn't wink this time. He just smiled.
No tension.
Just... something gentle.
I quickly looked down, face a little too warm for the weather.
___________
It was supposed to be a chill community clean-up—paint the wooden fence, sweep a few leaves, hand out juice boxes. But no. Of course I'd be the one to trip over an uneven patch of dirt in front of half the village and land dramatically on my knees like a Shakespearean tragedy.
"Ow—what the—?"
Before I could even blink, Matt was already crouching beside me, hands out like I was made of glass.
"Nate," he said low, eyes scanning my scraped knee. "Don't move."
"I'm fine," I muttered, trying to play it off like the pain wasn't blooming up my leg. But then I flinched when he gently touched my shin, and yeah, I was officially exposed.
"You're bleeding," Gabriel's voice came in from behind, suddenly beside us. "Do you need help?"
Matt didn't look at him. "I got it."
The air shifted.
Gab stayed still for a moment—too close—but eventually backed off with a quiet, "Alright."
Matt opened a small first aid pouch (seriously, why does he always carry that?), and gently cleaned the scrape in complete silence. His fingers were light, his touch practiced—but his jaw was tight.
No one was teasing. Even Brice stayed silent.
I looked at Matt. "You don't have to do this."
"I want to," he said quietly, dabbing the wound.
He finished wrapping it with clean gauze, his hand lingering just a second longer.
Then, under his breath—but clear enough for only me to hear—he muttered, "I hate seeing you hurt. Even if I deserve worse."
I didn't say anything.
Not because I didn't have a response.
But because the way he said it felt like a confession—tender, heavy, and far too honest to ruin with a comeback.
And from the corner of my eye, I saw Gabriel watching.
Still.
Quiet.
_________
MATT
The sun had dipped low enough to cast orange streaks across the rice fields. The village was quieter now—most of the volunteers had finished their tasks, and the others were gathered under a shade, drinking iced tea and laughing over stories I couldn't quite hear.
I was on my way back from washing my hands behind the shed when I heard footsteps following me. Confident ones.
I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.
"Do you always rush to his side like that?" Gabriel's voice was low, calm—but it carried something sharp underneath.
I turned slowly, facing him. "He tripped. I wasn't going to just stand there."
"You weren't even the closest person to him," he said, crossing his arms. "But you got there first."
"So?"
He took a step closer. "Let's not pretend this is just about some scraped knee. I see the way you look at him. I've seen it from the start."
"And?"
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "Do you even know what you're doing? With him? After everything that blew up? The scandal. The lies. You nearly ruined him."
"I know," I said, not flinching. "And I'm trying to make it right."
Gabriel chuckled without humor. "And if I told you to back off?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at me like he was trying to read something I refused to put on display.
Then he said, "I've known Nate longer. I've seen him at his worst. I cared about him when you didn't even know he existed. And if you hurt him again, I won't just stand by."
A beat.
Then my voice came out calm. Steady. Sure.
"You don't need to worry about Nate," I said. "Because he doesn't belong to you."
Gabriel blinked, caught off guard by how certain I sounded.
"He belongs with me," I continued. "And not because of some fake dating deal, or a song, or a scandal. But because I love him. And whether he forgives me or not... that's between me and him."
Silence.
For a second, the only sound was the faint buzzing of cicadas in the background.
Gabriel straightened, his lips pressing into a tight line. "Then you better not mess it up. Because if he ends up broken again—"
"I won't," I cut in. "Not this time."
And with that, I walked away—heart pounding, stomach tight—but not because I was afraid.
It was because I knew what I just said… I meant every word of it.
_________
Matt didn't ask—he just carried me like he always did: effortlessly and without permission, like my weight didn't bother him, like I was something fragile and worth holding onto.
"Matt, I can walk," I muttered, half-embarrassed.
"I know," he said, brushing past the doorframe with me in his arms. "But I don't mind showing off a little."
He set me down gently on the bed, his hands lingering at my waist before slowly pulling away. His eyes flickered with something—concern? Guilt? Longing?
Whatever it was, it left me breathless.
"Thanks," I said, my voice barely audible.
He didn't answer right away. Just checked the bandage on my knee again, his fingers feather-light. Then, slowly, he sat beside me—close enough that our legs touched.
I turned toward him. "You don't have to keep doing this, you know."
Matt looked at me, brows furrowed. "Doing what?"
"This," I said, motioning between us. "Being… whatever this is. You're being kind and patient and sweet, and it's messing with my brain."
He chuckled softly, but there was something in his eyes that didn't smile. "Nate, I'm not doing this because I feel guilty."
I swallowed.
"Then why?" I asked. "Why are you still here?"
He exhaled slowly. "Because I care about you. I didn't expect to. I didn't mean to. I didn't even know I could feel this way again. But somehow… it's you."
My heart stuttered.
He continued, voice soft like a confession, "You made me want more than pretending. You made me forget that it was ever fake."
I blinked. "You're serious?"
"I've never been more sure," he said.
I stared at him. At his tired eyes. His cracked heart. His stubborn hope.
And then I said it.
Quiet, terrified, but honest.
"I like you too."
His breath caught.
"I didn't plan on it," I said, trying to find the words. "I kept telling myself this was just a game. Just a temporary fix. But you… you ruined it. You looked at me like I was more than just damage control."
Matt's lips parted. "Nate…"
"I like you," I said again, firmer this time. "Even when you're frustrating. Even when I'm scared out of my mind that you'll choose someone else again."
There was a pause. Our eyes locked.
Then he surged forward and kissed me.
And I kissed him back—no hesitation. No holding back.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't careful. It was everything we'd been holding in since the night this all began—months of tension, confusion, longing, and quiet affection exploding into a kiss that curled my toes and scrambled my thoughts.
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He cupped my jaw like he was afraid I'd disappear.
My back hit the bed again, and this time, he didn't pull away.
And I didn't stop him.
His kisses trailed down my neck, slow and reverent, as if mapping a route back home.
Our hands wandered—desperate, shaky, but never crossing the line of what felt right. It wasn't about rushing.
It was about finally, finally being real.
When we broke apart, chest heaving, I looked into his eyes and whispered, "Stay."
"I wasn't planning on leaving," he said.
And that night, tangled in each other, we didn't pretend.
Not once.
_________
The morning sunlight crept into the room, brushing softly against my eyelids like a nosy toddler trying to wake me up. I groaned.
Something warm shifted beside me.
And that's when I remembered… I wasn't alone.
Matt's arm was lazily draped over my waist, our legs tangled, and his face—way too close to mine—was peaceful, with the faintest sleepy smile tugging at his lips.
I blinked at him.
He blinked back, eyes half-lidded. "Morning."
"Why is your hand on my hip?" I asked, voice still raspy.
"Possession," he mumbled. "You're mine now. Claimed."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you like it."
I tried to roll my eyes, but the butterflies were staging a musical in my stomach. "Stop smiling like that."
"Like what?" he asked, smiling wider.
"Like you just won something."
He leaned in a bit. "Didn't I?"
I blushed, shoved his chest. "Gross."
"Admit it," he whispered, brushing my hair off my forehead. "You like waking up like this."
I smirked. "I liked it until you started breathing so loudly."
"You wound me."
"You snore, by the way."
"I do not."
"You snored halfway through the night, Matthew Reyes. I thought there was a dying walrus in the room."
Matt gasped dramatically. "You're evil."
"Admit defeat, walrus."
And with that, he launched his fingers into my ribs, tickling mercilessly.
"Matt—no! Stop—!" I laughed, writhing and flailing as he grinned with wicked glee.
"You mess with the walrus, you get the tusks!"
"That doesn't even make sense—!"
I managed to twist and pin him underneath me, both of us breathless and laughing.
"You're heavier than you look," I teased.
"You love it."
Before I could answer, the door swung open.
"Hey Nate, do you—WHAT THE ACTUAL—"
Brice.
Frozen in the doorway. Holding a bottle of orange juice. Mouth wide open.
Matt and I jolted upright like cartoon characters caught mid-crime.
I practically flew off the bed.
Matt smacked into the nightstand trying to stand up.
We both stood there, hair wild, faces red, not even remotely casual.
Brice blinked.
We blinked.
No one spoke.
Then Brice deadpanned, "Don't worry, I'll just burn this image into my retinas for the rest of my life."
"I—it's not—!" I stammered.
"We were just—" Matt began.
Brice raised a hand. "Please. I don't need an explanation. I already saw your soul leave your body, Nate."
Matt cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Breakfast?"
"Yeah," I mumbled, grabbing the closest shirt—Matt's shirt, apparently—and throwing it on.
We practically ran past Brice, who just sipped his juice with the judgment of a thousand sarcastic gods.
As we left, I heard him mutter, "And here I thought this trip couldn't get any gayer."
//