TRAGIC
It's been twenty-seven days.
But I'm not counting.
Not really.
At first, it was easy. Easier than I thought it would be to miss someone with so much certainty in my chest.
We talked every night, like clockwork. No matter the time zone or the time difference, Matt would call—sometimes at 3 AM in Berlin or between rehearsals in Seoul, with his hair still wet from a rushed shower and his voice all scratchy from back-to-back gigs.
I liked those moments best.
"Did you eat today?" he'd ask, eyes squinting at me through the screen, concerned and half-asleep.
"Did you sleep today?" I'd fire back.
He'd grin and shrug, that familiar dimple surfacing. "Not important. You first."
We'd tell each other the most mundane things—what we ate, how the weather was, which co-star I had a scene with, or how wild the fans were in Osaka. We even tried reading the same book, just to pretend we were still sharing something.
Sometimes we'd both fall asleep on the call, phones still connected, batteries draining, but neither of us cared.
For a while, it felt like nothing changed.
But then…
Life happened.
And it started changing.
Matt's tour exploded. From city to city, country to country—more press, more interviews, more collaborations. His name trended every other day. And I was so, so proud.
But I also started noticing the tiny shifts.
A missed call.
Then two.
"I'm so sorry, I passed out right after rehearsals," his voice said in a voice note one morning. "I didn't mean to forget. I miss you."
And I believed him.
Because I missed him too.
But it happened again. And again. Until the silence between our updates started stretching longer than the updates themselves.
I wasn't mad.
I was just… adjusting.
At the same time, I was slowly coming back into the spotlight. Scripts came pouring in. I took a new series with two lead actors—both charming, easy to work with, and always around.
It was good work. It kept me focused.
It kept me distracted.
Sometimes I'd scroll through my feed and see Matt on stage, crowd screaming, lights flaring behind him like he belonged to another galaxy now. One where I didn't quite fit anymore.
Our fans still shipped us.
But even they started slowing down. There were no more edits, no more speculations. The hashtags faded beneath the noise of solo fandoms and rising trends.
People stopped asking "Where's Nate?" during Matt's concerts.
And stopped tagging Matt when my scenes aired.
We were still… us.
Just quieter. Distant.
Like two stars on different orbits now, still glowing, but no longer in sync.
I still leave him messages, some days.
He still hearts my posts, occasionally.
But it's different now.
It's starting to feel like loving from afar—not just physically, but emotionally too.
And the scariest part?
I don't even know if it's his fault.
Or mine.
Or just… what happens when two people are growing too fast in separate directions.
But I'm still here.
Even if it feels like we're slowly becoming names on each other's timelines.
Maybe it was gradual—like how autumn sneaks up on you. One morning you wake up and realize the wind feels colder than it did yesterday. That your jacket isn't enough anymore. That things aren't as warm as they used to be.
That's what it felt like with Matt.
At first, it was small things.
A missed message. A forgotten promise to call. A video chat postponed to "after soundcheck," which never came.
Then it became silence.
Not the comfortable kind—the one where you can sit with someone and say nothing at all and still feel safe.
No.
This one was hollow. Heavy.
He stopped sending updates. Stopped reacting to mine. I still posted, hoping maybe he'd see. Maybe he'd say something. Anything.
But nothing came.
Not even a "sorry, I've been busy."
It was like yelling into a void where no echo came back.
I kept telling myself he was just swamped. That the tour was draining. That maybe he was trying to protect me from all the madness.
But slowly, that excuse stopped working.
Especially when I saw he was online—just not with me. Not on our messages. Not in our space.
I called. Twice. Then five more times.
Left voice mails I instantly regretted, hearing my own voice crack as I asked:
"Are we still okay?"
No reply.
I texted him:
"Hey. Just checking in. Hope you're alright. Miss you."
Read.
No response.
And that hurt more than anything.
Because I wasn't asking for much.
Just… something. A sign. Proof that I still mattered in this part of his world.
But it was like he'd drawn the curtains, shut the lights, and moved out of our shared space in his life—without leaving a note.
I sat on my bed that night, staring at my phone, trying not to cry.
I hated how soft I sounded. How pathetic I felt.
Was it my fault?
Was I too much? Not enough? Too far? Too busy?
Or maybe he just… didn't care anymore.
I hated that thought.
But I couldn't shake it.
Because silence—real, hard silence—sometimes says more than words ever can.
So I stopped calling.
Stopped checking.
Stopped leaving breadcrumbs in hopes he'd find his way back to me.
If he wanted me in his life, he knew where to look.
But right now…
It felt like he wasn't looking at all.
__________
MATT'S POV
The second my phone was returned to me, I didn't hesitate.
Three days.
Three entire days.
It felt like years.
I nearly dropped the device trying to unlock it with shaky fingers. There were dozens of missed calls, unread messages, and notifications that made my stomach twist, but only one thing mattered—
Nate.
I didn't even check what he sent. I just hit "Call."
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
And then—
"Hello?"
His voice.
God.
I had missed it so much I nearly broke down just hearing him breathe.
"Nate. Babe, I'm— I'm so sorry." I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the hotel room. "They took my phone. My manager. Said I needed to lock in on rehearsals. I didn't even know how long it had been until just now—"
There was silence on the other end. The kind that told me he'd been hurting. Waiting.
"…Three days, Matt." His voice was soft, tired. "You disappeared for three days."
"I know. I know, I swear I didn't mean to. I would've called you the second I could." My throat tightened. "I missed you. Every single day."
I expected more silence.
But instead, he chuckled weakly. "I missed you too, stupid."
And just like that, the weight cracked.
"God, Nate," I exhaled, smiling despite the ache. "I'm never letting my phone go again."
"You better not," he replied. "I almost flew to Berlin just to smack you with it."
I laughed. "Do it. I deserve it."
We stayed on the call for a while, our voices filling the cracks between us.
Until—
knock knock
The hotel room door opened.
I turned my head just in time to see her step inside—Yumi, the backup dancer assigned to our Europe leg. She was holding a bag of bottled water and tossed it casually on the table.
"Oh, sorry! I didn't know you were—" she gestured to the phone. "Carry on."
But she didn't leave. She just started moving around the room, like she had every right to be there.
_________
NATE'S POV
"You disappeared for three days."
I didn't mean for it to sound like that—broken and soft—but that's what came out. I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling with my heart pounding so loud, it was a miracle I even heard his voice.
"I know. I swear I didn't mean to. They took my phone—my manager. Said I needed to focus. I missed you. Every single day."
I wanted to be angry. I rehearsed a whole speech in my head. About how he was Matt Adarna now—world tour Matt, sold-out-crowds Matt. Not my Matt anymore.
But one apology from him and I melted like I always do.
I let out a dry laugh, weak and small. "I missed you too, stupid."
I heard him exhale like he'd been holding his breath. "God, Nate. I'm never letting my phone go again."
"You better not," I said, smiling into my pillow. "I almost flew to Berlin just to smack you with it."
He laughed. I closed my eyes. For a moment, the world felt normal again. It was just me and him, like nothing had changed.
Until I heard something—
A voice in the background.
A girl's voice.
"Who was that?" I asked, sitting up, heart sinking even before the words came out.
"It's no one. Just—someone from the team."
"…Is she in your room, Matt?"
He didn't answer.
Not right away.
Instead, I heard shuffling. The faint sound of him moving. Then—silence.
"Matt?"
Nothing.
"Why is she in your room, Matt?" I repeated, sharper this time.
He still didn't answer.
And then—
click
The line cut.
My screen blinked back at me, saying Call Ended.
I stared at it for a full minute, like maybe if I looked long enough, it would undo itself.
He hung up on me.
He—he didn't explain. He didn't clarify. He didn't say a damn thing. Just disappeared.
Again.
I let the phone fall to the bed and covered my face with both hands, swallowing the sting that rose in my chest.
Why did it feel like I was always chasing him?
No. I wasn't going to cry. Not again.
But for the first time since Matt left for tour…
I wondered if this was the start of the ending.
_________
My living room was filled with the usual noise—Brice laughing way too loud over a TikTok, Zeke ordering chicken for the fourth time this week, Luther playing some weird remix playlist that I didn't ask for.
I was seated on the edge of the couch, trying to look like I was interested in the show playing on the TV, but my mind was somewhere else.
Matt.
His voice from last night still echoed in my head. That call. That click.
He never called back.
"Oi, Earth to Nate," Brice snapped his fingers in front of my face. "You're zoning out again. Don't tell me you're still thinking about Mr. Global Tour."
I blinked. "No," I lied.
Brice raised a brow. "Yes."
Zeke chimed in, chewing fries. "Bro, if you miss him, say that."
Luther grinned. "Just don't drunk call him. That's my job."
I shook my head, smiling despite the heaviness in my chest. "Shut up, all of you."
Brice leaned forward, arms crossed. "Okay, but seriously. His birthday's next week, right? What's the move? You planning something or just going to cry into your cake again?"
"I didn't cry—"
"You sobbed into a taho," Zeke corrected. "With extra arnibal."
I threw a pillow at him. "It was raining! And emotional!"
Brice smirked. "So? What now?"
I hesitated. Then the idea just slipped out of my mouth like it had been waiting all day.
"…Let's surprise him."
Everyone paused.
"Like, ambush-hug-him-in-the-hallway surprise or—?"
"No." I looked up at them. "Let's fly to Manila. His concert's next week. We show up—backstage, after-party, I don't care how. We just… surprise him."
Luther whistled. "Damn. Full-on romcom third act energy. I like it."
Zeke nodded. "I'm in. I want to see him cry on stage. Drama."
Brice grinned. "Say less. I already have concert fits ready."
I exhaled, my chest weirdly light for the first time in days.
Matt and I—things were messy. Confusing. Maybe even fragile.
But I didn't want to lose him in the noise.
Even if we were still figuring things out, I wanted him to know he wasn't alone.
I looked at my friends—my chaotic, loud, ride-or-die crew.
"We book tickets tonight," I said. "This time, I want to be the surprise."
Brice smirked. "Ohoho, someone's in love again."
"Shut up."
But maybe I was.
Just maybe.
_________
We stood at the very back of the crowd—me, Brice, Zeke, Luther, Jake, and Ciandrei—blending into the sea of waving light sticks, screaming fans, and booming bass.
The Manila concert hall was packed to the rafters, alive with neon signs and loud hearts. I could barely hear my own thoughts over the chanting of Matt's name.
And yet, even in that chaos, my world narrowed into one thing.
Him.
Matt.
There he was on stage, sweat shimmering against his skin under the spotlights, his voice raw and radiant as he performed the last song on the setlist. The moment his fingers strummed the intro on his guitar, I froze.
I knew this song.
It wasn't released yet. He'd only played it once.
For me.
It was our song.
"Why does this feel like a movie?" Zeke muttered beside me, trying to lighten the mood. I didn't even answer. I couldn't.
Because Matt was singing it like no one else existed. His voice broke in the middle of the second chorus—barely, but I caught it. His eyes, the way they darted to the empty space on the edge of the stage, the skyward glance, the smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He thought I wasn't there.
And it hurt. Beautifully.
Brice whispered, "Nate… look at him. That guy's still yours."
I wanted to believe that. Every inch of me wanted to believe that.
I was ready to run to him the moment he said goodbye and the confetti fell. I had rehearsed it in my head a hundred times: me sneaking backstage, Matt turning around in disbelief, us crashing into each other like magnets finally allowed to meet.
But then…
The final note hit.
The crowd exploded in applause.
Matt held his guitar to his chest and gave a little bow, breathing heavy and looking stunned by the love around him.
Then—out of nowhere—she appeared.
Yumi.
She ran onstage from the wings, her sequined outfit shimmering like broken glass in the stage lights.
The fans roared even louder, thinking it was part of the finale.
Matt turned just in time for her arms to wrap around his neck, and before he could step back—
She kissed him.
Full on the lips.
The air knocked out of my lungs. I didn't realize I had stopped breathing.
The confetti still rained down like mocking snowflakes, glinting in the light.
The crowd's roar transformed into chaos—shouts, screams, camera flashes.
My heart dropped somewhere between the drumbeats and my feet.
"What the actual—" Brice choked out.
Zeke blinked, stunned. "That wasn't in the script, right?"
Ciandrei covered her mouth. "Oh my god…"
I couldn't move. My legs had gone stiff, my fingers numb.
I watched Matt's face. His expression had frozen, lips parted in shock, arms limp by his side. His hand even raised slightly—maybe to stop her, maybe to push her away—but it was too late.
Thousands of phones had captured it.
And I was standing right there.
He didn't know I saw.
He didn't know I had come.
And now... I wished I hadn't.
The lights dimmed.
Matt slowly pulled back from Yumi, blinking, and finally turned to face the crowd again, but the damage was done.
I couldn't see clearly anymore—whether it was the smoke machines or my own eyes starting to sting.
Ciandrei reached for me gently. "Nate…"
"I need air," I muttered.
I didn't wait.
I walked away from the stage, through the crowd, past fans laughing, crying, screaming. I didn't stop until the music was nothing more than a muffled thump behind me.
Outside the venue, the Manila air was hot and heavy. My chest felt the same.
Brice and Jake caught up quickly. They didn't say anything. They didn't need to.
Matt had sung my song to the world.
And then kissed someone else right after.
Or rather... let himself be kissed.
Even if it wasn't intentional, even if it was a surprise—
That image was going to be everywhere in a matter of minutes.
And now, my surprise?
It meant nothing.
My hands curled into fists in my pockets.
All those weeks apart, all those moments when I had held on—telling myself we were just busy, just tired, just surviving.
And now I felt like a fool in the middle of Manila.
//