TWO BROKEN HEARTS
It was a calm evening. The kind that pretended nothing had ever gone wrong.
Ciandrei passed the chili oil toward Brice while teasing Zeke about his "hopeless" spice tolerance. Nate smiled faintly, pushing his pasta around his plate more than eating it. He was trying, really trying, to feel normal again—until he saw her.
His hand froze around his fork.
Just by the restaurant's entrance, in a soft blue dress and a beret tugged low on her head, stood Yumi.
The girl who kissed Matt.
The girl who fractured the final thread of his trust.
Brice followed his line of sight—and stood up instantly. "Nope."
Yumi hesitated a step forward, her eyes finding Nate's. "Please, just a minute—"
"No." Brice stepped directly in front of her. "You've said enough—five years ago."
"Brice," she tried again, "I just want to tell him the truth—"
"No," Brice repeated, firmer this time. "He doesn't need closure from someone who set the fire."
Yumi looked like she wanted to argue more, but she saw Nate's face. He wasn't glaring. He wasn't angry. Just tired.
Yumi nodded slowly and left without another word.
Or so they thought.
—
Later That Night
Setting: Nate walks alone on the way back to Brice and Zeke's condo. The night air is humid and thick. A streetlamp flickers as he crosses an alley, only to stop—because there she was again.
Yumi.
She stood beside a vending machine, arms crossed, as if waiting.
Nate sighed, adjusting the bag of takeout in his arm. "You followed me?"
"No," she said gently. "I waited."
He studied her. "Brice said—"
"I know what Brice said. He's right to hate me. He's right to protect you. But I still have to tell you what I should've said years ago."
Nate didn't reply. But he didn't walk away either.
Yumi glanced down, voice softer now. "I didn't kiss Matt because I wanted to."
Silence.
She continued, her voice trembling. "It was Nathan Lim. He… offered me a sum of money. A disgusting amount. At the time, I was drowning in debt. My brother needed surgery. We were weeks from losing our house. I was desperate."
Nate's eyes widened, disbelief flickering. "Nathan?"
Yumi nodded. "He told me exactly what to do. He knew about you and Matt—had someone tail Matt weeks before. He knew how to make it look like something it wasn't. All I had to do was wait for the perfect moment."
Her lips quivered. "And I did it. Right after Matt's last song, in front of that whole stadium… because I needed that money."
Tears pooled in her eyes. "I didn't realize until it was too late that I wasn't just breaking something between you two—I was destroying him. He didn't even know what hit him. He looked so—broken—after you left."
Nate was silent, thunderstruck.
"He begged me to explain," Yumi whispered. "I didn't. I was scared. Cowardly. I took the money and disappeared."
"Why now?" Nate asked, voice tight. "Why tell me this now?"
"Because I saw you tonight," she said, eyes filled with regret. "And you looked like a ghost walking. Just like him. And I thought… maybe if you heard the truth, really heard it, you'd stop blaming each other for something neither of you did."
Nate swallowed, hard.
"He never stopped loving you," she added. "You were in his eyes every time he talked. Every song he wrote. Every lyric. It was all for you."
Nate looked away, throat thick.
"I'm sorry," Yumi whispered. "I don't expect forgiveness. I just wanted you to know… it wasn't his fault."
Then she walked away.
Nate stood frozen for a long moment, the city moving around him, unaware of the storm rebuilding inside his chest.
Yumi didn't walk far.
She stopped at the corner of the block, where a massive LED billboard sat atop a small coffee shop. The screen played live coverage from a segment guesting. A crowd had gathered below, watching in awe, sipping their drinks as if the street had turned into a private screening room.
"Wait," Yumi said softly, reaching out and gently pulling Nate by the sleeve.
Nate hesitated but allowed himself to follow.
And then he heard it.
"…this next song… I wrote for someone I lost. But I still believe he'll hear this, wherever he is."
Nate's breath hitched.
Matt was on stage—drenched in soft golden lights, his hair grown longer now, eyes half-shadowed beneath it, but his voice… it was still the same. Raw. Gentle. Heartbreaking.
"This is for the man who ran away," Matt continued. The crowd cheered, but his eyes were distant. "If you're watching… I'm still here. Still saving you a seat."
The piano began to play.
A soft, haunting melody. The lyrics crept in like a memory:
"I kept the letters, the ones you never sent
I still wear the hoodie with your scent
I live in songs and places we once knew
Because they all lead me back to you…"
Nate's heart thudded painfully.
Yumi stepped beside him but didn't say a word. She simply watched him with the weight of five years written in her silence.
Matt's voice cracked on the second verse.
"I searched the skies of Tokyo, the cafés in Rome
Looking for pieces of you to call home
But I only found echoes, and empty hotel sheets
So I sing in case you're still walking these streets…"
And then… the screen flickered to a close-up of Matt.
He was smiling—but barely. A sad, wistful thing. He leaned into the mic and whispered:
"To the man who can't be moved…
Know this—
The man you left behind?
He never did."
The final note hung in the air like a farewell and a plea at once.
Nate didn't realize he was crying until Yumi quietly pressed a tissue into his hand.
He gripped it tightly.
No words.
No movement.
Just the screen, fading slowly into sponsor ads, and the ghost of Matt's voice still echoing between his ribs.
As the screen dimmed and the last note of Matt's song faded into the night air, Yumi turned to Nate, her voice low but firm.
"Nate…" she said, eyes serious now. "Nathan's coming back. He never stopped planning. And he still wants Matt."
Nate looked at her, breath caught.
She held his gaze. "If you don't hold on to what's yours… he'll take him. And next time, it might be for good."
________
Yumi's words echoed in Nate's head like an unwelcome melody.
If you don't hold on to what's yours… he'll take him.
Nate sat on the edge of his bed, the glow of the old phone in his hand painting his face with a soft blue light. His thumb hovered above the power button.
The screen flickered to life.
He sat still for a long time, staring at the familiar lock screen. A picture of him and Matt, blurry, smiling at each other like they had forever.
Unlock.
One breath.
Then another.
He logged in.
Social media loaded slowly, like it knew this was more than just catching up. It was unburying the past.
And it came like a tidal wave.
Hashtag: #WhereIsNate
Video: Matt crying outside his car, drenched in rain, shirt clinging to his skin, face flushed from alcohol and heartbreak. He was yelling.
"Nate! Please—just please come back! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything!"
He slumped onto the sidewalk after.
Fans tried to help him.
Security took him away.
The video had over 3 million views.
Posted three years ago.
Caption: The man who can't be moved.
Nate's breath caught.
He watched the whole video, hand covering his mouth.
Matt looked so broken.
So undone.
Not the dazzling man on billboards. Not the voice that lit up arenas.
Just… Matt. The man who used to kiss his temples and made tea when he couldn't sleep.
Another video auto-played.
Matt in a quiet bar in Tokyo, sitting alone. Drunk again. Humming. Then muttering,
"Still saving a seat, Rae. It's yours. Always."
Photos.
More posts.
Fan accounts tracking every place Matt visited. Countries he never toured in before.
Every time someone claimed to have seen someone like Nate—Matt would go.
Fans joked about it at first.
Then it stopped being funny.
Because the man they loved… started wasting away.
Nate's fingers shook as he scrolled.
The difference in Matt's face month by month was… horrifying.
Weight loss.
Sunken eyes.
Gaunt cheeks.
Music still beautiful. But the man behind it? Empty.
He opened the DMs.
Thousands of them.
Some from fans.
Some from Matt's team.
But most—
Most were from Matt.
Unsent. Left in drafts.
Or still sitting, unseen.
Rae, please just tell me you're okay.
I messed up. I swear, I didn't kiss her. She kissed me. I wanted to chase after you, but you were gone.
I miss you so much, I don't know who I am without you.
Even if you hate me now, I'll still love you tomorrow.
Still saving a seat beside me.
One message stuck with him more than the rest.
A voice recording.
Nate hesitated—then hit play.
Matt's voice came through, hoarse. Fragile.
"Hey... I don't even know if this number still works. Or if you'll even hear this. But I need you to know... I didn't stop looking. I don't think I'll ever stop. Everyone told me to move on. My team said I should rebrand—clean the heartbreak off my name. But how do you clean something that's burned into your bones?
I love you, Nate. I loved you then. I love you now. And if there's a life after this one, I'll love you there too.
Just... if you ever come back, please find me. I'll be right where you left me."
The recording ended.
So did Nate.
He dropped the phone on the bed, fingers gripping his face as his body folded forward. The sound that escaped him wasn't just a sob—it was years of silence breaking. A scream muffled in palms, knees curled to chest, heart trying to claw its way out of his ribs.
He cried like someone who finally saw the damage he didn't know he caused.
He cried for Matt.
For the boy who waited in the rain.
Who screamed his name into nothing.
Who kept hoping.
Even when it shattered him.
He crawled to the corner of his bed, clutching a pillow like it could hold him together. His chest heaved. Eyes puffy. Breath ragged.
Guilt.
Guilt louder than grief.
He thought he was the only one hurting.
He thought disappearing was peace.
He thought silence was healing.
But Matt—Matt suffered in the spotlight.
Alone.
And he waited.
Still waiting.
Still saving a seat.
Nate pressed the phone to his chest, tears soaking through his shirt, whispering into the air as if Matt could hear him:
"I didn't know…
I'm so sorry, Matt…
I didn't know…"
And in the dark of that quiet room, five years of walls finally collapsed around him.
__________
The door to Nate's room had been shut for hours.
Brice stood just outside, knocking for the fourth time that evening, his voice soft but steady. "Nate, hey… It's me. Please open the door. Just tell me what happened. We're worried."
No answer.
Inside, Nate sat curled on the floor beside the bed. His old phone rested on his knees, its screen black now, but burned into his memory were all the clips, all the messages—Matt crying in the rain, Matt screaming into a voicemail, Matt waiting outside cafes, airports, concerts, and train stations. Nate had seen it all. The desperate tweets. The unsent messages. The songs written like prayers.
It was like discovering someone else's heartbreak—except it was his. All along. And he had no idea how deep it went.
He hadn't spoken since.
Tears had dried to nothing. His throat was sore from crying. And yet, nothing about the ache lessened. It gnawed and pulsed from the center of his chest outward.
There was a soft knock again.
This time, Zeke's voice. "Hey, Nate. You don't have to talk. But maybe… let us in, okay?"
Still, silence.
Eventually, the footsteps faded. Nate stayed there, frozen, guilt wrapped around his ribs like barbed wire.
And then—slowly, steadily—he stood.
It started with restless pacing and a tight chest. Nate couldn't breathe in his own skin anymore. After days of silence and isolation, he finally stepped out of his room, eyes red but filled with something different now—determination.
Brice, Zeke, Luther, and Ciandrei were in the living room, mid-discussion about dinner plans, when Nate emerged. The conversation halted the moment they saw him.
Brice was the first to speak. "Nate? You okay?"
Nate nodded slowly, gaze unfocused, like his thoughts were still somewhere else. Then, without preamble, he asked, "Where do you think Matt could be right now?"
The room froze.
Zeke blinked. "You mean like... location?"
Nate nodded again. "Yes. Physically. Where would he go?"
Ciandrei exchanged a look with Brice before replying carefully, "He's... everywhere, Nate. After his last tour stop, he didn't tell anyone where he was going next. He's been off-grid, even to his manager."
Luther leaned forward. "Why? What's going on?"
Nate didn't answer directly. He sat on the armrest of the couch and muttered, almost like confessing to himself, "I just need to find him."
Brice furrowed his brows. "Then call him."
"I can't." Nate's voice cracked slightly. "I don't know what to say. Not until I see him."
The group went silent again. Then Zeke offered gently, "Do you have any idea where he might go?"
Nate closed his eyes.
And then—
A reel of memories played behind his eyelids.
Flashback to five years ago: Matt grinning, tugging Nate by the hand across white sand, Maya Bay glistening under the sun. "When everything's too loud, too fake, too much—let's come back here. Just you and me. Where reels start to feel real."
Nate opened his eyes, breath hitching.
"I think I know," he whispered.
Everyone leaned in.
"Maya Bay," he said, louder this time. "He once said... that place was our reset. I think he'd go there."
"You sure?" Brice asked.
"No," Nate admitted. "But it's a start."
Zeke stood up immediately. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Nate shook his head. "I need to go alone."
Brice stepped forward, conflicted. "You sure you can do this?"
"No," Nate repeated, this time with a small, broken smile. "But I need to try."
And with a packed bag and a heart racing in all directions, Nate set off—not knowing what he'd find on the other end, only that if Matt was out there waiting like he once was…
Then maybe, just maybe, the man who ran away was finally ready to run home.
Nate gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, the highway stretching endlessly under the deep cloak of night. Rain had kissed the edge of his windshield on and off since they left Bangkok nearly fourteen hours ago—but he didn't stop. Not when his eyelids begged to close. Not when his back screamed from sitting too long. Not when his chest ached from the weight of what if he's not there?
He drove like his heart was on fire.
Now, the humid air of Phuket clung to his skin as he ran down the pier, wind lashing his hair wildly. The last boat to Maya Bay was about to leave, the dockmaster shouting something in Thai, but Nate just held up cash, breathless and desperate.
"Please—just take me!"
The man hesitated, scanning the dark sky, the waves rolling harder than usual.
"Sir, storm is coming."
"I don't care."
He said it without flinching.
Moments later, Nate sat in a small wooden boat, the engine coughing to life. The sea growled beneath them as they cut through the black water, the only light coming from the moon, and the only thing louder than the waves—
—was Nate's heartbeat, thundering toward the shore where he hoped Matt was still waiting.
Nate stumbled barefoot onto the cold sand, shoes abandoned somewhere near the boat. The familiar scent of saltwater punched him in the chest—nostalgic and sharp like a reopened scar. He turned his head frantically, scanning every curve of the shore, every rock, every silhouette.
His breath hitched when he saw it.
A lone figure. Near the waterline. Moving slowly, unsteadily—like each step weighed a lifetime.
Matt.
His back was turned, body swaying slightly. The hem of his shirt soaked, waves licking at his ankles. In the faint light, Nate could see the droop in his shoulders, the tilt of his head—something fragile, something... wrong.
He was walking deeper.
No, no, no—
Nate's chest seized.
"Matt!"
The name tore from his throat. But the wind swallowed it.
Without a second thought, Nate broke into a run—sand flying beneath his feet, lungs burning as if the ocean would swallow them both before he could reach him.
"Matt!"
Still no turn. Still walking.
Closer. Closer.
And then—
Nate collided into him from behind, arms locking tightly around Matt's trembling frame.
Matt froze.
Nate buried his face against his back, breath ragged, voice breaking.
"You don't get to disappear," he whispered. "Not when I just found you again."
Matt didn't say a word. But Nate could feel him crumple.
______
The sea was gold at first.
That perfect, painful gold that looked like old memories—sun-drenched and fading, like the last light before it slips into night. Matt sat barefoot on the sand, a bottle of something strong in one hand, his phone in the other. He had stopped caring what it tasted like. He just needed it to blur things for a while.
The tide crept closer, licking at his toes. But he didn't move.
His phone screen glowed against the darkening beach, illuminating his face as he scrolled—photo after photo, memory after memory. Nate laughing with his eyes closed at some ramen shop in Kyoto. Nate sneaking a selfie while Matt slept on his lap during a road trip. Nate holding Matt's hand under a table, their fingers barely visible but there, locked in secret tenderness.
Matt's thumb hovered over the gallery.
He should delete them. Every therapist, friend, and manager told him the same thing.
But he couldn't. Because those weren't just memories. They were pieces of the only life he ever truly wanted.
A life that left.
A life that never said goodbye.
He took another swig, wincing, eyes burning—not from the alcohol, but from everything else.
Jake was gone.
Brice was barely himself anymore.
And Nate... Nate had become a ghost. A haunting. A name Matt whispered in every song and screamed into every pillow.
He brought his knees to his chest, arms wrapping tightly around them as if it would keep his heart from shattering all over again. But it didn't work. It never did.
He had told himself he'd stop waiting.
He had told himself tonight would be the last.
He opened Twitter.
Posted a photo of the sea—the view from where he sat, the waves endless, the sun now almost gone.
No caption.
Just the picture.
A soft, subtle goodbye.
Matt stood up, leaving his phone in the sand. His feet moved on their own—toward the water, toward the weightlessness, toward nothing. The ocean lapped higher, now brushing his calves.
He took another step. The coolness of the sea was strangely comforting.
He was tired.
Not just sleepy.
But soul-deep, bone-heavy tired.
Tired of pretending he was fine. Tired of being the one left behind. Tired of singing songs into empty crowds hoping someone—someone—was still listening.
Tired of still loving Nate.
Even after all this time.
Even after silence.
Even after being left in the ruins.
He closed his eyes.
"If only you were here," he whispered into the wind. "If only once more."
A tear slipped down.
Then another.
And then—
A voice.
"MATT!"
His eyes snapped open.
No.
No, that can't be.
Not again. Not when he'd finally accepted Nate was never coming back.
He kept walking. Shaking. Crying.
The voice came again—closer, louder.
"Matt!"
He clenched his fists, stumbled a bit. The bottle slipped from his grip and disappeared into the waves.
He barely noticed.
Because just as he stepped further—
Warmth wrapped around him from behind.
A body. Arms. Familiar. Trembling.
The kind of hug that remembered everything.
And suddenly, Matt broke.
"LET GO!" he yelled, thrashing against the embrace. "Let me go! You left me! YOU LEFT ME!"
The person didn't let go.
He cried harder, sinking to his knees in the water, voice raw with grief.
"You don't love me anymore," Matt choked out. "You disappeared. I wasn't enough. I tried—I tried to find you—I tried to wait—I did everything! And you still left…"
The arms only tightened.
He tried to shove them away again, but he was too tired. Too broken.
He fell forward, sobbing in the shallow waves.
"I'm useless without you," he whispered. "I have nothing left."
And then, a whisper—low and breathless—from behind him.
"I'm here now."
Matt froze.
That wasn't a hallucination.
He turned slowly.
And there he was.
Nate.
Real. Crying. Soaked. And holding him like he was afraid to let go again.
Matt didn't believe it.
But his heart did.
His heart shattered and mended all at once.
Matt held Nate like he was afraid he'd disappear all over again.
His arms locked around Nate's body with the desperation of a man who had forgotten how to breathe without him. His whole frame trembled—saltwater, tears, grief—everything pouring out of him at once.
"You're real," Matt choked out, voice cracking against Nate's ear. "Tell me I'm not dreaming. Please… don't leave again. I can't—" his voice broke. "I can't survive it a second time."
Nate said nothing. He couldn't. His voice had drowned somewhere between regret and longing.
So instead, he held Matt tighter.
He pressed his hand against Matt's shaking back, burying his face in the curve of his shoulder—because even after everything, this was still home.
And there, waist-deep in the moonlit sea, two people who had shattered each other clung together like they were the only thing left. The waves kissed their knees. The wind hummed around them.
But the loudest sound in that quiet night… was the way their hearts finally found each other again.
//