MATT'S SNEAKERS SCUFFED the concrete as he trudged down the sidewalk, anxiety curling in his stomach. This wasn't like sneaking into some rundown house in the Crimsons' territory.
No, this was different.
This was enemy territory.
He was headed to your houseโthe one that sat nestled in a pristine neighborhood, far removed from the chaotic streets Matt called home.
At least, that's what he thought.
You had said you were taking a shortcut, but the more you walked, the more Matt's anxiety curled tighter in his stomach. Everything here looked too clean, too perfectโthe kind of place he avoided without a second thought. But he kept walking, following your lead, your steps confident on the smooth sidewalk.
He barely recognized the street, too focused on keeping his head down. The soft sound of your shoes on the pavement next to him felt out of sync with the usual noise that filled his life.
Matt shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket, feeling the weight of his clothesโdirty, rumpled, smelling like smokeโclinging to him like a second skin. He knew he'd stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.
Still, a part of him couldn't turn back. You had offered to help, let him use your extra laptop, and for some reason, he hadn't said no.
He didn't know why exactlyโmaybe it was the way you had looked at him in the library, not judging him, not pitying him, just... being there. It had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.
He glanced sideways at you, noticing how easily you navigated the pristine streets, like you belonged here. The sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the houses, each one with perfectly trimmed lawns and spotless driveways.
The further you walked, the more something gnawed at the back of his mind. He glanced at a familiar street sign, then up at the row of housesโnearly identical, but with just enough personality to set them apart.
His eyes flicked to a particular house with a weathered fence and an overgrown tree hanging over the sidewalk. A knot formed in his throat.
He knew that house.
But he didn't say anything, just kept his mouth shut and kept walking, even though his pulse quickened. It couldn't be.
His gaze drifted again, and this time his breath caught. His house. His own house, barely a block away. Matt stopped, his feet frozen to the ground, staring down the street like he was seeing it for the first time.
This wasn't just a shortcut.
He blinked, trying to process it, his mind stumbling over the realization."Crazy how close this place is to my house," It was a strange thing to say, the words tumbling out like they didn't belong.
You didn't stop walking right away, just a slight tilt of your head as you glanced over at him. "Yeah?" you said, your voice calm, like this wasn't a big deal at all.
Matt frowned. He didn't know why he expected you to say something different, but there was something about the way you respondedโlike you knew more than you were letting on. He scratched the back of his neck, the weight of the day's grime and smoke still clinging to his clothes.
Matt's heart thudded in his chest, the weight of it sinking in. You weren't just some random person offering to help. You lived here. You'd been here, down the street from him, his whole life.
How had he never seen you before?
His mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at you, trying to connect the dots that were forming in his head.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he managed to speak. "You... live here?" His voice was hoarse, like it didn't trust itself.
You turned, meeting his gaze with that same calm expression, as if you knew exactly what he was just now realizing. "Yeah," you said. "I know you didn't know"
Matt's stomach dropped. The weight of the silence between you felt heavy now, pressing down on his chest.
He couldn't wrap his head around it. "We've... we've been neighbors?" He hadn't meant to ask, but the words came out anyway, a mix of disbelief and confusion swirling in his voice. "How come I've never seen you here"
You shrugged lightly. "I guess we just never crossed paths."
"I saw you everyday." You added.
Matt stared at you, the realization hitting harder than he expected. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to shake the weird feeling creeping up on him. How could he have missed something like this? You'd been right there, this whole time, and he didn't even know your name.
"This is insane," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "You've lived down the street from me... and I didn't even know."
You gave a small shrug, the corners of your mouth curling into a quiet smile. "Yeah, funny how things work out, no?."
Matt couldn't laugh. It was too strange, too surreal. He kept stealing glances at you, the questions swirling in his head, but the biggest one stuck in his throat.
After a few moments of walking in silence, he finally spoke again, his voice low. "So... what's your name, anyway?"
You glanced over at him, your expression softening. "Does it matter?"
Matt blinked, caught off guard by the response. "I mean... yeah," he mumbled, barely audible. "Feels like it does."
"You actually feel stuff?" You joked.
But there was no answer
As the two of you continued walking, the weight of the silence grew heavier. He kept stealing glances at you, wondering why it suddenly mattered so much that he didn't know your name.
When Matt reached the house, his heart began to pound in his chest. The house looked like something out of a magazine. Tall, elegant, with perfectly trimmed hedges framing the walkway.
A place where people with nice, quiet lives livedโpeople who didn't have to scrape by, who didn't live in fear of what the next day might bring.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way toward the back door, just like you had instructed him earlier.
He felt the nerves bubbling up as he reached for the door, suddenly aware of how grimy his hands were, the dirt under his nails. But before he could second-guess himself any further, the door creaked open, and there you were.
You offered a small smile, though it was tinged with something cautious, like you were as nervous as he was. "You made it," you said quietly, stepping aside to let him in.
Matt hesitated before stepping inside, instantly hit by the smell of something floral and clean. The contrast was jarring. His throat tightened as he became hyper-aware of the way his clothes clung to him, smelling like sweat, cigarettes, and the faint trace of weed.
It was like the scent of where he came from clung to him, announcing his presence before he even opened his mouth.
You seemed to sense his discomfort, your gaze flickering over him before you quickly turned away, pretending not to notice. "We can work upstairs. My dad's not home yet," you said, leading the way. "But we should hurry. He's usually back by dinner."
Matt nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He followed you up the stairs, every creak of the steps making him wince as if he were intruding on some sacred space.
As you led Matt upstairs, the silence between you hung heavy, neither of you quite knowing what to say. Every step up the staircase felt like a countdown to something neither of you could name. When you finally reached your room, you hesitated at the door, turning the knob slowly.
"Sorry... for the mess," you mumbled, even though your room was spotless.
Matt followed you in, his eyes scanning the space, but he didn't sit. He stood awkwardly by the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The difference between where he was from and thisโyour worldโwas stark. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to start. Being here made his skin itch.
"You can sit, you know," you said, gesturing toward the chair by your desk. "Or... whatever's comfortable. Sorry if it's awkward."
Matt shrugged, dropping his bag beside the chair before finally slumping into it. He glanced around at your neatly made bed, the desk perfectly arranged with pens and papers. Everything felt too clean, too quiet. It put him on edge.
"I'm not used to places like this," he muttered, his voice low. "Feels weird."
You sat on the edge of your bed, biting your lip. "I can imagine. I mean... I get it."
"Do you?" Matt shot back, not in an aggressive way, but there was an edge to his tone. He wasn't trying to be meanโjust skeptical. You didn't know his world, not really.
You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the window. "I mean, no. I guess not, really. But that's why I wanted to help." You wrung your hands nervously, feeling like you were saying the wrong thing already. "I don't know, I just thought maybe..."
Matt's eyes narrowed. "Thought maybe what? You could, what, fix something?" His voice wasn't harsh, but there was frustration in it.
"No!" you said quickly, shaking your head. "No, it's not like that. I just... I don't know. I wanted to do something that wasn't... useless. Maybe help."
Matt exhaled, a bitter chuckle escaping. "Yeah, well, this is just a school project. Don't make it out to be more than that." His voice was flat, dismissive, but his jaw clenched as he spoke.
You blinked, taken aback by the shift in his mood, but you nodded. "Right. Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn't mean..."
"Stop apologizing," Matt interrupted, his tone more tired than angry. "You've been doing it all day."
You bit your lip, realizing he was right. "I guess I just don't want to mess this up."
Matt stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. "Look, you're not messing anything up. I'm just not used to people being like this. Doing stuff without some... reason."
Your throat tightened. "There doesn't always have to be a reason."
Matt's eyes flicked to yours, studying you for a moment before he looked away, his gaze hardening. "In my world, there usually is."
A silence fell between you, heavy and awkward. Neither of you knew what to say next. It felt like there was this massive gap between you, one you couldn't bridge no matter how hard you tried. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, glancing at the laptop you'd set up for him.
"We should get started," you said quietly, breaking the tension. "The project."
Matt didn't respond at first, just leaned forward and opened his bag, pulling out a few crumpled notes and dropping them on the desk.
The moment felt strained, like both of you were trying too hard not to address the thing hanging in the air between you. He powered on the laptop, the sound of the fan filling the silence.
The hours passed in tense silence as you both worked. Matt tried to focus on the notes you had given him, but his mind kept wandering, gnawing at the feeling of not fitting in.
This wasn't his world.
This wasn't his kind of place. The clean air, the silence, the ease with which you movedโit all felt so foreign to him. And yet, for some reason, he didn't hate it. He almost... envied it.
As the silence stretched on, the tension built. Matt could feel it tightening in his chest, every second making him more restless, more irritable. And just when he thought he could push through it, there was a sudden noise downstairs.
"Dad's home," you said, your voice tight.
Matt froze. This was the part you both had been dreading. You had told him that your dad wouldn't be too keen on someone like him being in the houseโsomeone from the Crimsons, with his reputation, his background. It wasn't hard to guess what your father thought of people like Matt.
"I'll handle it," you whispered, standing up quickly, but before you could even make it to the door, there was a knock.
The door creaked open, and there he wasโyour dad. He was tall, with graying hair at his temples and a frown etched deep into his face, the kind that seemed to be a permanent part of him.
His eyes landed on Matt immediately, and the judgment in his gaze was like a slap to the face.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice tight, laced with disapproval. "Who is he?"
You opened your mouth to respond, but your dad had already taken a step into the room, his eyes narrowing as he took in Matt's appearanceโthe dirty clothes, the smell of cigarettes and weed still clinging to him.
Matt shifted uncomfortably, trying to stand but feeling like he was sinking deeper into the chair, trapped under the weight of the older man's scrutiny.
"Matthew Sturniolo," your dad said, his voice like a judge passing a sentence. "The troublemaker from the Crimsons, right? What is he doing here?"
You stepped forward, trying to put yourself between Matt and your dad. "Dad, it's not like that. We're just working on a project for schoolโ"
"A project?" Your dad's voice was incredulous, his eyes hard. "And you thought it was a good idea to bring someone like him into our house? Someone who reeks of drugs and bad decisions?"
Matt clenched his fists, the anger bubbling up inside him. He had heard it all beforeโthe accusations, the assumptions.
He was used to it, but it never hurt any less. His jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, knowing that anything he said would only make things worse.
"Dad, stop," you said, your voice growing more desperate. "He's not like that. He's helping me with the project. You don't know him."
"I don't need to know him," your dad shot back, his voice cold. "I can smell it on him from here. He's trouble, and you're too naive to see it."
Matt stood abruptly, knocking the chair over in the process. "You don't know anything about me sir," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Your dad's eyes flicked toward Matt, and for a moment, the room was suffocating with tension. "I know enough. You've got no place here, and I want you out of my house. Now."
"Dad, stop it!" You stepped in front of Matt, your eyes flashing with anger. "He's not leaving. We're not done yet."
"Yes, he is," your dad said firmly, his hand already reaching for the door. "I will not have someone like him in this house. Do you understand?"
Matt wanted to argue, wanted to tell the man exactly where he could shove his assumptions, but he saw the way you looked at him, pleading with your eyes. This wasn't going to end well. He could feel it in his bones.
"Fine," Matt muttered, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'll go."
But just as he turned toward the windowโan impulsive idea forming in his headโyour dad's voice stopped him. "Not that way. You'll leave through the front door like a human being, not sneak out like the criminal you are."
The words stung, each one cutting deeper than Matt cared to admit. He clenched his jaw, every muscle in his body taut with anger, frustration, and a bitter kind of disgustโboth at himself for being in this situation and at your dad for making it even worse.
Matt's breath came out in ragged bursts, the urge to snap back nearly overpowering. But when he looked at you, standing there between him and your father, the fight drained out of him. There was no point.
"Whatever," he muttered, his heart pounding against his ribs.
You stood there, torn between your father and Matt, your eyes filled with something like regret, like you wished things could be different. But Matt didn't wait to hear any more.
He stalked past your dad, the urge to lash out simmering just beneath his skin. But he held it in, swallowing the anger down, like he always did.
You trailed after him, your voice weak. "Matt, I'mโ"
"Stop," Matt barked, spinning around to face you. The streetlight cast harsh shadows across his face, his eyes dark with frustration. "Just stop apologizing. I already told you, you've been doing it all night."
You blinked, taken aback, your hands wringing nervously. "IโI'm sorry, I justโ"
Matt scoffed, his voice dripping with bitterness. "This isn't gonna change anything. Don't think we're friends because of this."
You froze, your eyes wide, like you didn't understand where this was coming from.
"We're too different," he continued, the anger he'd swallowed down finally spilling out. "I don't belong in your world. And I sure as hell don't want you in mine."
His words were harsh, biting, but he didn't care. He couldn't stand the way you looked at himโlike you wanted to fix something that wasn't broken.
Like you didn't see the jagged edges that kept people like him from ever fitting into a world like yours.
"I don't even like you," Matt spat, his voice low, laced with frustration. "Whoever you are."
The silence that followed was suffocating. You stood there, your mouth open, but no words came out. Matt didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel and walked away, his fists clenched, the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the pavement echoing down the quiet, perfect street.
As the distance grew between you, Matt felt the weight of the encounter pressing down on him. He didn't regret lashing out. But as the night swallowed him whole, he couldn't shake the bitter taste of those last words hanging in the air.
Whoever you are.
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