THE NEXT DAY WAS A BLUR OF FRUSTRATION. Every time Matt caught sight of you at school, you were there—trying to talk to him, always offering a small smile or some attempt at conversation. And every single time, he shut you down, hard.

He didn't understand why you kept trying. After everything that had happened at your house, and after what had unfolded in the cafeteria, he thought you'd have gotten the message.

The cafeteria incident lingered in his mind:

The cafeteria was a blur of noise and movement. Students crowded around tables, laughing, talking, and shouting over each other. The smell of pizza and stale fries hung in the air, and the clatter of trays and chairs added to the chaos.

You spotted Matt near the back, sitting alone with his hood pulled up, his tray barely touched. He was staring at the table, his fingers drumming a restless beat, lost in his own world.

Your heart raced as you stood there, watching him. This was going to be hard—you knew that. Matt had been shutting you out, avoiding you, and every time you tried to approach him, he either brushed you off or snapped.

But you weren't ready to give up. Not yet. Not after what had happened at your house.

You took a deep breath and started walking toward him, your tray clutched tightly in your hands. Every step felt heavier, like the distance between you was growing instead of shrinking.

You couldn't shake the nerves building in your chest, but you kept moving forward.

When you finally reached his table, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin. Matt didn't look up, didn't acknowledge you. He just kept staring at the table, his fingers still tapping that anxious rhythm.

"Hey," you said softly, your voice barely audible over the noise of the cafeteria.

Matt didn't react. He didn't even glance in your direction.

You cleared your throat and tried again. "Matt, can we talk? About the project?"

This time, he lifted his head slightly, just enough to shoot you a sideways glance. His eyes were hard, cold, like a wall had been built between you. "What do you want?"

His voice was low, irritated, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel eyes on you from the other students nearby, but you forced yourself to stand your ground.

"I just... I wanted to check in," you said, shifting awkwardly on your feet. "We haven't talked about the project since—"

"The project?" Matt interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that really why you're here? For some stupid school project?"

You flinched at his tone but tried to stay calm. "I mean, yeah. I thought—"

"I don't care about the project," he cut you off, his voice louder now, drawing the attention of a few students nearby. "I told you, I'm not interested in working with you."

The words hit you like a slap. You glanced around nervously, noticing more people looking in your direction, some whispering to each other. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you couldn't just walk away.

"I'm just trying to help," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matt scoffed, shaking his head. "Help? Is that what you think you're doing? Helping me?"

You bit your lip, feeling the sting of his words. "I just thought—"

"Stop thinking," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You don't know anything about me, okay? You think because we worked together once, you can just come over here and act like we're friends?"

"I didn't say that," you tried to explain, but Matt wasn't listening.

He pushed his tray away and stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. The sound echoed in the cafeteria, turning even more heads in your direction.

"Here's the thing," Matt said, his voice cold and detached. "I don't want anything to do with you. I don't need your help. And I definitely don't need you hanging around, acting like you know me."

Your throat tightened, the embarrassment and hurt swirling inside you. You could feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the room on you now, the whispers getting louder, and the smirk on a few faces only made it worse.

"I just..." Your voice cracked as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. "I'm sorry."

Matt scoffed again, louder this time, and shook his head. "Stop apologizing. I don't care. Just leave me alone."

The finality in his voice was like a punch to the gut. You stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. The cafeteria seemed to go quiet around you, the noise fading as the embarrassment swallowed you whole.

Then, without another word, Matt turned and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving you standing there, humiliated and alone.

You blinked back the tears, your heart pounding in your chest. The students around you were still watching, still whispering, and you could hear the snickers from a few tables nearby.

But you couldn't move. Your feet felt like they were glued to the floor, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a boulder.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you turned and walked toward the exit, your face burning with shame. You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone, trying to ignore the sting of their laughter and the sinking feeling in your chest.

The pain of rejection, of being shut down in front of everyone, gnawed at you the whole way out of the cafeteria.

But more than anything, the coldness in Matt's eyes was what lingered, burning itself into your memory. He had made it clear—he didn't want you in his life.

But you didn't back off, not even after that. Every time you showed up, trying to talk to him, he grew more frustrated.

He didn't want anything to do with your life, with your world. It was too clean, too polished. And most of all, it wasn't his.

"Back off," Matt snapped when you approached him between classes, his voice sharp enough to cut. "Just leave me alone."

But you stood there, biting your lip like you were weighing your options, before finally saying, "I just wanted to talk about the project."

"I don't care about the stupid project," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You can do it yourself. I'm not your charity case."

You flinched, but you didn't retreat. "It's not like that. I—"

"Save it," he interrupted, stepping around you. "I don't want to be seen with you, alright? Just stop trying."

The words were harsher than they needed to be, but Matt didn't care. He didn't look back as he stormed off, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

Every interaction with you felt like a reminder of everything that was wrong, everything he didn't have. You were too nice, too willing to help, and it rubbed him the wrong way.

But no matter how many times he shut you down, you kept trying. He could see you in the corner of his eye during lunch, walking past him in the hall, and he knew you were just waiting for another chance to talk.

And each time, it pissed him off more.

It was after school, and Matt was hanging around the back of the building, trying to avoid the crowds. He had skipped practice—again—and wasn't in the mood for another argument with the coach about commitment.

As he leaned against the wall, trying to clear his head, you appeared around the corner.

Great. Just what he needed.

He braced himself for another confrontation, ready to tell you off like before, but when he looked up at you, something was different. You weren't smiling this time, and there was no fake cheerfulness in your voice.

"Hey," you said quietly, stopping a few feet away from him. "Can we talk?"

Matt sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I thought I told you—"

"Please," you interrupted, and for the first time, he noticed the tension in your voice. "Just... let me talk for a minute."

He frowned but didn't cut you off again. There was something different about the way you were looking at him—more serious, less like you were trying to fix things.

"I know you don't want to be seen with me," you started, your eyes flickering away. "I get it. I really do. But I... I wanted to give you something."

Matt's brows furrowed. "What?"

You hesitated for a second before pulling a small, battered laptop out of your bag and holding it out to him. "I... you said you didn't have one, for the project. And I figured you wouldn't want to come back to my house after what happened, so... this is for you."

Matt stared at the laptop in your hands like it was something foreign, something he couldn't understand. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you the laptop," you said, your voice steady, though there was a hint of nervousness beneath it. "I don't need it anymore. You can use it, and we can talk about the project through email."

He didn't move to take it, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why are you doing this?"

You shifted uncomfortably, your hands still holding the laptop out toward him. "Because... you shouldn't have to go back to my place to work. And because... I wanted to help."

Matt's jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his expression. He was tired of people trying to help him—tired of the pity and the charity.

But he could sense something different in the way you were offering this time. There was no pity in your eyes, no sense of charity. Just an awkward sincerity that he didn't know how to respond to.

"Take it," you insisted softly. "It's yours."

Matt hesitated, his fingers twitching as he stared at the laptop. Part of him wanted to reject it outright, to throw your kindness back in your face like he had before.

But something about the way you were standing there, vulnerable and unsure, stopped him.

With a deep breath, Matt finally reached out and took the laptop from your hands. He held it like it was something fragile, something he didn't quite know what to do with.

You let out a small breath of relief, though the tension in the air didn't completely ease. "I put my email in there, in case you need it for the project."

Matt didn't respond, just stared down at the laptop, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his chest.

The silence between you grew thick, awkward, but before either of you could break it, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the alley.

Marissa.

Matt's stomach tightened as his girlfriend rounded the corner. Her eyes immediately landed on you, standing there too close to Matt, and her expression twisted into a sneer.

Marissa was tall, blonde, and intimidating in a way that made people shrink away from her. And now, her gaze was locked onto you with the kind of hatred that sent a shiver down your spine.

"What the hell is this?" Marissa snapped, her gaze flicking between you and Matt. "Why are you talking to her?"

Matt stiffened, his jaw clenching as his mind raced. He knew Marissa could be possessive, but there was something in her eyes right now that set him on edge.

Still, he said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line as he waited for the storm he knew was coming.

You, on the other hand, swallowed nervously and took a small step back. "We were just... working on a project—"

"I wasn't talking to you," Marissa interrupted, her voice sharp and dripping with disdain. She turned to Matt, her hands on her hips. "What's going on?"

Matt glanced at you, then back at Marissa. He could see the hurt building in your eyes, the way your shoulders tensed under the weight of Marissa's hostility.

His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn't know how to defend this, to explain why you were here with him.

Marissa scoffed, her eyes narrowing further. "So this is why you've been avoiding me? Because you're hanging around with her?"

You took another step back, trying to disappear into the background, but Marissa wasn't done. She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a menacing hiss.

"You think you're special? You think you can just come around and steal someone else's boyfriend?"

Your heart raced, your throat tightening as her words stung. "No, I—"

"Shut up," Marissa spat, her eyes flashing with anger. "No one cares what you think. Stay the hell away from Matt, got it?"

Matt stood frozen, his eyes wide as the tension in the alley crackled like a live wire. He knew he should step in, should tell Marissa to stop, but he couldn't. His tongue felt thick, his heart pounding in his chest as the moment stretched out.

"Matt," you said quietly, glancing at him, hoping—praying—he would step in and stop this.

But he didn't.

Marissa took another step toward you, her voice dripping with condescension. "What? You think just because you're hanging out with him for some stupid project, you matter? You don't. You're just a nobody. Always will be."

You flinched at her words, feeling the sting of them settle deep in your chest. You could feel your hands trembling, but you forced yourself to stay still, to hold your ground.

"Stay. Away," Marissa said, enunciating each word like a threat.

And still, Matt said nothing.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until finally, you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Okay," you whispered.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, your footsteps echoing in the quiet alley.

Matt watched you go, his hands tightening into fists, but he didn't call after you. He just stood there, letting the moment slip away.

Marissa turned to him, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Good. Now let's go."

But as Matt followed her, the weight of everything that had just happened settled deep in his chest. Something about the way you had looked at him—the quiet disappointment, the hurt in your eyes—stayed with him, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

He had let it happen. He had let Marissa tear into you, and he hadn't said a damn thing.

And for the first time in a long time, Matt felt something he couldn't quite shake.

Regret.

(Some time later)

It was late, well past midnight, and the street was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes when the world has gone to sleep, leaving the streets empty and dark.

Matt stood outside your house, his breath coming in short, visible puffs in the cold night air. He had walked here without thinking—his legs carrying him down the street he knew too well, his mind replaying the last few days over and over again.

He didn't know why he was here. Maybe it was the regret gnawing at him since that encounter with Marissa.

Maybe it was something else—something he couldn't quite name. But here he was, standing in the shadow of your house, staring up at your window like some kind of idiot.

He reached down, grabbed a small rock from the ground, and tossed it at your window.

Clink.

It made a soft sound against the glass, not enough to wake the whole house, but enough to catch your attention if you were still awake.

His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets to keep warm.

Nothing. The window stayed dark.

Matt grabbed another rock and tossed it again, a little harder this time.

Clink.

Finally, the curtains moved, and a faint light came on in the room.

He watched as you peered out the window, your eyes squinting down at the street below, clearly not expecting to see someone there at this hour.

Your expression changed when you saw him standing there, a mix of confusion and surprise crossing your face.

You opened the window just enough to poke your head out. "Matt? What the hell are you doing?"

He shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling stupid for being here, but he couldn't turn back now.

His jaw tightened, and he looked up at you, his eyes hard but his voice low, almost pleading. "Come down. I need to talk to you."

You blinked, clearly taken aback. "It's the middle of the night. Go home, Matt."

"Please," he said, his voice more urgent now. "Just come down, alright? I need to talk."

You hesitated, your expression softening for just a moment before it hardened again. "No. After everything, you think you can just show up here and—"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly with the frustration he'd been holding in. "I know I messed up, alright? Just... please, come down."

You stared at him for a long moment, clearly torn. He could see it in your eyes—the way you were weighing your options, deciding whether or not to trust him.

Finally, with a deep sigh, you disappeared from the window, and a few moments later, the front door opened.

You stepped out onto the porch, pulling a jacket around yourself to ward off the cold.

The tension between you was palpable as you walked down the steps and stopped a few feet away from him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

"Well?" you asked, your voice sharp. "What's so important that you had to wake me up in the middle of the night?"

Matt shifted awkwardly, his hands still buried in his pockets. He didn't know how to start. Apologies weren't exactly his strong suit, and the words he wanted to say felt foreign on his tongue.

He swallowed hard, glancing away for a second before meeting your gaze again.

"I... I'm sorry," he muttered, the words coming out stilted and rough. "About everything. Marissa... the cafeteria... the way I've been acting."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "That's it? You dragged me out here for that?"

Matt's jaw clenched in frustration. He wasn't good at this, and it was taking everything in him not to snap. "I know I've been a jerk, alright? But I didn't know what to do. I don't... I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?" you asked, your voice softer now, though still guarded.

"Apologize," he said, the word feeling heavy on his tongue. "I don't know how to apologize. I don't know how to... make it right."

You sighed, looking away for a moment before turning back to him. "You can start by not treating me like trash every time I try to talk to you."

"I'm not good at this stuff," Matt said, his voice rough, almost desperate. "I don't... people like you don't hang around people like me. I didn't know how to deal with it, alright? I screwed up. I'm sorry."

You studied him for a long moment, your eyes searching his face for something—maybe sincerity, maybe something else.

But you could tell he was struggling, that he was trying, even if he didn't know how to say it.

Matt took a deep breath, the cold air biting at his skin. "I've been an ass," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I know I don't deserve it, but I need to know... your name. Please."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. There was something raw about the way he was asking, like it wasn't just about the name, but something deeper—something he couldn't quite express.

But you hesitated. After everything, after the way he had treated you, you weren't sure you wanted to give him that part of yourself.

You stared at him, your lips pressed into a thin line, trying to decide if he deserved it.

"No," you finally said, your voice firm. "Not yet."

Matt's frustration boiled over. "Come on," he practically begged, his voice low and rough. "I need to call you something. You can't just... I need something."

You shook your head, staying silent, but Matt wasn't done. His eyes flickered with something close to desperation, and then, as if struck by a thought, a small smirk pulled