THE WEEK HAD BEEN HELL.

You'd spent it avoiding him—avoiding his lingering gaze, the soft calls for you that echoed faintly in the hallways, and the quiet way he always seemed to find a reason to be close.

Even though you wouldn't look at him, you could feel him—always there, always watching, his presence practically magnetic.

Every time you walked into a room, your body instinctively tensed, searching for him before you could stop yourself. And he was always there.

Matt never made his presence overwhelming. He didn't corner you, didn't chase you down when you turned the other way, but he didn't hide his feelings either.

He stayed where you could see him—where you would have no choice but to notice him if you happened to glance in his direction.

And sometimes, you were weak. Your resolve would falter just enough for your eyes to drift his way, and there he'd be—leaning casually against a locker, his head tilted as if he were waiting for something.

Waiting for you.

God, it hurt.

It hurt so much to keep him at arm's length. To feel him waiting for you, watching you, and to will yourself not to give in to the pull of him.

Because giving in would mean breaking your own heart—and his.

Matt wasn't just a boy. He wasn't just a boy who said the sweetest things that made you blush until your cheeks hurt, or a boy who made you feel lighter even on your heaviest days.

He was more than that.

He was the anchor that kept you grounded when your life tilted wildly out of control. When things spiraled so fast you couldn't breathe, it was Matt who steadied you without even trying.

But this? This spiral, this storm? It wasn't something you could let him steady.

Pulling him closer now would mean dragging him straight into the chaos. And you couldn't live with that.

So you avoided him.

For seven agonizing days.

But Matt, being Matt, wasn't exactly someone you could just ignore.

Even now, you could feel his presence somewhere behind you in the crowd of students that streamed through the hall like a restless tide.

It didn't matter where he was—you always knew.

The faintest trace of his cologne had been imprinted on your senses, leaving an unspoken promise that you'd never quite escape the feeling of him.

It was warm, rich, slightly woody but still crisp, a fragrance that somehow fit him perfectly.

You didn't realize how much you noticed it until it was missing—the lingering scent that seemed to follow him every time he passed your desk in chemistry, the way your stomach dipped just slightly at its sudden closeness.

And yet, his scent wasn't the worst reminder.

The week had been a string of near-misses and fleeting touches. His shoulder brushing against yours as you walked past each other in the crowded hallway, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment too long when he handed you a forgotten notebook at your locker.

He didn't say much—he didn't have to. The quiet longing in his eyes every time you caught them was more than enough to say everything he couldn't.

That hurt most of all—his eyes.

Matt had this way of looking at you, like you were the only thing worth noticing. His gaze would always start soft, tracing your face like it was something precious.

Then it would darken just slightly, as if he couldn't stop the emotions bubbling behind it from spilling over.

It was a look that lingered, that settled in your chest like a storm cloud and refused to lift no matter how much distance you tried to put between you.

You could practically feel it now, even though you had been avoiding him all week.

The weight of it bore into you every time you passed by, every time you ducked your head and refused to meet those steady blue eyes.

You hated the way it made you feel—raw, unsteady, like you were letting him down by keeping him away.

Matt, for his part, hadn't let your coldness push him away completely. It wasn't like him to back off when something mattered.

And you? You mattered to him. You'd known that for a long time, though you rarely let yourself acknowledge it.

So when he caught your attention unexpectedly in the library—his tall figure leaning against the far wall, fingers idly tracing the edge of a table—your breath caught.

He hadn't said anything yet, but his eyes locked on you instantly. His soft, deep voice still echoed faintly from earlier that week, the last time you'd had a real conversation:

"Stay away from me, Matt."

And he hadn't said a word then. He had only nodded, his jaw tightening as though he were biting back a thousand protests.

But since that day, he hadn't kept his distance at all.

Not truly.

That was Matt—persistent, unyielding.

When you saw him now, you almost wanted to cry.

You almost wanted to run.

You wanted so many conflicting things at once it made your knees weak.

But there was no running this time. He was standing close—so close—and there was nowhere for you to go.

"Hey." His voice was soft. Too soft. It had a way of slipping through the cracks in your defenses like it was built just to disarm you.

You didn't look at him right away, busying yourself with the notes on your desk. "Hey."

"Can we talk?"

The gentle urgency in his voice sent a pang of guilt straight through your chest, but you kept your eyes focused downward.

"What's there to talk about, Matt?"

"You, for starters," he said quietly. "You've been... avoiding me. I know you told me to stay away from you but I thought we could at least talk to each other, even if it's just saying hello"

"It's not like that, Matt"  you said quickly, though you both knew that was a lie.

"Then tell me what it's like." His words were steady, unwavering. He wasn't angry—he wasn't trying to be. But the weight of his quiet persistence made it impossible for you to ignore him like you wanted to.

Like you had to.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against the edge of your table. "What's going on beautiful?"

That word. You hated how it wrecked you every single time. He said it so casually, like it was just yours—not a word he used for anyone else. You had noticed he never did. It was always reserved for you.

Your chest tightened, and you could feel yourself folding under the weight of it all. You couldn't hold it in anymore.

You sighed, finally glancing up at him. And when your eyes met his, something inside you cracked wide open.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, the way his eyes swept over you both unsettling and... warming.

You weren't exactly dressed to stand out today, at least, not to you.

But the weather had begged for something chic yet functional, so you'd gone for a soft burgundy turtleneck dress, tight enough to flatter but loose enough to maintain your usual elegance.

A pair of heeled black knee-high boots clicked softly against the floor when you moved, while a gold pendant—a small, delicate rose—rested above your collarbone, an unintentional contrast to the storm raging in your chest.

Matt took you in slowly. His gaze was far from careless, lingering just a moment too long on the soft curve of your neck before trailing downward to meet your eyes again.

"You look beautiful," he said, and the simplicity of his tone made it impossible to doubt his sincerity.

"Don't," you said weakly, your fingers tightening around the edges of your notebook. You weren't sure what you were asking him to stop.

The look, the compliments, the way he chipped at every defense you'd spent the past week building.

"What?" he asked softly, leaning slightly closer, his hands in his pockets but his shoulders angled protectively in your direction. "Telling you the truth? Complimenting you when you're literally stealing the air from the room?" His lips quirked into the barest ghost of a smile. "You're not gonna win that one."

A flicker of irritation sparked in you—not at him, but at yourself. Why couldn't you shut him down?

Why couldn't you just push him away like you were supposed to?

"It doesn't matter," you murmured, your eyes dropping. "I—I just needed some space, okay?"

"That's funny," he said quietly, his voice still tinged with warmth. "You needed space, but I needed you. How's that fair?"

You froze, your breath catching as you felt the words ripple through you. It wasn't a harsh accusation, but an open wound.

One he wasn't trying to hide.

He stepped closer, and your pulse quickened. Matt's presence was something you felt before anything else—his warmth, his energy, the weight of his care.

It had been like this all week, fleeting moments when he was near, so close you could sense his focus on you like a physical thing.

"Matt," you whispered, but even to your own ears it didn't sound like a warning. It sounded like the beginning of something else.

"Seven days," he said gently, his voice low but steady. "Seven days without a single word from you, not even a smile. Do you know how many times I almost stopped you in the hallway, just to make sure you were okay? A hundred. A thousand. But I didn't, because I figured if you wanted to be left alone, I'd try to respect that. But then, I see you—God, every single day I see you, and you look as wrecked as I feel. So don't tell me it's just space you needed, because that's not what this is."

You couldn't breathe. His words were soft, so painfully sincere, but they hit like a sledgehammer.

You hated him for being so understanding, hated him for how much you could see his own hurt bleeding out in every syllable.

The words bubbled out before you could stop them. "Do you know how hard it is? How hard it's been to avoid you?" Your voice was shaky, thin. "I—I wasn't doing it because I wanted to, Matt. I was doing it because I had to."

His eyes darkened, but not with anger. Concern. "Why would you have to, beautiful?" He shifted closer, his hand brushing the edge of the table now, so close you swore you could feel it. "You don't have to do anything alone."

You pressed your lips together, shaking your head slightly. "That's the problem," you whispered. "You don't understand. It's not just me—there are things I have to figure out on my own, without dragging you into them."

"Too late for that." His voice was so gentle it hurt to hear. "I'm already in it, beautiful. I've been in it since the day I met you."

The weight of those words made your throat tighten, but you couldn't crumble now. "Matt, I can't—"

"I don't smell like it anymore, do I?" he interrupted, his voice shifting, his tone almost casual but not quite.

"What?" You blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

"Cigarettes." He smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You haven't noticed? Normally, you'd wrinkle your nose, give me that half-glare like you're mad at me for hurting myself. But you haven't done yet."

Your brows furrowed. Now that he mentioned it, you had noticed. His usual faint smoky smell had disappeared, replaced by something cleaner, lighter. You frowned. "You stopped smoking?"

"For you," he said simply, as if it were obvious.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"You said you hated it," he continued. "I've wanted to quit for a while now, but hearing you say it, well... that did the trick. Haven't had one since."

"Matt," you whispered, but you had no idea what to say after that.

"It's just a cigarette," he said softly, his smile genuine this time. "But if you hated it, it mattered. You matter. You always matter."

You stared at him, your words tangled somewhere in the knot in your throat.

The world around you fell silent for a moment as Matt's gaze softened even further.

You saw his fingers twitch like he wanted to reach out for yours but held himself back, giving you space he probably didn't even want to give.

And then your phone lit up.

The sharp buzz of a notification pulled you out of the moment, and your heart plummeted as you glanced at the screen.

The text stared back at you, cold and taunting, the message attached to a short string of words that turned your blood to ice:

You think you can ignore me? Let's see what happens when I come knocking.

Matt saw it before you could flip the phone over, his sharp intake of breath cutting through the heavy quiet.

He didn't say anything immediately, but when his eyes met yours, they were burning—not with anger at you, but at whoever had sent it.

"You were going to keep this from me?" he said softly, his voice a mix of hurt and barely-contained frustration. "He's still threatening you, and you thought I didn't need to know?"

The storm brewing in his chest was unmistakable, and for the first time all week, you didn't have the energy to push him away.

Your hesitation was all Matt needed. He reached for your phone before you could pull it away, his movements quick but deliberate, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the message.

"How many?." His voice was low, almost calm, but the undertone was unmistakable—a quiet, simmering rage.

"What?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

"How many times has he been to your house this week?" His eyes locked onto yours, intense and unyielding.

You froze, your lips parting as you tried to find an answer that wouldn't make things worse. But lying wasn't an option—not when he was staring at you like that.

"Four," you whispered finally, looking down.

Matt's jaw clenched, and he turned away briefly, running a hand through his hair. His silence was louder than anything he could have said.

"Four times," he repeated, his voice cracking slightly. "And you didn't think to tell me? You've been ignoring me, letting me think it was something I did, while he's been—" He broke off, shaking his head as he exhaled sharply. "God, beautiful, what were you thinking?"

"I didn't want to drag you into it anymore," you said quickly, your voice trembling. "He's not bothering you anymore so this is my problem, Matt. You already have enough to deal with."

Matt let out a short, humorless laugh, but there was no humor in his eyes when he turned back to you. "Your problem? You're in all of this because of me princess. You think I don't care about that? You think any of that matters more than you? If I have to get back into problems to help you, I will"

His voice rose slightly, and he took a step closer, towering over you now. "This isn't about me, damn it. This is about you being in danger and thinking you have to handle it alone."

Your heart was pounding, and for a moment, you couldn't find the words to respond. But before you could try, the sound of a throat clearing cut through the tension like a knife.

Both of you turned to see one of Matt's friends standing a few feet away, looking hesitant but determined. "Matt, we've got—"

"Get out," Matt snapped, his voice sharper than you'd ever heard it.

The interruption had barely been two seconds long, but the difference in his tone was stark. His expression, hard and brimming with anger, softened the moment his eyes fell back on you.

"Hey." His voice was low again, steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. "We're not done here, okay? I need you to talk to me. You have to let me help you."

You nodded weakly, too overwhelmed to argue.

"Good." He reached out hesitantly, his fingers grazing yours, but he didn't push for more. It was enough to send your heart racing all over again.

The bell rang, cutting the conversation short. Matt gently tilted your chin up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Can I see you after class?" he asked, his voice warm.

You bit your lip, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face. "Yeah, you'll see me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Matt's hand brushed your cheek, his gaze never wavering from yours. He exhaled, his breath shaky. "See you then," he murmured, slowly letting his hand fall to his side. He took a few steps back, his eyes still locked on yours.

As he reached the door, he gave a small wave, then turned, walking out without looking away from you until the very last moment.

After a tiring day of classes, the hallway was buzzing with its usual chaos, students rushing to and from their lockers, their chatter filling the air.

You were trying to blend into the crowd, clutching your books to your chest as you made your way toward your next class. But as always, you could feel him.

Matt was nearby.

You hadn't spoken to him since your tense conversation in the library, but that didn't mean he wasn't there—watching, waiting. His presence felt like a magnet, drawing your gaze to him despite everything.

And there he was, leaning against a row of lockers, his brown eyes scanning the hall. The second he saw you, his expression softened and he smiled at you. God how you'd missed that smile.

But before you could even take a step into his direction to walk over to him and hear his voice again, a sharp, familiar voice sliced through the air, cutting off your thoughts.

"Well, well, look who decided to show her face."

Your heart sank as you turned to see her—Marissa, with her perfectly styled hair, glossy lips, and an expression that could freeze hell itself.

She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Matt straightened slightly, his gaze darting between the two of you, but he didn't say anything.

"Marissa," you said cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't bother responding right away. Instead, she let her eyes rake over you, her smirk widening as a small group of her friends started to gather behind her, eager to watch whatever spectacle she was about to create.

"You know," Marissa began, her tone loud enough for everyone around to hear, "I've been wondering about you. Wondering how someone so... ordinary managed to take up so much of Matt's time lately."

The words hit like a slap, and you felt your face flush as a few students nearby paused to watch.

"It's not like that," you said quickly, but Marissa's laugh cut you off.

"Not like that?" she repeated mockingly, tilting her head. "Come on. Don't act like everyone doesn't see the way you throw yourself at him. It's pathetic, really."

You felt your throat tighten, your pulse pounding in your ears as more heads turned in your direction.

"Marissa it's pretty clear you're lacking some braincells because we've been over this once and you know that Matt and I are working on a project together, so please just stop," you said, your voice firm, but she only stepped closer.

"Stop?" she echoed, feigning innocence. "Why? Am I wrong? Are you not constantly hovering around him, acting like you're special? Like you mean something to him?"

You glanced at Matt, hoping—praying—that he would step in, but he just stood there, his jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides.

He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't—or wouldn't.

The lack of support cut deeper than Marissa's words ever could.

"See?" Marissa said, gesturing to Matt with a satisfied grin. "Even he knows I'm right. He's not going to defend you because he knows this—" she waved her hand between you and Matt—"is nothing. You're nothing."

Your breath caught, humiliation burning in your chest as the onlookers