MATT SLOUCHED against the cracked brick wall behind his house, his fingers fidgeting with the frayed strap of his backpack.

He couldn't focus, not with the weight of the last month pressing down on him like concrete.

He'd spent most of the nights replaying the look on your face as Marissa cornered you and he didn't so anything to protect you.

Anger.

Embarrassment.

Maybe regret.

He wasn't sure which one stung worse.

The cigarette between his lips hung low, but he didn't care. He wasn't even smoking it, really—just holding it there for the comfort of familiarity. He stopped smoking for you and now that you were mad at him, he hesitated going back.

"Running low, Matt?" Chris's voice cut through the quiet. Chris appeared from around the corner, hands shoved into the pockets of his beaten-up leather jacket. "You're staring at that thing like it owes you money."

Matt scoffed but didn't look at him. "What do you want, Chris?"

Chris shrugged, leaning against the wall next to him. "Same as always. Checking up on my big brother. Making sure you're not doing anything stupid. You know, the usual."

Matt snorted. "Yeah, 'cause you're such a great role model."

"I'm better than nothing," Chris shot back, smirking. "And let's be real—you could've used me last night."

Matt froze. His cigarette slipped from his fingers and hit the pavement, smoldering out in seconds. "What are you talking about?"

Chris's grin widened, but there was no humor in it. "Cops were sniffing around our side of town again last night. They're looking for someone. Sound familiar?"

Matt's stomach churned, but he kept his face blank. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Chris chuckled, low and mean. "Sure you don't. But word gets around, Matt. You're not as invisible as you think."

Matt clenched his fists, his temper flaring. "Back off, Chris. I don't need your help."

Chris leaned in closer, his voice dropping. "Oh, but you do, brother. You're playing a dangerous game, hanging around those preople?. You think they're gonna save you? They'll turn on you the second you stop being useful."

"I don't care what you think," Matt growled, shoving past him. "Stay out of it."

"Whatever you say, Crimson King." Chris's voice echoed after him, mocking and sharp.

Matt stormed off, his heart pounding. He hated the way Chris always made him feel—like no matter what he did, he'd always be the same lost kid from the wrong side of town.

Like nothing could ever change.

Matt shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket, his jaw clenched tight as he walked away from Chris.

The streets blurred around him, his thoughts spiraling into a tangled mess.

Your fight with Marissa continued playing on a loop in his head. The sharp sting of her words, the anger in her eyes when she slapped you in front of everyone, and your expression—shocked, humiliated—seared into his memory.

He hadn't stepped in. Not when you looked at him, silently asking for help, nor when Marissa sneered at you, tossing out a parting insult like salt on an open wound.

He had stood there, frozen, torn between the chaos of his feelings and the weight of his reputation.

And now, he hated himself for it.

Matt reached the edge of the street you both lived in and stopped, staring blankly at the cracked pavement beneath his feet.

His fists ached from how hard he'd been clenching them, the tension in his chest impossible to ignore.

You deserved better—better than Marissa, better than the Embers, better than him.

But it didn't stop him from wanting to be close to you.

The thought hit him like a sucker punch, stealing the breath from his lungs. He wanted you—your quiet strength, the way your eyes always held a spark of defiance even when the world tried to dim it.

He wanted to make up for every moment he'd let you down, but he didn't even know where to start.

Meanwhile, you sat curled up on the edge of your bed, staring out the window as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The slap still burned on your cheek, more from the memory than the physical pain. You hadn't cried—not in front of Marissa, and not after—but the weight of the day pressed heavy on your chest.

Marissa's words replayed in your mind. "You don't belong here. Stop trying to take what isn't yours."

You weren't sure what hurt more: the slap itself or the way Matt had just stood there, watching. He hadn't defended you. He hadn't said a word. It was like you didn't matter to him at all.

A knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts. "It's open," you called, your voice hollow.

Rowan stepped inside, her face a mix of concern and hesitation. "Hey. I just wanted to check on you... after, you know, everything."

You offered a weak smile, grateful for her presence even if it didn't ease the ache in your chest. "I'm fine."

Rowan frowned, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. "You don't look fine. Marissa's a total bitch, by the way. And Matt..." She trailed off, her expression hardening. "He should've done something."

Your stomach twisted at the mention of his name, but you shook your head. "It doesn't matter. He's with her."

"Yeah, and you're clearly in his head," Rowan said, her voice sharp. "He's an idiot if he doesn't see it. But you're not invisible to him—I've seen the way he looks at you. He even asked me about you once"

Your heart stumbled at her words, a flicker of hope threatening to break through the wall you'd built around yourself. But it didn't last. "It doesn't change anything," you said quietly. "He made his choice."

Rowan sighed, pushing off the doorframe. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean you have to let him or Marissa walk all over you. You deserve better."

You didn't reply, your gaze drifting back to the window as Rowan left. The truth was, you weren't sure what you deserved anymore.

Matt didn't know why he was here. The street outside your house was quiet, the glow from your bedroom window the only light cutting through the darkness.

He stood there, hidden in the shadow of a tree, debating whether to turn back or take a chance.

He didn't belong here. He knew that. But the image of you—hurt, alone—had driven him to your doorstep before he could stop himself.

Finally, he moved. His footsteps were soft against the pavement as he crossed the lawn and picked up a small pebble from the ground. With a deep breath, he tossed it at your window.

The soft tap startled you, and you froze, your heart skipping a beat as you turned toward the sound.

When you saw Matt standing below, his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, your stomach flipped.

"What are you doing here?" you hissed when you opened the window.

Matt looked up, his expression tense but determined. "Can we talk?"

You hesitated, torn between slamming the window shut and hearing him out. After a moment, you sighed. "Fine. Go around to the side door."

Matt nodded, disappearing from view as you made your way downstairs. You opened the side door cautiously, letting him step inside, both of you walking into your bedroom.

The tension between you was thick, the air charged with everything left unsaid.

"What do you want, Matt?" you asked, your voice sharp, though the tightness in your chest betrayed the anger you felt. "Haven't you done enough?"

Matt flinched, but his stance remained steady. "I didn't come here to fight."

"Then why are you here?" Your voice rose. "To apologize? To explain why you stood there and did nothing while she—" You stopped yourself, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "While Marissa made me feel like nothing?"

"Yes," Matt said, his voice soft but firm. "I'm sorry. I should've stopped her. I wanted to."

"Should've wanted to sooner," you muttered bitterly, looking away. "You just stood there, Matt. You let her slap me. How am I supposed to forgive that?"

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice strained. "But I do know that I care about you. More than I care about any of this." He gestured vaguely, as if "this" encompassed his entire chaotic world. "I know I can't take back what I did—or didn't do. But I'll do whatever it takes to fix this. You just have to tell me how."

Your laugh was bitter, sharp. "You think this is something you can fix with a quick apology and some good intentions? It doesn't work like that, Matt."

"I know," he said, his voice low. He took a step closer, his gaze steady. "But tell me how to make it right. I'll do anything."

"Then tell me the truth about Hector," you snapped, your anger flaring again. "All of it."

Matt froze, his jaw tightening. "That's not—"

"That's not what?" you interrupted, stepping forward, your own fury burning brighter. "Not something I should know? Not something you think I can handle? Guess what, Matt? Hector already made it my problem when he sent his goons after me and when he literally kidnapped me. Now I'm here, caught in the middle of your mess, because you couldn't handle things. So don't tell me it's not something I should know."

Matt looked away, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow. "Hector's not just a problem for me. He's a problem for everyone. He's been watching us—watching me—for years. And now, he knows about you."

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to let the fear show on your face. "And what does that mean, Matt? What does he want? And how did you even get into this mess "

You could see he was debating whether to speak or walk away.

"Matt," you said again, softer this time. "Please. Just talk to me."

He exhaled sharply, looking down at the ground. For a long moment, he didn't speak, the silence between you heavy.

Then he finally looked up, his eyes clouded with something you couldn't quite name.

"You ever feel like no matter what you do, it's never enough?" he asked, his voice low. "Like... the world just decided what you were gonna be, and nothing you do will ever change it?"

You hesitated, then nodded. "I've felt like that. Like I don't fit anywhere."

Matt let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, well... for me, it's not just a feeling. It's my whole life."

You stayed silent, sensing he needed space to continue on his own terms.

"It started when I was about thirteen," Matt began, his voice distant, like he was talking to someone far away. "We didn't have much. My mom worked her ass off to keep things together, but it was never enough. There was always some bill she couldn't pay, some notice on the door. And me... I just felt useless."

You frowned, stepping closer. "You weren't useless, Matt. You were just a kid."

He glanced at you, his lips twitching into a sad smile. "Yeah, well... try telling that to a kid who's watching his mom work herself to death. I wanted to help, you know? I wanted to make things easier for her."

Matt rubbed the back of his neck, his voice tightening. "That's when I met Chris and Nick's friends. They had money—nice clothes, new phones, all that. I thought they'd figured something out, like maybe they had some kind of hustle I didn't know about."

His jaw clenched, and his gaze dropped to the floor. "Turns out, their 'hustle' was dealing. Small stuff at first—weed, pills, things people didn't think were a big deal. They told me I could make easy money, help my mom out. And I believed them."

"Matt..." you murmured, your chest tightening at the pain in his voice.

"I was stupid," he said bitterly, his fists clenching. "I thought I could control it. I'd just do a few deals, make enough to cover the rent or help buy groceries, and then I'd stop. But it doesn't work like that. Once you're in, you're in."

He paused, swallowing hard. "I started lying to my mom. Telling her I was working odd jobs, mowing lawns or stocking shelves. And for a while, it worked. I was bringing in cash, and she didn't ask too many questions. But then Chris got involved with Hector."

Your stomach twisted at the mention of Hector, but you stayed quiet, letting Matt continue.

"Hector's not just some guy," Matt said, his voice low and tense. "He's the one who controls everything. The deals, the money, the people. And if you cross him, you're done. Chris owed him money—money he couldn't pay back. And because we're brothers, Hector decided it was my problem, too."

You could see the weight of those words pressing down on Matt, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"I started doing more for Hector," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Bigger deals, riskier stuff. Anything to keep Chris and Nick safe. But it was never enough. Hector always wanted more, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep up."

Tears glistened in Matt's eyes, and he quickly looked away, blinking hard. "My mom doesn't know. She thinks I'm still working odd jobs. She doesn't know the kind of people I'm tied to. And if she ever found out..."

His voice broke, and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I can't get out, alright? I've tried, but Hector doesn't let people walk away. And now, because of me, you're in this, too."

The crack in his voice shattered something in you. Before you could stop yourself, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him.

Matt stiffened, his breath hitching, but then he melted into the hug, his arms hesitantly coming up to hold you back.

His grip was firm, almost desperate, like he was clinging to the one steady thing in his life.

"You're not alone," you said softly, your voice trembling. "You don't have to go through this alone, Matt. You're stronger than you think."

"I'm not," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm not strong enough for this. I've screwed up too much. I've hurt too many people."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his tear-filled eyes. "That doesn't mean you can't be better. You've made mistakes, Matt, but you're not a bad person"

Matt stared at you, his walls crumbling as a tear slipped down his cheek. Matt swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting in his hoodie pocket. "I messed up. I know that. I shouldn't have stood there and done nothing while she—"

He stopped, the memory clearly still haunting him. "While Marissa hurt you. I hate myself for it, okay? But I can't take it back. All I can do is try to make it right."

You didn't respond, your gaze hard and unwavering.

Matt shifted, the silence cutting deeper than any words. He ran a hand through his messy hair, frustration etched into every movement. "You don't get it, do you? You're not just... someone to me. You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

Your brows furrowed, but you didn't drop the defensive wall you'd built. "You have a funny way of showing it, Matt."

"I know," he said, his voice cracking. "I know I do. I'm terrible at this. At being someone you deserve. But that doesn't change how I feel about you." He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "You think I care about Marissa? Or the Embers? Or the Crimsons? None of that matters. The only thing I care about is you."

You shook your head, refusing to let the sincerity in his voice get to you. "Then why didn't you stand up for me? Why did you let her humiliate me in front of everyone?"

Matt flinched as if the words physically struck him. "Because I was a coward," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was scared of what people would think, I admit that. But none of that matters now. I would've taken that slap for you. I would've done anything to protect you if I could go back."

"Words are easy, Matt," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your anger. "Actions are what matter. And you've done nothing but let me down."

Matt's shoulders slumped, the defeat visible in the way his head dropped. "You're right," he murmured. "I've let you down more times than I can count. But you're still here. You're still... you. And I don't deserve it, but I'm begging you to give me another chance."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his voice growing more desperate. "You're the strongest person I've ever met. The smartest, the most stubborn—God, you drive me crazy sometimes. But you're also the reason I quit smoking. The reason I even try to be better at all."

Your breath hitched, his words catching you off guard.

"You're the only person who's ever looked at me like I was worth something," Matt continued, stepping closer, his eyes earnest and pleading. "And I'm terrified of losing that. Of losing you."

Your walls cracked, just a little, and you dropped your gaze to the ground. "I don't know if I can trust you again, Matt. How do I know you won't just freeze the next time someone tries to hurt me?"

"I won't," he said firmly, his voice steady for the first time that night. "Because I've learned my lesson. I'll fight for you. I'll do whatever it takes to prove I'm not that guy anymore."

The vulnerability in his tone tugged at something deep within you. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. "Why now, Matt? Why does this matter to you so much?"

"Because you're the only thing I've ever cared about," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "The only thing that's ever made me feel like I could be more than... this." He gestured vaguely at himself, as if all his faults and failures were wrapped up in that one motion.

The anger in your chest faltered, replaced by something softer, something dangerous. You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him.

"You've got one last chance," you said finally, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. "One. Don't mess it up, Matt."

Relief washed over his face, and he nodded, his expression more serious than you'd ever seen. "I won't. I swear, I won't."

Matt stood there, searching your face, the apology still fresh in the air, but his expression softened into something else entirely.

He took a small step back, his eyes darting nervously before landing on you again. "You look... really pretty tonight," he said, his voice softer now, almost shy.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. "Matt—"

"I mean it," he interrupted, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. "I was an idiot to let things get this bad. But seeing you now... I don't think I ever really appreciated how much I've missed you."

Your cheeks warmed, but you held your ground. "You missed me?"

"Of course I did." His voice was firm, his eyes earnest. "You're the only good thing in my life that doesn't come with strings. I didn't just miss you—I missed everything about you. The way you talk, how you make everything seem less... heavy. Even the way you get annoyed with me, like now."

You tried to hide the small smile that crept onto your face, but Matt caught it.

"See?" he teased gently. "That smile. I missed that most of all."

You shook your head, trying to suppress your growing grin. "You're impossible."

"I know," he admitted, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa near the window. "But I mean it. Tell me everything I've missed—everything you've been up to this past month. I want to hear it all."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to let yourself relax, but his warm, eager gaze pulled the words from you.

Slowly, you began to tell him about your days—your afternoons with Rowan, a book you'd been reading, and even how you'd joined the school's art club to pass the time.

As you spoke, your voice grew livelier, more