You stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, the weight of his absence pressing against your chest.

Mattheo stands a few feet away, his back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the floor. His expression is unreadable, a mask of indifference.

The boy you once knew—the one who would smirk at you with that teasing glint in his eyes, who would pull you close and murmur soft words only meant for you—he’s gone. In his place is someone colder, distant, unreachable.

“Mattheo, please,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “Talk to me. Just… just tell me why.”

His jaw tightens. He exhales sharply through his nose before finally looking at you. But there’s nothing there—no warmth, no emotion, only an emptiness that chills you to your bones.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says flatly.

You take a step closer, desperate to break through whatever wall he’s building between you. “That’s not true. I know you, Mattheo. I know this isn’t just—”

“You don’t know me,” he cuts you off. “Not really. And you don’t want to.”

Your breath catches. “That’s not fair—”

“It is,” he says, and for a moment, something flashes across his face—pain, regret, something real. But then it’s gone, replaced with that cold indifference again. “You should go.”

Your heart clenches, but you refuse to move. “Why are you doing this?”

Silence.

He swallows hard, his fingers twitching as if he wants to reach for you but stops himself. “Because it’s better this way.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “Better for who? Because it sure that isn’t better for me.”

His breath catches in his throat for just a second, but then he turns away. “You’ll thank me one day.”