Mattheo had always said there was no one like you. Not in the vague, romantic way people say it, not dripping with poetry or smoke. No—he meant it plainly, honestly. You were different. You always had been.

He’d loved you before he even had the words for it—back when he still shoved grass down your shirt for a laugh, when you shoved him back twice as hard. You were the first person to make him laugh so hard it hurt. You were the only one who never flinched at his anger, his noise, his name.

And you never looked at him like you wanted him to be better. Just real.

So yeah, he was in love with you. Had been for years. He just never said it—not outright. It had always been a glimmer behind a grin, a rough knuckle brushing yours, his hoodie dropped on your shoulders like second nature. You never questioned it. Of course you didn’t.

Why would you, when nothing ever changed?

But today… something in the quiet felt different. There was gold in the air, glinting off the lake’s surface, and your hair caught the light like it belonged in a Botticelli painting. Mattheo’s heart was thudding like it had done that morning you broke curfew just to sit on the Astronomy Tower with him, like it always did when he realized, for the hundredth time, that he could live a thousand lives and never meet someone like you again.

So he stopped walking.

You turned, confused, maybe amused—but your smile faded a little when you saw the look in his eyes.

He exhaled hard, ran a hand through his curls. Then—

“You know, I’ve tried not to say this. Honestly, I have. I’ve tried being patient. I’ve tried being your best friend, your shadow, your partner in crime. And I am—I am all those things. But bloody hell, it’s getting harder to pretend that’s all I want to be.”

You blinked. The world felt still, even the lake.

“I think you know, deep down. Everyone else seems to.” He huffed a bitter laugh, eyes flicking to the water. “They’ve been waiting on us like we’re some kind of prophecy. Like it’s written in the stars or something. And maybe it is. But I’m done waiting for stars to make the first move.”

He looked at you again then—properly, fully—and his voice dropped softer, rawer.

“I love you. Not the way friends do. Not like a brother, not like a mate. I love you in that loud, unbearable, want-to-be-around-you-every-second kind of way. I’ve loved you since I figured out girls weren’t annoying and realized you were the only one who ever made my world feel less empty.”

He took a step closer.

“I’ve memorized your laugh. Your moods. Your rants. I know how you take your tea and what songs you hum without realizing. You’re in every corner of my head. And I know you don’t see it. I know you think this is just how we are—but it’s not, not for me. And maybe I’ll regret saying this. Maybe you’ll tell me we can’t be like that, and I’ll smile and pretend I’m fine and go back to being your best friend like always.”

Pause. A breath. “But I had to try. I had to say it. Because I can’t keep loving you in silence anymore.”

The wind shifted. His hair curled at the edges. His jaw was tight, waiting—not hopeful. Just honest. Stripped back to nothing but truth.

And still, he stood there. Your Mattheo. Jacketless. Bare-hearted. Waiting.