The Milan skyline stretched beyond the hotel window, glowing under the evening haze. It was beautiful; historic, prestigious, everything he should be hyped about. But Matt just sat there, staring at his reflection in the glass, feeling absolutely nothing.

His phone was in his hand, but it might as well have weighed a ton. He knew what he wanted to do. Who he wanted to talk to.

The PRADA invite had been a dream opportunity, something that should’ve made him feel important. But right now, he felt small. Insignificant. Like none of this mattered because you weren’t here.

His fingers hovered over your contact, hesitation creeping in. You were in LA, living your life, waiting for him to come back. Did you even miss him as much as he missed you? Did you feel this same unbearable, aching absence?

"i feel fucking empty without you."

He stared at the message. Too raw. Too much. But it was the truth.

Before he could overthink, he hit send. Then, he tossed his phone onto the bed, rubbing a hand down his face. He hated this. Hated how much he needed you. How much this whole experience—one that should’ve been huge—felt like nothing without you next to him.

"you there?"

God, he just wanted to go home.