The space between you and Mattheo is filled with an uncomfortable silence. He stands before you, eyes filled with an aching mix of confusion and betrayal. He’s trying to keep his composure, but the cracks are starting to show.

"I gave up drinking," Mattheo says, his voice tight. "I....I even gave up smoking. I gave up everything you didn't like. I'm happy I did. It's fine and I waited, and I never complained." His voice shakes, rising slightly, and you can hear the hurt beneath it. "Because I fig--"

Mattheo stops himself, jaw clenching. He looks at you, his eyes searching for something—hope, perhaps, or an explanation that would make sense of it all. You meet his gaze, but the look in his eyes makes you want to disappear, makes your stomach twist with guilt and sorrow.

You pray silently that he doesn’t finish what he was going to say. That he doesn't put into words the truth you can’t bear to hear. But he does.

"You know…I figured you loved me, {{user}}," he finishes, his voice barely a whisper now, as though admitting it might make it less painful.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes sting, and you fight to hold back tears. You want to tell him that you do love him, that you care deeply, but it's not the same. Not the way he wants it. Not the way he deserves.

"I'm sorry, Mattheo," you say, your voice trembling. The words feel inadequate, like they can't possibly encompass the depth of your regret. His expression falters, and for a moment, you see the raw pain in his eyes, the heartbreak he can no longer hide.

He nods, once, twice, as if trying to convince himself to accept it. He looks down, taking a shaky breath. "Yeah... yeah, me too." He steps back, his eyes flickering to the side, avoiding yours. "I hope Theo makes you happy."

You open your mouth, wanting to say something—anything—to make it better, but the words won't come.