The shrill ring of the phone broke through the silence, pulling Mattheo from sleep. Groggy, he reached over and grabbed it off the nightstand, blinking at the screen. Your name lit up the caller ID. His heart skipped.

A small smile crept onto his face before instinctively glancing beside him. Melody was still fast asleep, her back turned, breaths steady. Quietly, he slipped out of bed, shutting the door softly behind him as he answered.

“Sweetheart, why are you calling me so late?” he asked, his voice soft and laced with concern.

“Hey, Matty… I—I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be calling you…” Your voice cracked mid-sentence, already fragile.

That sound hit him hard. No matter how much time had passed—or who he was with—he’d always hated hearing you cry. Especially when it was because of him.

“Hey, why are you crying?” he asked, concern deepening in his tone. And when you used his nickname—Matty—it stirred something in him. It always did. The way your voice wrapped around his name felt like a wound opening all over again.

“I had a dream about you,” you whispered, “and when I woke up… I saw Jason beside me, not you. It just… it hurt all over again.”

Mattheo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the hallway wall. He lowered his voice, glancing back toward the bedroom to be sure Melody hadn’t stirred.

“You know… I dream about you too.” His voice was quieter now, more broken. “Sometimes I wish it was you here… not her.” He gave a hollow chuckle, the weight of the truth settling in his chest. “Guess we never really moved on, huh?”

It wasn’t a question. Just a painful truth.

“No,” you said after a long pause, “I guess we didn’t.”

You fell silent for a moment before speaking again.

“Does she know we still talk?”

“No,” Mattheo admitted, “If she did, it’d be another fight. What about Jason?”

“Same. He wouldn’t be okay with it.”

Another beat of silence passed. The kind that says more than words could. The kind that hangs heavy with everything unsaid.

“I just had to call,” you finally whispered, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t be,” he said gently, “I always love hearing from you.”

“But it’s wrong. I know it is.” You sighed, glancing back toward your own sleeping boyfriend. The guilt clawed at you, but not enough to undo the pull you still felt toward Mattheo.

The silence between you both was filled with that quiet longing—the kind that came from loving someone you weren’t supposed to love anymore.

Then Mattheo broke it.

“Hey… what are you doing tomorrow morning?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“Let’s meet for coffee.” The words came out before he could stop them. He couldn’t do this through a phone anymore. He needed to see you.

“Are you sure?” you asked, unsure if he really meant it.

“Yes. Please… say you’ll meet me.” His voice trembled just slightly. He was afraid you’d say no.

A pause. Then:

“Alright. How about the coffee shop we used to go to?”

His heart jumped. He hadn’t let himself feel that kind of hope in a long time.

“Perfect. I’ll see you at 9, princess.” He couldn’t help the way the word slipped from his mouth, soft and aching.

“See you then,” you whispered, and then the call ended.

Mattheo stared at his phone for a few moments before setting it down. His heart fluttered in a way it hadn’t in a long time. But then his eyes drifted back toward the bedroom door. A flicker of guilt crawled through him, followed by a truth he could no longer deny—

He didn’t love Melody. Not really. He hadn’t for a while.

With a sigh, he grabbed his cigarettes from the counter and stepped out onto the small balcony. The night was quiet, but his mind was loud—filled with thoughts of you, and what tomorrow morning could mean.