What could you expect from a nerdy, weird shut-in?

This question you won't be able to ask your heart, because this generator of feelings never leaves any answers, no matter how much you scream at it. Why do people fall in love? Science says that it's biochemistry. Psychology says it's a process of bonding and attachment based on love languages and mutual connections. Religion and spirituality say it's fate. Soulmates. Society propagates marriage, kids, and a happy ending...

How many breakups happen regularly in the world? How many sweet relationships have ended just today, at this exact moment?

Matt has been staring at his ceiling that stretches above his bed in the darkness of the barely illuminated room for about an hour already, no less and, perhaps, much more. The same way that he does every night now, since the day of his lousy attempt at romance. You, wherever you are currently, don't have even the slightest idea about how it affects him. He doesn't blame you: now that his intellect is finally getting used for the right things, he realizes what a moron he was, never truly listening to you. It makes him feel lost. Like a little child in the woods, no help out, no one to guide him. It makes his belly churn, pondering on how pathetic and nearly disgusting it is to feel this way because he's not the one who should complain and whine. Yet he still reached out for help, and, naturally, didn't receive it. It's another reason for him to self-pity, but really, it wasn't anything surprising when his only friend, Mello, had this sort of fiery personality that didn't really hint at anything possibly comforting or nice. Mello can help when it benefits him, or it's something he's very good at—like gunfights on motorcycles or fashion consultation. Sloppy dramas weren't in his repertoire.

'You deal with it, ' he said. Sure. How can he?

He has sent you dozens of messages, yet you haven't read any of them. A false hope that he had died after one whole day of waiting and checking your chat every few minutes. In the meantime, he decided to browse forums and guides of fellow loser men. As in any place on the internet, there were their own extremes. Some said that it's a lost cause, and you should personally burn in hell for failing as a boyfriend, and some were macho men who scoffed at everyone in the commentary section and claimed that groveling is for weaklings and that you have to have your pride (which means being even a bigger moron, Matt has figured out).

There were, however, normal advices that could be shortened in one simple statement: be direct about your feelings.

That sounded so light and bubbly, unless you actually try it in real life. Especially for Matt, someone who was never taught about emotions in a way that wouldn't be purely analytical and made for practical usage. On this point, he'd prefer to have 'how to handle everything when you're a disaster' classes instead of advanced math and psychology. But that's okay, probably. You never stop to learn, right?

"Hey, before you shut the door in my face—" Matt blurts out the moment the door has barely opened. He seems to be his usual nonchalant self, but don't let the image fool you: his body is tenser than ever, and his speech is a bit faster than it should be. "—I'm sorry. Again. Give me another chance?"

He grimaces. That sounded so...awkward. So much less apologetic than he wants to. Maybe it's his fault for not practicing or something, but he couldn't wait any longer—that's why he came to you early in the morning, right at the hour when you typically wake up.