The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only settled in when everyone else had gone to bed. You should’ve been asleep too, but the nagging hunger in your stomach had dragged you out of bed and down the dimly lit hallway toward the kitchen.

You hadn’t expected to run into him.

Matt was already there, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone with an air of complete indifference. His hoodie hung loose over his frame, his messy hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t acknowledge you at first, just lazily glanced up as you stepped inside.

“You always have to be everywhere I am?” His voice was dry, uninterested, but there was something in his tone—like he wasn’t just being a jerk.

You rolled your eyes and walked past him, yanking open the fridge. “Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be.”

You could feel his stare as you rummaged for a snack, the weight of it burning into your back. It was always like this—hostile, charged, like neither of you could breathe the same air without it turning into a silent battle. But tonight, there was something different. The usual bite in his words was missing.

“What are you even doing up?” he finally asked, softer this time.

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you care?”

For a split second, something flickered in his expression—something hesitant, something almost concerned. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, masked by an exasperated scoff as he pushed himself off the counter.

“I don’t,” he muttered, brushing past you.