You’re standing there, holding onto Mattheo’s shirt, unwilling to let go. Not yet.
He stands in front of you, his knuckles white from gripping the parchment he still holds. His father’s orders. His fate sealed in ink.
“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible. “We can run. Disappear. Just you and me.”
Mattheo laughs softly, but there’s no joy in it. Only ache. “You think I haven’t dreamed of that every night since I got that letter?”
“Then why—”
“Because it’s not just about me anymore,” he cuts in, turning away before his voice can crack. “This is bigger than what I want. Bigger than us.”
You step forward, grabbing his arm. “But I am what you want. Aren’t I?”
His silence is the loudest answer he’s ever given you.
“I love you,” you say, and it’s almost a plea.
Mattheo finally looks at you, and his expression shatters your heart.
“And that’s why I have to go.”
He presses a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering longer than they should.
He doesn’t look back when he leaves.
The front door creaks open. You look up from the letters scattered across your desk and your heart stutters as if it recognises him before your brain does.
Mattheo stands there, leaning against your doorway as if he never left.
But the look in his eyes suggests otherwise.
His hair is longer and his face is sharper. There’s a weariness about him; an old soul behind young eyes. A darkness that he didn’t have before.
“I waited too long, didn't I?” he says, his voice low and rough with regret. “I thought I'd come back and you'd still be mine. Like the world would freeze until I returned.”
You don’t say anything. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides, betraying the storm inside.
He steps into the light. “But you don't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore — just his ring.”
You instinctively touch the simple band on your finger. Theodore’s. Solid. Safe. Steady.
Mattheo’s eyes follow the movement. “I thought I was the chaos you couldn't walk away from.”
His voice breaks a little. “But you did. Now I have to live with the knowledge that someone else gets your caresses, your forehead kisses and... your forever.”
The silence stretches.
You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to ask him why he's doing this now.
Mattheo nods, slowly, as though the weight of it is finally sinking in.
“Do you love him... as much as you loved me?” he asks.