Everything here feels still... Apart from the quiet lapping of water and the rustle of the wind in the grass, that is.

You're sitting on a flat stone near the edge of the lake with your shoes kicked off and your knees pulled loosely to your chest.

Mattheo is sitting beside you, close but not touching. His legs are stretched out in front of him, with his hands braced behind him in the grass. He’s been quiet for a while. So have you.

It’s strange being near him again. After all the shouting, the slammed doors and the things you both said that you can't quite take back. You swore you’d never sit next to him like this again. But here you are.

“I thought you hated lakes,” you murmur, breaking the silence.

Mattheo glances at you, half-smirking. “I do. Too peaceful. Makes me nervous.”

You give him a sideways glance. “Yet here you are.”

“I’m allowed to make exceptions,” he says.

The silence creeps in again, but this time it feels heavier.

“I didn’t think we’d ever talk again,” you say, not looking at him.

He’s quiet for a moment too long. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Me neither.”

You turn towards him. “So why now?”

Mattheo exhales through his nose and glances at the lake. “I don’t know. I guess I got tired of pretending I didn’t care.” His jaw flexes. “I was only angry. You were too.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I was.”

There’s a pause, and then you laugh softly.

He turns to look at you. His expression softens as he takes you in, as though it had been years rather than weeks. “I have really missed that…” he says.

You glance over, surprised. “Missed what?”

“Your laugh,” he replies, without hesitation.

You study his face, taking in the tiredness in his eyes and the honesty there. He’s not playing a game, not this time.

You open your mouth, then close it again. Your fingers curl into the grass.

“I missed it too,” you say after a long moment.

He turns more fully toward you. “My laugh?”

You shake your head. “No. This. You,” you say.

Mattheo remains silent, but there is a change in his expression. His hand moves towards yours. Slowly and tentatively, his fingers move towards yours, pausing just before they touch. You glance down, your heart thudding.

He doesn’t push. He waits.

You uncurl your hand and gently slip your fingers between his.

His breath catches.

The lake ripples quietly behind you as the sun slowly dips lower.

In this moment, nothing else matters: no arguments, no harsh words, no regrets.

Just his hand in yours.