𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄, 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗼

04

MATT'S SNEAKERS SCUFFED the concrete as he trudged down the sidewalk, anxiety curling in his stomach. This wasn't like sneaking into some rundown house in the Crimsons' territory.

No, this was different.

This was enemy territory.

He was headed to your house—the one that sat nestled in a pristine neighborhood, far removed from the chaotic streets Matt called home.

At least, that's what he thought.

You had said you were taking a shortcut, but the more you walked, the more Matt's anxiety curled tighter in his stomach. Everything here looked too clean, too perfect—the kind of place he avoided without a second thought. But he kept walking, following your lead, your steps confident on the smooth sidewalk.

He barely recognized the street, too focused on keeping his head down. The soft sound of your shoes on the pavement next to him felt out of sync with the usual noise that filled his life.

Matt shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket, feeling the weight of his clothes—dirty, rumpled, smelling like smoke—clinging to him like a second skin. He knew he'd stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.

Still, a part of him couldn't turn back. You had offered to help, let him use your extra laptop, and for some reason, he hadn't said no.

He didn't know why exactly—maybe it was the way you had looked at him in the library, not judging him, not pitying him, just... being there. It had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

He glanced sideways at you, noticing how easily you navigated the pristine streets, like you belonged here. The sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the houses, each one with perfectly trimmed lawns and spotless driveways.

The further you walked, the more something gnawed at the back of his mind. He glanced at a familiar street sign, then up at the row of houses—nearly identical, but with just enough personality to set them apart.

His eyes flicked to a particular house with a weathered fence and an overgrown tree hanging over the sidewalk. A knot formed in his throat.

He knew that house.

But he didn't say anything, just kept his mouth shut and kept walking, even though his pulse quickened. It couldn't be.

His gaze drifted again, and this time his breath caught. His house. His own house, barely a block away. Matt stopped, his feet frozen to the ground, staring down the street like he was seeing it for the first time.

This wasn't just a shortcut.

He blinked, trying to process it, his mind stumbling over the realization."Crazy how close this place is to my house,"  It was a strange thing to say, the words tumbling out like they didn't belong.

You didn't stop walking right away, just a slight tilt of your head as you glanced over at him. "Yeah?" you said, your voice calm, like this wasn't a big deal at all.

Matt frowned. He didn't know why he expected you to say something different, but there was something about the way you responded—like you knew more than you were letting on. He scratched the back of his neck, the weight of the day's grime and smoke still clinging to his clothes.

Matt's heart thudded in his chest, the weight of it sinking in. You weren't just some random person offering to help. You lived here. You'd been here, down the street from him, his whole life.

How had he never seen you before?

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at you, trying to connect the dots that were forming in his head.