WM

Mattheo and y/n have always known that wanting other people does not make them want each other any less. If anything, it makes it worse. A stranger’s hand, a lingering look, someone else getting too close—every little thing becomes something they carry back to each other later. The jealousy is real, sharp enough to sting, but underneath it is complete certainty: no matter who gets their attention for the night, they are still the ones searching for each other across the room. And somehow, coming back always feels more intimate than leaving ever did.