"SILVER WATCHES."

warnings; mentions of SA (not detailed)



Promises were said to be sacred, but after the following days, you gave up on thinking on such a childish claim. You were walking on a tightrope and before you knew it, you finally started to hear it withering below.

Kieran did his best to stay true to his word but in the end, it was nothing more than a fruitless dream said in the heat of the moment. He ended up picking up his phone calls and you ended up sleeping alone. You were losing the energy to care even if your heart throbbed at the thought.

Stepping off the bus, you pulled your bag up your shoulder and sighed. Kieran took the car that morning to work and so you were forced to take the bus to get to college. If he knew, he'd most likely apologize over and over again, and then never let you ride the bus again. He was always finicky about public transport.

You hopped around the puddles left from the early morning rain.

Ever since the breakdown in the car with Kieran, even to go as far as snapping at Danny, you've done a lot of self-reflection. And you mean a lot. While you were going to school for psychiatry to become a therapist, you weren't the best at regulating your own emotions. It was easier to point out other people's issues rather than pointing out your own.

Maybe I do need to look into seeing a therapist, you thought. It would be better than snapping at people.

Because in truth, you felt guilty. Very guilty. Not about everything else that's going on—but because of how you treated Danny. Everyone knows that it's easier to look back on your mistakes after they pass, and now that you were looking back on that lunch, you saw a lot of things that you could have done differently.

Like the fact he actually did care. Sure, you didn't realize it then, but now you could. How he tried to comfort you when you were spacing out, how he asked how you were doing, telling you that he trusted you enough to want you to work with him.

"He probably wouldn't have told me about my dad if he was working for him," you mumbled under your breath. "He wouldn't have even brought him up. If he wanted to manipulate me, there was no reason to bring up my father."

You assumed the worst. You assumed Danny was just like your dad, just because he happened to be a businessman too. How sad, right? You were so stuck in the past that it was hard to appreciate the love you had now.

Danny wasn't a bad man but you were so quick to assume he was even though you hadn't seen him in half a year. You acted just like how your father treated you; cruel, judgmental, selfish. You didn't take into account what Danny felt. Maybe he was just as anxious as you, he always did have social anxiety in school, even with his good grades.

For someone who wants to become a therapist, you were pretty quick to judge an old friend just because they talked about a topic that made you uncomfortable. How would Danny know it made you uncomfortable? It wasn't like he could read your mind. He hadn't seen you in six months and you expected him to still know everything about you?

You bit your lip. Damn it. Why did a throw a tantrum like that? I even yelled at Kieran.

Guilt was like a sword doused with poison. The moment you realized what you did after some self reflection, there was a sharp pain in your chest like a blade plunging into your heart. Then there was the creeping sensation of nausea each time you thought about what you did, getting worse and worse with each day that passed.

You hopped over a pothole on the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding pedestrians walking down the street. "...Should I message Danny and apologize? What if he doesn't want to hear it though?"

It was hard not to run away. It would be easier to pretend it never happened, to act like he was in the wrong, but in truth—both of you said things that weren't nice. Both of you hurt each other. It wasn't black and white and you realized that, but in that moment, you were selfish enough to think that you were the good guy and he was the bad guy.

"If I don't apologize, I'll continue to feel bad... but he might hate me now. What if he hates me? What if he'll hate me either way?"

Oh yeah. You needed a therapist.

Sorting out your brain was like an impossible puzzle. It was hard to see all the pieces when you didn't have a full view of the table, but with a therapist, they could help sort it out. And maybe they could help sort your thoughts about Kieran too. You slowly wrapped your arms around yourself and frowned.

Each time you had a bad thought and you tried to push it away, it came back ten times more forceful. It was hard to stop thinking. Maybe you had OCD... or just extreme anxiety... or some other undiagnosed mental illness?

I don't want to think about this.

But here you were, continuing to think about it.

You looked over when a dog caught your eye. It rolled over in a patch of grass on the side of the road in front of a storefront. Its hair was soaked with damp grass and dirt, speckled with crunched leaves and twigs. It was having the time of its life. Tailing wagging and panting loudly, you smiled softly when it started rolling over again.

You know what? Maybe a pet would help you sort out some of your issues. Going to bed in a cold bed would be impossible with a puppy cuddled up next to you. Taking care of something would help you distract yourself from all your thoughts too. Like an emotional support animal.

What type of dog would Kieran like?

Your jaw clenched up. Danny made you feel bad, but how you acted with Kieran made you feel sick to your stomach. You yelled at him. You yelled at him like your dad used to yell at your mom. Did he get scared? Is he hurt? You didn't know, since you avoided him ever since then.

You weren't a good friend and you weren't a good wife either. You yelled at him just because you were emotional, fuck, there was no reason to raise your voice but you did. So what if Kieran was distracted at that moment? That didn't give you the right to scream at him.

Maybe I'm turning into my dad? The thought made your blood turn cold. What if I picked up some of his traits with how he treated Mom?

Your father was an abuser. Not only towards you, but his wife as well. You were a child she didn't want, but he forced her to have one nonetheless; being a child of rape didn't help the family bond at all. The moment you were born was the moment everything went downhill. Your father wanted a boy but you weren't one, so he blamed and hit your mother for it, taking his frustrations and cruelty on you when

Your mom didn't love you. Over time, even if it was hard, you realized that you didn't blame her.

Imagine how hard it would be to bond with someone knowing that they shared the same blood as the man who abused you.

You stomped down the streets. The world was spinning, your throat closed up. What if you were abusing Kieran and didn't realize it? What if you were neglecting him? There was the possibility you weren't doing everything subconsciously, right? You yelled at him. You doubt him. You sneaked to look at his computer when he wasn't home.

You were the walking, breathing, sighing incarnation of your father.

No, no, no. Don't spiral, (Y/N). You know that you're spiraling so stop it! You mentally scolded yourself, clutching your bag tighter to you. I need to find a therapist, someone who can help me.

The city was blaring and it was hard to hear your own thoughts. Therapists were always hard to find; either it's because they were too expensive, or too booked, or too far away. You personally weren't a big fan of doing therapy through video. You were more of an "in-person" type of person, if that made sense.

Maybe if you were lucky, you'll find—

"Shit!"

You had only a split second to look up and realize someone turned around the corner you were walking past. Only a split second to dodge. But that was impossible, you weren't Superman. Your nose slammed into his chest and your feet stumbled back, barely managing to catch yourself so you didn't fall to the ground.

The man's hands were full and he struggled to balance himself. Your arm shot out to catch him, or maybe just grab something out of instinct, but it was too late—he crashed. His coffee splattered all over and his sunglasses skidded across the cement.

Realization hit you like a truck.

"Fuck! I'm so sorry!" you fretted, quickly helping the man up from the sidewalk. Cold sweat made your palms damp and your cheeks were burning hot. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Just as quickly as he fell, the man hopped back up with ease. He grumbled curses under his breath in another language, fixing his orange and red sweater, while he put his sunglasses back on. Luckily those weren't cracked, they looked expensive. No way would you have been able to pay those off.

You bent down to grab the empty coffee off the ground. Talk about guilt, you felt extremely guilty now. How did you not see him?! You should have been paying attention, not absentmindedly walking down the streets like a doofus! Now look at what you did; knocked down an innocent bystander because of your stupidity!

"I'm so sorry! Uhm, I can—I can buy you a new coffee," you stammered.

He whipped back around. You could barely see the heated glare behind the tinted lenses, his Italian accent harsh. "Bitch, fucking watch—"

He froze when he saw your face. For whatever reason, he looked like he had a scary realization of impending doom right when he saw you. Like the music for Jaws just started playing and he was looking down the mouth of a great white shark. The blood on his face drained to his feet and he licked his chapped lips.

You, on the other hand, took his expression as unbridled anger. He had every right to be angry. You'd also be pissed if someone knocked into you and made you spill your coffee and all your belongings. Especially since he looked all out together nicely, you probably just ruined his cool 'vibes'.

His dreadlocks were pulled into a pretty bun. You noticed the silver charms in his hair, matching the designer watch on his wrist. Even his orange-tinted sunglasses matched his orange and red sweater. He looked like he took an hour to organize his outfit for the day. Thank god the coffee didn't get all over the front of him. You hadn't a clue how much his sweater and pants cost, but based on that watch, you didn't want to look at the price tag.

If only you had a hole that you could jump and hide in forever. "I'm so sorry! Wait, here, let me..."

You turned out your wallet and pulled out twenty dollars. That had to be enough for coffee and a little something extra from the cafe nearby, right? You'd be fine. Ten dollars being left in your wallet was enough to buy a small sandwich on campus for lunch. It was your fault for forgetting your debit card back at home.

"Here, sir! Uhm, please take this. You can get yourself another coffee and something extra from the cafe nearby. I am so sorry."

The man rubbed the back of his neck, not reaching for the money. He didn't even glance at it. "Oh—uhm—It's okay. I don't need it."

"No, please, take it. I won't be able to forgive myself if I just ruined your morning like this," you confessed. "I wasn't watching where I was going, I'm sorry."

He was hesitant. You weren't dumb, you could tell he looked uncomfortable around you. There was the possibility that he was so angry that he was trying to hold it all back, making his movements almost robotically evasive. With muscles like his, he could easily hurt you if he wanted, but instead, he was acting like he'd get seared if he looked at you.

You prayed to god that he didn't explode and scream at you. You didn't think you'd be able to handle that this morning.

"I don't need the money. Ah... it's just—uhm, it's just a mistake. We all make mistakes."

But I'll feel like shit if you don't take it

His complete 180° attitude was jarring. One moment he was glaring at you and calling you a bitch, now he was saying it was a mistake. Was he just trying to keep face?

You caught a glimpse of something black in the corner of your eye. Turning around, your face drained when you noticed his phone on the ground. His phone was cracked. Your mouth opened in horror and you choked, noticing that it was a newer brand.

How much were those phones? 2,000 dollars? You'd have to sell your soul to get him that type of money.

"Oh my god! I'm so fucking sorry! I didn't realize I broke your phone!"

He blinked. "Huh?"

Looking down to where you were staring, he finally noticed that his phone was on the ground, the screen destroyed. It stared back at him with cracked glass and a chipped case. It was just a small tumble! Why did it look like it went through the Himalayas?!

There was a long pause. The man cleared his throat, rubbed his face, bent down, and grabbed his phone. He tapped at the screen but it didn't come on. Again, it didn't turn on. And again, nothing. He didn't look as angry as you thought he'd be, but that didn't smooth your nerves.

"...uh, It's okay. I can—"

"It's not okay! I'll—I'll pay for it. Uhm, I don't have the money with me now, but uhhhh..." you pulled out a notebook from your bag and tore a piece of paper, "please email me here, since your phone is decimated. Fuck, I am so sorry. I'll pay you back I swear. Promise."

He didn't take the note or say anything. He stood there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath. He looked fed up. Oh no. You screwed up big time. You made him fall, lose his coffee, and crack his super duper expensive phone.

"...do—do you not have an email? I can uh, I can give you my phone number if you have another phone to reach me," you asked, clutching the paper tight in your hands. "I—I don't have the money now but I swear I'll get it! How much was it? 1,500? 2,000?"

The man cleared his throat. There was another long pause before he hesitantly glanced at me. "I'm not upset. I just have a question. Are you... uh, (Y/N)?"

If there was a magic word to put all your defenses up in a heartbeat, it would be your name. It wasn't like a lot of people knew it. You didn't flaunt it on social media and you weren't famous, you didn't have a lot of friends either, so it wasn't like it was normal for a random person to know your name on the street. Your muscles wound up. Maybe this man worked for your father? It wouldn't have surprised you if he sent someone to stalk you.

You glanced around. There were no suspicious fancy cars on the street, or suspicious people that looked like they were watching you.

Repaying the phone didn't seem to matter all that much anymore.

"...yes? How do you know my name?"

He bit his lip and glanced around as if he was scared some monster would come out of the shadows and attack him. He looked more paranoid than you did. "Uh... sorry for randomly asking that. However, I'm a friend of your husband, Kieran."

Your eyebrows furrowed. You've never heard of him or even seen this guy before. Maybe he was a client of Kieran's? A writer or journalist? A fellow editor? If you had to put it nicely, the man in front of you didn't look like he had the patience to sit down and edit written work. With bulky muscles like that, you'd expect him to be a wrestler or full-time bodybuilder.

The man cleared his throat and pushed back the money you gave him, along with the torn paper. "As Kieran's friend, I can't take his wife's money. I can buy some coffee and a new phone easily."

Seriously? Easily?

"But if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you about something," he straightened his back up and there was a spark of confidence in his eyes, along with some determination as if he made up his mind about something. "Could you sit with me at the coffee shop now? I have concerns about Kieran."

This was weird. This entire ordeal was so weird that it almost didn't feel real. Let's put it into perspective; you bump into a man and he calls you a bitch, then changes and starts saying you made a mistake, asks for your name, claims to be your husband's friend, and then asks to talk to you over coffee? So yeah, weird.

You were about to say no, but then stopped yourself when you remembered you were in his debt. You just broke his phone and made him spill his coffee, the least you could do was pay for his coffee while he talked to you about something.

Even if it was weird, it wasn't like you were going somewhere where it was just you and him alone. He couldn't possibly kidnap you inside a coffee shop next to a busy street in the city. You examined him head to toe. He didn't look like he had any weapons, and if he was a friend of Kieran's, you doubted he'd harm you.

Your college class could wait. Luckily your professor was kind enough to know you weren't the type to ditch class willy-nilly.

"Okay, but I'll pay for your coffee. It's the least I can do," you stuck your hand out for a polite shake, "what's your name?"

The man took your hand. "Mathew."

"Nice to meet you then."

It was awkward, so you didn't say a thing as he started to blabber and lead you to the coffee shop that was close by. You didn't know what to say. Should you compliment his clothes? Ask how he knew Kieran? He'd most likely elaborate over coffee.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him. Just why was he wanting to talk to you was the big question. It wasn't like you were a super genius and you didn't know a lot about Kieran's schedule, so he could ask about that. You doubted this man knew anything at all about you except your name.

The walk to the coffee shop was a long one. Well, it was realistically only two minutes of walking, but the mental time there was forever. The man blabbered about random things to pass the awkward wall there; the time, the weather, the news. He didn't mention anything about the most recent murder case which you were grateful for. You already had so many things on your mind, you didn't want to think about that.

The door to the coffee shop chimed when the both of you walked in. A young waitress perked up from where she slumped against the counter and quickly rushed to give us a booth.

Finally, things were moving along.

Mathew slipped inside his seat. Unlike the restaurant you ate at with Danny and Kieran, this place was cozy and right up your alley. The smell of coffee beans filled the room and the rays from outside poured through the window, warming up the table. He ordered a black coffee and you ordered an iced caramel latte. You didn't even like lattes all that much, but it was the best thing on the menu.

Mathew smiled. "This coffee shop is very cozy, don't you think?"

"It is."

"It's perfect for a date. Have you taken Kieran here before?"

"No, I have not."

He didn't seem bothered by your robotic responses. It was like he already knew how you'd react to him. He didn't push for any more questions, instead, he waited for you to ask the question you've been dying to ask ever since he told you he was Kieran's friend.

"...So, Mathew, how come has Kieran never told me about you before?"

Mathew tapped his fingers against the table. He had horrible posture, leaning back with a nonchalant air surrounding him. He didn't seem angry or nervous anymore. Maybe it was just possible that he had mood swings. That made more sense than whatever weird explanation you could come up with inside your head.

"I helped raise him, I met the kid back in Russia," he stated and your eyes widened. So he's a very old friend of Kieran's.

"Wait. So you know his family? His parents as well?"

"Yes. Mr and Mrs Morosov helped me back before when I lived in Italy. I became a close friend to them and grew up with Kieran, even though me and him aren't close in age at all."

You squinted. "But you look his age?"

Mathew blinked. His lips curled into a charming smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges when he laughed. "Oh really? It's always flattering to hear a pretty woman compliment my youthful appearance. Thank you, but I'm twenty-nine."

Your cheeks warmed up. He really did look young, as if he drank from the fountain of youth itself. His face was incredibly smooth (more so than yours) and you wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly told you he was an actor forced to play younger roles in movies. It was always heartwarming to see someone smile so genuinely. It was a good thing that he took that comment as a compliment, you didn't want him calling you a bitch again.

"I think that's why he hasn't told you about me," he confessed and shrugged his shoulders. "We aren't close in age, our interests are different, and he's a married man. I'm too much of a partygoer for him to hang out with me."

That made sense. Kieran has never been a party man of any sort, especially not when he was younger. Sure, he was reckless and a troublemaker, but his trouble wasn't extroverted. He'd much rather sing to himself in the shower than go to karaoke and drink with buddies. He was a risk taker who avoided risks that meant talking to others.

"I see... and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I'll be blunt, why do you want to talk to me?" You asked, crossing your hands on the table. For some reason, you felt anxious.

Mathew's slowly smile fell. He cleared his throat and fixed up his posture. "Well, it's about Kieran."

"Oh."

This could be one of many things. Mathew could be here to snitch on Kieran about all the things he has been up to behind your back. He could tell you about a secret mistress, he could tell you about being in a gang, he could tell you about any secret that you didn't know of.

The dread you've felt this entire time trampled over you. Was it finally time? Were you finally going to get all the answers you wanted? Did you even want to hear it now? Bile rose in your throat.

"I need for you to talk to Kieran about something. He's been acting weird lately, and he trusts you more than me, so—" Mathew cut himself off when he saw your blanched-out expression. His lips pursed into a thin line. "Spit it out. You're thinking about something already."

Perceptive people always unnerved you. Swallowing down your thoughts, you wondered if he was trustworthy enough to share your worries with.

The waitress came back with the drinks. A mug was pushed in front of Mathew and he took a greedy gulp, while you nervously played with the rim of your cup. You watched the ice tilt in the coffee.

"Well?" he raised an eyebrow, "If you're thinking about Kieran, we might have the same concerns."

That was true. This man was a friend of Kieran's, and you trusted that without a doubt. He even knew his parents. Maybe this was the leap of faith that you were waiting for. Even if you were nervous, you had to be at least a little brave. It wasn't like you were speaking to Kieran right now.

"...you promise you won't share any of this with Kieran?" you asked.

"Swear on my heart."

"Okay, good," you ignored the trembles in your fingers and quickly took a sip of your coffee. It wasn't that good. "Uhm, well... my concerns are—uh how do I say this?"

Mathew deadpanned as he took a huge swig of his drink. "Bluntly. Always works for me."

I hesitated. "Well then, okay, uhm—I think he might be cheating on me with someone named Sam."

He coughed. "What?"

It was like magic. The moment the words left your lips, you were spilling out your guts to him. Laying out every worry, every secret, every insecurity for him to see. Screw a therapist, now a stranger could see all the puzzle pieces on the table. You couldn't stop yourself.

"I know! I saw on his computer that he was talking to someone called Sam. Like, it could be a boy, but it could also be a woman. I know, it's bad and a shitty thing to do as a wife, I feel bad for snooping but he kept being weird and so—"

Mathew raised his hand and you buffered, but before you could blabber some more, he said, "Slow down. What are you saying?"

"I—uh.. well, I think Kieran is cheating on me with someone named Sam, and I feel bad because I snooped through his laptop—"

"You don't have to feel bad. I'd do the same if my partner or spouse was acting weird and not sharing things."

Your jaw dropped. "...you would?"

Mathew wasn't as judgmental or disgusted as you thought you would. He looked normal, like you didn't do anything wrong. He shrugged.

"Yeah? It's normal. I mean, it's not like you're suspecting him without evidence," he shrugged. "Have you asked him about it? Bluntly? You know, communication is key, or whatever the fuck therapists say."

He was right. Communication was key, that was how so many healthy relationships prospered, but in this situation—communication was scary. You didn't want to think about all the times when not communicating led to toxic situations. You running from the store out of spite, you yelling at Kieran, and you avoiding him. God, there were so many things.

You swallowed the bile in the back of your throat. You felt like vomiting. Why did you have to think about this right now? All you wanted to do was go to your lecture peacefully and come home.

"I'll take your silence as a no. Why haven't you?"

His words felt like a slap. "...I mean... like, what if he... is?"

Mathew was silent for a bit. He stared at you, examining your expression, doing his best to read what you were thinking. Finally, he let out a long sigh and motioned at you. "Then he is. It's shitty, it's fucked up, and he's a douchebag."

Damn, he wasn't lying about being blunt. You held back your excuses. You weren't sure why you immediately wanted to make defenses for yourself and Kieran. If Kieran was cheating then yeah, he was a douchebag, so there was no reason to form up a defense for him. So why did you want to?

"Well..."

"Listen to me, kid. Whether you ask him or not, nothing is going to change unless you confront him about it. If he's cheating, and I'm saying if, then he's gonna cheat whether or not you ask him. That's how cheaters are. Wouldn't you want to know either way?"

"I..." you were at a loss for words.

You didn't like the fact that he was right. He was staring at the most obvious things, but they felt so new and fresh compared to what you normally thought. Like he was shoving a cold drink in front of you and forcing you to chug it down, it was numbing to the brain.

Mathew rubbed his face and waved his hand around, trying to get his point through your thick skull. "I don't think he is, if you're going to ask for my opinion on the matter. It's just, that he has had some... issues lately. To put it lightly."

You frowned. Concern shoved the negative thoughts out of the way.

"Issues? Is he in danger? Or trouble?"

He shook his head. "Family issues. Papa Morosov has been gunning for his ass."

That didn't explain the constant disappearances from the house in the middle of the night. Especially for those long multiple-day trips he always took. But maybe it explained the cuts and busted knuckles? You hadn't a clue. Mr. Morosov wasn't in the States, was he? Mrs. Morosov would most likely want to see you if he was since the two of them always traveled together no matter what.

But you were confused. Mr. Morosov was a kind man, so why was he gunning after Kieran? And what for?

You didn't know much about Kieran's family life. He didn't talk about his experiences in Russia all that much, or London, and you now had a gut feeling it was because of his parents. You just prayed they weren't using him. They didn't seem like the type, but now the thought was there, and that meant it would go away.

"I see..." you drawled, looking down at your hands. Your nails picked together. This day started weirdly and you weren't sure what to feel about it.

There was some closure knowing that Mathew didn't think Kieran was cheating on me. If it was about his father like Mathew mentioned, would that make you feel better? You wanted Kieran to feel better, to pay attention to you, and to be happy. If his father was getting in the way of that, what would you be able to do to keep him safe? What would you be able to do to keep him sheltered from all that?

You couldn't make decisions for Kieran. That was impossible.

But, but, if he was truly getting targeted by his father for things out of his control, you'd have to do something. Use your influence as his wife to help him in some way. Then there was the other option of him cheating on you... you'd rather think about the other.

"Can I give you a piece of raw unfiltered advice?" Mathew blurted.

You looked up. "Go ahead."

"Avoidance isn't a cure to hard situations. Whether or not you're there, it's happening. The world doesn't stop just because someone pretends it is," he pointed at you and you felt your body run with chills. "It's time for you to stop avoiding, (Y/N). Time doesn't stop for you and Kieran just because you want to stay in a time when things were easier."

Your body locked up. He stared deep into your eyes, harsh and unsettling, but you supposed the truth always looked like that no matter what form it took.

A small bell went off in your head. So that was what you were trying to do. You were trying to stay in the past when things were easier, when you were a kid. You did it with Danny too. You compared Danny to his past self, but how many times have you compared Kieran to his past self as well?

"You just need to realize that relationships don't stay the same. You aren't teenagers anymore, you're adults, you're married, you have your own house. Understand?"

"...yes," you nodded slowly, ignoring the burn in your eyes. "Thank you. But let's say I do confront Kieran about... everything. I don't know—where should I—well, what I'm trying to say is, how should I talk to him?"

Mathew looked at you like you had three heads. "Just talk? Don't beat around the bush for his feelings."

You scratched at your head. "Well, I know that, but I mean—how should I bring up with him? Without hurting his—"

"What did I just say?" Mathew huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. You flinched. "He's been neglecting your marriage, leaving at night, and you're worried about him being hurt about the consequences of his actions? If he gets his feelings hurt, then boo-hoo. He's a grown man neglecting his wife, he can fucking handle it."

Your lips zipped shut. "But—"

"Ask him, 'Are you cheating on me?' That's it. Five little words that form a little sentence."

It was easy when he put it like that, but each time you tried to say those 'five little words' in the past, you always clamped up. Every. Single. Time. You were starting to believe that you couldn't say that at all, maybe you were cursed and you weren't allowed to say that sentence at all.

Mathew watched your expression and his lips quirked into a goofy smile. "You rambled to me after you bumped into me, you can ramble to him. Just don't break his phone."

Your face turned hot. "I'm still so sorry—"

"Geez woman. It was a joke," he snorted and stretched his arms behind him on the booth, his smile growing. His orange sunglasses lowered on his nose and you watched his dark eyes spark with mischief. "I'd suggest joking with him when you confront him. He won't be able to lie when he hears how uptight you are."

You gaped. Did he just call me uptight?!

"Well excuse me! I'm just responsible."

"Oh? You are?" he grinned, "responsible enough to walk in a straight line without bumping into someone?"

He was quick-witted. He shot out comebacks without thinking, teasing you without a care in the world. He reminded you a lot of Kieran in that sense, only Kieran was a lot softer when it came down to teasing you. Mathew was a lump of coal, Kieran was a lump of coal; similar but not the same at all.

"Oh shush! I said I was sorry," I crossed my arms. "Plus you called me a bitch at first so I have every right to be uptight."

"Well, you are one."

"What?!"

He burst out laughing. His head flew back and he cackled like a madman, slapping his leg under the table. People in the coffee shop glanced at him, but he seemed to ignore all the attention, wheezing between words. "I'm kidding! My god kid, your face was glorious. Swore a fly almost flew into your mouth with how fast that jaw dropped."

Your face was burning. People always said that older brothers teased their sisters like this, and it honestly felt like it. It made sense. He was like an older brother to Kieran in a way, and now he was meeting someone who was technically like his sister-in-law. Your lips twitched up into a smile.

"Shut it. People are staring at you, I hope you know," you rolled your eyes.

"Let them. They all want me anyway."

You snorted. Mathew finished the rest of his coffee and glanced at his clock, smiling ear to ear. There was a sense of smugness around him.

"Ah. It seems I have to go. I don't want my boss beating the shit out of me for being late," he snorted. It looked like he actually believed his boss would beat the shit out of him. "Don't worry about the money, kid. I'll handle it. I'll pay for your coffee as well."

"Oh no, I can pay for my own stuff!"

"Nope!" he popped the 'p' and slid out of his booth, jumped on the balls of his feet, and rolled his shoulders back. "Now what do you say to people after they make you feel better after a depressive episode?"

So that was his goal for teasing you. It worked, you didn't feel as glum and beaten down as before. There was this sense of relief hanging over your head; with all your worries laid out, and some advice that helped you realize your own thought processes, and his abusive teasing, you felt a little better.

Not perfect; but lighter.

"I—thank you," you smiled softly. "Truly. You've helped a lot."

Mathew snickered. He said nothing before waving nonchalantly and skipping away as if talking to you made his day ten times better. How did we get from him calling you a bitch to him skipping away with a smile? It was like he came out of an old cartoon and he was the trouble-maker coyote.

You looked down at your cup. The ice was melted and the table was still warm. You failed to realize that Mathew never had a chance to share what he originally wanted to talk about. Your smile slowly fell and you took a deep breath, steadying your thoughts.

Maybe you'd talk to Kieran later.

Just maybe.