Chapter 9

BETWEEN NATE

I woke up with the subtle grace of a dying cat.

My head throbbed like there was a drumline practicing inside my skull, and my tongue tasted like betrayal and tequila. I blinked against the warm morning light filtering through the sheer curtains and realized—I was alone in the bed.

Matt was gone.

I sat up, instantly regretted it, then buried my face into my palms. "What the hell happened last night..."

I remembered the bonfire. The drinking. A lot of drinking. Something about yelling... a guy who looked like he sold protein shakes in DMs trying to kiss me...

But after that?

Nothing.

I stumbled out of the bed and into the hallway like a dehydrated gremlin, following the scent of food and muffled conversation. The villa's outdoor breakfast area was alive with sunlight, clinking cutlery, and a lot of people not looking at me directly.

Matt was already seated with Jake and Ciandrei. Zeke, Luther, and Brice were gathered at the other end of the table like it was some kind of staged intervention.

Matt looked up. "Good morning," he said, voice neutral. Casual. Like nothing happened.

I squinted suspiciously. "Good morning...?"

I took the empty chair next to Brice. The silence was strange. Too strange. No teasing. No snark. Not even a Brice side comment about my hair looking like a dehydrated cactus.

I picked up my fork, stabbed a pancake, then stared at them all.

"Okay. Why are you all acting like I just came back from war?" I asked, finally breaking the silence.

Zeke looked at Brice. Luther took a sip of his coffee and suddenly found the palm trees very interesting.

Ciandrei cleared his throat.

Then Brice, with the most exasperated sigh in the universe, grabbed his phone, tapped a few things, and placed it face-up in front of me.

My own face stared back at me.

Trending.

#MattRaeAgain

#BridalStyleKing

#DrunkinLove

#Who'sTheOtherGuy?

The video autoplayed. There I was—absolutely obliterated, flushed cheeks, eyes half-lidded, arms clumsily wrapped around Matt's neck as he carried me like some kind of victorious Disney prince while a crowd cheered. Camera flashes were everywhere.

Then cut to another video. The crowd in the background whispered, "Who's the guy talking ti Nate's boyfriend!" And a blurry shot of Matt standing across from Nathan at the beach lit up the screen.

"Wait... wait... what is this—what is happening," I gasped, scrolling through the flood of posts. "Why am I being carried like a piñata? Why does it look like I'm auditioning for Love Island: Unhinged Edition?"

Nobody answered.

Even Matt stayed quiet, his eyes glued to his plate.

"No one thought to maybe, I don't know, delete the footage? Or maybe throw my phone into the ocean last night? Or slap the tequila out of my hand?" I practically shrieked.

"You were already drunk when we found you," Brice muttered. "And also? You were two seconds away from making out with someone named Reygan who said 'sup, short king' to you."

I rubbed my temples. "Oh God."

Then, like a sudden breeze slapping me awake, flashes of memory returned.

The bonfire. The jealousy. Me and Matt arguing.

The room. The shouting.

But not what happened after.

I could see flashes—his eyes, the tension, the way he grabbed me, the closeness—but it all faded like a dream the moment you try to focus too hard.

I stood up, my chair scraping loudly. Everyone jumped a little.

"I—I need to breathe," I muttered, stepping back.

Brice stood instantly. "Nate—"

But I was already walking out of the villa, ignoring the burning sensation in my chest that had nothing to do with the hangover.

Behind me, Brice cursed softly, grabbed his phone, and ran after me.

I sat on a small rock bench near the edge of the trees, facing the ocean, trying to remember. Trying not to feel.

Brice appeared seconds later, breathing slightly hard.

"Okay," he said, flopping down beside me. "Now that we've all emotionally combusted, wanna tell me what's actually going on?"

I stayed quiet.

"Did something happen between you and Matt last night?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," I whispered, voice cracking. "I was drunk. We fought. He got mad. I got madder. I think I yelled something about Nathan. And then... blank."

Brice looked at me closely. "You're scared it wasn't fake anymore, aren't you?"

I didn't answer.

He didn't need me to.

"You think he still wants Nathan."

My lip twitched. "He does. This whole thing started because he wanted to win him back. And now he's talking to him. Being seen with him again. While I'm out here playing drunk Cinderella."

Brice was quiet for a moment. Then softly said, "Maybe... feelings change."

I stared at him. "You think he feels something for me?"

"I think you should stop assuming what he wants and start asking what you feel," Brice said. "Because if this—whatever this is—is just fake to you? Then why are you hurting?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't have one.

Yet.

________

The air was thick with silence. Not the peaceful kind—but the heavy, thunder-before-the-storm kind. The sound of the shower running behind the bathroom door was the only thing grounding me as I stood there, folding my towel with unnecessary precision.

I had just stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung low on my hips, water still tracing lines down my back. I caught Nate standing near the closet, about to grab his change of clothes when he froze the moment he saw me.

His eyes flicked over my chest for one second too long—then sharply looked away.

"I'm done," I said simply, drying my hair with a towel, pretending not to notice the tension thickening the space between us.

"Cool," he said curtly, avoiding eye contact.

He walked past me stiffly, careful not to brush even a finger against my arm. Then he shut the bathroom door behind him. Click. Locked.

And I just stood there, watching the wood grain of the door like it had answers.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

He came out freshly showered, damp hair clinging to his forehead, dressed in a loose tee and drawstring shorts. His expression was neutral—too neutral. The kind you wear when you're hiding a hundred things underneath.

He didn't say anything. Not a word. He just walked to the other side of the room, grabbed his phone and moisturizer, and sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

"Are you... mad?" I asked, cautiously.

He didn't look up. "No."

"You're ignoring me."

"I'm just getting ready."

I frowned. "Nate."

He finally looked at me—eyes guarded, chin slightly raised like he was wearing his own armor. "What?"

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he said flatly, standing to get his bag. "You're just doing what you've been doing since the beginning—trying too hard to look good for the cameras."

That caught me off guard.

"Nate, what are you talking about?"

"I'm saying," he turned to me now, voice still too calm, "that you don't have to keep pretending with me. You don't have to try and make small talk, or act like we're friends, or smile at me when no one's watching. It's fine."

I blinked, confused and hurt. "Where is this coming from?"

He took a deep breath. "After this vacation, I'm going to tell everyone—social media, the press, the fans—that we broke up."

His words hit harder than they should have.

He continued, "That way you can stop wasting time with me and go focus on Nathan. Isn't that what this was for in the first place?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"I'm tired, Matt," he said, barely above a whisper now. "I don't want to keep pretending something's real when I know it's not. Not when I see you look at him like that."

There was a long pause between us. The kind that says everything neither of us wanted to.

He grabbed his phone and walked to the door.

"I'll be outside," he muttered.

And then he was gone—leaving me in that room, with nothing but the sound of my heartbeat echoing inside the silence he left behind.

__________

It was late afternoon and the sun bathed everything in golden light—soft, warm, cinematic. A volleyball net was set up near the shore, a half-deflated beach ball ready for chaos, and Brice had managed to wrangle everyone into playing by yelling "If you don't get up now, I'm unfriending you in real life and online."

Zeke, sunscreen on his nose, looked like he was in hiding. Luther wore a neon bandana and played like volleyball was an Olympic sport. Jake and Ciandrei had stripped down to tank tops and were already arguing over team strategy like coaches of rival college teams.

Matt and I?

Well... we stood on opposite sides of the net, barely making eye contact. The vibe? Tense. Like we were both in the middle of a war zone, except everyone else was playing and laughing while we were dodging emotional grenades.

Brice, of course, noticed.

He threw a glare at me like fix it, or I will, and then yelled, "Alright! Team Hot & Bothered versus Team Emotionally Unavailable! Let's do this!"

Jake snorted. "Who's who?"

Matt raised an eyebrow at me.

"Don't," I muttered, but a tiny smirk escaped.

We started the game. It was clumsy and chaotic, with sand flying and Zeke tripping twice over nothing. Ciandrei spiked the ball so hard at Jake that it bounced back to their side.

Amid the laughter, something happened.

A new voice.

"Hey... mind if I join?"

Everyone turned toward the source. Standing near the cooler, wearing a loose white shirt and aviator shades, was none other than Nathan Lim.

I felt my stomach drop.

He had that calm confidence, the kind that made everyone pause. And he smiled—charming, relaxed, like he belonged here all along.

Brice—traitor that he was—clapped his hands. "Oooh. Tension. Drama. Sure, join us! You can be on Hot & Bothered! Since, well—" he wiggled his eyebrows, "—you're technically one half of the reason."

Nathan chuckled. "Fair enough."

He walked right past me and stood beside Matt.

Not across from him. Not on another team.

Beside him.

The two of them were now teammates.

The game started.

And it was war.

Point 1:

Jake served. The ball soared over the net like a declaration of war.

I dove for it, barely bumping it to Brice, who squealed like a banshee and flung it at Zeke, who missed entirely because he was filming a TikTok.

"One-zero," Matt said, smirking.

I scowled. "Friendly reminder: I can and will spike a volleyball into your soul."

Point 5:

Nathan served this time—smooth and calculated.

I received it without thinking, the ball bouncing off my arms with a solid thump. Brice leapt up like a caffeinated cat and smashed it down.

"WHO'S YOUR DADDY?" he screamed.

Luther dabbed in the background.

Matt rolled his eyes. "This isn't Coachella."

Point 9:

The ball flew near the net. Nathan ran, stumbled in the sand—

And Matt caught him.

Like, arms around his waist, full rom-com slow motion catch.

Nathan laughed. "Still got those reflexes."

Matt chuckled. "Still dramatic, I see."

They looked at each other.

And I looked away.

Brice muttered, "I'm gonna need wine and a fan."

Point 12:

We were losing. Matt and Nathan were in sync like they'd rehearsed. Each pass between them looked like choreography. Smooth. Flawless.

And me? I was stumbling. Sweaty. Tired. Jealous.

I tried not to let it show. I cracked jokes, laughed too hard, spiked the ball aggressively every chance I got.

But every time Matt smiled at Nathan... it chipped something in me.

Final Point: 14-14

Match point.

The ball was on their side. Nathan set it up. Matt jumped, ready to spike—

But instead, he faked.

He tapped it gently.

The ball drifted over the net, caught in a breeze, and landed softly between Zeke and Luther who were too busy arguing about sand in their shorts.

"Game," Matt said with a grin.

They won.

We all fell into the sand, breathless and half-laughing.

"That's it! I'm retiring from beach sports," Zeke wheezed.

Brice nudged me. "You good?"

"Yeah," I lied, watching Matt and Nathan high-five. Watching Matt smile.

They walked toward the water for drinks. Laughing. Reminiscing. Nathan said something that made Matt laugh loud enough I could hear it across the sand.

I stared.

Too long.

Too hard.

Something twisted in my stomach.

I stood.

Walked back toward the villa.

"Hey—Nate, where you going?" Brice called.

I didn't answer.

Because the truth was?

I didn't know what hurt more—

Watching Matt fall for someone again.

Or realizing that maybe this time, it wasn't fake at all.

__________

I was lying on the bed, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, still trying to shake off the weird tension from earlier. The laughter from outside—the sound of our friends chatting and drinking under the stars—echoed faintly into the room. But I wasn't part of it. Not tonight.

My phone suddenly lit up. The name on the screen made my heart stop.

"Mom."

I sat up immediately. My chest tightened. It was past 10 PM. Why would she be calling now?

I answered quickly. "Mom? What's wrong?"

Her voice came through—shaky, distressed. "Nate... your father. He collapsed earlier tonight. The doctors say it was a spike in his blood pressure. He's stable now, but he asked for you. You need to come home."

My heart dropped.

"I—I'll book the earliest flight. I'll be home soon. Please keep me updated while I'm on the way, okay?"

She gave me the hospital's name and directions. I could barely focus on anything else.

I packed my bag faster than I ever had in my life. My hands were trembling. My mind was buzzing with worry and confusion.

I scanned the room once more. Matt wasn't here.

Of course he wasn't. He had disappeared again after that volleyball game. Maybe he was with Nathan. Maybe somewhere else. I didn't want to know.

I clenched my jaw.

He didn't owe me anything. And I didn't owe him an explanation.

Still... my chest hurt.

I zipped my bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and made my way down the hallway. Brice was lounging by the kitchen, half-asleep with a snack in his hand.

He blinked when he saw me. "Where are you going? You look like someone's escaping a wedding."

I tried to smile but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Brice... I have to go."

He sat up instantly. "Wait—what? Where to?"

"My dad's in the hospital. My mom just called. I'm flying back to Chiang Rai tonight."

Brice's face shifted immediately into concern. "Shit. Do you want one of us to go with you?"

I shook my head. "No. Please. Just stay here. Finish the trip. I already booked a flight. I'll go straight to the hospital when I land."

He hesitated. "Did you tell Matt?"

I swallowed hard. "No. I don't know where he is."

Brice didn't say anything, just looked at me like he was trying to read every emotion I wasn't saying out loud.

"I'm not going back to Bangkok with you guys," I added quietly. "Tell the others I had to leave for work or something."

He sighed. "Alright... but Nate?"

I paused by the door.

"Take care of yourself. And let me know when you get there. Anything, just call."

I nodded. "Thanks, Brice."

And just like that, I stepped out into the warm night air, dragging my suitcase behind me. The stars were too bright. The wind too quiet.

I sat in the back of a van headed to the airport, watching the moonlight flicker over the sea one last time.

I opened our chat—Matt and me.

I typed:

"Something happened. I had to leave. I'll explain later."

Then I stared at the message.

And deleted it.

Instead, I turned off my phone, leaned my head against the window, and closed my eyes.

I didn't know what would happen next.

Not with Matt.

Not with Nathan.

Not even with myself.

But for now, I just needed to go home.

__________

Matt sat quietly across from Nathan Lim, the ocean breeze ruffling both their hair as the golden sunlight dipped toward the horizon. Their drinks sat untouched, condensation dripping down the sides of their glasses.

Nathan looked at him with soft eyes—eyes Matt had once memorized like his favorite verse.

"Matt," Nathan finally said, voice low, "I need to know... Do you still love me?"

Matt looked away, his jaw tightening. He hesitated—because the answer wasn't simple anymore.

"I do," he said honestly. "But not like before."

Nathan's smile faltered. "What does that mean?"

"It means... I don't ache for you the way I used to," Matt replied, staring down at his hands. "I don't spend my nights hoping you'd call or checking if you watched my story. It's... different now. It's quieter."

Nathan swallowed hard, his fingers curling around his glass. "When I left you, I told myself it was just a break. I thought I needed space, time, clarity. But the truth is—I had fallen out of love. Or... I thought I had."

He reached out, resting a hand gently over Matt's. "But seeing you again, laughing with you, remembering how we used to be... it made me realize something."

Matt's heart beat unevenly. He already felt the weight of what was coming.

"I want to try again," Nathan said, voice almost a whisper. "No more space, no more breaks. Just us."

Matt looked up, his mind racing. He didn't expect this—not now, not when everything was already messy. And not when his chest felt different whenever Nate Rae Villanueva laughed beside him.

"Nathan, I..." Matt started, but his voice trailed off when Nathan leaned forward—slow, hesitant at first, as if giving Matt a chance to stop him.

He didn't move. He didn't respond either.

And Nathan kissed him.

Just as their lips met, there was a quiet click—a camera shutter.

They didn't notice it at first. But someone had seen. Someone had snapped a photo.

A few feet away, a tourist stared wide-eyed at the screen of their phone before nudging their friend. A flash of movement. A whisper. A moment caught on camera.

Meanwhile, at the airport, Nate Rae sat near Gate 22 with a backpack between his feet and a phone resting on his lap. The flight to his province was delayed, and he was scrolling through his messages half-heartedly.

Until a notification popped up.

@TeabirdNews

Spotted: Singer Matt Cohen Reyes in a passionate beach kiss with ex-boyfriend Nathan Lim?

📸 [1 Attachment] 

He stared at the screen.

His chest sank.

A second later, more photos followed. Another account had posted a grainy shot of him alone at the airport, dragging his suitcase and wearing a cap and hoodie.

@EyeKonPH

Actor Nate Rae Villanueva flying solo? Trouble in paradise? 

His grip on the phone tightened. His heart beat unsteadily—not with heartbreak, but with the kind of sting you feel when the truth confirms your worst thoughts.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't surprised.

He was just... tired.

//