Chapter 12

JEALOUS

The air smelled like grilled meat, fresh herbs, and incoming drama.

My family had gone all-out for tonight's dinner—lanterns hanging like constellations above the patio, long wooden tables set with woven placemats, my cousins dancing to a half-broken speaker blasting Thai pop, and an open-air kitchen where chaos (read: me and my suitors) was unfolding.

I was standing by the prep table chopping green onions when Gabriel leaned in beside me, effortlessly slicing eggplants with that perfect boy-next-door smirk.

"You still like it with oyster sauce and garlic, right?" Gab asked.

I blinked. "Yeah... you still remember?"

Gab gave me a wink. "Of course. You hated chili flakes in it too. Said it made your tongue cry."

Somewhere behind us, I heard the sound of someone violently chopping a tomato.

I turned just in time to see Matt furiously dicing like he was in a cooking competition... with a vendetta. His sleeves were rolled up, his brows furrowed, and he was gripping the knife like it owed him an apology.

"You okay there, Gordon Ramsay?" I asked, innocently.

"I'm fine," he muttered, not looking up. "Just expressing my passion for... sliced vegetables."

Brice was lounging by the rice cooker like it was a throne. He looked at Matt, then back at me, grinning. "Isn't this romantic? Our Nate being assisted by his childhood sweetheart while his fake boyfriend bleeds rage into the salad."

Zeke, sipping from a coconut shell, added, "I give it five more minutes before Matt stabs the lettuce."

Luther chimed in with, "Ten says he burns down the whole table with jealousy."

Matt finally looked up. "I'm not jealous."

Which was a great time for him to slice his finger.

"Sh*t!" he yelped, shaking his hand.

I turned quickly. "Whoa—okay, that's blood."

"It's fine!" he insisted, pressing a napkin on it. "Just bleeding from being left out emotionally."

Everyone burst out laughing. Even Gab chuckled.

"That's what you get for chopping tomatoes like they're your feelings," Brice deadpanned.

Matt shot him a glare. "I didn't ask for your commentary, Judge Judy."

I turned to Matt and raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to kiss it better or call an ambulance?"

His mouth opened, then closed like a glitching app.

Gab handed Matt a Band-Aid. "Here, man. You should sit down. I've got Nate."

Matt looked at the Band-Aid like it insulted his ancestors. "I'm good. I'm staying."

Gab smiled politely. "Alright. Just saying—I know this kitchen better than anyone."

"Oh?" Matt said flatly, clearly restraining himself from hurling a spatula. "Didn't realize childhood crushes came with cooking degrees."

Brice coughed. "Ohmygod, he said crush."

Gab just grinned and kept on chopping. "I was Nate's childhood crush. I'm honored he remembers."

Matt was now holding the pepper grinder like a threat. "That's adorable."

I bit back a grin. This was too good.

"You okay there, Matt?" I asked sweetly. "You're sweating like someone in a romance drama."

He turned to me. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

I smirked. "What? Me? Never. I'm just basking in the glow of friendly reunion and vegetable-based tension."

Gab, oblivious or evil (probably both), leaned closer and said, "You know... sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I confessed earlier."

The kitchen went silent.

Matt paused mid-sprinkle.

Even the grill seemed to stop sizzling.

My heart thudded once. I looked at Gab, then felt Matt's stare boring into me like a laser beam.

"I... uh..." I started, voice catching.

Gab smiled, a little softer this time. "Don't worry. I won't steal you from your boyfriend. Unless, of course, you're still free."

Matt dropped the pepper grinder.

Clunk.

I looked at him, trying not to laugh. "You okay?"

"I'm great," he said through gritted teeth. "Thriving. I love romantic tension and open-air cooking. My favorite combo."

Zeke muttered, "God, someone needs to hose these boys down."

Luther was holding up his phone. "This is reality TV gold."

Brice looked at me and whispered loud enough for Matt to hear, "So... does Matt get extra points if he faints dramatically or do we wait until dessert for a fistfight?"

Matt's eyes didn't leave mine.

And despite everything—the blood, the sarcasm, the passive-aggressive cooking—my heart did that stupid flutter thing again.

________

The air was cooler than usual, the kind of calm that presses gently on your chest and makes everything feel... suspended. I kicked a loose pebble on the path as I walked beneath the open sky, hands buried in my hoodie pocket, eyes tracing constellations I couldn't name.

I just needed air. Not more laughter. Not more teasing. Definitely not Gabriel's familiar jokes that made Matt twitch every five minutes.

I heard the footsteps before I saw him.

Matt didn't speak right away. He walked beside me, silent, a full pace behind—like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be near. For a while, I let the silence speak for us, because I didn't trust myself with words.

"You're walking like the world's ending," Matt said softly, his voice carrying in the still night.

"Feels like it sometimes," I replied, not looking at him. "Feels like every time I breathe, there's a new headline waiting to ruin the moment."

A pause. Then: "I didn't mean for any of it to go that way."

I turned to him. "But it did go that way."

He sighed, rubbing his hands together. "I know. I know I messed up. I handled it all like an idiot. But I swear, Nate… I'm not trying to win you back because of guilt or because the cameras are still rolling."

"Oh?" I arched a brow, finally facing him fully. "Then why are you here? Why fly in a helicopter, charm my mom, bleed over tomatoes and fight my childhood crush with your eyes?"

He cracked a half-smile at that. "Because I'm trying. Because I want to be here. Even when I'm unwanted. Even when it's awkward. I don't know how to undo the damage, Nate, but I want to be better. For real."

I stared at him for a moment. "You say you want to be better. But how do I know it's not just another scene in this fake relationship we built to survive?"

His shoulders slumped. "It was fake, yeah… at first. But everything after that? I wasn't faking."

My heart flinched—just slightly.

I looked up at the stars again, my voice small. "You kissed me the night I was drunk and vulnerable. Then the next day, I saw you with him—Nathan. Again."

"That wasn't what it looked like," he said, gently. "He kissed me. I didn't stop it because I froze. I wanted to tell him I was over him, but I didn't expect… everything. I didn't know how to protect both of you at the same time."

I nodded slowly, chewing the inside of my cheek. "Do you love him still?"

"No," he said without hesitation.

"But you did."

"I did," he admitted. "But not the way I care about you now."

My breath caught. We had stopped walking somewhere near the edge of the field. The stars above us looked like shattered glass in the sky, beautiful and broken.

Matt stepped closer, just a little. "Nate, I don't expect you to forgive me. I just need you to know—what I feel for you, it's real. I'm not faking it. Not this. Not anymore."

My chest ached in that awful, fluttery way that happens when your heart wants to leap but your brain holds it by the collar.

I looked up at him. He was so close. His eyes so sure. His voice so sincere it made my spine tense. And for a moment, just a second, I thought maybe—just maybe—I'd close the distance.

But then, I turned away.

"Not yet," I whispered.

Matt didn't argue. He simply nodded, gently exhaling through his nose as if he'd been holding his breath for hours.

The stars blinked above us. The crickets kept singing. And though we didn't kiss that night, something shifted between us. Quietly.

_______

I sat with my plate of grilled chicken and sticky rice, very much not caring about the commotion ten feet away. Definitely not watching the way Matt adjusted the strap of that stupid acoustic guitar like he was born under dramatic spotlight lighting.

Nope. Not watching at all.

The villagers were excited. Understandably. Matt Cohen Reyes in our sleepy province? The aunties were already fanning themselves with banana leaves. Children were giggling and whispering his name like he was a cartoon character who came to life.

"Are you seriously pretending not to watch him?" Brice muttered beside me, balancing a plastic cup of iced tea in one hand and a mango sticky rice plate in the other.

I casually picked at my food. "I'm watching the crowd. I just don't want him to embarrass himself. These are my people."

Brice elbowed me. "Sure. That's the reason. Totally not because he's singing a soft unreleased ballad and looking directly at you like you hung the stars."

"I don't hang stars," I muttered, ears starting to burn.

Matt tapped the mic with two fingers and gave the kind of sheepish grin that always made people forgive him for literally anything. "Uh, hi. I'm Matt. I'm not great with small-town sound systems, but I hope this works."

Cheers. Whistles. A baby cried in support.

"I wrote this one recently. Haven't performed it anywhere else yet," Matt continued, settling on the stool and running his fingers down the guitar strings. "It's about someone who made me believe again."

I exhaled through my nose.

Brice gave me a look that said "if you roll your eyes any harder, they'll fall into your rice."

And then—he started to play.

The song was soft. Simple. Honest. It had this slow-building warmth, like the first light of sunrise touching your skin. His voice—less popstar-polished, more raw and real—wrapped around each lyric like a secret only a few were meant to hear.

"You walked in like quiet thunder,

Told the world to hush and see,

Didn't know that love could wonder,

Didn't know that love was me."

I tried to pretend it didn't affect me.

But then Matt's eyes lifted, and he looked right at me.

And he smiled—just a little. Just enough to crack the part of me that I'd been guarding for weeks.

Gab, sitting across the clearing beside some villagers, clapped along politely. But when he looked my way, his eyes narrowed with something between curiosity and defeat. Like he knew.

Everyone knew.

Even my little cousin turned to me and whispered, "Is Kuya Matt your boyfriend now for real?"

Brice leaned in again. "So… still fake, huh?"

I buried my face in my cup of iced tea and mumbled, "If you don't shut up I'm throwing you into the rice fields."

The final chords of the song faded into applause. Matt gave an awkward bow and ducked his head, like he wasn't sure what to do with so much attention in such an unglamorous setting. But then he glanced back toward me.

Our eyes met again. This time, it lingered.

He mouthed something from across the space.

Something only I could understand.

"Still not fake."

And despite every internal protest, every protective wall I built after Bangkok…

My heart skipped like a broken guitar string.

________

I was minding my own business. Truly. Just sipping my lemongrass iced tea and swiping through dog memes when my mom came out of the house with a mysterious brown envelope like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Nate," she said in that tone parents use when they're about to bring up something you didn't ask for. "Look what I found in the old wooden chest. I think this is for you."

I blinked. "Is it a bill? If it's a bill from 2005, I'm not emotionally prepared."

"It's a letter. Addressed to you. From Gabriel."

Brice literally choked on his tea beside me. "As in...Gabriel Gabriel?"

Mom nodded and handed it to me with the flair of a woman who just stirred the pot and walked away. "Anyway, I'll let you read that. I need to check if the laundry's dry," she said, like she didn't just drop a 10-kiloton emotional bomb.

Brice was vibrating. "You gonna open it?"

"No," I said firmly. "I'm going to disassociate for ten minutes and then maybe burn it."

But curiosity, like all great betrayals, won.

I slid my finger under the old seal and unfolded the letter, which had that nostalgic "written in elementary school with a gel pen and hormones" vibe.

Dear Nate,

I don't know if I'll ever give this to you, but I need to write it anyway. You probably won't even feel the same. Or maybe you'll laugh. But I just want you to know that I've liked you. Since the time you gave me your last piece of candy when I was sad. Since you helped me fix my paper lantern. Since you held my hand when I was scared during the blackout.

If I ever grow up and get brave, I'll tell you in person. But if not, maybe this letter will do it for me.

—Gabriel.

I stared at the page.

Brice stared at me.

I blinked.

Brice exploded. "NATE. HE WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU. THIS IS A CHILDHOOD CRUSH TWIST! THIS IS A K-DRAMA SUBPLOT!"

"I don't know what to do with this information!" I yelped. "Am I supposed to…? What? Rewind time and go kiss him on the school playground?!"

"I mean, no," Brice said, flapping dramatically, "But now it makes sense why he's back and acting all 'Hi I'm hot and domestic.' He's testing the waters! He's trying to be the second lead with actual chemistry!"

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. "This is too much. I already have Matt being all intense and trying to redeem himself with his sad boy ballads. Now I have Gabriel the Soft-Spoken Tomato Cutter throwing his old feelings into the mix?! I need a spreadsheet for my emotions."

LATER THAT EVENING – MATT'S POV

I wasn't technically snooping.

I was just walking by the porch when I saw Brice showing Nate something and saying, "If he wrote that as a kid, he meant it. No one confesses like that unless they're serious."

Nate looked… conflicted. Like he was being handed the emotional version of choosing between two flavors of heartbreak.

And even though I didn't hear the full conversation, I saw the envelope in Nate's hand.

And I knew it was from Gabriel.

I didn't ask. I didn't confront him.

But that night, while everyone was laughing and playing cards after dinner, I stayed a little quieter.

I smiled. I cracked jokes. I helped his mom dry the dishes.

But inside?

I was folding.

Because maybe Nate didn't need someone like me—a guy who had public scandals, emotional baggage, and a love life that looked like a rejected Netflix pitch.

Maybe he needed someone like Gabriel—someone who never left, someone who always liked him, even in the background.

So I started to pull back.

Just a little.

Not enough to notice.

But enough to hurt.

________

I don't know when I started noticing it.

Maybe it was when Matt stopped chiming in during our usual banter. Or when he didn't fight back when I called him "drama queen deluxe" in front of Brice. Maybe it was during breakfast when I caught him staring, but this time, instead of a smirk, he looked away first.

He was quiet now. Not distant—not cold—but careful. Like he was walking on eggshells with me.

And I hated it.

After all the chaos, the scandals, the mess we were, Matt Reyes was finally... pulling away.

"Are you okay?" I had asked him earlier that day when we were fixing the bamboo baskets for the local market.

He just smiled, one of those polite, practiced ones. "Yeah. All good."

It was the kind of answer that didn't ask for follow-ups. So I didn't push.

But I noticed.

When Brice made another ridiculous comment about how I probably missed Matt's "singer-boy hands," Matt just chuckled dryly instead of threatening to throw rice at him.

When Zeke played one of Matt's old songs during our afternoon rest, Matt stood up and said he needed to take a call.

And when I joked, "What? No dramatic love ballads today, Mr. Superstar?"—he just smiled again and walked away.

That's when I knew something shifted.

That night, under the wide canopy of stars and strung-up lanterns, Gabriel sat beside me on the bench behind the house. The others were inside playing cards and laughing at Brice's complete lack of strategy.

Gab had that same boyish charm he always carried—the kind that used to make my teenage heart flutter even if I never understood why.

He handed me a cup of warm ginger tea.

"You looked cold," he said.

I wasn't. But I accepted it anyway.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while. The kind only childhood friends could share. The one where you didn't need to fill the air to feel understood.

"Nate," he said eventually, voice soft and calm, "can I ask you something?"

I turned to him. "Sure."

"Back then… if I gave you that letter, the one your mom found—do you think things would've been different?"

I blinked. My heart thudded against my ribs.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Maybe. But we were kids. I don't think I even knew what I wanted then."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"But now?" he asked, a little braver. "Do you know?"

I hesitated. I glanced toward the house—toward the faint sound of Matt laughing inside, even if not as loudly as before.

"No," I whispered. "Not yet."

Gabriel's eyes softened. "Well, if you ever do… and it's me… I'd still be here."

I looked at him.

He meant it.

And somehow, in that moment, the warmth in my chest was wrapped in guilt instead of clarity.

Because even if Matt was drifting—no, even if he was letting go—a part of me still waited for him to turn back.

But what if he never did?

What if I was the only one still holding on to a fake relationship that had started feeling too real?

"Nate!" Zeke called from the window. "You're losing at charades and you're not even playing!"

I laughed. It broke the tension like a bubble popping between us.

"I better go," I told Gabriel.

He smiled, but before I could stand up, he said, "Hey—don't let someone walk away before you know if you want them to stay."

I froze.

But I said nothing.

And when I walked back inside, I noticed Matt wasn't with the others anymore.

He had left the circle. Again.

And for the first time since this whole mess started—I didn't feel like the one being chased.

I felt like I was losing something.

Or maybe someone.

________

Matt sat on the old bamboo steps outside the house, phone pressed to his ear as the warm evening breeze rustled the banana leaves nearby.

"Bro," Jake's voice came through the line, slightly exasperated. "You've been gone for days. When are you coming back? You left a pile of things unfinished here."

Matt's eyes were fixed on the distance—on Nate and Gabriel laughing near the mango tree, heads leaned in too close, like the world belonged only to them.

He swallowed hard.

"Tomorrow," he said quietly. "I'll go home tomorrow."

And he ended the call without another word.

//