Page 51 of The Official Problem
“I should,” Matthieu muttered at last
“That’s not what I asked.”
Matthieu’s spine straightened, his jaw tightening instinctively. “I said, I should.”
Kieran raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes stayed fixed on Matthieu’s face, unwavering. That softness only made Matthieu feel more exposed.
“I was just asking, Matty.”
Matthieu was an asshole. Kieran was trying to make conversation over a breakfast he hadn’t needed to buy, while Matthieu sat there, sullen and cold, shutting him down. This was what he did. Who he was. Kieran had never deserved someone like him.
“I don’t know if I can,” Matthieu admitted after a long pause, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s complicated.” God, wasn’t that becoming his favorite word? “The care home my mother lives in tried to call me when she was rushed to the hospital, but… I’d blocked their number. I didn’t know…”
Dammit, why was this so hard? Why was Kieran sitting there listening, understanding, quietly waiting for Matthieu to cut himself open and reveal all his shameful parts?
Against his better judgment, Matthieu forged on. “They’d been calling for days. I missed the last few payments. I didn’t know what to say. It was easier not to hear it until I’d figured it out.” A flush crept up the back of his neck. “I was already behind, then Julie needed more money for school, and… I haven’t been able to catch up.”
He hated that he’d just said that out loud. That Kieran now knew the truth. That he’d offered it up without thinking.
“Julie found out. She’s furious. Thinks I don’t care. Maybe I don’t.”
Kieran’s expression didn’t change—no pity, no shock. Just calm understanding that made Matthieu want to crawl out of his skin.
“I can’t fix it,” he admitted, his traitorous voice cracking. “There’s not enough—it doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Kieran’s hand closed over Matthieu’s, where it rested on the counter, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His face so sincere, it was hard to look at. “You shouldn’t have to handle all of this alone.”
Matthieu forced down the scoff rising in his chest and yanked his hand back.I am alone,he wanted to yell.You could’ve been there for me all this time—and you fucked it all up.He couldn’t say that, though. That wasn’t fair. Kieran hadn’t known.
“I can come with you,” Kieran offered. “If you want.”
“No.” The word came out too fast, too final, despite Matthieu wanting nothing more in his life. “That’s not necessary.”
“It’s not about necessity. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m fine.”
Even to Matthieu’s ears, the words sounded hollow, a script he’d rehearsed too many times. The same tired line he threw out whenever someone got too close to the truth. Just noise. Just armor. He hated it. Hated how natural the lie felt now. How easy deflecting and retreating had become. How deeply he’d buried himself behind walls so high even he couldn’t see over them anymore.
And yet, wasn’t that his choice? Hadn’t he made it that way? Because letting someone in—really in—meant handing them the sharpest parts of himself and hoping they wouldn’t flinch. It meant trusting they wouldn’t take the knife and twist it.
He’d learned, again and again and again, that people only ever let you down. His dad had left before Matthieu ever had a chance to know what a father should be. His mother had found comfort in cruelty rather than care. His sister had fled across the ocean. Matthieu would never forget the disgust in her voice when he finally let her see who he really was. And Kieran? He’d promised something soft and steady all those years ago, something safe, then shattered it like it had never meant anything at all.
So why would Matthieu trust again? Why let anyone—especially Kieran—past the ruins of who he used to be?
Yet buried under all that bitterness was a quiet truth Matthieu could hardly admit to himself. He was tired. So fucking tired of pretending. Tired of being the strong one. Tired of carrying his isolation like it was a badge of honor. He wanted—God,he wanted—just one person in the world he didn’t have to pretend with. Someone he could break in front of and know theywouldn’t leave. Someone who would see the worst of him and still choose to stay.
That kind of love wasn’t meant for people like him. He was too damaged, too complicated, too full of sharp edges for anyone to hold. Still, the thought clung to him like a bruise, faint and aching.
Kieran shifted slightly—the smallest movement, like he’d planned to come to Matthieu’s side before thinking better of it. Matthieu exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the weight of it all—the truth he didn’t want to admit but always circled back to.
“I can handle it,” he muttered.
“I know you can.” Kieran’s voice stayed maddeningly calm. “But you don’t have to.”
Matthieu’s gaze snapped to him, searching his face for the catch, the condition, the lie beneath all that softness. “Why?”
Kieran met his eyes without hesitation. “Because you’ve got too much on your shoulders already. Because I want to. Because…” He paused, swallowed. “Because I care about you, Matty. I always have.”
