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IRL AND INSTAGRAM
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↳ ❝I KEEP ON
MESSING EVERYTHING
UP.❞

The question lingers in Mateo's mind like an unsolved equation: How many times can a boyfriend mess up before their partner calls it quits?

The 'I love you' debacle flashes through Mateo's thoughts as he contemplates Lovette's relationship with Chris. Despite Lovette narrating the incident to him and Imani in a way that sounded like a scene from a romcom, he expected it to be the breaking point. If he were in Chris's shoes, he would have uttered those words first, wouldn't have fled. Yet, against the odds, Lovette and Chris's bond appeared to endure. That is, until Lovette found comfort in his arms, tears staining the familiar backdrop of a skating rink.

A small part of Mateo secretly appreciated the intimacy of holding her, even in her vulnerable state. He yearned to be her pillar of support. Scratch that—he was her support. Chris, on the other hand, was noticeably absent. Witnessing Lovette break down like this over a guy was a new experience. Each tear seemed to confess the weight of the emotional burden she carried. Yet, she pulled away from him as if scorched, and the incident remained unspoken between them.

Perched on her porch steps, the chilly October breeze made them shiver, but Mateo welcomed it—he was with Lovette, after all. He managed to elicit a genuine laugh from her, and the way she covered her mouth to stifle the sound quickened his heartbeat. A fleeting thought crosses his mind: maybe, just maybe, she feels something more as well.

"How are things with Chris?" he ventures once her laughter subsides.

This time, Lovette doesn't shy away from the question; her gaze holds steady on his.

"They're okay," she replies, offering little insight.

Okay? He had witnessed her in tears.

There's a beat of silence before she cautiously adds, "I think."

He tries not to revel in her uncertainty.

"You think?" Mateo probes, his eyes studying her expression.

Lovette shrugs, "Long distance is hard."

Her statement hangs in the air, a sparse response that leaves much to be desired. It falls short of satisfying Mateo's curiosity, and he can't help but press for more.

Mateo leans back, a contemplative look on his face, the porch's wooden steps cool beneath him. "Long distance," he muses, echoing her words, "I think distance means little when someone means a lot to you. But it is hard."

Lovette nods, the faintest furrow in her brow revealing the strain beneath the surface. "Yeah, it is. Lately, it's been difficult..."

"Lately?" Mateo prompts gently, sensing there's more left unsaid.

"He's just so distant," she confesses, her eyes searching his for understanding. "It's like there's this growing gap between us, and I don't know how to bridge it."

The vulnerability in her voice tugs at Mateo's heartstrings. "Distance can do that, I guess," he replies, opting for a neutral tone to let her guide the conversation.

"Now, it's like we struggle to keep even a five-minute conversation interesting. And when we do talk, it feels forced, you know?"

Mateo observes the way her fingers absently play with the hem of Chris's hoodie she's wearing. It's a subtle detail, but it speaks volumes. "Have you talked to him about how you feel?" he asks, genuinely concerned.

Her shoulders sag, and she shakes her head. "Not really. Every time I try, he dismisses it or changes the subject. And I'm scared, Mateo. Scared that if I push too hard, it'll break whatever's left."

Mateo subtly inches closer, his heart echoing the unspoken words of affection. He longs to reassure her, to let her know that she's not alone in navigating the complexities of her relationship. If she ever needs a confidant or simply a comforting presence, he's there, steadfast in his unwavering support. The depth of his feelings for Lovette, veiled for so long, now flutters at the edge of his every gesture.

"Chris?" Lovette's questioning voice draws Mateo's attention, and he tears his gaze away from his hidden emotions.

And there, like a scene from a romantic movie, stands Chris in front of Lovette's house, a bouquet of roses cradled in his hands. A myriad of emotions swirls within Mateo—anxiety and a subtle undercurrent of disappointment. He realizes that Lovette, the elusive mirage he feared losing, slips away once again.

In the blink of an eye, Lovette gracefully glides past Mateo, her steps carrying her swiftly toward her surprise visitor. The sight is both heartwarming and bittersweet. As she embraces Chris tightly, Mateo can't help but notice the subtle details—the genuine happiness in her eyes, the way her fingers delicately trace patterns on Chris's back. Mateo's heart, filled with the bittersweet ache of unrequited love, quietly retreats to the shadows as Lovette and Chris find comfort in each other's arms.

A flicker of hope, irrational as it may be, whispers that Lovette might turn around, acknowledge him, and share a fleeting smile that transcends the distance. But she doesn't, and the tendrils of jealousy coil tighter within him, an unwelcome guest that refuses to be ignored.

His eyes become unwilling witnesses to the tender moments he wishes he could share with Lovette. Mateo feels a pang of longing as he watches Chris and Lovette hold hands. The sting of jealousy intensifies as Chris places a chaste kiss on the back of Lovette's hand, a gesture laden with a tenderness that pierces through Mateo's guarded facade. The world around them blurs, and for a moment, he's an outsider looking in, witnessing a love story that eludes him.

Chris's gaze, filled with adoration, fixes upon Lovette as if she holds the very constellations in her eyes. The depth of their connection is palpable, and Mateo, caught in the crossfire of his own emotions, can't help but feel the sharp contrast between the sweetness of their interaction and the bitter pang of his jealousy.

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God, Chris missed her.

He's missed her smile, the way it lights up even the darkest corners of his world. Her laughter, like a song he's been longing to hear, echoes in his memory. The warmth of her touch, the way her hand fits perfectly in his, is a sensation he's been craving. Chris missed the late-night conversations, the shared secrets, and the effortless companionship that defined their relationship. He's missed the subtle scent of her favourite perfume, the comforting familiarity of her presence that once wrapped around him like a security blanket.

He's missed the way she understands him, often without the need for words, as if they share a secret language only they comprehend. As Lovette stands before him, the flood of emotions threatens to overwhelm Chris. It's as if the distance, the missed calls, and the tensions evaporate in the warmth of her presence. His gaze is fixated on her, the intricate details of her expression, the way her eyes convey a mix of emotions that mirror his own.

They're walking down her street, hand in hand, and Chris can't help but feel a sense of surrealism. It's been too long since they strolled together like this. His eyes follow her every move, absorbing the details he's missed.

"I thought you said you couldn't drop everything and fly here?" Lovette's words break the comfortable silence, and for a moment, Chris is transported back to their recent argument. The harsh reminder lingers in the air, a subtle tension that tugs at the edges of his consciousness. He regrets the words he uttered when he impulsively ended the call, realizing the weight they carried.

"That was a stupid thing to say. I was being inconsiderate," he responds, the sincerity in his voice carrying the weight of remorse. It's an admission, an acknowledgment of fault, and he hopes it paves the way for the conversation they desperately need. "I'm sorry."

Lovette's gaze lingers on him, her eyes searching for a glimpse of the vulnerability he seldom reveals. The street lamps cast a soft glow on her features, adding a touch of warmth to the cool evening air. "Are you ready to talk about it?" she asks, her voice a delicate inquiry that hangs between them.

He's ready to lay bare the complexities that have strained their relationship, but there's an undercurrent of fear. Fear that the wounds might run too deep, fear of exposing the vulnerabilities he's kept hidden. Nevertheless, he knows it's a conversation they can no longer avoid.

"Yeah, I am," he finally admits, the admission laced with both uncertainty and determination.

Chris purses his lips, a heavy sigh escaping as he contemplates the tangled mess he's made. The weight of his mistakes hangs heavily on his shoulders.

"I keep on messing everything up," Chris confesses, his voice carrying the burden of frustration. It's a sentiment that has been brewing beneath the surface, fueled by the overwhelming nature of the influencer lifestyle and the unexpected challenges of being an influencer in Los Angeles. Boston, with its familiar streets and quieter pace, seems like a distant memory—a place where the weight of expectations wasn't as suffocating.

The silence between them becomes heavy with unspoken words, a silence that demands to be broken.

"I've been feeling overwhelmed," Chris admits, "Being an influencer in Boston felt more... I don't know, maintainable."

In the quietude of the park, the bustling city reduced to distant murmurs, Lovette inches closer to Chris.

"I've missed you," Chris admits, his gaze softening as he caresses her hand with his thumb. The ache of their separation, spanning months since August, lingers in the unspoken spaces between them.

Lovette leans in, her lips curving into a tender smile. "I've missed you too," she confesses, her voice carrying the weight of longing that only amplifies in the quiet of the night.

The distance they've endured magnifies the significance of their reunion. Chris, guided by an impulse born of affection, leans in to press a gentle kiss to Lovette's forehead.

"I'm sorry," Chris whispers against her forehead, his words a soft murmur that carries the weight of his regret.

Lovette, touched by the sincerity in his apology, tilts her head to meet his gaze. "We can figure this out together," she assures him, a subtle nod affirming their collective resolve.

The crisp October air, laden with the fragrance of fallen leaves, envelopes Chris and Lovette as they find a secluded bench under the gnarled oak tree.  Chris, his heart guided by a longing that spanned months, leans in. His movements are deliberate, yet gentle, as if testing the waters of Lovette's readiness. Lovette, attuned to the unspoken language between them, reciprocates, meeting him halfway.  Their lips brush against each other in a sweet, brief kiss—a shared moment that encapsulates the warmth of familiarity.

@LOVIEDOVIE JUST POSTED!

loviedovie:

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@loviedovie: 😋😋

view comments

imani.brown: new spam name i love it
╰─▸ loviedovie: thank you chris made it 😭

levijarmon: having all white bedsheets is a crime i want you to know that
╰─▸ loviedovie: not my fault ur dirty 🥱
   ╰─▸ levijarmon: i will shove peanut butter in ur mouth while ur sleeping😐
   ╰─▸loviedovie: that is attempted murder ??
      ╰─▸ levijarmon: idgaf

christophersturniolo: Omg who is that fine man in the second slide??
╰─▸ loviedovie: found him on the side of the road i think im keeping him

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
hi everyone!

thank you to everyone who votes and comments on this fic i really appreciate it

more to come i'm excited for you guys to see act three of this fic

this is like barely edited, so please let me know if there are any mistakes

until next time <3!