This chapter is written from both Adrian’s and Matteo’s points of view.
Adrian’s Pov
The days after the beach house blurred into each other like a bad dream I could not quite wake from. Monday hit hard, the office buzzing with the usual chaos of emails and meetings, but everything felt off. I kept glancing toward Matteo's desk across the open floor, half expecting him to wave me over for our usual coffee run. He was there, head down over his screen, curls still a little wild from the weekend wind. But when our eyes met once, he just smiled quick and polite, then looked away. No invitation. No babe slipped in like a joke.
I told myself it was nothing. He was busy. We were both busy. But by lunch I could not shake the knot in my stomach. I grabbed a sandwich from the café downstairs and ate at my desk, scrolling through my phone instead of joining the group like always. A text popped up from him around one: Hey man, good weekend? Gym was killer today. You good?
Friendly. Short. No emojis. No plans.
I typed back something light. : Yeah, recovering from Antonio's chaos. You?’
His reply came fast: Haha yeah. Extra shifts this week. Talk soon.
Talk soon. Like we were acquaintances, not whatever we had become in that dark room.
Tuesday was worse. I spotted him in the break room mid-morning, pouring coffee in that effortless way he had, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms flexing. My mouth went dry remembering those arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. I walked in, casual as I could manage. “Hey Romano, save some for the rest of us?”
He turned, grinned that crooked smile that used to make my day. Adrian. Yeah, here. He handed me a mug, our fingers brushing just enough to send a spark up my arm. We chatted for a minute about some dumb client email, laughing like old times. But his eyes kept darting to the door, and when someone else walked in he clapped me on the shoulder. Catch you later, man. Gym after work.
Later never came. No text. No invite to join him at the gym like he used to.
By Wednesday I was spiraling. Convinced it was all a mistake. He had been drunk on beach vibes and hormones, pent up from Jessica, sexually frustrated and I had just been there. Convenient. The gay best friend who would not make it weird and wouldn’t mind jerking off his hot straight friend. Except now it was weird, and he was pulling away to fix it.
Work dragged. I saw him in a meeting, laughing with the team, that easy charm drawing everyone in. He caught my eye once, nodded. Nothing more.
Thursday brought a glimpse of hope that twisted the knife deeper. I was at my desk when he appeared with two coffees in hand. Thought you could use this, he said, setting one down with a smile. Extra shot, right?
My heart flipped. Thanks, man. That's sweet.
He shrugged, leaned against my desk. Yeah, well. You looked like you needed it. Busy week?
We talked for five minutes about nothing. Work. Weather. A funny story from the gym. It felt almost normal, until his phone buzzed and he glanced at it. Gotta run. Family thing this weekend, helping Mum with some stuff.
Cool, I said. Say hi for me.
Will do. He clapped my back again, that bro touch that meant nothing and everything, and walked away.
The weekend hit like a wall. I stayed in Friday night, scrolling Instagram out of habit. His stories popped up first: A selfie at the gym, sweaty and flexing his biceps in that red tank top which made him look ridiculously hot, caption Pump day. Then Saturday morning: A photo of his mum's kitchen table loaded with pasta and bread, family laughing in the background. Home for the weekend. Miss this.
I stared at it longer than I should have. I had met his family a few times, back when we were just friends. His mum always hugged me like I was one of her own, asked if I was eating enough. Now I wished I was there, sitting next to him at that table, his knee brushing mine under it. Not as the fake boyfriend. As something real.
My phone buzzed mid-scroll. Text from him: Mum's pasta is killer. Fighting my brother for seconds. Wish you were here to back me up.
I laughed out loud in my empty apartment. Typed back: Tell her hi. Steal an extra plate for me.
His reply: Will do. She won't stop asking about you. Don't know how she even knows about the fake dating lol.
Fake. The word hit like a punch. I stared at it, thumbs hovering. Lol yeah, I sent back. Mums know everything.
No response after that. The rest of the weekend was radio silence. More stories: Him on his Vespa riding through olive groves, family barbecue, a sunset over the hills. He looked happy. Relaxed. Like he had not spent a night grinding against me until we both lost control.
By Sunday night I was a mess. Convinced he was relieved to be away from me. That the handjob had been a drunken slip, something to laugh off with the guys later. He's straight, I reminded myself. Always has been. I was the idiot who thought it meant more.
Monday rolled around again. Office same as always. Matteo back at his desk, tan a shade deeper from the weekend sun. We nodded hello across the room. No coffee drop-off. No lunch invite. Texts stayed short: Hey, good weekend? Yeah, you? Cool.
Busy, he said when I asked about grabbing a beer after work. Gym and then helping a friend move.
I stopped asking after that.
The distance grew like a crack in glass, slow but unstoppable. I threw myself into work, stayed late, hit the gym alone just to burn off the ache in my chest. But every night it came back. The memory of him in that bed, hot and hard in my hand, whispering my name like it meant something.
By Thursday I could not take it anymore. Home alone, apartment too quiet, I flopped onto the couch and let the replay start. Vivid, like it was happening again. My hand wrapping around his pretty dick, thick and pulsing, veins hot under my fingers. The way he throbbed when I twisted over the head, precum spilling through his tip and dripping all the way to my fingers. His abs tensing, thighs flexing, quiet gasps turning to groans. Grab my balls, he had said, voice wrecked. I remembered rolling them in my palm, heavy and tight, tugging just enough to make him arch.
My cock hardened instantly at the thought. I slid a hand down my shorts, guilty but desperate, stroking slow to match the memory. The way he had bucked into my fist, hips rolling urgent and needy. Don't stop, he whispered in my head. Fuck, Adrian, I'm gonna...
I sped up, grip firm, imagining his broken moan when he came. Thick spurts hitting his abs, coating my fingers, warm and sticky. The scent in the bathroom later, musky and sharp, almost on my lips before I washed it away.
I came hard, spilling over my hand with a choked gasp, body shuddering through it. But as the high faded, the guilt crashed in. This is all I'll ever get, I thought, staring at the ceiling. His memory. His ghost.
I hated myself for wanting more. For hoping every short text meant he was thinking about it too.
My phone buzzed on the table. I wiped my hand clean, grabbed it with trembling fingers.
Matteo: Hey man, Jessica's pissing me off big time lol.
_________
Matteo’s Pov
The ride back from Antonio's house felt longer than it should have. I gripped the Vespa's handlebars tighter than usual, the engine's hum drowning out the thoughts swirling in my head. Adrian's arms around my waist had been warm and steady the whole way, his chest pressed to my back like it belonged there. But when I dropped him off and said thanks for last night, for not being weird about it, the words came out wrong. Too casual. Too bro. His laugh had been quick, but I caught the flicker in his eyes. I rode home alone, wind whipping through my curls, replaying the night over and over. His hand on my cock. The way it felt good. Too good. What the hell was that?
Monday slammed in with a headache from too much sun and not enough sleep. The office was the same grind, but everything felt sharper, like I was seeing it through a fog. I spotted Adrian across the floor when I got in, head down at his desk, looking focused. I wanted to wave him over, grab our usual coffees and joke about the weekend like nothing had changed. But my feet stayed planted. What if he regretted it? What if touching me like that made him see me different? I texted him instead. Hey man, good weekend? Gym was killer today. You good?
Safe. Easy. No mention of the bed or his hand or the way I had come undone whispering his name.
His reply came back fast, light like always. I smiled at my phone, but the knot in my chest did not loosen. Extra shifts this week, I added. Talk soon. It was not a lie. Work had piled up, and I threw myself into it, staying late to catch up on reports, avoiding the break room where I might run into him.
Tuesday I saw him pouring coffee, looking tired but still that quiet handsome he always had. I walked in, handed him a mug. We talked for a minute, laughing about some client nonsense. It felt good, normal. But then someone else came in, and I clapped his shoulder. Catch you later, man. Gym after work. I did not invite him. Could not. Not yet.
The gym was my escape that night. I pushed harder than usual, weights clanging loud in my ears, sweat pouring down my back. But every rep my mind wandered back to him. His fingers wrapped around my cock, slow and sure. The heat. The release. I got hard in the shower after, alone under the spray, and jerked off quick and guilty, imagining sexual things about him. What the fuck, Matteo? I thought, staring at the tile as the water ran cold. You're straight. This is Adrian. Your best friend.
Wednesday blurred into Thursday. More shifts, more excuses. I dropped off coffee at his desk one morning, just because. Thought you could use this. His smile lit something warm in my chest, but I kept it short. Family thing this weekend, I said. It was true. Mum had called, needed help with some stuff around the house. But it was also an out. Space to think.
The drive home Friday was quiet. I packed a bag, hopped on the Vespa, and headed out of Palermo toward the hills. The air turned cooler the farther I got, olive groves flashing by in green blurs. Home smelled like garlic and fresh bread when I walked in. Mum hugged me tight, asked if I was eating enough. The family piled in Saturday, brothers arguing over football, sisters teasing me about work. I snapped a story at the gym before leaving, then one at Mum's table loaded with pasta. Home for the weekend. Miss this.
Texts from Adrian came in while I was there. I laughed at his replies, wished he was sitting next to me fighting for seconds. Mum won't stop asking about you, I typed. Don't know how she even knows about the fake dating lol. Fake. The word felt wrong now, but I sent it anyway.
Sunday was barbecue and lazy talks under the sunset. I snapped a story of the hills turning orange, me silhouetted against it. Peaceful. But inside it was anything but. Every quiet moment my mind went back to him. To that night. To how right it had felt.
Back in Palermo Sunday night, the apartment felt tense. Jessica was in the kitchen when I walked in, scrolling her phone with that sharp look she got when she was plotting. She looked up, eyes narrowing. So, beach weekend with Adrian? Heard from friends it was cozy. You really into guys now, or is this still about making me jealous?
I froze, bag still on my shoulder. It's none of your business, Jess. Adrian's great. Leave it alone.
She laughed, low and knowing. Oh, it's real now? Fine. Prove it. My birthday's coming up. I'll throw a party here. Invite everyone, including your boyfriend. Let's see how real you two are in front of an audience.
I should have said no. Should have told her to back off. But the challenge hit my pride. Fine. Do it.
She smirked, already typing invites. I retreated to my room, pacing the small space, heart pounding. Jessica was pushing too hard. I needed to warn Adrian, but not freak him out. Not yet.
I grabbed my phone. Hey man, Jessica's pissing me off big time lol.
I stared at the message after it sent, phone heavy in my hand, heart thudding hard against my ribs. Whatever I had started at that beach house was no longer contained between us, and I knew, with a sinking certainty, that the next time Adrian and I stood side by side, pretending was going to be impossible.
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