𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍, matt sturniolo

𝟢𝟢𝟤, 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 . . . 𝖵𝖮𝖫𝖴𝖬𝖤 𝖮𝖭𝖤
chapter two / he never thinks of me
𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾

IT WAS NEARLY TWO IN THE MORNING when Christopher walked into his brother's room, practically begging him to take him to get food.

Matthew was resting soundly in his bed, scrolling through his phone. Like most nights of his life, he couldn't have been more awake during this ungodly hour, which is why he didn't mind driving Chris around town.

It took the two boys nearly five minutes to get into the car and start toward the nearest McDonalds.

As Matt pulled out of their garage, Chris scrambled to get his life together. He kicked off the slippers on his feet and got comfortable, preparing his phone with a few songs in the queue. Until he would decide to finally connect it, they listened to whatever pop song was playing on the radio.

The Los Angeles roads were decently clear, a few cars still on the pavement as they blazed past the mini van. A pop song, neither one of the boys had heard, was playing softly through the speakers, mixed in with the wind that blew past Chris' parted window.

Matt reached forward, spinning the volume knob of the car to turn down the sound of the song he grew to hate very quickly. Chris rambled aimlessly, continuing the queue the songs.

Matt wasn't really paying attention too much while he was driving. Consider his body to be on autopilot while he turned the steering wheel left and right. He didn't hear a single word of his brother's voice, or a single word of the radio host's voice as they talked about some new upcoming artist.

Well, Matt didn't pay attention until he heard a name he could've swore he'd forgotten completely about.

"This new album is a hit. It's the second album of Malia's career, but had gained more streams in the last 48 hours of its release than almost any other artist her age. Here's her most popular track, Midnight Rain."

Chris leans forward, turning the volume up at the sound of the familiar name. It could have been anyone, but based on Matt's sudden change of behavior, he guessed it wasn't a simple coincidence.

The beginning of the song was a blur. A voice that seemed to be heavily effected by auto-tune was all that they heard for the first few seconds of the song. Then, they heard her voice.

Matt pulled his car into the McDonald's drive-thru at the exact moment he heard her voice. It was like a shot through the heart, and he probably would have crashed his car had he not made it into the parking lot.

"Holy shit," Chris curses as he listens to the female's voice. "It's Malia. This is Malia's song."

No, shit, Matt nearly spat at his triplet brother. He didn't, though. He was too busy listening to his ex-girlfriend sing about a boy... a boy whose heart she broke because "he was nice."

Matt had never been the type to overanalyze a song. If it was good, he listened to it, but he never really thought about the lyrics as telling a story. She was telling a story. A story he knew too well... because he lived it along with her.

My boy was a montage
A slow-motion, love potion
Jumping off things into the ocean
I broke his heart 'cause he was nice.
He was sunshine, I was midnight rain
He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain
He wanted a bride, I was making my own name
Chasing that fame, he stayed the same
All of me changed like midnight

"Oh, my God..." Matt breathes when he finally hears the words. This wasn't just any boy, this was him. He was the nice boy whose heart she broke. Matt wanted it comfortable, and Malia wanted that pain. He wanted a bride and she was making her own name and chasing fame. It's why she left him.

She left Boston because she was chasing the fame. He stayed the same. He stayed right where he left her. He was frozen, living in a world where she was still his for months, maybe even years before he finally moved on.

Now that he thought of it, he moved on to the same place where she moved to. His new home was the home she left Boston for.

Los Angeles, California. The city of angels and the city where dreams are made. The city where her dreams were made.

"Wait, this song is actually so good." Chris mutters, pulling out his phone to look-up the song.

Matt nodded, not really hearing a word coning out of Chris' mouth. He was too busy psychoanalyzing the words his ex-girlfriend spoke. The story she was telling about him. The way she referenced the first vacation she ever joined his family on. The first trip they ever took to California. The trip where she and Matt went clip-jumping.

Matt remembered the way she screamed and clutched his hand. It was terrifying and exhilarating all the same. All because he was doing it with her

The van jerks forward after he instinctively let's his foot off the brake. Slamming back on it before he rear-ends the car in front of him, Matt is brought back to life and his thoughts are scrambled back to normal.

He just doesn't understand.

How is this happening? When did she write this? Why is he just hearing it now? What did it mean?

Matt shakes his head slightly, clearing his thoughts as he pulls forward and rolls down the window, letting Chris order their food. Once the window is up again, Matt's mind is back on Malia and the song. The more he hears it, the more he questions everything.

I guess sometimes we all get
Just what we wanted, just what we wanted
And he never thinks of me
Except when I'm on TV

That part couldn't have been more true, although his didn't understand the coincidence of it all. He, truly, hadn't thought of her. Not in a year. Not since just now. Not since she was on the radio.

I guess sometimes we all get
Some kind of haunted, some kind of haunted
And I never think of him
Except on midnights like this

Matt didn't know what to make of those lyrics. What did this mean? What was she feeling? Sadness? Anger?

Regret?