Chapter Text
"You two are literally perfect for each other. Trust me, I have a sixth sense about these things."
Tan leaned against the cafeteria table, an easy smile playing on his lips as he looked between Mina and Dex. The pair sat across from each other, stealing glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. Tan had seen this dance before—the nervous fidgeting, the flushed cheeks, the way their eyes lit up when the other spoke. It was the universal language of crushing hard, and Tan was fluent in it.
"I don't know," Mina mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "What if he doesn't—"
"He does," Tan cut in, shooting Dex a knowing look. "My dude here has been writing your name in his math notebook for weeks. Super subtle, by the way."
Dex's face went crimson. "Bro! That was confidential!"
Tan shrugged, unrepentant. "Look, you've both been driving me insane. You like her. She likes you. The vibe check is positive. Just exchange numbers already and put us all out of our misery."
The cafeteria buzzed around them—the clatter of plastic trays, bursts of laughter, the occasional shout across tables. But at their table, time seemed suspended as Mina and Dex looked at each other, really looked at each other, perhaps for the first time.
"So... would you want to maybe grab boba after school?" Dex finally asked, his voice cracking only slightly.
A smile bloomed across Mina's face. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"And my work here is done," Tan announced, standing up with a flourish. He gave a little bow as several students at nearby tables applauded. This had become something of a spectacle—Tan sealing another deal. His twenty-seventh successful match this school year, if anyone was counting.
And people were definitely counting.
"The matchmaker strikes again!" someone called out.
"Tan's got the magic touch!"
"Can you help me next? I'm desperate!"
Tan flashed finger guns and a wink toward his adoring public. "One broken heart at a time, people. Form an orderly queue. The love doctor is in session all week."
As he strutted away from the table, leaving Mina and Dex to their newfound bubble of romantic possibility, three different students stopped him to slip him notes with names scrawled inside. Two more texted him requests. The girl who ran the school paper asked if she could interview him about his "methods."
Tan graciously agreed to all of it, his smile never faltering.
This was his kingdom. Westlake High's resident Cupid. The guru of get-togethers. The sultan of swipe right. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.
Four hours later, Tan unlocked the door to an empty apartment. The silence hit him like a physical thing, a stark contrast to the constant noise of the school hallways.
"I'm home," he called out, purely out of habit. No one answered. No one ever did.
His dad wouldn't be back from his business trip until next week. His mom was probably still at the hospital, pulling a double shift. The family group chat had been dead for three days. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd all been home for dinner together.
Tan dropped his backpack by the door and shuffled to the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge, staring blankly at its meager contents—leftover takeout containers, a half-empty bottle of orange juice, and a sad-looking apple. Dinner of champions.
His phone buzzed. For a moment, a spark of hope—but no. Just another matchmaking request.
Can you help me talk to Ellie? I think she's into me but I freeze up whenever I try to say anything. You're the only one who can help!!!
Tan sighed and typed back a quick "Sure, catch me tmrw before homeroom" before tossing his phone onto the counter.
He grabbed the container of cold noodles and didn't bother to heat them up, just stabbed at them with a fork while leaning against the kitchen counter. The apartment felt too big around him, too quiet. The walls of his bedroom were plastered with photos of smiling couples he'd matched—his proud gallery of success stories. But out here, in the empty kitchen, there was no audience to perform for.
Tan's phone lit up again. Another request. Then another.
He was everyone's go-to guy for matters of the heart. The irony wasn't lost on him that he spent his days surrounded by people who wanted his attention, his advice, his magic touch—yet the moment the final bell rang, he might as well have been invisible.
Tan opened his messages and scrolled past all the matchmaking requests, looking for something else. Anything else. A "how are you?" A "wanna hang?" A "missed you today." But there was nothing. Just variations of "I need your help" and "Can you fix my love life?"
He opened Instagram and posted a picture from today's successful match. Mina had sent it to him—she and Dex, sharing boba tea, looking stupidly happy. He added a clever caption: "Another day, another happily ever after. Who's next? #MatchmakerTan #BringingTheFeels"
The likes and comments started rolling in immediately. Fire emojis. Hearts. Praise and requests. His social validation fix for the night.
But not one person had asked him how his day was. Not one person had wondered if maybe—just maybe—the guy who spent all his time fixing other people's love lives might want someone to care about his.
Tan dropped the half-eaten noodles into the trash and wandered to his bedroom. He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, surrounded by the smiling faces of all the people he'd helped connect.
"Nice job today, Tan," he whispered to himself, the words echoing in the empty room. "You really killed it."
Tomorrow he'd do it all again. He'd wear his confidence like armor. He'd dispense wisdom about love and connection that he'd cobbled together from movies and books and careful observation. He'd bask in the adoration and the gratitude. He'd be Tan the Matchmaker, the character everyone loved.
And no one would ever need to know that Tan
, the real Tan underneath the performance, went home to silence every night. That the most consistent relationship in his life was with his own reflection. That the expert on love was, in reality, profoundly alone.
The matchmaker's paradox.
His phone buzzed again. Another request.
Tan closed his eyes.