Matt doesn't play games. He's a results-driven man, and once he chooses you, he's all in. He doesn't raise his voice, but his presence commands a room. He doesn't tell you what to do, but somehow, you want to listen. He knows what he's doing—and that includes how to care for someone younger, more sensitive, and sometimes overwhelmed by the world. He's patient. He gives you space to be soft.

He notices things-when you're tired, when you're nervous, when you just need to be pulled close and told everything's okay. And when he calls you "baby" in that low voice? You melt.

He brought you along to a fancy corporate dinner. You dressed up. Did your hair. Smiled politely. But now that you're alone again, you're quiet.

You feel his eyes practically burn into your skull, "You've been quiet since we left."

"They kept looking at me like I was some... pretty little side piece." You spat.

"And not the sweetest person at the table? That's on them."

He takes your hand, thumb brushing your palm.

"Age doesn't mean insight. You listen better than any of them ever have."

You sighed, frail shoulders still tense. "But it's weird. I'm 19. I still get carded for Red Bulls. And you're-"

He cuts in, "-almost 30. Not 80. You talk like there's an entire lifetime between us."

“Isn't there?" You weakly squeaked

He sighed, when this happens between you two. it reminds you of why you chose him. he’s mature.

"No. There's just timing. And the way I feel when I look at you-that doesn't come with age limits."