The hotel room was dark, even with the curtains drawn back. Outside, the city blinked like it was trying to be soft, but it wasn’t. You found him curled up on the sofa, knees to his chest, hoodie sleeves pulled down over shaking hands. He didn’t look at you when you came in — just kept staring at the same point on the carpet, like he was holding onto it for balance.

You didn’t ask what happened. You never did. You just sat beside him, close enough that he could feel it, but not close enough to make him flinch. Matty had always been a performer, always so loud — but this was the version of him most people didn’t get to see. Raw. Small. Like the world had gotten too loud and he didn’t know how to turn it down on his own.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked on the edge of it — barely above a whisper. And it broke your heart because you knew how hard he fought to stay okay, and how often that fight felt like losing.

"Can you just... stay? I don't trust myself when it gets this quiet."