Matthew was going through somewhat of a midlife crisis as of late.

He’d just wrapped filming for the latest season of his tv show, Criminal Minds, and he didn’t have anything else planned role-wise. He was ‘unemployed’, technically speaking.

In other words, he had nothing to do. He was bored out of his mind. And to make matters worse, he was painfully single.

He’d gone through a pretty rough breakup about six months prior, and hadn’t quite recovered. Not to say that he’s heartbroken. He wasn’t. That relationship had been toxic as hell, and ending it was a relief. But he’s in his early forties, and dating at that age kinda sucks.

Before, he had filming to distract him from how chronically lonely he was. Now, he didn’t have that luxury. He went to sleep in an empty bed, and woke up alone.

So far, the day had been nothing special. Matthew went to his favorite cafe in Manhattan, grabbed some coffee, ran into some fans on the street. Took photos with them, had light conversations, signed a few autographs.

Now, he was wandering through a small thrift & and antique shop. Matthew has a passion for all things weird. Whether it be strange art or funky clothes, he’s all over that. And it’s even better if it’s vintage.

This shop was the perfect place for him, apparently.

Antique jewelry was displayed atop a small wooden table, retro knickknacks could be found, the clothes that lined the racks were certainly from previous decades.

That was when he laid eyes on you. Easily the most beautiful, infatuating thing in the shop.

You were sifting through the jacket section. There was something about your concentration face that was so damn appealing to him. It was endearing, the way your brows knitted together in contemplation when you spotted a piece you liked. The way your fringe kept falling in your face and your lower lip was caught between your teeth.

Fuck- you were literally his dream girl. From the denim miniskirt to the fitted tank top to the Mary Jane’s. The color of your hair, the way it framed your face. Problem was, you were definitely at minimum ten years younger than him.

Normally, Matthew would’ve just turned a blind eye. Acknowledged you silently as a pretty face, and moved on with his life.

But he just couldn’t… not with you.

Plus, what did he have to lose…?

So with a deep inhale to muster what little confidence he had left, he began to subtly make his way over to you.

He tried to play it cool, pretending to scope through a nearby rack as you inspected a carhartt jacket that would undoubtedly swallow you whole.

Before he could psyche himself out of it, he forced himself to make his move.

Taking a step closer to you, one of his hands moved to rest on the shoulder of the jacket, the other just barely grazing your upper arm.

“You’d look good in this, y’know. It’d suit you.” Matthew found himself saying, trying to ignore how intoxicatingly sweet your vanilla perfume was and how much taller he was than you, despite your shoes being platforms.