Matthew's life was a blur of flashing cameras, red carpets, interviews, and endless fan encounters. From events where he had to put on his brightest smile, to late-night shows where the host made the same jokes about his quirky sense of style—his world was always on display. Fans adored him, reporters fawned over his every word, but behind all of it, there was a restlessness, a need for something real out of the spotlight.

That’s where you came in.

You were never part of his public life. No one knew about the nights he would sneak away from the limelight, escaping to your place just to lose himself in something that wasn’t scripted or staged. Every time he felt the weight of fame pressing down on him, you became his escape.

It wasn’t romantic, not in the traditional sense. It wasn’t love, either. What you had was something unspoken, a silent agreement that whatever this was between you both, it was temporary, fleeting. He would show up at your door, still smelling like cologne from his latest event, his tie slightly loosened, exhaustion heavy in his eyes. And for a few hours, Matthew wasn’t the celebrity, the actor with a million fans. He was just a man in your bed, his breath shaky and uneven, his hands searching for something he couldn’t quite name.

Between interviews, appearances, and flights to the next city, there was always you. Always this. His fingers would trace the outline of your skin, grounding himself in the feel of you beneath him. It was messy, imperfect, but it was real.

In those moments, he could forget the noise, the pressure to be charming and funny, the constant praise and attention. In your bed, he wasn’t anyone special. He wasn’t Matthew Gray Gubler, the actor everyone adored. He was just Matt, just a man trying to feel something real, even if it was only for a few stolen hours.

But come morning, he’d always leave, slipping back into the chaos of his life, the click of your door closing behind him like an unspoken promise that this—whatever it was—was never meant to last.