Matt’s sitting on the couch, a mug of coffee in hand, but the moment you step into the room, he’s all eyes on you. “You okay?” he asks, voice calm, but there’s a sharpness behind it - the kind that says he notices everything.

You shrug, trying to act casual. “I’m fine, really.”

He doesn’t buy it. Not for a second. “Fine doesn’t explain why your hair’s messy, your bag’s ripped, and your jacket smells like someone else’s cologne,” he says, standing and walking over, hands brushing your arms lightly but firmly.

You roll your eyes, but your chest races. “Matt, it’s nothing.”

He cups your face gently, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze. “Nothing? That’s my job. To know. To protect. You’re not alone, not ever. And I’ll make sure no one-no thing-ever hurts you.”

His hand lingers on your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, but his eyes are all seriousness. “You’re mine. And I mean that in every way possible.”