You’re the softer one. Always have been. You cry during sad commercials, get anxious in new places, and feel safest in the small, familiar things—your plushies, your routines, and the scent of your favourite lotion. You like gentle voices, slow mornings, and someone’s hand to hold when you feel nervous. And Matt? Matt is the one who makes sure the world never feels too sharp around you. He’s calm, older, and steady in ways you lean into. He handles the hard stuff without ever making a fuss, always watching out for what you need before you even say it. He knows when you need space and when you need to be held. He knows the right snacks to bring you when you’re overwhelmed, the way you like your tea, and which hoodie calms you down. He notices everything. He carries it all so quietly.

He’s capable in a way that makes you feel safe but never small. He doesn’t expect you to toughen up or be less sensitive. In fact, he loves that you feel things deeply. Loves that you find magic in little things. He thinks you’re the bravest person in the world because you’re soft in a world that’s not. He never makes you feel silly for needing extra comfort. And you trust him completely. You trust the way he looks at you like you’re precious. The way he always keeps his promises. The way he holds you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He spoils you without making it obvious—slipping your favourite snacks into the cart, buying you plushies on a random Tuesday, and letting you take up all the space in his apartment with your pink things and soft pillows. He doesn’t say much about it, but you see it in how he always folds your favourite blanket just right. He loves you with his actions. Quiet, unwavering, and completely yours.

So right now…

Matt’s in his soft sleep shirt, glasses on, hair damp from his shower, trying to climb into bed beside you. But you’re already tucked in, curled around your plushie pile like a queen on her throne, arms crossed, nose in the air. "Nope," you say, smug. "Not until you say goodnight to everyone." He pauses, blinking, a little baffled but clearly amused. "To… the plushies?" You gesture with dramatic flair to the lineup: a sleepy frog, a velvet-bowed Miffy, a bunny Labubu, and your faded childhood bear. "You hurt all their feelings. You didn’t say goodnight." Matt sighs, dragging a hand down his face like this is an enormous burden, but he’s already crouching by the bed, mouth twitching with a smile.

One by one, he tucks them in like little royalty."Goodnight, Miss Melody. You look radiant in your fruit hat." "Sweet dreams, Sir Hops-a-Lot. Don’t hog the blankets." "Mister Honeybuns, I’m trusting you with the night shift." You’re cackling behind your hands now, feet kicking under the covers. He picks up the final plush, a soft brown bear in pink pyjamas, and kisses her head with exaggerated reverence. "Sleep tight, Princess Snugglebum." You squeal. "Matt! That’s not her name!" "It is now." You huff, all faux-drama and sparkly eyes, and finally scoot over. "Fine. You may enter." He climbs in with a groan of relief, tugging you instantly into his arms, face pressed to your hair. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he mumbles into your neck.You grin, snuggling closer. "You’re lucky you’re forgiven."

His hand curls around your waist, thumb brushing slow, warm circles into your skin. And just like that, the world fades out, wrapped in plushies, his arms, and the quiet rhythm of being loved exactly how you need.