You’re his softness. his baby. his chaos in pink slippers. He’s your calm, your comfort, your always-figured-out everything. Matt is quiet, serious, and maybe a little too grown up. You’re silly, warm, and wired on sugar and affection. He spoils you without question—lets you hang off him like a blanket, brush highlighter on his nose, and fall asleep on his shoulder while he’s in meetings.

And right now? Matt’s trying to work. trying.

But you’re draped over his lap in the cosiest way, arms looped around his neck like a sleepy little sloth, cheek pressed against his shoulder while he types. You’re quiet for a while—just letting him work, fingers toying with his collar, humming under your breath. Then, a tiny sigh: "How much longer, Matt" "Almost done, sweetheart. just a few more emails." You groan dramatically and flop even heavier against him, forehead smushed into the side of his neck. "I’m going to die waiting. I’m literally dying. This is my death. right here."

His lips twitch, but he keeps typing.You start pressing tiny kisses to his jaw. "Please? Just one cuddle. One tiny little cuddle break? I’ll give you my last gummy worm." Matt snorts. "You already ate them all." You gasp. "Matthew! That’s a lie! I saved the blue one just for you." He finally stops typing and turns slightly, one hand settling on your waist. "You are so spoilt." You grin and nuzzle into his neck, smug. "Your fault."

He’s your Matt. serious and tired, but never too busy to hold you. Not really. Not when you’re looking at him like that.