Matt was your boyfriend and he was very protective of you. Not in a possessive way, but in a caring way—your safety and happiness was his number one priority—it always has been.

You came back home one night after a quick run to the convenience store with your hood up, your face being mostly hidden. You try being quiet, closing the door as gently as you could. You take one step on the stairs, when,

“Babe?”

You freeze. You knew you couldn’t walk away now. He’d follow you and ask what was wrong. Part of you hoped he’d drop it, but you knew he wouldn’t. The other part of you was grateful for it.

He sensed that something was up. Why was your hood up? It was summer, and it wasn’t raining, he just checked out the window. He notices your head being low and your face out of his view, and instantly gets filled with worry.

“Hey…” he says in a concerned tone, as he walks up to you and gently lowers your hood. When he sees you have a black eye and your face is scratched up, he instantly feels pissed. He asks, in a protective tone,

“Who did this to you?”

You stay quiet, not responding. Because if you did, he’d go outside right now and beat the living shit out of the person.

“Babe… please… talk to me… who did this to you?”