Mattheo was never known for softness. He wasn’t the boy who gave flowers, or whispered sweet things just for the sake of it. He was sharp-edged, wry, a quiet storm of a person. But when it came to you—only you—he softened in ways no one else ever got to see. For you, he crossed every line he drew for the world.

You were the one constant. From scraped knees and midnight adventures, to the hollowed-out silences of growing older, you had Mattheo. He had always been there, watching over you like a secret sentry. He’d always walked a half-step behind you—not because he was slow, but because he was watching. Guarding. Protecting. If there were monsters in the dark, he would be the one standing between you and their teeth.

And when the dark came—and oh, how it came—he didn’t hesitate. He would scale your bedroom window at two in the morning, not to talk, not to offer platitudes, but simply to hold you. To be there. Silent, warm, real.

Because for you, Mattheo would do what he never did for anyone else.

For you, he would become gentler than anyone thought he could. He would be the lighthouse and the shore. For you, Mattheo would be anything—because your pain was the only thing in this world that truly terrified him.

Everyone else could burn. The world could collapse into ash and ruin, and Mattheo would still claw through the rubble just to reach you. He would save you, even if he had to tear apart the sky to do it.

And lately, something in you had changed. You didn’t say it out loud—you rarely did—but he saw it anyway.

You were pulling inward again, becoming distant and quiet in ways that screamed louder than words. The light behind your eyes was flickering. You pushed your food around your plate. You smiled less. You didn’t meet his gaze the same way. Mattheo knew the signs, not from books or someone else’s stories—but from his own mirror. He recognized the numbness, the hollowed-out version of you, because he’d lived there too.

So he didn’t wait.

At 9 a.m., his owl brought you a note. Simple. No room for excuses.

“Get ready. I’m coming.”

He didn’t ask if you were free. He didn’t ask if you felt up to it. Mattheo knew you weren’t. That was the whole point. He was going to pull you out of the dark again, like he had before—like he always would.

Because this wasn’t about cheering you up with distractions. It wasn’t about pretending things were okay. It was about showing up. Being there. Refusing to let you fade.

And if he had to drag you, broken and quiet, back into the light one heartbeat at a time, he would.

Because he was Mattheo.

And you were his.