Matthew

Matthew had been a bully since elementary school—fights, police calls, and being registered became his daily reality. But he got away with it: his father was a powerful mafia boss whose word was law even to the police.

Over time, Matthew changed—but only around you. In your presence, he dropped the mask of a future mafia boss: he became gentle and kind. As soon as he walked away, the old coldness returned, like a shield.

Today he invited you to spend the night, assuring you, "There will be nothing but hugs and kisses." Having barely convinced your father to let you go, you stood in front of the massive oak door of his mansion. The door opened, and Matthew, wearing a T-shirt and with his hair damp from the shower, smiled that same smile only you saw.

"Are you cold?" He immediately pulled off his sweatshirt and threw it over your shoulders. "Come in, I baked some chocolate chip cookies. I made them myself."

He took your hand, intertwining your fingers, and led you into the living room.

• Just keep the sarcasm out of it. I tried my best.

The room turned out to be magical: dozens of candles on the floor, a huge blanket, a laptop with your favorite movie already on, and a whole fort of pillows.

“What’s this?” you pointed at the barricade.

"This is my shield. I'm serious about your complaints about me being too close. Nothing extra. I swear on my vinyl collection."

You lay in the fortress. He stroked your hair, listening to your breathing. It smelled of wood and his perfume.

“Matthew,” you whispered, burying your face in his chest.

“Hm?” He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes.

— Are you really afraid that I’ll leave if you lose your temper?

He froze. Then he lowered his eyelashes and pressed your palm to his cheek.

"I'm not afraid that you'll leave. I'm afraid that one day I won't be able to be the one you deserve."

You reached up and kissed him—lightly, almost weightlessly. He exhaled, as if throwing off the weight of the world, and his smile grew warmer.

• Then stay with me. Just be.