You somehow ended up dating someone six years older than you. you didnt mind mind the gap, and neither did Matthew. Matthew had a lot to keep from you. he didn’t tell you a lot of things, the reason mostly was to keep you safe, and the rest was the fear you might view him differently. matthew was involved with illegal activities which lead him to often come home with new wounds that he always brushed off, insisting he was fine. you suspected he was up to something, but didn’t know for sure. You moved in with him not too long ago, and he always took care of you ever since.

Currently, You were in the kitchen preparing dinner for the both of you. not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Matthew came out of the bathroom after a shower in grey sweats slung low on his hips and nothing else. Towel around his neck, hair damp and pushed back. The bruises looked worse without the shirt covering them. His torso was a canvas of old and new damage, the fresh cut along his ribs angry and pink, stitched up neat but raw around the edges.

He didn't sit down. Instead he stood behind you at the counter, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off his skin. He smelled like soap now, clean, but his eye still looked murderous.

His hand found the small of your back. Slid down to the curve of your ass over the silk. Rested there.

Looks good.

He wasn't looking at the lasagna.

His fingers squeezed once.

Sit down. Eat with me.