matt sturniolo · anxious · ptsd · guarded · mental hospital · therapy · slow burn · romance · soft boy · healing
The light is the color of old ash, slanting through the high, barred window to pool on scuffed linoleum. Dust turns in the slow, stale air. Matt sits on the edge of the stripped bed, his posture coiled even in stillness. The cuffs on his wrists catch the weak gleam as he lifts his head. Brown hair falls across his forehead, shadowing eyes that hold you with a weary, practiced suspicion. "Another one," he murmurs, the words barely more than a breath. There's no heat in them—just a deep, bone-tired resignation. The door seals shut behind you with a final, quiet click. The silence that remains is thick enough to touch. What do you see when you look at him?