manu

At first, it was surface-level things that had drawn you to your colleague. You liked that he usually wore a button-down shirt and a tie to school, but on some days, it was just a band shirt and a blazer. And you liked that he had a pretentious leather briefcase filled with notebooks for all of his disorganized thoughts and things he needed to remember. That quickly became you realizing how genuine he was in his mission to touch as many of these kids’ lives as possible. To him, the job wasn’t just about teaching English. It was about teaching kids what he wished he’d have known at their age. He wasn’t like the other teachers you’d met since getting a job at this high school. He had a restless energy to him, one that wouldn’t stop until he felt satisfied with the mark he’d left on the world. 

It was hard to pinpoint how it all started. Maybe it was the many lunch breaks you’d taken together, your shared love for literature, or the surprise coffee deliveries to your classroom in the middle of the day. If you had to pick one moment, it was probably when you’d chaperoned a school winter formal together, spending the night making eyes at each other while also ensuring that kids weren’t getting drunk or too handsy under the gymnasium bleachers. You still remember the way he reacted to seeing you in that dress, how he’d delicately fixed the strap of it when it slipped down your shoulder. The way it felt when his fingertips skimmed your bare shoulder, lingering for just a moment, you might as well have been a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl yourself. It was ridiculous the number of times you relived it in your head. Over and over, the memory alone caused your skin to prick with goosebumps. You couldn’t find it in you to be irritated with how distracting your colleague was. 

After that evening, the caffeine-fueled paper grading sessions in his classroom turned into sharing glasses of red wine in his apartment and chatting over music. You didn’t just talk about school or complain about which kids were giving you headaches (but he did love the occasional piece of hot work gossip, even if he pretends not to be that interested). You loved seeing a side of him that none of the other staff or the students got to see. His edges really didn’t appear all that sharp when he’d giggle at your stupid jokes or insist on calling you a cab when the night was through and the reality of school the next day hit you both hard. 

Matty told you all sorts of things when it was just the two of you, when his tie was loosened as well as his lips. You started to learn more about who he was before he became “Mr. Healy”. With how good he is at the job, you were shocked to learn that he’d never planned on being a teacher. Ever. He wanted to be a musician. A rock star, specifically, adored by thousands for his brilliant mind that was now mostly being used for catching plagiarized writing. When the band idea fell apart, along with his dreams of never having to return to school, he had to pick between wasting away delivering Chinese food or begrudgingly doing something with his life. 

“I fucking hated school,” he’d admitted to you bluntly one night, his back to you as he’d carefully flipped a record over on his pricy turntable. And that’s exactly what made him so good at connecting with the slackers and the trouble makers of his classroom. He knew them because he was them at one point in his life. There was no denying that Matty’s students loved him. They loved that he treated them like adults and wasn’t afraid to tell them where things were at. Sometimes, when walking down the hall, you’d linger for a few moments by his classroom door to hear him passionately lecturing, his voice carrying confidently through the room. There wasn’t a peep of side conversation amongst the kids. He had everyone captivated with his theatrics, pacing in front of the chalkboard with his hands gesturing wildly. Maybe he was a born showman after all, even if it wasn’t in the way he’d imagined.

You were a bit jealous of the way he could command his classroom, being a newer teacher yourself, but he was always happy to give you pointers and let you practice your lessons on him for feedback. It was nice to get tips on how not to let the kids totally trample you. According to Matty, they could sniff out a disingenuous person easier than anyone, and the best way to go about it was to just say what you mean. His wisdom was endless, and as were his rambles about the importance of the youth. You didn’t mind though. It was endearing to see a teacher that wasn’t burnt out and jaded yet like so many were.

The way you both felt, how close you were getting, it was risky, unprofessional, reckless, and yet felt far too right for what it was. Getting involved with a colleague that way, you both knew how badly it could go if people started to catch on. But, if anything, you’d say you were actually less productive at your job while having to constantly bite your lip and hide your urges when he was around. Maybe the danger was part of the allure, or perhaps he was just that damn attractive. It was all like an incoming, all-consuming storm that was impossible not to get swept up in. It felt like you were unraveling each other further every time you met outside of school, testing the other's restraint.

Your mind was constantly a mess of thoughts of Matty, some cleaner than others, and he wasn’t faring much better. The way his gaze would rake over you during English department meetings was simply unfair, stealing glances at the way you’d fidget with your pen or twirl your hair. And suddenly, undressing each other with your eyes just wasn’t enough. How much were you willing to risk to know his touch? His kiss? To feel the tattoos that were hidden under his dress shirts like thinly veiled reminders of his past?

You remember how it felt to kiss him for the first time. It was a culmination of every lingering glance, every loud laugh shared on your lunch breaks, every “accidental” brush of hands. It was deep and desperate and raw with roaming hands that tugged on clothes and dug into skin. He kissed better than you could have imagined, his lips slotting against yours like he wanted to devour you. And god help you both if anyone found out what happened directly after that kiss…

That all leads to now, visiting him in his classroom long after the final bell had rung. It was Friday, which meant everyone was desperate to go home and unwind, but Matty was still diligently working his way through a thick stack of papers. You simply watched him from his doorframe for a moment, taking in the way his eyes squinted as he caught a grammatical error on a page. He shook his head, his unruly curls bouncing as he grumbled something to himself before scratching over the page with a red pen. It was hard not to adore him.

“Your hair looks crazy. Have you been teaching all day like that?” you say, arms crossed over your chest.

Matty’s eyes light up just at the sound of your voice, the stress and tension of grading melting away from his features as he looks up at you with a smile. He just shrugs casually, giving a halfhearted attempt to smooth out his thick hair, only to have it bounce back in odd directions.

“Hi. And, yeah, whatever. I think I’ve made it worse by nearly tearing it out over these,” he says, lifting up the stack of paper just to drop it back on his desk with a hefty thud, “If only they’d let me change the curriculum a bit, I’d give them something to read that would actually blow their little minds. I’m sick to fucking death of To Kill a Mockingbird, and so are they.”

“You could give them an extra credit assignment? Make it whatever you want,” you suggest jokingly, causing him to snort and drop his pen in defeat. It clatters on the desk as he shakes out his hand that’s cramped from writing.

“Yeah, good one. But seriously,” he continues, motioning to the scribblings of red pen all over the pages, “This is what you get when kids are uninspired, you know?”

You hum thoughtfully, knowing that he had big dreams of opening up kids’ worlds, showing them what he calls “the real shit”. After shutting the door and locking it (something you were quite used to by now), you push off the doorframe to approach his desk, sitting on the edge of it that wasn’t covered in papers. His eyes flicker over you for a moment, his gaze simmering with interest before forcing himself to look back down. His fingers rhythmically tap on his lap like he was visualizing this new, better syllabus in his mind.

“What would you rather them be reading? Kafka?” you tease. 

Matty rolls his eyes, reaching out to lightly smack your knee for being a smartass. 

“God, no, not Kafka,” he says, “What’re you fidgeting with over there?”

You raise your eyebrows slightly as he easily notices the way your hand is fiddling with something in the pocket of your cardigan. You pull out a small, folded-up piece of paper that was tucked inside, smoothing it out for him to read.

“This was inside the sleeve of my coffee today. Any idea how it got in there?” you ask casually, smiling as he pretends not to recognize his own handwriting. This was not the first little note he’d left for you with your coffee delivery, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“‘Your arse looks great in that skirt’. Hm. Some horny baristas out there, huh?” he says before unabashedly looking at your backside, biting his lip, “They’re not wrong though, are they?”

“Classy,” you quip, “Where’d you get it? It was really good today.”

He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair comfortably. How did he always look so effortlessly cool? 

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Why?” 

“Because then you wouldn’t need me to get you coffee anymore, would you?”

You shake your head softly with a huff, crossing one leg over the other as the slightly crude note sat on his desk, signed “Westley” with a heart. It was a silly, secret code you’d come up with while tipsy and bonding over a childhood love for the book, The Princess Bride. Of course, you were Buttercup. You’d both started doing it as a joke, but maybe you’d grown more attached to it than you wanted to admit.

“Why would I fire my favorite delivery boy?”

“I’m your only delivery boy, thank you very much,” Matty states proudly, placing his hand on your thigh as he looks over his mess of a desk. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs back and forth over your skin, awakening some familiar, warm feelings in you.

“I need a break,” he admits with a sigh, running his free hand over his weary face while his leg bounces relentlessly under his desk, “My brain is melting out my ears.”

You watch as he glances around the room and towards the door, making sure it’s closed and locked before his restless gaze lands on you again. His expression is a bit wild. He got like that when he’d been doing the same thing for too long.

“C’mere,” he whispers, beckoning you with a pat of his lap. He needs you close, your presence like a much-needed reset for his overworked mind. You quieted the noise for him like nothing else did. 

You didn’t have to be asked twice. You slowly slid off the desk and onto his lap, sitting sideways across his legs. His hands guided you by your waist to sit comfortably. Matty sighed deeply, letting out a prolonged breath of relief through his nose. He allowed himself to slump forward slightly, his shoulders sagging as he rested his forehead against your neck. The scent of you, mixed with your perfume, somehow always lulled him into a state of surrender. A shiver crawls down his spine as he remains that way, breathing you in with his hands firmly at your waist. 

“Working too hard?” you murmur, reaching to gently rub one of his temples, listening to the sound of his slow breathing.

A grumbled “Mm…” is all you get in response. Matty begins to leave a series of tender kisses along your neck, gently pushing your hair out of the way to make more room for his lips to trail over your skin. Your lashes flutter for a moment with pleasure, enjoying how naturally sensual he could be.

“Tell me about your day. I’ve just been complainin’,” he says softly, his voice low and gravelly near your ear as he rubs small circles over your hip bones with his thumbs.

“Mm. Was alright. I still feel like I don’t have my stern teacher voice down yet,” you smile sheepishly, closing your eyes as your head slowly lolls to the side.

He huffs out a laugh that tickles the sensitive skin of your neck. It makes your chin dip down, a grin breaking out on your face.

“I dunno what you mean. You can be very scary, babe.”

You weren’t so sure. Maybe it was just in your head, but you felt like whenever you used a harsher tone, it came across as false, too forced. Your dislike for conflict always seemed to seep through in the waver of your voice. If you didn’t believe that you could be in charge, how would your students?

“Let me hear yours.”

“What, now?” he chuckles, his lips pulling into a smirk.

You nod, letting your fingers run through his dark curls. Matty clears his throat dramatically, as if preparing to deliver a rousing speech. His voice drops an octave when he speaks, coming out cold and authoritative in your ear in a way that makes your heart stutter and your face feel hot. 

“Detention. Now.”

He played the part well, but just as quickly ruined the image by grinning like an idiot and kissing the side of your head. You can’t help but laugh as he turned from Mr. Healy to your dork boyfriend Matty right before your eyes.

“Ohh, wow,” you tease, playing up your reaction with a hand over your heart, “I’m scared.”

“Yeah, you should be, miss,” he says, reaching to grab a handful of your ass through your skirt. When you were alone this way, he couldn’t seem to stand not touching you. But, there was even the rare occasion where you’d feel a hand on your leg under the table at a department meeting. 

Matty’s eyebrow quirks as he notices a sparkle in your eyes, knowing that you’re about to suggest something less than school-appropriate. He narrows his eyes at you, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“You should tell me to get on your desk next,” you request coyly, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Oh, should I?” he chuckles lowly, smiling as he leans in to briefly kiss you, the second of contact making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He just looks at you for a moment, his eyes soft and fond as they flicker over your face. It always feels like time has slowed down entirely when he looks at you that way, each second dragging on longer than the last. He cocks his head towards his desk.

“Go on then, hop up. Or, erm…” he pauses, clearing his throat to attempt his stern teacher voice again, “Get on the desk, you delinquent.” It’s not as effective when he’s trying to stifle a smile, and his voice quavers with amusement. 

“Stop!” you chuckle as he leans in to nip your jaw with his teeth playfully.

With a light smack to your backside, you were up off his lap and onto his desk, a few items rattling as you quickly settled in. Matty shoves the pile of unmarked papers aside, caging you in with his arms as he stands up from his chair. There’s a wickedness in his expression that peeks through the exhaustion, a gleam in his dark eyes that wasn’t entirely stifled by the stacks of lackluster writing. You hum softly as he begins to lean in, closer and closer, until his warm breath fans across your lips. Your hands knot into his hair, feeling the dark, soft tresses between your fingers. He just smiles, knowing the effect he has on you.

“Quit drooling,” he mutters, his eyes darting over your face restlessly as he drags the tip of his index finger down your lips.

“I’m not,” you whisper, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, “Tease.”

Matty lets out a raspy chuckle before grasping your jaw, tilting his head to press his lips to yours. Instantly, you’re drawing him closer by putting your legs around his waist, drawing his lanky body in until he’s flush against you. One of his hands stays on your jaw while the other moves to your hip. You inhale him deeply as your lips slot together, the woody scent of his cologne only dizzying you further. A warm, tingling sensation floods through you as his fingertips just barely break the barrier of the hem on your shirt. God, what a thrill. 

“Your hands are cold,” you complain, jumping slightly as his icy fingers spread out against your side. 

“Yeah? Warm them up then,” Matty replies huskily against your lips, his hand only sliding further up your shirt, grazing over your ribs now.

He relishes the shiver that skitters through you, bringing you impossibly closer as he kisses you senseless. By the time he breaks the lip lock to press hasty kisses to your neck, you’re both panting softly. Your head lolls backward, your hair spilling over your shoulders as Matty lovingly assaults your skin with a barrage of kisses. You can’t help but laugh breathlessly at how determined he seems to cover every inch of your neck and jawline. Now, his hand is warm again under your shirt, the inviting temperature making it creep upwards towards your bra. 

“God,” he whispers, sounding almost pained by how good your lace-covered breast feels when it’s cupped in his hand. Matty’s head was spinning with all the thoughts of things he could do while you were perched on his desk this way. 

In a split second, he’s hiking your shirt over your bra and helping you shrug off your cardigan, fueled by what can only be described as unfiltered need. He mutters something that sounds like a string of swears under his breath as he glances down, shifting slightly to adjust the growing bulge in his slacks. You lean back on your hands, your chest heaving as Matty takes in the view. You like it when he does that. No matter how many times he’s seen you with your shirt off, he reacts like it’s a privilege, like you’re the most angelic thing he’s ever been allowed to behold. He wasn’t spiritual by any means, but he honestly believed that you, touching you, loving you as his most prized secret, brings him closer to something divine than anything else. 

Starving, you pulled him in by his tie for more, your skirt hiking further up your thighs. It was hot, too hot to describe when his tongue was in your mouth and his hips were rolling against yours. You make a soft sound of pleasure, only for it to be instantly echoed by Matty in a low groan against your mouth. A lot of your jobs were spent reeling in teenagers, but really, you were no better than them when you got your hands on each other. Your wandering hands and friction-seeking hips were no better than those of a 17-year-old experiencing touch for the first time. It was exactly the same with Matty. Once you’d gotten just a taste of something forbidden, you could only think of the next time you could have it.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your eyelashes fluttering as Matty’s thumbs swipe over your nipples through your bra, the stiffness in his trousers pressing against your panties just right. So right, that you felt a throb between your legs like a pang of pure need. 

It was normal for you to get lost in him, especially with his hands setting simmering fires all beneath your skin. However, today, you’d gotten lost enough not to hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. It was only when the sound of keys jingling echoed right outside the door that you both froze. You swore you felt your stomach drop right to your feet as your eyes snapped open, pushing Matty back with a hand to his chest. His lips are wet and shining when you part, his eyebrows raised in shock. His expression is much like that of a deer in headlights. 

“Fucking hell, janitor coming for the trash,” he mutters, his breath trembling slightly. He nervously runs a hand through his hair, knowing they only have about two seconds before they’ll be exposed. “Under the desk, under the desk,” he says, motioning hurriedly for you to get down. 

You nearly hit your head against the arm of his chair as you scramble to huddle under his desk, your heart pounding in your chest. Matty sits back down just as fast, sliding his chair in with his legs spread wide to give you enough space. Well, as much space as you can get crouched down under a desk. You can barely take a full breath before the door is swung open, followed by the janitor’s raspy but warm voice.

“Oh, you’re here late!”

Matty clears his throat, forcing himself to display a somewhat normal smile as he talks, praying that his make-out mussed hair doesn’t look that different from his usual messy curls. Luckily, the trash can was near the door. Neither of you needed the man to be any closer to this ticking time bomb of a disaster that was hidden only about ten feet away.

“Ah, yeah. Papers,” he says lamely, motioning to the disaster on the surface of his desk.

You bite your lip to stifle a smile at how uncomfortable he looks. Poor guy. It definitely doesn’t help that you’re eye level with his–

“I’ll just be taking this and heading out, then!” the janitor exclaims, having no idea what he’d just interrupted. You can hear the sound of the garbage bag rustling as he gathers it up in his gloved hands. 

“Thank you,” Matty responds, his voice strained. He nervously clears his throat again, pretending to return to his work. “Um, and you’ve been well?”

“Oh, yes, can’t complain.”

Gingerly, you reach up to place your hands on Matty’s knees, which jerk the moment you touch them. He visibly locks up in his chair, glancing down at you with a look as his spine goes rigid. It was a warning look. He places one hand over yours that rests on his left knee, pressing it down hard to ensure that you wouldn’t let it wander any higher. In stark contrast to the disciplining pressure, he gently rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. Your heart jumped in your chest at the sensation, still racing as the tension in the room ran high. He mouths your name, followed by “Stop it. Be good”. Fuck. You watched him from under the desk as he now read the same sentence on one of the pages over and over again, too distracted to even think about absorbing any of the content. 

“Good night,” you hear, those two words undoing the vice around your lungs.

“Night,” Matty answers curtly, refusing to look down at you until the door is clicked shut again. 

The moment he’s fully gone, Matty raises both of his trembling hands, raking them down his face with an uneasy sigh. Relief could hardly describe the feeling you were experiencing. Neither of you could have ever lived down you being caught under his desk with your shirt shoved over your tits. The whole experience was only about a minute, but it might as well have lasted ten.

“Jesus fucking christ. That was like three years off my life,” he mutters, shaking his head wearily before his voice comes out again with a revived sense of vigor, “And you! What the fuck are you doing touchin’ me down there?!”

“It was for balance!” you defend, raising your hands up to show your innocence.

Okay, maybe it was three-quarters balance-related, one-quarter just wanting to see him squirm. Or… maybe more like half and half. Matty scoffs, staring at your disheveled form incredulously. He crosses his arms over his chest, simply radiating with skepticism. The intensity of the moment lingered on like an unshakable sense of unease.

“‘For balance’, my arse, love. C’mon,” he says, reaching out a hand while his eyes bored into you, “Trying to get us both sacked.”

You rise from the floor slowly, placing one hand on his chest as you stand between his legs. A slight pout was on your lips, as if you hadn’t almost caused a disaster. Matty exhales gruffly, trying to stifle the soft spot that ached for you in his heart, no matter what you did. “I’m sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

“Ah, no,” he says, wagging a finger at you, “I’m serious, you’ll be sitting on your hands next. And you never do think when it comes to this shit, do you? It’s always just fuck me on your desk, Matty! I can’t control myself!”

“I don’t sound like that!” you respond, faux exasperated at his terrible impression of your voice.

“Mm. Yeah, you do.”

You lean against his desk, then slowly pull your shirt back down and smooth it out over your torso. Just as quickly as the mood of desperation for each other had swept over you, it had been forcefully extinguished. 

“No more touching until we’re back to my place. Maybe by then I’ll have recovered from the fuckin’ heart attack you gave me.”

“Fine,” you sigh. You were too ramped up with leftover anxiety to think about kissing right now anyway.

You weren’t entirely sure when this would become a funny moment to laugh about, but you were sure that when you got to his flat, all would be forgotten the second his hands were on your hips again.

“We’re not doing this again in here,” he says with a point of his finger, his eyes intense with conviction.

1] meet cute━(f) // ross

2] apple cider━(f, s) // matty

3] scary movies━(f) // matty

4] long drive━(h/c, f) // dad!matty

5] elope with me━(a/f) // ross

6] by the fireplace━(f) // ross

7] autumn mornings━(s) // matty

8] stress relief━(s) // george

9] sick days━(f) // george

10] falling for you━(f) // matty

11] sweet touches━(f, s) // dad!ross

12] baking autumn treats━(f) // bbf!george

13] leaves fallen sparse━(f) // dad!ross

14] i wanna marry you━(f) // george

15] sneaking out

16] free space

17] stealing sweaters━(s) // fwb!george

18] in front of a mirror━(s, a) // ross

19] hot chocolate━(h/c) // matty

20] stay, stay, stay...

21] the perfect pumpkin

22] bonfires

23] pranks

24] candlelight━(s,f) // george

25] lights out━(h/c) // ross

26] all too well

27] ghosts

28] black cat

29] begin again

30] costumes━(???) // vampire!matty???

You blinked awake, groggily adjusting to the daylight. Matty, still half-asleep, groaned beside you. You turned to look at the source of the disturbance, a small figure standing at the edge of the bed, clutching her favourite stuffed bunny. Her big eyes—those dark, familiar eyes—were wide, and there was a slight quiver in her voice when she spoke.

"Mummy... Daddy..." Rosie whispered, her small voice thick with sleepiness. "I feel... sick."

You sat up, heart immediately lurching with concern. Matty stirred beside you but remained half asleep, only half aware of the situation.

"Rosie, sweetheart, what's wrong?" You reached out to her, pulling her onto the bed, wrapping her in your arms. She was warm, her forehead resting against your shoulder, and you could feel the soft rise and fall of her chest as she snuggled close.

"I... my tummy hurts," Rosie mumbled, her voice small. She looked up at you with those round, innocent eyes, her face scrunched in discomfort. "It hurts..."

Matty's eyes fluttered open then, his messy curls tumbling over his forehead as he blinked at the scene. "What's going on?" he asked groggily, his voice heavy with sleep. "Is she okay?"

"I think she has a stomach ache," you said, running a hand through Rosie's hair. "Do you feel sick, darling? Do you need some water or...?"

Rosie shook her head. "No..." She hesitated, twisting her fingers around the bunny's floppy ears. Then, after a long pause, she looked up at you, a little tearful, and said in a tiny, nervous voice, "I don't wanna go to play school."

Your heart softened, the knot of worry dissolving slightly. Matty, fully awake now, sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. "Ah, baba...." He leaned down and scooped Rosie into his lap, hugging her tight. "You don't have to be scared, you know that? Play school is fun! You're gonna have a great day."

"But... what if the other kids don't like me?" Rosie's voice quivered, her eyes wide with worry. "What if they don't want to play with me?"

You looked at Matty, both of you reading the same sentiment in each other's eyes: she was just scared. She was only three, but the world felt like a massive place to her sometimes.

"Rosie," you said gently, lifting her chin so she looked at you, "you're so special, sweetheart. And you know what? You're really brave. You'll make friends today, I'm sure of it."

"But what if I don't?" Rosie whispered, her lower lip trembling.

Matty let out a soft chuckle, pulling her close. "Sweetheart, if you don't make a friend today, it's okay. You'll make lots of friends eventually. But I know you're gonna be so good at making new friends because you're funny and smart and kind."

Rosie still looked unconvinced, though. Her stomach ache didn't seem to be a real physical one; it was all in her head. She wanted to stay home with you both, the warmth of the bed, and the safety of familiar arms. She wanted to be with her parents.

Matty glanced at you with a knowing smile. "Hey, love," he whispered, his voice low and comforting. "I think we need to show Rosie how brave she is, don't you?"

You nodded, smiling back. Matty's hand reached over, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind Rosie's ear.

"Why don't we do something, huh?" Matty said, his voice teasing but soft. "How about we make a special breakfast—maybe pancakes? You know, the ones with the big smiley faces, like the ones we made last week?"

Rosie's eyes flickered with interest. "The smiley pancakes?" she asked, her voice wavering but curious.

"Yeah, those," Matty grinned. "And after that, we can drop you off at play school together. Mummy and I will be right there, watching you be the star you are."

You could feel Rosie relaxing in Matty's arms, her body no longer as tense. She smiled a little, then yawned, still rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I guess I could go," she said softly, her little face lighting up with a tiny smile. "But... can we do the pancakes first?"

"Of course," you said, laughing softly. "How about this—after breakfast, we'll all go for a walk, and then you can show us all the new things you learned in play school. Deal?"

Rosie nodded eagerly, her earlier fear melting away. "Deal!"

Matty winked at you, his hand gently squeezing yours. You both knew that play school would be a bit of an adjustment for Rosie, but the moment you all shared this morning was one of those small, perfect reminders of how much love and warmth your little family had. Matty's mischievous grin and that sweet, familiar warmth he carried made everything feel like it would be alright.

As the three of you made your way downstairs to start breakfast, the nervousness in Rosie's eyes was already beginning to fade. Today would be a good day.

And maybe, just maybe, the pancakes really would help.

——————————————————————————

The smell of pancakes filled the kitchen, and Rosie had perked up considerably. She was now sitting at the kitchen table, her legs swinging excitedly beneath her, a half-eaten smiley face pancake on her plate. The soft clinking of cutlery and the hum of morning chatter surrounded you as you came down the stairs, dressed and ready to bring Rosie to school, as Matty flipped another pancake, humming one of his songs under his breath.

Rosie had been more quiet than usual, but it was clear her nerves were slowly slipping away. Every now and then, she would glance up at Matty, her little face lighting up with a mixture of awe and affection. You could see the shift happening in her—her earlier worries about play school starting to unravel.

Matty sat down beside her, placing a fresh plate of pancakes in front of her. "Alright, love, how are we feeling now?" he asked, ruffling her hair as he slid into the seat next to her.

Rosie poked at her pancakes for a moment before looking up at him, her big dark eyes meeting his. She bit her lip, thinking hard, then suddenly smiled and said, "Daddy..."

Matty looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"You're my best friend," Rosie said, her voice full of sincerity. "You always make me feel better."

Matty's face softened, a warm smile spreading across his features as he blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I'm your best friend?" he asked, his voice a little softer than usual.

"Yeah," Rosie nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing with the movement. "You make me laugh, and you're always nice to me. And when I'm scared... you're there."

You watched the exchange, your heart swelling. Matty, of course, was completely smitten. There was something about being called best friend by your three-year-old daughter that was bound to melt anyone's heart. And for Matty, a man who often expressed himself through music and words, those simple but genuine words meant more than anything.

Matty leaned over and pulled Rosie into a big hug, squeezing her tightly. "Well, you're my best friend, too," he whispered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Always."

Rosie hugged him back, squeezing her little arms around his neck. "So I don't have to be scared of play school anymore, right?"

Matty pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes, his fingers gently brushing a curl from her face. "Of course not. You've got your daddy and mummy, and we're always with you, okay? Even when you're at play school. You can think of us whenever you need us."

Rosie's eyes brightened, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Okay!" She gave her dad a big smile, and her whole demeanour seemed lighter. She then turned to you, her little hand reaching across the table to grab yours.

"Mummy, I think I'm ready," she said, her voice full of newfound confidence.

You smiled at her, squeezing her hand in return. "I think you are, love."

Matty looked at you with a proud grin, raising his eyebrows as if to say, See? She's ready. Then, leaning back in his chair, he chuckled softly. "Guess we've got a play school champion on our hands, huh?"

You laughed along with him. "Yeah, I think so. I'll bet she's going to have a blast today."

After a few more bites of pancakes, Rosie climbed down from her chair, still clutching her bunny, and headed toward the living room to gather her things for school, having gotten her dressed while Matty made the first place of pancakes, she was raring to go. Matty stood up to follow her, his hand resting on your shoulder as he leaned down and kissed your temple.

"She's amazing," he whispered, his voice low but full of affection. "She's so strong, and she doesn't even know it yet."

You nodded, leaning into him. "She's got you to thank for that, I think."

Matty smiled, his eyes softening. "Maybe. But she's her own person, too. She's got that fire in her that we don’t have."

You watched as Rosie, now a little more sure of herself, came back into the kitchen with her tiny backpack, her bunny tucked safely under one arm.

"I'm ready!" she announced proudly, her earlier hesitation completely gone.

Matty crouched down to her level, adjusting the straps of her backpack. "Alright, champ. You're going to have an amazing day. And when you get home, you can tell us all about it, yeah?"

Rosie nodded, her cheeks flushing with excitement. "Okay, Daddy! You and Mummy will be there to pick me up, right?"

"Of course," Matty said, his voice full of warmth. "We wouldn't miss it."

As you all walked to the door, Rosie gripping your hand with her tiny one, Matty gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "Remember, you're my best friend, and you're gonna do great. I'm so proud of you."

Rosie beamed up at him, her little heart full of love and courage, and with one last wave goodbye, she was off to the car ahead of you—off to take on her day, her fears forgotten, and her confidence restored.

Matty watched her go for a moment, his expression filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness. You caught his gaze, your eyes meeting his with a quiet understanding.

"Best friends, huh?" you whispered with a smile.