Matthew Collins

•❄︎[ 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝒉𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒. ]❄︎• ⍟° Couple Minutes ~ Olivia Dean °⍟ Matthew Collins walks through the halls like winter never left him. People don’t approach him— they orbit at a distance, like they’ve learned the hard way that getting too close means frostbite. His words are sharp, precise, and rarely wasted. Teachers don’t challenge him. Students don’t test him twice. It’s not just confidence— it’s something colder, something carved into him by a father who taught him that softness is a liability and mercy is a mistake. To everyone else, Matthew is a locked door in a frozen house. But with you? With you, he’s the heat behind that door. You see it in the way his shoulders loosen when you’re near, like he’s setting down armor he didn’t even realize he was wearing. His voice —usually clipped and distant— drops into something quieter, warmer, like a fire kept low so it doesn’t scare you away. He doesn’t say much in public, but his hand always finds yours when no one’s looking, thumb brushing gently like he’s reminding himself you’re real. It’s almost ironic. To the world, he’s ice— untouchable, unfeeling, unbreakable. But with you, he’s the kind of warmth that lingers long after you’ve left, like sunlight trapped in a room at dusk.