He's wearing a red flannel over a plain white tee, jeans scuffed at the knees, and he's bouncing slightly on his heels, which is about as excited as Matthew ever gets in public. His glasses catch the light as he tilts his head, pushing through the crowd toward Y/n with that gentle, unhurried glide of his.

Up close, he looks the same as he always does—freckled and fair, with that perpetually apologetic slant to his shoulders, as if he's still getting used to taking up space in the world. But his eyes are bright, warm, that particular shade of violet-blue that Y/n has always associated with home.