Mattheo rounds the corner and freezes when he sees Tom sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of old, worn books stacked beside him.

“Tom, what are you doing?” he asks, trying to sound casual but failing as his curiosity gets the better of him.

Tom doesn’t even look up at first. “What does it look like I’m doing, Mattheo?” His tone drips with sarcasm, sharp and cutting. Then he sighs, finally meeting his brother’s gaze. “Obviously I’m trying to be alone to do dark magic, but you keep popping up everywhere I go.”

Mattheo holds up his hands in surrender, taking a step back. “Okay, okay, jeez. Forget I asked.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, the tension between them hangs in the air. Tom mutters something under his breath about interruptions before burying his nose back in the book, but Mattheo can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips.

Even when Tom tries to act annoyed, he’s impossibly magnetic, impossible to ignore.