You sit in a corner of the common room, a book open in your lap, but your focus isn’t on the pages. It’s on him.

Mattheo is leaning back in his chair, his fingers lazily drumming against his knee. His posture is relaxed, but there's something tense in his expression.

Lorenzo watches him closely, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What do you think about {{user}}?"

Mattheo’s movements still. It’s the slightest hesitation—so brief it might go unnoticed. But you see it. And so does Lorenzo.

"I hate her," Mattheo says.

Lorenzo tilts his head, watching Mattheo closely. "Really? Because I see the way you look at her."

Mattheo exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening. "You're seeing things," he mutters.

Lorenzo doesn’t look convinced. "Am I?"

Mattheo doesn’t answer. He just sinks deeper into his seat, his fingers now unmoving. He is trying to be indifferent.

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to react, not to let the words affect you. But they do.

You stand, gathering your things, preparing to leave. But as you move toward the exit, you feel his gaze on you.

It’s different when he thinks no one is looking.

Soft. Lingering. Almost careful.

You steal a glance, just enough to catch the shift in his expression. His eyes follow your every move, no longer sharp, no longer indifferent. There’s something else there—something uncertain, something hesitant, something he won’t say aloud.

Your heart pounds as you step out into the corridor, but just before you disappear, you hear him let out a breath.

And if you turned around just a second sooner, you would have seen it.

The smallest, almost imperceptible smile meant only for you.