The common room crackled with tension as you leaned against the stone fireplace, arms crossed, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline of the fight. The room was silent except for the occasional pop of the fire and the distant hum of voices echoing down the corridors.

Mattheo sat slumped on the edge of the couch, bl00d trickling from his split lip, a dark bruise already blooming on his cheekbone. His unruly curls fell into his face, which was illuminated by the firelight—still maddeningly smug despite the obvious damage.

"You should see the damage I did to your pretty face," you snapped, the venom in your voice only half masking your guilt.

Mattheo’s lips curled into a lopsided smirk, the kind that made you want to hit him all over again and kiss him at the same time. His dark eyes sparkled mischievously as he tilted his head, the wince betraying the pain he refused to show.

"Oh, darling," he drawled, his voice honeyed and infuriating, "as long as you think I’m pretty, I don’t give a damn about what I look like."

The audacity of his response made your stomach flip, though you fought hard to suppress the twitch at the corner of your lips. You rolled your eyes, pushing off the fireplace and pacing the room, trying to mask the heat rising in your cheeks.

"You’re impossible, Mattheo," you muttered, glancing back at him.

"And you’re breathtaking when you’re furious," he shot back, his smirk widening despite the pain it caused. "Though next time, maybe don’t aim for the face?"

"You’re lucky I didn’t aim lower," you retorted, though your tone had softened, and he knew he’d already won this round.

Mattheo leaned back, wincing slightly as he adjusted his posture, but his smirk never wavered. "Fair enough, love. Fair enough."