You sit in Professor Riddle’s classroom, your eyes fixed on him as he lectures. His smooth voice fills the room, each word captivating your attention, completely engrossed in his presence. Your gaze traces the sharp lines of his jaw and the way his dark eyes glint when he emphasizes a point. You’re lost in thought, imagining what it would be like to have his full attention on you, just for a moment.

A loud thud behind you jolts you back to reality. You blink and turn to see Mattheo, his familiar smirk firmly in place as he stands behind you. “Uh, hey, {{user}},” he says, gesturing to the books that have conveniently fallen off his desk. “Can you hand me those books? I seem to have knocked them off my desk.”

You roll your eyes at Mattheo’s obvious ploy. “Seriously, Mattheo?” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low so as not to attract Professor Riddle’s attention.

Mattheo leans closer, his smile widening. “Oh come on, {{user}}, what’s it going to take for you to go out with me?” he asks, his voice a low murmur meant just for you.

You glance at him, unimpressed. “I’m not interested, Mattheo,” you say flatly, turning your gaze back to Professor Riddle at the front of the room. Mattheo’s eyes follow yours, and he scoffs.

“Why not?” he presses, refusing to drop the subject.

“Because you’re not my type,” you reply, still watching Professor Riddle. There’s something about the professor’s demeanor, his intelligence, and the commanding way he holds himself that draws you in, more than any boy your age ever could.

Mattheo’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but he doesn’t back down. “And what’s your type, then?”

You feel a small smile tug at your lips as you respond. “I think I need someone older…” you say softly.

Professor Riddle’s gaze shifts to you, his dark eyes locking with yours. A small, knowing smile plays at the corners of his mouth. For a moment, the rest of the room falls away, and it’s just the two of you, connected by that shared look.