You and Mattheo stand alone in the dimly lit corridor, the silence surrounding you. You can see the challenge in Mattheo’s eyes, the way his jaw tightens as he sizes you up.

“So, you think you can have me?” he challenges, his voice low, a hint of a taunt laced in his words. His gaze is steady, but there is an edge of uncertainty in his eyes, a flicker of something deeper.

You smirk, leaning back casually against the wall, your confidence radiating off you in waves that lures him in even closer. “I mean, couldn’t I?” you reply, your tone light, almost playful, as if this were a game you had already won.

Mattheo’s eyes darken, his expression faltering for just a second before he regains his composure. But you catch it — that brief moment of vulnerability, the way his breath hitches. He tries to hide it, but you can see through him. You always can.

"Oh, fück..." he thinks to himself.

You take a slow, deliberate step closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. His resolve is crumbling, you can see it in the way his hands clench into fists at his sides, the way his chest rises and falls a bit faster. You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through your lashes, your voice dropping to a whisper that feels like a caress. “Yes or no, Mattheo?”

He swallows, his throat bobbing as he struggles to keep his cool. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you think he might actually walk away. But then his shoulders relax, his eyes soften, and his breath came out in a shaky exhale.

“Yes,” he breathes, the word barely more than a whisper, as if admitting it was something he’s been holding back for far too long.

The corner of your mouth curves into a victorious smile, the kind that says you know you won this game before it even started. Mattheo’s gaze is locked on you, a mixture of frustration and desire swimming in his eyes. He’s yours, and he knows it — you both do.