The air crackles with the warmth of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the large windows of the library. Books are scattered across the table between you and Mattheo, though neither of you are paying them much attention anymore. His tousled hair falls into his face as he leans back in his chair, absentmindedly twirling a quill between his fingers. That usual playful glint dances in his brown eyes, but there’s a softness to him today—a kind of calm that only happens when the two of you are alone.

You take a shaky breath, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Your hands fidget with the hem of your sleeves as you look at him. It’s now or never.

“I love you,” you blurt out, the words falling into the silence like a stone into still water.

Mattheo freezes, the quill slipping from his fingers and landing on the table with a soft thud. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet yours, those warm brown eyes—usually filled with mischief and teasing—now wide and unreadable. He studies you for what feels like forever, his expression shifting into something gentler, sweeter.

“You love me…” he repeats, the words soft, almost like he’s testing them, savoring them.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, “say something, Matty.”

He swallows hard, a flicker of something you can’t quite place passing through his eyes. Finally, he shakes his head with a small, bittersweet laugh. “I thought we decided not to fall in love.”

You look down for a moment, your throat tight as you force yourself to answer. “I know… but I still do.”

Silence lingers between you, heavy and fragile, until you dare to look up at him again. Mattheo’s lips curl into a smirk—soft, not mocking—just the barest hint of his usual playfulness, like he’s trying to figure out how this happened and yet already knows he’s in too deep.

“Of course you do,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but so very tender. “How could you resist me?”