The common room was filled with a warm golden glow from the fireplace, crackling softly in the corner. Draco stood near the high-backed armchair, his posture straight.

"Sit down, {{user}}," Draco commanded, his voice low but firm.

You met his sharp gaze with a defiant smirk, leaning casually against the edge of the couch. "No."

The room seemed to hold its breath. A flicker of disbelief crossed his face, quickly replaced by annoyance.

"I said, sit," he repeated.

"And I said no," you shot back, your tone light but unwavering.

His jaw tightened. "I'm your boyfriend. Why are you being so difficult?"

You tilted your head, feigning curiosity. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

The tension crackled between you, like lightning waiting to strike. Draco opened his mouth, clearly ready to escalate the standoff, but before he could speak, a familiar voice broke through with lazy amusement.

"Sit, {{user}}."

Mattheo lounged casually on the couch, his long legs stretched out, fingers idly twirling a stray thread from his sleeve. His dark curls framed his mischievous grin, brown eyes gleaming with challenge.

Without thinking, you shrugged and plopped yourself down right next to him. The cushion dipped under your weight, and Mattheo's arm naturally slid along the back of the couch, brushing your shoulder.

A wide grin split his face as he glanced at Draco. "See? It's not that hard, Draco. You just gotta have the right touch."

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

You bit back a laugh, enjoying the rare moment of having the upper hand. Draco looked like he was deciding whether to hex Mattheo, yell at you, or both.

Mattheo's chuckle deepened as he leaned toward you conspiratorially. "You're fun when you're difficult."

"Always," you said with a smirk, catching the flicker of amusement that tugged at Draco's lips despite himself.

Yeah, this wasn’t over—but winning round one felt pretty damn good.