You were sitting at a table in the library, hunched over a pile of books.

You felt his eyes on you before you saw him. That familiar tingle ran down the back of your neck.

Mattheo.

He was leaning against a bookshelf with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fixed on you. He didn’t smile. He never did in public. But there was a silent language in his gaze, as if to say, 'I’m here. I’ve got you.'

You gave him the slightest nod in return, and he tilted his head almost imperceptibly. Most people would never have noticed. But you knew Mattheo. That was his way of giving you a warm hug in public.

A group of boys walked past your table, talking too loudly for the library. One of them brushed a little too close to you. Mattheo didn’t move, but the boy caught his gaze and muttered an awkward “sorry” before hurrying on.

You smirked to yourself. Classic Mattheo.

---

Later that evening, the library was almost empty when you finally stood up to leave.

He was already behind you.

“You always know when I’m about to leave,” you murmured as he fell into step beside you.

“I always know everything about you,” he replied simply.

Once you were far enough away from the crowds, he reached out and took your hand, his fingers curling around yours.

“You’ve been watching me all day,” you teased softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked.

He gave a low chuckle. “I always do.”

You stopped just before the common room.

“Didn’t like the way that idiot got near you,” he muttered. “Next time, I won’t just look.”

You laughed, your hands resting against his chest. “You don’t have to be so protective.”

His jaw clenched slightly. “I do. You’re mine.”

Then he kissed you.

It was slow and deliberate, impossibly tender. The kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your heart race.

You were the only one who ever got this version of Mattheo.

And it was your favorite secret in the world.