Mattheo sat cross-legged on the edge of the sofa and smirked. “We are gonna find you a woman, Tommy,” he said, chuckling.

Tom didn’t even look up at him. “No.”

Mattheo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Even your black heart needs a little love.”

Tom barely shifted, the weight of his indifference palpable. “I need some silence.”

“Not now,” Mattheo countered, his grin widening. “I wanna know your type. Let’s start. Blonde, brunette, or something more fancy?”

Tom rolled his eyes, a dry exhale escaping him.

“Tommy! I am waiting,” Mattheo said, tapping his fingers against his knee.

“Say ‘Tommy’ again and-”

“And I’ll stay here all day,” Mattheo cut in without missing a beat. “So what hair color?”

Tom sighed. “Maybe… blonde.”

“Like honey blonde?” Mattheo prodded, leaning closer.

“One answer is enough,” Tom muttered, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

“And eye color?” Mattheo continued, undeterred.

“Who cares?” Tom replied, waving a hand lazily.

“The women out there, brother,” Mattheo said.

“The women out there will be interested to see what’s written on your grave if you keep this up,” Tom replied dryly.

Mattheo chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “So come on… blue, green, or dark eyes?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t care… ‘cause I’m not interested.”

Mattheo let out a long, teasing whistle. “Ah, so you’re playing hard to get with… yourself?”

Tom snorted. “You really need to learn when to shut up.”

Just then, you passed by, carrying a book in one hand. Tom’s head tilted slightly in your direction and his eyes flicked up for a fraction of a second and Mattheo caught it immediately.

“Hmm… interesting,” Mattheo murmured. “You do not care about anyone… because you already have someone in mind, isn’t it?”

Tom’s jaw tightened, and he looked back at the floor, refusing to confirm or deny anything.

“Oh, come on,” Mattheo teased. “Don’t even try to pretend. I see that little flicker in your eyes. You’ve got someone, and it’s not a brunette, not a blonde, not ‘something fancy’ - it’s her.”

Tom’s lips twitched, just enough to betray a faint smirk. “Keep talking, Mattheo. Let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

Mattheo ignored him. “You know, this changes everything. Blonde, maybe… doesn’t matter. Blue, green, dark… doesn’t matter. Because when you meet the right person, nothing else matters. You’ll stop giving a damn about eye colour, hair colour... hell, maybe even me bugging you about it.”

Tom smirked. “You’re really relentless, you know that?”

“And you love it,” Mattheo said with a grin. “Come on, admit it.”

Mattheo sat back, satisfied. “I knew it,” he whispered to himself. “I knew it… it’s always been {{user}}.”