The room hums with low music and smoke, the dim amber lights casting shadows that flicker against the walls. You lean back in your seat, nursing the last sip of your drink. Across from you, Mattheo sits sprawled out, owning the space as effortlessly as he does your attention. His black curls fall messily over his brow, and that ever-present cigarette rests lazily between his fingers.

He takes a slow drag, his eyes dark and unreadable — though you don’t miss where his gaze lingers. His lips curl ever so slightly around the cigarette as his eyes trace the curve of your chest. It’s bold, unapologetic. You clear your throat, arching a brow, amused despite yourself.

"What about them?" you ask, tilting your head to challenge him.

His smirk widens. He exhales smoke, letting it drift between the two of you before answering. "They intrigued me."

You blink, surprised at his candor. "Really?" A laugh slips out, light and teasing. "I think they're so tiny."

Mattheo chuckles, deep and throaty. "I like them anyway."

Your heart beats just a little faster. You bite your lip, the corner of your mouth quirking upward. "Thanks. I like your hands."

He brings the cigarette to his lips again, the flame briefly illuminating his features. "Your mouth," he says smoothly, voice low and rough.

Heat creeps up your neck, but you don't back down. "Your abs," you counter boldly.

He exhales through his nose, eyes gleaming with playful intent. "Your voice," he murmurs.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes in playful defiance. "Chest," you shoot back without missing a beat.

"Eyes," he replies instantly.

"You said that..." you tease, your lips quirking into a grin.

Mattheo doesn’t flinch. His voice drops lower, turning serious, raw. "I meant it."

The sincerity of his words lingers in the charged space between you, thick as the smoke swirling around him. It hits you differently, stripping away the playful banter, leaving only tension in its wake.