The dim candlelight flickers against the stone walls, casting long shadows that stretch across the room. The soft patter of rain against the windows fills the silence, broken only by the steady scratching of a quill on parchment. You sit at the far end of the wooden table, fingers tapping absently against its surface. Across from you, Mattheo slouches in his chair, arms crossed, his dark curls falling messily over his forehead. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something about the way his jaw is set that tells you he’s barely holding back his frustration.

The weight of the silence is unbearable. Finally, you break it.

"Do you think we’ll be out of here soon?" you ask nervously, shifting in your seat.

The professor stops writing, setting her quill down with deliberate care. She exhales, then lifts her sharp gaze to you.

"You, yes. Him, no." She barely glances at Mattheo before adding, flatly— "He ass/ulted a student."

Your brows knit together as you turn to look at him. "Wait—what? How long are you going to keep him here?"

The professor folds her arms, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. "You and your boyfriend have somewhere to be?"

Your face heats instantly. "He is not my boyfriend!"

At this, she raises an eyebrow, her smirk growing slightly. "Then you’d better tell him that."

You blink, thrown off. "Tell him—what?"

She leans forward slightly, her voice soft but firm. "Only love makes you that crazy… and that f00lish." Her gaze flicks toward Mattheo briefly before settling back on you. "That boy’s in love."

Your breath catches. You turn to Mattheo, expecting him to scoff, roll his eyes, throw out some sarcastic remark. But he doesn’t. His smirk is gone, replaced by something quieter, something you can’t quite name. His fingers drum idly against his knee, and for the first time, he won’t meet your gaze.

The professor gathers her parchment and strides toward the door, leaving behind a silence that feels heavier than before.