Most students had disappeared into their dorms, but you and Mattheo were curled up on the couch, his hand resting lazily on your thigh. Yeah, he loved it.

"You're staring again," you muttered.

“I like what I see,” he replied.

You could feel his eyes on you. The kind of stare that was annoying and addictive all at once.

The faint scent of cigarettes clung to his hoodie—but you knew better than to mention that you wanted one too.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered, catching your glance toward the pack on the table.

You looked up. “Double standards much?”

Mattheo’s hand squeezed your thigh slightly. “You’ve got better things to do with your mouth.”

Your face flushed, and you glanced away.

But he hated when you avoided his gaze.

In one swift move, he leaned forward, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back towards him gently.

“I’m talking to you,” he said, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

You rolled your eyes, but your breath caught. “You’re always talking to me.”

“And you’re always pretending not to care,” he said. His hand slid back down to your thigh like it belonged there.

In that moment, a group of girls walked past on their way to the dorms, each of them slowing just enough to sneak a glance at him. He is everyone's type.

He didn’t bother looking back at them. "Let them look.”

“They do.”

“But they don’t touch,” he said. “No one’s stupid enough to try.”

You laughed, stroking his hair. He immediately tilted his head into your touch, eyes half-closed.

“You’re like a cat,” you teased.

“Only for you.”

A beat passed.

“Oh, by the way,” he said suddenly, showing you a parchment. “Tell me why this professor hates me.”

"Mattheo," you blinked, "you got a 97 without even studying!"

"Yeah, but that professor clear hates me," he scoffed.

"Maybe i can tutor you," you smirked, teasing him.

He lifted you up and put your legs around his waist. "Now I'll show you what kind of tutoring we're going to do. Standing up." He winked and walked towards his dorm.