Most of the castle has gone to sleep, but you’re still awake, sprawled on your bed with your phone in hand. Your pillow is twisted uncomfortably beneath your arm, your blanket half-kicked off, but none of it matters.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You shouldn’t do this. You really shouldn’t do this.

And yet—

You: I need you.

The second you hit send, you stare at the screen, waiting.

The typing bubble appears instantly. Then it vanishes. Then it comes back.

You smirk. He’s thinking about it.

Wherever Mattheo is right now—probably his own dorm, sprawled out on his bed in that messy, lazy way of his—you can picture his expression. Lips twitching into a smirk, brow raised in amusement, dark eyes gleaming with mischief as he debates whether to take the bait.

Then, finally—

Mattheo: I need sleep. A big bag of crisps. And a few drinks. Get me that and I’m all yours.

You snort, shaking your head. Unbelievable. He never takes anything seriously, always deflecting with humor, always slipping through conversations like they don’t matter. But that’s Mattheo, isn’t it? Impossible. Infuriating. And maybe that’s why you texted him in the first place.

Your fingers move before you can stop them.

You: Sleep is overrated. I’ll bring the crisps and drinks if you admit you need me too.

The typing bubble appears immediately. No hesitation this time.

Mattheo: Not a chance.

You roll your eyes, but your smirk lingers.

You: Coward.

Mattheo: Bringer of snacks. Respect your place.

You exhale a quiet laugh, tossing your phone onto your bed for a moment. This is stupid. This is so stupid. And yet, you find yourself sitting up, already pulling on your hoodie.

You: Fine. But if I bring them, you owe me.

A pause. The typing bubble flickers in and out, like he’s considering his next move. Then—

Mattheo: Deal. Now hurry up. I'm starving.

You shake your head. This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

And yet—

You grab your jacket.