The castle bathes in the moonlight as the distant sound of laughter from students still linger in the corridors.

Mattheo leans against the railing, his usual cocky demeanor is absent, replaced by something much more quiet.

"I don’t know what love feels like," he mutters, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Not the real kind, anyway. The kind that doesn’t leave you bIeeding."

You watch him carefully, the vulnerability in his words cutting through the usual bravado. You step beside him, the chill of the evening wrapping around you both. Your shoulders brush against each other for a fleeting moment.

"Maybe love isn’t supposed to hurt, Mattheo."

He lets out a low chuckle, but it lacks his usual arrogance. It’s bitter, almost tired. "Then I wouldn’t know what to do with it."

You turn slightly, studying his face, the way his jaw clenches like he’s bracing for something unseen. Slowly, you reach for his face, your fingers lightly brushing against his cheek.

"Maybe I could teach you."

Mattheo finally looks at you, the usual cocky smirk faltering. His dark eyes search yours, as if trying to decide whether to believe you, whether to let himself hope.

"Yeah?" His voice is almost hesitant—almost hopeful. "And what if I’m a terrible student?"

You grin, letting a soft chuckle escape your lips.

"Don't worry. I'm a pretty thorough tutor."