Mattheo was always late. Always.

It didn’t matter if it was breakfast, class, or a stolen moment between the two of you—he operated on his own time, and no amount of exasperation on your part seemed to change that. At first, you thought it was just carelessness, but over time, you realized it was deliberate. He liked making an entrance, liked keeping people waiting just long enough to make them impatient. And when it came to you? Oh, he especially loved pushing your buttons.

So, standing here now, leaning against the cold stone wall of the dimly lit corridor, arms crossed, waiting for him yet again—you weren’t surprised. Annoyed? Absolutely. But surprised? Not in the slightest.

You heard him before you saw him, the distant, unhurried sound of his boots against the stone floor. A deliberate pace, like he had all the time in the world.

“Sorry, love,” he drawled, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

You leveled him with a stare. “What is it?”

Mattheo raised a brow, amused. “What’s what?”

You exhaled sharply, gaze flicking down to his wrist. He followed your eyes. “This?”

“Yes.”

His smirk deepened as he looked at the watch. “It’s a watch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And what do people normally use watches for?”

Mattheo tilted his head, studying you, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a laugh. “You’re mad because I’m late?”

A chuckle escaped you despite yourself. “You are a genius.”

Mattheo stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Well, I do try.”

You rolled your eyes. He knew exactly how to get under your skin, exactly how to make your irritation melt away with just a few well-placed words.

“Why do you even have a watch if you’re never on time?” you muttered.

Mattheo grinned. “Purely for aesthetic purposes.”

You groaned. “You’re impossible.”

His arms wrapped around your waist. “And yet, here you are, still waiting for me every single time.”

You sighed but couldn’t deny it. He was infuriating, but he was yours.