The fire crackles softly in the common room, its golden glow flickering against the ancient stone walls. You sit curled in your usual chair but your thoughts are elsewhere—drawn, like a thread being pulled, to him.

Mattheo leans against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he listens to his friends.

He's different now. Or maybe it’s just the way he looks at you that’s changed.

You remember first year, when his gaze would glide past you like you were nothing more than background noise. He was careless then, too caught up in his own world to spare you more than a passing glance.

By third year, that indifference had started to crack. He noticed you then—though mostly with irritation. A roll of his eyes when you bested him in class, a sharp glance when you spoke out of turn. His stare would linger, just for a second, before he turned away like it meant nothing. But you had felt it. The weight of it. Even then, before he would have ever admitted it.

Then came fifth year. And suddenly, his gaze felt different. He started watching you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. His smirks stretched just a little longer, his teasing remarks held something almost personal. There was something behind his stare then—like he was looking for something in you. Or maybe, in himself.

And now… now his gaze is something else entirely.

You don’t even have to look up to feel it. That quiet, burning stare. But when you do, when your eyes finally meet his across the room, it steals the breath from your lungs. His expression shifts—not in the cocky, calculated way it used to, but in something real. The smirk softens, his shoulders relax, and there’s a flicker of warmth beneath the mischief.

He doesn’t look away.

Because this isn’t like before. This isn’t a glance, isn’t a challenge. It isn’t sharp or teasing.

It’s reverence. Devotion. Smitten.

And the strangest part?

He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.