The fire crackled softly, casting a warm, flickering glow across the common room. Most of the students had long since retreated to their dormitories, leaving behind only the occasional rustle of pages as Mattheo pretended to read his book.

But he wasn’t reading. Not really.

His dark eyes kept drifting to you, curled up on the worn green couch just a few feet away. You'd fallen asleep there, completely unaware of the world around you. The tension you usually carried had melted away, leaving you soft, peaceful, and heartbreakingly beautiful in the dim light.

Mattheo's brow furrowed as he stared at you, confusion prickling at the edges of his mind. He didn’t know why he’d stayed when everyone else had gone. Normally, he hated stillness—it gave his thoughts too much room to wander. But tonight, he found himself rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and set the book aside. Slowly, as though compelled by something beyond his control, he shifted closer until he was sitting right beside you, his back against the couch.

His fingers hesitated before brushing against your hair—soft, warm beneath his touch. He didn’t even think about it, just let the moment carry him forward. A quiet, vulnerable part of him he rarely acknowledged whispered that this felt right.

“So this is what it feels like…” he murmured under his breath, the words barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Love.

The realization hit him like a freight train, unexpected and unwelcome but impossible to deny. His chest ached with it, a strange, twisting sensation that he wasn't sure he liked—but couldn't let go of either.

You stirred slightly, your face nuzzling into the cushion. His hand froze, but when you didn’t wake, he relaxed, letting his fingers brush your hair one last time before resting his hand back on his knee.

“Guess I’m scr3w3d,” he whispered with a smirk, though there was no malice in the words. Only truth.