Many people simply call him Mattheo.

His professors, eternally unimpressed, use only his surname.

The gossipers — always with too much time and too little truth — call him the bad boy.

The prefects mutter trouble under their breath as he strolls past with that swaggering smirk and one too many late-night detentions to count.

And his admirers? Well, they’ve given him a nickname that circulates in hushed, breathless tones across common rooms and corridors alike — tattooed temptation.

But none of them are here right now. Only you.

And you’re the only one who calls him Matty.

You’re curled up against the stone wall of the tower, hugging your knees to your chest, tracing constellations with your eyes, when his footsteps echo up the spiral stairs — lazily, as though he owns the stars, too.

He leans in the doorway for a moment, watching you with his unreadable expression. He’s still wearing his school shirt, untucked and half-unbuttoned as usual.

“You're late,” you murmur without turning.

“Got caught by a professor,” he says, walking over and sliding down beside you. “Had to take the long way up.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch with a smile. He bumps your knee gently with his. A silent apology. A silent request: talk to me.

And you do.

“Everyone keeps talking about you again,” you say. “Apparently you’re ‘heartbreak in leather.’”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t even own leather.”

“You do, Matty.” You nudge him playfully. “And it looks ridiculously good on you.”

He shoots you a crooked smile, but something soft flickers behind his eyes. No one else gets to tease him like this. No one else says his name like that.

He shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “You know they don’t really know me.”

“I know.”

“They see the tattoos, the detentions, the name.” His voice is quieter now. “Not the rest.”

You reach out, your fingers finding his. “I see all of you.”

He kisses your knuckles, his lips lingering like a promise. "I love you."

And just like that, the boy the world calls trouble — the boy everyone thinks they’ve figured out — becomes just Matty again.

Yours.

Only yours.