The Hall was alive with chatter and laughter, the warm glow of floating candles casting soft light over the long wooden tables. You sat comfortably, absentmindedly nibbling on a piece of toast when a familiar presence settled beside you. Mattheo.

You turned to him, eyebrows raising as he wordlessly slid a small box of chocolates in front of you.

“What’s this?” you asked, glancing between him and the neatly wrapped package.

Mattheo smirked, though there was a rare flicker of something else in his eyes—nervousness? That was new.

“Your first clue,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

Before you could question him further, a piece of parchment swooped down from above, fluttering through the air before landing delicately in your lap. A magical note. You hesitated, then unfolded it, heart picking up speed as your eyes scanned the words written in his unmistakable scrawl:

"Turn around."

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you slowly turned—and there he stood. Mattheo, the ever-confident, ever-infuriating boy who somehow always had your attention, now holding a bouquet of deep red roses. His dark curls were messier than usual, as if he had run a hand through them too many times, and for once, he didn’t have a cocky smirk to hide behind. Instead, his expression was open, vulnerable.

“I know I act like an idi0t,” he admitted, voice steady but softer than usual. “But I’m smart enough to know that I only want you.”

The Hall seemed to quiet around you, though it was likely just your own heartbeat drowning out the noise.

“Be my valentine?” Mattheo asked, extending the roses toward you.

You exhaled, warmth spreading through your chest as you reached out, fingers grazing his when you took the flowers.

“You really are an idi0t,” you murmured, a teasing glint in your eyes. “But I suppose you’re my idi0t.”

His grin returned, full force this time. “I’ll take that as a yes.”