The library is quiet, the air thick with the scent of old books and ink. Sunlight spills through the tall windows, casting soft beams across the wooden tables where you sit hunched over your notes, absorbed in your work. The peaceful silence is broken by the unmistakable scrape of a chair.

Mattheo slides into the seat across from you, the movement smooth and deliberate. His dark eyes flicker toward you as his lips curl into a teasing smirk.

"Alright, be honest— which version gets me a date?" Mattheo asks, his voice low, clearly amused by whatever he thinks is about to unfold.

You don’t even look up from your notes. "None. Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean everyone wants to date you."

There’s a pause. He watches you closely, the silence thick between you. You don’t acknowledge it, but you can feel his gaze boring into you. When you finally glance up, his smirk has deepened, and there’s a flicker of something challenging in his eyes.

"So you think I’m hot?" he asks, his voice smooth, like he already knows the answer.

Your fingers tighten around your quill, but you don’t let your expression falter. "That’s not the point."

Mattheo leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. "Mm. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night," he murmurs, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

He doesn’t move away just yet. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as though daring you to say something, to react in any way. But there’s a quiet tension in the air now, something unspoken and electrifying.

Finally, he shifts in his seat, leaning forward just a little, and you can’t help but notice how the shift brings him closer.

"You’re not as immune to me as you think," he says softly, the words laced with that same playful challenge.

You meet his eyes, trying to maintain your cool, but inside you can feel your heart racing a little too fast. The air feels warmer now, as if the space between you has narrowed, and everything you’d been focused on before seems miles away.