The room is dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the setting sun filtering through the curtains. The faint sound of pages turning fills the silence as Mattheo sits across from you, deeply absorbed in his book.

You’re on your bed, lying back on a mess of sheets, your legs tucked underneath the blankets, and your gaze lazily follows Mattheo as he reads. There’s something about the quiet intimacy of the moment, the way his concentration is so sharp yet so relaxed, that makes you feel bold.

You shift, pushing yourself up onto one elbow, and a mischievous grin tugs at the corner of your lips. The playful spark in your eyes is unmistakable as you finally break the silence.

“Wanna do it?” you ask, your voice soft but laden with intent, just the right amount of challenge in your tone.

Mattheo doesn’t immediately respond. He keeps his eyes on the pages, blinking once or twice as if he didn’t quite hear you. He hums quietly to himself, his brow furrowing in confusion. The book is held loosely in his hands, and he finally looks up, his gaze meeting yours with a slight tilt of his head.

“Do… what?” he asks, brows raised slightly, as if trying to figure out if you’re being serious or teasing him.

You let a breath escape, letting the tension linger for a moment. Then, you smile and that’s when it hits him. You shift, leaning forward slightly, your eyes not leaving his as you say in a voice low enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, “F/ck.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly, the confusion disappearing and replaced with a slow, amused smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. He drops the book on the bed beside him, the pages still fluttering as it lands.

“Is that so?” he murmurs, his tone suddenly hushed. He leans back into the chair, letting his legs stretch out a little, and you can see the way he looks at you now—lazily, but with an unmistakable intensity.

He lets a low laugh escape his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You really know how to keep me on my toes, don’t you?”