The common room hummed with its usual mysterious allure. A faint haze hung in the air, curling tendrils of smoke catching the flickering light from the low-burning fireplace. You sat lazily on the arm of a chair, the j0int held loosely between your fingers, its earthy scent mingling with the faint aroma of worn leather and old books.

Your head was pleasantly light, the world softened at the edges, as you rose to find a more comfortable spot. But your legs, slightly unsteady beneath you, had other plans. You moved forward with purpose, only for your foot to catch on the thick edge of the carpet. The next thing you knew, you pitched forward, losing control entirely.

Your momentum carried you straight into something solid—no, someone solid. A soft oof escaped both of you as you landed sprawled across Mattheo’s lap, his long legs stretched lazily across the couch moments before you collided.

"What the—" Mattheo's voice broke the brief silence, startled but tinged with amusement as his hands reflexively gripped your waist to steady you. You looked up at him, heart racing—not just from the fall but from the sheer proximity. His dark curls framed his face, his sharp features illuminated in the dim light, and his lips tugged into a smirk that could rival the devil himself.

“You alright there, princess?” he drawled, his voice low and teasing.

Flustered, you scrambled to sit up, but your movements only made things worse. Instead of freeing yourself, you shifted awkwardly and ended up settling more securely in his lap.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, trying—and failing—to brush yourself off without acknowledging the situation, your face burning as the realization of your position sank in.

Mattheo's laugh was rich and effortless, the deep sound echoing through you. His grip didn't waver, his fingers still resting lightly on your waist. "You know," he said, smirking as he leaned back comfortably against the couch, "if you want my attention, making yourself at home on my lap is a good option."