The stone walls of the dorm felt familiar. You were wrapped in the thick blankets of his bed, the soft fabric a contrast to the cold stone that surrounded you.

Mattheo’s arm was draped around you, his body pressed against your back. The soft rustle of his breathing was the only sound, the kind of quiet you could sink into without fear.

You blinked your eyes open, the early morning light barely filtering through the window. You could hear the distant echoes of students stirring in the halls, but none of it mattered in this moment.

As you shifted, Mattheo’s fingers tightened around your waist instinctively, as if his body already knew what yours needed before your mind did. He pulled you closer, the movement seamless, like you belonged there, like you had always been meant to be there. His lips brushed against your neck in a sleepy kiss.

“Morning, love,” he mumbled, his voice rough from sleep, but steady and affectionate.

You smiled, even as your eyes fluttered closed again, content. “Good morning,” you whispered back.

His hand gently brushed your hair from your face, his touch tender. “Still don’t know how I got so lucky with you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he pulled you even closer.

You chuckled, your heart swelling with affection. You’d heard him say it a thousand times before, but somehow, the words always felt new, always meaningful. His love had been a constant in the ever-changing world.

You shifted slightly, turning to face him. His dark eyes met yours, full of that quiet intensity you’d fallen for years ago. The way he looked at you now, with that same devotion, made your heart race. It was a connection you could never explain—something deeper than words.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, as though that simple fact was the only thing that mattered in the world. “And I’m yours.”

You nodded, the truth of it settling deep within you. This was where you were meant to be. In his arms, in his world. You and Mattheo, together—always.

“Endgame, right?” he asked.