The corridor was dimly lit, the glow of lanterns flickering against the ancient stone walls. It was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices from the common room and the steady thrum of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You had barely turned the corner when Mattheo caught your wrist, pulling you toward him with a force that sent a spark of surprise through your body.

And then—his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t calculated. It was reckless, impulsive—everything Mattheo was. His hands rested lightly on your waist, as if afraid to hold on too tightly, as if he hadn’t fully processed what he was doing. His lips were warm, a contrast to the cool air of the dungeon corridor, and for a brief moment, the world outside of this kiss ceased to exist.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, he pulled away.

A look of realization dawned on his face, his signature smirk nowhere to be found. Instead, his dark brown eyes widened slightly, flickering over your expression as if searching for a reaction. His breathing was uneven, and when he stepped back, running a hand through his curls, you saw it—the unmistakable flush creeping up his neck.

Mattheo was blushing.

“Sorry, I—” He swallowed, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady. His usual bravado was gone, replaced with something vulnerable.

You blinked, still trying to process what had just happened, before frustration bubbled to the surface. “Everyone just needs to stop kissing me!”

Mattheo’s brows furrowed, the pink on his cheeks deepening as his expression shifted from flustered to bewildered.

“Who else kissed you!?” His voice was sharp, almost demanding, laced with a mix of disbelief and something else—je4lousy.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, suddenly feeling cornered by the intensity of his gaze.

“Well…” You hesitated, taking a small step back.

Mattheo stepped forward. “Oh, h3ll no. Start talking.”