The hallway was nearly empty. The chatter of students seemed distant as you and Mattheo stood there, an unspoken tension hanging between you.

Your eyes flicked nervously to the side, to where your supposed "boyfriend" was standing, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, waiting for you to come over. But the thought of him made your stomach churn. You didn't want to be near him.

Mattheo broke the silence with a casual drawl, his voice smooth and teasing. "Your boyfriend’s waiting."

You snapped, “He’s not my boyfriend,” your voice sharp. “I hate him.”

Mattheo scoffed, his expression barely changing, as though your words were nothing more than a passing thought. "Whatever," he muttered, waving it off like it didn’t matter.

Your frustration spiked, and without thinking, you called out his name, “Mattheo!”

He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow cocked. “What?”

“Stop, please,” you said, your words coming out softer, almost pleading. What were you even doing? Why did it feel so impossible to just tell him?

“Why?” he asked, his tone light, though there was a sharpness to it. The air between you felt charged, and you wondered if he could hear the sound of your heartbeat.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words seemed to freeze on the tip of your tongue. Your chest tightened with the weight of what you were about to say.

And then, with a soft breath, you just let it spill out, the words coming in a rush. “Because…” you swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “I love you. Only you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You immediately regretted it, the vulnerability stinging as your gaze dropped to the floor.

But when you looked up again, Mattheo’s smirk had faltered, just for a moment, his eyes softening.

“You should’ve said that sooner.” His gaze softened, just slightly, and something in his expression shifted. It was like the walls between you had cracked, revealing something more—something real.