The common room was dimly lit, the flickering of the fire casting soft shadows across the furniture. A few students were scattered around, but most had retreated to their rooms for the night.

You sat on the armchair, knees drawn up to your chest, wrapped in a thick, knitted blanket. Mattheo was sprawled on the couch across from you, his feet propped up casually on the coffee table, his usual cocky grin replaced by a rare, genuine expression.

It had started with small talk—nothing unusual. The weather, classes, the usual banter that people shared when they didn’t know what else to say. But somehow, the words had shifted. Without thinking, you had found yourself telling him more than you ever planned to. More than you usually allowed yourself to share.

"I don't know why I’m telling you all of this," you murmured, tracing the edge of the blanket with your fingers. Your voice was quieter than usual, a little unsure. "I don’t open up to people like this."

Mattheo shifted on the couch, leaning forward slightly, his gaze focused on you with an intensity that was both reassuring and unexpected. "You don’t have to explain yourself," he said. "I’m not going anywhere."

"You’ve got a way of making people feel like they can just… be themselves," you added. "I don’t know how you do it."

Mattheo's lips quirked up into a small, thoughtful smile. "Maybe it’s because I don’t expect anything from anyone. People feel freer when they don’t think they’re being judged."

"You don’t have to tell me everything," he added after a pause, his voice low but sincere. "But… it’s okay if you want to."

You exhaled, finally meeting his eyes. The world outside the common room felt miles away, and for once, it didn’t matter. The silence between you was comfortable, not forced, and you realized you didn’t mind it at all.

For once, you didn’t mind being vulnerable. With Mattheo, it felt like it was okay to be just that—yourself.