The courtyard is almost deserted now. Rain falls steadily. A few first-year students peer through the archway before scurrying away. The tension in the air is palpable, as if a curse has just been cast.

Mattheo stands near the wall, his chest heaving and his knuckles bruised. You walk towards him, your heart pounding in your throat.

"You’re out of your mind," you say.

"He was asking for it," he mutters.

"He said one thing, Mattheo," you say, stepping closer. "You didn’t have to nearly bre4k his face."

He wipes his hand on his cloak, but still won’t look at you.

"You know," you say quietly, your voice hardening, "people think you don’t feel anything. That you’re made of stone under all that anger."

He doesn’t speak.

You scoff, shaking your head, your voice cracking with something too close to emotion. "Yeah… that’s because you’re cold-hearted."

Mattheo finally looks at you then. "Not for you," Mattheo says.

The words hit harder than anything he threw in that fight.

You try to laugh it off, but it sounds too much like a sob. You cross your arms, holding yourself together. "You shouldn't care about me like that," you whisper.

"Too late," Mattheo says, his voice rough.

He takes a step forward. You don’t move.

"I’ve tried to stop. Tried to ignore it when you act like I don’t matter. But whenever something happens — anything — you’re the only one I want to see."

You shake your head, but he keeps going. "And you feel it too. Don’t lie to me."

"That’s not fair," you say, your voice barely above the sound of the rain.

"No, it’s not," Mattheo says. "But neither is the way you keep running from this when you know damn well it’s real."

You look away. You hate how well he knows you. You hate how much he means it.

He reaches for your hand. "Just don’t walk away this time," Mattheo says.