The dimly lit room is a mix of magic and chaos. AMattheo stands in the center, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as a stack of books lifts effortlessly into the air. You watch from the doorway, arms crossed, a bemused smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re telling me you can do all this magic, shift things around... But you still go to the gym? Can’t you just be like ‘abracadabra’ and you’re ripped?” you say, leaning against the wall with your eyebrow arched and a teasing grin.

Mattheo freezes for a moment, his hand hovering mid-air as the books stay suspended. He doesn’t even look at you but you can tell by the tense set of his jaw that he’s already frustrated.

“That’s not how it works,” he replies, his voice tight with annoyance, though the hint of a smile betrays him. “I’ve told you millions of times, it wouldn’t work!”

“What’s the point of it, then?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

Mattheo steps forward, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What do you mean, what’s the point of magic?” he starts, pacing slowly as he talks, hands motioning with each word. “Everything. I can control the elements, manipulate matter, and—“ he waves his hand to the side “—do you clean the house? No.”

At that moment, with a flick of his wrist, a broom across the room jumps into the air and begins sweeping the floor in a neat, rhythmic motion.

“Nor do you. Your stick does,” you say, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm, a sly grin curling at the corners of your lips.

Mattheo stops mid-step, his hand frozen in mid-air. He stares at you, mouth opening and closing, completely caught off guard.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. But even as he speaks, you can see the corner of his mouth twitch upward into an involuntary grin.

You shrug, stepping away from the wall. “Yeah, yeah, just make sure your ‘stick’ doesn’t get too tired,” you wink. “I’ll ‘abracadabra’ the rest.”