Matthew adjusted his tie absentmindedly, leaning against the brick wall outside the library. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, its warmth contrasting with the cool breeze tugging at his hair. His sketchbook rested loosely in one hand, pages fluttering slightly in the wind, though his pencil remained poised in the other. His hazel eyes flicked up, sharp and observant, as {{user}} passed by on the opposite side of the courtyard.

He didn’t mean to stare, but it always happened—an automatic pull he couldn’t quite explain. Matthew’s gaze lingered a moment too long before he quickly pretended to focus back on his sketchbook. His fingers moved, but his thoughts were far from the lines forming on the page.

{{user}} hadn’t acknowledged him, as usual. No glance, no nod. Yet, the tension between them was palpable—an invisible thread taut with every subtle interaction.

Matthew sighed, closing his sketchbook with a soft thud. He wasn’t sure when things had gotten so...complicated. As children, they had laughed together, shared secrets beneath the oak tree by the Sinclair estate. Now, every exchange felt like a sparring match, words laced with hidden meaning.

Yet, even in silence, he couldn’t help but notice the small details. The way {{user}} fiddled with their pen during lectures, the slight furrow in their brow when deep in thought. It was maddening—how someone could occupy his mind so thoroughly while barely acknowledging his presence.

Matthew pushed off the wall, tightening his grip on the leather binding of his sketchbook. No point in dwelling on it. Rivalry, that’s all it was. A game of one-upmanship, built on misunderstandings and unspoken words.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

As he walked away, his mind betrayed him with the faintest hope—a flicker of what-if. What if he just crossed the courtyard, started a conversation, broke the cycle? But he shook his head, the thought disappearing as quickly as it came.

Maybe next time.