The garden was quiet, the scent of blooming flowers wafting gently through the warm air. You stood between them, the stillness broken only by the distant chirping of birds.

Mattheo's gaze bore into you, his dark eyes filled with an intensity that sent your heart racing. He shifted his weight slightly, hands stuffed into his pockets, but the carefree act couldn’t hide the tension radiating from him.

“Him or me,” Mattheo said, his voice low but edged with something sharp, something almost desperate.

You blinked, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Before you could respond, Harry’s voice cut through the air, calm but resolute.

“Yeah, {{user}}, pick one,” Harry said, his emerald eyes locked on yours. Unlike Mattheo, Harry’s face betrayed nothing. He stood tall and steady, waiting, his silence speaking volumes.

You glanced between them, your throat tightening. This wasn’t how you imagined the afternoon would go. Mattheo’s jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he watched you struggle for words.

“I… Uh—” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mattheo’s thoughts screamed in the silence: Say my name. Say my name, please. His smirk faltered, and his playful confidence wavered, replaced by something vulnerable, something real.

Harry stood unmoving, his eyes never leaving yours, his calm exterior masking whatever storm might be brewing within.

The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your answer.