You’re curled up on the sofa with your chin resting on your hand. Your thoughts are elsewhere, drifting between tomorrow's essay and the strange dream you had last night.

Across the room, Mattheo is standing near the fire, pretending to warm his hands, but his eyes keep flicking towards you. Pansy is nearby, sprawled on an armchair, watching the scene unfold.

Mattheo hesitates. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then walks over slowly.

"You look pretty," Mattheo says.

His voice is softer than usual, almost unsure, as if he is testing the words before deciding whether he means them.

You blink, not having heard him properly, still half-lost in your own thoughts.

"What did he say?" you ask Pansy, turning toward her with a puzzled expression.

Mattheo stiffens, caught between embarrassment and annoyance. "I said you look sh!tty. Goodnight, {{user}}," Mattheo says.

"...What?" you say, still not quite processing the turn of events.

Pansy snorts, slamming her book shut. "Oh, he’s so full of it," she says, sitting up. "He said you looked pretty, love."

You glance toward the stairs where Mattheo disappeared, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. "Should I... say something?"

Pansy grins. "Maybe let him stew for a bit. Or you could go and remind him that he’s not as smooth as he thinks."