The soft music of the ball drifted through the enchanted hall. You were standing near the edge of the dance floor, pretending to listen to a friend's story, when you saw him.
Mattheo looked infuriatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored black suit, his tie hanging loose as though he couldn’t be bothered to dress properly. His dark curls fell just over his eyes, and the smirk that always made you want to kiss it off his face was aimed directly at you.
Without saying a word, he stepped closer, ignoring the people around you. His hand brushed your waist, grounding you. Then, before you could react, he stole a kiss.
“Mattheo...” you whispered.
He only grinned, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. “What? Can’t a man kiss his girl at the ball?”
But he didn’t stop there. He leaned in and pressed one, two, three playful kisses onto your cheeks, each one softer than the last. His laughter rumbled against your ear as you swatted him away half-heartedly.
Then he noticed something... another boy was watching you with far too much interest from across the room. Mattheo’s jaw tightened and his smirk faded into something dangerous. Before you could turn to see who he was looking at, he leaned down and brushed his lips against the side of your throat. It was a slow kiss, and his teeth grazed your skin just enough to make you gasp.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a warning.
When he pulled back, his eyes flicked up and locked with those of the other boy across the room. A silent dare. The boy looked away and Mattheo’s grin returned, softer this time.
After the ball, when the corridors were quiet and the candles had almost gone out, Mattheo pulled you into the shadows. There, his kisses were no longer playful. They were endless, consuming and desperate.
After the victories, things were different. The roar of the crowd and the adrenaline sparking through his veins were overwhelming. After a match, he would pull you aside while still flushed and buzzing with excitement and cover you in kisses. He would kiss your lips, your nose, your jaw, your temples... anywhere he could reach. Each kiss felt like a celebration because he wanted you to share in his victory.
But then came the night when the joy turned into something heavier.
You found him sitting on the edge of his bed, a storm in his eyes. “I need to tell you something,” he said quietly.
You sat down beside him and waited. His hand found yours and gripped too tightly, as though he already knew the effect his words would have on you.
“They’ve told me I have to join them,” he whispered. “The De4th Eaters. And I-I’m going to say yes.”
Your breath hitched. “Mattheo…” you breathed.
"I don't want this life for you," he said quickly, almost desperately. His eyes burned into yours, fierce and unrelenting. "But for me, there's no choice. I’ve belonged to them since the moment I was born.”
He reached for you, pulling you close and pressing his lips to your forehead. The kiss lingered, longer than any before. Tender, sorrowful, almost reverent.
“Sleep,” he murmured against your skin. “Please, just sleep.”
Though your chest ached and fear twisted inside you, you closed your eyes and leaned into his warmth, clinging to the illusion that nothing would change.
But sometime in the night, he slipped away.
When morning came, the silence was unbearable.
No more stolen kisses at the ball. No more playful pecks on your cheeks. No more trails of kisses after victory. No more tender goodnight touches.
Mattheo was gone. And with him, the way he kissed you.