He lounged lazily against the armrest of the couch in the common room, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a teasing hint of his collarbone, and his dark curls framed his face in that effortlessly messy way that only made him more infuriating. His eyes—those deep, wicked brown eyes—were locked onto you.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to ignore the way your skin tingled under his gaze. His smirk was subtle but infuriating, the corners of his lips curving up just enough to make your pulse race.

“Stop looking at me with those eyes, Mattheo,” you snapped.

He didn’t even flinch. Instead, that damn smirk deepened. His head tilted slightly, dark curls tumbling over his forehead as he regarded you with amusement.

“What eyes, princess?” he murmured, voice low, laced with something undeniably teasing.

Then, just to push you further, he widened his eyes, letting his usual sharp, smug expression melt into something almost innocent. Puppy eyes.

Your breath hitched. Oh, he was good. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you forced yourself to stand your ground. “You know what you’re doing,” you gritted out.

Mattheo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his movements slow and deliberate. His fingertips brushed against your hand—just the lightest touch, but it sent a jolt through you. “Do I?” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your throat went dry. He was too close now, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the ghost of a smirk still playing at his lips.

You exhaled sharply and took a step back, desperate to break whatever spell he was weaving around you. “You’re impossible.”

Mattheo leaned back again, looking you up and down with a lazy grin. “And you love it.”

The worst part? You had no argument against that.