You and Mattheo had always danced the same dance—quick-witted jabs, flirty remarks, lingering glances that neither of you ever really acknowledged out loud. For years now, the two of you had shared that kind of magnetic tension people noticed from across rooms. Sharp tongues, faster comebacks. You were the only one who could keep up with him—and the only one who ever dared to put him in his place with a smirk.

He loved that about you.

But he kept it casual. Always just friends.

Mattheo Riddle didn’t do commitment. He didn’t need anyone. The girls that passed through his life came and went like smoke, and he liked it that way. Detached. Controlled. Easy.

But you?

You were never just one of those girls.

You were chaos and comfort all wrapped in one. You kept him on his toes. Challenged him. Calmed him. And somewhere along the way, without him noticing, you stopped being someone he flirted with and started becoming the person he looked for.

He told himself it was harmless.

Until it wasn’t.

It was early Saturday morning, the castle still quiet in that rare way it was before anyone had risen for breakfast. You and Mattheo were sitting on the floor of his dorm room, backs against his bed, a half-eaten bowl of cereal between you and the soft, golden morning light leaking in through the windows.

You were wearing one of his jumpers—oversized, sleeves dangling past your fingers—and your hair was unbrushed and messy from sleep. And yet, somehow, you looked more perfect like this than you ever had dressed up.

Carefree. Real. His.

He didn’t say that, of course. He just watched.

“I can’t believe you do that,” Mattheo said with a laugh, shaking his head as you nonchalantly scooped another bite of cereal—with a fork.

You smirked, totally unapologetic. “Tell anyone I eat cereal like this and I will hex you into next week.”

“Cereal with a fork,” he repeated, amused. “That’s borderline criminal.”

“I like the milk, I don’t love the milk,” you shrugged. “Sue me.”

He chuckled again, but it trailed off slower this time. Because then you looked at him—really looked at him—and your eyes sparkled in that sleepy, stupidly beautiful way. Your laughter still hung in the air, and your smile hadn’t faded yet. You were glowing, and you didn’t even know it.

And just like that—it hit him.

It wasn’t just a crush. Wasn’t just banter.

He didn’t just like you.

He wanted to wake up to you like this every morning. He wanted to argue about forks and cereal and fall asleep with your hair in his face. He wanted to be the one you teased, the one you leaned on, the one who knew all your weird habits and loved every single one of them.

He was completely, painfully, hopelessly in love with you.

The realization knocked the breath out of him.

And for once, Mattheo Riddle—charming, cocky, always in control—didn’t have something clever to say.

His gaze lingered on you longer than usual, softer. Something unspoken flickered behind his eyes, and his smirk faded just a little as you looked back at him.

“…What?” you asked, a brow quirking slightly at the sudden shift in his expression.

And just like that—the air changed.