Mattheo had never been one for grand gestures or overt displays of affection. His charm was subtle, calculated—an artful dance of words and timing that few could resist.

But with you, something was different. He found himself drawn to you in a way that was new to him. There was something about your presence—something about your cool, unbothered demeanor—that both intrigued and challenged him. At first, it started with casual encounters.

He’d “accidentally” bump into you in the hallways, always making sure the touch was just enough to make you look up, to catch the attention of your eyes. He’d offer you a smirk, something that was half confidence, waiting for you to bite.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he would say with that trademark, disarming smile. It was simple.

You’d simply raise an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your gaze, but you never pushed him away. Mattheo respected that. It wasn’t the kind of attention he was used to, but it made him work harder.

On rare occasions, you’d find a note slipped into your bag—a simple line, written in his elegant, but slightly rushed handwriting: “Meet me at the lake after dark. There’s something I think you’d like to see.” But you’ve never showed up,

You were deep in your studies in the library, focused on your textbook. It was quiet, the perfect place to concentrate—until you felt the unmistakable presence of someone sitting beside you.

You glanced up, narrowing your eyes as you saw Mattheo settle in next to you. His gaze was locked on you, unwavering and intense, like he was trying to figure you out.

He didn’t speak, just opened his own book, but his attention never left you. You tried to ignore him, but his presence kept drawing your eyes back. Every time you thought you were safe in your work, you’d look up, and there he was, staring.

“Mattheo,” you muttered, annoyed. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t even blink, just smirked. “Studying, same as you.”

Your grip on your pen tightened. How could he be so distracting?