Mattheo

I headed down to the common room, hoping that a smoke would clear my mind. Maybe Blaise or Lorenzo would be down there, and I could distract myself by talking to them. I pushed open the door and stepped into the room, my eyes scanning the area for any sign of my friends. As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on a familiar figure sitting by the fireplace, a book in her hands. Of course she was here. Why wouldn’t she be? She was a constant thorn in my side, a plague that followed me everywhere I went.

For a moment, I considered turning around and leaving. I didn’t want to deal with her right now, not when my mind was already a chaotic mess of unwelcome thoughts and feelings. But for some reason, I found myself taking a step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. As I drew closer, I realized that she hadn’t noticed me yet. She was completely engrossed in her book, her eyes scanning the page with a look of intense concentration. I couldn’t help but watch her for a moment, taking in her features and memorizing every detail. Her hair was falling over her shoulders in loose waves, framing her face and drawing attention to her pretty eyes and full lips. She was casually dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt that exposed just the right amount of cleavage. The firelight danced across her face, making her skin glow and giving her a youthful, almost angelic appearance. 

I tried to shake myself out of it, but my mind had already started to spiral again. I found myself thinking about how it would feel to touch her hair, to run my fingers through those silky waves. Or to trace my fingers along her collarbone, exposed by the loose collar of her shirt. I gritted my teeth, trying to push those thoughts away. But they just kept coming, my mind running wild with all sorts of inappropriate fantasies. I could feel my blood starting to boil, a mixture of anger and frustration and attraction bubbling up inside me. Why couldn’t I just ignore her? 

I couldn’t take it anymore, the sight of her sitting there, looking all gorgeous and engrossed in her damn book. It was driving me insane, my body practically itching with the need to do something, anything to make these feelings go away. Without thinking, I took a step closer, my feet carrying me towards her. The sound of my footsteps made her look up from her book, her eyes widening slightly as they landed on me. But I didn’t stop, I kept approaching her until I was standing right in front of her armchair. She looked up at me, a mix of surprise and slight apprehension on her face. Her eyes flicked over my face, trying to gauge my expression. I couldn’t blame her, I knew that my face was probably twisted into a scowl, my eyes probably showing the anger and frustration that I was feeling. 

For a moment, we just stared at each other in silence. She was probably wondering why I was standing there like a creep, looming over her like some kind of weirdo. I was wondering the same thing, but my body didn’t seem to want to cooperate with my brain. My feet had carried me over here, my body had responded to the sight of her. 

"Can i help you?" She asks, I blink in surprise, slightly taken aback by her question. Her tone was cool and guarded, but there was a hint of curiosity in her voice. I could see a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, like she was bracing herself for a rude or sarcastic comment from me. I open my mouth, ready to say something sarcastic or biting, but the words die in my throat. I’m suddenly at a loss for words, my brain having decided to stop working. I can feel my hands clenching and uncurling at my sides, my body still itching to do something, anything to alleviate this damn tension. 

I stand there in silence, not knowing what to say or do. My mind is racing, trying to come up with some sort of response. But everything I can think of sounds either childish or rude, and I can’t seem to find the words to express the maelstrom of emotions that’s swirling around in my head. She’s watching me, waiting for me to say something. The air between us is thick with tension and uncertainty, and I can practically feel her guard going up. I can see the walls she’s put up, the defenses she’s built around herself to protect against my inevitable sarcasm. I can’t blame her for being wary, I’ve been nothing but an ass to her for weeks. But now, standing here in front of her, I find myself wanting to tear down those walls. I want to see what’s behind them, what she’s hiding underneath that cold, confident exterior. 

But at the same time, I’m terrified. Terrified of the feelings that are coursing through my veins, terrified of the things I want to do, say, feel. I’m not used to this vulnerability, this uncertainty. I’ve always been in control, always had the upper hand. And now, I feel like I’m standing in a minefield, one wrong move and everything could explode in my face. 

She looks at me confused, "Well?" she asks, I shake myself out of my thoughts, realizing that I’ve been standing there like a complete idiot. I clear my throat, trying to compose myself. But my brain is still a mess, my thoughts all tangled up and confused. I take a step closer, my body acting independently of my brain. I’m practically towering over her now, my eyes fixed on hers. The heat between us is palpable, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. I’m fighting with myself, the last remnants of my self control battling against the urges and desires that are coursing through me.

My eyes flick over her face, studying every feature, mapping every curve and contour. My gaze drops to her lips, and I find myself unable to look away. Damnit, why are they so damn pretty? Without thinking, I take another step closer, closing the distance between us even more. I’m so close now that I can practically feel her breath on my skin. I can practically taste her, the sweet scent of her filling my nostrils and driving me wild. 

I feel my hands twitching, the urge to touch her nearly overwhelming. I want to reach out, to feel her skin under my palms, to trace the curve of her jaw with my fingers. But I force myself to keep them by my sides, my fingers clenching and unclenching in frustration. She’s still looking up at me, her eyes wide and filled with confusion and uncertainty. She’s practically pressed up against the armchair now, the back of it digging into her spine. Her chest is rising and falling with each uneven breath, the movement drawing my gaze to her neck and the soft, tanned skin exposed by the collar of her shirt. 

I swallow hard, my throat, suddenly dry. I can feel my pulse quickening, my heart slamming against my chest like a damn sledgehammer. I’m so close to her now that I can see the subtle flutter of her pulse in her throat, the delicate muscles of her neck working as she swallows. My eyes flick up to her lips, my mind spinning with thoughts of how they would feel against mine. I’m practically leaning over her now, my hips pressed against the armchair and my arms resting on the armrest on either side of her, caging her in. My mind is racing, my thoughts a chaotic mess of desire and confusion and anger. I’m caught between the urge to grab her and slam her against the chair and the urge to walk away and forget that this ever happened. 

I take a step back, putting some distance between us. My brain is still a chaotic mess of thoughts and emotions, but my instincts are taking over. I know that I have to get the hell away from her, before I do something I’ll regret. I look down at her one last time, my eyes roaming over her flushed face and wide eyes. I can see the surprise and confusion in her gaze, and for a moment, I almost lean down and grab her. But I resist the urge, balling my hands into fists to keep them from reaching out and doing something stupid.