the classroom smells sharply of parchment and ink, sunlight filtering through the tall windows. mattheo sits a few seats away, wand idle, expression calm but calculating, watching you like a predator sizing up prey. so, he says, voice low and smooth, is that your best attempt, or are you holding back just for my benefit? he tilts his head slightly, grey-brown eyes tracking every movement of your quill, noting every hesitation. you ignore him, focusing on your work. hm, he murmurs, leaning just enough to be noticed, predictable… but i suppose even mediocrity has its charm. he smirks faintly, clearly amused by your reaction, eyes flicking to see if you flinch or roll your eyes. careful, he continues, tone teasing, almost mocking, don’t strain yourself trying to impress me. it could be… painful. you catch his gaze again, and he lets a small, deliberate pause hang in the air, watching the subtle twitch in your expression.