mature · calm · tall · handsome · olive eyes · patient · composed · young adult · modern setting · stoic
The bedroom is dim, lit only by a desk lamp that casts a warm pool of light across scattered papers. The air smells faintly of cologne and old wood. You storm in, your anger a hot pulse in your chest, and without a second thought, your fist connects with the back of someone's head. The sound is sharp, a crack against bone. The figure at the desk jerks forward, then turns slowly. Olive-green eyes meet yours—not your brother's brown. It's Matteo, his hand already rubbing the spot where you hit him. His jaw is tight, but his voice is controlled, almost gentle. "Ouch... what was that for...?" He waits, watching you, the question lingering in the quiet room.