Dorm 5108 | Mattheo Riddle

eight.

AN: This is almost 10k words I'm so sorry omg

My most feared question in the world is Are you happy? I don't like hearing it. I hate watching the answer spoken to my life. My parent's friends, clients, and colleagues inquired about their happiness all the time, but my parents always lied. They feigned happiness and joy to the point where it was unbearable for me to witness from my small hiding places. They were never content with how their lives turned out; from their marriage to the birth of their only child, nothing was good enough.

The reason why I am scared of being asked that particular question is because I fear how I will respond. I am afraid I will answer the exact same way my parents did–lying through my teeth, and covering up pain and hurt with a fake smile. I don't want to pretend like my parents. I don't want the mental wound to stay open and fester until it consumes my whole entire sense of worth. I don't want death to be the only release from my unhappy prison.

But living with Mattheo, talking with him, and being around him doesn't make me feel like I will have to lie in response to the dreaded question. I'm not dependent on him, or will say he was my sole reason for changing, because he wasn't. I wanted to change. I lived an apathetic lifestyle by going through the motions with no energy or fervour. I grew numb to my existence and didn't realise I wasn't even trying to live half of a life. It wasn't until Alicia telling me to befriend Mattheo that I found my lifestyle inadequate and unsatisfactory. I chose to change–for me, for my happiness, and for my life.

If I am now asked if I am happy or not, I will gladly respond wholeheartedly;

Yes, I am happy. Right now, at this moment, I am completely, 100% happy.

"I never knew marking homework could be so enjoyable," Mattheo slips into the seat across from me whilst taking a bite out of his Granny Smith green apple.

I glance up with a smile. Putting a 10/10 on Alicia's potions quiz answers, I see the handsome man sitting before me. He's still dressed in his uniform from a Saturday detention, black trousers, green tie loose around his neck, his white shirt fitting him so well it could possibly end up making me cry. The colour white does miraculous things for him, it brightens his face and shows off those devilish collar bones and sun-kissed skin as he unfastens his top two buttons. He should be forbidden from wearing any type of clothing that makes him more attractive than he already is–though his uniform being part of that equation is beyond problematic. He simpers as if he can read my guilty, lustful thoughts.

"All part of being a tutor," I tell him and put a sticker on Alicia's quiz for receiving a perfect score.

Leaning on the counter, he holds the apple towards me. "Want some?" he offers with a tilt of the head. He's even modified his hair style, brushing it out of his face to torment my soul a little more.

"No," I decline and go back to grading questions. "I'm allergic."

"To apples?"

Even with the simple questions, it's hard concentrating with the boy watching me, so I don't look back up at him. I hum mhmm. "Apples, cherries, pears, and peaches."

"Peaches? But you eat peach yoghurt."

I inwardly gush at how Mattheo knows what I eat every morning. "Artificial flavouring. It's the only way I can get my peach fix."

"I'm going to throw these away then."

I laugh, citing his concern for the safety of my health and grab his forearm before he makes it to the rubbish bin. "I'm the one who is allergic. You are not, so eat to your heart's content. Don't be so wasteful." On a side note–touching him was a bad move on my part. I feel the muscles in his arm tense under my hold and immediately let go.