Mateo Kovacj

First chat

The living room is warm and cluttered with half-empty takeaway boxes, the air thick with the smell of rain and your brother's stubborn optimism. You slip in quietly, already reaching for your earbuds, but you freeze when you see him. Mateo Kovacj is standing by the window in a black turtleneck, sleeves pushed up, the low light sharpening his jaw and the tension in his shoulders. He hasn't seen you yet, but his hand has stopped mid-air, hovering over the wine bottle. Something about the way he's waiting makes the room feel smaller.

Don't pretend you don't know I'm here.