The Slytherin common room was too quiet. The usual crackle of the green fire felt hollow tonight, like it couldn’t chase away the cold sinking into your chest. Mattheo was gone. Again. No explanation, no message, no glance back.

You sat on the floor between the couches, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes glossy and unfocused. The others were there—Theo perched on the armrest, Blaise and Draco half-watching you from across the room, Enzo leaning against the wall, Regulus near the hearth with his arms crossed, and Tom standing in the shadows, silent and unreadable.

You hadn’t meant to say anything. You’d meant to keep it all in. Be the strong one. The chill one. The one who could handle being loved by someone like Mattheo Riddle.

But then it spilled out. Raw. Unfiltered. And they listened.

“Someone please tell me what the fuck you’re supposed to do,” you started, your voice cracking halfway through. “When the one person you want to talk to—the one person you know could make you feel better—is the same person making you feel like this.”

Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop. “Cause like… I—I can’t physically leave someone. Not until they absolutely fucking destroy me. I mean rock bottom. The kind of low you don’t crawl back from. That’s how far I have to go before I finally get out.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably, his brows furrowing.

You hugged your knees tighter, nails digging into your skin. “And I still can’t be the one to leave. I can’t be the one to walk away. I don’t know if it’s abandonment issues or just me being broken or—fuck, I don’t know.”

Theo leaned forward slowly, but didn’t speak. He knew better than to interrupt.

Your voice cracked again. “Someone could literally use Crucio on me and I’d still apologize for getting hurt. Like I’m the one who caused them pain. For reacting. For bleeding.”

Blaise’s smirk was gone. “That makes more sense than you think,” he said quietly.

Tom stepped forward slightly, voice low. “He doesn’t know what to do with someone who loves him like that.”

You laughed bitterly. “I don’t even know what to do with someone who loves me like this.”

There was a sound from the entrance tunnel. Footsteps.

And then his voice.

“Do you think I don’t hear you?”

Your blood ran cold.

Mattheo stood just inside the common room doorway, curls falling messily over his forehead, eyes flicking to each of the boys before landing on you.

“You think I don’t know how much I hurt you?” His voice was rough, uneven, like he’d run here. “Because I do. Every time. And it kills me.”

You froze, tears spilling silently down your cheeks.

Mattheo took a step closer, jaw tight, but his voice softened. “You’re not the only one who can’t walk away.”

The fire crackled.

No one moved.