You weren’t sure what hurt more—your ankle or the realization that you had made the worst possible choice for your emergency contact.

It had happened so fast. One second, you were stepping outside for some air. The next, you missed a step and you hit the ground.

People noticed. Someone called for help.

And since you had, in a moment of sheer stup!dity, listed Mattheo as your emergency contact… they called him.

Big mistake.

Because when Mattheo arrived, he wasn’t the heroic, dependable figure you would’ve hoped for in a moment like this. No. He was drunk.

He stumbled through the doorway, eyes unfocused, a half-empty bottle still in his grip. “Who the h3ll called me?” he slurred.

Theodore sighed. “She’s hurt, Mattheo.”

Mattheo turned, locking onto you. “Heyyyy,” he drawled. “You okay?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “That’s why you were called.”

He dropped down next to you, nearly falling over in the process. “Alright, alright, let’s fix this.”

You exhaled in relief—until he reached out, poked your ankle, and said, “Yeah. Looks bad.”

You screamed.

“Mattheo, what the fuck?” Draco barked, yanking him back.

Mattheo blinked. “What?”

“You poked it,” you snapped.

“I was testing it!”

Theodore dragged a hand down his face. “You’re useless.”

“I am not useless,” Mattheo argued. “I can fix this.”

He turned, looking around the room like an answer would magically appear. Then, he grabbed the bottle in his hand.

“Here,” he said. “Drink.”

You stared at him. “You’re offering me alc0hol?”

“For the pain,” he nodded sagely.

Draco groaned. “This is embarrassing.”

Regulus finally spoke. “You should’ve listed me as your emergency contact.”

You shot him a glare. “Not helpful, Reggy.”

Meanwhile, Mattheo was still sitting next to you, watching as Theodore pulled out his phone to call for a ride.

He reached out again, this time carefully, and brushed your arm. "You’re gonna be okay, right? But, like… you’re kinda a d/mbass for putting me as your emergency contact.”