The atmosphere in the common room changed instantly when the boys entered, brimming with anger over their loss in the match.

Mattheo was the first to enter, his damp, wild hair sticking to his forehead. His shirt clung to his chest and the fabric was darkened by sweat. His fists flexed restlessly at his sides and you could almost feel the frustration radiating off him.

Tom followed, dropping into an armchair with his elbows braced on his knees and his hands tightly laced together. His gaze was sharp and piercing, and when it flicked your way, you felt pinned beneath it, as though he could see more than you wanted to show.

Blaise peeled off his gloves and tossed them aside. His jaw was tense and his chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths. His undershirt was clinging to his skin, damp across his shoulders and collarbone. He leaned against the arm of the sofa as though it were his own. His eyes lingered on you and, for a moment, they seemed almost mocking, as if he wanted to see what you thought of him like this.

Draco was furious. He tore off his gloves, his hair clinging to his temples. The sweat and fury twisting his features ruined his usual polished appearance. He spat a muttered curse, then his sharp grey eyes cut across the room and locked onto you. He held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, burning you with it, before tearing his eyes away.

Lorenzo slumped onto the sofa, letting out a bitter laugh as his leg twitched restlessly. His hair was damp, clinging to his skin, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. “Never seen us like this,” he said, his voice edged with venom. He looked at you as though daring you to agree, daring you to see them at their worst.

Theodore stood silently by the fireplace. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and his dark hair was damp against his forehead. His shirt was stretched tight against his chest. He didn’t speak, but his silence spoke volumes.

Regulus paced like a caged animal, his sleeves pushed up and his forearms slick with sweat. He took every step deliberately, but his jaw clenched and unclenched and his eyes flashed towards you with a focus that made your stomach tighten. He was holding something in, but barely.

Evan was sprawled in an armchair, his chest still heaving and sweat glistening down his jaw. He dragged a hand across his face, then let it fall heavily to the side. "Ridiculous," he muttered.

Barty prowled back and forth. His shirt was damp and his grin was feral. He looked at you as though waiting for you to make the first move, to give him a reason to break the tension that was building inside him.

And then there was Aiden. He remained in the shadows by the door, silent, his shoulders rising and falling steadily with each breath. He hadn't spoken or moved, but his eyes were fixed on you. Unwavering. Relentless. That stillness was almost worse than Barty’s restless pacing.

You suddenly realised that they were all looking at you. Perhaps not all at once, and not directly, but their gazes found their way back to you, as if pulled by gravity.

The air felt thick and heavy, and you could feel your heartbeat quickening in response to the intensity of the situation.

Mattheo tilted his head. “Are you enjoying the show, {{user}}?”