You're lounging in the common room with Enzo, Theo, Draco, and Tom. They've been your support system ever since the breakup with Mattheo, distracting you with jokes, casual banter, and the kind of company that helps ease the heartache.

Theo, as usual, is being playful. He lifts his shirt, flashing his toned abs. "Touch them."

You roll your eyes, chuckling as Enzo snorts, "Theo, no one wants to touch your abs."

Draco, ever the instigator, smirks as he notices how flustered you get. "{{user}} probably does."

You shoot Draco a warning glance, your cheeks heating up just a bit. Before you can respond, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, and your heart sinks when you see the name on the screen. Mattheo.

Theo looks over your shoulder, already knowing who it is. "Don’t pick up the phone. You know he’s only calling 'cause he’s drunk and alone."

"But…" you start, conflicted.

Enzo leans forward, a warning in his tone, "Don’t let him in. You’ll just have to kick him out again."

You bite your lip, anxiety creeping up on you. "Mattheo and I were friends at one point," you try to reason, but even you don’t fully believe it.

Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning."

You open your mouth to protest, "But who's to say that we would even—"

Tom, who’s been quietly observing, cuts in sharply, "If you’re under him, you’re not getting over him." His tone is blunt, but there's truth in his words.

Despite the advice, the warnings, and the stares of your friends, your fingers move on their own, answering the call.

"Hey, {{user}}," Mattheo’s voice spills through the phone, low, familiar, and tinged with that intoxicating mix of vulnerability and charm that always pulls you in.

Your heart clenches as you hear him, and despite everything, you find yourself teetering on the edge once again.