Your quill taps against your desk as you sketch out the final brewing sequence for your potions project with Abraxas Malfoy. It’s quiet, until your phone buzzes against your desk.

Your brows knit together when you see Tom’s name. Opening the message, you blink at the first line.

Hey! It’s Mattheo.

Your eyebrow quirks. Mattheo. On Tom’s account. This can’t be good.

Hey??? What’s wrong?

A couple of minutes pass before a voice note pops up. You sigh, half-expecting chaos before you even hit play.

Tom’s voice filters through immediately, muffled and far away, muttering what sounds like a very heated rant. Then Mattheo’s voice cuts in, smooth and slightly amused. "Hey, trouble. I wasn’t going to say anything, but Tom misses you. He’s just acting like he doesn’t."

In the background, Tom’s voice sharpens, “…going to hex Abraxas’ eyebrows off…”

Mattheo continues, totally unfazed. "All the brooding in silence? That’s his love language."

A loud crash explodes through the audio, followed by the unmistakable shatter of glass. "What the hell, Tom!" Draco’s voice snaps. "My father donated that!"

"The vase was ugly anyway," Tom retorts, his angry pacing still audible.

Mattheo, clearly enjoying himself, keeps going. "He saw you talking to Abraxas for like five seconds and is now redecorating the entire common room with his fists."

Your hand covers your mouth in shock. Normally, Mattheo’s the one who loses his temper like this, not Tom.

"He smirked at her, Matty! He smirked! That’s a declaration of war!" Tom shouts.

Mattheo laughs under his breath. "He’s losing it. Like… full Dark Lord spiral."

"Is that my phone?" Tom suddenly demands.

"Yeah," Mattheo answers easily. "I was telling {{user}} you miss her."

"I do not!" Tom snaps immediately.

"Yeah, okay, tough guy," Mattheo snorts.

"How dare you say anything?" Tom growls.

"I’m just trying to save the furniture from your wrath," Mattheo teases.

"Give me the phone!"

"No—let go, Tom!"

"Give me the phone!"

"No tickling, Tommy, no!"

There’s the sound of a scuffle before Tom’s voice finally comes through, breath sharp with irritation.

"First of all: you’re not replacing me with Abraxas bloody Malfoy. His idea of romance is fine dining and estate tax evasion."

"Seriously, Tom?" Draco cuts in, clearly offended.

"Shut the hell up. Who is talking to you, anyway?" Tom snaps without missing a beat. He takes a deep breath. "I am calm. I am composed. I am—"

Mattheo’s laughter cuts him off. "Wow…"

"Mattheo, stop laughing. I will avada your hair gel, I swear to Merlin. And for the record, {{user}}, Abraxas’ eyebrows are uneven and he’s balding prematurely."

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at his ridiculous jealousy.

"But you know what? I don’t care. Do whatever you want. Enjoy your stupid blonde conversations for all I care. Matty? Matty! Take this stupid device."

There’s a soft thud, as if Tom’s tossed the phone onto the couch, followed by the rustle of Mattheo retrieving it.

"Well, he handled that better than I expected," Mattheo says dryly.

In the background, Tom’s voice carries again. "I mean, what does she even see in him? He’s a fcking Malfoy."

"Hey!" Draco protests for the third time.

"Oh, shut up, ferret," Tom grumbles, and a moment later, the common room door slams behind him.