The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the common room. You were curled up on one of the deep green sofas, a book resting on your lap. The hum of quiet conversation and the occasional laugh from a nearby group of students filled the air. It was a peaceful moment, but you couldn’t ignore the familiar energy making its way toward you.

“Hey,” Mattheo said, his voice soft but unmistakably confident. He dropped into the seat across from you, his dark eyes glinting with a mix of nerves and determination. He was holding something in his hands—a small, wrapped box—and fidgeting with it absentmindedly.

“Mattheo,” you greeted, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

He hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Another surprise,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “You said I don’t have to, but...I couldn’t help myself.”

“Another?” you teased, trying to hide your amusement. “You’re going to spoil me at this rate.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His usual cocky smirk faded, replaced by an earnest look that you didn’t see often. “I know what you’re going to say. That I don’t have to prove anything, that I should just give up because it’s easier. I hear it all the time—Blaise, Draco, even Theo—they keep telling me to let it go.”

His voice softened, and he glanced down at the box in his hands. “But I can’t. I won’t.”

“Mattheo...” you started, unsure of how to respond.

He looked up, his gaze locking with yours, his intensity catching you off guard. “How can you say it won’t work before you’ve even tried?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. For once, he wasn’t using humor or bravado to hide behind. He was raw, honest, and completely vulnerable.

The fire crackled louder, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire room had quieted, waiting for your answer.