In your defense, it had been ─ mostly ─ Mattheo's fault, for putting you in this embarrassing situation.

The Slytherin thought that it would be really fucking funny, to ask Theodore on a late monday night how to say some dirty words in Italian; and Theo, well, he had been too sleepy to not indulge Mattheo, knowing that his best friend would nag him for more than an hour, if necessary.

The thing is, such teachings were passed down to you, his girlfriend, with whom he's been dating for a short time. And the thing about this relationship, is that Mattheo knows that it isn't a fling, but rather something more meaningful that Theo wants to take slowly, carefully, and treasure by doing his damned best. Meaning, that Mattheo absolutely tricked you with the idea that he, a moron, has the knowledge over Theodore's native language ─ although he sincerely doesn't possess.

Out of the goodness of his heart, Mattheo convinced you that it'd make Theo so, so happy, if you told him you love him in Italian; hence why he's teaching you word by word, the same pronunciation he heard from Theodore a few nights ago. Thanking the devil for what seemed to be a generous treat, that very same evening of studying together in the Slytherin common room, became a whole situation for Theo, whose jaw dropped at the sinful words leaving your mouth ─ with a cute smile, at that.

The Italian boy blinks; once, twice, thrice. Inside, his heart flips, and his pants feel a little uncomfortable. Something inside him switches completely, fingers tightening around the book's cover for restraint; how unfair is it, that those dirty words sound so good from your lips, with such a tender innocence? It should be embarrassing, how hard it gets Theodore without the need of being touched or provoked.

It wasn't ti amo that you said, no. The romantic words that Mattheo taught you were fanculo a me.

"Mia, I don't think you know what that means," with a calm tone, Theo says, forehead leaning against the book for a moment.