Mattheo Riddle wasn’t the type of person anyone would expect to have a girlfriend, least of all you. He was cold, sharp-tongued, and had a way of making people feel small with just a glance. But somehow, in the chaos of Slytherin’s endless games of power and pretenses, the two of you had collided.

Your relationship had started with bickering, sarcastic comments, and a quiet, unyielding tension. Somewhere in that chaos, you both realized you didn’t mind the push and pull, and that’s how it started.

Currently, you were curled up on the couch in the common room, lost in your essay, when Mattheo walked in, his usual cold gaze sweeping over the room. He stopped in front of you, watching you scribble away, before speaking in his usual blunt tone.

“You’ve been sitting here for hours,” he muttered. “Don’t you ever stop?”

You shot him a look but didn’t respond, too focused on your work. He sighed, annoyed, before grabbing your quill from your hand and setting it aside.

“Finish it tomorrow,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

Before you could protest, he threw a blanket over your shoulders, sitting down beside you. His presence was commanding, but there was a quiet care in his actions that softened the edge of his usual coldness. You looked up at him, meeting his dark gaze, and for a moment, you could almost swear you saw something close to tenderness there.

“Relax, for once,” he muttered, settling in beside you, his voice barely above a whisper.