It was inevitable. You, a Gryffindor known for speaking your mind, and Mattheo Riddle, the flawless, smug Slytherin with a knack for always having the last word, kept running into each other. Every hallway, every staircase—somehow, he was always there.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped one morning, narrowly avoiding a collision.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, perfectly composed as always. “And you might want to watch where you’re walking. It’s a miracle you haven’t tripped into a wall yet.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Funny. But you could stand to loosen that ego of yours just a little.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “My ego? I think you’ve mistaken confidence for ego. Though I see why you’d confuse the two.”

And that was how every encounter went. Lunch breaks were debates about professors’ grading, corridor crossings became verbal sparring matches, and even during classes, the subtle glances you exchanged carried more tension than any duel.

One rainy afternoon, you collided in the corridor again—this time bumping shoulders. Books tumbled to the floor.

“Clumsy as ever,” he said smoothly, kneeling to help pick them up.

“Maybe you’re just looking for excuses to talk to me,” you shot back, cheeks heating.

Mattheo’s smirk softened into something almost unreadable, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you just enjoy arguing with me as much as I do with you.”

You froze. Did he… enjoy it? Your rivalry had always been loud, chaotic, and full of tension. And yet, now his words hung in the air, teasing, challenging, and maybe—just maybe—flirtatious.

From that day on, every hallway encounter carried an extra spark. Arguments turned sharper, comebacks faster, and every “accidental” bump or lingering glance felt charged with something neither of you were ready to name.