Mattheo sits at the library table, his eyes drifting toward you for what feels like the hundredth time that hour. You’re browsing the shelves, oblivious to the quiet intensity in the air, but Theo notices. He doesn't miss how Mattheo's gaze lingers on you, a flicker of hope beneath his usually guarded demeanor.

"Are you going to tell her?" Theo asks casually, his quill scratching against parchment as he jots down notes.

Mattheo’s head snaps back to reality. His fingers drum lightly against the table, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "I mean, I want to," he admits, his voice low. The weight of past rejections, of girls who couldn't look past his name or bloodline, settles in his chest. He glances at you again, feeling the familiar pull. "I just... don't know if I should." There's a vulnerability in his words, one he rarely shows, especially around Theo.

For a moment, he allows himself to imagine what it would be like—to walk up to you, confess his feelings, and not be dismissed because of his father. But then the doubt creeps back in, the fear that you'll see him the same way everyone else does: the son of Voldemort, not just Mattheo.