The common room is quiet, fire flickering low as Tom stands near the window, shoulders tense.

Draco strolls in casually and removes his robes. He chuckles as he notices Tom’s tense body language. “How’s my girl doing, Riddle?”

Tom doesn’t turn. His voice is clipped. Annoyed. “I can’t stand—”

“She’s fine with me, MaIfoy,” Mattheo interrupts from the couch, his arms draped across the back. His voice is deceptively calm.

Mattheo leans forward, his arms now resting on his knees. “She gets me. Even when I don’t make sense. Even when I’m too much.”

Draco lifts a brow. “That’s doesn’t sound like {{user}} at all.”

Mattheo shrugs. “Maybe not when she was with you. But let’s face it, you and I aren’t exactly cut from the same cloth, ferret.”

Draco’s jaw clenches slightly at that. While it’s true that he excepted a certain level of refinement from the girls that he dated, he never thought that you would be attracted to someone like Mattheo.

But, as time eventually proves, you were the only one who could read Mattheo’s storms and still reach for him.

He wasn’t easy. He wasn’t safe. But you understood him. And for someone like Mattheo, that was everything.

Mattheo rises from his seat, now standing face-to-face with Draco. “So stop talking about her like she’s something to pass around.”

You enter the common room and spot Mattheo and Draco mid-conversation. The moment Mattheo sees you, he brushes past Draco without hesitation, his shoulder intentionally bumping his shoulder into him.

“{{user}}’s not yours,” he mutters, loud enough for Draco to hear. “She’s mine. And you know it.”