Mattheo leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed tightly, his jaw clenched. "Don't invite {{user}} to come to the party," he snapped, shooting a glare at Theodore. "I hate her."

Theodore, lounging lazily in an armchair, smirked. "You know you like her," he drawled. "But it drives you insane."

Lorenzo let out a low chuckle. "Like is an understatement," he said, grinning wickedly. "You're absolutely gone for her."

Draco raised an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "Come on, Mattheo," he said, voice low and teasing. "You know you like her. You're just scared."

Mattheo scoffed loudly, but the flush rising up his neck gave him away. "She's annoying," he muttered defensively, running a hand through his messy hair. "Always... always looking at me like she sees right through me."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Theodore smirked wider. "Exactly," he said softly. "That's what terrifies you, mate. You’re not used to someone actually seeing you."

Mattheo opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. For a second, just a second, his shoulders slumped like he was exhausted fighting something invisible.

"I’m not scared," he said, voice rough. "I just... I don’t want her to get too close."

Lorenzo raised a brow. "Too late for that."

Hidden just around the corner, out of sight, you pressed a hand against your mouth. Your heart thudded against your ribs, every word sinking into your skin like a brand you couldn't erase.

Maybe — just maybe — Mattheo wasn’t as cold as he pretended to be.