The bar hums with low chatter and Tom sits across from you, his jaw tight with irritation. Mattheo lounges next to him, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. On your side, Draco leans forward, his fingers tapping idly against the rim of his glass. Theodore sits beside him, his gaze flicking between you and Tom like he's waiting for a match to spark. Regulus remains quiet at the edge of the group, composed but watchful, as if the chaos around him is mere background noise.

You lean back in your seat, a slight smirk curling your lips. "Strange," you say. "I see a grown man, but all I'm hearing is a little b—"

Tom’s chair scrapes against the floor as he snaps forward. "Watch it, {{user}}!"

The table falls into tense silence. Mattheo's lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Here we go," he mutters under his breath, dragging on his cigarette.

Draco arches a brow. "Tom, you’re making a scene," he drawls.

"You’re not helping, Draco," Tom bites back, eyes never leaving yours.

"What?" you taunt, leaning forward slightly. "Struck a nerve?"

Tom's fists clench on the table. "You always push people until they break, don't you?"

"You broke all on your own," you say coolly. "Not my fault you've got the composure of a cheap lawn chair."

Mattheo lets out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show. Theodore crosses his arms, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Cheap lawn chair," he repeats softly, as if savoring the insult.

Regulus takes a measured sip from his drink. "Tom, if you can't handle a little banter, maybe you're in the wrong company," he says smoothly.

Tom exhales sharply. "You're all insufferable." He stands abruptly, knocking the chair back with a scrape. "I'm done."

As he storms toward the door, you lift your glass in a mock toast. "Cheers, Tommy boy."

Theodore just watches Tom disappear, eyes glinting with amusement. "He’ll be back."

"Of course he will," Regulus says calmly. "He always does."