Mattheo has always liked you. More than liked you, if he’s honest. But you’ve always been taken by someone else. So he stays your friend. The late-night comfort. The shoulder to cry on. The laugh when you need it most.

Until the night it all crumbles.

You show up at the common room, mascara smudged, bottle of firewhiskey half-empty. Your boyfriend dumped you. The pain clings to you like fog, and Mattheo doesn’t ask questions. He just lets you fall into his arms. He listens, pours the drinks, and stays.

And somewhere between one glass too many and the quiet ache of silence, you say it.

“Why couldn’t I just fall for someone like you?”

Without even thinking about it, your lips are on his. It’s slow. Intentional. Your hands on his face. His heart stalling in his chest. For a moment, everything he’s ever wanted lives in the space between your kiss and his breath.

But you’ve had one too many shots of firewhiskey and you’re hurting. Fragile. So he pulls back.

“Not like this,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

He walks you to your room, tucks you in, kisses your forehead, and lets himself hope that tomorrow… maybe everything changes.

But tomorrow comes like a slap to the face. He walks into the Great Hall and sees you curled up beside your boyfriend. Laughing. As if none of it happened. As if he never happened.

You spot him and the way his jaw tightens. The way the light in his eyes is already gone. You rush to him. “Oh… uhm… Matty—”

“Don’t.”

His voice is cold and final. He won’t even look at you.

“Mattheo, please, I—”

“No.” His tone hardens. His fists clench. “Fck you, and fck him too.”

You blink, stunned. You’ve seen him act like this with others, but not with you. Never with you.

He turns to walk away without allowing you any explanations, second chances, or hope of what could’ve been.