The party eventually burned low, the music fading into a lazy hum. Students trickled out in pairs and trios, drifting toward their dorms or the late-night kitchens. The emerald fire has dimmed to a soft glow, shadows stretching longer across the room.

You were one of the last to leave. At least, you thought you were—until you heard footsteps behind you as you slipped into the corridor.

Slow. Deliberate.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Can’t sleep?” Mattheo’s voice echoed quietly, bouncing off the cold stone walls.

You kept walking. “Go back to the party, Riddle.”

Mattheo followed. “It ended.”

“You didn’t.”

“That’s because you left.”

That made you stop.

You didn’t turn, but your breath stuttered, just barely.

Mattheo stepped up behind you—close enough that you felt the warmth of him at your back. Close enough that if you leaned, even a fraction, you’d brush against him.

“Why are you running again?” Mattheo askedquietly. No sarcasm this time. Just truth.

“I’m not running.”

Your voice shook. You prayer he didn’t hear it. He did.

“You are,” Mattheo murmured. “You’ve been running for weeks.”

You turned then—sharply, angrily—ready to throw a cruel remark, anything to build the walls back up. But the second your eyes met his, the words died on your tongue.

He looked… wrecked. Not angry. Not smug. Just someone who has been holding too many feelings for too long.