The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet for once, lit only by the crackle of the emerald-tinged fire. Mattheo sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’d just survived a war. Theo sat beside him, flipping through a deck of exploding snap cards without paying them any real attention.

Bro, I think I need a vacation, Mattheo groaned, voice muffled behind his hand.

Theo didn’t even look up. From what exactly? The exhausting routine of sitting around and doing nothing?

Mattheo dropped his arm dramatically against the cushions. This place. The classes, the professors… but most of all the girls, bro.

Theo’s lips twitched. Let me guess. Too many bites, too many short skirts, too many “I want you so badly” eyes? Must be rough.

Mattheo sat up, pointing at him with genuine distress. They’re not just I-want-you eyes, Theo. They’re I-will-eat-you-alive-in-the-corridor eyes. I-want-your-baby-Riddle eyes. This is not fun anymore. I can’t even go to the library without someone cornering me by the bookshelves.

Theo gasped dramatically. Oh no. Not the bookshelf attack. That’s when it gets serious.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. Yeah, keep laughing. Wait until one hands you a cupcake and says it’s “just a snack.” That’s how it starts, Theo. That’s how they get you.

Theo finally looked at him, full smirk in place. Alright, you walking fantasy. I can’t shake the feeling you’re not actually complaining about too much attention. You’re just mad it’s not coming from… her.

Mattheo blinked. Her? I don’t know who you’re talking about, bro.

The door swung open, and you walked in — hair a little windswept, arms full of books, eyes soft and distracted as you crossed the room. Mattheo’s head snapped toward you instantly, gaze locked, shoulders squaring like instinct.

Theo stared at him. Yeah. Totally no idea.

Mattheo didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. His eyes said everything.