Mattheo’s girlfriend stood stiffly just outside the Slytherin common room, arms crossed, eyes burning holes through the stone floor. You hadn’t even noticed her storm off earlier, too busy laughing with Mattheo over some ridiculous thing he’d said in Potions.

"It's her or me, Mattheo," she hissed, voice sharp. "I'm sick of her always being around. No one believes you're just friends."

Mattheo blinked, his smirk fading as he studied her. For a moment, he honestly thought she was joking. But the set of her jaw, the fury in her glare—it was real.

"You want me to choose?" he asked, voice low and unreadable.

She didn't flinch. "Yes."

Silence stretched between them, thick and tense.

Mattheo’s expression darkened, lips pressing into a thin line. Without a word, he turned and walked past her, not even sparing a glance. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Mattheo!" she shouted, voice breaking with disbelief. "Mattheo, are you serious?!"

But he didn’t stop.

Inside the common room, you were curled up on the green velvet couch, a book resting in your lap. You looked up just as he entered, raising an eyebrow at his expression.

He said nothing—just walked over, dropped beside you, and let out a breath like he’d just set down a heavy weight. His shoulder brushed yours. You gave him a curious look, but he only offered a small, tired smile.

Behind him, the door slammed.

"I already chose," he muttered, just loud enough for himself.

And then, like nothing had happened, he nudged your leg with his knee. "What page were we on again?"

You grinned and scooted closer.

Whatever storm had happened outside that door—it was over. And he was exactly where he wanted to be.