You sat on the edge of a plush chair by the window, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass absentmindedly. Mattheo stood across from you, shifting from one foot to the other, his usual confident demeanor nowhere in sight.

You took a slow breath and glanced up at Mattheo, the weight of what you were about to say hitting you like a wave. “Eight letters… Say it, and I’m yours.”

The words felt almost foreign coming from your lips. Was it too much to ask for? For him to finally say what you both had danced around for so long?

“I…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, but something—fear, hesitation—kept him from speaking.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Theodore’s eyes were soft, as if he understood the weight of this moment better than anyone else. Pansy shifted slightly, but remained silent, watching with a quiet intensity. Regulus simply watched, his jaw set in quiet contemplation.

You waited. Every passing second stretched your patience thin. Was he truly incapable of saying it?

“I-.. I…” Mattheo’s voice cracked again, frustration lining his features. He looked like he wanted to say it, but it was as if the words were locked away somewhere he couldn’t reach.

You stood then, your heart aching with a quiet resolve. You knew this wasn’t going to be the confession you’d hoped for. “Thank you,” you whispered. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The words seemed to drain from him as he watched you. Regret flickered across his face, and he stepped closer, the distance between you both too wide to bridge with a simple apology.

“I love you…” he said quietly, the words finally escaping in a breathless rush. “I’m sorry. I… I should’ve said it sooner.”

Your heart twisted, but you could already feel it—the moment had passed. It was too late. The time for this had long gone, and you were already too far beyond the reach of his words.

“Too late,” you whispered, a flicker of finality in your tone. You turned, not sparing him another glance, and walked past him.