You sit in a chair next to Mattheo's bed, watching him breathe, his chest rising and falling steadily but with a fragility that unsettles you. The bandages on his arm, the bruises peeking from beneath his shirt—it’s all a reminder of how close you came to losing him last night.

The raid had been vicious. Death Eaters attacked led by none other than your father, Voldemort.

Mattheo stirs, and his eyes flutter open. There’s a moment of confusion before he sees you, and something unreadable crosses his face. He winces, trying to sit up.

“Don’t,” you say softly, standing to adjust the pillows behind him. “You need to rest.”

Mattheo scoffs lightly, though it’s laced with pain. “Since when did you become my nurse?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart isn’t in it. “Since you almost died last night.”

Mattheo’s eyes darken, and he looks away, staring at the wall as if he’s trying to escape something. “I was outnumbered,” he mutters, still not looking at you.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Silence falls again. You can see the battle going on inside him, the reluctance to speak about what’s eating at him. You’ve always been able to read him, he’s hiding something.

“I was ready to let go,” he admits, eyes still fixed on the wall. “When they had me cornered, when I lost my wand—I thought that was it.”

“But something stopped me,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I should’ve given up. I wanted to. But...”

Mattheo finally turns to look at you, and his eyes are filled with something raw, vulnerability.

“I thought of you,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “I couldn’t leave you behind. Not like that. You’re the only reason I fought back. The only reason I’m still here.”