The shower hissed softly, steam curling around Mattheo’s shoulders and rising to fog the tall, gold-framed mirror above the sink. The bathroom was vast and cold by design, Malfoy Manor spared no luxury, but the heat from the water wrapped around him like armor, soothing the quiet tension that always lived just beneath his skin. It was late. The manor had gone still hours ago, blanketed in the kind of silence only winter and old magic could bring. Everyone was asleep, or so he’d assumed.

He ran a hand through his wet curls, jaw set, eyes closed as the water spilled down his back. His thoughts drifted, restless but quieter than usual. No darkness clawing at the edges tonight. Just the quiet hum of solitude. The kind he preferred. Then the door creaked open. His head snapped toward the sound, muscles tightening instinctively, a sharp inhale cutting through the steam. And there she was.

{{user}}. Draco’s little sister. Standing frozen in the doorway, framed by soft moonlight from the tall bathroom windows. Silk pajamas clung to her in a way that made his throat go dry. Her lips parted, her eyes wide, and locked on him. Everything in him screamed to look away. To grab a towel. To say something smart or dismissive. But instead, he just stood there, water dripping from his hair, his body tense and motionless as their eyes held.

He should have been annoyed. He wasn’t. He arched an eyebrow, jaw flexing slightly, voice low and rough from the steam. “Didn’t think you were the sneaky type, sweetheart.” His mouth curved into the faintest, crooked smirk. “You lost, or just hoping for a better view?”