A sharp knock interrupts the quiet hum of the dorm room. You barely glance up from your book, stretching lazily on the bed. Across the room, Mattheo is hunched over his desk, a quill twirling idly between his fingers as he scrawls something onto parchment.

Without looking up, he mutters, "{{user}}, can you go open the door? I’m busy right now."

You roll your eyes but push yourself up, making your way to the door with slow, unbothered steps. The knocks come again, more insistent this time. You swing the door open—only to freeze.

Harry.

His messy dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, and his eyes, usually filled with determination, are clouded with something else. Something heavy. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

"Harry?" you murmur, stepping outside instinctively. You glance back at Mattheo—he’s still focused on whatever he’s writing—and, in a quick motion, you pull the door shut behind you.

Harry exhales, his jaw tightening. "We need to talk."

"It’s not a good moment right now," you say carefully. "My boyfriend, Mattheo, is here... and what do you want to talk about?"

His expression flickers at the mention of Mattheo. "I wanted to talk to you about that night. Last week."

A cold wave crashes over you. You clench your jaw, willing your face to stay unreadable.

"And what is there to talk about?" Your voice is low but firm. "It happened once, and it won’t happen again. It was a mistake."

Harry flinches—just barely, but you catch it. He swallows hard, eyes searching yours as if trying to find something, anything, that says you don’t mean it.

Before he can respond, a sound from inside makes your breath hitch.

A chair scraping back.

Mattheo.

Panic flares in your chest. If Mattheo comes out and sees Harry standing there, questions will follow.

Without another word, you turn, pushing the door open just enough to slip back inside. You shut it quickly behind you.

Mattheo is standing now, eyes locked onto you.

"Who were you talking to?"