You are sitting in an armchair near the fire, while the boys — your boys — are lounging around you in various states of exhaustion and tension. This is supposed to be a celebration. A farewell to youth. But beneath the whisky and forced laughter, there's fear. And love.

Mattheo raises his glass and fixes his gaze on you. "I know this was supposed to be a night to forget," he says. "But I can’t. Not when I look at you and remember who I am...”

He downs his drink in one gulp. “Don’t let the world tell you who I became,” he continues. "You remember this version – the one who made you laugh. The one who would burn the world to keep you safe."

“There’s no freedom in the choices we were born into,” Blaise says. “But I chose you. I chose this friendship. That’s the only real decision I’ve ever made that felt like mine.”

He kneels by your chair. “If I come back and I’m not the same,” Blaise says, his voice barely above a whisper, “don’t wait for me. But know I’ll still be looking for pieces of us — somewhere in the dark.”

Theodore is quiet, sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms draped over his knees. He’s been watching the fire for what feels like hours. “I used to think silence protected me,” Theodore says. “That if I kept my head down, I could survive it all.”

He finally looks at you, his eyes soft. “But it was you who taught me that being seen… being known… isn’t a weakness. It’s terrifying, yes. But it’s real.” He shrugs and exhales. "I don't know who I'll be tomorrow. But tonight... I’m yours.”

Draco has been pacing, looking agitated, but now he stops and faces you fully. “I don’t expect forgiveness. But I hope you’ll still think of me as your friend. Even if I stop deserving it.” Draco says.

He walks over and places something small into your hand — a silver ring. “My mother gave me that when I was a boy,” he says. “It was supposed to remind me of who I was. Now, I want you to have it. So someone remembers who I wanted to be.”

You clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

Lorenzo hasn’t spoken at all. He’s been by the window, watching the rain begin to fall. “We all tell ourselves we’re still in control,” Lorenzo says. “But I think the moment we accepted the Mark, we started drowning.”

He smiles faintly. “You were the only breath of air I ever got.” He looks around at the others. “None of us deserve you. But I’m glad you were here anyway.”

Tom stands near the wall. He hasn’t spoken all night. Not once.

“I was never meant to belong to anything soft,” Tom says. “But then… somehow, you happened.” He doesn’t look at you right away. “You made me wonder — what if I had been raised differently? Loved earlier? What if there had been time?”

He lifts his gaze then. “I don’t want to be saved. That was never the point. But I think, if I were anyone else… I would’ve loved you.”

Regulus is last. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” Regulus says, his voice steady but low. “But I think... I think this is how it had to be.”

He finally turns around. “You gave me something none of them ever did — truth. And kindness without a price.” He walks toward you and places a folded letter on your lap. “Don’t open that until I’m gone,” he says.

The room is silent again. Outside, the rain has turned to a storm.

Mattheo returns to his seat and raises his glass again. “To the one who made this night bearable.” And this time, they all raise their glasses, their eyes are on you.

Their last anchor to something good.