Mattheo sat at the edge of your bed, eyes haunted, unmoving. He hadn’t meant to stay this long. He told himself he’d only check on you—to make sure you were safe. But hours passed and he hadn’t moved.
His eyes burned from lack of sleep, but his mind wouldn't rest. Couldn’t. Not when it kept replaying the way that boy had looked at you. Not when it kept whispering things in the dark—things like she could leave you, she doesn’t need you, she doesn’t even know what you really are.
He had barely made it through the day without exploding. He had exploded. In the corridor after class, he slammed that boy against the wall with a hex.
Now, sitting by your sleeping form, his fingers twitched. You had no idea. Not about how hard it was for him to feel this way. How every emotion hit like a tidal wave—anger, desire, fear. Especially fear.
He had to do something. Anything. Because words wouldn’t come. Feelings wouldn't make sense. But magic... magic obeyed him.
He slid his wand from his sleeve, hand shaking. He leaned closer. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”
He rolled your sleeve up, fingers trembling as they brushed your skin. Still, you didn’t wake.
And then...
The incantation was soft. The mark curved itself over your skin.
It shimmered briefly, before settling into something darker. Permanent.
The next morning, you woke with a tight ache in your chest. Your fingers brushed the fabric of your shirt and your heart dropped.
The mark pulsed faintly beneath your skin.
You threw the covers off and went looking for him.
You found him by the fireplace, still wearing the same clothes as the night before. His eyes were dark, ringed with exhaustion. He didn’t even flinch when you approached.
“Mattheo,” you said, voice sharp. “What did you do?”
He didn’t look at you.
“Don’t play games with me... Look at me.”
Slowly, his gaze met yours. “What are you talking about?” he asked flatly.
You rolled up your sleeve, exposing the mark. “This. What is this?”
He stared at it. At you.
He stood, suddenly, tension radiating off him like heat. “You were mine anyway. This just... makes it official.”
“You don’t get to brand me, Mattheo.”
“You don’t get to leave me,” he snapped.