You were curled up against Mattheo on the sofa in the common room. His arm was resting loosely around your shoulders and his fingers were idly tracing patterns on your sleeve while he talked with the others.

Tom lounged in an armchair opposite you with his boots propped shamelessly on the coffee table. Theodore and Draco were sitting on the rug near the fire with a forgotten deck of cards between them, their attention drifting towards the conversation rather than the game.

Tom’s eyes flicked from Mattheo to you, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You going to tell everyone how you got your girlfriend, Mattheo?”

You felt Mattheo’s chest rumble with laughter. He tilted his head slightly and smirked down at you before answering. "It was nothing, Tom."

Tom scoffed. “I recall it being something.”

Theodore leaned back on his hands. “Come on, bro. Just tell us. It can’t be that bad.”

Mattheo’s arm tightened around you in a playful squeeze, as if bracing for impact. “We were arguing,” he began. “And she got really heated… and she spat on me.”

Draco’s head snapped up. “She did what?”

Your face warmed instantly. “It was an accident,” you muttered, burying part of your face against Mattheo’s shoulder.

Tom burst out laughing. “Yeah, carry on. Tell them what you said to her to make her swoon so much.”

Mattheo’s smirk deepened. He glanced down at you, clearly enjoying your embarrassment, but there was a softness in his expression that took the sting out of it. His thumb brushed gently along your upper arm before he spoke. “All I said was, ‘Open your mouth, it’s my turn.’”

For a heartbeat, there was stunned silence. Then Theodore barked a surprised laugh. “And… that worked?”

Mattheo pulled you a fraction closer, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. “Yep,” he said. “That worked.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “You’re leaving out a lot of context,” you protested.

Tom waved a dismissive hand. “Context ruins a good story.”

Draco shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe that’s your grand romantic gesture.”

“It wasn’t a gesture,” Mattheo replied easily. “It was timing.”

Theodore snorted. “Right. Timing.”

Mattheo's fingers briefly touched yours under the blanket. "Come on, tell them how charming I am, darling," he chuckled.