You step into the common room, intending to pass through unnoticed. You don't want to see him. But, of course, he’s there.

Mattheo is lounging in an armchair near the fire with his shirt unbuttoned. A pretty girl is half in his lap, laughing as she traces his collarbone with her fingers.

His gaze lifts the second you enter. The smirk fades.

Without a word, he pushes the girl off his lap.

“Get out.” He says flatly.

The girl blinks, humiliated. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He mutters, already looking past her — looking at you.

You don’t say anything at first. Just stare at him from across the room, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Another one, Mattheo? That supposed to make me jealous?” You say.

“You walked in here, not me.” He says, but there’s tension in his shoulders, like he’s waiting for something.

You shake your head and turn to go. His next words freeze you in place.

“Br0ke someone’s nose for you today.” He says.

You slowly turn back. “What?”

“A boy said you smiled at him. He called you sweet.” He shrugs. "I didn’t like his tone."

“Are you insane? You can’t keep doing this.” You say, stepping forward now, your heart pounding.

“Why not?” He says, standing. “He doesn’t get to talk about you like that. Like he knows you.”

“No one knows me anymore, Mattheo. Not even you.” You say.

He barks a bitter laugh. “Right. That’s what you think?”

He moves toward you now. “I remember everything.” He says. “How you hum when you’re nervous. How your nose crinkles when you read something confusing. How you used to pull me back into bed every morning, even when you were late.”

You grit your teeth. “Stop. That was ours. You don’t get to use it like a weapon. You don’t get to tell people about things that were private.”

His jaw tightens. “They’re my memories too.”

“And you’re twisting them into stories for attention.” You say. “That’s not love. That’s cruel.”

“I’m not being cruel.” He says, his voice rising. “I just— I want to hear your voice. Even if it’s just to scold me. Even if it’s just to make you look at me again.”

You stare at him, and for a second, you see the boy you once loved — all fire and fury and ache. But he’s buried too deep under the chaos now.

“This isn’t love anymore.” You say softly. “It’s obsession.”

“At least obsession means I still feel something.” He says. “You? You just walked away.”