You entered the common room and you found Mattheo sitting in the far corner, perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. A group of first-years was crowded around him, parchment and textbooks scattered across the floor.

You lingered by the doorway for a moment, watching him help them.

Mattheo's brow furrowed as he gently corrected a trembling first year's spelling of a tricky potion ingredient, muttering something you couldn't hear. His wand sat untouched on the table beside him, though a simple spell could have sorted out her mess of papers.

He didn't trust himself with casual magic.

One of the children thanked him shyly and darted off. The others slowly followed, leaving Mattheo alone. Then he saw you, his whole body stiffening as if he hadn't realised anyone had seen him.

You crossed the room and sat down beside him. "You're good with them," you said softly.

He laughed, but it was hollow. His hands twisted in the hem of his shirt, tugging at the fabric like he was trying to ground himself. He didn’t meet your eyes. "I don’t care," Mattheo muttered.

But his hands told the truth... they were shaking.

"I know you care," you whispered.

He finally looked at you, his eyes uncertain, full of all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. You could almost hear them anyway: I'm scared. I’m not good enough for you. I don’t know how to be better.

Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand. "You’re doing enough," you said. "You are enough."

"I’m trying," Mattheo said hoarsely. "I just... sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never going to be—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

You squeezed his hand tighter. "I don’t need perfect," you said. "I just need you."

There was a long silence between you

Mattheo stared at your joined hands. Then slowly, he leaned his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he whispered.