The Slytherin common room was buzzing that afternoon — low chatter, rolling dice, the crackle of green flames. You were curled up on the long sofa, flipping through a book, pretending not to notice the way two specific boys kept glancing your way.

Mattheo lounged in one of the leather chairs, legs spread, head tilted back like he owned the room. Draco, on the other hand, stood near the fireplace, posture perfect, fingers tapping impatiently against the marble mantle. The air between them had been tense all day — sharper, heavier, practically vibrating.

It didn’t take long for it to break.

Mattheo sat forward, eyes flicking to Draco with a wicked grin. “You know what your problem is, Malfoy?” he said, his voice carrying across the room even though he wasn’t speaking loudly. “You think a smirk and daddy’s money are enough to get her attention. But you’re nothing but noise.” His eyes dragged to you for half a heartbeat before landing back on Draco. “She doesn’t hear you.”

A couple first-years froze mid-step. Blaise and Theo exchanged a here we go look.

Draco turned slowly.

He didn’t raise his voice — he didn’t need to. His scoff cut the air like a blade. “Funny how threatened you get for someone who’s not competition, Riddle.” He stepped away from the fireplace, smoothing an invisible crease in his sleeve. “I’m not noise. I’m the reason you can’t sleep at night.” His smirk sharpened. “Too busy wondering if she’s with me.”

The room tensed. Someone stopped breathing. Maybe it was you.

Mattheo laughed — low, dark, a little bit dangerous — as he rose from his chair. “Threatened?” he echoed, stepping closer. “Trust me, Malfoy. The last thing I’m thinking about at night is you.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for Draco but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m too busy remembering what she does when we’re alone… especially the way she says my name when she wants more.”

The room erupted in muffled gasps. Blaise’s eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. Theo let out a whistle under his breath.

But Draco only laughed — a sound too cold for the fire behind him. Then he took a slow step toward Mattheo, closing the gap between them until they were nothing but fury and arrogance inches apart.

“You know what’s even funnier, Mattheo?” Draco murmured. “The fact that you genuinely believe she wasn’t already mine before you were even in the picture.”

Your breath hitched. Mattheo heard it. Draco saw it.

Both boys turned toward you at the same time.

The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

Mattheo’s jaw flexed. Draco’s eyes gleamed, knowing and smug. Everyone else in the common room suddenly found a reason to leave before someone died.

And you — caught helplessly between two storms — felt both of their gazes burn into you like a claim neither of them would ever surrender.