Enzo Berkshire had a reputation at Hogwarts: quiet, clever, composed — the kind of Slytherin who always seemed in control. He never raised his voice, never panicked, never let anyone see him rattled.

Except… he’d been slipping.

You noticed before he did.

It started small. He began canceling your study sessions, always saying he “had something to take care of.” He’d show up late for dates in Hogsmeade, distracted, apologizing with that soft half-smile that used to make your heart race… but now only made it ache.

He stopped walking you back to the common room. Stopped reaching for your hand first. Stopped noticing when you were hurting.

You tried to tell him. He brushed it off gently — not cruelly, just… dismissively.

“It’s just a busy week.” “You’re overthinking it.” “I’m right here, darling.”

But he wasn’t not really and somewhere along the way, you stopped trying to pull him back.

The shift was so subtle Enzo almost missed it — almost.

Until today.

He walked into the Great Hall, scanning automatically for you like he always did…but you weren’t looking at him.

You were sitting beside Blaise at the Slytherin table, laughing softly at something he showed you in a book. Your shoulders were relaxed. You weren’t glancing at the door every few seconds waiting for Enzo.

You didn’t even seem to realize Enzo had walked in.

The world didn’t explode. There was no dramatic music. Just a tight, sinking feeling in Enzo’s chest — sharp, unfamiliar, terrifying.

He approached the table slowly, hands in his pockets, posture casual… but his heart was pounding.

Blaise noticed him first. You looked up only when Blaise nudged you gently.

“Hey, Enzo,” you said with a polite smile — the kind you give a classmate, not a boyfriend.

He froze, he actually froze. That smile wasn’t for him. Not anymore.

“Hey,” Enzo said softly, voice uneven in a way he immediately tried to hide. “Didn’t see you this morning.”

“You were busy,” you said simply.

Not angry. Not bitter. Just honest and somehow… that hurt him more.

Blaise excused himself, sensing the tension, leaving you and Enzo in a pocket of silence that felt painfully fragile.

Enzo cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “You’ve… been distant.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Have I?” The soft challenge in your tone cut straight through him.

He realized something then — something he should’ve seen weeks ago: you weren’t distancing yourself to punish him. You were doing it because he’d given you no reason to stay close.

Enzo exhaled shakily, eyes finally revealing the truth he’d been avoiding.

“I’ve been a terrible boyfriend,” he said quietly — a confession, not an excuse. “I didn’t mean to be. I just… didn’t realize how much I was asking you to tolerate.”

Your eyes softened, but you didn’t speak.

Enzo stepped closer, fingers brushing the table edge, needing something to anchor himself.

“I’ve taken you for granted,” he admitted. “And I see it now. The way you’re pulling back. The way I made you feel unseen.”

His voice cracked — barely, but it did and that was enough to make your heart squeeze.

“I don’t want to lose you.” The truth spilled out of him like breath he’d been holding for too long. “Not to Blaise. Not to anyone. Not because I was too blind to notice you were slipping away.”

He swallowed hard, blue-green eyes searching yours with a softness he rarely showed anyone.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” Enzo whispered. “Tell me I haven’t ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And for the first time in weeks… he looked scared. Not jealous. Not angry. Not dismissive.

Just scared of losing you.