The hallway was quiet—too quiet for a Thursday night in the dungeons, where whispers usually dripped from stone walls like condensation. Mattheo leaned against the pillar outside the Slytherin common room, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, the end glowing like a warning. The smoke curled up past his face, framing the sharp line of his jaw, his dark eyes narrowed and trained on the corner you’d just disappeared around not five minutes ago.

He’d watched you laughing with someone else, someone who didn’t get you the way he did. Someone safe. Predictable. The kind of guy who tucked in his shirt and probably asked permission before holding your hand.

Mattheo scoffed to himself.

He dropped the cigarette, crushed it beneath his boot with a slow twist of his foot, then pushed off the wall. His footsteps were steady but heavy, echoing with intent as he turned the corner.

“There you are,” he said, voice low, calm—too calm. Dangerous.

You turned, startled, that look in your eyes—the one that said don’t do this now—but he was already closing the space between you.

“I heard you’ve been falling in love.” His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for you, but didn’t. “Or at least pretending to. That right?”

Mattheo tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle with missing pieces.

“You think that feels real?” he asked, stepping in so close you could smell the aftershave on his collar, the clove and ash lingering on his clothes. “Because all I see is you sleepwalking through it.”

He laughed, sharp and humorless. “Your mind has been played with, love. Hypnotized. And not even by someone worth bleeding for.”

With an edge slicing into his voice, he added, “Snap out of it.”

The silence stretched. His tongue clicked once against the roof of his mouth, a habit when he was holding back too much.

He leaned closer, voice quieter now, like he didn’t want the stone walls to overhear. “If that’s what you want—forever with him—fine. But don’t expect me to smile through it.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching just once. “Because I know the way you look when you’re really in it. I’ve seen your eyes light up like fire, not flicker like some dying match.”

He stepped back just enough to meet your gaze fully, something heavy settling in his expression.

“You wanna play make-believe, go ahead. But don’t fucking lie to yourself about who’s still got a hold on you.”

And then, a final crack in the armor—his voice dropping low, nearly a whisper, “I’ll be here. Not moving. But when you wake up…” His eyes burned. “You better come back to me like you mean it—like you’ve been trying to all along.”