“You’ll be there, right?” Mattheo asked as he pulled off his soaked shirt, scavenging for a clean one in the midst of his undoubtedly messy room. It was hard to imagine how he sifted through it all. The floor was hardly visible. “I mean, you better be there.” He mended, glancing over his shoulder to glance at you as you sat on the edge of his bed. He was adamant about you being there at his quidditch matches. He would never admit though that he adored and loved that you would show.