You and Mattheo had never gotten along. You were soft-spoken and kind, always trying to see the best in others. Mattheo, on the other hand, was cold and distant, a shadow lingering at the edges of every room. He was sharp-tongued and unapologetically detached, his indifference cutting deeper than outright cruelty.

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, the castle calm and quiet as students went about their day—reading, chatting, or simply dozing off. Seeking some peace, you decided to spend the afternoon with a book, heading to the library where your usual study spot awaited.

You made your way to the corner, tucked away from the bustling parts of the library, only to stop short when you got there.

Mattheo Riddle was asleep in your spot.

He looked nothing like the cold, untouchable figure you were used to. His usually rigid posture was slack, his head resting on folded arms as though he’d simply collapsed there. His hair, usually neatly tousled, was a mess of dark curls spilling over his face. Even from a distance, you could see the exhaustion etched into his features. His pale skin seemed almost translucent under the faint library light, the deep shadows beneath his eyes standing out starkly against his cheekbones.

He looked…fragile.

For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of what to do. His breathing was slow and even, his face devoid of the usual mask of icy detachment. Instead, he looked vulnerable, the weight he carried hidden beneath his cold exterior now laid bare.

You hesitated, your shock warring with an unfamiliar pang of concern. The boy who always seemed untouchable, who moved through life as if he felt nothing at all, suddenly looked achingly human.

you then spoke softly.

“Mattheo?”

He didn’t stir, his exhaustion so deep that even your voice couldn’t pull him from sleep. You hesitated again, glancing at the open books and parchment scattered across the table. Whatever he had been doing before sleep claimed him must have drained him completely.