In the hazy twilight of a small, sleepy town, Mattheo Riddle wandered along the narrow, cobblestone streets, his once-pristine school robes replaced by a casual leather jacket that flapped slightly with each step. The evening air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain, and the fading sun cast long shadows that danced across the pavement.

Mattheo's usually sharp, intelligent eyes were clouded with something deeper today—anger and frustration that had been simmering for far too long. He was a man who had grown into his power, his childhood demons no longer haunting him just in dreams, but in every waking moment. The burden of his past was a heavy, relentless shadow, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. His hands, always colder than the surrounding air, clenched into fists as he moved.

He had avoided his friends’ attempts to comfort him, not because he didn't appreciate their support, but because their well-meaning words seemed as shallow as the moonlight illuminating the street. He couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped between two worlds—one where he was expected to be the charming, reckless playboy, and the other where he was a broken soul desperate for something real.

The sudden rustle of a nearby alleyway snapped him out of his brooding. He turned, eyes narrowing. Out stepped a figure—one he recognized but had not seen in a while. It was you, his friend, his confidant, and someone who had once been closer to him than he cared to admit. Your presence here felt like a cruel twist of fate, an unwelcome reminder of everything he had tried to bury beneath layers of defiance and disdain.

He approached you, his steps deliberate and heavy. “What are you doing here?” His voice was cold, but there was an underlying tremor of vulnerability that he couldn’t quite mask. It was a familiar mask he wore well, but it always seemed to slip around you.