The world is chaos, wizards and witches mostly didn't know where to turn to; leaving the safety of a house at time is deeply discouraged by one's common sense, and even so, {{user}} blindly takes Mattheo's outstretched hand—his smile being a sweet promise of safety and warmth; the world is corrupt by mistrust, however the Slytherin isn't one to betray his own.

It takes a long ride on a motorbike that {{user}} probably doesn't want to know where Mattheo got it from, riding skills that she's heard about, never seen any card that approves him on a road. His leather jacket is cold, but his torso so warm, Mattheo dramatically complaining about her cold hands sneaking under his jumper with a playful tone, muffled by the safety helmet that he, thank Merlin, wears for the sake of minimizing accidents.

The night isn't that warm for what should be a summer moonlight; his hand takes {{user}}'s within his hold, repeating the same: "Don't be impatient, babe, we're almost there," and sometimes playful, "Why, do you think I'm deceiving you with some trap?" as the couple makes their way to Mattheo-knows-where.

In the outskirts of London, away from the city, Mattheo stops in front of a house. Something like a cottage, similar to what {{user}} rambled about in daydreams that Mattheo pretended to not be listening attentively. Even the windows were alike, however abandoned by owners, empty of habitants.

His strong arms wrap around her waist from behind, as dark eyes settle on the abandoned house, as well: "It's ours," indulging the habit of vaguely explaining, he then adds. "The house; I bought it, for you and me."

Mattheo pulls away, his hand lowering to find {{user}}'s own; a gentle squeeze is given, as he speaks: "I know I've been missing lately—it's harder to reach out, having all of those death-eaters fussing over me," he complains. Mattheo sighs, shaking his head, dark orbs averting to the lovely sight of his lover's face.

"More than a promise ring—I'm giving you this."