Mattheo makes it easy to fall. He’s reckless and ridiculous, and he makes you laugh like no one else. He shows up at your window after curfew with stolen sweets from the kitchens and a cocky grin. “Come on,” he whispers, “life’s more fun when it’s breaking rules.”

And for a while, it is.

He makes you feel like the center of his universe—holding your hand in the dark, brushing his lips against your neck when no one’s looking. “You’re not like the others,” he tells you one night, voice hoarse and honest. “I don’t want to ruin this.”

But it starts to shift.

He grows jealous. Possessive. Temperamental.

You smile at a RavencIaw in Charms and Mattheo’s knuckles are bruised by lunch.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he growls, slamming his bag onto the table where you’re studying. “Flirting with him like I’m not right here.”

“Mattheo, I wasn’t flirting—”

“Then what would you call it?” His voice lowers, dangerous. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were offering him my smile.”

You shake your head, stunned. “You’re twisting everything.”

“No,” he snaps, leaning in, “I’m seeing it clearly now.”

The boy who once held you like glass now breaks you without lifting a hand. One day, he’s a storm of kisses and whispered promises. The next, he’s slamming doors, throwing words like daggers, and daring you to walk away.

And still, every time he falls apart, he shows up again—flowers in one hand, apologies in the other.

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips. “Even when I hate you.”

You should run.

But gods help you… you still haven’t.