Mattheo sat alone on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. His face was in shadow and his jaw was clenched tight.

The door creaked open, and soft footsteps approached. Theodore slid onto the couch beside him.

"Hey, bro... how are you?" Theo asked.

Mattheo let out a bitter laugh and stared into the flames. "What do you think?" he muttered. "I really messed up this time... {{user}} hates me..."

Theo leaned back slightly, exhaling. "She doesn’t hate you. She’s hurt. That’s not the same thing," he said quietly. "You’ve got to give her time, Mattheo. Space."

Mattheo didn’t respond. His eyes remained fixed on the fire, but the guilt burning in them was brighter than the flames.

---

The castle garden was quiet, and you were sitting on a bench with your hands in your lap. Hermione sat beside you, her book closed and forgotten.

"{{user}}... is everything alright?" Hermione asked gently.

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on a distant rose bush. "Yeah... I was just thinking about Mattheo," you said softly.

"I think it’s better if you keep your distance from each other for now," Hermione said carefully. "Sometimes that’s the only way either of you can heal."

You nodded, but your eyes flicked across the garden without you even thinking about it. Something tugged at your attention, pulling at your heartstrings.

And there he was.

Mattheo was standing at the far end of the garden, half-hidden behind a tall hedge. His eyes were fixed on you — intense, unreadable and full of the storm that he hadn’t yet found the words to calm.

Fate didn’t care about space. Fate had other plans.