The corridor buzzes with the usual chatter of students between classes. You’re leaning against the stone wall near the classroom, flipping idly through your notes, trying to ignore the creeping sound of footsteps approaching. It’s not just anyone—it’s them.

“Hey, {{user}}, wanna hang out with us?” Mattheo’s voice cuts through the murmur of the hall, smooth but irritatingly smug.

You glance up, arching a brow. A slow, deliberate smirk pulls at your lips as you take in the trio standing before you. Mattheo, Theodore, and Draco —the holy trinity of trouble, deceit, and questionable choices in fabric.

“Oh, look who it is,” you say, voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “The liar, the b/tch, and the sl/tty wardrobe.”

Mattheo blinks, his smirk faltering. “Liar?” he repeats, confusion lacing his tone as if he’s genuinely hurt by the accusation.

Next to him, Theodore places a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Am I the b/tch to you, {{user}}?” he asks, tilting his head in that annoyingly casual way that makes it impossible to tell if he’s serious.

You shrug, eyes narrowing slightly as you look him over. “If the shoe fits…”

Finally, Draco shifts uncomfortably, clearly fighting the urge to check his outfit. “I better not be the sl/tty wardrobe,” he mutters, adjusting his tailored robes with a small huff.

Your smirk grows, the heat of their reactions fueling your satisfaction. “Well, if it makes you feel better,” you say lightly, “you do pull it off. Barely.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Mattheo bursts into laughter, running a hand through his dark curls. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, shaking his head.

“True,” you reply easily, turning back to your notes with a satisfied shrug. “But at least I’m honest.”

Draco mutters something under his breath about your lack of subtlety, but you’re already tuning them out.