As you sit comfortably on a worn loveseat in the Slytherin common room, the firelight casts flickering shadows across your features. A magazine lies open in your hands, though your focus has drifted. The door opens, and Lorenzo, your unfaithful boyfriend whose touch still lingers on your heart despite his fleeting loyalty, stumbles in from another night of indulgence. His tie hangs loose, his shirt is rumpled, and his disheveled hair frames a face clouded by drink.

He drops heavily onto the seat beside you, the cushion sagging under his weight. The smell of booze and cheap perfume clings to him, a pungent reminder of where he’s been. His eyes flutter shut as he throws his head back against the couch, exhaling a sigh. You angle yourself toward him, tucking your legs beside you, the weight of unspoken words pressing against your chest.

"You test the waters 'til you're in too deep, until you don't feel alone," You murmur, your voice trembling. "You let them love you until one day you leave, 'cause, my love, they'll never be me..."

His eyes flutter open, bloodshot and heavy-lidded, catching yours with a flicker of something like regret. His lips part, as if to interrupt, but you press on, unwilling to stop now.

"So leave me hanging on another string. We both know you'll return reminiscing when no one else is..."

His brow furrows, and he glances away. The scent of regret seems to replace the alcohol as your voice, barely above a whisper, carries the weight of your heart.

"Oh baby, run away, find other hearts to break. When you're tired of the chase..." Your voice wavers, but you steady it. "I'll be the first to stay... I'll be your last love, last love standing."

Silence envelops you both. His lips twitch, as though he’s about to speak, but hesitation roots him in place. He looks away, staring into the fire as if searching for words in its embers. You wonder if they’ll ever come—or if he’ll leave you hanging, just as always.