The corridor was tense—voices sharp, echoing off the stone. You and your boyfriend again. Same fight, different lies.

He stepped closer, voice low but venomous. “You’re overreacting. She kissed me. I didn’t even kiss back.” A scoff. “God, you’re exhausting sometimes—can’t you just let things go?”

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t respond. Not yet. You were too busy holding yourself together.

A few paces away, Barty leaned against the wall, silent.

Eyes narrowed. Listening. Burning.

You didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. Watching. Like he was daring the boy in front of you to take one more step.

But he didn’t interrupt. Not then.

Your boyfriend stormed off, muttering something cruel under his breath. And just like that—gone.

You were alone.

Almost.

Barty pushed off the wall, boots heavy on the stone. No smirk. No theatrics. Just stillness, heavy and unreadable.

He stopped beside you. Didn’t look at you.

Then, finally—quiet. Dangerous.

“You do realise he only wins because you keep forgiving him.”

You froze. Something in the air shifted. The words were too sharp, too true.

Barty turned his head, eyes finding yours. They weren’t smug. They weren’t kind. They were honest.

“Funny thing is… you keep chasing boys who hurt you, while the one who’d burn for you hasn’t even touched you yet.”

And with that, he left—no goodbye, no lingering look. Just silence.

You stood there long after he was gone.

Heart louder than it had been all night.