Enzo stormed into his room, the door slamming behind him with a sharp thud. He flung his bag into the corner like it had personally wronged him, the leather thumping against the stone wall.

You raised a brow from where you were lying on his bed, half-reading, half-waiting for him.

“Bad day?” you asked casually.

He didn’t respond right away—just gave you a gloomy look as he kicked off his shoes and paced.

“More like bad life,” he muttered, voice thick with frustration.

You bit your cheek to keep from laughing, already sensing where this was going. You held out your arms, expression soft.

“Come here, drama queen.”

Enzo squinted at you like you’d just offended his soul.

“Y/N, this isn’t funny.”

You exhaled. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But please, babe—come over here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He hesitated, jaw clenched, but eventually dropped down in front of you, resting his head on your knee as you laced your fingers through his.

“Enz? What is it?” you asked again, thumbs gently rubbing circles into his knuckles.

He looked up at you, eyes haunted. “Were you ever scared of me?”

Your brows furrowed. “Scared? Why would I be?”

He scoffed bitterly and pulled his hands away. “Exactly.” He shook his head, voice rising. “This is exactly what I mean, Y/N! Nobody in this school takes me seriously! They all think I’m this loverboy they can flirt with, and that I’m ‘oh so easy-going’. But I don’t WANT to be that!”

He yanked at his tie, loosening it like it was choking him. His frustration crackled in the air.

“I want people to respect me,” he continued. “Not think I’m this Hufflepuff boy they can do anything with!”

You stared at him—angry, hurt, unraveling—and suddenly, you saw the cracks beneath the confident, flirty mask he wore every day.

“Enz,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand again. “Listen to me. Do you wanna be more like Tom, who’s afraid to show any vulnerability? Or like Draco, who’s secretly scared of literally everything? Or maybe Theo, who acts all tough but runs to the astronomy tower to blow off steam every chance he gets?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, confused but listening.

“Look at me, love,” you said, gently squeezing his fingers. “You are special because you are soft. That is not a weakness, that is a strength. You could be like them—but they could never be you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his shoulders slowly lowering, the fight draining from his body.

“Do you really mean that?” he whispered, voice raw.

You smiled softly. “I swear on Salazar.”

And for the first time that day, Enzo believed it.