The corridor is crowded, buzzing with voices and footsteps and that typical Slytherin chaos. Mattheo and his friends are leaning against the wall — Draco complaining about something, Theo teasing Enzo, Blaise half-listening with his arms crossed.

Mattheo isn’t paying attention. Not really. Not until he sees you.

You’re walking down the hallway with your books tucked to your chest, quiet as ever, eyes down, moving like you’re trying not to take up too much space. You slip between louder students with that soft, careful grace he’s watched a hundred times but pretends he hasn’t noticed.

But everyone else fades for him the second you appear.

Mattheo straightens without even realizing it.

Theo catches the shift. “Oi, Mattheo, you good?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are on you — only you.

You don’t look at him when you pass. You never do. Too shy, too quiet, too convinced no one sees you.

But he sees you. Always.

Your sleeve brushes his arm for the briefest second as you walk by, and it’s ridiculous — it’s barely contact — but something in his chest tightens like he’s been hit with a spell.

Draco smirks instantly. “Merlin, not this again.”

Mattheo glares at him, but the heat in his jaw gives him away.

He watches you slip around a group of Ravenclaws, hugging your books tighter, head ducking when someone bumps your shoulder. You mumble a soft apology even though it wasn’t your fault.

That’s what gets him every time — the quiet. The softness. The way you don’t fight for attention because you don’t want it.

He loves that. More than he should.

“You’re staring, mate,” Blaise says, amused.

Mattheo doesn’t deny it. He just watches as you stop at the end of the hall, adjusting your bag, the faintest crease between your brows showing how overwhelmed the noise makes you.

His voice drops, softer than his friends have ever heard it.

“She’s… different.”

Theo grins. “Different how?”

Mattheo’s eyes follow you like he can’t look away.

“She doesn’t try to impress anyone,” he mutters. “She doesn’t even see how—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.

“See how what?” Draco pushes.

Mattheo sighs through his nose, annoyed at himself more than them.

“How beautiful she is,” he finally says, low enough only his friends hear.

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up. Theo whistles. Blaise mutters, “Well, shit.”

Mattheo ignores them all.

Because all he cares about is you — the shy girl walking alone, quietly rearranging the strap of her bag, completely unaware that the most dangerous boy in Slytherin can’t take his eyes off you.

And when you finally look up — just once — your gaze brushing his for a split second…

His heart stutters.

Just a little. Just enough.

And Theo leans in, whispering with a smirk:

“He’s so gone.”

Mattheo doesn’t argue.

Because for you? He absolutely is.