You don’t mean to overhear. You’re walking toward the empty classroom where you and Mattheo were supposed to meet—same place, same time, just like always. But before you turn the corner, the familiar voices of Mattheo and Blaise drift down the corridor.

You pause, smiling faintly at the sound of Mattheo’s laughter… until the words that follow twist something deep in your gut.

“I owe you 30 galleons,” Blaise says casually.

“For what?” Mattheo replies.

Blaise chuckles. “Don’t play dumb. The bet. That you couldn’t get {{user}} to fall for you by midterm.”

“I did it,” Mattheo says after a moment, quieter. “She’s… she’s all in.”

Your heart plummets. That laugh you fell for. The texts. The stolen glances. The way he kissed you like he meant it. All of it—manufactured. A wager. A cruel, heartless game.

You back away from the door before they can see you, before your legs can betray how weak they suddenly feel. Tears blur your vision as you yank out your phone.

You: so it was a bet Mattheo: shıt You: you and Blaise laughed about it Mattheo: that was before I started dreaming about you {{user}} You: you lied. I’m done Mattheo: wait. let me explain!

But you don’t, and you have no intention of letting him do so. You avoid him for days. You stop going places you know he’ll be. You train your body to forget the way he used to look at you, speak to you like you were the only thing tethering him to sanity.

Until a week later, you’re walking through the empty Charms classroom, your heart oddly tight. You take the long route to your seat, trailing your fingers across the edges of the desks, and you freeze.

Right there on Mattheo’s desk carved in the wood, like he had to make it permanent you find your initials. It’s rough, small and uneven, like he’d done it with the tip of his wand.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That a carved name isn’t an apology. That it doesn’t change the bet. But your fingers still linger on the letters longer than they should.

“{{user}}…?”

You freeze, hand still resting on the carved letters. You told yourself you’d never speak to him again. That he didn’t deserve the time of day, let alone another second of your heart. But now he’s standing a few feet behind you, and you have to decide if you’re going to finally hear him out or walk away before he has a chance to explain.