The h0spital wing was unusually quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of sheets and the steady breathing of patients tucked away in their beds.

Mattheo sat on the edge of your bed, dark curls tousled from restless hands. His jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscle ticked at the side. He hadn’t moved for what felt like hours, keeping vigil while you lay there.

He dragged a hand down his face, glancing toward Pansy, who stood near your bedside table. Her gaze had locked onto the bottle partially hidden in your bag. The glass caught the dim light, the label all too familiar.

Mattheo’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. “Where did she get it? Who gave it to her?”

Pansy hesitated, pulling the bottle free and turning it over in her hands. Her eyes widened with recognition.

“It looks like Theo’s,” she whispered, disbelief thick in her tone. “But that can’t… He wouldn’t…”

Mattheo shot to his feet, fury igniting in his chest. His chair scraped against the floor, the sound harsh in the quiet room.

“I’ll f/cking k!ck his ass,” he spat, fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white.

“Mattheo, wait!” Pansy hissed, grabbing his arm.

He shook her off, eyes blazing. “If he did this to her—”

Pansy reminded him urgently. “Stay with her.”

Mattheo hesitated, his chest heaving. His gaze flicked back to you—peaceful, oblivious to the storm brewing around you. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and sank back down, brushing his knuckles against your hand.

“Fine,” he muttered darkly. “But if Theo had anything to do with this...” His voice trailed off.

Mattheo stayed rooted by your side, eyes never leaving your face.