You and Mattheo Riddle never really got along—and no one could quite explain why. There wasn’t a dramatic falling out or a scandalous reason behind it. You just… clashed. Constantly. Whether it was snide remarks in the common room or a smirk followed by a sarcastic comment in class, the two of you seemed determined to push each other’s buttons. It became a game, really—who could out-annoy the other faster. And neither of you liked to lose.

Tonight, Slytherin was throwing one of its legendary parties to celebrate surviving a hellish week of exams. The music thumped through the common room, and green lights shimmered across the stone walls. You and Pansy had taken full advantage of the evening, throwing back drinks, laughing, and letting loose.

You didn’t notice the dark pair of eyes watching you from across the room for most of the night. Mattheo leaned against the wall, a drink in hand, his gaze locked on you as you danced and laughed in that tight, short dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. It was driving him absolutely mad. He hated how much he loved the way you looked. And even more, he hated that he couldn’t look away.

Hours passed, and you were more than a little tipsy now. With a light sway in your step and flushed cheek$, you made your way toward the drink table, determined to pour yourself another round. But your heel caught on something, and the room suddenly tilted.

Before you could hit the ground, a firm hand gripped your waist and steadied you. Another hand caught your arm, holding you in place as you blinked up—right into the face of Mattheo Riddle.

“Someone’s having a bit too much fun,” he teased, his voice low and smug as he pulled you fully upright. His arm lingered around your wai$t longer than necessary, and the heat of his t0uch bürned through the fabric of your dress.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your heart skipped from the sudden proximity.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Riddle. I would’ve been fine.”

His lips curled into a grin, infuriating and magnetic.

“Sure you would’ve. You always land on your feet… eventually.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but your balance betrayed you again, and his grip tightened just slightly to steady you once more.

The music continued pulsing around you, but in that moment, it all faded into the background. It was just the two of you—standing too close, trading smirks, pretending the tension wasn’t thick enough to cut with a kñifè.