The training room buzzed with energy—the air thick with the scent of sweat, spells, and something far more potent: nostalgia. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them—your boys. Or, at least, that’s what they used to be.

Mattheo was in the center of the room, shirt discarded somewhere near the bench press, his muscles glistening under the light. He caught your gaze, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“We are not your little boys anymore, {{user}},” he said, flexing his bicep deliberately, eyes locked on yours with a mix of challenge and charm.

Across the room, Draco wiped sweat off his brow with a towel, rolling his eyes before tossing it aside. “Oh come on, look at us! We’re 18 now,” he added.

Theodore let out a soft chuckle, stretching out on the floor.

“We’re adults, sweetheart,” Blaise said, giving you a wink as he passed by, towel slung around his neck.

Lorenzo stood near the mirror, shirt hiked up, slowly tracing the lines of his abs as he admired himself—then glanced back at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “But you still treat us…”

“…like we’re little kids,” Regulus finished the sentence from his spot.

Tom had been quiet—his usual stance. But now he turned his head toward you with a slow, knowing smirk, something unreadable behind his eyes.

And yet, despite all their smirks, their teasing words… you couldn’t help it. Your mind kept slipping backward. To scraped knees and midnight dares. To hiding in libraries, to laughter around fireplaces. To little boys with big dreams and even bigger hearts.

Now they stood taller. Stronger. Shadows of men where boys once were.

But in your eyes?

They’d always be yours.

Your little boys.