It’s late, but none of you are sleeping—because why would you? You don’t sleep. You plot, you argue, you exist in the chaos of each other.

You lean back into the velvet couch, your gaze flicking from one face to another. These are your people, your friends, your inevitable downfall.

Theodore sits by the fireplace, jaw clenched, tapping his fingers against his knee in an erratic rhythm. Mr. Anger Issues. A walking storm cloud, waiting for the wrong word, the wrong look, to set him off.

Mattheo is sprawled across the armchair, looking like he owns the place. Mr. Attitude Problem. He never just sits—he lounges, smirks, radiates trouble. There’s always that glint in his eye, the one that dares someone to call him out, to challenge him.

Across from you, Blaise is leaning back, arms crossed. Mr. Silent Treatment. He’s in one of those moods where he refuses to contribute to conversation unless absolutely necessary.

And then there’s Regulus. Mr. Mysterious. He’s always here and never fully here, eyes distant like he’s listening to secrets the rest of you aren’t even aware of. He doesn’t waste words; when he speaks, it means something.

On the other side of the room, Draco is reclining like a king on his throne, the picture of effortless arrogance. Mr. I’m Better Than Everyone. And the worst part? He truly believes it. He tilts his chin just slightly when he speaks, like he’s blessing you with his words.

Lorenzo is perched on the couch beside you, a lazy smile on his lips. Mr. Man!pulator. He knows exactly what to say, how to twist words, how to pull strings you don’t even know you have.

And then there’s Tom.

Mr. I’m the Biggest Issue. The real puppet master. The one who plays with power like it’s a game, and you’re all just pieces on his board. He doesn’t need to raise his voice, his presence alone is enough.

You exhale, dragging a hand through your hair. This is your life. These are your people. And Merlin help you, you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Even if they’re all disasters waiting to happen.