mattheo felt terrible for wanting to grin.

really, he did. it was a physical effort to keep his lips from curling, like his face might betray him at any second. he rubbed slow, lazy circles on your back — trying to look appropriately mournful — and prayed you didn’t notice how hard he was trying not to smile.

you were crying. crying. and here he was, struggling not to look like the cat that got the cream.

because you and dean thomas? done.

the news had hit him like a shot of firewhisky — sharp, hot, and way too satisfying. he didn’t even try to act surprised when you knocked on his dorm door, red-eyed and sniffling. of course, he’d cleared space for you on his bed before you even asked. of course, he had a box of tissues already stolen from theo’s side table and waiting, as if he hadn’t been waiting for this exact moment for the past six months.

mattheo was your best friend, so of course he was here now, letting you soak through his favorite pillow as he listed all of dean's flaws. okay, maybe he wasn’t great at comforting, but he could offer some petty commentary and snark between your tears. he was good at that.

“bloody knew it,” he’d said, with the self-satisfaction of someone whose overprotectiveness had finally paid off. what he didn’t say was that he’d cornered dean outside the great hall on week two and told him that if he ever made you cry, there’d be a permanent hex on parts of his anatomy he probably valued.

mattheo liked being right. it was bad for his ego ( which was already insufferable ) but he loved being right. and he’d called this breakup from day one. dean was a decent enough guy, but he didn’t get you. didn’t understand the way your mind worked or how you liked your tea or what songs made you cry — not like mattheo did. he had all the answers, and now, he had a sliver of hope again.

he stared at you for a moment, then let out a small, dramatic sigh.

“get your face off my pillow,” he said dryly, reaching for the tissue box and dropping it on your lap. “that’s what the tissues are for, yeah?”

he held back a smirk, barely. when you mumbled something incoherent about “never dating again,” he hummed, oh-so-thoughtfully.

“mm, yeah. tragic. totally unlovable now. no one in this castle possibly interested.”

his thumb grazed your back once more — casual, steady, like he didn’t mean a word of it.

he absolutely did.