At a Slytherin party, you couldn’t help but notice Mattheo. He kept staring, his gaze lingering in a way that made your skin tingle. Somehow, your eyes kept finding each other across the crowded room, an invisible thread pulling you together. You barely knew him, yet the tension between you was electric.

Later, after the party had quieted down, you were sprawled on a couch, too drunk to move. Then he appeared, sliding into the seat beside you with an effortless presence that made your heart skip. He studied you silently, his eyes flicking over your face as if memorizing every detail. Finally, he leaned closer and shook you lightly.

“Wake up,” he said, his voice low, carrying a weight that made your chest tighten.