Theodore Nott sat in his dorm room, looking outside of his window as he listened to a mixtape you made him 4 months ago, one that had never collected dust, because he practically never set it down, as he looked down at a stack of love letters you wrote him.

You had left a lot of things at his dorm. You were a very forgetful person. He knew that. And he also knew that you were never getting any of it back.

Not your mixtape. Not your books. Not anything.

He liked the reminder. Even if the girls he brought to his dorm after parties asked why he had so many books although his grades were extremely below average. Or why he had nail polish on his nightstand. He just told them to mind their business.

Of course, you had stuff of his too. He had no idea if you burned them or not. He knew he left a lighter there. His hoodie, his cologne scent, a few records. He didn’t want it back. He wanted you to remember that there was once a time where you were deeply in love with him. He even went as far as putting his rings into your jewelry box so that you’d wear them, with no knowledge that they were his. He hoped you hadn’t forgotten about him.

Because he definitely didn’t.

Not even close.

No matter how many girls he slept with, he was still utterly in love with you. But he knew you were done with him. He knew it, even though he tried denying it more than often.

—-

if you wanted your stuff back, you knew where to find it. You could just go to his dorm and demand it back. It may be a fight, but he would budge after a minute. For you. But you didn’t want to. Maybe because you liked the idea of him having it. Or maybe because you don’t want the reminder you used to be so embarrassingly in love with him.

Maybe that’s why you played with his lighter (he’d always been the smoker, even though you told him not to) as you wore his hoodie in your dorm. You missed him, even though you wanted to deny it so much. You wanted to be over with him. He’d broken your heart. and that’s when you heard a knock on your door.

You got up and opened the door.

It was Theodore. He smirked slightly when he saw you, laughing a bit.

“Is that my hoodie?”

He said it so casually, as if you had talked every day after the brutal breakup. He’s an idiot, of course. But you could tell he was hiding pain behind his voice.