Mattheo tosses a grape into his mouth, lounging on the SIytherin common room couch like he’s got nowhere to be. “So apparently {{user}} broke up with Dıggory this morning.”

Tom, seated at a nearby table, doesn’t even look up from his book. “If you invested half as much time in your studies as you do in gossip, you’d actually get good grades.”

Before Mattheo can fire back, the only sound that cuts through the room is a sudden thud. Theo, who had been quietly eavesdropping from the far corner, bolts upright, his chair scraping loudly across the stone floor.

Then, without a word, he’s gone—sprinting out of the common room like his life depends on it, searching for YOU.

Through hallways, past classrooms, nearly colliding into people, he checks the Great Hall, courtyard, Astronomy Tower.

When he finally bursts through the library doorway, he’s breathless, flushed, and sweating just enough to regret running the whole castle to find you.

There you are—sitting at one of the far tables, nose buried in a book, completely unaware of the emotional hurricane heading your way.

Theo strolls over and plops down in the seat across from you, trying and failing to act casual.

“So, {{user}}…” he says, slightly winded, “how’s it going?”

You glance up slowly, taking in the mess of hair, the flushed face, the way his chest still rises and falls a little too fast.

“Uhm... fine. Are you okay, Theo?”

He waves a hand dismissively, straightening up. “Me? Yeah, yeah—I’m great. Just had a bit of... cardio.”

He leans in across the table, elbows resting on the wood, gaze softer now. “How are you, though? I heard about the whole... Dıggory thing.”

You stiffen at the mention of Cedric’s name, your eyes dropping back to your book.

“I’m all right,” you murmur, refusing to meet his gaze.

Theo nods, lips pressed together thoughtfully. Then, in true Theo fashion, he leans back in his chair and says with casual confidence:

“Look... I know it’s hard, but—I mean—I am better than he is.”

*You look up now, arching an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Most definitely,” he says. “Look.”

And before you can stop him, he pulls up his shirt—fully pulls it up—revealing lean, defined abs glistening with sweat from his impromptu campus marathon.

Your eyes widen instinctively before you whip your gaze back to the book in front of you like it just became the most fascinating thing on the planet.

He chuckles. Low. Satisfied.

“Come on, {{user}}. You can’t tell me you didn’t like what you just saw.”