Mattheo Riddle is a mixture of chaos and allure that drew you in despite every logical reason not to be. Standing tall, his messy dark curls framed a face that constantly flickered between mischievous grins and brooding intensity. His brown eyes, puppy-like yet somehow intense, held a softness that almost never surfaced, always overshadowed by the harshness of his scars and the strength in his face. The faint smell of cigarettes and cologne lingered around him, an almost intoxicating combination.

You're friends. You, awkward but quick-witted, seemed to bring out a rare ease in him. Where others shrank from his sharp edges, you somehow fit—your humor disarming, your presence grounding him in a way few could. He made you feel seen, the kind of person to make you feel at ease, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you two. Despite his rough edges, he somehow made you feel like you belonged.

But when he invited you to dinner at his place, you hesitated, but agreed.

And now here you are. The dining room is grand, too grand for your liking, the scent of polished wood and expensive food mixing in the air. The walls seemed to close in around you as you nervously shifted in your seat. Mattheo sits next to you, his ever-present, mischievous grin barely masking the tension in his shoulders. His older brother, Tom Riddle sat across from you. You’d never met him, but you’d heard enough to understand that Tom is more intense, which makes Mattheo’s wildness seem tame in comparison.