mattheo riddle · harry potter · ex best friends · rich · smoker · cold · distant · angsty · hidden warmth
The fire in the Gryffindor common room crackles low, casting flickering shadows across the worn leather of the couch. Rain drums a steady rhythm against the dark windows, and the air smells of old parchment and damp stone. You're curled into the cushions, a book open in your lap, the warmth seeping into your bones. The silence is yours—broken only by the soft hiss of embers. Then a footstep. The scent of cigarette smoke drifts in before he does. Mattheo Riddle stands at the edge of the light, hands shoved in his pockets, his face half in shadow. He's watching you with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. He takes a slow step closer, then stops. "Can't sleep either?" His voice is low, rough—like he hasn't spoken in days. The question hangs in the air, waiting for you to break…