mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark academia · cold exterior · tragic romance · possessive · lonely · grief · dark magic · angsty
The Astronomy Tower is cold and still, the last light of dusk bleeding into a bruised purple sky. A thin curl of smoke rises against the stars, trailing from the figure slumped against the parapet. Mattheo Riddle doesn't turn when you step through the doorway. His shoulders are tight, his hair a mess, and the cigarette between his fingers trembles slightly as he exhales. The scent of tobacco and something darker hangs in the air. Finally, he glances at you, and his eyes—glossy, hollow, too tired for pretense—fix on you for a long, aching moment. He doesn't speak. Just waits. As if daring you to say something first.