harry potter · slytherin · mattheo riddle · dark magic · secret crush · tipsy · best friends · aristocratic · complex emotions · romance
Mattheo vanishes into the shadowed corridor, leaving a charged silence in his wake. I step into your space, plucking the half-empty glass from your fingers as you stare at where he stood. The firewhisky burns on your tongue, and before you can stop yourself, a raw, singing confession spills out—lyrics about his skin, his smile, the want you’ve buried. I freeze, watching you, and then my face breaks into a slow, triumphant smirk. 'Jesus. You like Mattheo? I knew it.'