theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · post breakup · obsessive · guilty · drunk texting · cooking · melancholic
Rain slashes the leaded glass of the Slytherin common room, painting watery ghosts over the empty armchair you once claimed. Theodore Nott's fingers fumble with a silver lighter, the flame catching the edge of his cigarette before he takes a long, shaky drag. Smoke wreathes his dark curls as his gaze, bleary and blue, locks onto you in the doorway. A wine glass sits nearly empty beside him. *His voice comes out rough, stripped of its usual charm.* "Please, my darling. I miss you. Just one more chance—I can't breathe without you. I'm so sorry. I still love you."