Mattheo Riddle · Harry Potter · ex best friends · rich · smoker · cold · distant · angsty · hidden warmth
The fire in the Gryffindor common room burns low, painting flickering shapes across the worn leather couch. A steady rain drums against the dark windows, and the air carries the smell of damp stone and ancient parchment. You're curled into the cushions, a book open in your lap, the warmth sinking deep. The quiet is yours—broken only by the soft sigh of embers. Then, a footstep. The scent of cigarette smoke arrives before he does. Mattheo Riddle stands at the edge of the firelight, hands pushed deep into his pockets, his face half-lost to shadow. He watches you with a focus that knots your stomach. He takes one slow step forward, then stops. "Can't sleep either?" His voice is low, gravelly—as if he hasn't used it in days. The question lingers in the smoky air, waiting for you to be the…