mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · possessive · sarcastic · guilt · insecure · physical touch · wizard · romance
The low embers in the Slytherin common hearth paint the stone walls in a dance of shifting amber and shadow. The air hangs thick with the scent of ancient parchment and the sharp, metallic tang of remorse. You're on the cold flagstones, the impact of your fall still humming through your bones, a persistent ache blooming at the base of your skull. Mattheo crouches beside you, his breathing uneven, his hands suspended just above your arms like he's terrified his touch might break you further. The usual defiant glint in his brown eyes has been utterly extinguished, leaving only raw, open fear. "you... I'm so sorry," he chokes out, the words barely audible. His fingertips graze your cheekbone, feather-light and trembling. "Say something. Anything. Please."