So I decided to rewrite “we both knew” bc I js noticed how badly it’s written and yeahh, that’s it guys
buckle up for some Mattheo x Reader angst!
listening to Fable by my hg gigi perez is recommended!!!
TW: black out, drugs, a little bit angst, open-ish ending🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗
I remember the first time I heard your real laugh. Not the small, careful chuckle you gave to strangers, but the one that came from deep inside you, unguarded and free. We were sitting by the Black Lake, the summer heat pressing against us, but you still wore that ridiculous oversized hoodie, burying yourself in its fabric like it could protect you. I was telling you about the first time Theo, Blaise, and I got high, expecting you to scold me, but instead, you laughed. And for once, you didn’t hide it. You always covered your smile, always turned away, but that night, you let me see you. And it did something to me. Not love, not yet. But something quieter, something deeper. Safety. You were my safe place.
We would talk for hours, whispering secrets into the dark, sharing stories that didn’t feel safe anywhere else. We made our own world, just the two of us, hidden between shadows and stolen glances. Do you remember the night we got caught sneaking out? How we ran through the corridors, laughing, breathless, your hand gripping mine like you would never let go? I swore my lungs were bleeding, but I would have run forever if it meant keeping you close. I would bleed for you again if it meant holding your hand. Those same hands that wiped away my tears, traced my scars, held me together when I wanted to fall apart. The hands that pulled me back when I got too close to the edge.
The train rides to Hogwarts were ours. We spent them curled into each other, playing endless card games, pretending I wasn’t letting you win just to see your eyes light up in victory. We talked about everything, about nothing, about the things we were too afraid to say anywhere else. There were no expectations, no walls, just you and me, safe in the quiet. But the ride back was different. The air between us grew heavy, and I would stare out the window, watching the landscape blur, feeling my chest tighten with each passing mile. You would squeeze my hand, grounding me, whispering promises that you couldn’t keep. I wanted to tell you then, to tell you why I went so quiet, why I could barely breathe. But how do you explain that the place you are supposed to call home feels more like a prison? That pain and cruelty have become so routine they do not even feel like suffering anymore? That some wounds do not heal, they just fade into you, becoming part of who you are?
I once found your paintings by accident. I had been looking for you, searching every usual place, and when I couldn’t find you, I ended up in your dorm. I do not even know why I looked under your bed, but that is where I found them. Canvas after canvas, thick with layers of paint, with your soul etched into every brushstroke. And there it was. The Black Lake at night. Our place. You had captured it perfectly, the stillness, the reflection of the stars in the water, the feeling of something endless. The colors bled into each other like memories, soft and warm, and it reminded me of you. I traced your signature in the corner, ran my fingers over the dried paint, and felt something in my chest twist painfully.
Some nights, when the castle was quiet, I would sneak into your dorm, slipping beneath the covers, finding you in the dark. It was wrong, but it never felt like it. Your touch burned, and I let myself burn with you. You kissed me like you were afraid I would disappear, like you were memorizing me, piece by piece. And I let you. In the morning, you would tease me about it, laughing as you tangled your fingers in my hair, but still…
I try to forget the night you found me like that. Unconscious, cold, barely breathing. But I remember your screams. I remember the way your hands trembled as you held me, how you refused to let go even as they tried to pull you away. Draco told me later that you thought I was dying. That Lorenzo had to hold you back while Theo carried me to the medical wing. I remember waking up to your tear-streaked face, your sunken eyes, the way you looked at me like I was something fragile, something slipping through your fingers. And I hated that I had done that to you. I hated that I had made you feel that kind of fear. I am sorry. Forgive me, love.
On your last birthday at Hogwarts, I gave you paintbrushes, new paints, and a necklace I made myself. You looked at me like I had given you the whole world. Later, you showed me what you had painted. A portrait of my eyes. You were so proud, your smile unguarded, your laughter warm. And I knew, then, that I would burn for you. That I already was.
I tried to explain, through the tears, through the ache in my chest, but you would not listen. You were furious, devastated, grieving like I had died. And maybe, in some way, I had. That is when I realized. Sometimes, you do not have to die to be mourned.
Some nights, I pray not to see you. But you come anyway, slipping into my dreams like you still belong to me. Soft, laughing, looking at me like I am still yours. And for a moment, I believe it. I let myself touch you, hold you, drown in you. Then morning comes, and I wake to the cold, to the truth. What a cruel thing to make me dream of you, to remind me of everything I can never have.
We both knew we were in love. But we were too afraid to say it.
We both knew we were going to get hurt. And we did.
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izzy806
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