so new york when in LA

i always woke up before he did. he still slept the same way too–with one arm still loosely wrapped around my waist like he was scared i’d disappear during the night. his blond hair was a mess against my pillows, lips slightly parted as soft breaths fanned across my shoulder.

god, i missed waking up beside him.

i carefully reached up and traced my fingers along his jawline. the stubble scratched lightly against my fingertips. his eyes fluttered open and he gave me a tired soft smile.

it was like i could feel my heart melt. how stupid.

“hi, pretty girl.” his morning voice was rough and raspy in that way that always messed me up.

“hi, calcite.”

calum burst into a grin so wide it changed his whole face before laughing. “fuck,” he groaned, pulling me closer. “you have no idea how much i missed those nicknames.” before i could even react properly, he hooked an arm around my waist and effortlessly lifted me onto his lap. he sat up, head against the headboard.

i squealed in surprise while he laughed against my neck. “jesus christ, you got stronger.”

“touring and emotional devastation,” he grinned. “great for upper body strength.”

i snorted out a laugh. there he was again. my calum. i cupped his face between my hands, still struggling a little to process that he was actually here. “can’t believe you’re here,” i admitted softly.

the teasing faded from his expression. “do you regret it?”

i shook my head before he could even finish worrying himself into a spiral. “i’d never regret you.”

he leaned in to kiss me before i turned my face away with a groan. “cal, wait–morning breath–”

“sorry,” he scoffed against my cheek, already laughing. “since when the fuck have i ever cared about morning breath?”

i rolled my eyes while trying, and failing, to push him away.

“it’s been two years,” he continued dramatically. “i’d kiss you after you ate an entire garlic bulb at this point.” 

i burst into laughter. the sound barely lasted a second before he pulled me back against him again, arms tightening around my waist while he kissed me properly this time. i squealed when he suddenly rolled us over so he was hovering above me, blond hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“hi,” i whispered, biting back a smile as i traced the roughness of his stubble with my fingertips.

“hi,” he whispered back. neither of us moved away. we just stayed there staring at each other like we were trying to relearn each other’s faces. 

i took in every little detail i hadn’t been allowed to see this closely in two years. it seemed like he was doing the same thing to me too, looking almost overwhelmed by finally being this close again.

“we’re idiots, aren’t we?” i giggled softly.

“no. i’m the idiot here, trust me.” his expression slightly shifted to something more serious, “evie—”

i immediately covered his mouth with my hand before he could spiral into another apology. he blinked at me as i shook my head. “i know, cal,” i whispered. “i know.”

i watched as his eyes softened, “i don’t wanna keep living in the past anymore, okay?” saying that didn’t mean it stopped hurting. sometimes my mind still betrayed me with flashes of that night and all that anger and heartbreak would come back. so i didn’t blame him for still carrying guilt either.

but sitting here now, with sunlight pouring across his face while he looked at me like i was still the most important thing in his world… i didn’t want us drowning in pain forever.

“i think after an entire album and everything you said last night,” i teased lightly, “i can probably trust you again.”

calum groaned loudly in embarrassment before burying his face into my neck.

“but i swear to god, calum thomas hood,” i continued, half serious despite my smile, “if you ever pull anything like that again, i will actually kill you.”

he lifted his head immediately and nodded, “yes ma’am.” 

i snorted, “i’m serious!” 

“so am i,” he insisted. 

“i’ll literally write a letter before you kill me telling the police not to arrest you. you can have all my inheritance too.”

i kissed him just to shut him up. he smiled against my lips. “okay, i’m sorry. i mean it, baby,” he murmured afterward, forehead resting against mine. “never again.”

something about the certainty in his voice made my chest ache. 

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure i never hurt you like that again.” his thumb brushed softly along my cheek. “i swear on everything, evie.”

i searched his face for something, anything that would warn me. but all i saw was a man determined, he looked like if i didn’t take him back he’d jump out the window right here right now.

i laughed nervously under my breath. “we’re really doing this again, huh?”

calum looked at me like the answer had always been obvious to him. “it’s your call, angel,” he said softly. he leaned down slightly, nose brushing mine, “look, i know we can’t magically fix two years overnight,” he continued carefully. “and i know i have to earn your trust again properly. i will. however long it takes.”

his voice dropped quieter after that. “but if you’ll let me… i wanna come home to you again.”

“i wanna relearn everything about you,” he whispered softly. “i wanna know what tube stop you hate the most, what your favorite pub is, your new favorite band…. i miss your playlists and music recommendations.”

his thumb brushed slowly across my waist.

“i wanna know all the little things i missed while we were apart.” he smiled sadly. “i just really don’t wanna lose you again because those were the worst two years of my entire life.”

my chest tightened and i ran my fingers through his hair, nodding faintly. “i don’t think i ever stopped being yours.”

the look on his face after i said that was a mixture of relief, disbelief. like he was trying not to break down all over again.

“jesus christ,” he laughed shakily, burying his face into my shoulder. “you have no idea what hearing that does to me.”

i smiled weakly and kissed the top of his head. “you’re clingier now.”

“now?” he looked up, offended. “baby, i was always clingy.”

“true.”

“i literally used to follow you into kitchens because i missed you.”

“you followed me into bathrooms too.”

“well yeah.” he shrugged shamelessly. “what if something exciting happened?”

i burst out laughing. how could this feel so normal already? like we somehow skipped over two years of heartbreak and snapped right back into us.

eventually though, reality came crashing back into the room. because unlike whatever bubble we’d built inside my flat overnight, the outside world still existed. and unfortunately for us, so did calum’s very real tour schedule.

his next stop was manchester. tomorrow night’s show. which meant he had to leave london later today to continue the rest of the uk leg.

“come with me.”

i looked over from my closet where i was pulling on clothes. calum sat at the edge of my bed in his boxers watching me.

“cal…”

“please.” his voice cracked. 

“last night was something i’ve been dreaming about for so long,” he admitted. “and even right now—having you here again—it still feels unreal.” hearing the desperation in his voice made me pause.

he stood up before walking toward me. “i can’t leave you again.” his voice cracked slightly. “i don’t want to.” he took both my hands into his. “please come with me, evie.”

and there he was again, emotionally rambling like last night. “we still have the rest of europe after the uk shows,” he continued quickly. “then there’s a month break before we go back on tour again and yeah, okay, logically we could reunite then—” he shook his head. “but i can’t get you back today just to leave you again tomorrow for another month.”

my heart hurt listening to him. 

“we’re taking the tour bus around the remaining cities,” he added.

“it’ll be like the old days again.” a smile tugged onto his face. “squeezing into tiny bunks together. you stealing my hoodies. except there’s babies now but i’m sure that’s nothing compared to ashton’s snoring.”

i laughed as memories immediately flooded my head too. late-night motorway stops, falling asleep on his shoulder while the boys argued over music, tiny backstage dressing rooms and shitty gas station snacks.

“it’s this afternoon, i think,” he continued. “and the team won’t care. the boys definitely won’t care. crystal and sierra would be more than happy. i mean, they like you more than they like me.”

i snorted. 

“they miss you, evie.” his voice softened. “everyone does. i do.”

i tried thinking of reasons to say no. but in reality, i didn’t really have any. most of my work was remote now anyway. any upcoming events could easily be shifted around or covered elsewhere. my entire career practically lived inside my laptop.

and if i was being honest, a small part of me missed that life too. i looked toward the window as bright sunlight spilled across the london skyline in a way that almost never happened. i looked back at calum, and had to hide my laugh from seeing the hope practically glow in his face.

i sighed dramatically. “it’s gonna be one hell of a surprise when i show up again.”

his entire face lit up. “so that’s a yes?”

i laughed despite myself. “yeah.”

before he could fully celebrate, i pointed at him accusingly. “but seriously—why did we have to get back together while you’re on tour? do you know how much harder this makes everything?”

calum grinned so hard his dimples appeared. “sorry, angel. horrible timing.”

then he immediately wrapped his arms around me again and lifted me clean off the floor. i yelped while he laughed into my neck. 

“holy shit,” he whispered breathlessly. “you’re coming with me.”

i realized then that he was wrong before: i was also an idiot in this relationship. 

what sane woman gets back together with her ex and immediately agrees to go on tour with him the next day? 

though calum hood never made me sane once.

10:42 am

after what felt like a million back-and-forth phone calls with management, crew members, logistics teams, and at least three stressed assistants, calum finally confirmed that i could join the rest of the tour.

apparently squeezing one emotionally unstable ex-girlfriend onto a tour bus last minute required a shocking amount of work. i felt a little guilty about the chaos. some poor logistics coordinator was probably staring at spreadsheets right now wondering why one of the band members suddenly needed an extra bunk assignment because he was never able to move on.

i made a mental note to buy the entire team dinner at some point. or alcohol. or probably both.

we had to meet everyone at the hotel by 3:30, meaning we needed to leave before one so calum could go back to his hotel and pack properly.

which also meant i should’ve been packing. 

keyword: should’ve.

instead, i was barefoot in the kitchen making breakfast while calum stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist like he physically couldn’t stop touching me now that he had me back. not that i minded.

the bacon crackled softly in the pan while lazy morning sunlight poured through the windows. calum pressed absentminded kisses along my neck and shoulder while i scrambled eggs. every few seconds he’d tighten his grip on me slightly like he was reassuring himself i was still there and not a hallucination like some type of shutter island shit.

“okay,” he suddenly said, voice rough with sleep. “but seriously.”

i hummed.

“did you actually like the album?”

i rolled my eyes. “obviously i liked it, idiot. how could i not? it was beautiful.”

he grinned proudly against my shoulder.

“but,” i continued, pointing the spatula at him, “i could only listen to it once because otherwise i would’ve thrown myself into the thames.”

calum burst out laughing. 

“i’m serious!” i defended. “you’re such an asshole for finally releasing a solo album after we broke up when i spent literal years begging you to make one.”

he hid his laugh into my neck.

“what? my love wasn’t inspiring enough material before?” i said half-jokingly, half-serious.

“no, baby—”

“yes actually, explain yourself.”

he turned me around gently until my back pressed against the counter.

“you were too inspiring,” he corrected softly, hands sliding onto my waist. “i think i was just terrified of writing anything that honest while you were actually still mine.”

i rolled my eyes. what an excuse. his thumbs rubbed absentminded circles into my hips before he smiled. “i’ll make another one.”

i raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah?”

“mhm.” he nodded seriously. “this one’s gonna be different though.”

“how so?”

he leaned down until our noses brushed.

“it’ll be about how the love of my life took me back and stopped me from being suicidal.”

i laughed. “you are so dramatic.”

“i’m an artist, baby.”

“you’re insane.”

“but you still love me.”

i rolled my eyes even as my smile betrayed me.

“stupid.”

“your stupid.”

“yeah, okay, now let me get back to cooking before the food burns and i have to remake everything from scratch which wastes the time we already don’t have. c’mon cal, i still need to pack and get ready.”

he laughed against my shoulder, arms still locked around my waist. “you never changed.”

i pouted. “you’re the one who convinced me to go on tour with you again all of a sudden!”

“convinced?” he gasped dramatically. “baby, you said yes almost instantly.”

i pointed the spatula at him again. “don’t test me.” he grinned.

“oh my god,” i groaned. “i haven’t even told alyssa yet.”

calum winced. “shit. she hates me, doesn’t she?”

“she did threaten to murder you multiple times.”

“fair.” he tightened his hold around me again before mumbling into my neck. “i’m scared of her.”

“you always were.”

“no seriously, evie. your best friend terrifies me.” he lifted his head slightly. “i have to face her again now, don’t i?”

i laughed harder. “yes. she’s my other soulmate, so unfortunately you’ll have to survive the court hearing.”

he groaned loudly.

“honestly if she kills you there’s no promise she’ll spare me as well. she leaves me alone for one night and suddenly i’m right back in your arms.” i turned the stove lower before finally facing him properly again.

he chuckled at me softly. it seemed like he was now incapable of looking at me without any yearn in his eyes. he looked like he still couldn’t fully believe he was standing here in my kitchen. well, it’ll turn into our kitchen again sooner or later.

“you really scared me, you know,” he admitted quietly.

“what?”

“when you sent your location last night.” his hands slid slowly up my back. “i thought maybe you were drunk and angry and wanted closure or something.”

i looked down. “i almost didn’t send it.”

his grip on me tightened. “but you did.”

“yeah.”

a quiet settled between us. heavy in the way only years of history can make silence feel. calum brushed a strand of hair behind my ear before speaking again. “i don’t think you understand how hard it was not contacting you these past two years.”

i swallowed. “cal…”

“no, seriously.” his voice softened. “every city reminded me of you somehow. every song. every stupid little thing.” his lips ghosted across my jaw slowly. “i’d see oasis shirts and think about you.” another kiss. “every time someone ordered extra pickles on a burger i thought about you, ya little weirdo.” another. “every time i heard someone laugh too loud—”

“okay, now you’re flirting.”

“i’m trying to.”

i rolled my eyes even as my stomach flipped. “you’re rusty.”

“oh, am i?” his hands suddenly grabbed my waist tighter before he lifted me onto the counter effortlessly.

i yelped. “calum!”

“what?” he grinned shamelessly, stepping between my knees. “you called me rusty. that hurt my feelings.”

“you don’t have feelings.”

“that’s not what my therapist says.”

i laughed so hard i nearly folded into him. god. i missed this.

the stupid jokes, the way he always knew how to make me laugh before i could overthink too much. his smile softened seeing me laugh. then his eyes dropped to my lips and suddenly the atmosphere shifted again. his thumb brushed slowly against my thigh.

“you have no idea how many times i imagined kissing you again,” he admitted quietly.

my breath caught slightly. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he leaned closer. “and reality’s better.”

his lips met mine slowly this time, not desperate like last night. he lingered like he wanted to memorize me all over again. i tangled my fingers into his blond hair, earning a quiet moan from him that sent a pulsing feeling straight to my core.

we really had learned each other’s bodies too well over the years.

the kiss deepened naturally, years of familiarity slipping right back into place like muscle memory. his hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt while mine tugged lightly at the strings of his hoodie. then suddenly—the smell of bacon burning hit us both. 

“shit!” i pulled away laughing while calum groaned dramatically into my shoulder. 

“you’re a distraction.”

“you were literally making out with me!”

“you started it!”

“i absolutely did not.”

i hopped off the counter to rescue breakfast while he stayed behind me grinning like an idiot. 

“well,” i huffed as our lips finally parted properly again, trying to catch my breath while flipping the bacon, “better get used to a lot more gas station stops than before.”

calum raised an eyebrow knowingly. 

“because seriously, what’s the difference between us being horny teenagers back then and us not seeing each other for two years?”

calum looked genuinely in thought for a second. “better stamina?”

i always woke up before he did. he still slept the same way too–with one arm still loosely wrapped around my waist like he was scared i’d disappear during the night. his blond hair was a mess against my pillows, lips slightly parted as soft breaths fanned across my shoulder.

god, i missed waking up beside him.

i carefully reached up and traced my fingers along his jawline. the stubble scratched lightly against my fingertips. his eyes fluttered open and he gave me a tired soft smile.

it was like i could feel my heart melt. how stupid.

“hi, pretty girl.” his morning voice was rough and raspy in that way that always messed me up.

“hi, calcite.”

calum burst into a grin so wide it changed his whole face before laughing. “fuck,” he groaned, pulling me closer. “you have no idea how much i missed those nicknames.” before i could even react properly, he hooked an arm around my waist and effortlessly lifted me onto his lap. he sat up, head against the headboard.

i squealed in surprise while he laughed against my neck. “jesus christ, you got stronger.”

“touring and emotional devastation,” he grinned. “great for upper body strength.”

i snorted out a laugh. there he was again. my calum. i cupped his face between my hands, still struggling a little to process that he was actually here. “can’t believe you’re here,” i admitted softly.

the teasing faded from his expression. “do you regret it?”

i shook my head before he could even finish worrying himself into a spiral. “i’d never regret you.”

he leaned in to kiss me before i turned my face away with a groan. “cal, wait–morning breath–”

“sorry,” he scoffed against my cheek, already laughing. “since when the fuck have i ever cared about morning breath?”

i rolled my eyes while trying, and failing, to push him away.

“it’s been two years,” he continued dramatically. “i’d kiss you after you ate an entire garlic bulb at this point.” 

i burst into laughter. the sound barely lasted a second before he pulled me back against him again, arms tightening around my waist while he kissed me properly this time. i squealed when he suddenly rolled us over so he was hovering above me, blond hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“hi,” i whispered, biting back a smile as i traced the roughness of his stubble with my fingertips.

“hi,” he whispered back. neither of us moved away. we just stayed there staring at each other like we were trying to relearn each other’s faces. 

i took in every little detail i hadn’t been allowed to see this closely in two years. it seemed like he was doing the same thing to me too, looking almost overwhelmed by finally being this close again.

“we’re idiots, aren’t we?” i giggled softly.

“no. i’m the idiot here, trust me.” his expression slightly shifted to something more serious, “evie—”

i immediately covered his mouth with my hand before he could spiral into another apology. he blinked at me as i shook my head. “i know, cal,” i whispered. “i know.”

i watched as his eyes softened, “i don’t wanna keep living in the past anymore, okay?” saying that didn’t mean it stopped hurting. sometimes my mind still betrayed me with flashes of that night and all that anger and heartbreak would come back. so i didn’t blame him for still carrying guilt either.

but sitting here now, with sunlight pouring across his face while he looked at me like i was still the most important thing in his world… i didn’t want us drowning in pain forever.

“i think after an entire album and everything you said last night,” i teased lightly, “i can probably trust you again.”

calum groaned loudly in embarrassment before burying his face into my neck.

“but i swear to god, calum thomas hood,” i continued, half serious despite my smile, “if you ever pull anything like that again, i will actually kill you.”

he lifted his head immediately and nodded, “yes ma’am.” 

i snorted, “i’m serious!” 

“so am i,” he insisted. 

“i’ll literally write a letter before you kill me telling the police not to arrest you. you can have all my inheritance too.”

i kissed him just to shut him up. he smiled against my lips. “okay, i’m sorry. i mean it, baby,” he murmured afterward, forehead resting against mine. “never again.”

something about the certainty in his voice made my chest ache. 

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure i never hurt you like that again.” his thumb brushed softly along my cheek. “i swear on everything, evie.”

i searched his face for something, anything that would warn me. but all i saw was a man determined, he looked like if i didn’t take him back he’d jump out the window right here right now.

i laughed nervously under my breath. “we’re really doing this again, huh?”

calum looked at me like the answer had always been obvious to him. “it’s your call, angel,” he said softly. he leaned down slightly, nose brushing mine, “look, i know we can’t magically fix two years overnight,” he continued carefully. “and i know i have to earn your trust again properly. i will. however long it takes.”

his voice dropped quieter after that. “but if you’ll let me… i wanna come home to you again.”

“i wanna relearn everything about you,” he whispered softly. “i wanna know what tube stop you hate the most, what your favorite pub is, your new favorite band…. i miss your playlists and music recommendations.”

his thumb brushed slowly across my waist.

“i wanna know all the little things i missed while we were apart.” he smiled sadly. “i just really don’t wanna lose you again because those were the worst two years of my entire life.”

my chest tightened and i ran my fingers through his hair, nodding faintly. “i don’t think i ever stopped being yours.”

the look on his face after i said that was a mixture of relief, disbelief. like he was trying not to break down all over again.

“jesus christ,” he laughed shakily, burying his face into my shoulder. “you have no idea what hearing that does to me.”

i smiled weakly and kissed the top of his head. “you’re clingier now.”

“now?” he looked up, offended. “baby, i was always clingy.”

“true.”

“i literally used to follow you into kitchens because i missed you.”

“you followed me into bathrooms too.”

“well yeah.” he shrugged shamelessly. “what if something exciting happened?”

i burst out laughing. how could this feel so normal already? like we somehow skipped over two years of heartbreak and snapped right back into us.

eventually though, reality came crashing back into the room. because unlike whatever bubble we’d built inside my flat overnight, the outside world still existed. and unfortunately for us, so did calum’s very real tour schedule.

his next stop was manchester. tomorrow night’s show. which meant he had to leave london later today to continue the rest of the uk leg.

“come with me.”

i looked over from my closet where i was pulling on clothes. calum sat at the edge of my bed in his boxers watching me.

“cal…”

“please.” his voice cracked. 

“last night was something i’ve been dreaming about for so long,” he admitted. “and even right now—having you here again—it still feels unreal.” hearing the desperation in his voice made me pause.

he stood up before walking toward me. “i can’t leave you again.” his voice cracked slightly. “i don’t want to.” he took both my hands into his. “please come with me, evie.”

and there he was again, emotionally rambling like last night. “we still have the rest of europe after the uk shows,” he continued quickly. “then there’s a month break before we go back on tour again and yeah, okay, logically we could reunite then—” he shook his head. “but i can’t get you back today just to leave you again tomorrow for another month.”

my heart hurt listening to him. 

“we’re taking the tour bus around the remaining cities,” he added.

“it’ll be like the old days again.” a smile tugged onto his face. “squeezing into tiny bunks together. you stealing my hoodies. except there’s babies now but i’m sure that’s nothing compared to ashton’s snoring.”

i laughed as memories immediately flooded my head too. late-night motorway stops, falling asleep on his shoulder while the boys argued over music, tiny backstage dressing rooms and shitty gas station snacks.

“it’s this afternoon, i think,” he continued. “and the team won’t care. the boys definitely won’t care. crystal and sierra would be more than happy. i mean, they like you more than they like me.”

i snorted. 

“they miss you, evie.” his voice softened. “everyone does. i do.”

i tried thinking of reasons to say no. but in reality, i didn’t really have any. most of my work was remote now anyway. any upcoming events could easily be shifted around or covered elsewhere. my entire career practically lived inside my laptop.

and if i was being honest, a small part of me missed that life too. i looked toward the window as bright sunlight spilled across the london skyline in a way that almost never happened. i looked back at calum, and had to hide my laugh from seeing the hope practically glow in his face.

i sighed dramatically. “it’s gonna be one hell of a surprise when i show up again.”

his entire face lit up. “so that’s a yes?”

i laughed despite myself. “yeah.”

before he could fully celebrate, i pointed at him accusingly. “but seriously—why did we have to get back together while you’re on tour? do you know how much harder this makes everything?”

calum grinned so hard his dimples appeared. “sorry, angel. horrible timing.”

then he immediately wrapped his arms around me again and lifted me clean off the floor. i yelped while he laughed into my neck. 

“holy shit,” he whispered breathlessly. “you’re coming with me.”

i realized then that he was wrong before: i was also an idiot in this relationship. 

what sane woman gets back together with her ex and immediately agrees to go on tour with him the next day? 

though calum hood never made me sane once.

10:42 am

after what felt like a million back-and-forth phone calls with management, crew members, logistics teams, and at least three stressed assistants, calum finally confirmed that i could join the rest of the tour.

apparently squeezing one emotionally unstable ex-girlfriend onto a tour bus last minute required a shocking amount of work. i felt a little guilty about the chaos. some poor logistics coordinator was probably staring at spreadsheets right now wondering why one of the band members suddenly needed an extra bunk assignment because he was never able to move on.

i made a mental note to buy the entire team dinner at some point. or alcohol. or probably both.

we had to meet everyone at the hotel by 3:30, meaning we needed to leave before one so calum could go back to his hotel and pack properly.

which also meant i should’ve been packing. 

keyword: should’ve.

instead, i was barefoot in the kitchen making breakfast while calum stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist like he physically couldn’t stop touching me now that he had me back. not that i minded.

the bacon crackled softly in the pan while lazy morning sunlight poured through the windows. calum pressed absentminded kisses along my neck and shoulder while i scrambled eggs. every few seconds he’d tighten his grip on me slightly like he was reassuring himself i was still there and not a hallucination like some type of shutter island shit.

“okay,” he suddenly said, voice rough with sleep. “but seriously.”

i hummed.

“did you actually like the album?”

i rolled my eyes. “obviously i liked it, idiot. how could i not? it was beautiful.”

he grinned proudly against my shoulder.

“but,” i continued, pointing the spatula at him, “i could only listen to it once because otherwise i would’ve thrown myself into the thames.”

calum burst out laughing. 

“i’m serious!” i defended. “you’re such an asshole for finally releasing a solo album after we broke up when i spent literal years begging you to make one.”

he hid his laugh into my neck.

“what? my love wasn’t inspiring enough material before?” i said half-jokingly, half-serious.

“no, baby—”

“yes actually, explain yourself.”

he turned me around gently until my back pressed against the counter.

“you were too inspiring,” he corrected softly, hands sliding onto my waist. “i think i was just terrified of writing anything that honest while you were actually still mine.”

i rolled my eyes. what an excuse. his thumbs rubbed absentminded circles into my hips before he smiled. “i’ll make another one.”

i raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah?”

“mhm.” he nodded seriously. “this one’s gonna be different though.”

“how so?”

he leaned down until our noses brushed.

“it’ll be about how the love of my life took me back and stopped me from being suicidal.”

i laughed. “you are so dramatic.”

“i’m an artist, baby.”

“you’re insane.”

“but you still love me.”

i rolled my eyes even as my smile betrayed me.

“stupid.”

“your stupid.”

“yeah, okay, now let me get back to cooking before the food burns and i have to remake everything from scratch which wastes the time we already don’t have. c’mon cal, i still need to pack and get ready.”

he laughed against my shoulder, arms still locked around my waist. “you never changed.”

i pouted. “you’re the one who convinced me to go on tour with you again all of a sudden!”

“convinced?” he gasped dramatically. “baby, you said yes almost instantly.”

i pointed the spatula at him again. “don’t test me.” he grinned.

“oh my god,” i groaned. “i haven’t even told alyssa yet.”

calum winced. “shit. she hates me, doesn’t she?”

“she did threaten to murder you multiple times.”

“fair.” he tightened his hold around me again before mumbling into my neck. “i’m scared of her.”

“you always were.”

“no seriously, evie. your best friend terrifies me.” he lifted his head slightly. “i have to face her again now, don’t i?”

i laughed harder. “yes. she’s my other soulmate, so unfortunately you’ll have to survive the court hearing.”

he groaned loudly.

“honestly if she kills you there’s no promise she’ll spare me as well. she leaves me alone for one night and suddenly i’m right back in your arms.” i turned the stove lower before finally facing him properly again.

he chuckled at me softly. it seemed like he was now incapable of looking at me without any yearn in his eyes. he looked like he still couldn’t fully believe he was standing here in my kitchen. well, it’ll turn into our kitchen again sooner or later.

“you really scared me, you know,” he admitted quietly.

“what?”

“when you sent your location last night.” his hands slid slowly up my back. “i thought maybe you were drunk and angry and wanted closure or something.”

i looked down. “i almost didn’t send it.”

his grip on me tightened. “but you did.”

“yeah.”

a quiet settled between us. heavy in the way only years of history can make silence feel. calum brushed a strand of hair behind my ear before speaking again. “i don’t think you understand how hard it was not contacting you these past two years.”

i swallowed. “cal…”

“no, seriously.” his voice softened. “every city reminded me of you somehow. every song. every stupid little thing.” his lips ghosted across my jaw slowly. “i’d see oasis shirts and think about you.” another kiss. “every time someone ordered extra pickles on a burger i thought about you, ya little weirdo.” another. “every time i heard someone laugh too loud—”

“okay, now you’re flirting.”

“i’m trying to.”

i rolled my eyes even as my stomach flipped. “you’re rusty.”

“oh, am i?” his hands suddenly grabbed my waist tighter before he lifted me onto the counter effortlessly.

i yelped. “calum!”

“what?” he grinned shamelessly, stepping between my knees. “you called me rusty. that hurt my feelings.”

“you don’t have feelings.”

“that’s not what my therapist says.”

i laughed so hard i nearly folded into him. god. i missed this.

the stupid jokes, the way he always knew how to make me laugh before i could overthink too much. his smile softened seeing me laugh. then his eyes dropped to my lips and suddenly the atmosphere shifted again. his thumb brushed slowly against my thigh.

“you have no idea how many times i imagined kissing you again,” he admitted quietly.

my breath caught slightly. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he leaned closer. “and reality’s better.”

his lips met mine slowly this time, not desperate like last night. he lingered like he wanted to memorize me all over again. i tangled my fingers into his blond hair, earning a quiet moan from him that sent a pulsing feeling straight to my core.

we really had learned each other’s bodies too well over the years.

the kiss deepened naturally, years of familiarity slipping right back into place like muscle memory. his hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt while mine tugged lightly at the strings of his hoodie. then suddenly—the smell of bacon burning hit us both. 

“shit!” i pulled away laughing while calum groaned dramatically into my shoulder. 

“you’re a distraction.”

“you were literally making out with me!”

“you started it!”

“i absolutely did not.”

i hopped off the counter to rescue breakfast while he stayed behind me grinning like an idiot. 

“well,” i huffed as our lips finally parted properly again, trying to catch my breath while flipping the bacon, “better get used to a lot more gas station stops than before.”

calum raised an eyebrow knowingly. 

“because seriously, what’s the difference between us being horny teenagers back then and us not seeing each other for two years?”

calum looked genuinely in thought for a second. “better stamina?”

there he was.

calum hood.

the man i used to call for everything—the man i used to call my everything. the person i spent the last two years desperately trying not to think about. 

and now somehow i was the one who invited him to me.

for a second, i forgot how to breathe. he looked… tired. nervous too, almost as nervous as i felt.

he wore a black hoodie and matching sweats like he wanted to disappear into the night unnoticed. his blond hair was messy, dark roots grown out underneath.

his eyes landed on me and he froze for half a second before walking over. 

and suddenly he was right there in front of me. close enough to touch again.

neither of us knew what to say. two grown adults who still somehow had no idea what they were doing. 

“hi.”

hearing his voice in person again after two years physically hurt. it sounded exactly the same, with the all too familiar warmth and rasp. what had i expected? for time to change him completely?

“hi,” i answered quietly. my voice came out smaller than i intended.

i couldn’t bring myself to stand up and hug him. judging by the slight hesitation in his posture, he wasn’t expecting one either. he sat down beside me instead.

his eyes flicked toward my guinness before he ordered one for himself without even looking at the menu. a painful, awkward silence settled between us afterward. like one wrong sentence could crack the entire night open. it was probably just as terrifying for him as it was for me.

“how are you?” he finally asked.

the question sounded unnatural coming from him.

“i’m doing good,” i said carefully. lies, obviously. i was far from fine with the night i was having. “how are you, calum?”

“i’m good.”

this felt so weird. so unlike us. i didn’t think we’d ever actually asked each other how are you? before all this happened. we always just knew. 

but there wasn’t really an us anymore. 

“where are you staying?” i asked quickly, desperate to keep the conversation moving before the silence swallowed us whole again.

“the langham.”

i nodded once. “their breakfast sausages are really good.”

the second the words left my mouth, i internally cringed. what kind of response even was that?

but calum laughed anyway. hearing that laugh again after all this time pierced straight through my chest.

his expression guarded slightly. “why’d you come tonight, evie?”

the question hit me so directly, it felt like he shot me. because the truth was i didn’t even know the answer myself. i had been asking that same question to myself all night.

“i don’t know.”

his eyes searched my face for a moment. i couldn’t look away from him long enough to escape it. 

he was wearing his glasses–they always made him look softer. there was light stubble along his jaw, dark circles beneath his eyes from exhaustion. what exactly, i don’t know. i don’t know anything about him anymore. 

he looked older. not in a bad way. just… worn.

calum nodded slowly like he understood that was the only answer i could give him right now.

“i’m glad you did,” he admitted quietly. “i just wish you told me.”

“if i’m being honest, i wasn’t planning to.” i stared down into my drink. “i literally bought the tickets this afternoon.”

“did you come alone?”

“no. alyssa came with me.”

a small smile appeared on his face at her name.

no matter what happened between them over the years, calum always trusted alyssa to look after me whenever he couldn’t. and despite all her poison comments about him, she knew how much he meant to me too.

“how is she?”

“she’s doing amazing,” i said, grateful for easier conversation. “she’s getting booked everywhere now helping design architecture layouts across europe.”

his eyebrows lifted. “seriously?”

“mhm. i’m so proud of her.”

“you’re doing pretty well yourself, from what i’ve seen.”

i blinked. “what?”

“i mean…” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “i still see things sometimes online. or crystal and sierra tell me about projects you’re working on.”

heat rushed into my face instantly. why was i blushing? thank god the pub lighting was dim enough that hopefully he wouldn’t notice.

though if anyone would, it’d be calum.

“oh, come on,” i scoffed lightly. “you’re saying that while you’re literally on a world tour.”

he shrugged it off like it’s nothing. i laughed softly. “cal, this is a completely new era for you guys. i mean, i’d know, wouldn’t i?” i gestured vaguely toward him. “look at you, blondie.”

i almost reached up to one of the strands near his forehead before my brain caught up with my body. almost. the instincts never went away, did it?

“do you like it?” he asked.

my throat tightened stupidly. i couldn’t trust my voice, so i just nodded. his smile turned smaller then. i’ve been with him through every good and bad haircut and loved every single one regardless.

“how’s touring been?” i asked quickly before the moment lingered too long.

that question thankfully opened the door to something easier and more familiar.

calum relaxed further into his chair as he talked about touring now compared to the old days. “it’s so different now,” he laughed softly. “half the tour revolves around nap schedules.”

i smiled into my drink while he told me stories about luke and michael bringing their daughters on the road. tiny headphones backstage and them somehow surviving on three hours of sleep while still going onstage every night.

he started rambling about uncle duties after that. how he’d carry lua around backstage while michael tuned guitars. how one of the girls recently threw up on his hoodie ten minutes before soundcheck. how he learned how to braid hair because apparently he was now “the cool uncle.” when we were together, seeing how naturally good he was with kids used to make me want to kiss him senseless. he promised me once we’d have our own someday.

my chest ached hearing stories of luke’s daughter when it occurred to me i’d never shared a memory with him involving her. she was born after things ended.

i let him keep talking. i missed hearing him ramble.

i chimed in occasionally with old stories from tours i used to join them on years ago. i lost count of how many times we said “remember when..”

i found myself watching him fondly while he talked with his hands the same way he always had, every expression and tiny facial movement still painfully familiar to me after all these years. i found myself enjoying his presence, letting go two years of burden.

the nervous ache never fully disappeared, but as the hours passed and more drinks were ordered and people slowly filtered in and out of the pub, it became easier to bear.

we still avoided certain topics, neither of us touched the breakup directly. neither of us brought up anything from those final months that could hit a nerve.

but sometimes he’d pause mid-conversation and quietly ask if i still have my old habits.

do you still wear weird socks? do you still fall asleep with weird video essays on? do you still listen to wolf alice when you’re upset?

and every single time, something inside me twisted painfully. because he didn’t know anymore when he used to know everything.

we only realized how late it had gotten when the pub was nearly empty except for an older man drunkenly crying to the bartender about his divorce. calum and i exchanged the same sympathetic look before quietly paying our tab. tipping wasn’t really a thing in london, but we left the bartender a ridiculous amount anyway.

the cold night air hit us the second we stepped outside.

calum’s hotel was in the opposite direction from my flat, but he still insisted on walking me home.

and weird. that was still the only word my brain could come up with for any of this. 

because it was weird walking beside him and not leaning into his shoulder. weird hearing his footsteps next to mine and not instinctively reaching for his hand. weird feeling the wind lift strands of hair across my face and knowing he wasn’t brushing them away for me anymore.

by the time we reached my flat, the streets had gone almost completely quiet. the city lights blurred against damp pavement while cold air clung to our clothes.

calum looked up at the building before smiling faintly.

“you always wanted a place in kensington.”

i nodded. i did. back when we were younger, i used to drag him through this neighbourhood pointing at brownstone windows and tiny cafés like they were part of some impossible dream life i wanted someday.

i checked my phone for the time and winced.

2:47 am. 

jesus. 

“do you…” i hesitated for a second. “do you want to come in?”

calum blinked like he thought he heard me wrong. “are you sure?” he was hesitant. i didn’t blame him. i was too.

i immediately started rambling before he could think i meant something bigger than i did. “cal, it’s late and your hotel’s literally across the city,” i rushed out. i knew damn well it was only a 20 minute car ride. “and i still have some of your old clothes somewhere—or i can give you one of my oversized shirts to sleep in—”

i stopped myself. i was talking too much.

calum nodded once. he didn’t say anything, like he was afraid if he said the wrong thing i’d take the offer back.

i unlocked the door and let him inside. the second he stepped into my flat, something strange settled over me. 

this place was entirely mine. my first real home that didn’t carry traces of him. no old guitar picks forgotten on counters, no cheesy couple mugs, no memories sitting in every corner waiting to ambush me.

i showed him around awkwardly.

“this is nice,” he said quietly while looking around my living room. “very you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

he smiled slightly. “clean. pretentious books everywhere. posters. expensive candles.”

“i’ll have you know those candles were gifts.”

“mhm.”

i rolled my eyes, relieved the teasing still came naturally.

eventually we ended up in my bedroom while i dug through my closet trying to find something he could sleep in. that’s when i realized all the old shirts i stole from him years ago definitely wouldn’t fit anymore. back then he was leaner and smaller, now touring and age had filled him out more, broader shoulders stretching beneath his hoodie whenever he moved. not that it was bad. in fact i had to stop myself from being attracted to it.

i finally found an oversized shirt from a pr package some brand accidentally sent me in the wrong size.

“here,” i said, turning around with it in my hands.

but calum didn’t take it. instead, he just looked at me. and then quietly asked the exact question that had been screaming in my own head all night. “are you sure this is a good idea, evie?”

the room suddenly felt very still. moonlight spilled through the windows in pale streaks, casting soft shadows across his face.

i stared at him for a long moment—i saw the tiredness in his eyes, the uncertainty and how familiar he still felt standing in front of me after all this time.

“no,” i admitted softly. “i’m not really sure about anything anymore, calum.”

his expression broke a little at that. instead of taking the shirt from my hands, he reached for me instead. his fingers wrapped carefully around mine like he wasn’t fully convinced i was real.

“i miss you so much,” he whispered. no—not whispered. confessed.

and what the fuck was i supposed to do with that?

was i supposed to tear down every wall i spent two years desperately building just to survive him? tell him that yes, god, i missed him too. that i missed waking up to his stupid shower thoughts at eight in the morning. i missed sitting on his lap while he absentmindedly played bass lines against my hip. i missed the way he attacked me with random kisses in the middle of conversations like he physically couldn’t help himself.

i missed him so much it made me angry and sad and confused. but i couldn’t say any of that. i couldn’t say anything at all.

calum broke first. i watched tears spill down his face before mine did.

“evie…” his voice cracked. “when i was onstage tonight—even before i knew you were there—it hurt so bad.” he laughed weakly through tears, shaking his head. “singing those songs without you there like before. not being able to look over and find you whenever i got nervous.”

“my whole album…” he swallowed hard. “i don’t even need to tell you it’s about you, do i?” of course he didn’t. “you always know me better than anyone,” he whispered. “you always have.”

his words started tumbling out faster after that, years of grief finally cracking open all at once. “i still love you so much, evie. so fucking much.” his breathing turned uneven. “you’re all i know.”

tears blurred my vision. “i had to go to therapy just to relearn how to live without you.”

“and i know i sound selfish saying all this because i’m the one who ruined everything,” he continued desperately. “i know i deserved losing you. i know you had every right to leave me.”

he wiped harshly at his face. “but god…” his voice shattered. “knowing i still have to live the rest of my life without you hurts more than dying sometimes.”

“cal, don’t say that,” i cried. but he kept going anyway like he’d been holding this in for too long to stop now. “if i could undo it, i would.” he stepped closer. “anything. i’d do absolutely anything to reverse that night.”

then suddenly he was on his knees in front of me and the sight nearly destroyed me. because it dragged me violently back to the night everything ended—calum on the floor crying while i packed my bags with shaking hands. the difference was back then everything still felt fresh and bleeding open. now i’d had two years to process it all. though honestly, i wasn’t sure i’d done a very good job.

“as happy as i am for luke and michael and their family,” he admitted through tears, “i get so jealous watching them sometimes because that was supposed to be us.”

“i think about it every night,” he whispered. “about you every night. every single fucking night.” 

“i can’t move on, evie.” it was like a blade pierced right through me hearing him admit it.

“i tried. god, i tried.” he shook his head. “but nobody comes close to you. nobody.”

we were both sobbing now. calum stood back up slowly before cupping my face in both hands like he was scared i’d disappear if he held too loosely. “i still love you,” he said firmly despite his shaking voice. “and that’s never gonna change.”

i closed my eyes. “i know you hate me,” he whispered. “i know you hate me for what i did. i hate myself for it too.” his thumbs brushed beneath my eyes carefully, wiping tears away. “but please…” his voice cracked again. “please tell me there’s still a part of you that looks back at us sometimes.”

i looked at him as i realized he still didn’t understand.

“i ended us because you hurt me, calum,” i cried. “not because i stopped loving you.”

his hands froze against my face. “you…” his eyes searched mine desperately. “you still love me?” 

i laughed weakly through tears because how could he not know? “would i have invited you in if i didn’t?” i whispered, hearing my own voice crack. “would i have sent you my location tonight if i didn’t?”

“do you think i spent two years trying to forget the feeling of your breath against my neck because i didn’t love you?” my voice shook violently. “i tried so hard not to think about you because it hurt too much.” 

calum stared at me speechless.

“after we ended, i had to restart my entire life.” tears kept spilling faster than i could wipe them away. “hell, i live in london now, cal.” i laughed bitterly.

“i did everything possible to avoid even thinking about you because i couldn’t handle knowing i lost the man i believed i’d spend the rest of my life with.”

“you were all i knew since we were kids. i idolized you.” my head began to spin from the emotions.

“you promised me so many things. you promised us a future.” i shook my head through tears. “and then one night destroyed all of it so badly that i didn’t even recognize who you were anymore.”

“but the worst thing was that i still loved you anyway. no moving-on technique worked. i tried all of them. and none of then worked because you’re you, calum.” my voice gave out after that.

“i lost my best friend,” i sobbed, couldn’t even breathe properly anymore. “i lost the person i went to for everything. you were my first kiss. my first real guy best friend. my first–”

i stopped myself before the sentence could fully come out and i completely fell apart. deep, ugly sobs tore out of me while calum held me tightly against his chest like he was terrified to let go.

“i still love you,” i cried into him. “even after what you did to me, i still love you so much.”

“evie, i am so, so sorry.” his voice kept breaking apart against my skin. “i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry. please–” the words blurred together after a while. sorry, please, i love you over and over and over again like he was trying to somehow stitch the damage closed with repetition alone. i let myself listen anyway.

we sat on the edge of my bed, clinging to each other while both of us cried ourselves empty. we weren’t even this close the night everything ended. i wouldn’t even let him touch me or near me that night, too disgusted in his own actions.

i hadn’t touched him in two years, three months, and twenty-three days.

and now my face was buried in the crook of his neck like muscle memory had taken over completely. i hated myself for how much i missed this. missed him.

the shape of him still fit around me perfectly, terrifyingly so, like my body never got the memo that he stopped being mine. two years, three months, and twenty-three days of hurting somehow led back to this exact moment. maybe it was inevitable, maybe a part of me had always been running back toward him no matter how far away i tried to go.

i still dreamed about him sometimes. though i refused to ever write those dreams down in my journal, ashamed of myself for still wanting someone who shattered me.

i slowly pulled back enough to look at him properly and suddenly all i could see was how exhausted he looked. like carrying the weight of losing us had hollowed parts of him out over the years. the reckless teenage boy i first fell in love with over a decade ago was gone now. in his place sat a grown man worn down by consequences, guilt, and grief.

my hand lifted shakily toward his hair before i could stop myself. the curls felt rougher now from bleach damage, but my fingers still moved through them in the same familiar patterns they learned years ago.

calum’s eyes fluttered shut instantly at the touch. like relief and pain all at once. when he opened them again, his voice softened into that careful tone he always used whenever he knew i was close to breaking completely. “you never have to forgive me,” he whispered. “ever.”

fresh tears burned behind my eyes. 

“but i’ll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me.”

his thumb brushed carefully against my wrist. “i’d do anything to rebuild us again,” he paused, “i still have so many promises left to keep.”

a broken smile finally cracked across my face. because even after everything, i still saw him. every tiny change time carved into him over the last two years, three months, and twenty-three days. all the years i missed loving him in real time. then i did something that surprised both of us: i leaned in first.

our lips softly met, almost hesitant from the unfamiliarity of something that once felt second nature. the same lips that used to kiss every inch of my skin absentmindedly throughout the day and the same mouth that once mumbled sleepy i love yous against my shoulder at three in the morning.

it only took seconds before instinct took over again, like our bodies still remembered the choreography of each other perfectly. i could taste salt from tears between us and faint traces of guinness lingering on his mouth. my lip gloss was probably half gone from cryin. i still wore the same brand i used to back then, and when calum smiled softly into the kiss, i knew he recognized it.

the air in the room was thick with a heavy, unspoken history, vibrating with the tension of two years spent apart. he moved like he was scared i’d disappear if he touched me too hard. every kiss felt careful and every touch hesitant like he still couldn’t fully believe i was letting him have this again. i realized then that the last time calum had been this nervous with me was our first night together all those years ago, back when we were still stupid teenagers fumbling through love and desire at the same time. back when he kept stopping every few minutes just to ask if i was okay.

sensing his uncertainty, i knew i had to take the reins. lying back against the cool sheets, i reached up and softly guided him down until his weight was a comforting pressure above me. without breaking the kiss, he blindly reached up, slipped off his glasses, and set them on the nightstand. a seamless, muscle-memory action that made it feel as if no time had passed at all. 

“can we?” he whispered against my mouth, his gaze dropping to meet mine, filled with a quiet, vulnerable longing. i nodded, propping myself up on my elbows, i watched him navigate the buttons of my jacket with careful precision. but when his fingers caught clumsily on the hem of my shirt, the sheer absurdity of his nerves broke the tension, and a soft giggle slipped from my throat.

“don’t think i’ve ever seen you this nervous taking off my clothes,” i teased softly.

his tired eyes lit up with a sudden, familiar warmth. “can you not?” he murmured, a self-conscious, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips. he was still painfully cute to me.

wanting to ease his mind, i sat up further to help him slide the shirt over my head. emboldened, he moved more quickly to undo the button and zipper of my jeans, sliding them down until i was left shivering slightly in my undergarments. he paused, his gaze sweeping over me as if memorizing a sight he thought he’d lost forever. his hand trembled slightly as he ran a palm over the curve of my hip, his eyes glassing over until it looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“missed you so much, my gorgeous girl,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion.

he started kissing every inch of exposed skin, trailing his lips into every nook and corner of my neck and collarbone, all while muttering a breathless litany of praises. i leaned back, completely consumed by him, my fingers weaving through the familiar texture of his hair. with practiced ease, his fingers found the hook of my bra, unclasping it in one smooth motion. he latched his mouth onto one peak, sending a sharp jolt of electricity straight to my core, while his thumb began to stroke the other rhythmically.

an unbidden, soft moan escaped me, and my hips arched into him instinctively. his free hand slipped beneath the lace of my underwear, his fingers immediately finding the most sensitive center of my pleasure. it was like his hands had never forgotten the map of my body.

i cried out his name, the syllables rolling off my tongue with a bittersweet ache. in that moment, the realization hit me fully: i had desperately missed the weight of his name in my mouth, and by the way his grip tightened, he had missed the sound of me saying it just as much.

slowly, he stripped away the final barrier of my underwear, leaving me completely bare beneath him. he slid a second finger inside, the friction warm and agonizingly perfect. my eyelids fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the return of a sensation i had yearned for during every lonely night of the past twenty-seven months.

“open your eyes, baby girl. look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice a low purr. he leaned down to kiss the tears from my cheeks as i kept repeating his name like a mantra. when he suddenly pulled his fingers away, a small, involuntary whine escaped my lips. he let out a soft, low chuckle at my impatience. “not yet, pretty. want us to come together, yeah?”

i nodded desperately, the heat pooling between my thighs making it impossible to think straight. deep down, a small, fleeting voice apologized to the version of myself that had spent two long years trying to heal and move on—only to completely crumble at his mercy within a matter of minutes. but the guilt evaporated the moment he stripped off his own clothes. i reached out, my palms tracing the familiar contours of his chest and the intricate ink of his tattoos, feeling the steady, rapid thudding of his heart beneath my fingertips.

he paused, hovering over me, his breathing ragged. “do you have a condom?”

i shook my head against the pillow. in that moment, i couldn't bear the thought of anything blocking us, of any barrier keeping us apart after so much lost time. i needed to feel all of him.

“baby, you know i can’t–” he started, a flash of protective worry crossing his face. “i’m on the pill. please,” i begged, my fingers digging into his hips.

the last shred of his restraint snapped. with a low groan, he positioned himself between my thighs. i looked up at him one last time, taking in the subtle changes in his beautiful, mature face and the broader set of his shoulders. as he guided himself in, i threw my arms around him in a tight bearhug, pulling him flush against me. a simultaneous, deep moan tore from both of our chests as he slid himself in.

the fit was tight, demanding a moment of stillness. he paused, burying his face in my neck, allowing both of our bodies to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of a feeling we hadn't shared in years. then, with a slow, deliberate tilt of his hips, he began to move.

the pace was unhurried, as if he were trying to stretch out the seconds to make up for the two years of loss. his thumbs gently wiped away the fresh tears spilling from the corners of my eyes, his lips never leaving my skin as he kissed his way down my jaw.

he kept whispering against my skin with soft praises, breathless i love yous and pet names i spent two years pretending i forgot.

“good girl.”

“there you are, angel.”

“so pretty for me.”

every word hit somewhere painfully deep inside me because god, i missed this. missed him.

“cal…” my voice broke apart into a gasp. “i’m so close–”

“i’m right here, baby girl.” his forehead pressed against mine. “right here, angel.” the tenderness in his voice completely unraveled me.

i came with his name falling from my lips while his eyes stayed on me. i never got used to the intimacy of eye contact during sex. calum followed not long after, losing himself with a broken sound against my neck before collapsing on top of me.

for a while neither of us said anything. we just stayed there breathing each other in, almost afraid speaking too loudly would shatter the moment and wake us up from whatever this was because it still didn’t feel real.

eventually calum shifted enough to press a soft kiss against my forehead before pulling away.

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

i never liked adding too onto our i love yous. it feels like i'm watering it down. i don't want my love to sound like an agreement or a receipt of delivery. i love you because my heart is full of it, not because someone said it first and left a blank space for me to fill.

“gonna take care of you, okay?” some things about him never changed. he was always gentle afterward. it took him a minute to figure out where things were in a home he’d never learned before, quietly rummaging around my bathroom until he found a clean cloth. but even then, he still moved through my space like he understood me intuitively. because he did, he always knew me and he would until the end of time. he knew the little habits i never noticed about myself. the places i’d likely leave things and the routines i built unconsciously.

i watched him move around my flat and a thought occurrd to me: i wanted him to know this place someday the same way he knew every other version of home i ever had. i couldn’t process that fully right now, not in this current state of flying emotions. 

calum returned to bed before gently cleaning me up, careful and patient because he knew we were both too emotionally exhausted for a shower. he climbed back beside me and pulled me into his arms.

my face tucked perfectly beneath his chin. 

“i feel like i’m dreaming,” i whispered sleepily. he laughed softly against my hair before kissing my temple. “if this is a dream,” he murmured, “i don’t want us to wake up.”

i smiled weakly at that. he kissed my face again like he was still reassuring himself i was actually there. “thank you, evie.”

“save it for later,” i mumbled against his chest. “i’m tired.”

he chuckled quietly. not long after, sleep finally started pulling me under. the last thing i remember before drifting off was still feeling calum’s eyes lingering on me in the dark like he was terrified i’d disappear again the second he looked away.

out of all the boys, luke and i were closest in age, which naturally made us close in general. our birthdays were only days apart, so back during tour days we used to celebrate together to save money. one cake, one chaotic backstage party, everyone screaming over each other while ashton got progressively more drunk by the hour.

i still smiled thinking about those nights.

things were different now, obviously. not bad different, just… different.

luke still checked in on me. he still randomly sent me videos of his daughter babbling nonsense or updates about whatever sierra was baking that week. him and sierra still invited me to dinners and birthdays and little family gatherings.

but with calum involved, everything became complicated.

luke reached out when they first landed in the uk too. he didn’t pressure me into meeting him, just letting me know he was there if i wanted to see him, sierra, or their daughter.

that was one of the saddest parts about the breakup. it didn’t just cost me calum. it created distance between me and the boys too. growing up an only child meant they were the closest thing i ever had to brothers.

the stadium erupted into cheers as luke finished his song and then my stomach dropped.

i knew what came next.

this was the section of the show where each member performed their solo work. naturally, the boys had all branched out into solo projects during breaks from the band. i used to constantly nag calum about releasing his own music someday.

maybe i was biased back then, but his songwriting had always been my favourite. all of my favourite 5sos songs came from him. his production and arrangement was always so precise, rightfully earning him my constant praise. he always had half-finished lyrics stuffed into journals and notes app entries.

i remembered sitting cross-legged on the living room floor while sunlight poured through our windows, watching him absentmindedly strum random chords on his guitar while trying to piece melodies together. it was unfair how effortlessly talented he was.

the little shit finally decided to release solo music after we broke up. and of course the album had to be about me. about us.

i’d heard it, obviously. there was no escaping it. the second his debut single dropped, my phone became unusable. notifications flooded in from friends, fans, industry people, even family. everyone sending links and screenshots and lyric snippets like i wasn’t already painfully aware.

i ended up going offline for almost a week. alyssa stayed with me during that relapse.

what made it worse was the fact the album was good. so devastatingly good.

in another life, i would’ve been promoting it like crazy online and bragging that my boyfriend made a masterpiece. i could’ve sworn some of those lyrics came from conversations we’d had at two in the morning half-asleep in bed.

“don’t forget you love me.”

even hearing the title made my chest tighten. that was one of the last things i said before i walked out. or something along the lines of it.

and naturally, it became the biggest song on the album. which meant it was the song he performed every night on tour.

the arena lights dimmed further. the first notes rang through the stadium and suddenly i was right back there again as tears blurred my vision instantly.

i could still remember my hands shaking while i shoved clothes into a suitcase that night. the sound of calum crying behind me and the feeling of wanting to stay and leave at the exact same time.

i forced myself to stay standing as calum stepped into the spotlight.

then he started singing. “12 a.m. on taco tuesday, i’m crying out my eyes…”

the crowd screamed as my stomach twisted painfully.

“and i’m sitting here wondering if i want to be alive..”

did he really feel like that? part of me wanted to say good. part of me wanted him to hurt the way i hurt. but another part of me–the part i spent two years trying to kill–still loved him too much to enjoy his pain.

“i’ve tried enough to call you, i’m scared that you’ll pick up…”

he did call. over and over and over again until he eventually gave up.

because what was i supposed to do? listen to another drunken explanation about why another girl ended up sucking his dick? years of loving someone reduced to one horrific decision.

by the time the chorus hit, i broke.

calum’s voice echoed through the arena as he repeated “don’t forget you love me” again and again like a prayer he still hoped would work.

alyssa wrapped her arms around me immediately. i didn’t know if people around us just thought i was another emotional fan crying over her favourite member or if anyone realized the woman this entire album was written about was standing right there in the crowd.

“we can leave if you want,” alyssa whispered. i shook my head quickly and pulled my hood lower over my face, trying to keep my sobs quiet. it was the first time in years i’d actually let myself cry over him properly.

“oh my god,” a girl behind us gasped. “is he crying?”

my head snapped toward the screen before i could stop myself. calum stood at the mic, finishing the final chorus while tears slipped down his face under the stage lights.

well fuck.

i didn’t even know what emotion i was supposed to feel anymore. at least i wasn’t the only one still ruined by this, i guess.

“i think he still misses evie,” another girl whispered behind me. “she lives here now, doesn’t she? that must be so hard for him.”

“i still hope they get back together.”

i covered my mouth hard to stop the sound threatening to escape me. i didn’t want to draw attention to myself. didn’t want anyone realizing my reaction went deeper than fangirl tears.

but the deep truth was i missed him so much.

– 2014

i sighed as i melted further back into calum’s arms, his chest warm against my back as we laid tangled together on his couch.

we had just gotten home from the bar after mutually deciding we weren’t actually in the mood to drink ourselves numb over our shitty love lives.

by then, the boys had already moved to la. emotionally and financially, it was hell. i was still finishing my final year of uni in london while calum was suddenly living across the world. but he tried. god, he tried.

whenever schedules aligned and the universe finally decided to be kind to us, he’d fly me out or arrange trips back home. even with the band getting busier, he always made time for me somehow.

he was weirdly adamant about me graduating too. calum dropped out two years earlier to fully focus on the band, but he treated my degree like it personally belonged to both of us. he’d stay awake helping me rehearse presentations despite barely understanding half the terminology. he’d call me before exams like i was heading into battle. meanwhile, i always rolled my eyes because i knew he would’ve succeeded with or without formal education anyway. we were proud of each other like that.

uni was exhausting though. trying to survive my final year while maintaining some kind of social life felt impossible most days. i went on dates here and there, but they never really became anything. that’s what led to tonight’s failed attempt at getting drunk.

we spent most of the evening complaining about each other’s dating lives instead. not that calum genuinely tried dating. he bounced between meaningless flings now that he was a young rockstar with suddenly endless options thrown at him. and not that my feelings for him were getting any smaller.

my heart still betrayed me every single time his touch lingered too long. every time he casually flirted without realizing the effect it had on me. i’d just gotten better at pretending otherwise.

i curled further into his side while he absentmindedly played with my hair, both of us staring lazily at the ceiling.

“if we’re both not married by forty,” he suddenly said, “we should just marry each other.”

i laughed immediately, mostly to hide the heat rushing into my face. “what?”

“i’m serious.” he glanced down at me. “clearly love isn’t working out too well for either of us.”

“well unlike you, i’m actually trying.” i narrowed my eyes.

“shut up and listen.” he nudged my shoulder. “come on. i wouldn’t be that bad of a husband, would i?”

i pretended to think deeply about it which made calum look personally offended.

“oh, fuck off,” he groaned before suddenly flipping us over and attacking my sides.

i squealed. “cal–stop!”

“i’d provide for us,” he argued between my laughter. “i’m romantic, insanely handsome, talented–”

“those aren’t real reasons!”

eventually he stopped tickling me, both of us breathless and laughing. 

but the truth was, despite us only being eighteen, i’d already imagined it before. spending the rest of my life with calum hood. every teenage girl plans her wedding at some point. i’d been imagining mine since i was fourteen. and calum devastatingly fit into every version of it perfectly.

i already knew who the groomsmen would be. hell, we technically already had the wedding band sorted too–

“i mean,” he muttered, “the wedding would be easy considering we already have a band.”

i froze after he said that. was he reading my mind?

“sure, maybe i’d burn the kitchen down every now and then,” he continued dramatically as he pulled me fully into his lap, “but give me one good reason why i wouldn’t be a fantastic husband.”

“you’d drive me insane,” i said. that wasn’t a real reason though. i’d let calum hood ruin my sanity happily if it meant keeping him. and judging by the smug look on his face, he probably knew that already.

somehow, the conversation spiraled from fake marriage jokes into genuinely discussing our future–homes, weddings, kids, a life that still seemed to only exist in our dreams.

i listened while he talked about wanting a big backyard someday and a studio in the house so he could still make music while his kids ran around annoying him. it melted me a little seeing this softer version of him.

“do you want kids?” he asked suddenly.

“yeah,” i admitted quietly. “maybe.”

“how many?”

“two. unless the first one drives me insane enough to stop there.”

he laughed at that.

“i think two’s good,” he said. “you’ve already thought of names, haven’t you?”

i narrowed my eyes. “how do you know everything?”

“angel,” he said easily, brushing hair away from my face, “i know everything about you.”

i hated that he did.

“tell me their names.” he said it so softly like these imaginary children already belonged to both of us.

i swallowed. “well… if it’s a boy, i always liked elijah amaru-quest.”

calum blinked.

“whoa. who’s quest?”

“what?”

“i didn’t realize there was another man in your life.” he frowned dramatically. “i’d love to meet this mr. quest.”

i stared at him for a second before realization hit me. then i burst out laughing.

“oh my god, you’re so stupid.”

his pout deepened.

“i don’t know a quest,” i laughed. “i just got carried away and accidentally gave him a full name.”

“and there’s no room for hood in there?”

“amaru-hood doesn’t sound as cool.”

he looked genuinely wounded.

“you’re adorable,” i laughed.

i couldn’t believe we were arguing over the surname of a child that didn’t even exist.

“maybe,” i teased, “i could compromise with elijah amaru quest-hood.”

calum immediately brightened. “that kid’s gonna sound important as hell.” he grinned. “what about a girl?”

i’d always imagined calum as the kind of dad who’d be amazing with both a son and a daughter. not necessarily with me, but girls hopelessly in love with their best friend are allowed to dream a little.

“lyla-rose.”

“that’s it?”

“there’s room for hood there. happy now?”

the smile that spread across his face nearly killed me. “yeah,” he said softly. “lyla-rose hood. i really like that.”

“you don’t want any say in their names?”

“as long as they’ve got hood in there somewhere, i’d probably agree to naming our kid barney.”

i hit his chest, laughing. i was so in love with him. he didn’t even realize it.

22:15 pm

the concert was nearing its end by the time they played waste the night. It was always one of my favourites.

the opening notes alone dragged me backwards in time so violently it hurt. scenes of long california drives, cheap alcohol and sticky backstage floors flooded my mind. being eighteen and stupid and convinced life would somehow stay that good forever.

throughout the concert i noticed they sounded better now too. older and vocally stronger, more settled into themselves.

i left before the final three songs to avoid the nightmare of post-concert traffic spilling into the streets. alyssa offered to stay with me, but she’d already done more than enough tonight.

i hugged her tightly in the tube before she got off at her stop, thanking her at least three separate times while she rolled her eyes and told me to text her the second i got home.

the problem was i didn’t want to go home. not yet, at least.

i wandered into a pub i’d only been to once before with some coworkers after a launch event. quiet place, decent drinks and dark wooden interiors that felt cozy enough to drink my sorrows out to. i only needed a guinness.

the pub wasn’t busy. just a few couples tucked into booths and two older men arguing softly over footy near the tv.

i sat at the bar staring at my phone while the bartender gave me a small smile, as if he knew it wasn’t the right time for any small talk.

my emotions still felt tangled from the concert. the crying, the memories and seeing him again after all this time, even from far away.

i checked the time. 11:56 pm. my stomach twisted.

before i could fully think it through, i opened my messages and typed calum’s contact name into the search bar with slightly shaking fingers.

i had changed his contact months after the breakup. it used to be calcite. the memory made me smile before the pain shot through my heart.

i used to give him ridiculous nicknames that started with “cal.” calcite, calcium, calico, calendar–anything that annoyed him enough to make him roll his eyes while secretly loving it.

what the fuck was i doing?

that thought looped through my head over and over again alongside a louder voice screaming stop, stop, stop as my thumb hovered over his contact.

the last thing in our chat history wasn’t even a conversation. just pages of missed calls, and voicemails i never listened to.

i swallowed hard. fuck it. tonight was already messy and impulsive enough.

i opened the photo i’d taken during the concert and typed: hi. was at your concert tonight

it took me almost two full minutes to press send. the message got opened in less than one. i felt like throwing up as i idled myself in the chat.

Evie

why didn’t you tell me?

he double texted. i read it in his voice.

i didn’t think it was necessary

i could’ve gotten you better tickets. you’re all the way in the back

a laugh escaped me before i could stop it.

It’s okay. i love supporting small artists

i stared at my own message for a second in disbelief. i couldn’t believe i still had room for sarcasm while actively drinking my feelings away over him.

he sent back a rolling eyes emoji. god, i missed his attitude.

did you enjoy the show?

i did. 

you played waste the night :’)

still your favourite?

never changed

you didn’t play babylon though :/

i don’t think i even remember the lyrics anymore haha

i stared at the screen too long after that. what the hell were we doing? this was our first conversation in two years. and somehow we’d slipped back into the rhythm of each other terrifyingly easily.

the typing bubble appeared again. then it disappeared. then finally,

are you home?

something about the pause before he sent it made my chest ache. like he was hesitant, like he still didn’t know what he was allowed to ask me anymore.

no. before i could overthink it, i opened google maps and sent him the location of the pub. my heart beat so violently i could feel it in my throat. maybe it was him or maybe it was the guinness finally hitting me. probably both.

the typing bubble appeared and stopped again, this time a much longer pause than before.

i knew exactly what was happening on his end because despite everything, i still understood calum better than anyone. he didn’t know what to say next because he didn’t know where he stood with me anymore.

i stared at the screen waiting. i typed there’s an empty seat next to me before immediately deleting it before pressing send. too desperate. as if sending him my location at midnight after two years wasn’t already pathetic enough.

when no reply came after a minute, embarrassment started creeping up my spine. i locked my phone and pressed my palms hard against my eyes.

the notification sound nearly made me jump out of my seat.

it was the third night of the second uk leg opening for one direction, and the energy still felt unreal every single night.

the screams were deafening. thousands of people chanting lyrics back at four boys from sydney who, not that long ago, were playing tiny gigs and handing out flyers themselves.

calum had dropped out of high school earlier that year and moved to london with the boys once the band really started taking off. i missed him painfully despite the constant texts, late-night facetimes, and random voice notes he’d send me at ungodly hours.

convincing my mum to let me fly out to london took a while, though calum had always been golden in her eyes, she was still sending her teenage daughter half way across the world to tour with two boybands. not exactly the dream scenario for parents.

yet calum was desperate to get me out there with him. he promised her he’d look after me the entire trip, kept insisting he’d send updates, planned out everything down to airport pickups and accommodation details.

to say the tour was fun would’ve been an understatement. 

my best friend was suddenly a fucking rockstar. and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t look at him with stars in my eyes half the time. apparently everybody noticed too. everybody except calum.

the first time i met the one direction boys, they all assumed i was his girlfriend. it took about a week for them to realize we weren’t actually together, which they seemed personally offended by.

“absolute bullshit, that,” louis said one night in his thick doncaster accent after watching calum sling an arm around my shoulders for maybe the fiftieth time that day.

later that night, after the venue emptied and the chaos finally died down, we ended up sitting outside the tour bus sharing a cigarette in comfortable silence.

london air clung cold against my skin while distant traffic echoed down the street.

“i’m really proud of you, cal,” i said quietly.

he looked over at me as smoke billowed his face. he smiled softly, took my hand, and pressed a kiss against my knuckles.

my stomach flipped embarrassingly hard. by that point, physical affection between us wasn’t unusual anymore. we’d crossed far past normal best friend boundaries without ever actually acknowledging it. distance makes the heart grow fonder, i guess. unfortunately, it also makes every unresolved feeling ten times worse.

i understood why louis thought the whole “just friends” thing was bullshit.

it felt surreal watching the same boy who used to throw paper balls at me in class now perform in sold-out arenas across the world. not that fame made him any less annoying. if anything, it made him worse.

“i told ya, didn’t i?” he grinned, nudging my shoulder with his. “got myself a whole stadium of screaming fangirls.” i scoffed lightly, even as my chest tightened.

i was proud of him. god, i was so proud of him.

but what was supposed to be my harmless little crush on calum hood had turned into something much bigger and terrifying.

alyssa was actually the one who realized it first after i spent an entire school day miserable because he’d been too busy to call me the night before.

“you’re in love with him,” she told me bluntly over lunch.

i denied it for maybe thirty seconds.

i knew he’d started getting attention too. groupies, afterparties, girls who were prettier than me– cooler than me. the things that came with the life he was stepping into.

he was still just a teenage boy at the end of the day.

i tried not to think about it too much. this isn’t about you, evie.

“kept my other promise too,” he said suddenly.

i looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, unsure what other promise he was talking about.

he reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from my face before taking one last drag of the cigarette.

“told ya i’d take you with me when we made it.”

17:02 pm

i smoothed the fabric of my oversized jacket, staring at my reflection for what felt like the hundredth time. i didn’t want to wear anything flashy. absolutely nothing that would pull attention toward me. the last thing i wanted was to stand out in a crowd full of fans, especially if they knew who i was. i was terrified someone would recognize me.

alyssa appeared behind me, resting her hand gently on my shoulder. “you look good, i promise. you always do.”

i smiled weakly at her reflection and gave a small nod. a black tank top sat beneath an oversized jacket, simple enough to disappear into a crowd. i’d layered on a few rings and necklaces, just enough to avoid looking too plain, too intentionally invisible. somehow even trying not to stand out felt suspicious. i was overthinking every little thing.

i anxiously grabbed my keys and bag before making our way to the o2, the same stadium i watched his 17-year old self play all those years ago.

we arrived just before the lights went down. the crowd buzzed around us in waves of excitement and anticipation, and my heartbeat pounded so loudly in my chest i was convinced someone nearby would turn around and ask if i was alright. i kept my hood up low over my face and avoided eye contact whenever possible. alyssa kindly gave me the aisle seat once we found our section, probably knowing i’d need the easy escape route.

even so, i caught myself smiling as i looked around. i had always loved the fans. even now. even after everything. years ago, i’d been the one buying boxes of donuts and pizza for the girls waiting in the freezing queue for hours. i’d been the one handing out guitar picks, drumsticks and setlists to the ones holding up cardboard signs. part of it came from genuinely knowing what it felt like to love something that deeply but the other part came from wanting them to like me enough not to tear me apart online. fame made even kindness feel strategic sometimes.

still, seeing everyone tonight made my chest ache. glitter smeared beneath eyes. band tees worn with everyone’s own customization. excited laughter echoing through the rows. the concert hadn’t even started yet and nostalgia was already clawing at me.

without realizing it, alyssa and i slipped into old memories while we waited for the lights to dim. touring with the boys, sneaking out after shows at two in the morning for fast food, the stupid arguments and the even stupider jokes. how unbearably young and reckless we all were back then.

for the first time in what felt like forever, i smiled without forcing it while thinking about something tied to calum.

then the arena went dark.

the scream from the crowd was immediate, deafening enough to shake through the floor beneath my feet, and suddenly my stomach twisted so violently it hurt.

and then there he was.

calum hood.

the breath caught painfully in my throat as he walked onto the stage, bathed in blinding white light while thousands of girls around me screamed his name like a prayer. the sound swallowed the entire arena whole. i sat frozen in the middle of it, fingers gripping the armrests of my seat so tightly they ached. it felt wrong being this far away from him.

every concert i had ever attended before this, i’d watched from backstage or side-stage or somewhere close enough that if he turned his head slightly, he could find me instantly. i was always within his line of sight. 

now i was buried high up in the bleachers like a stranger. just another face in the crowd.

the giant screens flashed to his face and i inhaled sharply again before i could stop myself. he looked different. blond hair now, smudged dark makeup sat around his eyes giving him this rough, punk sort of edge that fit the new era perfectly. time had sharpened him somehow. made him look older, but i would’ve recognized him anywhere.

they opened with newer songs first. i found myself genuinely enjoying them. my conflicting situation with their bassist doesn’t change the fact these four boys are extremely talented. they’d leaned back into their pop-punk roots lately and secretly, i had missed that sound more than i realized.

knowing concert etiquette like muscle memory, i forced myself to move with the crowd. jump when everyone jumped. clap when everyone clapped. laughed during their video skits. pretend my body didn’t feel like it was being held together by thin thread and adrenaline.

then, halfway through the set, the opening notes of a song i knew all too well drifted through the stadium. the crowd erupted instantly while my entire body went still. ghost of you.

one of their biggest songs, one of their best. god, i loved that song. i loved calum’s part most of all.

it was strange because the song had come out right around the time we officially started dating. he used to laugh whenever i told him it was one of my favorites, always saying, “it’s literally a breakup song. what’s wrong with you?” and i’d laugh back, telling him good music didn't care about our relationship status.

his voice in that song had always destroyed me a little. there was something painfully yearning about it, like he was reaching toward someone already disappearing. back then, i thought it was beautiful. now it felt unbearable.

this tour was the first time he’d performed the song since we broke up. i’d avoided every video online since the tour started because i didn’t know which would hurt more—watching him get emotional over it, or watching him sing it like it meant absolutely nothing anymore.

as his verse approached, i stopped moving entirely. as the giant screen cut to him, my breath caught. his voice wrapped around the arena low and aching, rough around the edges in a way it always became when he was trying too hard not to feel something. even years later, i recognized every tiny shift in his tone.

i used to tell him all the time that he sang like he was mourning something.

before leaving for the concert, i’d made the mistake of scrolling through twitter while alyssa supervised to make sure i didn’t fall into a spiral. i’d barely lasted five minutes before stumbling across tweets reflecting my thoughts.

“this is the first time calum’s performing in london after the breakup with evie..” “ghost of you tn is gonna ruin me omg my divorced parents”

i closed the app almost immediately after that. it was ridiculous. two whole years had passed. two years of new cities, new people, new versions of myself. entire lifetimes crammed into the space between then and now. and somehow his name still hit like touching a bruise that never healed properly.

yet here i was anyway. watching the man i once loved more than myself stand beneath blinding stage lights. in his element.

calum sang softly, eyes lowered toward the stage floor. “cleaning up today, found that old zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away…”

beside me, i felt alyssa glance over, checking whether i was still holding it together.

a memory hit me immediately.

one night, years ago, tangled together in bed after a show, calum had laughed and said, “if we ever break up, please don’t leave while wearing a zeppelin shirt. i might have to kill myself every time i have to sing that line.” i remembered smacking his chest and telling him not to joke about things like that.

as luke’s voice carried the chorus through the stadium and calum’s harmonies echoed behind it, something inside me cracked open. i leaned my head against alyssa’s shoulder, suddenly too exhausted to hold myself upright anymore.

“too young, too dumb, to know things like love…”

“You heading out early, Kent?” Lois asked, not even looking up. Her eyes were glued to her laptop, fingers flying like she was trying to out-type the devil.

He should’ve lied.

He absolutely should have lied.

Told her he was going to the dentist. That he was finally replacing the broken lightbulb in his kitchen. That he was volunteering at the community center. That he was doing laundry. That he was doing anything that did not involve another human being who could be grilled for information.

But Clark was honest. Painfully so. Reflexively so.

And the truth slipped out as naturally as a breath.

“I have dinner plans,” he said.

Lois didn’t react at first. She just typed faster.

Then Clark made the worst mistake of the week.

“With my girlfriend.”

Silence.

A sudden, violent, newsroom-wide silence—like someone had pulled the plug on reality.

A ripple ran through the bullpen. Heads turned. Chairs squeaked. Papers rustled.

Lois' head popped up so fast Clark swore he heard her neck crack.

“Girlfriend?” she repeated, eyes narrowing like she had just smelled a scandal. “Since when?”

Before Clark could formulate a sentence, Jimmy—who had been leaning back in his desk chair scrolling through photos—jerked so hard he flailed. His chair wobbled, his elbow slammed into his desk, and his camera flew out of his hands and hit the floor with a very expensive-sounding clack.

“Dude—what?” Jimmy blurted.

And like a bomb had gone off at her desk, Cat swirled around dramatically in her chair from across the room, her blonde hair bouncing with enough force to backhand someone.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice pitched high with disbelief, “did Farmer Boy just say girlfriend?”

Clark immediately regretted being alive.

He cleared his throat, aware that half the bullpen was now listening.

“Yes,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Girlfriend. It’s not… new new, but—”

Lois pointed her pen at him like she was cross-examining a criminal.

“What’s her name?”

Clark blinked. “Lois—”

“Her. Name.”

“I’m not giving you her name.”

Lois smirked in triumph, slamming her laptop shut. “Oh. Ohhh. How convenient.”

“It’s not convenient,” Clark insisted, trying to keep his voice even. “It’s private.”

Cat scoffed. Loudly. “Kent, darling. Sweetheart. Sunshine. You work in a newspaper. Privacy is a myth created to sell home security systems.”

Jimmy crossed his arms. “Look, no offense, man, but I’ve known you for years. Years. And you have never—never—mentioned a girlfriend.”

“I’ve mentioned her!” Clark argued, even though he knew it was futile.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. “Once. Right now. In this exact conversation.”

Lois stood up, hands on her hips, expression a lethal mix of curiosity and incredulity.

“Okay. Let me make sure I understand.” She took a step closer, circling him like a shark. “You, Clark Kent—whose idea of flirting is apologizing when someone bumps into you—have a girlfriend you have never brought up, never shown us, never introduced us to, never posted about, and yet now suddenly you’re leaving work early for her?”

Clark opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

He closed it.

Opened it again.

Still nothing.

This was becoming an unfortunate trend.

“She just… likes her privacy,” he tried lamely.

“Oh my god,” Lois whispered, horror washing over her face. “She’s Canadian, isn’t she.”

“What? No! She’s not Canadian!”

“Right,” Jimmy said solemnly. “And I totally have a British supermodel waiting for me at home.”

Cat raised her hand like they were in a boardroom. “For the record, I vote imaginary.”

“Seconded,” Lois said immediately.

“Thirded,” Jimmy added, already typing something into his phone, probably starting a betting pool.

Clark stared at them, mouth hanging open, heart pounding—not with fear, but with sheer, bone-deep exasperation.

And from that point on, they decided—collectively, aggressively—that you did not exist.

One week later, Clark was walking home through the early-evening Metropolis glow, the sky soft lavender over the skyline. His tie was loosened, askew from where he’d tugged at it repeatedly during the day. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His messenger bag hung off one shoulder, heavy with notes he knew he wouldn’t touch tonight.

He was tired—but in that good way. The way that came from knowing he was heading home to you.

To your voice. Your laugh. Your warmth. To the way you always kissed him hello like you meant it.

He’d been thinking about you all afternoon—your hands in his hair, your smile when he walked through the door, the way you sometimes wore his shirts around the apartment, the sound you made when he kissed your neck—

He sighed, cheeks pinking even in the cool evening air.

He just wanted to be home.

That was the moment his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Jimmy Olsen.

Clark stared at the screen.

He considered letting it ring—he really, truly did. But ignoring a friend felt wrong, and Clark Kent was, unfortunately, helplessly decent, even when it was inconvenient.

He answered.

“Hey, Jimmy.”

“Clark.” Jimmy’s voice was suspiciously upbeat. Too upbeat. “How’s it going, man?”

Clark narrowed his eyes at no one. “Good. Heading home.”

“Mmmhmm,” Jimmy said in the tone of someone who was absolutely not believing him but pretending to. “Big night with the lady, huh?”

Clark stopped at a crosswalk, pressing the button even though he didn’t need to.

Why did he tell them you existed? Why?

Jimmy continued, “So, how’s your girlfriend doing?”

Clark frowned. “She’s good. We’re cooking tonight.”

“Cooking,” Jimmy repeated slowly. “Right. Got it. Sounds legit.”

“It is legit.” Clark’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

Jimmy burst out laughing—loud, delighted, unhelpful. Clark had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Dude, I’m messing with you!” Jimmy managed between wheezes. “Relax! I’m just saying—Lois has a bet going.”

Clark froze in the middle of the sidewalk.

“A bet?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimmy said—and Clark could hear the grin in his voice. “We’ve all got money on the table.”

Clark resumed walking, slower now. “…What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jimmy said proudly, “Cat says your girlfriend is one hundred percent imaginary. Lois says she’s imaginary and you made her up to avoid after-hours staff mixers because you’re a giant nerd. And I said maybe—maybe—you’re seeing someone but she’s, like… a chatbot.”

Clark blinked. “A… a what?”

“You know,” Jimmy said cheerfully, “like those AI girlfriends you can text at 3 a.m. and they send you motivational quotes and call you handsome.”

Clark gripped the phone harder. “Jimmy.”

“I’m just saying!” Jimmy said. “If she’s real, let us meet her.”

“I will,” Clark said automatically, even though his stomach swooped uncomfortably. “I just haven’t—”

“Haven’t made her up yet?” Jimmy supplied helpfully.

Clark shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jimmy. She’s real. We’ve been dating for months.”

“Okaaay,” Jimmy said in a tone that very clearly meant I do not believe you at all, Clark Kent, but I am willing to humor your delusion.

“Then prove it.”

Clark stopped dead.

“Prove it?”

“Yeah!” Jimmy said, as if it were obvious. “Invite us over! Let us meet her! Lois will bring a lie detector. Cat will bring tequila.”

“No,” Clark said automatically. “Absolutely not.”

“Unless, of course,” Jimmy added innocently, “she’s. Not. Real.”

Clark inhaled.

Exhaled.

Counted to five.

Considered super-speeding to the moon.

But then he remembered your voice this morning—soft, teasing, your fingers in his hair as you kissed him goodbye.

Do my kisses feel real to you, honey?

And in that moment, Clark knew you’d just smile at him, kiss his cheek, and say yes.

Clark clenched his jaw.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Jimmy repeated, shocked.

“Dinner,” Clark said, rubbing his forehead. “My apartment, next Saturday, 6 pm. All of you.”

There was a moment of stunned silence—and then Jimmy whooped so loudly Clark startled.

“YES!! Lois owes me twenty bucks either way!”

Clark sighed. “Goodbye, Jimmy.”

“Bye, man! Tell your imaginary girlfriend I said hi!”

Clark hung up.

Stared at his home screen.

And muttered to himself, “I’m in hell.”

And that was how Clark ended up standing in the hallway of his apartment, staring into the mirror like it was a hostile witness. He pushed his glasses up his nose. Twice. Then he smoothed his hair. Then he fussed with his shirt collar before fussing with it again, as if neatness alone could protect him from Lois Lane’s investigative instincts.

He leaned in closer, whispering to his own reflection like someone practicing for trial.

“They’re going to like her. They’re definitely going to like her. Right? They like… nice people. She's nice. She's nice—”

His voice cracked a little.

“…they have to like her.”

From the kitchen, you stuck your head out, hair pulled back loosely, your sleeves rolled as you stirred whatever delicious thing was simmering on the stove. You watched him with an amused, fond little smile—the one that always made his heart go soft and silly.

“Clark,” you said gently, “sweetheart, you need to relax. It’s just your friends.”

He turned, wide-eyed. “They’re my only friends.”

You gave him a sympathetic look.

“And,” he added, as if this was crucial, “they’re reporters. They treat fact-checking like a competitive sport. Lois once fact-checked a birthday card I sent her.”

You blinked. “…She what?”

Clark nodded solemnly. “She thought the rhyme sounded suspiciously familiar and wanted to make sure I hadn’t plagiarized it.”

You laughed—warm and bright and soft in a way that melted the tension right out of him like sunlight on snow. He loved that sound. He loved you. He didn’t know how to express it without kissing you breathless.

So instead, you walked over and stood in front of him, reaching up to fix his crooked collar. “Let them inspect,” you murmured, smoothing the fabric with your hands. “Let them interrogate. Let them poke and prod. I’m real, aren’t I?”

Clark breathed out slowly, his shoulders loosening. Something in him untangled—something that always did when you were close.

He dipped his head and kissed you. Soft at first, then deeper, long enough that time blurred. Long enough that the simmering anxiety boiling in his chest cooled instantly. Long enough that if you’d asked him his own name in that moment, he might’ve forgotten it.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment like whipping a rug out from beneath him.

Clark jerked back, eyes wide. “They’re early.”

You grinned. “Perfect.”

“No,” Clark whispered, “not perfect—”

“Perfect,” you insisted, squeezing his forearm. “Let’s blow their minds.”

He stayed frozen in place, somewhere between dread and awe, as you padded lightly toward the door, your steps quiet on the hardwood floor. He swallowed hard, actually tugging on his shirt as if bracing himself for a hurricane.

You pulled the door open.

Three jaws hit the floor.

The room stilled, like even the air was holding its breath.

Lois blinked. Once. Twice. Her eyes went from you—standing gorgeous and real and impossibly confident—to Clark, who was ten feet behind you, looking like a deer caught in fluorescent headlights.

“Holy—Clark?” Lois said finally, sounding personally betrayed. “Kent. Kent. You?”

Jimmy was slack-jawed, clutching his imaginary pearls like it had betrayed him. “Dude. No way.”

Cat put a manicured hand dramatically to her chest. “Kent. Kent. Explain yourself immediately.”

Clark made a noise reminiscent of a squeak.

You smiled pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe like you were hosting a magazine photoshoot instead of a confrontation between your boyfriend and three deeply suspicious coworkers. You’d thrown on Clark’s soft plaid shirt, the one you stole more than he wore. It hung just right—oversized, sleeves rolled, a few buttons undone so the slightest hint of skin peeked through.

Lois caught that detail. Her eyes widened.

Jimmy swallowed audibly.

Cat muttered something like, “This boy needs to be studied.”

“Hi,” you said warmly. “You must be Clark’s friends. Welcome, come on in.”

Lois walked in first, suspiciously slow, eyes darting back and forth between you and Clark like she was searching for the trapdoor. Like maybe you were a paid actress. Or a hologram. Or a fever dream.

“So,” Lois said carefully, “you’re real.”

You deadpanned, “Last time I checked,” and Lois actually snorted.

Jimmy finally entered, lifting his camera instinctively before catching himself. “I mean—Clark, man, why would you hide her?”

“I wasn’t hiding—!” Clark sputtered, voice squeaking a little.

Cat swept inside like a fashion hurricane, pointing dramatically toward you. “Clark Joseph Kent.” (He winced; she always added the middle name when she wanted to bully him.) “This is not a ‘casual mention’ girlfriend. This is a parade her around, rub it in everyone’s face girlfriend.”

You laughed—bright, musical, genuine.

Clark’s heart squeezed, something tender and helpless blooming under his ribs. God, he loved you.

“Clark didn’t hide me,” you said, stepping closer to him. “We were just… keeping things ours for a little while.”

As you said it, you glanced up at him—the soft, affectionate kind of look that made his breath catch. He stepped forward without thinking, sliding an arm around your waist in a claiming-but-gentle way, his body relaxing the moment you leaned into him. His touch wasn’t possessive. It was relieved. Grounded. Home.

“Exactly,” he murmured, cheeks pink but eyes proud.

Lois narrowed her eyes at him, but a faint grin tugged at her lips. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll allow it. But only because she’s too good for you.”

“Hey,” Clark protested, flustered and red-eared.

You patted his chest, smirking up at him. “She’s kind of right.”

He ducked his head with a shy, crooked smile he only ever gave you.

Soon everyone was crowded into the living room—Lois on the armchair with her legs draped over the side like she owned the place, Jimmy cross‑legged on the floor fiddling with his camera lens even though it definitely didn’t need fixing, and Cat perched elegantly on the edge of the couch like she was preparing to interview royalty.

You’d laid out snacks—actual snacks, not Clark’s version of snacks (meaning: whatever was in the fridge and also possibly oatmeal). The room smelled like warm garlic bread, honey butter, and that candle Clark always said reminded him of you.

The atmosphere turned bright, warm, easy—almost shockingly easy, considering Clark had spent all week imagining worst‑case scenarios. You laughing. Them interrogating. Him fainting.

Lois sipped her drink, then leaned forward, elbows on knees. “So,” she said, “what do you do for a living? And is it something that explains why you haven’t run screaming from Kent’s sweater collection?”

You grinned. “I’m a psychologist.” You told her, while Clark watched the tension drain from Lois' posture. She nodded, impressed despite herself.

“Okay,” Lois said. “So you’re smart. Great. Hate that for me—I really wanted ‘imaginary’ to win the bet.”

Jimmy jumped in, eyes bright. “Do you like movies? Because Clark pretends he’s cultured but he fell asleep during Citizen Kane.”

Clark groaned. “It was one time—”

“You snored,” Jimmy added.

Cat, meanwhile, leaned toward you conspiratorially. “Where’d you get your shirt? It’s adorable.”

Clark choked on his drink. You patted his knee. “Oh, this?” you said sweetly. “It’s vintage.”

Clark silently thanked every Kryptonian god you didn’t clarify whose closet it was “vintage” from.

But every now and then—when Lois was mid‑rant, when Jimmy was telling a story with his whole body, when Cat was giving you unsolicited fashion advice—Clark found himself glancing at you.

Just a flicker, a check‑in, an instinct. And every time, without fail, he saw it.

That soft awe in his own eyes reflected back. That gentle, stunned I can’t believe she’s real. I can’t believe she’s mine. He had to look away before someone noticed, because the last thing he wanted was for his friends to see him looking like a man who’d stumbled into heaven.

Unfortunately, Lois Lane noticed everything.

She leaned over to him during a lull in the conversation and muttered—loudly enough that everyone probably heard—“Kent… you’re punching so far above your weight I’m getting altitude sickness.”

Clark sighed. “Thank you, Lois.”

“It’s not a compliment, it’s an investigation,” she shot back, but she was smiling—genuine, warm. Not a single hint of skepticism left.

Jimmy raised his glass toward the two of you. “To Clark’s very real, very beautiful, very patient girlfriend.”

You laughed. “Patient is right.”

Clark groaned. “You’re all impossible.”

But when he looked at you again, you were already looking at him—eyes soft, amused, full of something warm that made his pulse skip. And suddenly the teasing, the nerves, the entire week of dread felt stupidly small.

Later, after the door closed behind the last guest and the apartment finally settled into silence, you and Clark practically fell onto the couch.

The shared blanket was crooked from earlier but neither of you bothered fixing it—you just dragged it over yourselves, legs tangling instinctively, like magnets that had spent the whole evening politely staying apart for company.

The coffee table was a disaster zone: empty glasses, snack bowls, napkins Lois kept forgetting she dropped mid‑rant, and Cat’s lip gloss, which she’d left beside a half‑finished glass of wine like she meant to claim your vanity next.

Clark let out a soft, disbelieving laugh against your shoulder—warm breath fanning your skin, his whole body relaxing like someone had unplugged a month’s worth of tension.

You gently threaded your fingers through his hair, slow and soothing. “What?” you asked, amused already because he was clearly trying not to fully laugh.

“They really didn’t believe you existed,” he murmured, voice muffled, half‑laughing, half‑mortified. “Jimmy kept staring at you like you were CGI.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “Until I opened the door and blinded them with my beauty?”

Clark snorted—actually snorted—before quickly burying his face in your neck like he could hide the sound. “I mean…” He peeked up at you, cheeks rosy, glasses askew. “That did happen.”

You smirked, tapping his nose lightly. “You know, you could’ve just shown my picture or something.”

Clark froze at that—not offended, not flustered, but something warm and intense blooming behind his eyes. He lifted his head fully, looking at you like you were the one who invented starlight.

His hands slid up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with the kind of tenderness that made your pulse flutter.

“I know, but I think I just wasn't ready to share you with anyone,” he said softly, firmly—like it was a vow he’d been waiting to make out loud. “ This is the first time where I feel at ease in a relationship, you’re… where I belong.”

The words melted right into the center of you—sunlight, warmth, something steady and grounding. You felt it in your ribs. Felt it in your heartbeat.

Your voice was gentler when you spoke. “Come here.”

You cupped his cheeks, mirroring the way he held you—soft palms, soft eyes—and pulled him in. “And you’re where I belong,” you whispered. “Always.”

Clark kissed you then—slow, deep, reverent—as if the whole week of stress had been building to this moment. As if every joke, every doubt, every “imaginary girlfriend” comment finally dissolved under the reality of you in his arms.

You could feel him smiling into the kiss, could feel the relief radiating off him like warmth. Could feel the way he melted when you threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled just a little.

Clark tugged the blanket higher over both of you and pulled you into his chest, the weight of him warm and grounding and entirely yours.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your hair.

“For what?” you asked.

“For being real,” he said with a soft laugh. “And for proving it so dramatically.”

You laughed too, snuggling into him. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

He tightened his arm around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

Not imaginary. Not unbelievable. Not a joke or a rumor or a bet.

Real. Here. And his.

Mattheo didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Didn’t ask for it, Hufflepuff.”

His voice was low, edged with that familiar bite. Sharp tongued as ever.

Around you, his friends, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy exchanged looks. Theo smirked into his pumpkin juice.

You shrugged, undeterred, and reached for some toast. “You didn’t have to. You skipped dinner yesterday. Figured you might be hungry.”

He finally looked at you then, dark eyes narrowing. “Stalking my eating habits now? Cute.” The sarcasm dripped like venom, but you just beamed at him, biting into your own toast.

Across the table, Pansy snorted. “Merlin, she’s at it again. Give it a rest, sweetheart. He’s not going to suddenly turn into Prince Charming because you bring him fruit.”

“I’m not expecting charming,” you replied lightly, defending yourself with a small laugh. “Just making sure he doesn’t starve while plotting world domination or whatever it is you lot do before Potions.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Bold for a Puff. Most of your house would’ve run by now.”

You met his gaze steadily. “Most of my house doesn’t see the point in running from someone who hasn’t actually done anything to them.” Your eyes flicked back to Mattheo. “Besides, I like sitting here.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He took the apple though after a long pause and bit into it with more force than necessary.

You counted that as a win.

This had become routine. Weeks, maybe months now, of you orbiting him like a persistent moon.

Good mornings in the corridors, even when he responded with nothing but a grunt or a cutting remark about your “annoying cheerfulness.”

Little things: fixing the strap on his bag when it broke during Transfiguration, saving him a seat in the library (which he ignored and sat somewhere else, only for you to move anyway), defending him when some Gryffindor idiot muttered “Death Eater spawn” loud enough for the hall to hear.

His friends had started teasing you mercilessly at first.

“Another lap around the Riddle fan club?” Blaise had drawled one evening in the Slytherin common room after you’d somehow ended up there (Theo had dragged you along, claiming you were “funny” and “harmless”).

“Careful, love,” Pansy had added with a wicked grin. “He bites.”

You’d just shrugged and settled onto the couch like you belonged. “I’m not scared of teeth.”

Over time, the teasing softened. You laughed at their jokes, bantered back, helped Theo with Charms homework, and even managed to get Draco to admit your taste in Quidditch teams wasn’t completely abysmal.

You became part of the group, almost by accident. They got used to your presence. Mattheo… tolerated it.

Or at least, that’s what he showed.

Lunch was more of the same. You slipped into the seat beside him again, ignoring the way Lorenzo Berkshire raised his eyebrows across the table.

“Saved you the last treacle tart,” you whispered, sliding the plate over. “I know they’re your favorite.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. “You keeping a bloody list or something?”

“Maybe.” You grinned, unbothered. “Someone has to notice these things.”

Theo kicked Mattheo under the table. “Mate, she’s literally handing you desserts on a silver platter and you’re acting like she hexed you.”

“Shut it, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, dangerous. But his hand closed around the fork anyway.

You chatted easily with the others, Pansy about the latest fashion disaster in the common room, Blaise about the upcoming match, Draco about some pureblood nonsense you mostly tuned out.

Every so often you’d glance at Mattheo, offering a comment or a small smile. He rarely responded with more than a grunt or a sarcastic jab.

He never spoke to you nicely. Not once.

Yet you kept showing up. After classes, in the corridors “How was Arithmancy?” even when he brushed past you with a muttered “Don’t you have badgers to hug?”

You sat with the Slytherins at dinner, laughing when they roasted each other, fitting in like a bright patch on dark fabric.

His friends noticed.

One evening in the Slytherin dungeons, after you’d left (having fixed a rip in Mattheo’s robes with a quick charm and a cheerful “See you tomorrow!”), Theo finally snapped.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Riddle.”

Mattheo leaned back in his chair by the fire, nursing a glass of firewhisky. “Problem?”

Blaise chuckled. “She does more for you in a day than half the girls throwing themselves at you ever have. Brings you food, defends your sorry arse, actually listens when you’re in one of your moods”

“I don’t have moods,” Mattheo cut in coldly.

Mattheo’s eyes darkened. “She’s just another girl hovering. They all do it eventually. Looking for the thrill of the ‘dark’ prince or whatever bollocks they tell themselves.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “She’s not looking for thrill, you dense git. She likes you. Properly. And she’s not scared off by your award winning personality.”

“She’s a Hufflepuff,” Mattheo said dismissively, though his grip on the glass tightened. “Too soft. Too… good. She’ll get tired of it.”

Theo laughed. “She’s been at it for months. Sat through your worst days. Defended you to McGonagall when you got detention for that stunt with the Gryffindors. And you still treat her like dirt.”

He was possessive by nature, territorial. But admitting she mattered? That was weakness. And Mattheo Riddle didn’t do weakness.

“She’s nothing,” he said finally, voice low and sharp. “Just background noise.”

His friends exchanged glances. They knew better. They saw the way his eyes followed her when she left the room, the subtle shift when she sat beside him. The hidden softness he buried under sarcasm and ice.

You, meanwhile, walked back toward the Hufflepuff basement with a small, satisfied smile. He’d eaten the tart. He’d let you sit there. Progress, in your book.

You weren’t naive. You knew he was cold, conflicted, carrying shadows most people couldn’t imagine. But you saw the good, buried, fighting to surface. You weren’t afraid. And you weren’t going anywhere.

Mattheo could pretend to tolerate you all he wanted.

You’d keep showing up until he couldn’t pretend anymore.

———

It was a rainy Thursday when things shifted, just a little.

You were waiting outside the Potions dungeon after class, two umbrellas tucked under your arm (one borrowed from the Hufflepuff common room because you knew he’d “forgotten” his again).

Students streamed past, giving you odd looks. A group of Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands.

Mattheo emerged last, collar up, expression stormy. His eyes landed on you and narrowed.

“Don’t,” he said before you could speak, brushing past.

You fell into step beside him anyway, unfurling one umbrella and holding it over both of you. “It’s pouring. You’ll catch a cold and then complain about it for a week.”

“I don’t complain.” His voice was clipped. “And I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”

“Too bad. I’m self appointed.” You smiled up at him, rain pattering loudly against the fabric. He didn’t take the umbrella from you, but he also didn’t speed up to leave you behind. Small victories.

Theo and Blaise caught up, grinning like idiots.

“Look at that,” Theo drawled. “Domestic already. Riddle, you gonna let her carry your books next?”

Mattheo shot him a withering glare. “Fuck off.”

You laughed softly. “I already did his Arithmancy notes last week when he was… occupied.” You didn’t mention the detention he’d earned for hexing a seventh year who’d called him a monster in the corridor. You’d simply copied the notes in your neatest handwriting and left them on his usual spot in the library.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “See? She’s useful. Unlike you when you’re brooding.”

Mattheo’s jaw flexed. He said nothing the rest of the walk.

Dinner that evening brought new company.

A tall Gryffindor boy, Cedric’s old friend, Marcus something, had wandered over to the Slytherin table, apparently on some inter house project nonsense. He stopped right beside you, flashing a bright, easy smile.

“Hey, I’ve seen you around. You’re the Hufflepuff who talks to this lot without running. Impressive.” His eyes lingered. “We’re having a study group in the library tomorrow. Potions theory. You seem like you know your stuff. Want to join?”

You felt Mattheo stiffen beside you before you even answered.

“That’s sweet,” you said politely, “but I usually study with these guys. Thanks though.”

Marcus didn’t take the hint immediately. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Less… intense.” He glanced at Mattheo meaningfully.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Mattheo beat you to it.

“She said no.” His voice was low, dangerous, laced with that dark charisma that made people listen. He didn’t even look up from his plate, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop. “Run along, Gryffindor.”

Marcus hesitated, then shrugged with a nervous laugh. “Alright, Riddle. Didn’t mean to step on toes.” He left.

Silence fell for half a second before Pansy cackled. “Territorial much?”

“I’m eating,” Mattheo muttered. “Don’t need distractions.”

You turned to him, heart doing a small flip at the possessiveness he’d just shown, even if it was wrapped in irritation. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.”

“Clearly.” His sarcasm was sharp. “You were about to agree.”

“I wasn’t.” You poked his arm lightly. He didn’t pull away. “I like sitting with you lot. Even when you’re grumpy.”

Draco snorted into his goblet. “Grumpy. That’s one word for it.”

The real crack appeared two days later.

It was late evening in the Slytherin common room. You’d been dragged there again, this time by Pansy, who wanted your opinion on a dress for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

You ended up staying, curled up on the couch with a book while the boys played a lazy game of Exploding Snap nearby.

Mattheo was in one of his moods. Silent, sharp edged, staring into the fire like it had personally offended him. You knew the signs by now something from his past, or a letter from home, or just the weight of his own name pressing down.

You stood up quietly and disappeared toward the dorms corridor (Pansy had shown you where the spare blankets were kept weeks ago). When you returned, you draped a slightly warmer one over his shoulders without a word.

He tensed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You looked cold.” You sat back down beside him, closer than usual. “And you always steal the good blanket when we’re down here.”

“I don’t steal…..” He stopped, exhaling through his nose. For once, he didn’t shrug the blanket off. His fingers curled into the fabric anyway.

Theo watched the exchange with open amusement. Later, when you stepped away to grab drinks for everyone, he leaned toward Mattheo.

“You know she’s in love with you, right? Properly. Not the silly crush shit.”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked toward your retreating figure. “She’s delusional.”

“Or you’re blind,” Blaise added quietly. “She defends you to teachers, to randoms in the hall, even to her own housemates who think she’s lost her mind. Brings you food, fixes your shit, sits with you even when you’re a complete bastard to her. And you still act like she’s nothing.”

“Because she is nothing,” Mattheo snapped, voice low and venomous. But his eyes betrayed him,they followed you as you laughed at something Pansy said across the room.

“She’ll wise up eventually. Get tired of playing saint to the villain.”

Draco shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, mate. But the way you nearly hexed that Gryffindor for just talking to her? That wasn’t nothing.”

Mattheo didn’t reply. Inside, the conflict raged. You made things easier, yes. Mornings were less bleak with your stupid cheerful “good morning” and perfectly ripe apples. His robes didn’t fall apart. He hadn’t missed meals. And the way you looked at him… like he was worth saving… it terrified him. Because if he let you in, if he admitted how much he’d come to expect your presence, then you became leverage.

A weakness.

And people like him didn’t get to keep soft, bright things without breaking them.

He was possessive. The thought of you smiling at someone else like you smiled at him made magic crackle at his fingertips. Territorial. He wanted you close but he refused to give you anything back. It wasn’t fair. He knew that. He just didn’t care.

Or so he told himself.

The next morning you were there again, sliding into your usual seat with a bright, “Good morning, Mattheo,” and placing a small vial beside his plate.

“Pepperup Potion,” you explained before he could sneer. “Just in case. You sounded a bit off last night.”

He stared at the vial, then at you. Something in his chest twisted uncomfortably, warm, annoying.

“You’re exhausting,” he said flatly. But he took the vial. Tucked it into his robe pocket like it was nothing.

You just grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Across the table, his friends shared knowing looks. They were done watching him self destruct in slow motion.

One of these days, Mattheo Riddle was going to have to face the fact that the persistent Hufflepuff had already wormed her way past every wall he’d built.

And when that happened… well. Even he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

———

Slytherin party,

The common room pulsed with music and low green light, the party in full swing after Slytherin’s narrow win over Ravenclaw.

Music thrummed from enchanted speakers, firewhisky flowed freely, and clusters of students laughed too loudly, danced too close, and forgot for one night about OWLs, NEWTs, and the shadows hanging over the wizarding world.

You’d shown up with Pansy, who had insisted on you wearing a simple but flattering black dress she’d “borrowed” from somewhere.

“Blend in for once, Puff,” she’d teased. You’d laughed and gone along with it. By now, no one batted an eye when you appeared in Slytherin territory. You were one of them. Sort of.

Mattheo sat in his usual spot on the large leather couch near the fireplace, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.

A glass of firewhisky dangled from his fingers. His expression was the same half bored, half dangerous mask he wore most days.

You had claimed the spot beside him earlier, but the crowd had shifted. Now a Slytherin girl, sixth year, long dark hair, sharp cheekbones and sharper ambition had taken your place.

Literally. She was practically in his lap, one hand trailing down his chest, laughing breathily at something he hadn’t even said.

“Mattheo,” she purred, loud enough for you to hear over the music, “you really are the most interesting one here. All that mystery… I bet I could make you smile if you let me try.”

She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.

Mattheo didn’t push her away. He also didn’t pull her closer. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, eyes distant, like she was background noise. No smirk, no flirtation, no interest. Just cold tolerance.

You stood a few feet away, watching for a moment. A small sigh escaped you, not dramatic, not heartbroken, just… tired.

You knew this game. Girls threw themselves at him constantly. The dark aura, the dangerous reputation, the undeniable charisma, he attracted them like moths to a cursed flame. And he usually let them hover until they got bored.

You turned away and spotted Theo leaning against a stone pillar, nursing his own drink and watching the scene with clear amusement.

“Hey, Theo,” you said brightly, walking over and bumping his shoulder. “Think we’ll see another Exploding Snap disaster tonight, or has Lorenzo learned his lesson?”

Theo grinned down at you, glad for the distraction. “Doubt it. He’s already three drinks in and eyeing that pack of cards like an idiot. You good?” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the couch.

You shrugged, leaning beside him. “I’m fine. She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Think she’ll last longer than the last one who tried?”

Theo chuckled. “Nah. He’s not even pretending tonight. Look at his face, pure ice. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s talking to a statue.”

You laughed softly, genuine and light. Talking with Theo was easy. He had become a real friend over the past weeks, someone who actually listened when you rambled about Herbology or the latest book you’d read.

“I was going to ask Mattheo if he wanted to dance later, but… maybe not. He looks like he’d rather hex the music.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, studying you. “You’re really not bothered by that?” He nodded toward the girl, who was now tracing patterns on Mattheo’s arm while he stared into the fire.

You took a sip of your butterbeer. “Bothered? A little. But I’m not going to compete by climbing all over him. That’s not me.” Your voice stayed calm, sweet but honest. “He knows I’m here. If he wants me to leave, he can say it. He never does.”

Theo shook his head, half laughing. “You’re something else, you know that? Most girls would be over there hexing her by now. Or crying in the corner.”

You smiled, eyes drifting back to Mattheo despite yourself. “I’m not scared of him, or of this.” You gestured vaguely at the party. “Besides, I like talking to you lot. Even when he’s being… himself.”

Mattheo’s gaze had found you.

Even from across the room, even while the dark-haired girl whispered something in his ear, his eyes locked onto you and Theo. His jaw tightened. The girl’s hand slid higher on his thigh and he shifted away just slightly but didn’t stop her. His fingers flexed around his glass until his knuckles paled.

He didn’t like it.

Not the girl. Her touch felt like nothing, irrelevant, annoying. But you standing there, laughing with Theo, looking perfectly at ease in his common room, in his world… that twisted something ugly and possessive in his chest.

You were supposed to be orbiting him. Not chatting and smiling at Nott like it was the most natural thing.

Yet he said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched, brooding.

Later, the girl finally gave up with a dramatic huff and stalked off to find easier prey. Mattheo didn’t even watch her leave.

You eventually wandered back, sliding onto the couch beside him now that the seat was free. Your shoulder brushed his.

“Enjoying the party?” you asked lightly, offering him a fresh drink you’d grabbed on the way.

Mattheo took it without thanks, setting his empty one aside. “It’s loud,” he said flatly. His eyes flicked to you, scanning your face like he was searching for cracks. “You and Nott seemed cozy.”

There it was the sharp edge. Not quite jealousy admitted, but close.

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Theo’s funny. We were just talking about how terrible Lorenzo is at cards.” You paused, then added, “You could’ve joined us. Or told that girl to give you space if she was bothering you.”

He scoffed, leaning back. “Didn’t need to. Not interested.” His voice dropped, sarcastic and low. “Unlike some people, I don’t need constant attention to feel important, Hufflepuff.”

You didn’t flinch. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on giving her any competition.” You reached over and straightened his already loose tie with gentle fingers, a small habitual gesture.

“You looked bored. Thought maybe you’d want actual company instead of… whatever that was.”

Mattheo stared at your hands on his tie, then at your face. The conflict raged behind his eyes, wanting to snap at you, push you away, and simultaneously wanting to pull you closer so no one else could even look at you the wrong way. He settled for his usual defense.

“You’re too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away from your touch.

———

Weekend ends, and the new week already started badly for Mattheo.

A letter from his father’s old circle had arrived that morning cryptic, demanding, laced with expectations he wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t fully escape. Combined with a brutal detention from Snape and losing a Quidditch strategy argument to Draco, his mood was blacker than the dungeons.

The kind of day where the shadows around him felt heavier, and everyone with sense stayed out of his way.

Everyone except you.

You had noticed immediately during breakfast. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, eyes darker than usual.

Still, you slid into your usual seat beside him with a gentle smile, placing a steaming cup of his favorite black coffee (extra strong) in front of him.

“Morning, Mattheo,” you said softly. “Rough night? I brought you….”

“Enough.”

His voice cracked like a whip. Louder and sharper than he’d ever been with you. The entire Slytherin table went quiet.

You blinked, hand still hovering near the cup. “I just thought….”

Mattheo turned to you fully, eyes blazing with barely contained fury and exhaustion. “You thought what? That your pathetic little acts of kindness would fix anything? That I want you here every single fucking day breathing down my neck like some lovesick puppy?”

The words cut deep. His friends froze.

“Mattheo…” Theo started quietly.

“No.” Mattheo didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on you, cold and unrelenting.

“I’m done with this. Done with you hovering, done with the apples and the notes and the stupid blankets and the defending me like I’m some broken charity case. Leave me and my group alone. Go back to your Hufflepuff flowers and mind your own business for once.”

The silence was suffocating.

You stared at him for a long second, heart twisting painfully in your chest. Your eyes stung, but you refused to cry in front of them. Not here. Instead, you swallowed hard and stood up slowly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice small but steady. “I’ll leave.”

You turned and walked away without another word, head high even as your hands trembled at your sides. The Great Hall felt endless. A few people whispered, but you didn’t look back.

Mattheo didn’t watch you go. He gripped his fork until it bent, then shoved his plate away and stormed out. His friends exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing to him. Not yet.

Three days passed.

You kept your word. No more good mornings in the corridor. No more saving seats. No more sitting at the Slytherin table.

You ate with your housemates, smiled politely when people asked what happened, and threw yourself into Herbology and helping in the kitchens, anything to stay busy.

You missed them. You missed him. But you respected his wishes. If he wanted space, you’d give it to him, even if it hurt.

The Slytherin group felt the absence immediately.

Lunch on day one was too quiet. No one to laugh at Lorenzo’s terrible jokes or argue Quidditch with Draco. No soft voice reminding them about upcoming assignments.

By day two, Pansy was scowling at everything. “This is ridiculous. The table feels empty.”

Theo kept glancing toward the Hufflepuff table where you sat, surrounded by your housemates but somehow looking… dimmer. Less bright.

Day three, Blaise finally said it out loud in the common room: “She’s makes this lot tolerable. Can we bring her back”

Mattheo was there, slouched in his usual chair by the fire, pretending not to listen.

He hadn’t spoken much in three days. His mood hadn’t improved, in fact, it had soured further. The little things you used to handle were piling up. His bag strap had broken again. He’d missed dinner once because no one reminded him. The common room felt colder without your occasional presence.

He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. No weaknesses.

His friends disagreed.

On the evening of the fourth day, the group made their move.

Pansy and Theo cornered you after Charms class, blocking your path to the Hufflepuff basement with determined expressions.

“You’re coming with us,” Pansy declared, linking her arm through yours.

You blinked in surprise. “Pansy, I can’t. He said…”

“He’s an idiot,” Theo cut in. “A miserable idiot. The common room has been dead without you. Draco’s even more unbearable. Lorenzo keeps losing at cards because no one’s betting against him properly. Come on. Just for a bit.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t want to make things worse.”

Blaise appeared behind them, smirking. “Too late for that. Mattheo’s been brooding like the Dark Lord himself since you left. We miss you, love. Properly.”

After a few more minutes of gentle insistence (and Pansy threatening to drag you), you gave in. You let them lead you down to the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering the entire way.

And there, in his usual spot by the fireplace, sat Mattheo.

He looked up when the portrait hole opened. His eyes landed on you immediately, widening for half a second before the guarded mask slammed back into place. He said nothing.

The others moved casually, like this was normal. Pansy pulled you toward the couch. Theo dropped into the seat across from Mattheo with a pointed look.

“Look who we found,” Theo announced lightly. “Our favorite Hufflepuff.”

You stood awkwardly for a moment, offering a small, uncertain smile to the group. “Hi.”

Draco nodded at you, almost relieved. “About time. The silence was getting pathetic.”

You sat down carefully, not beside Mattheo this time, but on the opposite end of the large couch, giving him the space he’d demanded. Your hands twisted in your lap. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face.

The conversation started slowly, Pansy complaining about homework, Blaise teasing Lorenzo, but it gradually warmed up. You laughed softly at one of Theo’s jokes, the sound familiar and bright again. For the first time in days, the common room felt alive.

Mattheo remained silent, watching you from the shadows of his seat. His jaw was tight, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. The conflict was clear in his eyes, the same storm you’d always seen, only sharper now. He’d told you to leave. You had. And now that you were back (because of them), the relief mixing with his anger and possessiveness was making his chest feel too tight.

He still didn’t speak to you.

Laughter echoed off the stone walls as Lorenzo dramatically retold his latest failed attempt at asking out a Ravenclaw, complete with sound effects.

Pansy was curled up beside you on the couch, showing you fabric swatches for some upcoming event, while Theo kept sliding in clever quips that made everyone groan or laugh.

You smiled and participated. You really did. You complimented Pansy’s choices, teased Lorenzo right back, and even debated Quidditch tactics with Draco when he dragged you into it. It felt good to be back among them.

They had become real friends, and their obvious relief at having you there eased some of the ache in your chest.

But with Mattheo… it was different now.

You stayed on the far end of the couch. You didn’t slide closer like you used to. You didn’t offer him the fresh drink Blaise had passed around. You didn’t reach over to fix the cuff of his sleeve when it rode up.

Every time your eyes accidentally met his, you gave a small, polite nod and looked away again. Careful. Guarded. Not cold, you couldn’t quite manage that but no longer shining that bright, effortless warmth directly at him.

Mattheo noticed.

He sat in his usual chair, legs stretched out, nursing the same glass of firewhisky he’d barely touched. His dark eyes followed your every movement. The way you laughed freely with Theo. The way you leaned into Pansy’s side comfortably. The way you existed in his space without orbiting him like before.

It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Pansy murmured to you at one point, low enough that only you could hear. Her eyes flicked toward Mattheo. “Still sore about what the idiot said?”

You shrugged lightly, tracing a pattern on the couch leather with your finger. “I’m here for you guys. Not… not to push anything. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want the extra stuff from me. I’m respecting that.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s a dramatic prick. He didn’t mean half of it.”

“Maybe.” You offered her a small smile. “But I’m not risking it again. Not right now.”

Mattheo’s grip tightened on his glass. He’d heard enough.

When Theo stood up to grab more drinks and you naturally followed to help him carry them back, Mattheo’s voice cut through the air sharp, sarcastic, aimed straight at you.

“Careful, Hufflepuff. Wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself playing servant again.”

You paused, holding two glasses steadily. The group quieted a little. You met his gaze evenly this time, no flinch, but no smile either.

“I’m just helping a friend, Mattheo,” you said softly. Calm. Not defensive. “No big gestures. No hovering.”

You set the drinks down and returned to your spot without another word. No apple. No blanket. No gentle check in about his clearly still terrible mood.

The silence stretched for a beat too long.

Theo cleared his throat. “Smooth, mate. Really winning her back with that one.”

“Shut up, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, but his eyes stayed on you. That possessive streak was flaring hot under his skin. You were here, in his common room, surrounded by his friends, yet you were keeping him at arm’s length. It felt wrong.

The next few days followed the same careful pattern.

You sat with the group at meals again, but not directly beside Mattheo. You chose seats between Pansy and Blaise, or across from Theo.

You still defended the group when outsiders made snide comments, your Hufflepuff loyalty ran deep but you no longer singled Mattheo out.

No more personal good mornings whispered just to him. No more saving his favorite desserts. You were warm with everyone else, bright and kind like always.

With him, you were… polite.

“Pass the salt, please?” you’d asked at dinner the next evening, voice neutral when your eyes met his.

He’d slid it over without a word, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Later in the common room, when you’d laughed at one of Draco’s rare jokes and bumped knees with Theo accidentally, Mattheo had snapped at Lorenzo over nothing, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips.

His friends saw it all.

“You’re an absolute bellend,” Blaise told him bluntly one night after you’d left for curfew (earlier than usual, another new habit). “She’s giving you exactly what you asked for and you look like you want to burn the castle down.”

Mattheo leaned back, staring at the dying fire. “She’s acting like I’m a stranger.”

Draco snorted. “You told her to leave you alone. Loudly. In front of the entire hall. What did you expect? Eternal devotion on command?”

“I expected….” Mattheo stopped himself, running a hand through his messy curls.

He didn’t know what he expected. He’d wanted space, wanted the annoying persistence gone. But now the absence of her specific light left everything feeling flat. The little comforts he’d pretended not to notice were glaringly missing. And worse, seeing her still smiling, still caring, but redirecting all of it away from him… it stirred something ugly and jealous and needy he refused to name.

He was emotionally conflicted on the best of days. This was torture.

A few nights later, the group was studying (or pretending to) in the common room. You were helping Pansy with her Transfiguration essay, heads bent together, your neat handwriting filling the page. Mattheo sat nearby, book open but unread.

You felt his stare again. Heavy. Burning.

When Pansy got up to fetch another book, leaving the two of you momentarily semi-alone, you glanced up. His eyes didn’t waver.

You offered a small, cautious smile. “Need help with anything? The essay’s brutal this week.”

Mattheo’s response was instinct sharp-tongued and defensive. “Don’t start that again.”

You closed your ink bottle slowly, expression softening but staying reserved. “I’m not starting anything. Just offering as a friend. Like I do for the others.”

The distinction stung more than he cared to admit.

He wanted to snap again. Push harder. But the words caught in his throat when he saw the careful walls behind your eyes the way you were protecting yourself now, even while sitting in his world.

You waited a beat longer, then turned back to your own work when he stayed silent.

Mattheo Riddle watched you, the same storm raging behind his guarded expression. He was possessive. Territorial. And right now, the girl who had always chosen him was choosing distance, even while staying close to everyone else.

It was driving him mad.

The common room was quieter tonight, the fire crackling softly as most students had retreated to dorms or the library for last minute revisions. Only the core group remained scattered across the couches and armchairs, Pansy flipping through a magazine, Theo and Blaise arguing over chess moves, Draco reading with a bored expression, and Lorenzo half asleep.

You had been sitting with Pansy again, but something had shifted in you. You’d watched Mattheo. Really watched him. The way his eyes tracked you when he thought no one noticed.

The tighter set of his jaw whenever you laughed with the others. The restless tapping of his fingers. He was regretting it. You could see it, the conflict, the stubborn pride warring with whatever softer thing lived under all that armor. He wanted you close again. He just didn’t know how to say it.

Time to test the theory.

You stood up casually, stretching, and moved across the room. Instead of your careful distance, you dropped down on the couch right beside Mattheo, close enough that your thigh pressed lightly against his. The same spot you used to claim every night before the blow up.

Mattheo tensed instantly, dark eyes snapping to you.

You didn’t look at him right away. You simply leaned forward, grabbing a spare quill from the low table and twirling it between your fingers like nothing had changed. “Theo, pass me that book on curses? I want to check something for Pansy’s essay.”

Theo raised an eyebrow but tossed it over with a knowing smirk.

As you settled back, your shoulder brushed Mattheo’s. You felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

He lasted maybe thirty seconds.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The words came out harsher than he probably intended, laced with that unwilling venom. “Decided to test how much shit I’ll take before I snap again, Hufflepuff?”

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze. There was no flinch in your eyes, only quiet understanding.

You saw it: the regret flickering behind the ice, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach out but refused to let himself.

“I’m just sitting here,” you said softly, voice even and sweet. “Like I used to. You haven’t told me to move.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. He tried again, the meanness spilling out despite himself, like a defense mechanism he couldn’t turn off.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have to. Thought I made it clear you’re exhausting. Always there, always fixing things no one asked you to fix. Find someone else to play hero for.”

The words stung, but you saw straight through them. His eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on your hand resting near his leg. He wasn’t pushing you away physically. He wasn’t standing up.

He was just… lashing out, the same way a wounded animal snaps at the hand trying to help.

You smiled. Small. Knowing. “You don’t mean that.”

He scoffed, looking away into the fire. “Don’t tell me what I mean.”

But he still didn’t move.

Emboldened, you shifted even closer, tucking your legs under you so your knee rested against his thigh. You reached over and gently tugged the loose thread on his sleeve that had been bothering you for days, something you would’ve fixed without thinking weeks ago. He froze under your touch but didn’t pull back.

“Mattheo,” you murmured, low enough that the others pretended not to hear, “you can keep saying mean things if it makes you feel better. I’m not leaving this time unless you really want me to. And I don’t think you do.”

His breathing hitched. For a moment, the guarded mask cracked completely. Something raw and conflicted flashed across his face, possessiveness, relief, anger at himself, that hidden softness he buried so deep.

His hand lifted halfway, like he might touch your arm, then dropped back down.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, sharper, still failing at kindness “You’re going to regret sticking around when I inevitably ruin whatever this is.”

You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder for just a second, testing, pushing, offering. “Maybe. But I’m still here.”

He didn’t shrug you off. Didn’t stand up. Didn’t tell the group to kick you out.

Instead, after a long, heavy silence, his body relaxed, just a fraction, against yours. His arm stayed draped along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. Territorial. Close. Accepting.

Pansy caught your eye across the room and hid a triumphant grin behind her magazine. Theo didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he moved a chess piece.

Mattheo still hadn’t spoken to you nicely. Not really.

But he wasn’t pushing you away anymore.

Your theory had been right. He regretted it. He wanted you back in his orbit closer than before, even if his sharp tongue hadn’t caught up to that truth yet.

You’d rest your head against his shoulder for a moment here, brush his hand while passing a drink there. He tolerated it all with his usual gruff silence and occasional sharp remark, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.

His friends had had enough.

Pansy caught Theo’s eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod. The plan they made that morning was in motion.

“Truth or Dare,” Pansy announced suddenly, clapping her hands. “I’m bored out of my mind and someone needs to entertain me.”

Lorenzo perked up immediately. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Blaise smirked like he already knew where this was going.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes but said nothing, he rarely backed down from a challenge, even a stupid one.

You smiled softly. “I’m in.”

The game started innocently enough. Lorenzo admitted to stealing Pansy’s favourite lipstick.

Draco chose dare and had to charm his eyebrows pink for the next ten minutes.

Theo got asked about his latest failed hookup and laughed it off.

Then Pansy turned her sharp gaze on you.

“Truth or Dare, darling?”

You felt the shift in the air. Mattheo’s posture stiffened beside you.

“Dare,” you said, because backing down in front of this group had never been your style.

Pansy’s smile turned wicked. “I dare you to kiss Theo. Proper kiss. Ten seconds.”

The room went still.

Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly in on it, but kept his expression playful. “Only if she wants to. I’m not above being used for a good cause.”

You glanced sideways at Mattheo. His hand had curled into a fist on the armrest, knuckles white. His jaw was locked so tightly it looked painful. Dark eyes burned holes into Theo, then flicked to you, possessive, stormy, conflicted.

Your theory had been right. He was cracking.

You leaned forward slowly, giving Mattheo every chance to say something. He didn’t. He just watched, breathing shallow.

You turned to Theo, cupped his cheek lightly, and pressed your lips to his. It was soft, brief, exactly ten seconds. Theo kissed back gently, more performative than anything, and pulled away with a dramatic sigh.

“Not bad, Puff,” he teased, winking.

You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart racing for an entirely different reason. You didn’t look at Mattheo immediately.

The crack appeared.

Mattheo let out a low, dangerous sound, almost a growl. Magic crackled faintly around him, making the fire flare for a second.

“Enough,” he said sharply, voice dripping with venom. “This game is fucking stupid.”

Pansy feigned innocence. “Jealous, Riddle?”

“I’m not jealous of Nott getting pity kisses,” he snapped, the words unwilling and too quick.

His eyes finally met yours raw, territorial, and something deeper. “She can kiss whoever the hell she wants.”

But he looked like he wanted to hex Theo into next week.

You saw the tiny fracture in his restraint. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to pull you into his lap and erase what just happened. The hidden softness bleeding through the anger. He cared. Deeply. He just wouldn’t admit it yet.

The game continued awkwardly for a few more rounds before dying out.

As people started heading to bed or pretending to study, the group quietly regrouped near the fireplace once you’d stepped away to grab water.

“Close,” Theo muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Did you see his face? He nearly lost it.”

“Not enough,” Draco said. “He’s still too stubborn. One little kiss isn’t cracking that reinforced concrete he calls emotional walls.”

Pansy crossed her arms. “New plan then. We need to push harder. Something that forces him to choose publicly. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend. We get her to ‘casually’ flirt with someone else. Or we set up a situation where she has to be alone with one of us and see how long it takes before he drags her back.”

Blaise chuckled darkly. “Or we make him think she’s actually moving on. He’s possessive as hell. If he believes he might lose her for real…”

Theo glanced over at Mattheo, who was now staring into the fire like it had personally betrayed him. “He’s already regretting everything. We just need one more push and that restraint of his is dead.”

They all looked toward you as you walked back, none the wiser to their scheming.

Mattheo’s eyes followed you the entire way, dark and intense. The crack was there. Now they just had to widen it until he had no choice but to admit what everyone else already knew.

———

The Hogsmeade weekend arrived under a crisp, clear sky the first proper snow dusting the rooftops like powdered sugar.

Students poured out of the castle gates in excited clusters, scarves wrapped high and pockets jingling with allowance money.

The Slytherin group had claimed their usual spot near the Shrieking Shack path for pre butterbeer strategy, but today their energy was sharper, purposeful.

The new plan was simple and ruthless : push Mattheo until his restraint shattered completely.

Pansy had looped her arm through yours as you all walked down the snowy path. “Stick close to me at first,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Then ‘accidentally’ wander off with Theo or Blaise when we reach the village. We’ll make it look natural.”

You glanced at her, then at Mattheo walking a few steps ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. “You’re really doing this?”

Theo fell into step beside you, grinning. “He needs it. The kiss barely made him twitch. Time to light a proper fire under his arse.”

You exhaled, a mix of nerves and reluctant amusement fluttering in your chest.

Part of you still felt the sting from his harsh words days ago, but another part, the one that saw every hidden crack in his armor, wanted him to finally admit what was so obvious to everyone else.

“Just… don’t go too far. I don’t actually want to hurt him.”

“Too late for that,” Blaise murmured from behind. “He’s been hurting himself plenty.”

Mattheo slowed slightly, eyes flicking back toward you. You offered him a small, neutral smile the same careful one you’d been giving him since returning to the group. He didn’t return it, but his gaze lingered.

The village was bustling. Honeydukes was packed, Zonko’s even louder. The group moved as one at first, weaving through the crowd.

You stayed near Mattheo out of habit, your shoulder occasionally brushing his in the narrow street. He didn’t pull away.

Inside the Three Broomsticks, you all claimed a large corner booth. Firewhisky for the boys, butterbeers for everyone. Conversation flowed easily until Pansy executed the first move.

“I need to check out that new robe shop,” she announced, standing up. “Come with me, Draco? I want a second opinion.”

Draco sighed but followed, shooting the rest of you a knowing look. Lorenzo tagged along “for snacks.” That left you, Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise.

You took a slow sip of butterbeer, then turned to Theo with a bright, deliberate smile. “Theo, didn’t you say there’s a new shipment of cursed artifacts at Dervish and Banges? I’ve been wanting to see that silver dagger you mentioned last week.”

Theo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Absolutely. Let’s go before the good stuff disappears.” He stood and offered you his hand.

You took it without hesitation, letting him help you out of the booth. Your fingers lingered in his just a second longer than necessary. “Mattheo, Blaise, we’ll be back soon,” you said casually, like it was nothing.

Mattheo’s entire body went rigid. His glass hit the table harder than needed. “Since when do you give a fuck about cursed artifacts?”

You shrugged, still holding Theo’s hand. “Since Theo told me they’re fascinating. You know I like shiny, dangerous things.” Your tone was light, playful the same sweetness you used to direct only at him.

Theo tugged you gently toward the door. “We won’t be long, mate.”

Blaise stayed behind, nursing his drink and watching Mattheo like a hawk.

The snow crunched under your boots as you and Theo walked down the high street.

You didn’t go straight to Dervish and Banges. Instead, Theo led you on a slow, meandering route stopping at a stall selling enchanted jewelry, laughing loudly at your jokes, standing a little too close when showing you a necklace with a tiny snake charm.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you muttered, cheeks pink from the cold and the performance.

Theo grinned down at you. “It’s for the greater good. Look behind us, don’t turn too obviously.”

You risked a glance. Mattheo was stalking after you both, coat flapping open, expression thunderous. Blaise was a few paces behind him, failing to hide his amusement.

Your heart skipped. The plan was working.

Theo leaned in closer, pretending to examine the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your collarbone. “Smile at me like you mean it,” he whispered.

You did, soft, warm, the kind of smile that used to be reserved for Mattheo’s rare good moments. Theo laughed like you’d said something brilliant.

That was when Mattheo snapped.

“Having fun?” His voice cut through the snowy street like a blade. He stopped right beside you, eyes locked on where Theo’s hand still rested near your shoulder. The possessiveness rolled off him in waves, dark and electric. “Didn’t realize you two were suddenly so fucking cozy.”

Theo raised an innocent eyebrow. “Just showing her the artifacts, like she asked. Problem?”

Mattheo’s jaw worked. He looked at you, really looked.

There was that storm again : jealousy burning hot, restraint fraying at the edges, the unwilling mean streak fighting against something deeper.

“You’re really doing this?” he said to you, voice low and sharp. “Parading around with Nott after everything? Thought you were supposed to be the one who saw ‘good’ in people. Not throwing yourself at the first idiot who smiles at you.”

The words stung, but you saw right through them again. His hands were clenched. He was one breath away from dragging you away from Theo. The crack from the truth or dare game had widened significantly.

You stepped just a little closer to Theo, testing. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone, Mattheo. I’m just… spending time with friends. Like you told me to do. Remember? Stop hovering. Stop fixing things for you.”

Mattheo’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a second you thought he might actually hex Theo. Instead, he grabbed your wrist not painfully, but firm enough to feel possessive.

“We’re going back to the group,” he growled. “Now.”

Theo smirked. “Whatever you say, Riddle.”

You let Mattheo pull you along, his grip staying locked around your wrist the entire walk back to the Three Broomsticks.

He didn’t let go even when you reached the booth. He sat down and tugged you into the seat directly beside him closer than you’d been in weeks. His thigh pressed against yours. His arm draped along the back of the booth, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like a silent claim.

He was still being an arse, muttering sarcastic comments under his breath and shooting Theo lethal glares, but he wasn’t pushing you away.

The plan had started. And it was already cracking him open.

Pansy and the others returned shortly after, taking in the scene with barely concealed triumph. Mattheo didn’t speak to you nicely. Not yet.

But the territorial hold on your wrist, the way his body angled toward yours like a shield, and the raw, conflicted heat in his eyes said more than his sharp tongue ever could.

The restraint was dying.

The rest of the Hogsmeade afternoon passed in a charged haze.

Mattheo didn’t release your wrist for a long time. Even after you all returned to the Three Broomsticks, his arm stayed slung possessively behind you on the booth, fingers occasionally brushing the back of your neck like a silent warning to everyone else.

He was still sharp tongued, snapping at Lorenzo for talking too loud, throwing barbed comments at Theo, but he kept you glued to his side.

The group wasn’t done yet.

As the sun began to dip and snow started falling heavier, they all gathered outside, Pansy with a calculated sigh “It’s getting late. We should head back, but some of us still need to pick up things from Honeydukes. Theo, you mentioned wanting more of that fizzing whizzbees?”

Theo caught on instantly. “Yeah, and I could use help carrying stuff.” He looked straight at you. “Come with me? You’ve got better taste in sweets than these lot.”

You felt Mattheo’s body coil like a spring beside you.

Before you could answer, you turned to him with that same soft, testing smile you’d been using. “Do you mind? I’ll be quick.”

His dark eyes flashed. The crack was widening dangerously. “Yes, I fucking mind,” he bit out, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”

They went quiet. Even Draco raised an eyebrow.

You tilted your head, pushing just a little more. “Why not? You’ve made it very clear I’m exhausting. That I should stop hovering around you. I’m just hanging out with friends, Mattheo. Like you wanted.”

That struck hard. Mattheo’s hand slid from the to your waist, gripping firmly. Territorial. Needy in a way he’d never allowed himself to show.

“You know that’s not ” He stopped, jaw clenching. The internal war was visible, the mean, guarded part of him fighting the part that had grown addicted to your presence, your care, your unwavering light.

Theo slowly, offering his hand again with an exaggerated grin. “Ready when you are, love.”

Pushing further Theo says “It’s just sweets, mate. Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”

Mattheo’s eyes darkened. He pulled you flush against him in one sharp movement, right there on the snowy street in front of everyone. No grand speech. No soft vulnerability. Just raw, irritated truth wrapped in his usual barbed tone.

“Yeah. I’ve got a fucking problem with it.” He glared at Theo, then looked down at you, jaw tight. “You win, alright? Happy now?”

You tilted your head, staying close but testing him one last time. “Win what?”

Mattheo let out a sharp, sarcastic breath, his breath visible in the cold air.

“This. You. The constant hovering and fixing and defending my sorry arse like I’m worth the effort.” His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it became more territorial.

“I told you to fuck off because it was easier. Because you make shit… simpler. And I hate how much I’ve gotten used to it.”

He glanced at the group, who were all watching with barely hidden smirks, then back at you. His next words came out gruff, almost annoyed at himself for saying them.

“I don’t want you orbiting anyone else. Not Theo. Not some Gryffindor prick. No one. You’re annoying as hell and far too soft for someone like me, but I want you next to me. Where you’ve been. Stop with the careful polite bullshit you’ve been doing since I snapped at you. Just… be there again. Like before.”

It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t sweet. It was Mattheo, reluctant, possessive, laced with sarcasm and that dark charisma.

He leaned in closer, voice dropping so only you could hear the rest. “And if Nott tries to hold your hand again, I’ll break his fingers. Clear enough for you, Hufflepuff?”

You smiled softly, reaching up to fix the collar of his coat like you used to. He didn’t stop you.

“Crystal clear,” you murmured.

Mattheo huffed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he slung his arm firmly over your shoulders and started walking back toward the castle, keeping you tucked tightly against his side. The others fell in behind you, Pansy looking victorious and Theo chuckling quietly.

“Fucking finally,” Blaise muttered.

Mattheo shot them all a sharp look. “Say another word and I’ll hex every single one of you.”

But his hand stayed on your shoulder the entire walk back. No more pushing you away. No more pretending he didn’t care. He still wasn’t nice, not really, but the walls had come down in the only way Mattheo Riddle knew how.

And you were right where he wanted you.

———

The castle was quiet by the time you slipped through the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering against your ribs.

It had been a long evening after Hogsmeade. Mattheo had kept you close the entire way back, but he hadn’t said much more after his gruff admission. The weight of everything still felt new and fragile.

You were nervous. Actually nervous, for the first time in months around him. Your fingers tightened around the rolled up essay you’d finished copying for him (Arithmancy, due tomorrow).

It was a small thing, an old habit, but it gave you an excuse to see him before bed.

You knocked softly on the door to his dorm. Theo and the others were still downstairs, giving the two of you space.

Mattheo opened it in a loose black shirt and trousers, hair messy like he’d already been running his hands through it. His dark eyes softened a fraction when they landed on you.

“Essay,” you mumbled, holding it out. “I know you hate this topic, so I made notes on the side.”

He took it without a word, stepping back to let you in.

The room smelled faintly of him, smoke, cedar, and that sharp edge of magic that always clung to him.

You lingered for half a second too long, then leaned in quickly, pressing a soft, shy kiss to his cheek before immediately turning to leave.

“Sorry, goodnight,” you whispered, cheeks burning as you tried to rush back out.

A flick of his wrist and the door slammed shut, locking with a sharp click.

You froze, back to him. “Mattheo, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to push, I just”

He was on you in two strides.

His hands came up on either side of your head, caging you against the door with his body. The wood was cool behind your back; he was burning hot in front.

That stern, smug look was fixed on his face, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction, one corner of his mouth curved in that dangerous half smirk.

“Do it again,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

You blinked up at him, still flustered. “I… what?”

“Kiss me again,” he repeated, leaning closer until his breath brushed your lips. “Properly this time. Don’t run.”

Your heart stuttered. The nervousness melted under the intensity of his gaze. You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek once more, slower this time.

Then, gathering your courage, you turned your head and brushed your lips softly against his.

Mattheo made a low sound in his throat, half satisfaction, half relief. One hand left the door to slide into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, claiming your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to do it. Possessive. Hungry. But there was something almost gentle underneath the fire.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. The smug look had softened into something warmer, more private.

“You’re still an idiot for thinking I’d let you run after that,” he muttered, sharp tongued as ever, but his thumb stroked your cheek. “Told you earlier, you’re mine. That means you don’t get to kiss me and bolt, Hufflepuff.”

You laughed breathlessly, the last of the nerves dissolving. “I was scared you’d regret it tomorrow morning.”

Mattheo huffed, pulling you away from the door and toward his bed. He sat down and tugged you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“I regret a lot of things,” he admitted gruffly. “But not this. Not you.” He pressed another kiss to your temple, almost absentmindedly. “You make my life easier. Better. Even when I’m a moody bastard. So stay.”

You nestled into his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” His voice dropped, that dark charisma curling around the words. “Because I’m territorial as hell, and I’ve decided you’re stuck with me now.”

From outside the door, you both heard Theo’s muffled voice “Finally! Can we come in yet or are you two still snogging?”

Mattheo didn’t even look up. “Fuck off, Nott!” he called back, but there was no real heat in it.

You giggled against his neck. He squeezed you tighter, a rare, quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Mattheo Riddle looked… content.

Still guarded, still sarcastic, still carrying shadows, but with you curled in his arms, the weight seemed lighter.

You had seen the good in him from the start. Now he was finally letting himself believe it too.