โโงยฐ๐ฒึผ๐ขย Wear My Name
Warnings: jealousy/possessiveness, public confrontation, unwanted touching, humiliation, and emotional distress.
Summary: Before Mattheoโs Quidditch match, a soft, intimate morning turns tense when his possessive streak shows over not wearing his jersey. In the stands, playful banter with Pansy is interrupted by an unwanted advance from another student, causing Mattheo to react publicly and harshly. His accusation leaves Y/N humiliated and hurt, and she walks away before the match is even over.
A/n: I saw something similar to this YEARS ago and I genuinely canโt find the author. If anyone knows please let me know so I can give some credit..
ห แกฃ๐ญฉ โน เฃช เฑจเงหโห แกฃ๐ญฉ โน เฃช เฑจเงหโห แกฃ๐ญฉ โน เฃช เฑจเงหโห แกฃ๐ญฉ โน เฃช เฑจเงหโห แกฃ๐ญฉ โน เฃช เฑจเงหโห แกฃ๐ญฉ โน เฃช เฑจเงหโห แกฃ๐ญฉ โน เฃช
Morning light spilled through the tall windows of Mattheoโs dorm, turning everything soft and gold. It caught on the green and silver curtains, the pile of clothes dumped across the floor, and the polished handle of his broom leaning against the wall. The room smelled like his cologne and old parchment, mixed with the sugary scent of the breakfast pastries weโd nicked before sneaking out of the Great Hall early.
I stood in front of the mirror beside his dresser, carefully tying a green bow into my hair. I tilted my head from side to side, checking it sat properly.
Not too obvious, but obvious enough.
Subtle enough that no one could take the piss too much, but still clear enough that everyone at the match would know exactly who I was supporting.
Behind me, I heard the rustle of sheets and the creak of the bed as Mattheo moved around the room, already halfway dressed for the match. When I glanced at him through the mirror, he was standing at the end of his bed in his uniform trousers and a tight dark shirt, rolling his shoulders before stretching his arms above his head.
The fabric pulled across his back and arms as he moved, all lean muscle and effortless confidence. He was probably just warming up before Quidditch, but with Mattheo, it always felt intentional. Like he knew exactly what he looked like and enjoyed seeing if Iโd get distracted by it.
Which, annoyingly, I did.
Which, honestly, was probably part of the plan.
His eyes caught mine in the mirror, and a small smirk pulled at his mouth. "You keep staring at me like that and I'm gonna start thinking you don't want me to leave for the pitch."
I let out a quiet laugh as I adjusted the ribbon one last time. "Maybe I don't," I admitted.
That made him grin properly, the kind that started slow before taking over his whole face, and for a second he stopped moving completely. He just looked at me.
It wasย thatย look. The one that always made my chest feel weirdly tight and too warm at the same time. Like there wasnโt anywhere else in the world he wanted to be. Like out of everything he couldโve been looking at, I was still his favourite.
Then his gaze dropped to my outfit, and his smile faded into this dramatic look of offense. "You're seriously not wearing my jersey?"
I smiled to myself, already knowing that was coming. "No," I said simply.
He groaned, dragged a hand over his face, then dropped onto the edge of the bed. "You've gotta be joking."
I turned to look at him properly, trying not to laugh at how genuinely betrayed he looked. "Mattheo."
"I gave you my jersey," he reminded me.
"I know you did," I said.
His stare sharpened a little. "And you're still not wearing it."
I reached for my jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it over my shoulders carefully. "Because I wanna show Pansy my new jacket," I explained.
For a second he just stared at me. Then he leaned back slightly, brows lifting. "So your jacket wins over me?"
"It's not winning over you," I said, laughing now. "I just haven't worn it yet, and I told her I'd show her."
He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on the green bow, the jacket, then lifting back to my face. His expression softened for a second, like he couldn't help admiring me anyway, but there was still that possessive little glint in his eyes. "I still think you should wear my jersey."
I walked closer, stopping between his knees where he sat on the bed. "Why?" I asked.
His hands found my waist instantly, like they belonged there, like they always would. He looked up at me with the smallest pout. "Because I like when people know you're mine."
The words sent warmth all through me, hot and fluttery and impossible to ignore. "Mattheo," I said softly, even though I was smiling.
He only looked at me more intently, his voice lower now. "What? I do."
His thumbs brushed over the sides of my waist through the jacket, slow and absentminded, but his eyes stayed fixed on mine. "Everyone's gonna be looking at you today," he murmured. "You could at least wear my name on your back."
I melted a little at that. He said things like that so casually sometimes, like he didn't even realize how badly they affected me. I touched the front of his shirt, smoothing a wrinkle that didn't need smoothing. "I'm literally wearing Slytherin green for you."
He gave a tiny shake of his head. "Not the same."
I smiled and reminded him, "I put a bow in my hair for you."
His eyes flicked up to it, and something soft passed over his face. He reached up, brushing his fingers gently over the ribbon like he couldn't help it. "You did?"
I nodded. "For Slytherin and for you."
That quieted him for a moment. His expression changed completely, all the teasing and fake offense fading into something warmer, something deeper. He looked at me like I'd handed him something precious. "You're cute," he murmured.
I smiled. "You were complaining two seconds ago."
"I can complain and still think you're the prettiest girl at Hogwarts," he said.
"That sounds biased," I teased.
His mouth curved. "It is biased. I don't care."
I laughed softly, and he used the moment to tug me a little closer until my legs brushed his. My hands settled on his shoulders automatically, and I could feel the solid warmth of him beneath my palms.
"You know," I said, "if I'd worn the jersey, Pansy would've complained that I'm predictable."
"Pansy can deal with it," he replied.
"She wants to see the jacket," I insisted.
His grip on my waist stayed warm and steady. "I want you in my jersey."
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you jealous of a jacket?"
He tilted his head, pretending to think about it. "Maybe."
That made me laugh again, the sound filling the room in a way that made his whole expression soften. He loved when I laughed. I knew he did. I could always tell by the way he looked at me after, like he'd managed to pull something bright and private out of me just for him.
"You're ridiculous," I told him.
His answer came easy and confident. "And you love me."
The answer came so naturally it didn't even make me pause. "I do," I said.
For a second, everything in the room seemed to still.
His eyes searched my face, and even though we'd said it before, there was always something about the quiet way it landed between us that made my heart race all over again. Like it was new every time. Like he still couldn't believe I meant it, even when I always did.
His hands tightened on my waist just slightly. Softer this time, he said, "Say it again."
I smiled down at him, brushing my fingers into his hair where it curled messily at the front. "I love you."
The look he gave me then nearly undid me completely. It was so open, so full, so unguarded that I forgot how to breathe for a second. "Yeah?" he whispered.
He leaned forward until his forehead rested against my stomach for just a second, like he needed the closeness, like he needed a moment to hold the words somewhere inside him. Then he looked back up, his expression softer than before. "I love you more," he said.
I laughed quietly. "That's not how it works."
"It does for me," he insisted.
I smiled and shook my head. "You don't get to decide that."
"I do, actually." He stood then, all at once, and the sudden movement made me catch my breath. He was so close now that I had to tilt my head back to keep looking at him. One of his hands slid to the small of my back, drawing me against him with an ease that made my pulse skip. "Because you're mine," he said, his voice low and teasing, but with just enough seriousness under it to make me blush.
I looked up at him, trying and failing to keep my expression steady. "Possessive today, are we?"
"Today's a match day," he said simply, like that explained everything. "I'm allowed."
I laughed, but it came out softer than I meant it to.
His gaze dropped to my lips, then lifted back to my eyes. "Tell me one more time you won't wear the jersey."
"I'm not wearing the jersey," I whispered.
He sighed dramatically, but his mouth curved. "Cruel."
I smiled and counted it off for him. "I'm wearing the bow."
"And the jacket," I went on.
"Unfortunately," he muttered.
"And I'm still cheering for you," I finished.
That made him smile for real. "You better be loud about it too."
"I always am," I promised.
"Good." His fingers traced lightly over the edge of my jacket collar. "Want everyone hearing your voice when I score."
The confidence in the way he said it made me grin. "When you score?"
I laughed under my breath. "Cocky."
"Only because I know you'll be watching me," he said.
I shook my head, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. "You are impossible."
His grin turned lazy. "And you still left breakfast early with me."
"Maybe because I like you," I teased.
He leaned in a little, his nose brushing mine. "Like me?"
"Maybe love you a little too," I whispered.
His brows lifted. "A little?"
I laughed under my breath, but before I could say anything else, he kissed me.
It was soft at first, warm and slow, the kind of kiss that felt like a secret even in daylight. My hands slid up to his chest, bunching slightly in his shirt as I kissed him back, and he let out the faintest hum against my lips like he'd been waiting for it all morning.
Then his hand at my back pressed me just a little closer.
Not enough to rush me. Never that.
Just enough to say stay here.
I melted into him instantly, my other hand slipping into his hair as his lips moved against mine more deeply now, still sweet, still careful, but with that familiar possessive edge that always made my stomach flip. He kissed me like he adored me, like he was proud of me, like he couldn't quite believe he got to have this.
When we pulled apart, it wasn't by much. His forehead rested against mine, and both of us were smiling in that quiet, helpless way people did when they were far too gone for each other.
"You're gonna ruin my lip gloss," I murmured.
"Wear less," he said at once.
I pulled back just enough to give him a look. "That's your solution?"
"Yeah." He kissed me once more, quick and sweet this time. "Or kiss me more so it doesn't matter."
I laughed, and he smiled at the sound like it was his favorite reward.
"You know," I said, tracing the collar of his shirt with my fingers, "for someone so desperate for me to wear his jersey, you're being very distracting."
"Good," he said. "Maybe you'll stay and miss the match."
I smiled despite myself. "That makes no sense."
"It does if you stay here with me for another ten minutes," he replied.
I tipped my head back to look at him properly. "You have to go be all impressive and athletic now, remember?"
He groaned softly, dropping his head to my shoulder for a second. "I'd rather stay here with you."
That alone would have made my heart burst, but then he lifted his head and looked at me with that same unbearably sincere expression again. "I mean it," he said quietly. "Best part of my morning was getting you to myself before everyone else did."
The words wrapped around me so tightly that I had no defense left at all. I touched his cheek gently, brushing my thumb beneath his eye. "You have me all the time," I whispered.
"I know," he said. "Still doesn't feel like enough sometimes."
I didn't think I'd ever loved him more than I did in that moment.
I rose onto my toes and kissed him before he could say anything else that mightโve completely ruined me.
The second my lips touched his, he smiled against my mouth, soft and immediate, like heโd been waiting for me to do that all morning. His hands found my waist almost instantly, pulling me closer without even thinking about it. One stayed steady at my side while the other slid up my back, warm and certain.
Mattheo always held me like that. Never rough, never careless. Just sure of me. Like once he had me close, he didnโt plan on letting go anytime soon.
I melted into him as the kiss deepened, slow at first, warm and lingering in a way that made everything else around us disappear. My fingers curled into the front of his shirt as he pulled me closer, until there wasnโt any space left between us at all.
And somehow, even then, it still didnโt feel close enough.
The kiss turned softer after that, quieter. The kind that felt dangerous only because of how much it meant. Every time he kissed me, it felt like he was trying not to say something out loud. Like he was holding back feelings too big for either of us to joke away.
When we finally pulled apart, it was only enough to breathe.
His hand was still resting at my waist, thumb brushing once against my side before he looked down at me with the most unfairly smug smile Iโd ever seen.
Like he knew exactly what that kiss had done to me.
Then he brushed his nose against mine, still holding me close, and murmured, "There. Now you definitely smell like me too."
I rolled my eyes, even though I was blushing. "That was your plan?"
"Part of it," he admitted.
I huffed a laugh. "You're insane."
His grin only widened. "And you're still in love with me."
I smoothed down the front of his shirt, then fixed his collar properly because if I didn't, he'd absolutely walk out looking unfairly handsome and slightly disheveled on purpose.
"Fine," I said. "I won't wear the jersey."
"But I'll be in the stands wearing your colors, your favorite bow, and this very important jacket Pansy needs to see," I told him.
He considered that, then reached up and gently adjusted the ribbon himself, his fingertips lingering near my hair. "All right," he said at last. "But sit where I can see you."
I smiled at him fondly. "Mattheo."
"I always sit where you can see me," I reminded him.
His expression softened again, affectionate and a little smug. "I know."
Then he leaned down and kissed me one last time.
Soft. Certain. The kind of kiss that felt more like a promise than anything else.
His hand stayed at my waist while he held me there for those few extra seconds, and I could feel everything he wasnโt saying out loud in the way he touched me. Mattheo had never been good at talking about feelings, but sometimes he looked at me like he didnโt need to.
When he pulled back, his hand stayed at my waist. "Good," he murmured. "Now everybody can look at you all they want. They still get to know you're coming back to me after the match."
I felt my whole face warm, but I smiled anyway as I reached up to straighten the collar of his shirt one last time. "Win for me," I whispered.
His eyes never left mine when he answered, "Always do."
Pansy and I were wedged into the Slytherin stands high above the pitch, the wind tugging at our hair and scarves as the noise of the crowd rose around us in waves.
Below, the match was already rough.
Brooms cut through the air at impossible speeds, green and silver flashing across the pitch while Madam Hoochโs whistle kept shrieking every few minutes over some foul or near miss. The whole stadium felt alive, full of shouting, stomping, and chanting, but up here in the stand towers, tucked slightly back from the loudest part of the crowd, it felt like our own little corner of chaos.
Pansy leaned against the rail beside me, her dark hair somehow still perfectly in place despite the wind, and kept her eyes fixed on the pitch. Draco streaked past one of the hoops below, and she smiled in that smug little way she got whenever he did literally anything.
"God," Pansy muttered as she watched him. "He looks fit when heโs angry."
I snorted. "Thatโs deeply concerning."
Pansy did not look remotely ashamed. "Itโs true. Actually, he looks even better when heโs angry."
I laughed and glanced down toward the players again, just in time to spot Mattheo swerving hard around a Chaser. His dark uniform was tight across his shoulders, and he looked fast, sharp, and unfairly good at everything.
Annoyingly, Pansy noticed exactly where my eyes landed.
Pansyโs lips curled into a grin. "You cannot even pretend to judge me when youโre dating that."
I tried to keep my expression neutral and failed. "Iโm not judging."
Pansy gave me a look. "No, youโre just staring."
I lifted a shoulder. "I am watching the match."
Pansy laughed softly. "You are watching your boyfriend."
I glanced at her and said, "Same difference."
That made Pansy laugh harder.
"Oh, please," Pansy said, looking back down at the pitch. "If Draco looked like that and wasnโt useful, maybe Iโd be normal about it. Unfortunately for everyone, heโs talented in more ways than one."
I nearly choked. "Pansy."
She only shrugged, still looking smug. "What? Weโre both thinking it."
I looked at her in disbelief. "I was actually thinking about Quidditch."
Pansy finally turned to face me. "You are dating Mattheo Riddle, and you expect me to believe youโve ever had a pure thought in your life?"
I laughed despite myself. "Youโre insufferable."
Pansy smiled sweetly. "And yet Iโm not incorrect."
I looked back out over the pitch, trying and failing to hide my smile. "Youโre one to talk. Every time Draco flies past, you look like you need a chaperone."
Pansy pressed a hand to her chest. "That is unbelievably rude. Slightly fair, but still rude."
I gave her a pointed look. "You just implied heโs talented in bed while standing in a school tower."
Pansy grinned. "I implied nothing. I said exactly what I meant."
Pansy looked delighted with herself. "What? At least Iโm honest. You go all quiet and stare into the middle distance like Mattheo hasnโt ruined you for every other man."
My jaw dropped. "You need to be exorcised."
Pansy laughed so hard she had to grab the railing. "That is not a denial, by the way."
Heat rushed to my face. "I hate you."
Pansy shook her head. "No, you donโt. You just hate that Iโm right."
I folded my arms and looked down at the pitch again. "Fine. Dracoโs fit. Happy?"
Pansy looked very pleased. "Very. And, for the record, his tongue..."
I cut her off immediately. "Absolutely not. Finish that sentence, and Iโm throwing you off this tower myself."
Pansy gasped in mock offence. "I was going to say hisย tongueย gets him out of trouble."
I turned and stared at her.
Pansy smiled sweetly and added, "Among other things."
I made a strangled noise and turned back to the match. "You are vile."
Pansy nudged my arm. โAnd youโre blushing again",
โIโm cold,โ I said way too fast.
Pansy lifted an eyebrow. โItโs May.โ
I stared straight ahead. โThereโs wind.โ
โThe memories, more like.โ
I let out a horrified laugh and shoved her shoulder while she practically folded in on herself laughing beside me. My face only got hotter, which obviously made everything worse.
For a moment, we stood there in easy silence, the sounds of the game swelling beneath us, until Pansy turned and looked me over properly.
Her eyes narrowed. "Wait," Pansy said.
I smiled at once. "You noticed."
Pansy caught the sleeve of my jacket and tugged me slightly closer so she could inspect it. "This is the new one?" she asked.
It was dark green with silver detailing along the edges, fitted properly at the waist, and far nicer than anything practical enough for a Quidditch match had any right to be. I had been waiting for the perfect excuse to wear it, and there was no chance I was missing Pansyโs reaction.
She ran her fingers over the front and gave me an approving look. "All right," Pansy said. "This is gorgeous."
Pansyโs mouth twitched. "Itโsย veryย you," she said. Then her expression turned knowing. "Mattheo sulked about it, didnโt he?"
I looked back at the pitch. "He wanted me in his jersey," I admitted.
"Of course he did," Pansy said at once.
I let out a quiet breath. "He acted like I had personally betrayed him."
Pansy laughed, low and knowing. "Draco does the same thing," she said. "Theyโre all insane."
Then Pansy leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice into the kind of tone that meant she was about to say something foul.
"Still," Pansy said, "if I were sleeping with Mattheo Riddle, I suppose I would let him be possessive too."
I choked on my own breath and turned to stare at her. "Pansy," I said sharply.
She blinked at me with wide, innocent eyes. "What?" Pansy asked.
Heat crawled into my face. "Youโre disgusting," I muttered.
Pansy lifted one brow. "And?"
I shot her a look. "And loud."
Her grin only widened. "Iโm also right," Pansy said.
I should have ignored her.
Instead, I made the mistake of laughing.
That was all the encouragement Pansy needed.
She turned to me with a glint in her eye and asked, "So? Is he actually any good, or does he just rely on brooding and a sharp jawline to get away with everything?"
I gave her a warning look. "Pansy."
"Oh, please," Pansy said, waving one hand dismissively. "You know everything about me and Draco."
I let out a quiet laugh and looked back towards the pitch. "That is entirely against my will."
Pansy tilted her head, dark eyes full of amusement. "And yet you never stop listening," she pointed out.
"Maybe because you never stop talking," I said, trying to keep the smile out of my voice and failing.
"Mm. Fair enough," Pansy said. She folded her arms across her chest, then turned to look at me properly. "Well?"
It only lasted a second, but it was enough.
Pansy's eyes widened with theatrical delight. "Oh my God," she said.
I lowered my voice at once. "Stop that."
Pansy leaned a little closer, as if she were about to uncover state secrets instead of gossiping in the stands. "Heย isย good," she said, looking far too pleased with herself.
I glanced at her, horrified. "You are unbearable."
"That good?" Pansy pressed.
I pressed my lips together and said nothing. Heat climbed steadily into my cheeks, which only made her expression turn downright wicked.
"Merlin," Pansy breathed. "I knew it."
I dragged a hand over my face for a moment. "You are impossible," I muttered.
Pansy let out a delighted laugh. "Draco's very good too, for the record," she said.
I looked at her flatly. "I did not ask."
"No," Pansy replied, completely unbothered, "but as girls, we share."
I frowned at her. "That is not a rule."
"It is for us," Pansy said at once.
I let out a quiet groan, but she was already continuing.
"He's annoyingly smug about it as well," Pansy went on. "Like he knowsย exactlyย what he's doing. Which, unfortunately, he does."
I kept my eyes fixed on the match, trying very hard not to laugh and even harder not to picture Draco Malfoy at all. That became nearly impossible when Pansy kept speaking in that maddeningly thoughtful tone of hers.
"And Theo," she began, narrowing her eyes as though she were making a serious academic observation, "definitely seems like he'd be..."
I turned to her immediately. "Pansy."
She blinked at me with exaggerated innocence. "What? I'm making observations."
"You're making problems," I told her.
"Fine," Pansy said. "Back to your boyfriend. Is he sweet after, or is he still completely insufferable?"
My face warmed all over again.
That, apparently, was answer enough.
Pansy put one hand dramatically to her chest. "Oh, that's somehow worse," she said.
I laughed despite myself and shook my head. "Can you focus on the match for five seconds?"
Pansy gave me a pointed look. "Canย you? Because you've gone pink."
I folded my arms and stared firmly ahead, which only made Pansy look more pleased with herself.
Before I could answer, someone stepped up beside us.
"Well," a male voice said lightly, "now I'm curious."
A boy I vaguely recognised from Ravenclaw was standing there with a self-satisfied smile, one hand tucked into his pocket like he thought he was effortlessly charming. He was tall, with blond-brown hair, broad shoulders, and the sort of smug expression that was irritating on sight.
When I only blinked at him, he said, "Crispin Vale. In case you were wondering."
Pansy didn't even hesitate. "I wasn't," she said flatly.
Crispin ignored her completely and looked at me instead. His gaze dipped briefly to my jacket before he smiled again. "Nice jacket," he said.
"Thanks," I said shortly, already turning back towards the pitch.
That should've been the end of it.
"So," Crispin went on, leaning against the rail beside me like he'd been invited, "are you here with anyone, or can I steal you after the match?"
I didn't even look at him. "No," I said.
Crispin gave a quiet laugh. "No, you're here with someone, or no, I can't steal you?"
I kept my eyes fixed on the game below. "Take whichever answer hurts your feelings more," I told him.
He laughed like I was flirting back.
Below us, the game had shifted again. Blaise cut sharply across the pitch, Draco was shouting something I couldn't quite make out over the roar of the crowd, and Mattheo was flying harder now, faster and rougher, already on edge from the way he kept throwing himself into every play.
Crispin still hadn't left.
He rested one forearm on the rail and said, "I could take you to Hogsmeade next weekend. Somewhere nicer than this, yeah?"
When I didn't respond, he tried again. "Or just a walk by the lake," Crispin said. "You look like you'd be worth the trouble."
I exhaled slowly through my nose and deliberately ignored him.
Beside me, Pansy had gone very still in that dangerous way she did right before she became cruel.
But before either of us could say anything, I looked forward again, and my stomach dropped.
Mattheo was staring straight at the stands.
Even from that distance, I could see the way his jaw had locked tight. His whole expression had gone dark, sharp with irritation, the kind that never stayed contained for long. One of the other players shouted something at him as a Quaffle flew past, but he barely reacted. His attention had narrowed completely, fixed on the tower, on me, on the boy standing far too close at my side.
A second later, Madam Hooch's whistle shrieked through the air.
"Riddle!" she shouted from somewhere below. "Play fair or you're off!"
Mattheo gave a visible scoff and shook his head once, like he couldn't quite believeย heย was the one being warned. But his eyes came right back to us.
To the space between us that clearly wasn't wide enough for his liking.
Crispin followed my line of sight and let out a quiet laugh. "Merlin," he said, sounding amused. "What a dick."
I turned sharply, finally ready to tell him exactly where he could go, but before I got the words out, he slid his arm around my shoulders.
It happened so quickly that for a second I couldn't even react. My whole body went stiff beneath his touch.
"Get the fuck off her," Pansy snapped.
Then a loud crack split through the air.
The sound was so sudden and violent that the entire crowd seemed to gasp at once. A bludger had ricocheted off one of the hoops with a sickening snap before slamming down towards the lower part of the pitch.
My heart jumped into my throat.
And then Mattheo was there.
He flew up to the stands so fast it barely looked controlled. His broom jerked to a hard stop beside the tower, close enough that the sudden rush of air whipped at my hair and jacket. His eyes were blazing now, burning with something far worse than simple annoyance.
"Don't touch my girl!" Mattheo shouted.
His voice cut through everything.
The noise of the crowd. The wind tearing through the stands. Even the frantic pounding of my own heart.
For one horrible second, it felt like every head around us turned.
Crispin yanked his arm away from me at once, both hands lifting slightly as if that might save him, but Mattheo was still glaring at him like he might actually come off the broom and drag him down by the throat.
Someone shouted from below, "Theo!"
A second later, Theo came flying up too. He stopped a little behind Mattheo with a deeply unimpressed expression, his broom hovering steadily where Mattheo's practically shook with tension.
"Mate", Theo said sharply, "calm the fuck down."
Mattheo didn't take his eyes off us.
Off the place where Crispin had touched me, like he could still see it.
His face had gone hard in that cold, furious way that was somehow worse than shouting. It was not just anger. It was possession. Raw, immediate, and ugly in how plainly it showed itself.
His stare flicked over me once, fast and possessive, as if checking that I was still there, still his, before landing back on Crispin with open hatred.
The way he looked at me made it painfully clear what he was thinking.
That no one else should have been close enough to forget it.
That he had seen another boy touch me, and he was furious with the entire world for allowing it.
His face was hard, furious in that cold way that was somehow worse than shouting. When he finally spoke to me, his voice carried easily across the tower even though it had dropped lower now, rougher, edged with something mean enough to make my stomach twist.
"I told you," Mattheo snapped at me. "This is why I told you to wear my fuckin' jersey."
The words hit harder than I expected.
For a second, I just stared at him.
Pansy went rigid beside me. "Mattheo," she said sharply, warning thick in her voice.
He barely seemed to hear her.
Mattheo kept looking at me like this was somehow my fault. Like I had done something wrong just by standing there. Just by existing somewhere another boy could look at me, speak to me, touch me, and make Mattheo feel like he had been challenged.
Heat rushed into my face, but it was not embarrassment this time. It was something much worse.
Anger, sharp and trembling beneath my skin.
"I ignored him," I said. My voice came out quieter than I wanted, unsteady in a way that only made me hate this more.
Mattheo's jaw flexed. He looked at me for one long, brutal second before he said, "Didn't look like enough."
It was small. Barely there.
Pansy definitely noticed.
And for the first time, something in Mattheo's expression shifted. It was only for a second, a flicker beneath the anger, as though he had heard himself too late and realised what he had done.
I did not want to see it.
I did not want whatever explanation came after.
I did not want his jealousy dressed up as protection.
I did not want everyone staring.
Most of all, I did not want to stand there while he made me feel small in front of half the bloody school.
So I stepped back from the railing.
I hated that my eyes were already burning.
"Y/n," Pansy said at once, her voice softer now.
I shook my head before she could say anything else.
Mattheo said my name too, but I was already turning away.
I did not look at him again.
I just pushed past the students crowding the tower steps and started down, my vision blurring for one awful second as the noise of the stadium crashed around me. A moment later, I heard Pansy following close behind.
The roar of the match swallowed whatever anyone shouted after that.
One hand wrapped tightly around the front of my stupid jacket, gripping the fabric so hard it creased beneath my fingers.
Pansy caught up to me halfway down the stairs, breathless and furious on my behalf. "Don't you dare stop," she said.
I let out one horrible, shaky laugh and scrubbed angrily under my eye before anything could actually fall.
"I'm not going back up there," I whispered.
"Good," Pansy said immediately. Her voice was sharp again now, full of anger that did not belong to me alone. "Because if he wants to act like a jealous psycho in front of everyone, he can explain himself later."
I swallowed hard and kept walking.
Above us, the match raged on.
