Mattheo Riddle, of course, had noticed.

He always noticed, though whether it was to irritate or intrigue you depended entirely on his mood. Tonight, his dark gaze trailed you across the room, unreadable behind the mask of indifference he wore so well. But behind the mask, he was stunned at your beauty tonight. Well, you’d always been beautiful—he couldn’t deny that—but it was different tonight.

“Trouble in paradise?” his voice cut through the hum of music and chatter, low and smooth, as he sidled up to you. That mask of indifference—it was impenetrable, even if his heart was racing at the way your side profile looked in this light, with your hair all done up and pulled back over your bare shoulders.

You didn’t look at him. “Go away, Riddle.”

“That’s no way to speak to your knight in shining armor.”

You scoffed, finally turning to face him. It was weird—you could’ve sworn his eyes held a sparkle of warmth. “You’re the farthest thing from that.”

“And yet,” he smirked, leaning casually against the table, “here I am. Let me guess—your date’s a no-show, and now you’re thinking of leaving before anyone notices.”

Your jaw tightened, heat rising to your cheeks. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but you’d rather hex yourself than admit it. “What do you want?”

“To dance,” he said simply, like it wasn’t the most absurd thing in the world.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He straightened, offering a hand with the kind of confidence that bordered on infuriating. “Come on, princess. You can’t let that dress go to waste.”

You stared at his outstretched hand, skepticism warring with the ache in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to spend the night alone, but accepting help from Mattheo Riddle? That felt like surrender.

“I don’t need your pity, Mattheo,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“Who said anything about pity?” His lips curled into a smirk. “Maybe I just want the best-dressed girl here to make me look good for a change.”

Your scoff was automatic, but a flicker of curiosity sparked in your chest. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet,” he quipped, stepping closer, “you haven’t walked away.”

You hated that he was right. Maybe it was the warmth in his eyes, just faint enough to convince yourself it wasn’t real. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d noticed you at all, standing there alone in the middle of a crowd. Whatever it was, it made your fingers twitch toward his hand before you could stop yourself.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” you said, letting him take your hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied smoothly, leading you toward the dance floor.

The music swelled as you reached the center of the room. Other couples turned and swayed in perfect rhythm, their laughter and whispered words mixing with the melody. You felt the weight of their eyes as Mattheo placed a hand on your waist, his touch firm but not unwelcome.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, guiding you into the first steps of the waltz.

“Maybe that’s because I’m dancing with someone I can’t stand,” you shot back, though your voice lacked the venom you intended.

“Harsh,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

But as the music carried you both, something shifted. His movements were surprisingly graceful, his confidence steady without being overbearing. For a boy who usually thrived on chaos, Mattheo Riddle was unexpectedly good at this. And worse, you found yourself relaxing—letting him lead, letting the music fill the silence between you.

“You clean up well, you know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he echoed, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, “you’re still here.”

The night blurred into a strange kind of magic you hadn’t expected. Mattheo danced with a confidence that kept you steady, his hand firm against your back as he led you through each step. By the time the music ended, you weren’t sure whether to feel grateful or annoyed by how natural it had all seemed.

As he walked you back to your dorm, the castle was quiet, the distant echoes of the Yule Ball fading with every step. The tension between you was different now—softer, almost curious—but Mattheo, of course, couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“You know,” he drawled, breaking the silence, “you could’ve just asked me to the Ball in the first place. Would’ve saved you the trouble.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, his smirk infuriatingly intact. “I’m just saying, if I’d known you’d clean up like this, I might’ve asked you myself.”

The warmth in your chest vanished, replaced by the familiar sting of irritation. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, resuming your pace.

“Unbelievably charming,” he corrected, keeping stride with you. “Come on, admit it—I made your night.”

“You’re delusional,” you shot back, though your cheeks betrayed you with their lingering heat.

By the time you reached the entrance to your dorm, you were ready to leave him and his insufferable grin behind. Turning to face him, you folded your arms, fixing him with your best glare.

“Well, thanks for the dance,” you said flatly. “Now you can go back to being your usual, annoying self.”

He tilted his head, studying you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “That’s the plan,” he said easily, but something flickered in his eyes—something that made your stomach flip.

“Good,” you replied, turning toward the door.

But as you reached for the handle, he spoke again, his tone laced with the perfect amount of cocky amusement.

“By the way, you should’ve let me kiss you on the dance floor. It would’ve made your night unforgettable.”

You froze, your hand gripping the doorknob as your head snapped back toward him. His smirk deepened at the look on your face, and you could practically feel your blood boiling.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, slamming the door shut before he could respond.

From the other side, his voice came, warm and unbothered, echoing softly through the stone.

“Love you too.”

You stared at the closed door, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried—and failed—not to think about the way he’d said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he meant it.

And, worst of all, you couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto your lips.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

You’d imagined the scene countless times—standing in some shadowy corridor or a bustling hallway, accidentally bumping into someone who’d scowl and spit the words at you. But when they were finally spoken, you weren’t prepared for them to belong to Mattheo Riddle.

It had happened in the Slytherin common room of all places, a quiet moment interrupted by the sound of his voice cutting through the still air like a blade. You’d been searching for a friend, still wearing your red and gold tie, when he appeared out of nowhere, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The words weren’t angry—just exasperated, as if he’d caught you trespassing in some unspoken territory.

The shock hit you instantly, your heart pounding as you froze in place. Your wrist burned with the ghost of his voice, and your breath caught in your throat.

He’d said the words. Your words.

And you’d said his, though you hadn’t known it at the time.

"Why do you care?"

The phrase was etched into his wrist, bold and sharp against his skin, as if fate had known he’d spend years keeping people at arm’s length. The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d spent his entire life avoiding attachment, only to be bound to someone by a single sentence.

The next week was torture. Mattheo had always been difficult to pin down, but now, he seemed to evaporate whenever you entered the room. You’d catch glimpses of him in the library, his dark curls bent over a parchment, or in the corridors, his back stiff as he walked away faster than usual. Each time you tried to get close, he slipped away, leaving you with an ache in your chest and a thousand unanswered questions swirling in your mind.

Why would he avoid you? Did he not want this? Did he not want you?

It didn’t make sense. The bond between soulmates was supposed to be undeniable. Everyone said so. But Mattheo was resisting it—resisting you—and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

By the time you cornered him, you were tired of the silence. You found him by the Black Lake, leaning against a tree, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He didn’t hear you approach, or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Are you going to avoid me forever?” you asked, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest.

He stiffened, the cigarette pausing midair. Slowly, he turned to face you. His dark eyes scanned your face, and for the first time, you saw something other than annoyance or indifference in them. He looked almost... guilty.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he lied.

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “Really? Then what do you call running away every time I’m in the same room?”

Mattheo sighed, flicking ash into the grass. “I call it self-preservation.”

“Self-preservation?” you repeated, incredulous. “From me?”

“From this,” he snapped, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “From whatever this is supposed to be.”

Your heart sank, but you held your ground. “It’s not something we can change, Mattheo. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The words stung, but you refused to flinch. “What’s there not to like? Is it me? Or is it the idea of soulmates in general?”

He hesitated, his jaw working as if he were trying to chew through his frustration. Finally, he muttered, “Both.”

“Wow,” you said flatly, the sarcasm barely masking your hurt. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“I didn’t mean—” He groaned, raking a hand through his curls. “It’s not you, alright? It’s just...this whole soulmate thing. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask for someone else to decide my life for me.”

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “You think I asked for this? You think I wanted to be tied to someone who doesn’t even have the decency to talk to me?”

Mattheo winced, but you weren’t done.

“Do you have any idea how terrifying this is? To know that the person you’re meant to spend your life with can’t even stand to be around you?”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually apologize. But instead, he said, “I never said I couldn’t stand you.”

“Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.”

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I don’t… hate you. Far from it.”

“Then what is it?” you demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the horizon. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost raw.

“Because I’m scared, alright?”

Your breath hitched. That wasn’t what you’d expected.

“I don’t like the idea of fate tying me to someone,” he admitted. “But what scares me more is that it’s you.”

You frowned. “Why would that scare you?”

“Because...” He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see the fear and vulnerability lurking beneath his usual bravado. “Because if this doesn’t work, if I mess this up...I don’t think I could take it.”

The honesty in his words left you speechless. For all his defiance and bravado, Mattheo Riddle was just as terrified of this bond as you were. But for entirely different reasons.

“You won’t mess this up,” you said softly.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t,” you admitted. “But I know you, Mattheo. And I know that if you just...stop running, we might actually have a chance.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “No more running.”

It wasn’t a promise. Not yet. But it was a start. And for now, that was enough.