In one decisive, heart-stopping moment, the space between you closes. The world narrows to the surprised widening of his dark eyes, the faint scent of parchment and ozone that always clings to him, and the soft, stunned parting of his lips beneath yours.

The kiss is brief. A question. A leap.

When you pull back, the courtyard is utterly silent. The story about Flitwick's hat hangs, forgotten, in the air between you. Mattheo is frozen, his expression wiped clean of its usual easy confidence, replaced by something unreadable and utterly still. For the first time in years, the familiar, silent hum of understanding that usually flows between you is gone. There is only static. A void.

He blinks, once, twice, as if rebooting. He slowly lowers the hand still holding the apple. A beat. Then, the corner of his mouth twitches.