The hour was late enough that the greenish light through the Black Lake windows had gone nearly black, the only real glow spilling from beneath Mattheo’s bedroom door.

It was cracked open.

Not enough to see much. Just a thin, wavering line of lamplight against the stone floor, and the low sound of something shifting inside. A chair scraping. A breath let out too fast.

The heavy oak door swung open without a sound.

Mattheo had Theodore backed against the cold stone wall beside the bed. One ringed hand was buried in Theo’s dark curls, knuckles pale with grip. Theo’s own hands were fisted in the rumpled lapels of Mattheo’s shirt, yanking him closer like he’d been drowning and this was the only air.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant. It was the kind of kiss that had been waiting for years, all teeth and desperation and the faint, sharp clink of Mattheo’s rings as his fingers tightened.

Theo made a sound low in his throat.

The latch clicked shut behind Y/n.

Two pairs of eyes snapped toward the door.