LL
By seventh year, loving Mattheo feels less like something dramatic and more like something steady—like breathing. You still remember how everything began in third year: the tension, the teasing, the way he looked at you like he was daring himself to care. Back then, love was a secret you carried in stolen glances across the Great Hall and whispered arguments in empty corridors. Now, it’s a quiet truth that sits comfortably between you.
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@slutherinboyzThe Slytherin common room hummed with the low crackle of the green fire, casting dancing shadows across the worn leather sofas. It was late—the kind of late where most of the castle had already surrendered to sleep, but the seventh-years never did.
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