leaning back, a lazy grin tugging at his lips So what you're telling me, Mattheo, is that in six years, you've never once fancied anyone. Not even a little.

dryly, without looking up from the drink he's nursing I think he's saving himself for a higher calling.

grinning, propping his chin on his hand Maybe he's waiting for true love. A soulmate. A sign from the universe.

rolling his shoulders, jaw tight Shut it.

ignoring him completely, turning to the others with mock seriousness No, no, I think I've cracked it. He's incapable. Emotionally stunted. A tragic case.

dramatically wiping a fake tear We should hold a memorial. Here lies Mattheo Riddle's love life. Never existed.

quietly, almost to himself The only girl I’ll ever love doesn’t exist.

frowning, sitting forward Wait—what?

blinking Mate, are you being serious right now?

setting his glass down, voice flat She was a dream.

slowly A dream.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Skin like she’d never seen real sun. Quiet. Like she was listening to something nobody else could hear.

studying him carefully You remember what she looked like?

a muscle twitching in his jaw Every detail.

exchanging a glance with Theo And you're telling us you're in love with a girl you made up in your sleep.

standing abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor I have business at Borgin and Burkes. Don't wait up.

Mattheo—

already pulling on his jacket, not looking back I said don't wait up.