Dorm 5108 | Mattheo Riddle

ten.

AN: Sorry for not updating last week. Life is in fact, life-ing. Have a 13.4k chapter to apologise <3
Fair warning: This chapter contains smut. If you are under 18, I am not responsible for the imagery you will read. :)

Headaches spur off as a little prick. They're small, tiny, and insignificant until they start to spread throughout the entire left side of my brain. What was nothing in the beginning is evolving to feel like a rhinoceros on a rampage, trying to crack through my skull and break its cage. Headaches are similar to love. Falling in love starts minuscule and then it grows, expanding with no control or intention of being contained. It wants to flee, breaking away from its prison to consume my entire being. I find it difficult keeping myself intact when I am so close to crumbling into broken pieces due to my feelings for this particular wizard.

I don't even realise I've fallen until it's too late and there's nothing I can do but to surrender to my futile emotions.

It's a terrible fate to fall for Mattheo.

But it doesn't mean I'll give up on him.

To prevent myself from completely shattering, I will work harder for what I want.

My words from a few nights ago weren't meant to imply that I will leave Mattheo immediately, or at all. They were meant to show him I will first help him, as I have promised. I will aid him in overcoming his love for Astoria–although it pains me to realise I can only help so much. I can only do so much for a person if they are unwilling to do half of the work in return. I don't know where he stands with her. I don't know if he is any closer to his end goal, or even farther away from it.

What I do know is that I am not at her level. The affection he holds for me is not at the same peak as Astoria stands and this specific fact alone is where one of the largest cracks has formed in my heart.

I care for Mattheo–I care for him more than I have ever allowed myself to care for another and it brings about a fear of losing this special person. I don't want to lose him, I want to help him but I am afraid it will come to nothing. In the end, there is a probability he might be no better off from when he first asked me to assist him in moving on from Astoria.

Coming up with whatever else I can do is continually making my headache worse and perhaps, if I really examine my well-being, I believe my heart is possibly going down the same destructive path.

My ailment hasn't subsided and is transitioning into an excruciating migraine, matching a level 8 earthquake on the Richter scale. The muggle radio plays dimly in the background as Mattheo drives us to a restaurant to meet his family for their annual Christmas Eve dinner. Minus the music, the car ride has been silent (which should alleviate my headache but instead has had a rather countering effect). The quietness is making my headache worse. It is unlike Mattheo not to talk. He always knows what to say–always has something to say. When he doesn't talk, his actions speak. But lately, he has kept his distance.
I'm accustomed to his lively and amiable attitude. I'm used to his sweet words filling my ears, but after the night in front of my parents grave, he chose to stay away. He's withdrawn but doesn't completely ignore me. He replies when I ask questions, and he still greets me in the morning and at night but there is a wall. There is a barrier he has put up and it is identical to the one I had installed when I first moved into the dorm with him. It is as if Mattheo and I have switched places, and this time he is the one with the inner struggle in which he cannot bring up the courage to speak to me about.

"Pick a colour," I state, desperately attempting to ignore the pulsating throb pressing down against my skull.

"Why?" His languid monotone voice is not missed.

"It's a game. We've spent nearly two hours not talking to each other in this car and I don't want to prolong it for another 40 minutes.

"I'm driving, Rhi."