Dorm 5108 | Mattheo Riddle

eleven.

AN: I am so terribly awful at updating when I say I'm going to... 15.4k chapter to once again apologise for my slackness. 

Fair warning: This chapter contains smut. If you are under 18, I am not responsible for the imagery you will read. :)

"Good morning, Rhi."

A pleasant contentment slips its way to the surface of my mouth while I hear Mattheo's early greeting. His gentle hand smooths strands of hair behind my shoulder as I slowly wake to a person seemingly belonging up in the stars instead of here with me in this room. He is otherworldly–someone I thought could only be conjured in dreams, but I'm not complaining. I drink in the way he welcomes me, the timbre of his voice as fresh as morning dew. I drown in his effortless male beauty, holding his attention as if meeting him for the very first time. I bury myself in the way he speaks the one part of my name, willing me to believe it is special because only he can make it so. There is a prickling desire to hear my full name resting along the rim of his lips but for now I am fulfilled with Rhi. And I am satisfied with the person presented before me.

Mattheo. 

From past experiences, I have learned to never expect more than what is given to me because a constant outcome has always been disappointment. I don't want to be greedy and ask for more–knowing the possibility could be a result I'm so tired of experiencing. Additional wants and needs could in turn let me down somehow, so I stay stationary in my relationship with Mattheo. I move at a pace which can be described by using one word. SAFE.

I'm comfortable with having Mattheo every night and morning; seeing him, hearing him, being with him–it is greater than what I imagined my life to be and I dwell in my heart surging from the limitless happiness of our simple moments together. There is nothing more or less than what I want and what I want is simple. To be with him.

"Good morning, Mattheo." I convey a delicate grin. 

He draws over an arm and pulls me in, committing to memory how I feel within his hold. It's a protective gesture almost and I sorely wonder if I will be the only person from this moment forward that he will envelop in this manner. I mediate if it's wrong to hope terribly so.

"Breakfast?" His hand drifts lower down my waist, over my hip and waltzes with the loose band of my shorts. I believe his interpretation of breakfast greatly differs from my own definition.

"You're not talking about food, are you?"

He mouths a voiceless no and sends me a smouldering smirk, soaring with cruel intentions. A willowy laugh resonates from the depths of my heart and I shake my head at him. We descend into an eased silence, having muted conversations between the gazes of our eyes. He is the person I can speak to about nothing and everything with veritable complacency. He understands when I need to hear words and when I need simple quietness.

Throughout our time together, Mattheo and I have become a constant–a fixed variable and I have illustrated our relationship as safe. But there's an unspoken fear of this distinct security ending. I am not a lucky person, I wasn't gifted with optimism or unconditional love. Someone like Mattheo can fall through the cracks and disappear from my side with a quick snap of the finger. It's this exact worrisome thought prowling in the wintry frozen hollows of my mind, patiently waiting to show its tumultuous storm.

"We have a busy day ahead."

"It can wait," he refutes, tempting me to bend and break to his every dark wish.

I press my lips together to quell my increasing affection for Mattheo and throw aside my distressing matters. I'm weak for him, entirely too defenceless against everything about him. His implicit charm with one brief glance can flip my entire world into chaos. I don't mind it–in fact, I openly welcome it, choosing to be with him when I know it could hurt me in the long run. "I need to shower before I help Narcissa prepare for tonight."