Fighting Fate // Mattheo Riddle ♣️

Chapter Sixteen - Slipping

Word Count: 2,503.

Warnings: None.

The Library was quiet at precisely two times within a day. The first, in the early hours of the morning when the only people out of bed were the ghosts that never sleep and late at night when the only ones left awake were the night owls. I was a fan of the latter.

I was not a morning person. Anyone who knew me well enough knew that information. Mornings hated me, and in return, I hate them equally.

"What are you doing in here?" a voice asked me, entering the library quietly. Riddle.

"There's no need to be quiet, Madame Pince left about ten minutes ago," I explained.

Mattheo approached me from behind, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and leaning over me to look at my work. "Then what are you doing here?" he asked.

I sighed, leaning back into his arms. "I need to know everything I can about what I am."

Riddle left one arm around me as the other reached forward to pick the book up off the table. He read the single page.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Every piece of information on Obscurus'?" I asked, closing my eyes for a moment. "Yes, and I have been through it hundreds of times and have found nothing to help me."

Mattheo sighed, placing the book back onto the table. "Maybe that's for the best."

"And why would that be for the best?" I asked him, turning my head to look at his tired expression.

"Because then you can control this the way you want to and not the way Credence did, because his method was clearly the wrong one."

I nodded slowly. "That's the thing, it doesn't say anything about how he controlled it," I started.

Riddle moved away from me, taking the chair out from the table and seating himself down.

"Did he hear voices?" I asked. "Did he get nosebleeds? Who did he kill? How did he kill them? Does he remember anything?" I paused, turning back to the open book. I ran a finger down the page I had almost memorized my now. "I want to know something other than that I'm going to die and probably take out people with me."

"You're not going to die," Riddle told me.

"You can't promise me that."

He didn't answer, instead, closing the book in front of me and placing it back on the shelf.

"What are you doing?" I asked him as he approached me again, taking my hands in his and pulling me to me feet.

"Riddle –"

"Just," he cut me off. "Listen."

I nodded. "Okay."

He took a deep breath. "I know you're scared. I'm scared. Draco's scared. Everyone is scared, but you are not going to die," he told me. "And I am promising you that. As long as I'm still around, nothing will hurt you, not even the forces inside your own mind."

"And you say you aren't a poet," I replied, sniffling.

He took my face in his hands, bending his head slightly so that we were at eye level. "You've got me. You're always going to have me."

"And you've got me. For as long as you want me."

"Forever then?" he asked.

I smiled. "If I don't kill you before that."