Mattheo Riddle One Shots

Between The Shelves pt.2

Here's part two to the story! Enjoy the continuation. m4tth30sgurlll
Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, war, Voldemort.

Summary: continued version of part one!

Words: 1990

The days after your confrontation with Mattheo passed in a blur. You threw yourself into your studies, trying to forget the way his words had pierced through your defenses. But no matter how hard you tried, his voice lingered, echoing in the quiet corners of your mind.

You didn't see him for a while—not in the library, not in the common room, not even in the corridors. At first, you were relieved, but as the silence stretched, you couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of something missing.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of lavender and gold, you found yourself once again in the library. The usual comfort of the bookshelves felt hollow tonight, and your usual seat by the enchanted window offered little solace.

You tried to focus on your reading, but the words blurred together on the page. With a frustrated sigh, you leaned back, rubbing your temples.

"Not hiding, are you?"

The voice was familiar—low, smooth, and laced with that teasing edge you had come to expect. You looked up, and there he was, leaning against a nearby shelf with his usual air of casual confidence.

"Mattheo," you said flatly, your heart betraying you with its sudden quickening. "What do you want?"

He straightened, walking over to your table and sitting across from you as if he belonged there. "I want to apologize."

That caught you off guard. "Apologize?"

"For pushing too hard," he said, his tone unusually sincere. "I didn't mean to upset you the other night. I was just... trying to understand you."

You studied him, searching for any hint of mockery, but found none. His dark eyes held yours, steady and earnest, and for the first time, you felt the full weight of his attention without the usual bravado.

"You don't need to understand me," you said softly, looking down at your hands. "I'm not some puzzle for you to solve."

"I know," he said, leaning forward, his voice gentler now. "But I wasn't lying when I said you're different. You're not like anyone else, and I can't stop thinking about you."

His confession sent a ripple of warmth through you, but you pushed it down, refusing to let your guard slip so easily. "Mattheo, I don't fit into your world. I'm not like the others. I don't... play games."

"Who says this is a game to me?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.

You opened your mouth to respond but faltered when you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. Mattheo Riddle, infamous for his confidence and charm, was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

"Why me?" you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Because you don't care about who I am," he said simply. "You don't see me as Riddle, the Slytherin troublemaker, or the guy with a dark family legacy. You see me. And I don't think anyone else ever has."

His honesty left you breathless. You had spent so long hiding, building walls to keep people out, and now here was Mattheo, tearing them down with every word.

"I don't know if I can be what you're looking for," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I'm not good at... this."

Mattheo's lips curled into a small, genuine smile. "You don't have to be. I'm not asking for perfection. I just want to get to know you—really know you. And maybe... you'll let me show you who I am, too."