INTERMISSION (slytherin boys imagines)

The Truth~MR

The second she stepped through the door, I felt it. That shift in the air—like the whole room took a breath and held it. The buzz of conversation didn't stop, not for everyone else, but for me, everything dulled. Like sound had dropped to a low hum. Like the fire snapped louder, harder for her.

I didn't need to see her to know. My body already knew—tightened shoulders, heart contracting a little harder against my ribs, hands itching with something I couldn't name. Something like anger. Something like regret.

I kept still, arms crossed, leaning against the stone near the bar like I hadn't just been shocked alive. I told myself I wouldn't look. But my eyes found her anyway. They always fucking did.

Same walk. Same don't-look-at-anyone gaze. Same way she carried herself like gravity was bent around her. She hadn't changed—at least not in the ways I hoped she would. She walked past me without a glance to the bar. Like I wasn't even here.

Like I was nothing.

She ordered something light, I think but I couldn't hear her voice. And that pissed me off more than I expected. I Wanted to hear her voice.

I shifted, letting my boots scuff against the floor louder than they needed to. She didn't turn around. Just waited for her drink, calm as you please.

Right. That how she was going to act.

I pushed off the wall, taking my time as I walked over. No rush. No emotion. Just casual, deliberate steps like I wasn't burning from the inside out.

She didn't even look at me, even when I stopped beside her. Close enough to smell the familiar scent of her; cool like the forrest after rain, something sharp beneath it. I hated that I remembered. Hated that it hadn't changed.

"You've got nerve." I said, my voice came out lower than I meant, almost rough.

She finally turned. Slowly. Met my gaze without hesitation, like she'd been expecting this exact moment since she walked in.

"I could say the same," she retorts, eyes unreadable. Not cold, Not warm. Just... Watching.

I looked at her for a moment—really looked. She was the same, but not. Older, maybe. Tired in a way you'd miss if you weren't paying attention. But I was.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I muttered, shaking my head once.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why? Thought I'd disappeared forever?"

"Thought you wanted to."

Her drink slid across the bar and she caught it without looking, fingers curling around the glass like it was her balance.

"I did," She said. Simple. Honest. And it stung more than it should have.

"Then why come back?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead she took a sip of her drink. Watched the foam cling to the rim before setting the glass down with quiet precision.

"I could ask you the same thing," She said, tilting her head slightly. "You're still here. Still clinging to this place like it means something."

"It does."

"To you, maybe."

I laughed under my breath, the sound clearly bitter. "Right. Because nothing means anything to you, does it?"

Her jaw tightened a just a bit. I caught it. That little flicker of something under the surface. Good. I wanted to get under her skin; wanted her to feel a fraction of what I did. Wanted to see her feel something—anything other than that mask of indifference.