A heart beneath the mark

17. Part

The chill in the air was biting as I stepped out onto the Astronomy Tower. The wind whipped at my hair, pulling it across my face, but I didn't mind. It was cold, yes, but it was also a welcome relief. It matched the turmoil in my chest—the knot that wouldn't loosen, the swirl of everything I couldn't get out of my head.

I pulled my sweater tighter around myself, trying to ignore the cold creeping through the thin fabric. I hadn't been able to sleep for hours, and it seemed like nothing could drown out the thoughts that refused to stay quiet. Thoughts of everything I'd been trying to ignore—how I couldn't eat, how Cho had practically begged me to talk about it, how my own reflection looked like someone else these days.

But the worst thought of all kept creeping back to the surface: Mattheo Riddle.

I'd spent the last few days trying to avoid him, pretending it was easy. But it wasn't. Every time we crossed paths in the corridors, I felt his eyes linger, and something in me twisted, unsure of whether to fight it or simply accept it. And that conversation—that conversation—still hung over me like a weight I couldn't shake off. The way he'd asked, so casually, why I hadn't eaten that day, as if it was something that could just be brushed off. The way his words had been so sharp, yet almost... detached.

I sat down on the cold stone ledge, looking up at the stars, but the sky felt distant, as if even the stars had turned their backs on me. I couldn't make sense of it. Why had I told him? Why had I let him in, even for a moment? And why did it hurt so much?

The sound of footsteps behind me snapped me out of my thoughts, and I froze. My heart skipped, but I didn't turn around. There was no point.

I knew it was him. The familiar presence, the dark aura that always seemed to shadow him—Mattheo. His footsteps slowed as he stopped a few feet away, and I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, sharp and assessing, but not cold this time.

"Couldn't sleep either?" His voice broke the silence, low and casual, but there was something in it—something different from the usual arrogance. I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I just stared ahead, pretending I didn't hear him. Maybe if I didn't say anything, he'd go away.

But of course, he didn't. He never did.

I could feel him sit down beside me, though not too close. We both kept our distance, our space marked by the gap of cold stone between us. He didn't say anything for a while, and neither did I. The wind rustled through the leaves below, and the only sound was the distant murmur of the castle.

"Why did you say that, Bennett?" His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant, but there was no edge to it. Just curiosity.

I swallowed, trying to keep my face impassive. Don't let him in. Don't let him see that you care about any of this. I wanted to say something sharp, something that would put distance between us, but the words got stuck.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered, staring at the stars again, hoping the vast emptiness of the sky would swallow me whole.

"That night," he pressed. "You... you were upset. I didn't mean to push you like that, alright?" There was an odd vulnerability in his voice now, something that made my chest tighten despite myself.

I blinked, caught off guard. Was he apologizing?

I shook my head, though I knew he couldn't see it. "Why does it even matter to you?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I regretted them instantly. I wasn't supposed to care. I wasn't supposed to care about anything he said or did.

He didn't answer right away, and for a few moments, we just sat there in uncomfortable silence. The air felt heavier now, the distance between us palpable. But then, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again.

"I don't know." His voice was low, almost like he was thinking out loud. "But it does. I didn't mean to... make things worse for you."

I let out a frustrated sigh and pulled my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them. "You didn't make anything worse. It's not like it matters."

I could feel his gaze on me again, but I refused to look at him. You don't care. You don't. I repeated the mantra in my head. We're not friends. We don't even like each other.

And yet, his presence felt strangely comforting, even though it shouldn't. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, but not in the way it had been before. There was something different about this moment, something unspoken that hung in the air.

Eventually, he let out a long breath, and I glanced at him, catching a glimpse of his profile in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were softer, more vulnerable than I'd ever seen.

"I know I've been a jerk to you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for that."

I couldn't help but look at him then, my heart skipping. Why is he apologizing now? The words were so... foreign coming from him. I was so used to the insults, the cutting remarks, the indifferent cruelty. But this? This was something else entirely.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in my throat. He was looking at me with a sincerity that made me uncomfortable. It made everything inside me stir, things I wasn't ready to confront.

Instead, I just nodded, my gaze dropping to the stone beneath me.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It's fine." It wasn't fine. It would never be fine. But I didn't know what else to say.

We sat there for a long time, side by side but worlds apart, as the stars above us burned bright and indifferent to everything down here. Neither of us spoke again. We didn't need to. There was a quiet understanding between us now, something that neither of us was ready to acknowledge, but it was there.

In the silence, I realized something strange: I didn't mind his company. And that scared me more than anything.

But I wasn't about to admit that.