Mattheo Riddle - Imagines/OneShot

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Word Count: 1023

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Mattheo Riddle never raised his voice when he lied.

That was the most dangerous thing about him.

He spoke softly, like every word mattered. As if each confession would cost him something sacred. He trusted her with pieces of himself no one else was allowed to touch.

Y/N learned early on that loving Mattheo felt like being chosen.

And she clung to that feeling like a prayer.

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He comes to her late at night, always when the castle is asleep.

He never knocks.

He simply appears–leaning against the doorframe of her dormitory corridor, shadows clinging to him like they know him. His expression is unreadable, mouth tilted into that familiar half-smile that makes her stomach flip.

"You awake?" he murmurs.

She always is.

For him.

Y/N follows him around without question. She follows him to empty classrooms, forgotten corridors, abandoned staircases. He pulls her in close when footsteps echo nearby, presses her to walls - his chest close to hers, breaths warm against her ear.

"Careful," he whispers. "You wouldn't want people getting the wrong idea."

She thinks that means he cares.

Sometimes he kisses her – slow, deliberate, devastating. Other times he simply rests his forehead against hers, eyes closed, like the world is too heavy and she is the only place he can set it down.

"You're good to me," he tells her, voice low.

"You're... steady."

She glows from it.

Steady sounds like love.

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It starts small.

A favor.

"Can you grab something for me from the library?"

"Can you distract McGonagall?"