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lightseoul · 3 days ago

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CHAPTER 8 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.1k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of food, so much violence. like so much y'all but it's Canon-typical violence, references to (quirk) supremacist views, a (somewhat) graphic depiction of mental health issues

a/n. the content of this chapter is one of the reasons why i almost didn't start this series in the first place. as it turns out, action scenes are deceptively difficult to write—i struggled at first, but i eventually got into the groove of things and found it so fun! so much shit will go down, and i hope you find yourselves at the edge of your seats while reading this <3 please, please let me know what you think and don't be a stranger! enjoy :')

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the blaring sound of the alarm clock.

You scramble to reach and turn it off where it stands on the nightstand—quickly, before it wakes Bakugou up—a sigh of relief wracking your body when you manage to do so, a sudden stillness instantly enveloping the room.

That relief doesn’t last very long, though, because you’re once again shot with panic when you look up toward the foot of the bed, only to see the man himself already standing in front of it—fully awake.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, clutching your chest, “You scared me.”

“It’s too early to be this scared, princess,” is his pointed retort, a small hint of teasing underlying his tone. You shoot him a pained smile but don’t say anything back, not finding the courage within you to admit that your hands may or may not be already shaking in anticipatory anxiety.

Instead, you watch him as he does mobility stretches in place, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth as he warms up his joints and rotates his limbs. He invites you to join him a moment after, and you do, if not in an attempt to ground yourself then in preparation for any physical combat that may ensue later on.

Not much is said between the two of you as you go on to prepare for the day, maneuvering silently within his bedroom and taking turns in the bathroom. He lets you get changed first, and you shimmy yourself in your most comfortable office clothes, finding almost immediately that describing them as ‘comfortable’ might be a stretch. Least suffocating, maybe—but the instructions were clear that you had to look the part, at least so that you could get past the guards and enter the building.

Apparently, you need to infiltrate the place organically to buy you as much time to position yourselves without raising suspicion. Mystically showing up on the premises with a man who will vanish not a moment later wouldn’t exactly be a common sight for the employees manning the CCTVs.

Well, then. You guess your long-sleeved blouse, slacks, and regrettably heeled shoes will have to do.

Not even five minutes after you step out of the restroom so he can get dressed himself, Bakugou emerges in a similarly dark, wrist-length shirt and trousers, and you’re about to comment on this unfamiliar yet…welcome sight when your eyes catch his notoriously unruly head of hair—magically pushed back, revealing his forehead.

Now, of all the things that strangely popped into your mind upon seeing him—handsome definitely wasn’t one of them—what you end up blurting is: “How the hell did you style it that fast?”

“Huh?” he responds absentmindedly, fiddling with his sleeves as he seats himself on the edge of the bed opposite from you. “Style what?”

You gesture towards his head. “Your hair. Hasn’t it always been a little hard to control?”

Folding his sleeves right up to his forearm, he then turns to face you, a borderline sheepish expression etched on his features. “’s some extra strong gel. Best Jeanist gifted it to me for my birthday.”

Ah.

“Yeah, well, it suits you,” you offer honestly, averting your gaze just as you think he is about to flash you a smirk. And before he can say anything: “I’m guessing you’re ditching the gauntlets for today?”

He nods, although he’s suddenly looking far from pleased. “No choice,” he intones, “My firepower will take a hit, but I can still get by without them.”

“Enough to kick some ass?”

A grin. “Always.”

You let Bakugou’s well-earned confidence infect you as you finish getting ready together, stuffing your respective bags with things you can let go of in case they get caught up in the fight, before finally walking out of your little sanctuary and into the living room. The twins are on you in an instant, installing your trackers on your chests where they’ve since taken residence for the past two weeks, pulling away without a single word afterward. You mutter a quick thanks, before walking toward Bakugou on the couch and asking him what he wants for breakfast.

“Something light,” is his answer. “Don’t wanna be bogged down by a heavy stomach.”

You end up getting him french toast with a protein shake—whether or not that was light for a man his size, you have no idea—while ordering a croissant and iced tea for yourself. You don’t bother asking the twins if they want to get something as well—opting to just get them breakfast sandwiches and coffee instead. You heard a stomach grumble just a few minutes ago—and it definitely wasn’t yours or Bakugou’s.

The food arrives just as quickly as it did the night prior, and you waste no time digging in. To your pleasant surprise, the twins accept the offering, albeit too begrudgingly for your taste. Maybe letting them starve was the smarter move for today’s final mission, but as you watch them scarf everything down in a matter of minutes, you decide that that’s a trade-off you’re willing to overcompensate for.

By the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up, it’s a few minutes before 6 AM, and you resolve that as far as D-Days are concerned, the start of this one is going swimmingly well.

Right up to the moment Kouki materializes and grabs Bakugou’s wrist but not yours.

“Change of plans.”

At that, you instantly freeze just as Bakugou barks: “The fuck do you mean change of plans?”

That doesn’t seem to faze the teleporter, who instead regards the pro-hero with a stern, almost chastising look. “You’re needed in one of the schools. You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you snap out of it. “But you said—”

“It’s a direct order,” he spews, now looking at you with such intensity that has your blood turning cold. “One that you have to follow. Unless…”

“Unless, what?” growls Bakugou.

He smiles. “Unless you want us to call off the entire operation and teleport where you can’t find us.”

Fuck.

Beside you, Bakugou must be thinking the exact same thing, because he suddenly goes quiet.

Kouki harrumphs. “That’s what I thought.”

Neither Bakugou nor you say anything else in protest after that, acutely aware of the gamble that has to be made.

It’s clear as day: either you follow the order and divide and possibly conquer, or resist and lose them altogether.

Perhaps for good.

Armed with the explosives Bakugou made himself, no less.

You chance a glance at the pro-hero, and the impassive look on his face is enough to tell you what he’s decided on.

You’re running out of time and you also need to say something, you know that. Otherwise, he’s going to think there’s something more important to the two of you than seeing the operation you’ve been devotedly ‘working on’ to fruition.

Something beyond just two lovers ensuring each other’s safety.

Forcing yourself to meet Kouki’s steely gaze, you finally relent and nod. “How’s the rest of us gonna get to our post, then?”

“I’ll come back right after I teleport him,” comes his speedy answer, seemingly satisfied with your newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll take you three to where Masaki is waiting near the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“He’s already there?” you can’t help but ask, suddenly nervous at the mention of the kingpin.

You still don’t know his quirk.

“Yes, and he mustn’t be kept waiting,” Kouki says cuttingly, before turning to regard Bakugou, whose wrist he’s still holding. “We’ve to get going.”

“Alright,” the pro-hero grits out, shrugging off the man’s hold, “Just—give me a sec.”

For a second, you think he’s going to head to the restroom to pee before the ‘mission’ starts, but then he’s stepping towards you, and you barely manage to stop yourself from tilting away when he leans into your space, immediately followed by a firm grip on your shoulders. Despite yourself, you gulp.

Bakugou lets out a long exhale. He’s not looking at you—you note—gaze directed towards the floor. You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him like this.

Like he’s actually…scared.

“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. You almost stumble at the sheer intensity of them.

Almost.

In spite of that—and you don’t know how you do it—you manage to smile at him, as genuinely as you can.

“What are you so worried about?” you tease, voice soft enough for just him to hear. “I’ll be okay.”

To your dismay, that doesn’t make Bakugou laugh—countenance still grim—but his features do soften. So minutely, the change is almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“How can you be so sure?” he actually whispers back.

That makes you grin, the answer already at the tip of your tongue.

“Because you don’t date losers.”

Now, at your quip, you expected him to at least smile. Maybe chuckle, if that punchline came out funnier than you intended it to.

But what you absolutely didn’t expect was for him to grab you by the neck and pull you into a kiss.

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, body rigid in utter surprise, but you eventually relax into his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso as he deepens the kiss. A few more seconds pass by with your lips interlocked before he finally pulls away, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Be careful,” he eventually gets out a beat later, and you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the three pairs of eyes watching you.

Kouki’s especially.

“You, too,” you call out to Bakugou as he lets go and returns to the spot beside Kouki, who once again takes his gauntlet-less wrist.

“We’ll be off, then,” the old man announces, and just like that, they’re gone.

Kouki returns—alone—in record time, an inexplicable expression written on his face. You debate whether or not to ask him how things are at Bakugou’s location, ultimately deciding against it when the man impatiently beckons you to move. You promptly approach and hold onto him just as the twins adjust their portkeys without much complaint, all the while trying to ignore the churning sensation at the pit of your stomach.

The borderline nauseating feeling doesn’t get any better as you get whisked away from Bakugou’s apartment unit in a matter of seconds, suddenly finding yourself sat as you emerge in what you think is an SUV—judging by the size of its interior. You squirm in your seat—too caught up in the discomfort of being squished between Kouki and Omiru in the back—to notice it.

But then you look up, and when you do, the churning from earlier stops and your stomach drops entirely.

From where he’s conveniently plastered in the driver’s seat, Masaki turns to fully face you, smiling.

Or at least you think he is, based solely on the upturn of his lips.

Because hiding his gaze is what seems to be hardened, high-tech goggles.

Goggles that completely block your view of his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You vaguely register Masaki thanking Kouki for bringing the three of you to him, and you think Kouki must’ve teleported away judging from the faint swell in wiggle room at your sides. But you couldn’t recall when that was exactly, and this very thought sends another shot of panic through you, the taste of bile now blooming in your throat.

You know what you have to do.

Clenching your eyes closed, you center your attention on the primary emotion you’re feeling—fear, unmistakable fear—and pull.

Instantly, you feel your facial muscles relax, cautious enough to let the change appear slowly—both in your face and in your frame.

The last thing you need is to inadvertently confirm any suspicion about your quirk.

Even if it means using a huge chunk of today’s reservoir on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter open, and you’re once again met with the sight of Masaki, whose torso is now turned towards you.

Shit.

You scramble for something to say.

“I-isn’t it a bit too early?” you ask, averting your gaze toward the car window. “Is the Prime Minister even around at this hour?”

You don’t get to see Masaki’s reaction to your sudden question—you wouldn’t be able to study his eyes anyway—but you hear him shuffle in his seat, turning back to face forward. “Yes, he’s expecting a visitor.”

A million questions come up in your head—how he even knows that information is one of them—but what you end up asking is: “How about the rest?”

That must’ve been the right query to ask, because Masaki hums in what you think is approval. “People will be there, Y/N. When the Prime Minister’s around, most of the employees are expected to be present.”

You guess that makes sense.

You don’t say anything else after that, opting to peer at Masaki through the rearview mirror instead. To your surprise, he shifts his head towards the very same mirror, and you’re almost sure he’s looking straight back at you.

He smiles again. This time, a little too knowingly.

“Is there something—” he starts, before trailing off and pointing to his eyepiece. “Oh, this?”

You bristle. Still, you feign ignorance. “Huh?”

“You seem to have been staring at my glasses.”

You let your brows furrow, as if in confusion. “I…don’t think I was?”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” Omiru suddenly spits at you from the side, and you startle.

“What the—”

“Now, now, Omiru,” scolds Masaki with that placating tone of his. “Y/N might’ve been lying to us but we still have a mission to finish.”

You blanch. “Lying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” comes the leader’s quiet response, who’s watching the scene unfold behind him through the mirror. “It’s a pity our surveillance men took so long to notice, how you had us acting strangely, that day we met.”

Masaki cocks his head to the side, before: “Your quirk works via eye contact, doesn’t it?”

You stiffen.

“Thought so,” he concludes, and you bite back the urge to close your eyes in defeat. It’s too early to give up.

“Don’t worry, though,” he adds on after a beat, finally bringing the engine to life. “Nothing will happen as long as you cooperate and use luck when I tell you to.”

…Luck.

Did he just say luck?

Your eyes must’ve widened a bit at what he just said, because he continues. “Ah, Bakugou?” he asks, and suddenly you’re hit with the guilt of not thinking about the pro-hero.

Especially when he says the next thing.

“Like I said,” Masaki drawls, “As long as you cooperate, no one gets harmed.”

A pause.

“Even him.”

Your question gets answered as soon as you stop at the guard house.

Masaki’s quick to take off the goggles before rolling down his window, greeting the primary security guard with such innocence you definitely couldn’t have guessed he was on his way to an assassination if you based on just the encounter alone.

The guard flashes him an easy grin as he greets back, before bringing the walkie-talkie that’s velcroed on his shoulder closer to his mouth. “Masaki Kento of the Korean Consulate, heading towards Building C. I repeat, Masaki Kento to Building C.”

A bunch of static emanates from the device, immediately followed by a robotic voice. “Copy that. Let him in.”

At that, Masaki salutes him a thanks, which the guard returns fervently. You don’t even get to catch a glimpse of the former’s eyes before he’s got the window up and the eyepiece swiftly back on his face.

“Let me guess,” you pipe up as Masaki rounds a curb and drives more slowly as you enter the grounds, “You’re a consul and these two are your domestic bodyguards.”

“Yes,” Masaki readily confirms, “That is correct.”

That explains why he’s almost never present in the headquarters.

“Huh,” is the only thing you can muster, focus now trained on any human that you pass by.

The less they are in number, the better—is what Bakugou said. So far, most if not all of them are decked out in attire guards would normally wear, which you think isn’t much of an unfamiliar sight in this estate.

Eventually, you arrive at the front of what you believe is Building C, stepping out of the vehicle with your handbag in tow a moment later, smoothing the crinkled lines of your slacks. You pretend not to pay attention as an again bare-faced Masaki hands over the keys to the valet, who is off with the vehicle in seconds to what he said was the multi-story car park.

You don’t dare utter a word as you trail behind the man carrying a bulky briefcase you’re positive contains nothing but bombs, with the twins walking in step behind you. You keep your eyes fixed on the staircase as you do, painfully aware of how your nerves are coming back alive, and this time, somewhat more fiercely than before.

You know better than to waste another ounce of your quirk on yourself, though.

And so with ragged breath, you trudge on with anxiety creeping back up your spine, up until you’re met with another guard at the entrance, who makes a quick work of identifying the four of you. You’re introduced as Masaki’s new personal assistant, while the others just reiterate their established titles. The guard then grants you entry, but not before instructing you to register your name at the reception desk.

Masaki thanks the man on your behalf, and then finally—you enter.

The second that you do, though, you can tell something’s wrong.

For one, right behind the desk that you were ordered to approach, was nobody. Not one receptionist.

Nor are there janitors, guests, employees, or anyone that could possibly be in the Prime Minister’s Office at this hour.

Masaki, who just put on the goggles again, must have thought the same thing, because you catch him physically tensing, like this wasn’t part of the plan.

You’re about to ask him—genuinely—why the place seems to be deserted, when it happens.

Something fast lurches from the shadows in your peripheral vision, and you stumble back just in time to see Hiroto slammed to the ground by no other than Kirishima.

The male twin lets out a yelp in pain as the hardened hero wrestles him in his grip, all at the same time as a long string of tape suddenly fills your vision. You look up, and sure enough, there’s Sero swinging right into Omiru foot first, hitting the woman square in the jaw. She staggers violently backward, right into you—but the collision doesn’t happen, because a hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere and you’re pulled to the side.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as you let yourself get forcefully dragged, but it’s instantly replaced with terror when you look up to see Masaki’s backside instead. From a distance, you hear Kirishima’s voice call out your name, and it snaps you out of your fear-driven trance. Renewed with unbridled strength, you put as much of your weight as you can on your soles and try to wrangle your hand out of his grip, but it’s too strong.

Masaki manages to haul you toward the end of the hallway, throwing you right into an elevator and punching the close button before you can pick yourself back up on your feet. You barely see him pressing the top-most floor before he turns around and grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you hard against the wall.

“You told them about us, didn’t you,” he seethes, manic, but you don’t dare say anything. At your silence, he lifts you a breadth’s hair away from the surface only to slam you back against it. You can’t help it—this time, you cry, a sharp pain sent straight to your back.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you’re just about to knee him in the balls when the elevator dings. You wait for Masaki to get distracted and look away so you can deliver the blow, but it doesn’t happen. His gaze seemingly remains fixed on yours even as he lugs the two of you out of the box, grip unrelenting as he approaches the nearest fire alarm device, smashing the glass before pulling down the lever.

Almost instantaneously, tens of alarms ring out not just on your floor but on the ones below you, and you can only watch in horror as the numbers on top of the elevators freeze.

“Kouki,” Masaki rasps into his earpiece, his two hands busy holding you at arm’s length. “Kouki, do you copy?”

You growl, a surge of indignation washing over your entire body at him blatantly ignoring you. You extend your leg from underneath in an attempt to trip and then pin him down, but he takes notice in the nick of time and staves off your attack.

“Kouki,” he tries again, even as you manage to ram a punch into his stomach, “Answer me!”

You grit your teeth, feeling your limbs quaking as you fight to fend off his grip. Still, your mind wanders as to why he’s calling Kouki now, of all times.

What, so he can teleport him and the twins out of here?

But then he speaks again, and you see crimson red.

“Kouki, kill him now!”

Your body moves before your brain can think—you throw yourself onto Masaki and grab him by the neck. He stumbles backward until he collapses and his back hits the floor, and you take that as an opportunity to immediately straddle him, increasing the pressure on your chokehold. He splutters for a bit, arms flailing and scratching at you, but before you can even think about trying to rip off his eyepiece and potentially taking the upper hand—at least until Kirishima and the rest arrive—he rolls over and has got you pinned under his weight in seconds. He pulls the same move and roughly wraps his hands around your neck, instantly cutting off the air to your lungs. You wheeze, and yet you still struggle even as you feel the last bits of oxygen die out.

He grins at you, and one look at the man’s face tells you he’s gone mad. “You’re on the wrong side of history, Y/N.”

Great, you think to yourself. Those can’t be the last fucking words you hear before you die.

You make one last attempt at seizing his wrist off of you, but—just like many other things in the past five minutes—that doesn’t get to happen, because something flashes in the corner of your eye—so quickly you think you must’ve imagined it. You squint, and in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have, because, in the second that you do, Masaki is kicked off of your body and slammed straight into the far wall.

Shellshocked, you crawl backward with your forearms as fast as you can, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

But that’s when you see him.

You can only watch in disbelief as Bakugou propels himself across the room in a matter of a millisecond, towering over Masaki’s body instantaneously. “Get back!” Bakugou shouts, and it takes you a beat to realize that he’s talking to you.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With the little, remaining strength you can muster, you manage to stand back up and hobble towards the corner of the room, farthest from where the two are currently engaging in a fistfight.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Masaki’s holding up better than you expected him to, and the very same realization must’ve dawned on Bakugou, because the pro-hero swiftly switches gears and starts detonating small explosions toward the man’s direction.

But then the weirdest thing happens.

Instead of being hit by Bakugou’s blasts, Masaki absorbs them—right where the combustions meet his body—

And then, in the blink of an eye, releases it—almost twice in size—straight into Bakugou.

You hear the pro-hero curse just as he barely manages to dodge the hit. The discharge reaches the wall, leaving scorched marks and massive craters on the surface.

This is bad.

And you don’t even have to look at Bakugou to know that.

Still, the pro-hero presses on, and you stand there—restless—as the fight resumes in front of you. Bakugou’s stopped using his quirk to attack altogether, only using it to expertly maneuver himself in the air. Masaki’s fending off the strikes well enough, even landing a few hits here and there. You try to hold eye contact with him—but it’s no use. He’s still wearing the goggles, and you’ve studied them long enough this morning to be fairly sure that it’ll take more than just a perfect kick to the head to have it taken off.

That’s when it dawns on you.

You can’t manipulate Masaki. That’s for sure.

But you can manipulate Bakugou, who—based on what you can see—is becoming more and more frantic by the minute.

No fucking time to hesitate.

“Bakugou!” you shout, and the man doesn’t even glance in your direction, only shouting back: “What?!”

“Look at me!” you yell, pupils darting in record speed as you follow Bakugou’s volatile line of vision. You weren’t about to miss him when he does.

He doesn’t question your request, but he doesn’t immediately look at you either, too wrapped up in hitting Masaki and not getting hit back.

But then Masaki’s suddenly got him pinned against the wall across you, and you find yourself immediately face to face with him. You scream, “Now!”

Exactly right on cue, Bakugou’s gaze drifts from Masaki’s face to yours, and when you lock eyes, you pull.

Manic adrenaline to laser-sharp acuity.

Acuity that he’s always had since you met him in high school.

As hard as you fucking can—and with all that you have left—you pull.

And just like that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes. You can only watch as the metaphorical gears in his head seem to come alive and shift—just as he throws Masaki off of him with unmatched force.

But then he does the unimaginable.

He starts bombarding the man with explosions—one blast after another, not allowing him the chance to even sit up and shield himself—and you stare in outright shock as Masaki’s body glows redder and redder.

Just as you think Bakugou’s completely lost his mind with the series of attacks, he launches himself from the wall and dives into Masaki, grabbing the man’s arm, tugging him to the nearest door with one hand and yanking the slab of wood open with the other.

And only as Bakugou throws Masaki into what you think is a janitor’s closet and locks the door behind him does it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Come on!” Bakugo shouts at you as he presses his entire weight against the door—the door that Masaki’s desperately trying to get through. “Help me lock him in!”

You look around the room for something you can use, your eyes immediately landing on a chair and a moderately-heavy-looking desk. You waste no time grabbing the two pieces of furniture and hauling them toward Bakugou as fast as you can. Taking the chair first, you tilt it by the backrest and lodge it underneath the doorknob until it’s secure enough. You then hurriedly drag the desk to the other side and slide it in front of the door, just as Bakugou propels himself upward and out of the way.

You don’t get to do anything else before Bakugou snatches you by your waist and boosts the two of you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing against them shoulder-first. You hold onto him for dear life, wincing at the impact even though Bakugou took most of it.

And you’re glad you did everything the way you just did—because not even a second later, the explosion finally goes off—an eruption so massive that you’re both thrown forward from the sheer magnitude alone, the sound of shattering windows and crumbling walls booming in the background. Bakugou loses his balance for a second and you shriek, but he manages to get back into thrusting you into the air with his detonations, carrying you securely in his arms until you reach the ground, gently letting go of you when you do.

The moment your toes touch the concrete floor, though, you’re quick to jump on your feet and hobble away from him.

“Hey—”

Quickly, you tell yourself as you feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears at the corners of your eyes. Before it’s too late.

But you don’t get to go far enough because Bakugou grabs your wrist, spinning you to look at him. “The fuck do you think you’re go—”

He cuts himself off, the scowl that was just carved on his features instantly falling when he sees your face. “Are you—crying?”

“N-no,” you choke out, although you know it’s no use denying it. You’re already feeling the all-too-familiar closing-in sensation that comes with you overextending yourself.

“Yes, you are, dumbass,” Bakugou retorts, before bringing up his other hand to lightly touch your cheek. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

At the contact, you clench your eyes closed, fighting down the urge to whimper at the steadily increasing pace at which your heart is irregularly racing.

There’s no doubt about it.

It’s now flooding you—the terror that you’ve secretly been tamping down with your own quirk this entire mission—but especially today.

“Fuck—” you warble, and now you’re sure.

You’re having an anxiety attack.

It all happens in a blur—your brain too muddled with palpable fear to keep track of everything around you—but you vaguely register Bakugou wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he tried to guide your erratic breathing with his.

You remember shaking violently in his hold, gasping for air and barely managing to will yourself to breathe normally as an undercurrent of dizziness coursed through your veins.

You recall sweating bullets but being cold to the touch, and Bakugou ripping out one of his sleeves to use to wipe away your perspiration. It didn’t really help.

And you don’t know how much time passes with you fighting the nausea on top of everything, even as you heard the distant sound of police sirens, but it does—it somehow does—eventually and strangely finding yourself carried away home.

Home to Bakugou’s.

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suugarbabe · 17 days ago

Text

Origin Stories

(part five)

summary: you and matty are both at the castle for the holidays. you're excited to show him new things; he's excited to have you to himself for a while. but of course that doesn't last forever. reality has to come crashing back at some point doesn't it?

word count: 8k

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of blood, mentions of physical violence, draco being an asshole

an: big thanks to my love, my hub, my favorite @musingsofahufflepuff for reviewing and editing when needed <3

His heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since you first said it. “We’re going to spend Christmas together.” Except it wasn’t just Christmas. It was the whole two weeks of holiday. Christmas. His birthday. New Year’s. All with you.

And you’re his best friend.

So it was fine. Totally and completely fine. Everything was going to be fine.

And that’s what he told himself over and over again on the walk back to the castle. And that’s what was going through his mind when he dropped you off at your dorm, stating he’d see you at breakfast the next morning.

And that’s what he kept telling himself until he fell asleep, dragon held close to his chest in the silence of his dorm, Enzo’s snoring back in Kensington.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but it was still dark when he woke. He took his time getting ready, pulling on simple black jeans and a muggle band t-shirt. A gift he’d gotten himself during one of his solo rendezvous to muggle London. All items, of which, he hides at the bottom of his trunk, lest his mother find them and Avada him for being a blood traitor.

Mattheo made his way down towards the kitchens, finding the appropriately stacked barrels and knocking as you had taught him. The door to the Hufflepuff dorm rolled open, the few stray students staring wide-eyed. Ignoring them, Matty found a lounge chair that looked particularly inviting and sat down to wait for you to wake up.

Coming out of your dorm you were slightly startled to see a boy seemingly waiting for you. His head lulled on the back of the chair, making his curls splay out across the back. “Matty?” He jolted awake at the sound of your voice, standing quickly and rubbing his eyes with his fingers, “Hmm? Yeah, yes erm, finally ready are you?”

You huffed an amused laugh, “Finally ready? How long have you been out here? How did you get in?” Mattheo shrugged, “You told me how to get in last year, remember?” You looked at him curiously, “You were paying attention?” Mattheo nodded, falling in step as you started toward the exit, “I pay attention to everything you say to me.”

A warmth spread in your chest, surely dusting your cheeks as well. “I’m sure not everything…hey, you avoided a question, sir. How long were you waiting?” You saw Mattheo begin to gnaw on his lip, shoulders lifting the slightest bit with his whispered answer, “Just before daylight.”

“Mattheo!” you shoved his shoulder, “no wonder you fell back asleep.” Mattheo scoffed, running a hand through his curls, “I did not fall asleep I was…resting my eyes.” You couldn’t help but laugh, Matty soon following suit.

You continued to tease, and he continued to deny, until you made it up to the great hall. Mattheo leads you both towards the slytherin table, which is the only one without a single student. “Being a bit seclusive, aren’t we, Matty?” He sits down across from you, grabbing a cup to begin tea, “I prefer to call it, ‘avoiding those who think I’ve opened the chamber of secrets’.”

Grimacing slightly you give an awkward nod, “Right, yeah. Sorry.” Mattheo shakes his head, “S’fine, the halls at the end of term seemed to always clear out for me, so I was annoyingly on time to all my finals.”

This made you laugh, you taking a glance at the other students behind during holiday. A particular group of students caught your eye, “Seems like Potter and his lap dogs are behind for Christmas, too.” Mattheo’s eyebrows shot up, a smirk of a grin gracing his features, “Did you just talk poorly about other students? Not very Hufflepuff of you.”

You shrug with a shy smile, “They’re kind of annoying.” Mattheo turns and looks behind him before facing you again, “Granger’s okay sometimes.” You quirked an eyebrow, trying to hide the twinge of something pulling in your stomach, “Is she now?” You couldn’t help but notice the blush on his cheeks.

Mattheo laughed nervously, “It’s not like that.” He could never tell you he needed help with your present last year. “She was just…nice to me once.” You give him a questioning look, “You can have a crush, Matty. Everyone gets crushes sometimes. I’m sure you two would make a lovely couple with even lovelier hair. Well, one person with lovely hair.”

Mattheo shuddered, “No, no way. That’s not who I have a crush on.”

“Oh! So you do have a crush then, okay. Well tell me who then,” You sat up a little straighter, leaning slightly more toward him. He shook his head vigorously, “No, that’s not…I just mean, erm, if I were to have a crush, which I don’t, it wouldn’t be Granger.”

You smile to yourself, satisfied with his answer; for now. You decide to alter the subject, “So what all did you want to get into during our break, hmm? Explore the castle, pull a prank or two, watch some films?”

Mattheo laughs with a bit of bewilderment, “Pranks? Okay, seriously who are you today - wait, watch what?”

You froze at his question, “A…film? You know what a film is, right?” Mattheo continued to stare at you blankly, “Why would we watch a photograph.”

“Matty, a film…like a television show but…longer.” His curls bounced slightly as he tilted his head again. You groaned, running your hands along your face, “You don’t know what a television show is either do you.”

Mattheo shook his head with a grin, obviously enjoying your slight frustration, “You might as well be Theo right now because you’re basically speaking Italian to me.” You threw a grape, hitting him in the chest, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“But do you not like a challenge, my little badger?” Mattheo caught the next grape you tried to throw and you grumbled. “We’re fixing this. We’re going to fix this today, I have to culture you. Why don’t you go fly on the quidditch grass or something for an hour then meet me back at your dorm.”

“It’s a pitch…how do you know our password?” Mattheo mirrored your actions as you began to stand. Rolling your eyes you both began to walk from the great hall, “I’m with you all near constantly, how would I not know your password.” Mattheo gave a shrug and smirk, starting to follow you down toward the dungeons.

You stopped him abruptly, “No, no. You go pitch or whatever. I’m going this way.” Mattheo pouts slightly, “You meant like right now, right now?” You nodded slowly, “Yes, Matty. Right now, right now.” His pout intensified before stomping down the corridor with crossed arms.

Ignoring his little fit you headed towards the dungeons. As the snake lifted from the ground to reveal the Slytherin entrance you spoke the password quickly. Entering the sea of green; it was eerily quiet. You looked around the empty common room, noticing it seemed like no one was ever there to begin with, everything in its proper place. It kind of gave you the creeps.

You made your way to Mattheo’s dorm, walking in and seeing the beds completely stripped except for one. You were determined to liven up the place.

Mattheo wrapped his quidditch cloak tighter around his body as he pulled his beanie further on his head to cover his ears. Whatever you had planned better had include something warm because flying for an hour in December was the stupidest thing he had willingly agreed to.

As he made down the walkway to his dorm he slowed. He stood in front of his door, pressing his ear to the wood to see if he could hear what you were up to. All he could hear was a low hum of music that repeated itself after a minute or two.

Mattheo gave a shy knock before cracking the door open. “Come in, Matty!” Your voice rang out in almost a sing-song tone, the excitement evident already. Mattheo opened the door fully, his mouth nearly dropping in shock.

What you had done to his room was nothing short of magical, but he was almost certain you hadn’t used any at all.

You had taken one of your lightest sheets and hung it on the wall opposite Mattheo’s bed. Speaking of, you had also stripped his bed of all contents, of which were now arranged on the floor. You seemed to have taken all of the bare pillows from the other boys beds as well and created a makeshift pallet of sorts on the ground.

Above that was a combination of yellow and green sheets that you had turned into a small little blanket tent, an opening in the front facing the sheet hanging on the wall. Both your Hufflepuff and his Slytherin duvets stuffed inside.

“W-what is all this?” Mattheo continued to marvel at how inviting you had somehow made the Slytherin dorms as your hands started moving about to explain every detail to him.

“Okay, so here is our fort. I know it may be a little childish but since you haven’t seen any films before I figured I would give you the whole experience; we got our blankets and pillow pallet and everything so we can be comfortable.

The candles are for the dim lighting so it feels like a real theatre,” Mattheo then noticed all the small candles you had put around the room, “and this is the projector that’s attached to the video player; it’s going to put the movie on the screen.”

Mattheo crouched down next to the two contraptions on the ground, listening to the whirring coming from each. He saw the stream of light that seemed to spray itself onto the sheet on the wall.

He leaned closer, sticking his face right in front of the light to see where everything was coming from when he suddenly felt blinded, reeling back and covering his eyes, “Fucking Salazar.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, “Why the hell would you do that, Matty. Do you look at the sun just because it’s bright?” Mattheo glowered at you for a moment, rubbing his eyes. He started to laugh himself, recognizing the stupidity of his actions.

“You did all this without magic?” Mattheo stared at you with wonder, his eyes shined with a childlike disbelief you hadn’t seen from him before.

You scratched the back of your neck sheepishly, “Well, mostly. There’s no bloody outlets in this whole castle so I had to charm the projector and stuff to work. But the rest is pure muggle ideas.”

“Wicked,” Mattheo crawled into the fort, starting to settle himself in all the comforts you had set up. You sat on the ground next to the projector, pushing different buttons to get the movie started before crawling in and settling next to him.

“Thanks for doing this by the way,” Mattheo glanced over at you from the corner of his eye. You smiled, peeking his way as well, “Of course. Everyone should experience this at least once in their life.”

Mattheo settled in, resting his hands behind his head as the opening credits started to pop on screen, “So what am I watching exactly?” You turned to your side, propping your head up with one hand as you started to explain.

“Okay, so this movie is a holiday classic. It’s American, called Home Alone. The premise is basically that Kevin, the kid, gets left home alone while the rest of the family are going to Paris-”

“They left him there on purpose?!” Mattheo’s heart began to thump quickly, a rage starting to fill his chest at Kevin’s parents. He knew all too well what it felt like to be left alone.

“No, no, not like that,” your smile at the situation started to calm Mattheo, “you’ll see what happens. But basically these two robbers think his house is empty so they go to try and rob it but Kevin’s home, right. So then he pulls all these pranks! And I can’t tell you the rest but I think you’re really gonna like it.”

He did like it. A lot. He thought it was wonderful; all the different traps and pranks and ideas Kevin was able to come up with on his own, and all without magic. He found the other part of the story line just as wonderful. How the mother kept doing everything in her power to get back to him, how she tried trading her most expensive possessions for a simple plane ticket; how she rode with strangers for hours in order to get to her son.

Mattheo thought Kevin was incredibly lucky to have a mother that loved him so much. He had to hide his watering eyes when they were finally reunited and then the rest of the family showed up behind her. He wondered what a happy family Christmas felt like.

When the end credits began to roll you sat up, stretching your arms high above you before turning to him, “So…what’d you think?”

Mattheo plastered on a smile, “I think we need to try that heated door knob prank on Malfoy when he gets back.”

The few days before Christmas you and Mattheo seemed to have the same routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, explore the castle, eat lunch, watch movies through dinner, sneak into the kitchens, drop you off at your dorm. In Mattheo’s mind, it was the best holiday break he’s ever had.

On Christmas Eve you kept the same schedule. When it was your typical time to go down to the kitchens Mattheo found himself wishing you didn’t have to go to your own dorm. He had become accustomed to your company and feeling more happy about holiday things that he just didn’t quite want it to end.

Mattheo watched you gather a few pasties and wrap it in cloth, “Hey, erm, did you maybe want to stay in my dorm tonight? Like in Theo’s bed or something just so..we can wake up on Christmas, erm, together?”

Your beaming smile melted any worries away, “Oh, yes, please that would be so much fun! We can put a movie on the projector and fall asleep to it and everything.” Mattheo nodded, “Sounds perfect.”

And to Mattheo it was perfect. You put on a christmas film, your yellow and black linen standing out strikingly on Theo’s bed next to his. You fell asleep quickly, Mattheo not far behind.

Matty always marveled at the difference in sleep he got at Hogwarts versus his family's manor. But something he’d never experienced was being woken up by his bed vibrating or…shaking?

“Ugh, come on Matty, wake up!!” The bed was not actually vibrating; you were jumping up and down on the edge of Mattheo’s bed. He groaned, turning to his stomach and burying his face into his pillow. He tried to pull on his blankets to cover his head but your weight on the end prevented him.

With a huff he threw back his duvet, “Why are we waking up so early.” With a final jump you sat down on his bed, “Because it’s Christmas!” Mattheo groaned, covering his face with his arm, “I don’t get presents on Christmas, can we sleep just a little longer.”

Your heart shattered, voice small, “I got you one.”

Mattheo sat up then, a guilty frown on his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I got you something too.” Mattheo climbed out of bed, slipping on his loafers, “Cmon, let’s go check the tree. I’m sure your parents sent you things as well.”

You slid off the bed on to your feet, leading the way towards the main Slytherin common room to the large Christmas tree set up in the middle. There were far more gifts than Mattheo expected to see, assuming your family spent a good amount on you this year.

He watched as you seemed to organize everything in to two piles before standing, hands on hips, “Okay that pile is yours, and this is mine.” Mattheo looked to where you first gestured, confused on how there was more than one gift.

Had you bought him multiples? But some of yours had the same wrapping paper as his. What was going on?

“I want to open each others last, okay?” You sat crisscrossed on the ground by your gifts. Mattheo mirrored your position, giving a slow nod. He was still so confused. “Grab the one with little frogs on it first, I think these are from…” you checked the tag on yours, “yep! They’re from Enz. He’s really leaning in to the frog father thing huh.”

Mattheo grabbed his gift with matching paper. You tore yours open, revealing a new set of royal blue suede gloves for winter; you seemed pleased. Mattheo opened his slowly before seeing his friend had gotten him a silk tie with matching colored socks.

Theo had gotten you both gifts as well; you a book titled Quidditch 101 for Dummies, Mattheo received a lovely smelling broom wax. You were opening the two gifts from your parents when Mattheo noticed that he also had a box that matched the wrapping paper they used.

“Did…did your parents get me a gift, too?” Mattheo held the box in his lap, his chest feeling tight as he noticed his eyes seeming to sting. You sat up on your knees then, nodding with vigor. “Yeah, they did! I hope that’s alright…it’s probably something muggle so if you don’t like it don’t feel bad.”

Mattheo delicately unwrapped the gift, trying to not only compose his emotions but also thinking of ways he could thank them for getting him anything at all. Inside were two vintage looking t-shirts. Both adorning what he assumed were muggle punk and rock bands.

“I noticed last year you would wear some stuff like that on our off days of school. Not sure where you found them before but my dad always finds cool vintage stuff so they got you some,” Your smile was a bit shy.

Mattheo was beaming.

“I snuck out,” Mattheo’s response was confusing. He folded the shifts neatly before placing them in the box again, “The summer before first year my mum sent me to Diagon Alley alone to get things for school. Said she couldn’t be bothered or whatever.

So I…snuck off into London. I found this shop with shirts that looked older but really wicked. And people were staring at me with a robe on like I was a freak…I stole a few shirts, wore one out and walked around London before going back. Mum seemed none the wiser.”

You listened silently, only nodding when needed before speaking. “Well I hope these ones are just as good, even though they were purchased legally.”

Mattheos eyes snapped to yours, only to see you smiling. He let out a held breath and smiled, too.

“Okay, saved the best for last. Do you want to open together or one at a time?” You held Mattheos gift on your lap, the shining green paper reflecting the lights of the tree.

Mattheo looked down at your gift to him, the flowery paper a strong contrast to anything anyone would think to give him normally. “Together, I know you’re too excited either way,” his tone was teasing but you agreed quickly.

On your count of three you both tore into your respective gifts, opening the boxes and holding up each item in front of you.

Instantly you brought the material up to your face, not being able to help rubbing your cheek on the soft material. Mattheo had gotten you a Slytherin green cashmere sweater (not too unlike the one you borrowed from Enzo this past fall).

The only differences were that in place of Enzo’s initials on the sleeve of the wrist, were yours. And instead of Enzo’s family crest a different crest appeared. “Matty…I love it,” you hoped your face displayed just how elated you actually were, “but what’s this crest here?”

Matty’s cheeks blushed a deep shade of red, “Erm, it’s…yours. Well, your families. I…looked it up in the library. Madam Pince showed me a section that had every family crest of every student that’s ever attended. That’s your family’s. I figure if you’re gonna wear something Slytherin to support me, might as well be yours instead of Berkshire’s.”

You could feel your grin double, your cheeks nearly aching, “I…can’t believe you did that.” Mattheo only shrugged, looking down shyly, “You always think of thoughtful gifts for me.”

“Like this,” he held up the sweater you had gotten him. A beautifully knit black and yellow quidditch stripe sweater, “I’m sure there’s good meaning for you getting me a sweater in your house colors.”

You gave a shy nod, hoping your meaning was good enough for him, “I know it’s been really tough hanging out with me in my common room since well..the chamber stuff. I figured maybe…if you had something to sort of…blend in? Maybe you wouldn’t get as many looks?”

He could feel his heart flutter, a heat spreading from his chest throughout his arms and to his fingertips as his smile spread across his face, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Mattheo scrambled to throw the sweater on over his sleeping clothes, “So, how do I look?”

You gnawed on your bottom lip to keep control of your smile, Mattheo found it charming. “Positively badger-esque.”

It had been such a rarity for him or his birthday to be celebrated while growing up (it was usually just him and Feindre in the kitchen with a cake Feindre had allowed him to frost on his own) that you being insistent on celebrating Mattheo the last two years seemed…odd.

Yet here he was, sitting at the Slytherin table at lunch time with a cake in front of him (far better frosted than he ever had done) and not only you, but a few other of the students that had stayed behind for the holidays singing him happy birthday.

It was positively the most embarrassed he had ever felt. And he wouldn’t change it for anything else in the world in this moment. He knew you had probably said something to them. Maybe you even threatened them with this new found sass you seemed to find this winter season. But he didn’t care.

You allowed him to open your gift alone, just the two of you, in his common room. You brought two boxes to him and Mattheo’s cheeks flushed. “You didn’t have to-” you cut Mattheo off with a raised hand, “Don’t even start. Just open your gifts.”

A boyish grin filled his features as he tore into the paper. He held them in his hands, running his fingers over the material, “Are these…dragon skin beaters gloves?” You nodded shyly, “There’s some broom wax in there too that smells really good. I know Theo got you some for Christmas but I had gotten this stuff before I knew what he got you.” He grabbed the jar and unscrewed the lid, taking a good sniff, “S'fine. It runs out quickly. It actually does smell good…”

You crossed your arms defensively, “Did you not believe me or something?” Nervously, Mattheo began stammering, “No, that’s not- I just meant..” Your laughter halted his worries, “I’m just kidding. Some old guy helped me pick them out. I was completely lost in that place.”

Mattheo’s eyebrows shot up, “You went into Spintwitches? Wait - How did you get into Hogsmeade?” You shrugged, “That’s for me to know and you to find out later…maybe. Anyway, do you like your gift? Try them on.”

He wiggled his hands in with a smile, his fingers poking through holes before he closed and stretched his fists. He marveled at them, inspecting the material, testing the stickiness of the palm. “The guy said that these are the best ones and the palm has some…sticking solution woven in the to material or whatever to-”

“To help with extra grip on my bat…you bloody genius little badger; these are amazing.” You could feel the heat rise up your neck and over your cheeks at the compliments.

Mattheo picked up the second smaller box, but instead of his name on the tag it was…his dragons? Well it said 'to your dragon'. He looked up and met your eyes that were sparkling with a bit of something he couldn’t quite figure out, “Is this box for dragon?”

“Well it’s his birthday, too- wait…did you name your stuffed dragon…dragon?” Your face wore an expression that appeared to be a mix between confusion and bewilderment.

Mattheo let out a small laugh, “Well yeah…what else would I name him? He’s a dragon.” You placed a hand on your forehead briefly, seemingly trying to organize your thoughts manually, “Matty. Love. You’re supposed to name them.”

He could help but scoff, “Well, why? Who says?”

Merlin this boy was bloody stubborn, “Matty that dragon is like your son! What if Enz had named Mocha just Milk Frog??”

This seemed to only make Mattheo laugh more, waving his hand to dismiss your words, “No, no, you misunderstand. His name is Dragone. With an E at the end.”

You stared at him incredulously, but he only grinned full teeth in return. “You’re a shit, you know that Matty?” He opened his mouth to quip back and you just shook your head, “Nope, no comebacks. Open Dragone’s gift.”

Mattheo tore through the paper, opening the small box to reveal a little crocheted Slytherin sweater vest, a small silver S where the crest would usually go on all the boys’ vests, “You didn’t…” You nodded your head, “I did.”

Without a word Mattheo ran to his dorm. On his way back into the common room you could see him, Dragone in hand. Adjusting the tiny dragon arms through the arm holes and pulling the vest down over its little belly he turned his cherished item towards you, “Look at that, perfect fit.”

You and Mattheo continued to spend the next two days together (as if either of you would spend it with anyone else). It was strange really, having company this time of year.

Not that Mattheo was ever technically alone when he was home for holidays. But he was always lonely.

But at Hogwarts for the holiday, even if he was walking back to his dorm alone, or made it to a meal before you did on the off chance you didn’t walk together, he never felt that same feeling he did back at the manor.

The emptiness. The yearning to talk to someone that wasn’t going to yell at him. Just to be around someone that made him actually feel cared for. You did that for him.

When you said you wanted to have a New Year's celebration, Mattheo was a little apprehensive. You had convinced a few extra people to sing him happy birthday. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to do much more celebrating beyond the two of you.

Thankfully, what he had been hoping for is what you had been planning. He went with you into the kitchens later in the evening on New Years Eve, swiping a small bottle of a bubbly usually reserved for professors at meals while you distracted a house elf. Said house elf let you take a few treacle tarts with you as well and you were forever grateful.

The two of you had set up a little table in front of one of the larger sofas by a fire. You had charmed the painting above the mantel to display the time digitally so you both could keep track of when midnight hit.

Mattheo had poured two glasses of the bubbly drink and handed you one before taking one for himself. “Aren’t we a little young to be drinking this, Matty?” You gave the substance a sniff before pulling a face, “it doesn’t even smell enjoyable.”

Matty copied your actions, his face displaying the same displeasure yours had moments before, “It can’t be too bad if McGonagall drinks it at dinner. Just give it a try.”

Reluctantly you followed his direction. Giving yourself a sip and letting the dry and sour taste hit your tongue before spitting it back into the glass, “Yuck! No, sorry not for me.”

Mattheo had apparently the same thought process as he grabbed your glass and set both yours and his back down on the table. “Okay, not one of my better ideas.”

“Oh are some of your ideas actually good ones?” You teased. Earning a small smirk from Mattheo’s lips, “Be nice to me, badger, or I won’t share the backup I also swiped.” From behind the sofa Mattheo produced a bottle of pumpkin juice.

You waited for him to graciously empty your previous glasses and refill them with a more satisfying drink for the both of you before grabbing your glass and sticking out your tongue. Mattheo mirrored the action.

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence. You watched the flames lick against the logs in the fireplace, wondering if they were actually burning at all or if it were more magic that seemed to touch every inch of the castle.

“I wonder what the others are up to. Theo and Enzo I mean,” Mattheo's voice broke the silence and you turned to look at him. He continued watching the fire, his eyebrows knit slightly together.

You crossed your legs up on the couch, “Well what are all of you pureblood usually doing for New Years Eve?” Your tone was slightly teasing but also held a hint of curiosity.

Mattheo turned to you, “Well, we mighty and noble purebloods,” his tone dripping with sarcasm, “we usually have a winter ball or gala or whatever the bloody hell phrasing they want to use between Christmas and New Years Eve. Which is when I socked Malfoy in the face last year.”

You tried to stifle your giggle, but it made Matty smile. “After the big fancy party it’s typically up to each family what they want to do. We’ve had dinner with Theo and his parents before. Usually the Malfoys are always there since Aunt Cisy, Draco’s mum, is sisters with mine. But nothing fancy.

“I usually go to my room after dinner. Just hang out in there alone until I hear the big manor clock hit midnight. Then I go to sleep.”

You were frowning slightly by the end of his explanation. For what reason he couldn’t seem to figure out. “What do muggles do?”

You sipped your pumpkin juice and smiled to yourself, telling him of all your usual New Year’s Eve traditions with your family. “And we also have the telly on in the background, with the London celebration show. When the countdown comes you can see everyone get so excited.

When there’s five seconds left you can see everyone grab somebody they care about. Then when it finally hits midnight everyone just…snogs. Even when they’re on tv.”

Matty giggled a little, “Like the films you showed me? You guys watch one of those of people snogging?” His question made you laugh a little, “Kind of, yeah. But it’s real people and couples. Except they’re in the middle of London and we’re at home watching…er, okay. I can understand how that can sound a little weird.”

You laughed together, you wiped under your eyes before Mattheo turned to you fully, “Have you ever done that before?” Your head tilted slightly, turning to face him as well, “Done what, Matty?”

Mattheos cheeks flushed a little, “Have you ever, erm, kissed anyone..before.”

“Oh, ehm,” your throat suddenly felt tight at the question, your cheeks and neck heating, “I, uh, no. Haven’t. I haven’t. Erm, have you?”

Mattheo shook his head, curls bouncing each way as he looked down at his hands shyly, “No. I haven’t either. I, ehm, I heard Enzo did though…before break.”

You let out a small laugh, “Yeah, I heard that, too. I think I heard him bragging to someone that it was a third year? Dunno what they were thinking kissing him though.”

Mattheo barked out a laugh, “Yeah, they have to be a little off kissing him huh.” You nodded, “I heard Seamus tell Dean that he’s kissed like four people already this year. Dean was telling him he felt behind because he’s only kissed two.”

Mattheo leaned his head on the back of the sofa, “Behind but he’s already kissed two people?? Salazars sake, what does that mean we are?”

You smiled, trying to make light, “Not even in the race I suppose.” Mattheo grinned a little at this.

“We could just kiss each other.” The nonchalant manner in which the words left your lips made it take a moment for Mattheo’s brain to catch up with what his ears had just heard.

When the connection finally happened Mattheo sat straight as a board, “W-wha-, y-you wanna kiss me?” His flustered state made you giggle, “Well you’re my best friend, Mattheo. I like you enough. And I trust you. Why shouldn’t my first kiss be with you?”

Mattheo relaxed against the couch at your words, really taking them in. He supposed you were right. You were his best friend, too. And probably the only person he fully trusted.

The thought of kissing you made his insides feel funny though. Almost the same rush he gets when he kicks up with his broom before a quidditch match. He looked up at the charmed painting, the clock reading 11:59.

Despite the sound of his heartbeat in his ears he turned to you, nodding, “You’re right. It should be me. I should be yours, too.” He scooted a little closer to you on the sofa, trying to close the distance between you so if you wanted to pull away you could do so easily.

“Just a, erm, just a quick one, yeah?” He felt like his voice was shaking. Could you tell he was nervous? Why was he nervous? He noticed you glance at his lips momentarily, “Yeah, just a quick one. I’m not ready for a proper snog I don’t think.”

As always you’re able to make a seemingly serious situation a bit lighter. You leaned in closer, Mattheo mirroring your actions as he nodded his head ever so slightly, “Yeah, me neither.”

You were the brave one, bridging the little bit of gap left between the two of you. Mattys lips crashed with yours and the painting you had charmed stroked midnight, mini fireworks popping above the two of you.

Mattheo prayed you couldn’t feel that his lips were slightly chapped and you hoped he couldn’t hear your heart nearly thudding out of your chest.

Just as quickly as you came together did you pull apart. If someone had walked in they’d believe you actually did have a proper snog by the heated breathing you were both doing.

You stared at each other for a moment. Mattheo then cleared his throat, “Right, so ehm, that’s a kiss then, hmm?” You nodded, fixing your hair that truly didn’t need fixing at all, “Yeah, s’pose so. Mhm.”

Another few beats of silence took over the both of you before Mattheo stood up quickly. “Well I’m gonna…I mean I think I’m gonna, erm, go to bed now.” You stayed seated, staring at the fire.

“Are you gonna come..” Mattheo was cautious with his ask. Not sure if what just transpired was going to change things. You looked up at him, smile reaching your eyes, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The rest of your friends made it back to the castle a few days after the new year. Currently you were sat atop Enzo’s bed while he showed off all of his new items he received over holiday. This was the unfolding scene that Mattheo found himself walking in on.

“I got two new Italian leather belts from Milan as well, one brown one black,” Enzo held up both belts individually, turning them over for you to see both sides. You nodded, less interested in the actual materials but fully interested in the joy that was radiating off of Enz.

“Well of course both black and brown, would hate for something to not match,” the slightly sarcastic tone was apparently not thick enough for Enzo to catch on to. “See, I knew you’d appreciate that.”

You smiled and nodded, catching Mattheo’s eye across the room. “What the bloody hell is actually going on here?” Matty walked over to Enzo’s bed where you sat, albeit cautiously.

Enz brightened further, “I’m doing a Christmas haul. You want me to start from the beginning?” Mattheo’s face was flat, eyes that dead demeanor they so often held, “Absolutely not, mate.”

The taller boy shrugged, turning back to give you his full attention before digging in his trunk and pulling out a shiny new black broomstick. You did your best to give a shocked and interested smile. But per usual anything flying or quidditch related made you lose a little bit of interest.

Matty, however, was now highly interested in the haul. “Is that a Nimbus 2001? Your father got you one even though you didn’t make the team?” Enzo smirked, “He did, yeah. Said I could use the newest fastest model to practice on so there’d be no way I didn’t make the team next year.”

The two continued to talk quidditch with the next several gifts Enzo revealed from his trunk. The more detailed they spoke, the heavier your eyelids felt. And soon you found your entire head drooping to the side.

Mattheo noticed they were losing you, sitting down on the bed and making sure he was close enough for his shoulder to catch your head and your body finally leaned fully into your bored, drowsed state. He pretended not to notice, and Enzo didn’t seem to in the slightest.

They were still talking (almost arguing) about quidditch and quidditch-esque things when Theo made it back to the dorm. “Che diavolo? Did you bore our poor badger to death with your haul of Christmas Enzo?”

He scoffed, “No, of course not. They’re not-oh…they’re sleeping.” Enzo pouted slightly as Matty nudged you with his elbow. You jolted awake with an intake of breath through your nose, “Mmm? Yes, yeah, special…goggle something, very cool Enz.”

The three around you began to laugh as you rubbed your eyes with the heel of your hand. “Told you, compagno…bored.” You started to shake your head but Enzo held up his hand, “No, it’s fine. I’m done now anyway.”

You climbed off Enzo’s bed, rounding the one in between before reaching underneath Theo’s. “Well since you’re all done I thought I’d give you three the gifts from me.”

“Three? You mean you didn’t give Matt his gift on Christmas?” Enzo was thoroughly confused, fully assuming you’d both have exchanged the day of.

You, however, rolled your eyes, “Of course I did you knob. I’m talking about you, Theo and Mocha of course!” You handed Theo his gift, him tearing into it immediately. You handed Enzo both his and Mocha’s after he fished her out of his pocket.

“Aha! Grazie amico mio! I need very much this!” Theo pulled on the winter hat you had hand made (with only some slight bit of magical help for the house crest). Theo grabbed hold of your face, placing quick kisses on both cheeks, “Lo adoro!”

You laughed lightly, “Welcome, Theo.” You turned to Enzo who was now giggling while fitting a mini witch hat atop Mocha’s head. “I cannot believe you made this, it’s perfect. Did you measure Mocha’s little head or something? Also, thank you for the scarf.” Enzo chose a grin versus cheek kisses but you understood he was thankful all the same.

“You’re welcome Enz,” you walked over to him to give Mocha a little pet, “and you’re welcome, too, Mocha.”

After a little while, you gathered your things to head back to your dorm for the night. “Leaving already? But we just started catching up,” Enzo pouted, crossing his arms like a small child.

“We’ll catch up more tomorrow, Enz. I promise,” you made your way to the door with your things, “But you guys are all back now so I can’t sleep in Theo’s bed anymore; that’d be weird. See you guys at breakfast!”

You gave a wave as you opened the door, turning quickly to leave. While walking out you crash in to none other than Draco. “Eugh, watch where you’re going you twit,” Draco brushed the front of his robes as if your touch had now made them filthy. You huffed through your nose, rolling your eyes.

You then took a step back and bowed, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Many apologies, Draco. I’m truly so sorry. Surprised I couldn’t smell you through the door with the amount of cologne you’re wearing. Mummy get that for you for Christmas? Do give her my best.”

Draco scowled as he pushed past you; you gave a wink to everyone else before scurrying out the door and closing it behind you. The little exchange was not fully heard by the other three in the room, but as always, Mattheo noticed some interaction.

Brought back from his thoughts Theo was complaining in Italian, “Compagno, my guy. Did badger really lay sleep in my bed all of vacanza? A man’s bed is sacra! Sacred!” Enzo shrugged, “At least your bed will smell good now.”

Mattheo and Theo turned to look at him quizzically. “What?” Enzo’s voice raised half an octave, “I am not the only one who notices they always smell nice. You guys are lying to yourselves.”

Draco decided this was the moment he was going to join the conversation. “You let a mudblood sleep in our quarters for two weeks? Merlin, cousin. You’ve really gone to the dogs haven’t you.” Mattheo was up and off Enzo’s bed in an instant, the latter quickly wrapping an arm around Matty’s shoulders to hold him back.

“Shut your hole, cousin. Or I’ll give you another black eye. I’ll make it my annual Christmas gift to you,” Mattheo was straining against Enzo’s hold slightly, but still holding himself back.

Draco simply rolled his eyes in annoyance, “Oh, please. You know what, go ahead. Give me a good punch. Maybe then I’ll write to dear Auntie Bella and she’ll make sure you never come home for holiday again. Both my manor and yours were quite peaceful without your presence. The Christmas ball went off without any..” Draco eyed Mattheo up and down, “pathetic interruptions. Isn’t that right boys.”

He was referring to Theo and Enzo. Both of whose parents made it mandatory of them to attend the usual Malfoy party. If he were really asking them their opinion they would’ve said how boring the party was without their friend. But Draco wasn’t really asking, he was just trying to add fuel to the fire.

"But I'm sure you'd like that wouldn't you, Matty," Draco seemed to use the nickname you called Mattheo like an insult. "You get banned from holidays and can spend them with your bottom feeder. Couldn't even splurged for a half-breed as your little pet, huh?"

Mattheo was seething now. Draco could insult Mattheo all he wanted. The things his cousin said were never nearly as bad as what his mother, or even his father when he was around, would say to him. But the way he was talking about you? Mattheo couldn't let him get away with that.

And the other two knew it, too. Enzo's hold losing power. So Theo and Enzo shared a look, the former nodding at the latter. Then Enzo released his hold on Mattheo.

When he realized what was about to actually happen, Draco paled further than he already was. Before he could grab his wand or put up his hands in defense Mattheo had his fist connecting with Draco’s jaw.

The blonde stumbled back, Mattheo taking the opportunity to hit him again, this time in the stomach. With Draco doubled over, Mattheo braced his hands on his cousins back before raising his knee to connect with Draco’s ribs.

“You pathetic piece of shit,” Mattheo let Draco fall to the ground. Malfoy groaned, clutching his abdomen. Mattheo kneeled down next to him, “You’re a waste of space, Draco. You wish you were half as good of a person as any of my friends, especially y/n.” His fist connected with Draco’s nose, blood immediately gushing from his face. “You talk a big game but when it comes down to it, you’re the biggest fucking pussy I’ve ever met.”

Mattheo landed a few more harsh blows to his cousin's face before Theo and Enzo were pulling him off. “No, let go of me. Mate, I’m serious. I’m not done, let me go,” Mattheo struggled against his friend's hold.

Enzo shook his head even though Matty couldn’t see it, “We had to. He’s bleeding so much his hair’s starting to look like a Weasley.” Theo snorted at this, “Yes, his lesson is learned for now.”

Blaise chose this moment to walk into the dorm. Taking in the scene around him. He looked at Draco in the middle of the room, rolled to his side and whining; platinum hair partially painted red. He then looked over at the rest of the boys, Mattheo panting and calming his breath as he slowly relaxed in his friend’s hold.

“He ran his mouth again didn’t he,” Blaise shook his head before dropping his things on his bed. “Okay, Berk. Help me take him to Pomfrey.” Enzo looked at Theo, silently asking if he thought Mattheo would be civil if he let him go.

“I’m fine. Go, help him,” Mattheo slumped down against the foot of his bed once Enzo released him. Enzo walked over and helped Blaise hoist up Draco. The three of them slowly making their way out and presumably towards the infirmary.

Theo slid down next to Mattheo, sitting with him in silence for a moment. “Do you think they’re gonna hate me,” Mattheo’s voice was small, almost inaudible to Theo’s ears. “Who do you mean? Draco?” Theo was confused, Matty didn’t really seem like he cared what Draco thought anymore.

Mattheo shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He set his chin on his knees, staring blankly in front of him, “Do you think y/n is going to hate me.”

Theo felt a little awkward, not really knowing the right thing to say. He tried to channel someone wise, to give his friend good advice. “Erm, I do not think they will be hating you. Emotions are hard. We have to let them out or else we’ll…como si dice…eruttare?”

Mattheo turned his head towards Theo, brows furrowed, “I don’t know that word, mate.” Theo pulled at his bottom lip, thinking hard about how to say what he meant. He mimed a mountain or maybe a volcano? Mattheo wasn't sure but he watched intently as Theo then threw his hands from the mountain shape into the air, making explosion noises with his mouth.

“Erupt?” Mattheo questioned. A look of relief washed over Theo, “Yes! Yes. Compagno, if we don’t let emotions out all the time we can erupt. Y/n will not hate you. But they might be sad for you.”

Mattheo nodded, eyes turning blank again before hiding his face in his knees. Theo noticed Mattheo’s shoulders begin to slightly shake. Then he heard a few sniffles.

His friend was crying.

So Theo did as his mother always did for him and started to rub Mattheos back consolingly, thinking maybe it would be comforting. Mattheo tensed at first, then began to relax. And Theo let him cry.

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