[CHAPTER 15]

───🦋･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.🦋───

───🦋･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.🦋───

TITLE  : A STEP TOO FAR

THE NEXT FEW DAYS were a mess of avoidance and pretending.

Ellie told herself it didn't matter.

That nothing had changed.

That the way Mattheo had kissed her—touched her—looked at her—was just a moment of weakness, a mistake that neither of them should dwell on.

But if that was true, why did she feel like something had cracked inside her?

Like she was missing something she never even realized she had before?

Like every time she saw him across the common room, across the Great Hall, across the bloody Quidditch pitch, her stomach would tighten, waiting for him to do something, to say something—

And he never did.

—

Mattheo was avoiding her.

At first, she thought she was imagining it.

But then she noticed the way he'd leave a room if she entered, the way his jaw clenched whenever she so much as glanced at him, the way he was always surrounded by teammates, by friends, by anything that would keep him busy enough to not be left alone with her.

It stung.

More than it should have.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She ignored it.

She acted like she didn't care.

She laughed a little louder with Lorenzo  and the others at meals, rolled her eyes when someone brought up Quidditch just to get under Mattheo's skin, and went out of her way to not look at him even when she knew he was looking at her.

Even when she felt his gaze burning into her back, his presence like an ache she couldn't shake.

—

By the time the next Slytherin Quidditch match arrived, Ellie had convinced herself she was fine.

She sat in the stands with the rest of the house, wrapped in her green and silver scarf, cheering when the team flew out onto the pitch.

And when Mattheo's name was announced—

When he flew past, his expression set in a sharp, determined mask, his hands gripping his broom with the kind of focus that only came when he needed to drown something out—

She clapped politely.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

And if she imagined his head almost turning toward her, if she thought she saw a flicker of hesitation in his movements—

She ignored it.

Just like he was ignoring her.

—

The match was brutal.

Slytherin had come to win, and they played dirty.

Mattheo was yelling himself hoarse trying to keep the team coordinated, his body moving with practiced precision as he blocked shot after shot.

Ellie found herself gripping the railing, her knuckles turning white, her heart in her throat every time a Bludger got too close, every time a Gryffindor Chaser tried to ram into him mid-air.

And then—

It happened.

A nasty Bludger, aimed with full force, coming straight for him.

Mattheo twisted at the last second, deflecting a shot toward the goalpost—

And took the hit.

Hard.

The sound of impact rang through the stadium, and Ellie flinched.

For a moment, Mattheo was falling, his broom spinning wildly—

Then he caught himself, shaking it off, flying right back into position like it was nothing.

But it wasn't nothing.

Ellie knew him.

Knew the way he moved, knew the way he gritted his teeth when he was in pain, the way he clenched his fists when he didn't want anyone to notice something was wrong.

And he was definitely in pain.

—

By the time Slytherin won, Ellie was out of her seat before the cheers even died down.

She didn't think.

She just moved.

—

The locker room was loud, filled with victorious shouts and laughter, the scent of sweat and adrenaline thick in the air.

Ellie slipped through the crowd, her heart hammering as she spotted Mattheo at his locker, tugging off his gloves with stiff fingers.

"Mattheo."

His shoulders tensed.

She barely had time to register it before he turned, his expression blank, his voice clipped.

"What?"

Ellie narrowed her eyes. "Are you seriously going to pretend you didn't just take a brutal hit out there?"

Mattheo exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

His jaw clenched. "Ellie—"

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You know I can tell when you're lying."

His eyes flickered.

For a brief moment, there was something raw there—something that hurt—

Then it was gone.

"I said I'm fine," he muttered, turning back toward his locker.

Ellie inhaled sharply.

Fine.

If he wanted to be difficult—

She reached out and grabbed his arm, pressing her fingers against the spot where the Bludger had hit.

Mattheo winced.

Hard.

She felt a small, petty sense of victory.

"See?" she said, crossing her arms. "Not fine."

Mattheo let out a slow, measured breath, his hands tightening around the edge of the locker.

"Ellie," he said, his voice lower this time, a warning.

She ignored it.

"Just let me look at it," she said. "I'll patch it up, and you can go back to pretending nothing's wrong."

Mattheo didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't breathe.

Ellie's stomach flipped.

Because suddenly, the air between them was different.

Charged.

Like they were standing too close, like her hand was still lingering on his arm, like the space between them was shrinking without either of them meaning for it to.

Her throat went dry.

His eyes were on her now.

Dark.

Intense.

Like he was fighting a war with himself.

Ellie swallowed hard.

"...theo."

His jaw ticked.

Then, before she could process it—

He took a step back.

Just enough to break whatever had been building.

Just enough to shove it back where it belonged.

Ellie felt something sink in her chest.

Mattheo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair.

"I need to shower," he muttered, turning away.

Ellie hesitated, staring at his back.

She could push.

Could demand he stop shutting her out, could ask why he was really acting like this—

But she didn't.

Because she was afraid of the answer.

So instead, she just nodded.

"Right," she murmured.

Then she turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her every step of the way.

───🦋･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.🦋───