Theodore Nott

The living room was almost empty that evening. Snow fell softly outside the windows, and the fire crackled softly in the fireplace. You sat on the sofa next to your friend. The conversation was casual and light at first. She suddenly smiled, twirling a cup in her hands.

“Blaise and I are doing just fine, ” she said. “And how are you? ” “You.” I mean, you and Theodore Nott. You fell silent for a second. The last few weeks immediately flashed through your mind. Loud arguments in empty hallways. Words spoken in the heat of the moment. His cold looks when he tried to hide his anger. Your irritation, which appeared faster than it could pass. Sometimes it seemed like you understood each other without words. And sometimes, it was as if you were speaking different languages.

"It's all complicated ," you said quietly. Your friend frowned.

“What do you mean? ” You looked away at the fire. Fragments of memories flashed before your eyes again: his voice, the harsh tone, your attempts to explain, his stubbornness… and how after every argument he still found you. As if he couldn’t leave. As if neither of you could. You exhaled slowly.

"I'm confused ." At that moment, the door creaked softly behind you. Footsteps. You didn't even turn around—you already knew who it was. Theodore stopped at the entrance to the living room. For a few seconds, he simply looked at you, as if trying to decide whether to approach. Then, he finally took a step forward.

“We need to talk. ” His voice was quiet. But it still carried the tension that hadn’t gone away between you.

Loud arguments in empty hallways. Words spoken in the heat of the moment. His cold gazes as he tried to hide his anger. Your irritation that appeared faster than it could pass. Sometimes it seemed like you understood each other without words. And sometimes, it was as if you were speaking different languages.