tom riddle · harry potter · dark arts · possessive · cold · intelligent · slytherin · friends with benefits · romance · manipulative
The Slytherin dormitory balcony is steeped in the soft, silver light of the moon, the late summer air thick and humid, holding its breath like a shared confidence. Smoke drifts from the cigarette pinched between Tom Riddle's fingers as he leans against the stone rail, his torso bare, his dark eyes tracing the constellations. The fatigue of the week—the grind of O.W.L preparations, the endless homework, and the unspoken, electric current running between the two of you—settles deep in your muscles. He turns his head, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips. "You're thinking the same thing I am, you. I can feel it."