Tom RiddIe did not lose things. Not power. Not control. Not people. Every part of him was built around mastery — of magic, of fear, of the world around him.

But not of you. You were the one thing he never prepared for and the one thing he didn’t notice he was losing… until it was nearly gone.

Tom had been consumed — by research, ambition, plans he never shared. Obsessed with knowledge, obsessed with the shadows he worked in. He thought you understood. Thought you’d wait. Thought your feelings existed outside the rules of consequence.

But he didn’t see the little things:

You stopped visiting the library to sit beside him. You stopped waiting for him outside class. You stopped t0uching him unless he reached first. You stopped defending him in conversations. You stopped expecting him.

And Tom — brilliant, calculating Tom — dismissed it all as temporary.

But the first crack appeared when he entered the common room and saw you sitting with someone else — not flirting, not laughing at anything scandalous — just speaking with a softness Tom hadn’t seen directed at him in months.

A strange, cold feeling twisted through him. He watched from the doorway, jaw tight, eyes sharpening with something uncomfortably close to jealousy… but deeper.

Possession being threatened. And still, he didn’t move. Not yet. He told himself it was fine. That you were fine. That you wouldn’t dare belong to anyone else. But when he passed you in the corridor the next day, you gave him a small, polite nod — the kind you’d offer a professor or stranger — before continuing your conversation with another student.

Tom stopped walking. Your indifference hit him harder than any curse. His stomach dropped. His fingers froze around his books. Something sharp and foreign flickered in his chest — panic.

It took days for him to accept the truth. It took one sentence to break him.

He overheard you in the courtyard.

“I don’t think Tom even notices I’m gone,” you said quietly. “I don’t know why I’m trying anymore.”

Tom’s blood ran cold, rage and terror twisting together so vi0lently he could barely breathe. He didn’t storm out of hiding. He didn’t yell your name. The realization crushed him too completely for theatrics. He had done this. He had pushed you to this edge. And for the first time in Tom RiddIe’s life…

he was afraid.

He found you later that night — alone in an abandoned classroom, the moonlight spilling across your hair as you sat on a desk staring at the floor.

Tom stepped inside and shut the door with a soft, echoing click. He approached slowly, deliberately — cautiously.

“Angel,” he said quietly, in a voice few ever heard. “Look at me.”

You didn’t and that hurt him more than any wand ever could.

When you finally lifted your eyes, the look on your face wasn’t anger. It was loss and it hollowed him out.

“I’ve noticed,” Tom said softly — dangerously soft. “I’ve noticed everything you’ve been doing. Everything you’ve stopped doing.”

You blinked, unsure if he was angry… or devastated.

Tom stepped closer, expression unreadable but eyes burning.

“I didn’t understand,” he admitted. “I didn’t think…” His jaw clenched. “I didn’t think you could leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” you said quietly. “I’m just done trying for someone who won’t meet me halfway.”

Tom’s eyes darkened — not with anger, but with fear so sharp it nearly broke him. He stepped closer, hands trembling at his sides.

“I will meet you,” he whispered. “Wherever you are. However far you’ve gone.”

He lifted a hand — hesitating before touching your cheek, as if asking for permission for the first time in his life.

“You are not something I can lose,” Tom murmured. “Not something I will lose.”

His voice shook.

“I was foolish. Distracted. Arrogant enough to believe your heart was mine by default.”

His hand cupped your jaw.

“I see now that I must earn it and I will.”

He leaned closer, forehead brushing yours.

“Just don’t pull away from me,” Tom whispered, raw and undone. “Not when I’ve finally realized how much of me belongs to you.”