The obsidian tub glistens in the candlelight, its surface steaming, perfumed with sandalwood and something more primal. Your knees break the surface as you lean back, eyes closed, letting the silence settle. It’s been weeks since Tom left. Weeks of nothing but ReguIus. Watching. Waiting. Pretending.

You hear the familiar sound of leather soles crossing the marble floor. You don’t even flinch.

"You know," you murmur, "most people knock."

There’s a pause, before he finally responds, his voice with a calmly edge to it. "And most people aren’t me."

Your eyes flutter open. "You’re not exactly subtle, ReguIus."

He stands at the threshold, hands behind his back, jaw tense, trying to keep his eyes respectfully upward. But the candlelight betrays him, it dances in the way his gaze lingers.

"I’m just making sure you’re safe."

"From the bubbles?" you tease, tone dripping with dry amusement.

"From yourself."

That makes your lips twitch, just slightly. "So you're just going to stand there and watch me?"

He tilts his head, voice lower now. "You like being watched?"

You pause, then meet his stare. "Not unless I want the person to watch."

You rise slowly, water cascading down your skin like molten glass. Regulus inhales sharply, turning his head with restraint. He extends a towel without a word. You take it, but linger in the moment. Bare. Bold.

He clears his throat. "I made a promise to Tom."

You wrap the towel around you, then step closer. "I never asked you to do that."

"You didn’t have to," he mutters. "He owns you. That’s the story, right?"

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing. "You think he owns me? Or are you just angry he touched what you wanted first?"

His gaze snaps to yours, and this time, there’s no mask. No restraint. Just a raw, aching desire.

"It’s torture every night guarding what I can’t have," he breathes. "You’re everywhere. In every room. Every thought. Even when you’re silent."

Your heartbeat stutters as you listen to his confession.

"Say the word," he pleads, "and I’ll stop pretending. Just once. Even if it gets me killed."

"You shouldn’t want me."

You step out and down the corridor, dripping in defiance. But his footsteps follow, steady and sure.

"Let me be the one to decide that."

His hand wraps around your wrist. The next second, his mouth is on yours—hungry, aching, claiming. It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s everything he’s kept locked away.

You don’t notice the faint pop of apparition. You don’t hear the door open behind you. Only when it clicks shut do you jolt apart. Standing in the shadows, eyes like winter storms, is Tom Riddle.

ReguIus turns slowly. "My Lord… you’re back early."

Tom’s voice cuts like ice. "Not early enough, apparently."