mattheo riddle was exhausted. following his father's bidding to the brink, being revered by the death eaters for being a blood child of lord voldemort, forcing himself to push the brinks of what was humane on a daily basis-- it was tiring. mentally, mostly. fatigue tended to hit in the late afternoon when he returned to the malfoy manor, which the death eaters had adopted as the headquarters of operation during such a period of crisis.

but as with most nights, he never exactly returned there-- but rather to a different home altogether. yours.

it was the same every evening, past 9 pm he'd haul himself through the window, his boots hitting the ground with a gentle thud, and not even offer you the grace of a greeting before he was sprawled on the sheets.

"i'm tired." mattheo murmured, his death eater cloak discarded on your floor, his arm lazily curled around you as he took advantage of the plush value of your pillows. "so bloody tired." he then opened his eyes for a moment, looking at you through his thick lashes.

"my father is a dick." he snorted, as if that was not already obvious, considering his parentage, before nuzzling back against the hollow of your neck. "did i happen to stress how tired i am?"