It’s late. The corridors are quiet. The castle feels like it’s holding its breath.

You shouldn’t be here—alone, after curfew, standing just outside the door to his office. But something pulled you down here. Something you couldn’t name. Or maybe someone.

You only knock once. The door creaks open with a whisper of magic, revealing Professor Riddle seated behind his desk, quill in hand, candlelight casting shadows across his sharp features. He doesn’t look surprised.

“You always come to me when you can’t sleep,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Should I be concerned that I’m your form of comfort?”

You cross the threshold, closing the door behind you. “Would it be so terrible?”

He leans back in his chair, watching you like you’re an equation he already knows the answer to but refuses to solve. Always so composed. Always in control. Until he isn’t.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says softly, though he makes no move to send you away.

“You say that every time,” you reply, stepping closer. “But you never ask me to leave.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“This isn’t some schoolyard crush,” you whisper, standing just across from his desk now. “You feel it too.”

A long moment passes before he finally speaks, voice low, rougher than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’ve rewritten every rule I ever lived by trying not to feel this way.”

He rises slowly, walking around the desk until he’s standing in front of you—too close, too much, and not close enough all at once. His eyes search yours, and you see it: the war behind them. The restraint. The want.

“I’ve built walls around myself so high, no one ever dared to climb them.” He pauses for a moment. “And then you—of all people—you walk right through them like they were never there.”

You swallow hard.. “Tom…”

He inhales sharply. No one calls him that here. “Say it again.”

Your gaze flickers down to his lips before looking him in the eye again. “Tom.”

*His voice drops to a low murmur. “I am so in love with you, it’s unbearable.”

A shiver runs down your spine as he cups your chin, his thumb tenderly brushing against your bottom lip.

“I’ve tried to fight it,” he admits. “Tried to silence it. But it only gets louder.”

His eyes search yours in desperation. "Please tell me I'm not the only one feeling this way."