tom riddle imagines

22: shy (c.c.)

imagine:

tom riddle likes you.

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this is a bit of a short one, sorry guys. at least i'm back?

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You caught his gaze inevitably; you were always going to. He noticed and observed, awaiting your next move. A part of him longed for a more physical one, but you just sat there, every inch of your limb frozen at the sight of him. What could you do? Approach him and utterly humiliate yourself? You couldn't take that chance. It's not like he liked you--he hardly even knew you. Right?

Tom's gaze shifted back to his bland food. Strangely, he found the mundane mount of mashed potatoes rather appetizing. The world felt a little different, as though he had landed on a whole new plane of reality. His hand shifted to this fork and played with the pile, silently waiting for your gaze to land upon him again. The heat that once engulfed him was replaced with the cold gale of your absence. And with that, the world fell back into its usual repetitive ways. His eyes trailed slowly over the Ravenclaws, eyeing each and every head indifferently as a wave of exhilaration washed upon him. Each head he glanced at was a head closer to yours, and the closer he got, the more feral he felt. As though he was losing control. Why have you got him feeling this way? Not long ago, he hadn't even acknowledged your existence, and now you're all he wished existed in this godforsaken planet. And he hated that.

As he anticipated, he found himself glancing at a vacant seat between two chattering Ravenclaws, the seat that once held your weight. That was once graced by your touch. Suddenly, a looming presence lurked by the shadows of the hallway beyond the Great Hall. A subtle smirk grew on his face and without a word, he parted from his table, leaving his friends perplexed.

"You were watching me," you said as you emerged from the darkness.

Tom slowly turned as he arched an eyebrow. His lips remained still, closed and linear. His eyes, however, glistened ravenously. Those same feelings washed over him once again--the appetite. The exhilaration. The 'different' feeling. He did not intend to lie; he had no reason to. He was Tom Riddle after all--anyone would be grateful to be stalked by him. Yet somehow, a glint of diffidence shot up inside of him, immediately eradicating his composure. A buried part of Tom Riddle unfolded--the orphaned victim of the ordinary. He felt small again.

"No," he muttered.

He managed to retain what was left of his dying confidence--eye contact. His gleaming blue eyes remained still on yours, meticulously scrutinizing the dilation of your pupils and the writhing creases in your iris. You could feel his confidence wearing off at an alarming rate, and that fed your assertion. You were weakening Tom Riddle; a nobody had Tom Riddle in a chokehold. The corner of your lip twitched into a small smirk as the thought assailed you.

"Don't let it get to your head."

Your brows raised as your smile widened. It had slipped your mind, the rumour. That rumour that Tom Riddle was a mind-reader.

"What are you going to do about it, Riddle?"

The corner of his lips perked as he drew closer. His astonished gaze turned esurient. You could see the greed in his eyes as you slowly faltered back, her assurance diminished by his abrupt dominance. The darkness consumed you, and before you knew it he had joined you in the shadows.

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