DIRTY BLOOD | TR ✔︎

FOUR ➢ WYATT

The velvet exterior of a sofa is not one I'm used to. These soft clothes, this warmish blanket.

I let my eyes peel open and I'm instantly reminded of the events of last night. The smell of weed and sweat and alcohol fills my nose and my head thumps. My eyes hurt and nausea curls at my stomach.

"How was your nap?" I flinch at the noise, cupping my hands over my ears.

"Enz, please stop talking." I groan, pinching my eyes closed.

I can hear his muffled laugh, followed by something hitting the coffee table in front of me.

"For your hangover." He says, falling onto the couch beside me.

His legs fall over mine and he sighs as if it's the most comfortable thing in the world. I ignore him and reach for the tylenol and water, popping the pills into my mouth and washing it down.

And as I look down at my outfit, I realize that these were not the clothes that I wore last night. My red dress hangs over the back of the sofa, folded lazily.

These are Enzo's boxers and Enzo's shirt. Which means Enzo had to change me.

"Enz..?" I start softly, my eyes glazing over him, taking in his half-clothed appearance.

Gray sweatpants hang loosely on his hips, white socks covering his feet. His hair is a mess and his eyes are still dazed from sleep. His torso is chiseled and built with muscle, though you'd never guess that was under his clothes.

Enzo's hot, don't get me wrong, but he's like my brother and the thought of us hooking up with him is nothing short of nauseating.

"Did we..?" I ask hesitantly.

"Gods, no, Kaeda. What do you take me for?" He grumbles in response, disgusted by the thought. "I had Anna help you get changed into some of my old clothes, she went back to the Ravenclaw dorms, and I slept on the other couch so no one would screw with you."

I nod a few times, pushing my curls away from my face. "Thank you."

He gives a thumbs up in response, unsure of what else to do.

His head rests carefully on the back of the sofa, eyes closed peacefully.

And down the steps comes the man I'd stood in front of last night, tipsy but playful.

Tom Riddle.

Black sweatpants, black hoodie, hair combed over and hickeys lining his neck. And I'm not entirely sure why this bugs me so much, but it made my nausea worse.

Enzo sits up at the sound of his steps and the glare that Tom gives him has goosebumps shooting down my spine. Enzo rolls his eyes in response, ignoring him.

He stands up, patting my leg a few times. "I'll get you some sweatpants and then I'll send you back to your dorm."

I nod, pulling the blanket up my legs and watching as my childhood best friends saunters towards the stairs, leaving me with the man who told me to stay the fuck away from him.

He leans against the counter, sleeves straining against his biceps as he crosses his arms over his chest. He's watching me as a pot of coffee brews and I keep my gaze downcast.

But I can feel his eyes burning holes in my skull. My heart thunders in my chest like a raging storm in the distance.

The bumps on my skin from before have intensified under his heavy gaze, glaring hard. My skin feels as though it's been pricked with dozens of little needles.

I glance down at my wrist, remembering that I'd tried to touch the scars on his chest. Remembering that he'd caught my wrist in such a grip that caused pain to race up my arm. I remember the sight of his toned chest and abs, creased and strengthened with muscle.