𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

037.

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The soft glow of the early morning filtered through the heavy curtains of the Slytherin dormitory, casting faint streaks of light across the cold stone walls. The room was eerily quiet, with only the occasional crackle of the dying embers in the fireplace breaking the stillness. In the middle of it all, Tom Riddle stirred in his bed, his mind gradually waking from the haze of sleep. But something was different this time—something warm and soft pressed against him, disrupting the routine solitude he usually craved. Daphne.

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For a brief moment, he didn't move, his dark eyes opening slowly as his mind registered the reality of the situation. She was nestled against his side, her head resting on his chest, her soft, even breathing the only sound in the room. Her blonde hair splayed across his pillow, a stark contrast against the dark green sheets. Tom's mind raced, trying to piece together how this had happened, but the memories came rushing back—the late-night conversation, the intensity of their connection, the way she had stayed with him longer than usual in the common room.

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He remembered her falling asleep beside him, neither of them caring about the time or the rules. They had been talking quietly in the dim firelight, the world outside the two of them feeling distant, irrelevant. Daphne had seemed tired, her voice softer than usual, and Tom had found himself uncharacteristically willing to let her stay close. The next thing he knew, she had drifted off, and he hadn't pushed her away. For once, he had let her in.

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Now, as the first light of dawn crept into the room, Tom felt the familiar rush of emotions he usually worked so hard to suppress—protectiveness, possessiveness, and something deeper, something far more dangerous. It wasn't love, he told himself; it couldn't be. Love was weakness, a liability he couldn't afford. But whatever it was, it kept him still, unwilling to move, unwilling to let her go just yet.

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Daphne stirred slightly, her body shifting against his. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked dazed, unsure of where she was. Then her gaze met his, and her lips curled into a soft, sleepy smile. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. Tom said nothing at first, his mind wrestling with the situation. He wasn't used to this—waking up with someone, especially someone like Daphne, who had the ability to get under his skin in a way no one else could. But even so, he didn't push her away.

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"Morning," he finally responded, his voice low, careful not to betray any emotion. Daphne sat up slightly, propping herself up on one elbow as she looked down at him. The silence stretched between them for a moment, comfortable yet charged with the unspoken tension that always seemed to exist between them. She studied him, her soft blue eyes searching his face for something, though she wasn't sure what. "You didn't kick me out," she said quietly, a hint of surprise in her tone. Tom arched an eyebrow, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Would you have left if I had?"

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Daphne smirked, her gaze never leaving his. "Maybe," she said teasingly, though they both knew she probably wouldn't have. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, the weight of their complicated relationship hanging in the air between them. Tom's hand rested casually on her waist, not pulling her closer, but not pushing her away either. It was as if they had reached an unspoken understanding, a fragile balance between his coldness and her warmth. "Do you regret it?" she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

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Tom's eyes darkened, his expression hardening slightly. "No," he said flatly, though his tone was clipped, as if the admission cost him more than he'd like to admit. Daphne smiled, her heart swelling at his honesty, knowing that for Tom, that simple "no" meant more than any grand declaration. She knew him well enough by now to understand that he wasn't capable of expressing his feelings the way others did, but that didn't mean they weren't there. "You're still thinking too much," she said softly, leaning down to press a light kiss to his chest. "You don't always have to be in control, you know."

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Tom stiffened slightly at her words, but he didn't move. Control was everything to him—it was how he survived, how he thrived. Letting go, even for a moment, felt like a dangerous gamble. And yet, here she was, lying in his bed, challenging the very foundation of who he was with nothing more than a soft smile and a gentle touch. "I don't know any other way," he admitted quietly, his voice almost too low for her to hear.

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Daphne's heart softened at his rare moment of vulnerability. She reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin. "Then maybe it's time you learned." Tom's eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place—fear, perhaps, or maybe just uncertainty. He had spent so long keeping everyone at arm's length, never letting anyone get close enough to see the real him. But Daphne had always been different. She saw him, even when he tried to hide.

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"I can't afford to be weak," he said, his voice hardening again, as if he needed to remind himself of who he was. "You're not weak," Daphne whispered, her gaze soft and unwavering. "You're human, Tom. There's a difference." Tom stared at her, his mind racing, the walls he had built around himself straining under the weight of her words. He wanted to pull away, to retreat back into the safety of his cold, detached persona. But something about her—about this moment—kept him still, kept him anchored in a way he couldn't quite explain.

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After a long moment, he exhaled slowly, his gaze softening just a fraction. "You make things... complicated." Daphne smiled, her hand still resting against his cheek. "Good. You need a little complication in your life." Tom didn't respond, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Daphne, ever the contradiction to his darkness, had wormed her way into his life, into his very soul, and he wasn't sure he could ever let her go now. Not that he wanted to.

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As the first light of dawn bathed the room in a soft glow, Daphne shifted closer to him again, resting her head on his chest once more. Tom's arm wrapped around her instinctively, holding her close as they lay there in the quiet stillness of the morning. For once, Tom didn't overthink. He didn't push her away. Instead, he allowed himself to just be, to exist in this fleeting moment with her, knowing full well that nothing about their relationship was simple or easy. But maybe, just maybe, it didn't need to be. For now, they had each other. And for the first time in his life, that felt like enough.

Word count: 1160