Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

Shit.

At ten years old, Tom Riddle and Ernesh Balcom had grown into an even more tightly woven, almost unbreakable pair. By now, the other children at the orphanage had learned not just to avoid them but to fear them. It wasn't simply because of their unsettling closeness or the way they seemed to live in a world separate from everyone else—it was the feeling they gave off. A strange, oppressive energy seemed to pulse around them, thickening the air when they were near. The caretakers noticed too, though none dared to say anything, preferring to believe it was all just the product of their imagination.

Tom and Ernesh, of course, didn't care what the others thought. They had each other. And in their minds, that was all that mattered.

The changes started subtly, barely noticeable at first. Tom began to feel a strange power surging inside him, like a current he couldn't quite control but loved to toy with. It made him sharper, his eyes more intense, his voice carrying a strange weight that made people listen even when they didn't want to. He didn't understand it fully, but he didn't need to. All he knew was that he liked it. He liked how it made him feel, how it gave him control.

Ernesh felt it too, though in a different way. He was quiet by nature, his intensity more internal, but around Tom, that power seemed to swell within him, like a tide rising and falling in rhythm with Tom's presence. He was more sensitive to the air around them, more attuned to Tom's moods and movements. When Tom was near, everything felt heightened, as if the world had been distilled down to just the two of them.

Neither of them realized it was magic.

Tom, though a year older, didn't view Ernesh as his junior or his equal—he saw him as something more. Ernesh was his. His possession. A precious, delicate thing that only Tom could touch, control, and shape. And that feeling was only growing stronger, even if Tom didn't fully understand what it was yet. He just knew that Ernesh was his in a way no one else could ever be. The other children at the orphanage had tried, briefly, to talk to Ernesh, to draw him away from Tom, but it had never worked. Ernesh's attention never wavered. His eyes, dark and still as deep water, were always on Tom.

In the small room they shared at Wools, their nights had begun to change. As they sat together in the dim light of a single lamp, Tom would sometimes hold Ernesh's hand for hours, tracing the lines of his palm, watching the way the boy would shiver under his touch. It wasn't just affection—it was ownership. Tom owned Ernesh, and they both knew it. The strange sensation that gripped Tom when he touched Ernesh was growing stronger, as if the act of holding his hand, of having him so close, was feeding something dark and powerful inside him.

"Do you feel it too?" Tom asked one evening, his voice barely a whisper as he looked at Ernesh across the narrow space between their beds.

Ernesh's head tilted slightly, his eyes never leaving Tom's. "Yes."

That was all he said, but it was enough. They both understood. It wasn't just friendship. It wasn't just some innocent bond between two boys. There was something more, something deeper and darker tying them together. It pulsed like a heartbeat between them, growing stronger with each passing day.

Ernesh was obsessed with Tom. Completely. Utterly. But Tom's obsession with Ernesh had become even more intense, even more suffocating, and it was this obsession that both thrilled and frightened Tom. He didn't want to hurt Ernesh, not in any way that mattered, but the control he had over him—the knowledge that Ernesh would do anything for him, would be anything for him—was intoxicating.

One afternoon, Tom decided to test that control.

They were alone in their room, the other children outside playing in the courtyard, and Tom could feel the strange energy that had been building between them crackling in the air. He stood in front of Ernesh, his sharp features illuminated by the dim light filtering through the window, his eyes glittering with something dangerous.

"Kneel," Tom commanded softly, his voice calm, controlled.

Without hesitation, Ernesh dropped to his knees in front of Tom, his eyes never wavering from the boy's face. There was no question in his expression, no uncertainty. He did it because Tom told him to. He did it because he wanted to.

Tom's lips curled into a slow, almost predatory smile. He reached out, brushing his fingers through Ernesh's dark hair, his touch lingering. Ernesh shivered but stayed perfectly still, his gaze locked on Tom's.

"You belong to me," Tom whispered, his voice low, filled with a quiet intensity that made the room feel smaller, the air heavier.

Ernesh didn't blink. "Yes."

Tom's smile widened, a flicker of something darker flashing in his eyes. He could feel it now, the power surging between them, the way his touch, his words, seemed to sink deep into Ernesh, binding them even tighter together. It wasn't just control anymore. It was magic. And Tom was beginning to understand it—beginning to realize that what he felt wasn't just obsession or desire. It was something ancient, something raw, something unnatural.

He knelt down in front of Ernesh, their faces inches apart, their breath mingling in the stillness of the room. Tom's hand moved to cup Ernesh's chin, tilting his head up slightly so their eyes met. "You'll always be mine, won't you?" he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender, but laced with an edge of darkness.

Ernesh's eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Always."

Tom's grip on Ernesh's chin tightened slightly, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. He could feel the power between them growing stronger, spiraling out of control, and for the first time, it frightened him. But only for a moment. He pushed the fear away, relishing in the way Ernesh looked at him, the way the boy seemed to need him, as if his very existence depended on Tom's approval.

That night, as they lay in their beds, Tom stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. He couldn't deny it anymore. What they had wasn't normal. It wasn't just friendship or even obsession. It was something darker, something magical. And it was growing stronger, feeding on their closeness, on their need for each other.

Ernesh lay in the bed beside him, his breathing slow and steady, as if he were already asleep. But Tom knew better. He could feel Ernesh's awareness, the way the boy's mind was attuned to his every movement, his every thought. They were connected now, in ways that neither of them could fully understand.

Tom turned his head slightly, watching the rise and fall of Ernesh's chest in the dim light. A part of him wondered how far this bond could go, how deep it could grow. But deep down, he already knew the answer.

As long as they were together, as long as their strange, obsessive connection continued to feed the magic within them, there would be no limit. They were growing stronger—together. And nothing, no one, could tear them apart.

In the stillness of the night, as the orphanage slept around them, Tom allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. He reached out, brushing his fingers against Ernesh's hand, feeling the familiar jolt of energy pass between them. His fingers tightened around Ernesh's, and in the darkness, Ernesh's fingers curled back, holding onto Tom like a lifeline.

Whatever they were, whatever they were becoming—it was only just beginning.

.....