Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

010 Dumbledor.

The next morning, the dormitory was quiet except for the faint rustle of fabric and the soft sound of Tom's voice. Ernesh Balcome stood motionless in front of the mirror, his head bowed slightly as Tom worked, adjusting the collar of his uniform with meticulous care. The routine had become second nature, something Tom insisted upon-and something Ernesh lived for.

"Lift your arms," Tom commanded, his tone gentle but absolute.

Ernesh obeyed immediately, wordlessly, as Tom smoothed out the creases in his robes. Tom's fingers lingered briefly at Ernesh's shoulders, his touch both possessive and deliberate.

"Perfect," Tom said finally, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You look exactly as you should."

Ernesh's voice was a quiet whisper, barely audible. "Exactly how you want me."

Tom met his reflection in the mirror, his eyes dark and piercing. "Yes. Exactly."

Ernesh stood still as Tom adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, his hands brushing against Ernesh's wrists. The faintest trace of power lingered in the air, the lines barely there but still palpable in the way Ernesh's breath hitched ever so slightly.

When Tom finished, he stepped back, his gaze running over Ernesh like an artist inspecting a finished masterpiece. "You're mine, Ernesh. Every piece of you. Don't forget that."

"I never do," Ernesh whispered. His voice was steady, but there was a quiet reverence in his tone, a devotion that bordered on obsession.

Tom smiled, satisfied, and reached for his own tie. "Good. Now let's go."

Breakfast was as routine as ever, except for the invisible energy that seemed to hum between Tom and Ernesh. Tom filled Ernesh's plate without hesitation, as though the act was a matter of course. Ernesh ate quietly, his face as blank as always in the presence of others, though his every movement seemed attuned to Tom's.

Abraxas Malfoy, seated across from them, cast a curious glance their way. "You two are inseparable," he remarked, his tone half-joking but edged with curiosity.

Tom's smile was as sharp as ever. "When something is yours, Malfoy, why would you want to be apart from it?"

Abraxas blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the response, and quickly turned his attention back to his food.

Ernesh's gaze remained downcast, but under the table, Tom's hand brushed against his again. The lines sparked faintly to life, a reminder of the bond only they could understand.

During Transfiguration, Professor Dumbledore's presence seemed heavier than usual, his eyes sharp as he paced the classroom. Tom and Ernesh sat side by side, as always, their quills moving in near-perfect unison.

Dumbledore's gaze lingered on them briefly, but neither reacted. Tom's expression was calm, composed, as though daring the professor to say something. Ernesh, on the other hand, was an image of quiet diligence, his face betraying no trace of emotion.

But beneath the surface, the connection between them was stronger than ever. Every stray thought of Ernesh in Tom's mind made the lines grow more vivid, their pull almost intoxicating. Ernesh could feel it too, the faint hum of power coursing through him whenever Tom's attention sharpened.

By the end of the day, the air between them was almost suffocating with tension. Tom's thoughts were consumed by Ernesh-the way he moved, the way he obeyed, the way the lines bound them in ways no one else could see.

As they walked back to the common room, Tom's hand brushed against Ernesh's wrist. The lines flared briefly, hidden from sight but burning with intensity.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Tom asked, his voice low but edged with satisfaction.

Ernesh's whisper was steady, unshaken. "Always."

Tom's smirk deepened as he led the way. Whatever Dumbledore suspected, whatever others thought-they didn't matter. Ernesh was his, and that was all that mattered.