Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

034 Summertime 3

The air in the room was heavy with the scent of expensive wine and enchanted candles, and the low murmur of voices and occasional laughter floated through the gathering. The dim lighting reflected off crystal glasses and glittering jewels, an atmosphere that screamed wealth and power. This wasn't just a party; it was a meeting ground for alliances, influence, and quiet manipulation.

Ernesh stood near the center of it all, his tall, lean figure accentuated by his choice of attire. His black dress shirt clung perfectly to his frame, tucked neatly into tailored black pants that ended just above his platform Doc Martens. The shoes gave him a noticeable boost in height, and their polished leather gleamed faintly under the light of the chandelier. His outfit's centerpiece, however, was the small green-and-gold corset cinched around his waist—elegant yet striking, subtly showing off his figure without overstepping into the overt. Gold chains draped around his neck, and an emerald glinted on his left ring finger, while a silver bracelet shone on his wrist, faintly enchanted with protective runes.

Beside him, Tom was equally immaculate, his robes in rich shades of black and green, accented with gold that complemented Ernesh's attire perfectly. Tom's look was slightly more understated, though the heavy, intricately carved rings on his fingers spoke volumes about his taste and subtle power. Together, they were an arresting sight, commanding attention without trying—an unspoken dynamic that only they could create.

Abraxas had been unusually convincing about attending this gathering, his sly remarks about potential followers and influence finally breaking through Tom's initial reluctance. "Think about the bigger picture, Riddle," he'd said with a knowing grin. "The right people are here tonight. Allies for the future. And besides, you and Ernesh are practically made for this type of scene. You'll have them eating out of your hands."

Tom, seeing the truth in that statement, had agreed. Now, hours later, Ernesh was glad they'd come—for the most part. He sipped his black champagne leisurely, the dark liquid mirroring the sleekness of his outfit, while he nodded politely at the elder speaking before him. The man was recounting tales of dark magic battles in his youth, each story more dramatic than the last.

Tom, always analytical, listened with interest, asking sharp, precise questions that made the elder raise his eyebrows in appreciation. Ernesh, while less engaged, gave the occasional polite comment, keeping his focus on his drink and maintaining his composed air.

Then, without warning, Tom's sharp eyes flickered across the room and locked onto someone in the distance. His expression didn't change, but the subtle tension in his posture told Ernesh something—or someone—had caught his attention.

"Excuse me for a moment," Tom said smoothly, leaning closer to Ernesh and brushing a hand over his waist as he spoke. The touch was fleeting, but it lingered in its intention. "I'll be right back."

Ernesh glanced at him, his lips parting slightly, but he said nothing beyond a quiet, "Don't take too long."

Tom slipped into the crowd, his tall, commanding frame disappearing among the mingling guests. Ernesh returned his attention to the elder, listening as the man concluded his story before excusing himself to speak to someone else. Left alone, Ernesh let out a small sigh, placing his empty glass on a nearby table and reaching into the small bag he'd brought for the evening.

That was when he felt it—a hand, bold and unwelcome, gripping his waist firmly.

He froze for a split second, his instincts immediately sharpening. Turning his head slightly, he glanced down and saw the source: a man, clearly drunk, his eyes glassy and a smug smile plastered across his face. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as though he had every right to touch Ernesh.