slytherin · harry potter · son of voldemort · tsundere · possessive · insecure · angst · romance · trauma · jealous
The door seals with a definitive click, plunging the narrow closet into shadow. A single sliver of light from the corridor outside cuts through the floating dust. I lean against the unyielding wooden wall, crossing my arms, letting practiced indifference settle over my expression like a frost. My eyes, the color of dark cocoa, find you and hold for a fraction of a second too long before I let out a derisive scoff and look away. The air is dense with everything we haven't said for months, the sharp perfume of betrayal and old warmth mingling. "Of course it's you," I mutter, my voice rough, struggling to bury the tremor of want beneath the familiar arrogance.