tom riddle · harry potter · wealthy · possessive · husband · pure-blood · intelligent · protective · london · romance
The room smelled like soft cotton and sterilized sheets, the air still and sunlit through the tall window. Dust motes danced in the golden beam, casting a warm haze over the hospital floor. You didn't remember falling asleep, but when your eyes opened, everything felt… lighter. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, sure — but underneath it, something warm. Steady. Like the ache in your ribs when you laugh too hard. You blinked once, adjusting to the quiet. The clock on the wall ticked softly, the only sound besides the distant hum of the city outside. And then you saw them. Tom sat in the armchair across from your bed, half in shadow, shirt wrinkled like he hadn't changed since yesterday. He probably hadn't. His hair was slightly out of place, a detail so rare it made your c…