Chapter Text
Tom is running around the house like a clochard, his stained white t-shirt hanging from his neck, the elegant black pants halfway up, a brown cardigan covered in lint on his arm. Harry isn’t sure what look he is going for, exactly, with his hair uncombed and a donut in his mouth in addition to the particular attire of choice.
Disheveled Tom is always his favourite Tom. He is so composed, so well mannered all the time, so when the random madness kicks in and Tom gives up his suits and devours sugared donuts with his bare hands, all Harry can think about is to lick clean the sugar it leaves on his face. Possibly his neck, too, because when Tom loses his manners he does it well.
Harry watches Tom shoving his feet in pink crocs, his mind short circuiting on the sugar falling onto his bare stomach.
“I’m hanging out with Babi and Lux so I might be a little late tonight.” Tom says that so rapidly that Harry hears half of the sentence through the closed door of their shared apartment.
Who the fuck are Babi and Lux?
As a good unilateral psycho-boyfriend — unfortunately that’s what Ron called him once, and it stuck — all Harry can do until Tom comes back home, is seethe, wallow, eat Italian truffle gelato, and go through every single like on Tom’s Instagram profile. He finds no Babi, nor Lux. He doesn’t need to look through his followers or following, for he already knows by heart all of the 1.362 and 77, respectively, possible suspects.
Harry is going mad. Why hasn’t Tom mentioned them before? Are they new acquaintances? Friends? Long lost family? Is he, God forbid, dating them? Are they strippers? Those are such strippers names. Why is Tom hanging out with strippers? He frequents strip clubs?
The idea of the demure, composed Tom Riddle in lilac glittery lingerie dancing on a pole pops up in Harry’s brain and falls directly into his crotch. Not the time. Okay, maybe the time. What else does he even have to do? Stalk him until madness-by-blue-balls will overpower him?
After a half-assed wank looking at the stolen photography of a very naked Tom asleep on the toilet, Harry goes back on Instagram and starts searching through the likes of all Tom’s friends. Nothing there either.
Maybe Babi and Lux are boring people who don’t have an Instagram profile. Surely Tom wouldn’t date neither, he is too obsessed with a visual pleasing account to date someone who doesn’t have one. Tom is chronically online and Harry knows that very well, that’s why his instagram is so curated. His instagram, not Babi’s or Lux’s.
Would it be too forward if he asks about them? Yes, maybe Tom would feel oppressed and move out. Is he overthinking it? No he isn’t.
Harry is convinced he’s hiding his unrequited crush perfectly well, there is no way Tom suspects he’s doing some absurd things like e-stalking him. Because he’s not. Truly, he isn’t. This barely classifies as e-stalking.
Anyway, he doesn’t want to risk their blooming relationship by taking it too far, just for some names that could literally be… old people, or cats. Or strippers, again.
As soon as the door opens, many hours later, Harry cannot bring himself to stop. He immediately gets up from the couch and demands “Babi and Lux?” Then, his eyesight focuses on a very bruised Tom and his heart drops to his feet. “Oh my God what happened to you?!”
Tom is still dressed in the particular eye catching attire in which he left a few hours ago, but he is splashed in droplets of blood from head to toe. So many scratches on his hands, a few on his nose, a spirited air.
“Harry, good evening. We’re all fine, don’t worry.” Tom looks at him reassuringly, with his typical crazed glare. Realizing that Harry is everything but reassured he continues.
“This is nothing,” he points to himself, “just a little murder.”
“Now this isn’t the time to joke-“
“Darling. I have to go disinfect those or I will get an infection. Go to bed, it’s late.” Tom smiles, then walks through the living room toward the corridor which leads to their rooms on opposite ends, a study on the right, Harry’s workout room on the left, and finally, the yellow bathroom.
Harry stands there, appalled for a few minutes, then goes to his bedroom when he hears the shower faucet open.