The elevator jerked to a stop.
The lights went out completely, submerging them in darkness.
For a split second, Harry was frozen in fear. Brief flashes of an entirely different darkness came to mind — of his makeshift bed on the ground, his dark cupboard under the stairs.
Then he spun into action, grabbing his phone from his back pocket and switching on the flashlight.
"Riddle!" he gasped frantically, waving his device around before training it on his boss's form. "The elevator stopped."
"No, really?" Riddle intoned with heavy sarcasm, though there seemed to be an underlying tension in his voice, as if he were gritting his teeth. And now that Harry was looking at him, he found the older man oddly still and almost… stiff.
Stiff. God, Harry's muscles were so stiff from editing until midnight. He'd been fantasizing about lying in a bed for the past couple of hours, and now this happened?
Was his life a fucking joke?
Harry briefly checked his phone screen, dread pooling in his stomach as he confirmed he had neither signal nor Wi-Fi in the foreign country. Without further ado, he flashed his phone's light on the elevator buttons and pressed one of them.
It didn't light up. He pressed it again, along with the call button; nothing happened.
Harry stared blankly at the series of buttons, drained and deadened.
A sudden burst of frustration hit him — a flurry of long-held, bubbling-up of emotions rising with it. He was tired, hungry, aching. He'd been suppressing last night's porn incident all day, and it had been emotionally-draining. There were so many elephants in the room — in the elevator — that he couldn't even begin to count them.
Harry began banging on all the buttons in earnest.
A large hand firmly gripped his wrist, twisting it behind his back.
"You fool," Riddle breathed down the back of Harry's neck from behind him, causing a slight shiver to run down Harry's spine. "Do you want to die?"
"Well, I'd rather not stay and suffoc— aghb. " Harry cut himself off at the painful squeeze dealt to his trapped arm, his eyes smarting as nails dug into his skin.
" Bastard, " Harry gasped, narrowing his eyes and slamming his right heel down onto Riddle's toe in response. "Get the fuck away—"
Riddle roughly shoved him head-first into the elevator wall, ending all discussion. Harry groaned in agony, his head throbbing and vision blurrier than ever. He'd lost his glasses at some point, which only made him feel dizzier.
Still holding Harry's arm behind his back, Riddle leaned in closer and spoke his next words slowly and clearly.
"We are currently suspended seven floors above ground level by mere cables." There was a dangerous undertone to his low voice, loaded with irritation and something… else . "This is an old building, so I suspect the cables are easily breakable. Attempt to refrain from your usual idiocy and listen to me for once ."
The last few words Riddle spoke hinted at an unfamiliar desperation that finally made Harry stop struggling, his temper calming as realization quickly washed over him.
"You're afraid," Harry whispered.
Silence.
Not a sound was made, save for ragged breathing that could have belonged to either of them.
"You're… afraid…" Harry repeated in disbelief, still getting over his surprise at witnessing Riddle act less than infallible. "Afraid to die—"
"Most sane people are, yes," Riddle said curtly, releasing Harry's arm. Harry felt the taller man take a few steps back. He saw light reflect off of the silvery elevator walls as Riddle swiped at his phone.
"I don't have signal or data either," Riddle sighed, pausing before continuing. "Given that this is an office building and tomorrow is Monday, it is likely that the elevator will be fixed by morning at the latest."
Harry turned around to face Riddle's dimly-lit face. "So, you're suggesting we should spend the night here?"
"It's not a suggestion, " Riddle replied bitingly, his eyes flashing bitterly. "We have no other choice."
They stood in silence for a while, looking down at their useless phones. Harry eventually clicked his phone off when it reached ten percent battery, only using it as a flashlight.
After what seemed like hours but was probably mere minutes, he sat down on the elevator floor, leaning back against the wall and hitching one knee up.
It wasn't long before Riddle did the same, against the opposing wall.
And then he continued to stare at Harry with an intense, uncomfortable sort of focus that Harry found he could not keep ignoring.
" What?" Harry snapped, rubbing at his freezing arms.
Riddle narrowed his eyes, though his mouth remained relaxed.
"For some reason, I thought you'd be more…. claustrophobic."
Harry stared.
"I… I don't know why you thought that… " He trailed off, flashes of a dark cupboard and locked door coming to mind before Harry shoved them away. He rubbed his neck, turning his face away from Riddle.
"I used to be. Not anymore," he finished tersely, briefly wondering why Riddle would have suspected that. Then he laid down completely on the elevator floor, facing the wall and away from Riddle.
Harry eventually dozed off for a bit, but he was unable to remain asleep in the cold, metallic, and rather tense environment of the elevator. And then, after waking up for the second time, he began to panic once again. It hadn't hit him how inconvenient this elevator trap was until he began to think about how it would affect work.
"You weren't able to cancel our reservation at the Hilton," Harry confirmed, trying not to sound accusatory.
"No signal," Riddle replied shortly, slipping more and more into illiterate caveman-mode as the night grew older.
"Right," Harry nodded to himself. "As soon as we're out, I'll call E. L. Thames and reschedule our meeting with her accordingly."
Riddle snorted.
Harry froze in surprise.
"What?" he demanded, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that prim, pristine Riddle had made such an undignified sound.
"This author… E. L. Thames," Riddle began, pausing shortly, "is a joke. Meeting with her is a joke, my father is an asshole." He glanced upward, his low voice growing quiet and scathing. " He mocks me ."
Harry blinked, unprepared for the slightly incoherent burst of honesty from his boss.
"I'm not sure—"
"Isn't it funny," Riddle continued, his voice once again calm, his tone speculative and unhumorous, "how books like Fifty Shades become bestsellers when thousands of better ones fail to?"
Harry tilted his head slowly, looking directly at Riddle.
His boss wasn't wrong; they'd spent plenty of time making fun of the author's writing and character development choices on the flight to London. But why was Riddle taking it so personally?
"Well, you of all people should know, seeing as how you have a degree in Business… " Harry began cautiously. When Riddle raised his eyebrows and gestured for him to keep going, he let out a deep breath and continued.
"A lot of it is marketing. It also depends on the genre. Some genres do really well, depending on the current sentiment." Harry drummed his fingers against his knees, vaguely remembering the research he'd done years ago back when he'd naively thought of writing his own bestseller.
"For example, fantasy series — especially those with a lot of world-building," like James Evans and Peter Jackson, "did really well in the early 2000s. Dystopian series like Divergent and Red Queen did really well in the mid-2010s… "
Riddle waved a hand, cutting Harry off before training him with a piercing, almost daring gaze.
"And Fifty Shades? "
Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered bringing up the topic. It was a slightly inappropriate subject for small talk with one's boss, now that he thought about it…
Screw it.
"Sex sells." Harry said shortly. "People will always be fascinated by sex. And Fifty Shades of Purple doesn't just have sex — it revolves around sex. The plot is sex. That's what makes it different—"
His phone light suddenly died, and the elevator went completely dark once more.
And just like that, as if his phone dying had been some sort of wake-up call, Harry stopped talking abruptly. Because talking about sex in a completely dark, enclosed space with Tom Riddle… was suddenly too much.
God, he'd said the word 'sex' way too many times in the past five seconds.
Harry's face was burning, and he thanked the stars that the elevator was now pitch black.
"Right." Harry looked vaguely in Riddle's direction, unable to see that man's face. He attempted to change the topic. "So, my phone just died…"
There was a distinctive click as Riddle switched on the flashlight from his iPhone Pro Max… displaying a brightened phone screen showing '78% battery left.'
Harry's mouth dropped. What a douchebag. Here he'd been, sacrificing his low-battery phone for the sake of a flashlight when Riddle's phone was nearly fully-charged!
And then Harry's gaze travelled upwards, and his mouth went completely dry.
Because now that the flashlight was in Riddle's hands, the man's face was illuminated, and the way Riddle was looking at him…
Darkened eyes gazed at him below long eyelashes, heavy with unmistakable, challenging intent. Black curls played along the curve of his eyebrows, artfully messy… unlike the neat, pristine curl of his softly smirking mouth.
"And how about you, Harry?" Riddle breathed tauntingly, his lids drooping heavily. "Are you fascinated by sex?"
Harry's right hand slowly curled into a fist in his lap. Alarm bells rung in his head, though he didn't need intuition to know that this was rapidly becoming a case of workplace sexual harassment.
"Let's talk about something else," Harry said quietly.
"Oh, there are plenty of other things we can talk about." Riddle's gaze grew knowing, heavy, and it was exactly the kind of look that Harry had been attempting to avoid all day.
"Like the fact that you apparently watch gay porn in your free time."
Harry flinched at the reminder of last night, a deep, mind-numbing sensation of horror dawning at the pit of his stomach as his heart began to race.
"Right, about that," Harry said faintly. "Only, like, three people including family," the Dursleys didn't count, "know I'm gay," in real life, at least, "so I'd really appreciate it if you kept that under wraps—"
Riddle smirked. "Why should I?"
Harry stayed quiet. His stomach began to churn, and he swallowed the rising bile in his throat. The Dursleys had already ruined his childhood over the fact that he was nothing but a FREAK, and he couldn't… couldn't afford to let it get out that he wasn't straight.
"Just don't talk about it, please," Harry repeated, fainter than ever.
But the one thing that wasn't quiet about him was his breathing… because it was starting to come faster, and faster, and then suddenly he was gasping and there was no breath coming in—
A warm, strong hand grasped Harry's shoulder, grounding him back in reality.
"Don't worry," Riddle said quietly, casually, "I'm not that interested in ruining your life."
Right, Harry thought sarcastically. How reassuring. And yet, his breathing began to slow down. The way Riddle phrased things — it's like he expected a 'thank you' for being a decent human being.
"But for the record," Riddle said lazily, "I agree."
Harry blinked.
"About what?"
Riddle tilted his head, keeping his eyes closely trained on Harry. "That sex sells. Timelessly. That's why people watch porn, read novels like Fifty Shades… "
His eyes glinted like sharpened knives.
"That's why they read fanfiction."
Harry's eyes widened, his breath picking up pace.
Shit, shit, shit.
"Where there's a market, there are people willing to provide the content," Riddle continued on calmly, looking down casually at his phone screen as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb.
Then Riddle shifted his eyes to Harry once more, piercing him with that knowing gaze and dropping another bomb.
"And that…" Riddle stared at Harry, almost triumphantly, "is why people write fanfiction."
Harry physically flinched, the back of his head striking the elevator wall. Millions of thoughts and alarm bells were ringing in his head, in every part of his body, but he couldn't process a single one. He was in a state beyond thought — he was experiencing complete panic, and most unfortunately, he couldn't even emergency-evacuate this damn elevator.
"Er…" Harry began shakily, digging himself into his corner of the elevator as much as physically possible. "Very… interesting… analysis… "
Riddle just stared at him in dark amusement, one eyebrow raised as he drew out Harry's torture. Because all Harry could think was, fuck, he knows, fuck fuck fuck—
"Well," Riddle said eventually, his tone viciously smug, "Anyways… "
The way his voice trailed off suggestively, ominously, was Harry's breaking point.
For some reason, the fact that Riddle definitely knew about Harry's fanfiction addiction but refused to say a word — to just confront him — was beyond stressful. It was painful.
Harry was sick of it. Sick of him.
"Stop playing your fucking games," Harry bit out shortly.
Riddle's amused smirk disappeared into a stone coldness that would have made him flinch had he not been so done with the man.
"I work hard," Harry said quietly. "I get the job done and I'm an all around decent personal assistant. You can argue otherwise, but there's a reason you've kept me around so long."
He took a deep breath, tensing as he awaited interruption. When none occurred, he continued.
"That said, the way you constantly insult and make fun of me — it is tiring, Riddle." Harry looked up determinedly at Riddle — practically a silhouette in the darkness.
"Let's not beat around the bush: you probably know that I read smutty queer James Evans fanfiction, and you may even suspect that I write some as well." Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "So now that it's all out in the open, can you please stop using it against me? I have no desire to have my personal life conflict with my professional life any more than it already has. I hope you can respect that."
Harry stared into the darkness at the vaguely Riddle-shaped form at the other side of the elevator, his jaw clenched stubbornly.
Riddle cleared his throat after a long silence and began to speak.
Nothing could have prepared Harry for what happened next.
" Marvolo's eyes ," Riddle sighed dramatically, his voice pitched high, " grew dark and heated, running over my form before— "
Fuck. Harry froze in horror.
Riddle was reciting lines from Harry's future fanfiction chapter… the very lines Harry had pasted into the editing document last night. And why the fuck did he even remember all of that?
Of course, leave it to Riddle to have photographic memory.
" —settling on the area my fingers— "
Harry held his hands up to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and suppressing the urge to scream incoherently. "SHUT UPPP! I BEG YOU!"
He couldn't handle the shame, he couldn't handle this situation—
Riddle continued on mercilessly, his eyebrow quirking. "— were penetrating —"
" STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!"
Harry took a deep breath before continuing to moan loudly in protest, trying to drown out Riddle's next words. " STOOOOOOO— "
A hand clamped down on his mouth, and Harry's eyes flew open. Riddle was way too close to him, kneeling in front of Harry's crouched up figure.
And the man was laughing, genuinely smiling. Harry might have been more shocked if he weren't so embarrassed.
"Alright — now it's 'all out in the open'," Riddle breathed out while making air quotations with his fingers, half laughing. "And if I'd known you'd react this way, I would have brought it up much earlier than you did."
"I hate you, " Harry moaned, breathing hard, still keeping his hands over his ears despite being able to hear everything. God, he was unbearably embarrassed. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if being blind would help him escape his boss. "You're so horrible to me—you have been all this time, ever since I joined—"
"Harry," Riddle said firmly. "Listen—"
"Always threatening to fire me because my tie isn't the right color—"
"Harry—"
"Or because I haven't completed a report that my degree doesn't even qualify me to complete. I mean, come on, I fucking hate math—"
"Potter—"
"And I just can't deal with it, with you — sometimes looking down on me like I'm the concrete below your shoes, and other times… " Harry trailed off, his voice going soft and uncertain. "Other times, looking at me like…"
"Like?" Riddle prompted, his tone serious.
Harry stiffened, clenching his jaw to keep himself from saying the wrong thing.
Like you want me. But in a hateful, get-you-out-of-my-system way.
Harry thought back to the way Riddle had treated him back in the office, remembering the heated glances Riddle would throw his way while berating Harry for not wearing a tie or for messing up a report.
Like I'm a piece of meat, and you want to play with me a bit before throwing me away.
Harry didn't respond. Because the fact that they hated each other — but clearly wanted each other — was yet another elephant he very much wanted to avoid.
"Harry," Riddle sighed after a moment. "I don't hate you."
Harry gave a mirthless, disbelieving chuckle.
"Then why do you treat me like that?"
"Open your eyes, and I'll tell you."
Harry reluctantly opened them.
Riddle was kneeling in front of him, in a posture that would likely stretch the knees of his trousers by tomorrow morning. His arms were balanced against both walls on each side of the corner where Harry was sitting, in a way that should have felt suffocating but felt oddly comforting instead.
The other man had taken off his coat at some point, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. His hair was disheveled, and a flurry of wavy curls was falling over one side of his forehead. His lower lip was slightly swollen, as if he'd been biting it. The beginnings of a five o'clock shadow was speckling his strong jaw, which was clenched and tense for some reason.
Harry had never seen the man looking like more of a mess in his life.
Riddle was fucking gorgeous.
" Ugh." Harry banged his head back into the walls of the elevator corner, looking upwards to avoid looking at him any longer. "As usual, you have no sense of personal space whatsoever—"
A hand gripped Harry's jaw and pulled it down, so that Harry was looking directly at Riddle.
Dark eyes looked into his with a strange mixture of exasperation, amusement, and seriousness.
"Patience," Riddle murmured somewhat patronizingly, causing Harry to bristle and nearly pull himself away. "Look at you, always in a hurry." He traced Harry's jaw with his thumb. "Never willing to listen or… understand… "
Riddle leaned in, his forehead nearly touching Harry's, and closed his eyes. Harry froze, too shocked to pull away.
And then Riddle whispered, nearly hissing,
"Do you know how much you frustrate me? "
Harry's breath hitched — at the words, at Riddle's proximity, and at the sensation of Riddle's exhalation washing over his skin.
"What…" Harry's voice was hoarse. "What do you mean? You're the frustrating one — always demanding this and that—"
Riddle opened his eyes and leaned back slightly.
"Not nearly as frustrating as you are," Riddle scoffed, though his mouth was curved into a soft smile.
"In what way?" Harry demanded defensively.
"In every way," Riddle murmured, his eyes not leaving Harry's… as if daring Harry to break eye contact.
Harry swallowed dryly under the man's watchful gaze.
"Your eyes are frustrating," Riddle continued. "So expressive and emotional. I used to find it distasteful — the way they displayed everything so freely. But now I just find them magnetic."
Riddle paused after that, continuing to look at Harry as if searching for an indication of Harry's sentiments.
When Harry, rendered speechless, gave none, Riddle kept going.
"And your mouth," Riddle exhaled, chuckling under his breath. "So goddamn irritating — always moving and talking and sucking lollipops nonstop." His eyes grew even more heated. "I have no choice but to keep… looking at it. "
Riddle ran his thumb over Harry's lower lip, and Harry lost half of his brain cells.
"What are you trying to tell me?" Harry gasped, capturing Riddle's wandering hand in his own and clasping it firmly. God, was Harry delirious? Was this actually happening?
"I'm trying to tell you," Riddle said, looking at Harry with an unbelievably soft expression, "that you're gorgeous in every way and that you shouldn't take everything I do so personally, just because you're in love with me."
Harry blinked.
Riddle snorted.
And then, with rage bubbling up in his stomach once more, he pushed the man away and let out the incoherent scream that had been waiting to come out.
"AM I JOKE TO YOU?" Harry scream-cried, watching as Riddle doubled over with a wild sort of laughter that he'd never seen the man succumb to in his life.
"Just passing time, sweetheart . What else?" Riddle bit out between bursts of that unfamiliar-sounding laughter. It sounded rough, hoarse, uneven — imperfect yet strangely adorable.
It was stupid how the man could be adorable even at moments like this. Because while part of him wanted to quietly admire the man, the rest of him wanted to bang his head against the elevator doors. He wanted to scream.
Riddle's eyes were gleaming with mirth as he stood to his feet, straightening his sleeves and running a hand through his hair. "Now, now, before you get all worked up again," his head turned towards the elevator door, "people are here—"
"W-wait — what?" Harry stood to his feet as well. "I thought you weren't able to get a signal… "
"—So you might as well dust yourself off and try to look half-way decent."
Right on cue, the elevator door opened and Riddle's face was wiped blank once more.
"You can jump that far, right?" sounded a call from a dozen feet away.
Riddle held up a hand. "Absolutely. Thanks for fixing it — I was worried that no one would be coming so late." Then, without a backward glance, "Are you coming, Potter?"
If Harry's footsteps were louder than usual, no one seemed to notice.
But as Harry passed by his boss, refusing to look him in the eye, Riddle's mirthful, ever-suggestive whisper of, "Back to the hotel then, sweetheart , " had him nearly dropping everything and strangling his boss right there and then.
. . .
Thankfully, they were able to check into the nice Hilton room Riddle had reserved. They'd only been stuck in the elevator for an hour and a half, which Harry — through all his delirium — had been very shocked to hear.
Now, as he was showering after the long day, fuming as much as the water he was standing beneath, Harry came to a couple of conclusions about his boss.
One — Riddle was an excellent liar and couldn't be trusted.
This had become very obvious because of how Riddle had shamelessly played him in the elevator — not only fiddling with Harry's feelings, but also lying about a lack of connection when clearly he'd been able to somehow get in touch with an elevator technician.
Still, the signs had always been there. The way he schmoozed Hepzibah Smith, and many other older female clients on a regular basis, was quite telling. Riddle could be charming when he wanted, and that's what made him so dangerous.
No, Harry definitely couldn't trust him.
Two — Riddle knew Harry wrote fanfiction.
… Which made Number One quite the issue. Because if it got out that Harry wrote gay romance in his freetime, that was it. He was quitting and finding a new job.
It was a wonder he hadn't quit as soon as Riddle found out.
Three —
Riddle was about to get both of them fired.
"There's no need to reschedule the meeting with E. L. Thames," Riddle stated while Harry was drying his hair post-shower.
"Okay," Harry nodded. "So we're gonna let a fifty-million dollar deal go? Just like that?"
Riddle nodded, continuing to pack up his stuff. He began stuffing all the free shampoos into his day bag—
Wait a second.
"Why are you packing now?" Harry asked, pausing in his hair drying.
"We're leaving," Riddle said shortly, briefly checking the watch on his wrist. "In half an hour."
Harry blinked, no longer having the energy to freak out.
"But why?"
But why, was a question that remained unanswered two hours later, with Harry and Tom stuffed into a car with their luggage in the back.
It was a stormy gray night. Few cars were out on the roads past midnight. They'd been driving on an empty freeway for the last half hour, and Harry was both physically and mentally exhausted by this point.
One hour in, Harry could no longer keep himself awake in the passenger seat. He took a nap, waking up after what seemed to be a short time but had probably been a few hours… judging by the fact that the sky seemed to have lightened up a bit.
And now, he was more worried that Riddle would fall asleep while driving. The man may seem inhuman at times, but there was only so much a person could take.
Harry slid his eyes over to Riddle. The man appeared alert, strangely full of life and vigor for someone who'd been driving all night. Something had been on his mind since he'd said they were leaving the hotel, and Harry didn't have a clue what the older man was thinking.
"You're not tired?" Harry asked quietly, yawning and feeling his eyes start to droop once again.
Riddle glanced briefly in his direction. "Sleep is for the weak."
Harry stopped mid-yawn, staring at his boss in disbelief. "Sleep is for humans, boss. Which you are, despite your best efforts to not act like one." He shook his head. "And why did we have to leave that perfectly nice hotel room?"
What the hell is on your mind, Riddle?
Riddle bit his lower lip, his hands flexing on the wheel. Even half-asleep, Harry had to admit the man looked good while driving.
"I have something to take care of." His jaw flexed. "The real reason my dad sent me back here."
"And what is that?"
Riddle gave a small, close-lipped smile. "Unfinished business."
Harry turned away from Riddle, mystified by his secretive responses. It was funny how a man like him had become an editor; in Harry's honest opinion, Riddle would be a terrible writer, given how utterly terrible he was at communicating.
He squinted out of the window in an effort to distract himself, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. Now that there was some more light, Harry could finally see his surroundings a bit better.
The town was rather old-fashioned-looking. Green fields seemed to stretch out from the cobblestone roads they were driving upon. Small shops populated the sides of the roads, and greenery seemed to be growing out of the oddest places — in the cracks of the walls, along the edges of the roads.
And as they drove further and took a turn onto a wider road, Harry read a sign on the roadside. It was gray and shabby, yet oddly charming.
' Welcome to Little Hangleton'