Chapter Text
Floyd sat quietly in his seat. Contrary to his usual fidgeting and fooling around, he was still. Not focused, but not disruptive. He could only sit properly for a lean too forward or a slouch too back, he’d be reminded of the collar around his neck, he’d be reminded of the utter fool he was.
It’s been 2 days since Riddle found out, Floyd hasn’t seen him at all. In all honesty, he’s been avoiding him and he isn’t surprised if the redhead’s been doing the same. Jade asked him if he was ever going to talk to him to at least dispel his unique magic, but for once, Floyd felt so consumed by shame, by guilt. ‘I'm not in the mood,’ He’d say, but as selfish as it was, he just wasn’t ready to face Riddle.
Jade and Azul didn’t seem to get that, it pissed Floyd off. After school they’d give him the latest news— ‘Riddle was alright at the housewarden meeting,’, ‘Riddle didn’t seem off during class.’ —they didn’t get it. That day in the Monstro Lounge replayed itself in Floyd’s head. Riddle’s face replayed in Floyd’s head, and once again Floyd is stuck wondering how it all messed up so badly. There’s that part of him that knows he no longer deserves to be involved with Riddle. The bottom line was that he hurt him and it doesn’t take a detective to know that despite what seemed to be academic strength, Riddle was coping.
Professor Trein was going off about something Floyd couldn’t care less about. For the entire period, he’d been staring at the clock, waiting for lunch. If Riddle was coping with his studies, Floyd coped in silence. With not much energy to make trouble, Floyd’s been keeping sane by waiting for the next thing. He’d wait for the next hour, for the next period, for the next day, while a voice in his head asked for a change of pace, but to Floyd, this was repentance. Floyd isn’t one to be harsh on himself, but he’s more emotionally mature than people give him credit for. Having made such a personal mistake, he has no room to deflect his dispirit onto others.
So he’s been quiet. He hasn’t read the Basketball club’s group chat that was asking when he’d attend training, he hasn’t caused a ruckus in the Monstro Lounge either. It wasn’t a mood, it was an unfamiliar feeling for Floyd to willingly reflect. Of everything that’s happened in his life, he wouldn’t have imagined that a splash of Strawberry Soda would be the reality check he needed.
In the moments of silence, he thought about how he perceived relationships, after all, it was the very reason he was in this mess. He was emotionally mature, but it’s come to his attention that it’d always been his choice to be immature, to be oblivious, simply because it was easy entertainment. Emotions aren’t entertainment, he’s realizing, and emotional maturity wasn’t meant to be a tool, but rather a habit.
Introspecting on himself while feeling horrible was harder than he thought, but even though Floyd was spiraling, he’s come to the conclusion that he wanted to change something. This feeling of regret and disappointment was something he didn’t want to experience again, especially by his own hands. If he had the choice to stop the heartbreak, he would’ve chosen that route ten times over.
And now that he’s figured that out but too little, too late. Floyd is back to silence.
“But as they say, to explain poetry is to betray the poet.” Said Professor Trein, “It is to be absorbed, the ones who understand, understand. Those who can’t will never be able to in the same degree. You can never put one single meaning on a piece of literature. It will speak volumes for everyone in all ranges. Preference plays a part in this, which is why poetry remains so vast.”
Professor Trein walked to his podium, “I’d like to ask the class if they have done their homework. A piece of poetry you would like to share but leave up to the interpretation of your peers.”
Floyd couldn’t wait for the bell to ring, he wanted to finally get some movement. As he waited, he stared idly at his desk as his mind led him to the cafeteria. He was on the topic of what they were serving, he started deciding whether or not he should indulge or be nutritional that day. Or maybe he could get whatever, he can just steal from Jade or Azul anyway.
Though in the next few seconds, nothing he thought of mattered. The past two days, he tried keeping to himself and ignoring the other students. Sevens know that the Octavinelle students probably have a lot to say. But the moment he felt the absence of a collar around his neck, he raised his head and whipped it around the classroom.
“Riddle?” Professor Trein raised his brow, “You aren’t in this class.”
“I know, apologies, Professor Trein.”
Floyd knows he has no right to search for him, but he wanted one glance, one visual reassurance that he is okay. When he turned, there stood Riddle, magic pen out. He didn’t look angry, he didn’t look annoyed, but his eyes were puffy and red. The two stared at each other for a second before Riddle looked back at the teacher, and it was becoming increasingly clear to the rest of the students that something was going on.
“I assure you, I’m not here improperly. I know we have a class later, but I was excused from Alchemy so I attended for an early and extra session.” Riddle fidgeted with his paper, “Will I be granted the opportunity to read my poem?”
Professor Trein stepped off of the podium, “The floor is yours.”
Riddle cleared his throat,
“I hate the way you laugh,
I hate the way you style your hair,
I hate the way you style your clothes,
I hate the ways in which you don't care.
I hate your stupid spells,
And how you never think things through
I hate how you don’t consider
That people fall for you.
I hate the way you’ve changed me
I hate the way I’ve discarded my rules,
I hate the way you’ve made me happy
And whole, you’ve made me a fool.”
Riddle’s voice began to shake, even Professor Trein seemed concerned, but he didn’t let anyone interrupt.
“I hate it— I hate that you were right
Even though you lied.
I hate that you still matter,
Even though you made me cry.”
Riddle’s voice completely broke by then, but he continued,
“I hate that you never left my head
And didn’t even try to leave my heart.
I hate that you are tainted with affection
Like a strawberry tart.
I hate it when you’re not around
And the fact you didn’t call…”
The tears that welled up in Riddle’s eyes became more evident, his voice betraying him as he spoke.
“But mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate you.
Not even close, not even a little bit.
Not even at all.”
It was then Riddle burst. Silent tears fell and he quietly ran away, exiting the classroom.
The tension in the room weighed down on everyone. Murmurs started, classmates chattering about who that poem could possibly be about. New rumors forming by the second.
“Silence!” Professor Trein ordered, “What that poem meant is unique to you. That is poetry. Passion, emotion, and individuality. It was beautifully executed.”
The bell rang and Professor Trein sighed, “That is the bell, you are all dismissed. Have your lunch.”
—
As soon as his club activities were done, Riddle made a straight path to his dorm. His face still flushed in embarrassment as he recalled his stunt earlier. Lying to a nurse was one thing, now he had lied to his teacher about being excused… What has he become?
Riddle opened the doors of his room and set down all his things. He was supposed to review a little bit, but he was so mentally exhausted, even the thought of opening up another book tired him out. He let out a chuckle as he left his books inside his bag. He wondered what his mother would have thought of him at that moment. She would probably yell, maybe even punish him in ways he doesn’t want to imagine. Weirdly enough, his fatigue overthrew that fear.
Just as he was approaching his bed, he noticed a weird lump underneath his blanket. No one had told him that anyone’s visited his room, so he grew skeptical. Walking closer, he grabbed a piece of the blanket with his fingertips and yanked it off.
Riddle’s eyes widened. On his bed was an origami of a rose and a container of strawberry tarts. He lowered his guard to pick up the food and as he opened it, he took a closer look at its structure. It wasn’t like Trey’s, rather, it was messier, but when he took a bite, it was far from lacking. The sweetness exploded on his tongue just right and the texture was soft and satisfying. He concluded that whoever made this, most definitely had experience in the kitchen. He glanced at the rose. Some petals were the teeniest bit crumpled, it was certainly not perfect, but it was clearly a rose. Riddle even thought that the slight off-centeredness made it look a little more endearing. Something about the imperfection screamed meaning and sincerity, the lack of preformativeness.
Needless to say, Riddle already had an idea of who trespassed in his room. Even before seeing the items, the thought that someone did break into his room without his consent was telling enough. After all, only one person would ever dare.
Riddle looked around to find traces of him. He realized that there was only one way this person would choose to break into his room, thus he checked the window. He smiled proudly as he noticed it was slightly ajar. He’s made the decision— tomorrow he shall talk to Floyd. Properly. He will not run, he will not overreact. If the rose and the tarts tell him anything, it tells him that something can still happen. He could take it as an apology, or he could take it as a sign to do more. Riddle has learned that it was high time he quit settling for less.
He walked to his window, ready to close it.
“Took ya looong enough, Goldfishie!” Floyd emerged upward from his broom. Wobbling and grinning, “I was seriously about to fall!... again!”
“Floyd?!” Riddle sputtered, he opened the window to the eel in. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“I left all those clues!”
“Well I assumed you were here.”
Floyd dismounted off his broomstick and settled on Riddle’s bed. “Did you like my tarts? I see that one’s missing.”
Riddle bit his cheek, “They were adequate.”
“But anyways! I think you can tell that there’s something that made me do this.” Floyd laughed but his smile shifted to one solemn. “That was a beautiful poem, Goldfish.”
Riddle turned the slightest bit red at the mention of his poem. In all honesty, all his words were so emotionally driven, when he read it back, he realized that it truly wasn’t the most well-written piece of his.
“And I’m sorry.” Floyd made a sharp inhale. “It was such a crappy thing to do, but I promise you, for real, and on my life, that the moments we shared… the simple ones at lunch, the deep talks during the party, that’s something I couldn’t play pretend for. No other fishie could make me fall for them the way I fell for you.”
Floyd stood up to hug Riddle, “I told you that I wouldn’t change myself for just anyone… and you aren’t just anyone. I think, because of you.. Something did happen to me, out of my own will, I regretted more, I wished more, I hoped more. I mean look at me, I ain’t one for all these sappy moments, but since it’s you, I’m okay with it.”
“Maybe I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I know I wanna figure it out with you.”
Floyd was moody, obnoxious, and anything but consistent. These traits Riddle always resented about him. Riddle was a man built on routine, built on patterns and consistency. Therefore he didn’t realize that these traits of Floyd’s were some of the best. Yes, he is moody, obnoxious, and inconsistent, but Floyd is sensitive, he is empathetic, he is kind and unorthodox, but you feel him. You truly know him because of his entropy, and that makes Riddle even more glad that he was able to meet someone like him.
And to see him now. In the dim space of his room, in vulnerability and genuineness. Riddle can see that this isn't his norm. Floyd was not one for apologies, he wasn’t one for deliberate plans. But Floyd was there nonetheless with the goal to give his closure. It wasn’t easy, but Floyd was trying. That was all Riddle needed to know.
And so he will try too. After all, the laws require balance and reciprocation.
“You can’t buy me strawberry tarts every time you mess up, you know.” He said, lightening up the mood.
Floyd looked at him with a bright smile, “Are you sure? It worked pretty well!”
Riddle raised his brow, “Wanna test that theory?”
“Hmm could I ever repay you…” Floyd kissed the top of Riddle’s head, “With a date?”
Riddle giggled. He took Floyd’s collar and pulled him into a kiss. Floyd leaned into it, savouring the feeling.
“Well it would be about time you asked.”