Work Text:
“I like you."
The classroom is empty, quiet. The sun is beginning to set, and it paints the desks and walls a warm orange. Floyd thinks its pretty, but it pales in comparison to the boy standing in front of him.
"You like me," Riddle repeats, eyes widened ever so slightly, and Floyd nods. He leans his broom against a desk — the two had been on after-school cleanup duty, after all — and stands up a little straighter. Rolls his chest back. Hopes this impromptu bravado will convince the shorter boy to accept.
"Yeah, I like you. In a not friend way." Floyd rubs his neck with his hand and tries to keep his face passive when he notices Riddle’s eyes following the movement. "I have for a while now, actually."
Riddle looks down, frowning. Floyd watches as he plays with his fingers, constantly locking and separating them. It's cute, he thinks, before he can stop himself. "I'm sorry, Floyd," he finally says, and Floyd feels his heart drop into his stomach. "I'm not sure I feel the same way."
"You're not sure?" Floyd raises an eyebrow, but Riddle doesn't look up.
"I'm not interested," Riddle states plainly, and takes a deep breath, letting his fingers fall. "I'm flattered, but I — I'm afraid I don't feel the same way."
"Sure," Floyd shrugs, picking the broom up again. "Don't worry about it, kingyo-chan."
"It must have taken a lot of courage."
"Wasn't anything."
"Still, it couldn't have been easy." Riddle insists, putting his hand on Floyd’s broom. This, of course, forces the other boy to stop, and so he does, looking up only to be met with the concerned gaze of the only other student in the room. "Thank you for telling me."
Floyd’s eyes flicker down to Riddle’s lips, then back at his eyes. "Of course."
It takes all of Floyd’s strength to return to the task at hand, pinning his gaze to the floor. He knows that Riddle’s doing that thing where he bites his lower lip when he's worried, his eyebrows meeting at a point at the bridge of his nose. But he knows better than to look, to disturb the quiet peace of the classroom once more.
"This is for me?"
"Yeah."
With the way Riddle scrutinized the package, one would think it was a dangerous explosive as opposed to a small bar of chocolate wrapped in plastic. "Why?"
"Because," Floyd crosses his arms, leaning back against the desk in front of Riddle’s. Riddle hopes his seatmate won't mind. "It's Valentine's."
"February 14th, I'm aware." Riddle mumbles, still staring at the confectionary. Finally, he puts it down, looking Floyd in the eye. "Isn't this usually reserved for couples?"
"For anyone who likes someone," Floyd corrects, smiling a little. Riddle doesn't get why he does so. "I like you, remember?"
And Riddle did remember, so he nods. "But I turned you down."
"I know," the other boy says, and maybe it's just Riddle’s imagination, but his ears are a little red. Like an anime character, he thinks, then frowns. “Doesn't hurt to try again, though, does it?"
The chocolate is white, which is Riddle’s favourite. It's wrapped in plastic that is mostly clear, safe from a few bunnies decorated on it, and — well, he loves bunnies. There's even a little bow made out of pink ribbon that he finds adorable, and it's in spite of all of this that he pushes the package across the desk, away from him and towards Floyd. "I can't accept this."
He's laughing at me with his eyes, Riddle decides when he sees Floyd raise an eyebrow. "Sure you can," the older boy says, pushing it back. "It's easy. You just gotta eat it."
"That would suggest I'm accepting your feelings, would it not?" Riddle asks, shaking his head. "I don't like you, Floyd."
"I know that, but still." Floyd shoves his hands in his pockets, sighing. "Just — take it, okay?"
"I'm sorry," Riddle is crossing his arms now, and he ignores the way Floyd’s shoulders slump. "I wasn't hoping to reject your advances more than once, but I really don't want you to get the wrong idea."
"It's just chocolate," Floyd resists, frowning. "Think of it as something from a friend."
"But you said Valentine's is for —"
"I know what I said," Riddle doesn't understand why Floyd won't let him finish, but he quickly closes his mouth. "Look, I stayed up making this for you. I even got Azul to help, and he hates helping me. I want you to take it."
Looking at the chocolate, Riddle was surprised to hear about the amount of effort Floyd had put into it. Because it really wasn't much — it wasn't sloppy, but it didn't look store quality either. It was average. "You know what I'm going to say."
Floyd locked eyes with Riddle. One of his eyes was a bright yellow, and it reminded Riddle of the sun, making his other green eye the soft grass below it. "Fine," Floyd concedes, getting up off the other desk. Before Riddle can change his mind, the taller boy snatches up the chocolate and stuffs it in his pocket rather forcefully. "I'll just give it to Jade, or something."
"Or something," Riddle parrots, then smiles, bringing his palm up so he can put his chin in it. "I hope he'll enjoy it. It looks good."
"Yeah, well." Floyd shrugs, still frowning. He takes two steps away from the desk, then pauses. "Happy Valentine's Day, Riddle."
Riddle nods once. "Happy Valentine's Day, Floyd."
"You can come in, you know." Riddle says, without looking up.
Floyd jumps in his place by the door, surprised the other boy noticed he was there. He laughs nervously as Riddle turns around, putting his paintbrush down. "You paint well."
"I would hope so," the other boy responds, placing it down on the desk in front of him. "I've been doing this for a while now."
"What’s it meant to be?" Floyd asks, still hovering by the door. He sees a seat beside Riddle but decides to ignore it. Instead, he runs his fingers up and down the door frame, looking down.
Riddle rubs his neck, and Floyd wishes his hands were there instead. "I don’t know how to explain it. The night sky, maybe." He pauses, and Floyd’s breath catches in his throat. Because, whether or not Riddle realises, he's smiling softly to himself, and Floyd wants to freeze time. "Yeah."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, it's a work in progress," Riddle repeats, then looks at Floyd out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't think I'd be showing it to someone else so soon."
"Sorry about that," Floyd mumbles distantly, but he doesn't mean it, and he's sure Riddle can tell with the way the ends of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly. "I was just heading home when I saw the lights on in here."
"I see." And then Riddle’s standing, and the whole world comes to a standstill as he looks Floyd in the eye, equal parts nervous and excited. Floyd swallows, hoping the colour of his face won't betray his uneasiness. He looks away. "Do you like it?"
"Yeah," Floyd says, nodding, and Riddle's smile widens. Floyd frowns. "It reminds me of you."
Riddle pauses in the corner of the room, where he was dismantling his easel. "Of me," he repeats, softly, and Floyd shrugs.
"It‘s beautiful." He says plainly, and Riddle smile fades. "Like you."
There's a beat of silence, before Riddle sighs and continues putting his easel away. He's quiet as he layers the wood on top of each other, and Floyd watches the action keenly, hands in his pockets. It's when he finishes wrapping up, and stands, that Riddle’s eyes meet Floyd’s again, and this time it's the shorter boy who breaks contact. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."
Floyd raises an eyebrow. "That your art’s beautiful?"
"No, that I'm — that I am the —" Riddle can't find the words, but Floyd nods. "Because I'm not, really."
"Sure you are," Floyd grins, and Riddle frowns, lifting the collapsed easel. "I think so, anyway."
"I don't —"
"—like me, I'm aware." Floyd finishes, and Riddle glares at the floor instead. It's cute in a way, Floyd decides. "You've told me, multiple times."
"And I'll tell you again," Riddle sighs, and he runs a hand through his hair, and Floyd wants to imprint the way his fringe falls back onto his forehead behind his eyelids. "I'm really not interested."
"That's okay," Floyd reaches for the easel, ignoring Riddle’s sounds of protest as he carries it above his head. "I'll wait for you."
Riddle fixes him with an unreadable look. "I'm not coming to you."
"That's okay, too." And he's walking into the hallway, with Riddle still frozen in the room. "I don't mind the wait."
"Yo, kingyo-chan. Mind if I sit?"
Floyd watches Riddle jump at the sudden noise, grinning a little as he relaxes when noticing it's just the other boy. Riddle nods toward the seat opposite him. "Sure."
"You're alone," Floyd comments, sliding into his seat, and Riddle shrugs. "Trey not in?"
"Fever," he answers, poking at his food with a fork. Floyd looks at his own lunch tray as the pair lapsed into silence, comparing it with Riddle’s, before frowning.
"Here," Floyd pushes his brownie over to Riddle, who looks up, confused. "I saw you didn't have one."
Riddle smiles softly, taking a bite of his food. "That's alright. It's yours."
"Not anymore," the taller boy argues, pushing it further. "Take it."
"This is becoming a painfully familiar scene, Floyd." Riddle sighs, putting his fork down.
Floyd lets go of the brownie. "I wouldn't say painful, exactly." He mumbles and hates how can feel Riddle’s pity.
"You offer me something. I turn you down. You try again. I turn you down again." he sighs, wistfully, and Floyd’s frown deepens. "You don't have to keep doing this, you know."
"I know, but I want to. I —"
"— like you . You like me. That's what you were going to say, right?" Riddle finishes for him, and Floyd feels his stomach twist as he nods.
"I can't help it."
"I don't see the point of this." Riddle frowns, looking down at his tray. "You waste your time doing things for me, I waste my time turning you down."
Floyd shakes his head with renewed vigour. "I don't see it as a waste of time. You do things like that for the person you like."
"Even if they don't like you back?"
"Especially if they don't like you back." Seeing Riddle’s confused expression, Floyd sighs. "In Western cultures, what we're doing right now would be called courtship. Behaviour designed to persuade someone — you — to develop a romantic relationship with someone else — me."
"It's a fruitless ordeal," Riddle argues, shaking his head. "Things would be so much easier if you just — if you —"
"If I what , kingyo-chan?" Floyd cuts in, and Riddle’s expression softens, moulding into one of sadness that makes the other boy feel like he's just kicked a puppy. But he can't stop here. "Say it."
"If you just didn't like me at all." The other boy finishes quietly, grimacing at the weighty silence that overcomes both of them. "Floyd, I —"
"It's easy for you, isn't it?" Floyd says, and Riddle thinks he sounds more sad than anything else. "All you have to do is say no, over and over again, while I'm the one who's putting my heart on the line each time."
At that, Riddle glares at the table. "That's hardly fair," he mumbles, and Floyd raises an eyebrow. "I don't want to say no to you each time. I see the way it hurts you."
And he knows he's being desperate, but he doesn't care. "Then say yes," Floyd says, and Riddle sighs, closing his eyes. "You never know until you try, kingyo-chan."
"Alright, let's imagine I say yes." Riddle concedes, letting his head fall back against the edge of the chair's headrest. "You take me on a date. You pay for the food. You take me to a movie that I like, and you hate, just because you want to make me happy. But it's pointless, Floyd." He opens his eyes, and Floyd can't bring himself to look at them. "Because even if the food is good, and the movie's good, and you're good, because you are, I can't like you. Not like this."
Floyd swallows, hard. "You never know," he says again, but he knows his words fall on deaf ears.
"I don't want to hurt you," Ridde says, and the tears in his eyes must be contagious, but suddenly Floyd’s eyes sting. "I never want to hurt you. I want to see you happy, always. But you won't find that with me."
"You don't know that," Floyd whispers, and he's shaking his head, but Riddle’s still not hearing what he's trying to say. "You can't decide what makes me happy."
"Find someone else, Floyd." Now Riddle’s standing, and Floyd still can't meet his gaze. "I just — I can't be the one for you."
"You — You never know until you —"
"—until I try, right?" Riddle’s smiling sadly, his tray shaking ever so slightly in his hands. "That's the problem, then. I'm just too scared to try."
At that, Floyd finally looks up. "I'll wait, kingyo-chan."
But Riddle’s already walking away. "You shouldn't."
It's been five years since Floyd graduated, but he can still remember the way the cherry blossoms fell from the trees, littering the ground as he walked over to get his diploma. He can still remember how Azul cried, nails digging into the small of his back as he hugged him and told him he saw beautiful things in his future. He remembers Jade slinging an arm over his shoulder, laughing as he looked back on the last four years spent together, tactfully ignoring the fact that they were going to different universities, apart for the first proper time in their lives.
Most of all, he remembers catching Riddle’s eye just as he was about to leave the building. He remembers seeing the amalgamation of anxiousness and sadness in them, and how it stopped him from calling out the other's name the way he wanted to. The way Riddle gave him a soft smile, nodding ever so slightly before attending to someone calling his name, he'll never forget. In fact, it's the first thought that comes to mind as he stands at the gates of their high school once again. But he knows its pointless, so he shakes his head and heads in, ready to see the building once more.
It's smaller, Floyd first thinks, before realising it only seems that way because he's grown. The high school was no longer rife with possibilities and 'what ifs' to him — now, it was just the site of several memorable friendships and a failed romance. It no longer had any space for his dreams.
He nods to a janitor as he heads into an empty classroom, pleasantly surprised that she still remembers his name. It's only after he's sitting at a desk by the window, the sun shining brightly onto the fading wood, that he realises it's Riddle’s desk, and he lets his head fall onto it. There's barely any trace of him left, but if he closes his eyes, he can imagine that he's back in high school, still waiting for the day the shorter boy might turn around and smile at him and take his hand and —
Floyd forces his eyes open. If it wasn't a possibility all those years ago, then it definitely wouldn't be one now, he decides. So he stands up, tracing the dents in the desk gently before tucking the chair in.
"Have you forgotten where you sat already?" A voice by the door says, and Floyd’s heart leaps into his throat. A flurry of emotions ravage his thoughts, but he forces them all down, ignoring them in favour of turning to the door.
"You're here." Floyd says, and he means it more like a question. You're here? he wants to say. After all these years, you're still here?
"Of course," Riddle smiles, and then he's heading toward Floyd and Floyd can't remember how to breathe. "It's been a long time, but I'm here."
"A long time." Floyd repeats, then laughs to himself. "To say the least."
"I hope you've been well," the shorter boy says. "We haven't really stayed in touch, have we?"
"No, we haven't." Floyd hates how forced this conversation is, but he doesn't know how to make it any better. He wasn't sure he's ever really made it better, with Riddle. "But I'm okay. You?"
"I'm alright," Riddle nods toward the chalkboard. Floyd raises an eyebrow. "Wanna draw something?"
Floyd opens his mouth, then realises he has nothing to say, so he trails behind the other boy and finds himself with a piece of chalk in his hand and Riddle by his side. He takes a deep breath and draws a line. Then another. They're parallel, he thinks, and laughs at the irony. Two lines that can never meet, separate forever.
"I do this a lot with my students," Riddle’s saying, so Floyd listens. "We draw whatever we're thinking, all together. It's easier than saying it out loud, after all."
"You're a teacher," Floyd says by way of question, and Riddle nods.
"I've always liked telling people what to do," Riddle explains, and Floyd smiles a little. "And I‘m good at it too, believe it or not."
"It suits you. Though I always thought you'd be a painter, or something." Floyd brings the chalk back to the board again, pretending not to notice the way Riddle’s steady hand momentarily falters before he continues with his drawing. "Do you still paint? For yourself, I mean.”
"From time to time. The kids like seeing it." Riddle doesn't look away from the board, so Floyd looks at him. He takes him in, fully, because he doesn't know if he'll be able to again.
"They've got good taste, then." Floyd smiles, and Riddle looks at him with an unreadable expression. It makes Floyd uneasy, so he looks back at his drawing.
They stay like that for a while, drawing in silence, each sneaking peeks at the other's scribbles but never fully understanding what it was building towards. Eventually, Riddle puts his chalk down, dusting his hands off, and Floyd only hesitates for a second before doing the same.
"Can I see what you've drawn?" Riddle asks, curiosity evident in the glint in his eyes. Floyd feels like he's being studied.
"Sure," he says, and reveals the drawing. It's not the best, but he's sure that Riddle understands it with the way his eyes soften and the corner of his mouth tilts upward. "It's you."
"I can tell," Riddle replies, and laughs a little, shaking his head. "Am I yelling at someone here?”
"Yeah," Floyd explains, eyes strictly on the drawing. "You went after on those two first years a lot, didn’t you? I always wondered what that was about."
"Nothing, really." The other boy answers, following the lines of the sketch with his gaze. "They were part of the art club, and I was president. The two of them were always behind on deadlines."
"So you yelled at them in front of the whole school body. Makes sense." Floyd laughs, and Riddle does too. “Well, that's enough of mine. Let me see your drawing."
At that, Riddle’s smile fades, and his face adopts a nervous expression similar to the one Floyd remembers from their graduation. "It's only fair, isn't it?" He says, more to himself than Floyd, and takes a deep breath. "Here goes."
As soon as he sees the drawing, Floyd breath catches in his throat. "Oi, kingyo-chan," He says, because the nickname is all that he can think of at that moment. "What is this?"
"I didn't think you'd make me say it out loud." Riddle mumbles, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. He keeps his eyes on the floor. "It's love."
Floyd can hardly believe what's hearing. "This... this is what love is, to you?"
"I only realised it about a year after we graduated," Riddle explains, fiddling with his fingers. He locks and separates them, the way he always has when he's nervous, and Floyd’s shoulders relax a little. "I kept wondering why I couldn't stop thinking of you. I thought I was just feeling strange, so used to your constant confessions that now the absence of them made me feel uneasy. But then I started seeing you everywhere."
"What — what do you mean?"
"You were in every smile I saw, every laugh I heard." Riddle’s getting increasingly red, and Floyd’s feeling increasingly lightheaded. "It was when I saw the first snowfall that year, that I realised it was love. I only regret that it took me so long to realise."
"Yeah," Floyd says, the only word he can muster. He takes a deep breath, and Riddle looks up. "Do you really mean all... this?"
Riddle looks back at his drawing. "I drew us in the snow." He says, and it's all the answer Floyd needs. He feels the tension leave his body through a heavy sigh, and Riddle smiles. "That's what love is, to me."
"You told me," Floyd begins, taking a step toward the other boy. "That waiting was pointless. You told me to move on. That you couldn't make me happy the way I deserved to be."
At that, Riddle shrugs. "I hope I'm not wrong in thinking you haven't given up just yet."
Floyd looks at Riddle. Really looks at him. He looks at the curve of his face, the part of his lips, the twinkle in his eye. He runs his eyes over his hair, his eyelashes, his jaw. He closes his eyes, trying to make sense of it all, and takes in a deep breath. "Lucky for you, you’re not."
"That's a relief," Riddle laughs, and Floyd lets the sound envelop him. "Floyd?"
"Yeah?"
"I like you," and with that, Floyd’s eyes are open again. "In a not friend way. In fact, one could even say that I... well, I love you." Riddle shifts his weight from foot to foot, biting the inside of his cheek. "Will you accept my feelings?"
If I died right now, Floyd thinks, closing the distance between the two of them in a way he'd only ever dreamed about since high school, I wouldn't mind. His hands are on Riddle’s waist, and Riddle’s hands are in his hair, and they're so close to one another he can't tell where he ends and Riddle begins. But it doesn't matter, because he's so happy he thinks he might pass out , and it's everything he wanted and more. This is the man I love, Floyd thinks, as Riddle sighs against him. And he loves me back.
"Kingyo-chan," he says, when they part for air. "Go out with me."
The other boy smiles, his eyes shining and his cheeks the lightest shade of pink. He takes Floyd’s hand in his and squeezes, and Riddle revels in how well the two of them fit together. "Drop the nickname, and I’ll think about it.”