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Ever since he'd started his relationship with Floyd, Riddle had become a regular in Mostro Lounge whenever Trey and Cater would nag him to take a "study break."
Sometimes he'd come with his... friends - the word still felt foreign, although comforting on his tongue - from Heartslabyul. Sometimes he'd arrive on his own, just to see Floyd, to absorb the soft and dim lights of the lounge and listen to students murmur within one another's company.
Initially, there had been one too many dirty, judgmental, or full-on frightened looks Riddle would get from Mostro Lounge visitors; and yet he'd kept his head up high, as he always did, and Floyd would stare threateningly at whoever dared interrupt their time together. He hated to admit it, but Riddle thought the notion sweet.
Sweet. When did he learn such emotions? Better yet, when was it that he'd fallen for Floyd this badly? No matter the teasing he'd received, he had stayed by his boyfriend's side, as did Floyd. No matter the intimidated or horrified gazes of onlookers, they'd stuck together.
Finding someone who would not only keep up with him but genuinely appreciate himself in his entirety in a purely romantic sense felt like such an odd dream to Riddle, a daydream he'd seen on the back of his eyelids, closed off from the world and studying. And yet here he is at the lounge tonight, seated across from Floyd, mixing various drinks - he'd checked hard and good to ensure none of them were alcoholic - and serving them to a crowd of customers from all dorms and all school years.
"Sorry to keep ya waiting, Goldfishie," he winked, adjusting his fedora, "now that these guys are all served and everything, I guess we can have a moment to ourselves, huh?"
Riddle slapped Floyd's hand lightly at the vague waggle of his eyebrows. "Be appropriate," he hissed out, nonetheless averting his gaze and lifting his hand to rub at the spot he'd previously hit. The way he could not keep his anger and the consequences thereof in check even in front of his partner always left him ashamed, and as teasing and nonchalant Floyd had been about it, Riddle was still attempting to learn how to relax and, in Ace's words, "chill the fuck out."
"Li'l Goldfish is really on edge today! Something happen?"
"Not really," he brought his gaze back up, staring at the mismatched eyes in front of him as Floyd leaned over the countertop and brought their foreheads together. He flushed at the contact, at the prospect of being seen so close together like this; by know, he knew very well that normal PDA rules did not apply at Mostro Lounge, and yet the entire concept of close bodily contact with anyone outside of his immediate family - who embraced him quite rarely as is - was unfamiliar to him. Nonetheless, the housewarden leaned in even closer, sneaking his face in the junction between his boyfriend's neck and shoulder. "It's just... Exams."
"Ahh, that's right," Floyd patted his back, followed by his hands moving down to the mixing table underneath the counter, "seriously, don't push yourself so hard. You'll be number one anyways! That's my Goldfishie, yeah?"
The entire burden of expectation came crashing down onto him. Riddle was painfully aware that Floyd had never meant to hurt him with any of the words he'd say towards him, and yet he felt a pang in his chest - both from the advice he'd been given and from the fluttering feeling in his stomach echoing within his entire nervous system.
Draped over Floyd's body like this, there isn't much self-control in him. He was alert, of course, as letting his guard down was always a dangerous risk to take, ultimately morphing into a mistake, but he muttered, still, "I'm sorry for taking out my anger on you."
Floyd nudged him away from his neck gently, and Riddle didn't realize his eyes were slowly turning misty and watery. How utterly embarrassing.
"Don't act like it's just you. What unites you land-dwellers and us merfolk," Floyd took both of Riddle's hands in his, clutching them; the uncharacteristically serious expression didn't fit that usually goofy face of his, but the housewarden thought it pleasant, to an extent, even, "is that we have emotions. You mess up, but so do I. What matters is that we're both fine in the end!"
He sing-sang the last part, seemingly back to his dopey self, and Riddle's heart beat intensely in his ribcage. He remembered it all - the memories of their spats, the sound of his dorm room being forcefully shut when Floyd had left, cussing; the times he had broken down in sobs like a child in front of Floyd, the way his boyfriend grimaced and lifted his voice slightly when Riddle had pestered him incessantly about his missing assignments. All of these moments, flawed and irksome and humiliating as they were, ultimately unravelled into a dream-like melody of their lives commencing to intertwine, filling his monotone and painful days with emotion. They were his proof to being alive: they were his reminder that life is more than his eighteen-hour study sessions and the pent-up vexations he'd held onto just to end up beheading another student who has just so happened to stray off of the idealistic and unrealistic path he had conjured for himself and his dorm-mates.
Ace was right, he thinks, when he teased Riddle about "going soft" from being around Floyd; it was both embarrassing and shocking to see himself turn mellow and patient after his Overblot, but this was a wholly new phenomenon.
"I love my Goldfish," Floyd continued, his toothy smirk back on his features, "I love my li'l Goldfish so much! No matter what, he's always so fun to tease and poke fun at. He's so tense all the time, I'm glad I can help him unwind or whatever!"
Suddenly, long hands were at Riddle's sides, lifting him up and over the countertop as Floyd embraced him tightly. "I looove my Goldfish! I love love love love love him a whole lot!"
"Floyd," he'd breathed out, taken aback, feeling the tips of his ears redden as blood rushed up to his face. It was another thing when he was pissing Riddle off, but having Floyd exclaim his affections so profusely, and in front of so many people... Oh, Riddle's poor little heart was doomed. No amount of his normal suppression of feelings could fix this. "Floyd, I..."
He'd let go, staring at the housewarden's face with a renewed curiosity piqued. "Hmmm?"
"Floyd, I... I like," he cut himself off, "...I love you, too."
There are so many ways for them to stray from one another, to lose their bond and these sickeningly sentimental, sweeter-than-sugar moments, and so many possibilities for either of them to go mad. But with Floyd, right by his side, it felt like it didn't matter.
After all, their quarrels and internal issues felt insignificant when Floyd held him with so much adoration Riddle could burst.