Archive of Our Own

Trey leaned his head back with eyes squeezed shut. His glasses were folded neatly on the table. Index and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose. Within his other hand he held onto the cold glass of ginger ale, able to practically hear the fizzing bubbles. Yet, the idea of drinking another sip was enough to nearly make him sick.

“You know, you like, played yourself, right?”

“God, shut up Cater.” Trey groaned. He pressed a hand gently to his stomach, trying to will away some of the discomfort. The cold glass was raised to his lips to tentatively suckle.

“No, no. I’m serious, man.” Cater grinned. He leaned forward, holding his phone between his hands easily. “You could’ve absolutely avoided all this if you didn’t feel a need to wolf down everything he handed you. He called you a taste-tester, not a garbage disposal.”

The glass was pulled away. Trey stifled a belch with a closed fist.

“It’s not that simple, Cater. You know that.” Trey exhaled. He put the glass down and blindly reached for his glasses. “He’s--you know--nervous about the Culinary Crucible. He’s never cooked a day in his life. The judges would eat him alive!”

“We’re not all gifted like you are. Some people have to learn the hard way.” Cater hummed. He tapped a few things on his phone, biting the tip of his tongue. “It’s a fact of life that we’ll all have to be embarrassed in front of our nearest and dearest classmates at least once in school. You gotta learn to fail a few times.”

Trey shot a glare at Cater once his glasses were on his nose.

“You know how Riddle gets. It would destroy him to be mocked in the Crucible. Especially after his recent Overblot. I think he needs this confidence booster.”

Cater snorted.

“I’m serious, Cater.”

“I know, man. You’re like, a lovesick puppy dog.” Cater cooed. “Literally. Only a dog would be licking those plates clean.”

Trey groaned. He shook his head a few times; his eyes were rubbed once more.

“...Riddle gets overjoyed when he sees that everything’s eaten. And with how long it takes him to cook, it’s…it’s fine. I get enough time between his meals. His face lights up every time. So…it’s fine.”

Cater snickered. He pulled his phone away, his cheek resting in his hand. He practically beamed.

“Oh, you’re totally using Paint the Roses to block the taste, aren’t you?”

“Bah!” Trey waved a hand away from him.

“See! I knew it!” Cater cackled with glee, thrusting a finger in Trey’s face. “You’re masking the taste! Oh, that’s cruel! Cruel! You’re lying to poor little--”

“I’m not lying!” Trey hissed. He leaned forward, snatching Cater’s jutting hand tightly. His jaw set, glaring at him. “I’m not! I’m the only one who’s willing to even step in the kitchen to help him out. And I’ll happily do it every day until he’s satisfied with his cooking skills! Alright?”

Cater’s grin remained, even if his hand was currently squeezed in Trey’s grip.

“No. I don’t think you're lying, actually. You’re just a lovesick little dog.” Cater cooed.

Trey sneered. He tossed his hand aside with a wide gesture. Cater continued to cackle, grinning as Trey took another swig from his ginger ale.

“You know, actually, I think--” Cater began, picking his phone up again.

“Trey! Trey!” Riddle’s voice rang out into the lounge. Cater cut himself off as Trey turned his head towards the call. His eyes fell to Riddle standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, the Housewarden practically beaming. He still held a spatula in his hand, waving it towards Trey.

“You’re done already?” Trey hummed. He took one last drink of his ginger ale before placing the empty cup on the table.

“Yes. I tried to see if I would proportionally raise the heat of the oven to have it cook faster.” Riddle began to explain excitedly. “Less wait between meals! I think it’ll work well with the Crucible coming up. Come on! I made cabbage rolls.”

Cater snickered.

“You can’t just--hold on!” Trey huffed. He quickly scrambled to his feet, rushing to his kitchen with a terrified look.

“Good luck!” Cater called, waving to both of them.

Riddle turned to look at Cater, still smiling.

“Did you want to try one, Cater? I made plenty.”

“Oh, no no. Seems like Trey’s eager enough. I think he’d, like, enjoy it more.” Cater cooed. “Just the two of you. Have fun, kids.”

Riddle gave him a puzzled expression, before shrugging and following the panicked Trey into the kitchen.

==

Their weekends were spent in preparation. Despite the Crucible not being for another month, Riddle was determined to make a splash. He felt that he had a lot to prove, and even more to lose--despite Trey’s frequent attempts at comfort. There was still plenty of time, he reminded him, and he was learning at a fast rate; he would be ready when the event came.

But very little seemed to reach through Riddle during his stress.

“Alright. Let’s try this again.” Trey sighed. He reached behind him to tie his robe around his waist and behind his back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” Riddle lamented. “The onions--they’re too long! If you’d just let me have a ruler…”

“I’m not giving you a ruler to measure the green onions!” Trey reacted with a cackle. He strained behind him, finding it harder to reach to tie at the low of his back. With a huff, he motioned to Riddle to come closer. “Here, help me with this, then I’ll show you how to cut vegetables again.”

Riddle complied with a lamenting sigh. His head hanging, he crossed the length of the room in a few strides. Easily he slid behind Trey, taking his place behind him. The ties were taken in his small hands, pulled around Trey’s abdomen.

“You’ve shown me at least three times now. Why can’t I get it?” Riddle exhaled. He tugged hard at the apron ties; Trey grunted a bit in response.

“It’s going to take more than a few times to learn a new skill.” Trey pointed out. He winced as Riddle pulled harder, raising his arms up a bit higher. “How long did it take you to learn your fire magic?”

“Years--”

“Wasn’t overnight, right? Same with cooking.” Trey hummed. He sucked in a hard breath, pulling his stomach in as Riddle tugged again. “Nngh--it’s--it’s like magic. You learn bits and pieces at a time. You learn how to hold a pen, you learn how to ignite your magical circuits, you learn how to swing and fire. It all comes together. Same with cooking.”

Riddle sighed. In a bout of frustration, he pulled hard on the ties.

“Why won’t this close--?”

“Hey, hey!” Trey squeaked as the air was forced out of him. In a tight double knot at the small of his back, Riddle had finally secured the apron around Trey’s abdomen. It squeezed uncomfortably tight.

“This must’ve shrunk in the wash last time Ace did the laundry.” Riddle lamented. “After this, I’ll give him a firm scolding. Perhaps he’ll also need a reminder of how to dry clothes.”

“Riddle--” Trey tried to argue, but sighed. A hand stroked down his stomach, trying to hide the now very obvious bloat where his belly was cut in two by the ties. These weekends of gorging hadn’t gone without after effects, Trey realized. Not that he would change anything…it was just now much more in his face. A bit more annoying, really.

Yet Riddle had yet to say anything. If he wanted this to be shrunk in the wash, then so be it.

Trey cleared his throat. He nudged Riddle gently, cracking a warm smile.

“Come on. Let’s try this again.” Trey instructed. “We’ll start back with cutting and portioning out the ingredients, alright? I think if we go back to the basics, it’ll help with your execution. Like…watch how the speed the meats and vegetables cook change with the size of the pieces. Some expand, some shrink. And it’ll help you learn how long to cut and cook each piece.”

“...right. I think I understand.” Riddle nodded slowly. His brow furrowed, and he tapped his chin carefully. “So by going back to the basics, you get a bigger appreciation for the building blocks?”

“Something like that.” Trey grinned. He moved to the island in the center of the kitchen, taking out the pepper from the pile Riddle had laid out. The knife was swiftly pulled from the chopping block--Riddle watched in awe.

Trey’s gaze flickered over his shoulder. He smiled, gesturing for him to approach.

“It’s not a matter of trying to get every piece perfect--because while, yeah, your ingredients will shape your dish--it’s a matter of learning what you’re working with. Some ingredients are more flexible than others. Chicken cooks quickly, so you need to learn how long everything else takes to cook lest you end up with dry, overcooked chicken. While beef takes a long time to cook, it's easier to see when it’s done. For learning, we can just cut into it and see whether it’s rare or medium well.”

Riddle nodded. He slowly shimmied next to Trey, watching him expectantly.

“And some, well, doesn’t matter how you cut it. It doesn’t have to be perfect.” Trey shrugged. He smoothly cut the pepper in half, and gutted the seeds in one swift swipe. Riddle breathed in amazement. “Like, here; I want strips for a pepper steak. So long as they’re thin, that’s all it is. They all need to be roughly the same size, but--”

“What size is the right size?” Riddle questioned, sighing. “I keep second guessing myself.”

“You’ll learn. You’ll learn what works with your dish. You’ll figure out what ends up caramelized or what ends up being thick chunks.” Trey explained.

When Riddle pouted, Trey snickered. Easily the pepper was cut into a few different shapes, just to prove a point.

“I know you don’t like the…learn-and-figure-it-out method. But that’s just part of cooking.” Trey laughed.

“It seems like you know so much.” Riddle sighed.

“Well. I’ve learned my entire life how to cook. I was helping in the kitchen at the age of twelve.” Trey explained with a smile. “I’ve got a bit more experience. But that doesn’t mean it's a lost cause.”

He gestured for Riddle to step to the table. Reluctantly, Riddle stepped closer. Easily Trey spun the knife to hand him the handle. The other boy squeaked in surprise; with a dainty grasp, he gripped onto the knife with both hands.

“Here. Try cutting the rest of this pepper into strips.” Trey instructed.

“...right.” Riddle nodded. Nervously, he reached forward, holding onto the untouched half of the pepper and balancing the heavy knife in his other hand. Trey watched diligently as Riddle tried to copy his technique. Yet, with a shaking motion, Riddle placed the knife in the path of his other hand.

Trey suddenly grabbed Riddle’s wrist holding the knife, pulling back. Riddle squeaked in surprise, giving him an incredulous look.

“Hey!”

“Watch it!” Trey snapped. “Your fingers were right under the knife!”

“What?” Riddle blanched. He looked from Trey to the hand still on the cutting board. He grimaced, realizing the tip of his index finger was right where he was planning to cut. “...oh.”

“Here. Let me show you.”

Trey stepped behind Riddle. His hands smoothly slid down his arms to grasp onto the back of his hands. A blush spread across his face as he felt Riddle stiffen, before leaning against him. His blush only worsened as he realized his trapped stomach pressed into the arch of Riddle’s back.

His eagerness at holding Riddle like this began to crumble at realizing, oh shit, there was no way he wouldn’t realize it now.

Trey cleared his throat. He lightly tucked Riddle’s fingers in, nudging each one in with his thumb so his second knuckles rested against the pepper. The other hand rested on the wrist holding the knife.

“R-Right. Uh. Hold your other hand like this. Tuck your fingers in, and cut with your knuckles. The knife won’t catch your fingers.”

“I see…” Riddle slowly nodded. He seemed to be paying no mind to their closeness--Trey didn’t know whether to feel overjoyed or disappointed.

“Here. Try it again…”

Trey breathed shallowly as Riddle slowly cut through the pepper, careful to make sure his fingers were tucked in. His eyelids drooped, hearing only Riddle’s breaths and his knife slicing through the vegetable. Had he not been holding onto a knife, and had they been at risk of someone waltzing in and catching them, he would’ve snatched him up in a full hug.

But Riddle would not tolerate such a show of affection. He…He knew he wouldn’t.

“Good, good.” Trey smiled. “Here, try the next one…thin strips.”

==

The Culinary Crucible was next week. Trey was overjoyed to find Riddle more comfortable in the kitchen. There were points where he still held doubt over his execution and sweated over the preparation for an hour, but…there was real victory in his actions. He held himself higher. He was confident. He could prepare simple dishes without much stress. He was more willing to confront more complex dishes. The basic skills were down. He was ready.

Trey couldn’t have been more proud. He hadn’t had to use Paint the Roses in weeks. His food was genuinely starting to taste good. It was rich, dense, and filling. Each dish tasted better than the last--maybe the onions were caramelized better, or the chicken was less dry. Improvement was evident.

Not only that, but Riddle’s joy was palpable. Everytime Trey cleaned his plate, Riddle’s smile was blinding. His eyes would squint a bit and the tips of his ears would turn a lovely shade of red. He’d duck his head down and rest his fingertips on his cheek. Bashful. Shy. Trey wanted to scoop him up and kiss him silly.

Finishing Riddle’s food was getting easier. He would happily eat whatever Riddle put in front of him. Not only was the food a genuine treat, but it was nice to not have to cook all the time. His lunches were made by Riddle, and some of his breakfasts now were too. His omelettes were a treat. Filled with ham, or cheese, or diced vegetables, and cooked to perfection.

Perhaps he was allowing himself to get lazy. But he deserved this--Riddle said so, after all. So long as the Unbirthday Cakes were still prepared, then Riddle was happy to spoil him. Happy to help him out in any way he could.

Unfortunately, however, Trey experienced something that had faded to the back of his mind. His extensive gluttony and frequency to laze due to Riddle’s efforts were thrown right in his face.

“Shit, shit!”

Trey’s curses sprang from his lips. He tugged hard at the flaps of his pants, struggling to button the white slacks. No matter how hard he pulled and how deeply he sucked in his stomach, the two ends would not meet. Even as he laid sprawled on his bed, desperately trying to pull himself together, the white pants refused to be buttoned.

He grunted and groaned, using one last ditch effort to squeeze the button into the too small hole. Yet as he pushed against his too soft stomach, leaving red marks from his nails and the ring on his finger, he was forced to give up. Dramatically he fell back against the covers, straining to catch his breath.

“Ah, jeez.” he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair. “Spending a weekend in sweats…I didn’t think it would be this bad on Monday. Shit.”

He grimaced, glancing down at himself. His abdomen, in the past being mostly flat, now rose in a small dome even as he laid down. The fruits of Riddle’s labor, he thought numbly.

How did this happen? Well. It didn’t need to be explained to him. All of the calories he ate cleaning Riddle’s plates had to go somewhere. And they had been doing this almost every weekend for two and a half months. It was a wonder it hadn’t happened sooner.

Well. That was also a lie. He hadn’t been able to tie closed his apron in three weeks. And these pants were the spares he had, the wrong size issued to him the first day. The ones he normally wore were currently in a pile in the corner of his closet, having not fit for a month. These were the last ones he had.

“Shit!” he howled, covering his face with both hands. He had absolutely nothing to wear. How could he let it get this bad? If Riddle saw him out of uniform…he already barely let it slide when he kept his vest open. Not that that could be buttoned either, at this point.

A knock at the door startled him. He quickly sat up at attention, frantically tugging his shirt down that had managed to roll up. The pants pulled uncomfortably tight around his hips and thighs.

“Heyyy, Trey? Are you coming? You’re gonna be late if you don’t, like, start moving.” Cater’s muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Uhh--I’ll be right there!” Trey called. He scrambled to his feet, rushing to the closet. He frantically began to look through his remaining garments, looking for something suitable. “Just give me like, five, ten more minutes!”

“Alright. But it’s not my head if Riddle realizes you’re late.” Cater hummed. “You know he wants you to take care of the Unbirthday preparations, right? ‘cause of that Housewarden meeting today.”

Right!

“I told you give me ten minutes!” Trey snapped. He hopped back and forth, peeling off the skin tight pants. He grunted, struggling to get them over his hips--how did he even get them on in the first place?!

“Alright, alright!” Cater sneered. Just as Trey tossed the pants to the side, he could vaguely hear his footsteps walking away from his dorm.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Trey cursed, flipping through the hanging pants. He had to find something to wear! Anything! Even if it wasn’t white, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t go around without any pants.

He pulled back a pair of gym pants. Black, with a red line trailing down the side. A grimace spread across his face.

“Riddle’s going to kill me.” he cursed under his breath. But alas, he knew that it was his only option. With a begrudging sigh, he pulled the track pants off the hanger and slipped them on.

==

“Where’s Trey? He’s never late.” Riddle scowled. His toes tapped against the tile floor as he glanced at his pocket watch. “...two minutes late. That’s not like him. Any more time wasted and we’ll not have enough to go over our itinerary. My meeting is in fifty eight minutes.”

“Maybe he slept late?” Ace shrugged lazily.

“Trey’s usually here before us.” Deuce reminded him.

“Yeah, but we’re usually not here anyways.” Ace groaned. He rubbed the back of his neck. “We only got roped into being here because--”

“Because you two shirked your assignment of painting the roses.” Riddle’s eyes narrowed. Both freshmen immediately seized up, standing at attention. “If I hear another complaint from either of you, it’s--”

“Yeah, yeah, off with their heads. I think you’ve scared them enough.” Cater hummed. He waved a hand dismissively, scrolling through his phone as he practically hung off the back of a chair.

Riddle blinked in mild surprise, before rolling his eyes. “Enough of this; where is Trey? Cater, you said you checked on him?”

“Yeah. He said like, five to ten minutes. And it’s been how long now?”

“Thirteen, now.” Riddle grimaced. He put his watch away to instead reach for his phone. “Maybe I’ll just call him.”

“Nah. I’m sure he’s--” Cater began, but cut himself off at the frantic sound of footsteps. Peeling around the bend, Trey rushed to the lounge. He held on tight to his hat, fumbling with his other hand for his notepad and pen.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m here!” Trey panted, his cheeks a nice rosey color. He breathed hard, stopping to stand before Riddle. His hand gripped tight to the small pad and the uncapped pen. “I, uh, had a bit of trouble this morning. But it’s nothing to worry about! I’m here now. Let’s not waste another second. What was on the agenda today--?”

Riddle tilted his head. His smile of relief began to fade as he looked Trey up and down slowly. The freshmen slowly took a step back; Ace’s snicker was hid behind his hand, and Deuce’s eyes frantically looked anywhere else. The housewarden’s expression twisted into one of contempt and disappointment.

“...what is this?”

“Ah?” Trey blinked, trying to feign a surprised expression. “What’s…what?”

“Your pants!” Riddle snapped, gesturing to him. “They’re--what, are those your gym pants? They’re not even close to white! They’re not appropriate attire! It goes directly against the queen’s rules! Always look neat and tidy!”

Trey winced, but didn’t answer right away.

“I’ve looked the other way when you kept your vest open,” Riddle exhaled, frustration evident on his face. “But this is--! You look like you’re still in your pajamas! You’re my Vice Housewarden! If the others see you, they’d think that we were just sloppy, lazy layabouts! We have a strict code to keep up! Where are your white pants? You should have six, one for every day of the week and one extra!”

“I know, I know.” Trey swallowed. He feebly tried to tug his vest closed, as if that would hide the evidence, but those two had far too many inches of flesh to cross to close adequately. “I, uh--”

“Trey. I deserve an explanation.” Riddle’s eyes narrowed and arms crossed. His cheeks were turning red, Trey noted worriedly. “You’re late this morning, and you come looking as if you just rolled out of bed. Why are you not in your uniform?”

“I, ah…it’s…” Trey swallowed.

“Spit it out! You’ve already wasted four, no, five of our minutes!” Riddle exhaled dramatically.

Trey muttered something under his breath.

“Trey, speak up. I can’t hear you.” Riddle demanded.

“I said none of my pants fit.” Trey growled. The brim of his hat was brought down, and he stared at the black tile beneath his left shoe.

Riddle blinked slowly. His expression softened a miniscule amount, but retained it’s frustrated look. Deep gray eyes looked him over up and down, keeping his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

He opened his mouth to question him, only to quickly shoot Ace a glare when he heard a string of giggles spill past his lips. His face twisted to anger, and his lip curled up in a snarl.

“Lest I hear another word out of you, it’s off with YOUR head!”

Ace squeaked, quickly giving a mock salute.

Riddle’s attention focused back on Trey. Slowly he took a step forward, his anger retained.

“None of your pants fit?” Riddle repeated.

Trey gave a brief nod. “That’s correct.”

“Why am I only hearing about this now?” Riddle questioned.

“What?” Trey lifted his head.

“You heard me.” Riddle scoffed. “Why am I only hearing about this now? If you had told me earlier, I would have ordered you more sets for your uniform. And I’m assuming you’re left with nothing now?”

“Ah, uh…” Trey swallowed. He nodded again.

“Trey…” Riddle groaned. He rubbed at his face tiredly. “If you knew your pants were getting too small, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Trey blinked, taken aback by the question. Riddle seemed…more upset with his wardrobe than with his obvious change in size. Not that he expected Riddle to be shallow. But it was…still surprising. Unexpected, maybe, was the better word.

“I didn’t realize.” Trey mumbled. “I didn’t even, uh, think of it until this morning.”

“Been living in sweatpants on the weekends.” Cater snickered, beaming at his phone as he tapped something.

Both Housewarden and Vice Housewarden glared at him. They then returned to each other.

A loud inhale was heard from Riddle. He tapped his fingers on his bicep, looking up at Trey. His expression was unreadable.

“...Ace and Deuce will finish painting the roses. Cater will help prepare the tables. I want you to take some of the budget and run to Sams’ to buy yourself another pair of white slacks.”

“What? How did we--”

“Quiet, Ace!”

Trey gawked. He swallowed a mouthful of air, and gave a quick nod.

“Be quick about it. I want you to be presentable by the time I get back from my meeting. Is that understood, Trey?”

Trey’s lips twitched. He dipped his head lowly. The hairs of the back of his neck stood on end, and the muscles ached with the fading anticipation of one of Riddle’s collars.

“Yes. Thank you, Riddle. I’ll be fully dressed by the time you get back.”

“Very well, then.” Riddle nodded. He glanced back to the other three, before gesturing a hand towards them. “What are you all still gawking for? Go! I need everything done before tomorrow!”

“Yes, sir!” Ace and Deuce both barked out as they quickly scrambled down the hall in the opposite direction.

Cater yawned, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He gave a lazy wave of his hand, before standing up and stretching.

“You got it.”

Riddle dipped his head again. He shot a look back at Trey, a much softer look in his eyes. Yet not another word was said to him as he stepped away. His footsteps echoed in the lounge, moving to the mirror that led out of the dorm.

Trey was left watching him, gazing in bewilderment. He watched until Riddle was out of sight. Behind him, Cater’s low rumbling laugh was heard.

“You’re lucky that Riddle didn’t go crazy.” Cater cooed. “I thought he was going to kill you. You know how he hates people, like, out of uniform.”

“...yeah.” Trey mumbled softly. A trapped breath was released; his stomach pooched over the waistband of his tight jogging pants.

“But, hey, then again…you know the way to a man’s heart is to his stomach, right?” Cater grinned. Trey whirled around to face him with a bright red face. “Hey, hey! I mean, like, come on, man! He probably knows this is his fault. That’s why he went easy on you!”

“That’s not--”

“Sure it’s not.” Cater snickered. “I see how you two look at each other. We all do. It’s kind of cute, seeing you like this because of Riddle’s cooking of all things. Really!”

“Cater.”

“I’d go and get yourself that pair of pants instead of glaring at me.” Cater winked as he turned. “Riddle may have let you off easy once, I don’t think he’ll do it again! Not even for his favorite little puppy dog. Woof, woof.”

Trey’s lips twitched downwards. His arms crossed against his chest, and he shot a glare at Cater as he left. Standing alone now in the lounge, he reluctantly looked down at himself. His brow furrowed, and a hand slowly traced the curve of his soft abdomen.

Was this all…Riddle’s doing? Not on purpose, no. But…he couldn’t deny the strange butterflies that flitted around in his stomach.

==

The pants were obtained with relative ease (despite the few stares that were sent his way on the way to Sam’s) and he was able to return back to the dorm to finish his duties. The roses were painted, the tables were set, the silverware was polished, and he even had time to quickly prepare a perfect Unbirthday Cake that he knew Riddle would enjoy.

The rest of his day was spent in silence. Few students spoke with him unless it was in reference to the Unbirthday plans. Word had already spread of his embarrassment that morning in front of Riddle. And even if it was not, it was still clear that the rest of his clothes were ill fitting and his figure had changed.

That evening, Trey found himself mentally exhausted when all was said and done. Despite his hunger, he didn’t care to pick up dinner and instead returned to his room in silence. Was it shame that burned at him? Most likely. Riddle had yet to speak to him for the duration of the afternoon despite the two of them passing each other often. Not a word was spoken to him. Barely even so much as a passing glance.

Trey tossed the new pair of pants over his desk chair. A pair of shorts and an old t-shirt was thrown on. Comfortable, but still snug around his hips and stomach, he noted. How had he gone this far without realizing his weight gain? How long had Riddle known and kept it hidden? The thought made him feel like vomiting.

As he passed by the mirror hanging on the wall, he froze, gazing at his reflection. Taking a good, hard look at how his stomach protruded from his abdomen, how his chest had softened, how his arms had grown thicker. And even his face…his cheeks were rounded, his chin softer. Oh god. It was obvious to him, now. How could he not have realized sooner?

He grimaced, shaking his head and turning away. Once tomorrow came around, that was it for him. He’d start a diet. Start calorie counting. Start meal prepping and watching what he was eating. What sort of Vice Housewarden would he be like this--?

A knock at the door startled him.

“Trey?” Riddle’s voice was soft past the thick wooden door. It lacked the bite from earlier, and instead was filled with genuine concern.

Trey’s throat tightened.

“May I come in?”

With a quiet noise, Trey forced words to come to the surface.

“Door’s unlocked.”

Riddle slowly forced the door open. He quietly stepped inside his room, still dressed in his uniform. In one hand he held a plate with a plastic cover over it. From the smell, Trey could identify the sweet aroma of frosting. Despite the hunger gnawing at his stomach, he felt sick at the idea of eating.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Riddle began, his voice soft. He shifted his weight, balancing the plate delicately between his dainty hands.

“No. Not at all. I was, ah, just getting ready to study.” Trey lied. No, that wasn’t his intention at all. He had planned to curl under the covers and feel sorry for himself until morning.

“Ah. Then I…won’t be long.” Riddle mumbled. His eyelids fluttered, glancing down to the plate in his hands. “You…missed dinner. That’s not like you, especially after a long day. You always come and have dinner beside me. It’s something I look forward to. But you absconded early today.”

Trey’s throat clamped off again. He didn’t have it in him to speak. The image of Riddle sitting there alone, waiting for him filled him with a strange, painful emotion. His stomach was in knots.

“I…wanted to bring you something to eat.” Riddle continued, still not looking up at Trey. If Trey looked closely, he could see Riddle’s deft fingers tremble just a bit against the plate. “You always enjoy a piece of cake after a hard day. So I…saved a bit of strawberry tart for you.”

Trey’s eyes widened. He breathed out slowly. Cake was likely the last thing he needed, but he would admit that it was his tried and true method of self care. A piece of cake was incredibly soothing to him. A reminder of home, of sweet things, of times he could now share with Riddle.

“I understand if you…wish to be left alone. So I’ll leave it here at your desk--” Riddle began to move across the room to the crowded desk.

Trey quickly stepped forward, extending an arm out to cut him off. His eyes were glassy, his glasses slightly fogged. Riddle startled, blinking up at him.

“You don’t have to go.” Trey spoke up first.

“Trey--”

“No. I mean it. You…you don’t have to go anywhere.” Trey continued with a nod. “I, uh…thank you for thinking of me. That was…sweet.”

“Of course.” Riddle looked almost offended. “Why would I not be concerned?”

Trey grimaced briefly. He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing at how the t-shirt pulled at his shoulders. Nothing fit. Not even his old baggy clothes fit.

“I mean, uh…about this. About this morning, I mean.”

“What, about your pants?” Riddle scoffed. “I was disappointed in you for not letting me know in a timely manner, yes, but I certainly wasn’t mad at you. Not in the slightest.”

Trey startled. He looked back at Riddle with a flabbergasted look.

“You weren’t…mad about this?”

“You keep saying ‘this.’ What does ‘this’ mean?” Riddle exhaled, growing visibly frustrated. “It happens. We’re still at the age where we may have another growth spurt or two. This is simply expected, isn’t it?”

Growth spurt? Trey almost wanted to laugh in Riddle’s face. Was that what he thought this was?

“I mean, I still have a larger size of my gym uniform for when I hit my next growth spurt--”

Oh god. He actually did.

“Riddle---!” Trey cut him off. A smile bloomed on his face. The absurdity of the idea was charming enough that it dragged Trey out of his stupor. Riddle was smart, but at times the poor lad was…dense.

“What?” Riddle startled, blinking up at him.

“You thought I hit a growth spurt?” Trey questioned, tilting his head. His smile remained.

“Well…yes. Why else would you be outgrowing your clothes? That happens with a growth spurt.”

“You’re…you’re not wrong.” Trey chuckled out. The tension in the air left, and he laughed softly to himself. His fingers threaded through his hair again.

“Why are you laughing?! I’m trying to help!” Riddle snapped, his face growing red.

“Riddle. Look at me for a second.” Trey demanded suddenly.

“I’m already looking at you.” Riddle growled.

“No, no. I mean…just, really look at me.” Trey urged.

Riddle complied, narrowing his eyes as well. Trey breathed out softly. He then took his hands, lightly tracing the curve of his hips and the weight of his stomach. Even under his own touch, it still felt foreign.

“All this? This isn’t a growth spurt. This is…well. Not the growth spurt you’re thinking.” Trey explained. “This is me overindulging. Eating too much. Too many excess calories. You follow me so far?”

Riddle’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to object, but clamped his lips shut after a moment.

“This isn’t me getting taller. It’s the, ah, other direction. It’s me putting on weight. Fat. All that extra eating and ‘tasting’ I did these past two months stuck to my hips. That’s what this is.”

Riddle’s head tilted. Trey traced the curve of his cheeks with his index finger, watching carefully. He could see Riddle following him with those piercing gray eyes.

“...I don’t see the issue here.” Riddle finally spoke.

Trey blinked owlishly. His hand stopped at his chin.

“...what?”

“I’m jealous, actually. Of how easily you’re able to indulge.” Riddle scoffed. He gazed down at the covered tart, his expression softening. “So often was I restricted, held to only eight hundred calories. You’re aware, I know you are. Even now, it’s still ingrained in me that I can’t eat for the enjoyment of it.”

Trey grew quiet, his hand falling to his side.

“Every day you have a piece of cake because you want to. It brings you joy, so you do so. It’s something that I’ve always watched you do. That I…want to do as well. But I’m not ready to do so. I can’t bring myself to eat freely just yet.” Riddle explained.

A smile crossed his features.

“I think I finally understand why you enjoy cooking for me. Every time I made a dish for you, even when I knew it wouldn’t taste good, you ate it. You consumed what I made. What I spent time and effort to make, you’d eat it all. It made me…it made me feel good. That my work was appreciated. Even when it wasn’t perfect, you still complimented me and helped me improve. You allowed yourself to indulge for me.”

Riddle’s eyelids fluttered. Trey took a small step forward. He hesitated, before gingerly reaching his hands out to touch his shoulders. The smaller man did not flinch away.

“I think…I think I wished to indulge as well. But I can’t yet. I…I can’t explain why, yet. All I know is that being able to watch you enjoy yourself because of something I did…makes me feel wonderful. You don’t worry about your calories, you don’t worry about what others think. I think it’s wonderful.”

“Riddle…” Trey whispered softly.

“I don’t care if you’ve put on weight, or whatever this is.” Riddle scoffed suddenly. His brow furrowed up at him. “If you wish to lose weight, then I will happily help you form a diet plan with the proper calorie count and exercise regime for a man of your height and weight.”

Trey’s expression fell.

“...but if you are content, then so am I.” Riddle exhaled. His lips twitched up in a smile. “I see no issue with this. You are still a very diligent, very suitable Vice Housewarden. This is a part of you. I do not think you should restrain yourself if it is not causing you any emotional or physical harm.”

Trey breathed out a quiet laugh, smiling warmly down at him.

“Riddle…”

“If I am continuing to be honest…” Riddle quickly swallowed, ducking his head away to hide the blush. “...I enjoy you like this. I have, for a while actually.”

Trey wheezed suddenly. His face turned a bright red.

“I--when did you--”

“When you were teaching me how to use the knife.” Riddle huffed. “When you held me from behind. I, ah…hadn’t been held like that before. You were rather warm.”

Trey didn’t know what to think. This didn’t sound real. Riddle was in his room, dismissing all the thoughts he was too scared to voice, and confirming some of the ones he was terrified to admit. His head was spinning and leaving him speechless.

“Rid--”

“So here!” Riddle shoved the cake in his hands. Trey quickly grabbed onto it to not let it fall. He cradled the plate and container against his chest, looking spooked. “Just…Just take it. I’ll leave you to your thoughts if you wish to remain alone.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Trey snickered breathlessly. “You can’t just drop all that then think you can leave out of here scott-free.”

Riddle huffed, refusing to look up at him. Trey chuckled once more.

“You can’t just…steal my heart like that and think you can ‘leave me to my thoughts’, Riddle.”

Riddle’s head snapped up to stare at him, bewildered. The tips of his ears were red.

“Come on. Why don’t you share this tart with me? Since I missed our dessert appointment earlier.” Trey offered sheepishly. “And I can…ah…tell you how I feel? A little, uh, more thoroughly?”

Riddle sucked in a hard breath. At first, Trey was worried he wouldn’t answer. His heart pounded in his throat.

Yet finally, Riddle complied with a tiny nod.

“...I think that would be lovely.”