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Floyd has seen many sides of Riddle throughout the years: the haughty classmate of his that beheaded him during their entrance ceremony, the fierce new Housewarden of Heartslabyul, the stuttering mess he became when Floyd teased him... The many faces of Riddle Rosehearts were folded right before him as a stack of cards.
What he never expected was Riddle's... Messier side. A more human side.
Sitting next to his boyfriend, beside his desk, Floyd takes in the scenery of the room that had grown debauched during exam season. The paper plates from the tarts Floyd had bought for him, piling up in the trash can in the corner of the room; the chair Riddle had begun to use as a closet of sorts, with his shirts hung tightly around its back. The way he smiles at Floyd, annotating some article he had to print out for research, eyes nonetheless glued to the eel.
"Floyd," he sighs out, eyes crinkling up, before flushing a red that gives his thoughts away, "I don't think I tell you of how endearing you are enough."
"E-eh? What'd bring this on, Goldfish?"
Riddle lifts his hand from the desk slowly, retracting it, as though hesitant, before planting it on Floyd's bicep and leaning in the junction between his collarbone and neck. The skin contact has the taller boy taken aback; usually, Floyd would be the one to say lovey-dovey nothings out loud, and Riddle would be the one to flush and yell at him in fluster. Now, with his boyfriend's breath, sweetened from the last tart he ate, on his neck, it's Floyd's turn to find himself at a loss for words.
"I think I should be more open about my emotions," the housewarden mutters, "you know, I wasn't always the way that I currently am."
"Oh, so you're telling me Goldfishie wasn't always such a killjoy?" Floyd giggles, as if to distance himself from the blush that spreads across his own face at the sudden display of affection. "Is this a lovey-dovey Riddle jumpscare?"
"Say it again."
"Huh?"
"Say it again," Riddle echos, unfurling from his boyfriend's body. His gaze is lackluster of the determination and poise he usually holds himself with; right now, it's full to the brim with sincerity, warm pools of water enveloping Floyd's heart. "My name."
"Riddle," he breathes out. The moment the sounds come out of his lips, they're captured by Riddle's own mouth in a chaste kiss.
"I want to be more true to myself. You've given me so much, and I'd like to return something. Anything. The Queen's Rules don't permit gifts that one cannot turn a present for afterwards."
"Riddle," he chuckles, "you're my gift."
The boy sputters, turning a brilliant scarlet, and there's the Goldfish Floyd so knows. He rests his chin on the crown of Riddle's head, stroking his cheeks softly.
"This is so sentimental."
"In normal words, please?"
"Shut up. Moron." Riddle smiles, nonetheless. "You're so cheesy is what I meant. Saying such things as if they're simple matters."
"Goldfishie is no simple matter to me." Floyd kisses the top of his head, a soft bubble surfacing inside the lukewarm water pool. "Goldfishie is my beloved!"
"Urk," the housewarden replies, eloquently, before hiding his face in Floyd's chest. "You say the strangest things... my love."
"Hey, you called me your love!"
"Of course I did," he burrows his face further inside the fabric of his boyfriend's shirt, "I promised to be true to myself."
The night melts away.