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You had shocked everyone the day you called him your husband, although nobody was more shocked than he was. As far as he was aware, he was not even your boyfriend, so being handed the title of your husband felt like… a promotion through nepotism and bribery.
The nepotism equating to his being your close friend, the bribery being the food he began to habitually make for you. Honestly, it hadn’t even occurred to him that it happened so often that once-in-a-while gifts and favors had turned into routine and grateful expectations.
“Husband?!”
And of all people you had to say it in front of, it just had to be Riddle, who was somehow more flustered than he was… which was saying quite a lot, considering he was one wrongly-timed swallow away from choking. That would probably lead to the both of you getting lectured by his childhood friend.
Well, Trey thought to himself, he was probably going to get dragged into this conversation anyway, and he had no real plans of being in opposition to it.
There wasn’t like he had much to explain, considering he was relatively curious as well.
“Oh, you know, like a work husband… but for school?”
“A what?! Why would you have a separate spouse for work?” asked Riddle, and Trey wondered why you would even think that Riddle would know what a work husband was. “Or is it like the opposite of a stay-at-home husband? So… if it’s for school, a student husband? I know that Trey had his birthday recently, but that’s still…”
“Okay, okay, I’m not married. No one is, Riddle,” Trey finally interrupted, not sure he would like the way his friend’s train of thought was heading.
“I don’t actually think the two of you are married,” Riddle said with a huff, although Trey’s not quite sure he buys it completely. Perhaps that had been Riddle’s attempt at mocking a friend? “It’s just… a weird choice for an endearment for two people of your age.”
“I mean, in this case it’s less endearment and more… It’s just an expression for two people who share a close relationship, and those two happen to work together. A relationship as friends.”
“Yeah! It’s like… because Trey is so supportive and trustworthy and kind and—”
“Okay, I know you want to help explain, but aren’t you saying too much?” Trey interjected, self-consciousness growing as he watched the look of realization slowly appear on Riddle’s face. What exactly was being realized Trey could not determine, but he doubted it was anything short of embarrassing.
“—and Trey also makes the best pastries and desserts, and he’s also gotten pretty good at making lunch as well, and also he’s…” you trailed off upon catching his eye, as if you saw something to convince you enough compliments had been said, “basically, he’s wonderful and the epitome of an ideal partner in marriage, or just partner in general. So, you know, school husband!”
After a moment of silence, likely held for Trey more than anyone else, Riddle nodded his head in understanding.
“Not that I don’t agree, because I would say Trey possesses the qualities you speak of, but… isn’t husband quite a step too far? People will get visceral reactions,“ case in point, Riddle, “so why don’t you just call him your–”
“Riddle, fifteen minutes have passed since you’ve finished your meal. Shouldn’t we all head out of the hall now?”
Heartslabyul’s vice dorm leader never thought he would bring up the rules like this, especially in front of Riddle who he wished would stop following the rules too much, but he realized he was not against doing so if it helped him escape a tough situation.
As Riddle grumbled over how he was less than a minute away from breaking a rule, he did not miss the pointed stare you threw him.
“Maybe Riddle has a point. Should I just call you my school boyfriend, then?”
Boyfriend or husband, one thing stayed the same—Trey could not say he minded you considering him as either one, and that fact had served as the primary reason as to why he did not stop you from calling him as such.
It was easy to see where it had all begun—easy for him to see, at the very least.
It had to be the night you chose to sneak into Heartslabyul’s kitchen, far past bedtime, perhaps not quite realizing that he would still be in there, busy making sure every tart and cake would be put into the refrigerator for cooling, that no one would go steal something without replacing it.
He tried not to make a habit of staying up too late for anything other than academics, but he supposed some habits were meant to be broken once or twice or every once in a while. Maybe he should be thankful he had been awake that night, only because he didn’t think he could ever have gotten close to you otherwise.
“Midnight snacking?” he had asked calmly, only really staring you down to make sure the food you retrieved wouldn’t be needed for tomorrow’s unbirthday party. On that note… were there actually any? His dorm’s first years were growing boys who enjoyed large portions, so premade food was usually low in quality. “Just make sure to brush your teeth after.”
“Will do~” he remembered you agreeing quite easily, too busy opening cupboard to cupboard in search of something edible to argue against the importance of good dental hygiene. By the disappointed look on your face, though, it was evident you couldn’t find any outside of the ingredients he often used in baking.
To this day, Trey wonders if he would have stopped you then if you had asked to take some of the berries and chocolates reserved for pastries, or if he would have offered you a tart of your choosing from the selection to be served later that afternoon.
“You usually aren’t here this late, so I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
“So you’ve been here past midnight more than a few times?”
You had only laughed, although it appeared as though you were more ashamed of admitting it to him rather than the actions themselves.
“On occasion,” you had replied with a hum, quietly eyeing him as he worked away with the last tray of dough. Back then, he had expected you to ask him for one—perhaps you were, wordlessly, a stare that remained intense even as you innocently batted your eyes at him. “Would you kick me out, then?”
“I’m not doing that,” he shrugged, more concerned over the fact that someone else was up this late rather than curfews or rule-breaking or anything of the sort, “but you should probably go back to bed. I can’t send you off with anything to eat, but what about a drink? Tea, milk, hot cocoa…?”
Trey remembers what you asked for, of course but what had really stuck in his mind was the way you gave him a knowing smile—he had never really had the chance to properly talk to you before then, but there you were, smiling at him like you’ve known him for years, like you understood him and his very being.
“Trey is a really caring person, isn’t he?”
Because Trey has been far gone for far longer than he would like to admit, he’s increasingly lenient with you. That’s not to say he just lets you get away with whatever you want (although you’ve never actually asked for something unreasonable before) but he definitely lets you get away with more things than he should.
“Now that’s not very nice,” Trey chided playfully… or, what he presumed had come off as playful. People tended to take his jokes seriously, and by the way you froze mid-scoop of the batter, he really did think you thought he was actually scolding you. Seriously, what had become of his reputation… “as long as the spoon is clean and you don’t double scoop, you can taste it.”
“Ah, I mean, I can just wait,” you laughed awkwardly, as though you felt bad all of a sudden, “geez, now it’s coming off as if I’m expecting you to give me… whatever it is you’re making.”
“Because you do expect it, and I always end up giving you some of everything,” Trey said, perhaps more self-aware than you at this moment. “I don’t mind, really, it’s always nice to get a second opinion.”
“Why are you making it sound like it’s my fault you give in so quickly?” you said, giving him an accusatory glance, “and hello, we know you’re confident when it comes to sweets. You’re wonderful 99% of the time—”
“Just 99%…?”
“—and the other 1%, you can just use your UM. You messing up is not even in the realm of possibilities.”
“Well, that aside, you were going to taste it if I didn’t catch you, so might as well?”
It takes Trey a while to realize what he’s really doing. He’s conscious enough to know that he’s grabbing a spoon from one of the drawers, to know that he’s scooping up a small but sufficient serving of batter with it. It’s only when the spoon is already against your lips that he recognizes the implications of his actions. What’s more, he can’t even retract his hand, not when you take a small bite, ultimately spoon fed by him.
Both of you look shocked—at each other’s actions, and at the actions you yourselves have committed. With the way the both of you reacted, it was as though some obscure rule by the Queen of Hearts had been broken, although from the half that Trey had memorized, he sincerely doubted it.
What question had prevailed more in Trey’s head—the question of why he tried to give you a taste in that manner, or why you took a bite anyway instead of calling him out immediately?
“Aha, um, Trey–”
“It’s not what you think,” Trey immediately cut in, trying to look for a justification. Perhaps he should have thought harder, taking the time to word an explanation in his head rather than simply pouring his thoughts out like piping hot tea. “It’s not that I think of you as one of my siblings or as a kid. That’s not it at all.”
He said it as if that was the pressing matter, the misunderstanding to be avoided.
Perhaps it was, by the way your confused expression changed into relief with just a lingering hint of surprise.
“That’s… pfft, that’s good to know. Thank you for letting me know, Trey.”
Trey’s not dense—he knows why his juniors have begun teasing him (and you), he knows the reason behind Vil’s snickering near-perfectly covered by his gloved hand, and he recognizes the inspiration behind the countless poems Rook has insisted he listen to.
The both of you, he thinks, are sensible people (sensible enough to not repeat the same actions in public, to keep everything in the kitchen—although he’s had one or two close calls, usually when you can’t help yourself from joking about it), but sense and sensibility can only go so far when his mouth listens less to the brain and more to the heart.
“Sure, I gotcha,” Trey agreed, not quite grasping what he’d committed to doing until the words leave his lips, “I’ll make lunch for you tomorrow.”
By all means it probably should not sound so big a deal—he made you small snacks and sweets all the time, taste and ingredients used adjusted to your liking. There was no denying anymore that those were for you specifically, not just things he was willing to give you bite-sized portions of.
But a meal was a big deal. The moment sugar and flour get taken away from the recipe, Trey’s confidence dwindles in his abilities.
Not completely. He’s decent in regular cooking, just as he thinks himself decent in most things, but just decent would be troublesome in the long run. There was the Salisbury steak he specialized in, some variations of that, and the recipes he learned from the cooking elective program, but what would happen after that?
Yes, Trey knows that once he cooks lunch for you, there will be more and more times—whether it be by your request or his own volition—where he cooks you breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. Trey understands himself quite well, after all, so that much is just an inevitability.
Should he search up recipes online, or should he consult the books in the library? He could send a text message to his parents and hope that he’ll sound normal enough—though they might question his intent considering there’s plenty of cooked food for purchase and consumption at school…
“Wait, you don’t have to,” you protest, “wow, I can’t believe I’m actually protesting receiving food from you, but… isn’t that a waste of time? I should at least pay you.”
Trey’s natural instinct is to outright refuse. He doesn’t do these things to gain something out of it, just does it because he can; that your time and the evident admiration you hold for him—whatever extent that may truly be—was more than enough payment, enough to convince him to keep going.
His and your respective actions hurt neither one of you, so there was no reason to stop.
Trey’s second instinct is to joke, to tell you that you could pay for the ingredients, perhaps ask for an incredibly absurd amount of money that would be easily understood as a joke even with his line delivery.
He does neither. Instead, he asks—
“Maybe you could help me make lunch instead?”
The both of you are in the kitchen again. At some point, it had become common knowledge that if anyone needed to find either one of you, the first and best place to look would be Heartslabyul’s kitchen.
With all the time spent there, people would assume the both of you were cooking 24/7… but how sorely mistaken they would be.
Not to say there were no attempts, it was just… slow. Particularly when there was no schedule to be followed or deadline to be had.
Trey’s not one to push blame onto one person even for the most obvious of faults, definitely not so candidly, but the turn of events would be more your fault than his. It was a current that Trey did not get caught up in, but rather a flow he willingly went along with.
“Boyfriend, huh?” Trey asked, absentmindedly flipping through the recipe book displayed on the stand. The cake to be served for this afternoon’s unbirthday party had already been prepared, simply cooling in the fridge and waiting to be served, so there was no real reason to be looking through the pages.
If you asked, he was simply thinking about dinner… even though the book was primarily for sweets and pastries.
“Actually, it was husband first, and then boyfriend,” you corrected.
“Yeah, almost forgot my demotion there for a sec… or was it meant to be some form of promotion?”
“Not really, they’re the same thing. I was just letting you choose which one you liked more,” you laughed, opening the fridge to retrieve the sweets to be served in just a bit. That was the reason both of you were in the kitchen, after all, to get the food and not to chat, not to tease and be teased, and certainly not… would this classify as flirting?
Yes, absolutely yes. He supposed he’s just been lulled to the idea that you simply do act differently with him, but there are certain things that you do and say that are new, as if something had finally clicked for you.
As for Trey, something’s clicked for him too.
“Hmm… I suppose I’ll leave the choice to you,” Trey replied, pretending to look for the cake knives. He knows where they are, he’s simply… stalling. He wouldn’t call himself a coward, but building up courage requires time away from you in his line of sight. “But aren’t you worried?”
“Of what? Having other people hear?” you seemed to find his question funny, and he could imagine you rolling your eyes behind his back. “I said it in front of Riddle. The only reaction worse would be Ace’s—he’d pretend to be nauseated by us all the time if he heard.”
“Haha, yeah, but that’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, then?”
“I mean, won’t you… people are going to think I’m actually your boyfriend, so there’ll be less people approaching you,” he said. While he wasn’t exactly satisfied with his wording choice, he thought it got the job done without having to outright ask you directly.
“Ah, I thought it was already obvious that I don’t care about that?” If that wasn’t enough of a green light, you continued, “I… Do I seem interested in others, Trey?”
“Not really, no,” Trey answered with a surprising amount of ease. With how much time he had spent around you, he would notice… and he would admit with the slightest bit of a flush that he was aware that your eyes weren’t wandering around, looking for some other student you were interested in. You kept them on him and when they were not, he kept his own on you.
“I just needed to make sure.”
“Okay… and now that you’re sure, what will you do about it?”
He pushed the question back to you, “what do you want to do about it?”
He finally turned to face you again, but your eyes did not meet his, not at first. You looked down at the cake on the table, a pretty purple thing with his favorite candies violets topping it.
“I’ll tell you some other time,” you responded. Without missing a beat, leaving no room for Trey to be disappointed, you added, “what I want right now… is a taste.”
Trey does not need to clarify what you pertain to, not when you blatantly look back up in time. Instead, he asks, “are you sure?”
You nod, and he takes a deep breath, holding it, a second for each step towards you.
“Alright.”
You taste like the biscuits he gave you earlier—that’s the first thing Trey notices the instant his lips touched yours. There are other things, of course, like the spinning of his head and beating of his heart, and some other descriptions he would be able to write out if he had been granted the ability to wax poetic, but it is that lingering taste he focuses on.
It should be embarrassing how much he likes the idea—and more than just the idea—of it, the taste of his cooking in your mouth. Egotistic, something that provides him an unnecessary amount of pride.
But he likes it for the mere fact that it reminds him of what brought you together in the first place. It is a simple reason, but it is reason enough for him to keep his lips hovered over yours, as if ready to go for another should you allow it.
You laughed, the movement and breath felt against his skin. Then, still quite joyfully, you murmured, “you taste like toothpaste… and maybe mouthwash, too.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t be,” you said, shaking your head, “it reminds me of you, so I like it.”