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By all accounts whether it’s the weather, the time, or even the fact that there’s an exam scheduled in a couple of hours, Riddle should be asleep right now.
Truthfully, he was. It was almost the best sleep he’s ever had ever since the black carriage had taken him away from the Queendom of Roses.
The person that helped him get such pleasant rest is already asleep himself, swaddled in a patchwork quilt and sleeping fitfully next to him on his queen-sized bed, lavender hair tousled and fanned out against a pillow.
Riddle doesn’t always ask Epel to be his music box for the night. Sometimes, even when he finds himself perfectly capable of falling asleep, he'd wish he had the audacity to do so. Epel’s voice can be perfectly charming when he tries, even when he’s sleepy. He remembers the soft and breathy way Epel sang to him hours prior, unable to look him in the eye as he slowly faded off on the back of a pleasant dream.
But with how things are now, Riddle can’t exactly lay there and complain. He isn’t going to wake Epel up just to get a chance to sleep himself, so he lets out a quiet sigh and closes his eyes.
For a while, all he hears is Epel’s soft breathing coinciding with his own. And then, rustling. Riddle’s first thought was that he woke Epel up by blinking, only to realize how ridiculous it sounds when he runs it back a second time. Still, he peeks an eye open just in case, ready to tell Epel to go back to sleep.
Except Epel looks as asleep as ever, save for his furrowed brows and pursed lips as he sluggishly pats around the bed.
Odd. Well, now he’s not sure if Epel’s asleep at all.
“Epel…?” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleepiness.
The reply Riddle gets comes in the form of Epel loosely draping an arm over him and burying his face in his shoulder. A soft sigh falls from his lips that seems to reach his heart, judging by how it’s struggling to calm down from the sudden proximity.
His face is horribly warm. Burning, even. Great. What’s he supposed to do now?
It’s not the most… uncomfortable thing in the world. Maybe the problem is that it’s too comfortable. And also a little difficult to move around, because now the chances of disturbing Epel’s rest by moving around too much just got exponentially higher. Shifting his arm would practically be like slapping Epel in the face like this.
Riddle quietly clicks his tongue and sighs before carefully—meaning, very, very, very carefully—turning on his side, letting Epel’s arm slip around him properly, albeit loosely. After that, it feels a little safer to wrap an arm around him, unable to do much more besides indulge in this odd sort of comfort.
Laying there, something he thought he already knew just becomes a tad bit clearer, finding him in the hollowness in his chest and the coldness numbing his fingers, unfulfilled by even the comfiest of beds and softest of duvets.
It’s the kind of emptiness he’s known to fill with stretching goals and distant hopes—never dreams. Never the impossible.
That part has always been the hardest, but he could never find the time to stew in the bittersweetness found in being able to knock himself back down to reality with familiar, echoing statements told by a stern voice, cold-cut like the glint of a guillotine.
But.
If he finds happiness in an occupied pie tin, spectral treasure hunts, and the kind of adoration that can only come from a doe-eyed Pomefiore boy with a hobby of carving roses out of apples, then he can tentatively let go of his memories for a while and pretend joy is something he’s always known. Something that never had to be rewarded to him in tiny increments of free time.
So, even though Riddle isn’t exactly sure how to indulge in it, he tries to. Clamoring for all and anything he can get when presented with the opportunity, hesitant with the unfamiliarity until he grasps it and grasps it well enough for him to seek it out again when he wants to.
When he wants to.
There’s something delightful about that. He can’t pin down how but there just is. A warmth in his chest that reminds him he’s happy now and he can be for more than an hour a day that isn’t just by finally being able to take a break.
He’s relieved. Because now he can feel a little less pressed about the time and his schedule and the rascals he knows he’ll have to wrangle in the morning—which means he can spend a couple of minutes in the present without the looming worry on his mind. Just for a while. He deserves that much.
Riddle blinks down at the boy in his arms, eyes drooping now that the sleepiness is finally getting to him.
Epel is warm. And it isn’t just because of the quilt he’s hogging and the blanket on top of them both. It’s nice. Almost enough to make him smile just the tiniest bit adoringly. Amused, even.
He wonders if Harveston is cold enough for Epel to bury himself in a mountain of blankets every night, to the point he carries the habit into a climate warmer than he’s used to, even going as far as to seek warmth from him too. He doesn’t mind.
It’s difficult to not feel perfectly content with the world when every good thing in it can be condensed in the clear pools of Epel’s round eyes, or even in his smiles than can range from a demure tilt of his lips to a smug, boyish grin. His loveliness is stark, maybe even more than other Pomefiore students—though that just might be his bias speaking.
Riddle’s cheeks warm up and he sighs. He quietly combs through Epel’s hair and untangles any knots that he finds, proving his blatant bias to himself because he knows he’d never be this soft to anyone else.
“Are ya just gonna lie there ‘n stare at the wall…?” a groggy voice mutters.
Epel tilts his head up to look at him, sleep weighing heavily on his lashes as he yawns. He flops onto his back as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. An even longer yawn wracks through the otherwise quiet evening.
“I was going to sleep,” Riddle says.
Epel rolls back onto his side, staring at him all unimpressed. “Mm… Yeah, right. You Heartslabyul folks sure are weirdos…” He goes to yawn again before he cuts it off by firmly pressing his lips together, letting it pass before he continues on. “If yer just havin’ trouble gettin’ back to sleep, ya should’ve just told me…” He pauses. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Riddle suppresses a smile as he sighs. “Shouldn’t you be more mindful of your own rest? I won’t tolerate you waking up even a second late. Don’t forget I still need to drop you off at Pomefiore later.”
“Whatever, don’ care,” Epel says. He pulls Riddle back in, this time getting a smile from him as Riddle wraps his arms back around him. “Okay, what d’you want me to sing?”
“I just said you didn't have to.”
“Words of a liar.”
Riddle lets out a fond huff. “Just go to sleep, Epel…”
Epel groans. “Bleh, as if yer gonna fall asleep any time soon.”
“... Sing me anything then.”
“Anything?”
“Yes. Anything.”
Epel sighs. “Ugh, this is the only song I remember right now…” He buries his dismay into Riddle’s chest, thinking for a moment before sitting up.
Riddle looks up at him, amused at how his lavender hair is all tousled and messy with parts sticking out. He reaches up and tucks a stray strand behind his ear, trying to make it a little neater. “Then don’t sing.”
“Stubborn.” Epel clicks his tongue. His gaze seemingly softens as he takes Riddle’s hand and gently places it back on the bed, keeping it there with a loose hold. “Close your eyes already…”
He stifles a chuckle and does so. “Alright.”
“Comfy?”
“Yeah—”
“‘S what I thought.”
Riddle snorts.
“Okay, okay, um… I’m… I’m wishi—ah, fuck, that ain’t it. How did it go?”
Epel knocks his head against the bedframe, his fingers drumming against the back of Riddle’s hand.
“... Make a wish into the well…” he breathes out, a tinge unsure. “That’s all you—y-you have to do… And if you hear it echoing, your wish will soon come true...”
Riddle smiles a little, peeking an eye open as Epel stares at the wall, brows furrowed and eyes threatening to close. His voice gets sleepier, breathier, and just as charming as it is when he’s awake.
“I’m… I’m wishing,” heat sweetly creeps up the apples of Epel’s cheeks, “I’m wishin’… For—uh… For the one I… love.” He sways his head, sighing. “To find me… today. Today...”
“‘M hoping, I’m hoping—a-and I’m dreamin’ of… the—the nice things he’ll s… say.”
Epel pauses. “Ah, I don’t really like this next part, ‘m skippin’ it,” he mumbles. “Is that okay?”
Riddle hums.
Epel immediately looks down at him, frowning. “Weren’t you sleeping?”
Riddle rolls his eyes and closes them again, slipping down the bed until the blanket was up to his chin.
Epel huffs before reeling himself in for the last few lyrics. “I’m wishin’, ‘m wishing, for the one I love to find me—today… Today.”
“... That’s it, I think.”
Riddle opens his eyes in time to see Epel try to rub the red off of his cheeks, muttering something under his breath as the rosiness only seems to deepen.
He only does it for five more seconds before he gives up and flops onto the bed, burrowing himself underneath his quilt and the blanket, very reminiscent of a hedgehog. Riddle chuckles, accepting Epel’s attempt to cling to him again when the quilt is thrown over the both of them.
“I’ll sing somethin’ better next time,” Epel grumbles, eyes already fluttered shut, hands loosely grasping the back of Riddle’s shirt.
“Thank you for singing, still,” Riddle sighs, burying his face in lavender hair. “I think... I can go back to sleep now.”
“Ya better. G’night, Riddle.”
“Mm, goodnight, Epel. Be prepared to wake up in an hour. We have exams scheduled.”
“... Ugh, fuck.”