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By the end of his third year, rather than settle for a simple degree in the culinary arts, Trey decided to take things a step further and take a path he had only briefly dipped his toes into; namely, a culinary teacher. What had started as an innocent question during his time in the Culinary Crucible had spiraled into a fascination he had never seen coming. Teaching his siblings had been one thing, and struggling in his efforts to tutor his dormmates in preparation for his upcoming absence was another, but actually hands-on showing a complete newbie the ropes in a manner that they understood and flourished from? He did not expect to enjoy it as much as he did. Even if it didn’t turn out to be for him, he still had a ripe career in the baking industry to fall back on.
Of course, this meant that he had to study somewhere more specialized. A boon in that Night Raven College allowed him to get his foot in the door for such an institution, and they would be providing him with his very own place to stay for the duration.
Before Trey left, he’d promised Riddle they would remain together as a couple, no matter the distance, and to stay in frequent contact. Or as much contact as their schedules would allow, rather. It didn’t make separating from their final hug and kiss and stepping through the mirror any less difficult, but shifting his focus towards preparing for the big move helped dull the sting.
The last suitcase was brought in and dropped near the couch. Finally, after a week of planning and packing and goodbyes, Trey had officially moved into the apartment granted for his final year of study. He would be given a few days to settle in, and then the work would begin. Hands on his hips, he gazed around at the boxes scattered about the suite.
Better get cracking.
His first day, unsurprisingly, had been utterly exhausting. Trudging in through the door, Trey made the rookie mistake of collapsing on the couch shortly after removing his shoes and jacket, for he passed out almost immediately. It was approaching midnight when he woke back up and went to get ready for bed. Distantly, while staring at his reflection in the mirror while brushing his teeth, it occurred to him that he’d been able to nap on the couch uninterrupted for the first time in…six months? Eight? A year? Really, he couldn’t recall the last time someone hadn’t gone and woken him up in search of assistance. Despite the circumstances, he had to admit, it was incredibly cathartic to just knock out like that without worry.
As the days went on, he found living on his own to be freeing. No rules to fret over, no students to interrupt him, no schedule to abide by outside of his studies. It was peaceful, it was quiet, and it was exactly what the doctor ordered. After that first day, some long-held knot in his chest unraveled, and years worth of stress flooded out of his body as he sprawled back on that beloved couch, legs kicked up on a footrest, a warm drink in one hand and a reading assignment in the other, TV on and half-watched in the background.
Yeah, this was nice.
It stopped being nice not long into his second month on his own.
The thought hadn’t even occurred to him until he was in the middle of whipping a bowl of cream, where it struck in the back of his mind with the force of a misaimed Spelldrive disk and ricocheted around his skull until he had to still his arm. He gazed down into the fluffy whiteness, not quite at the stiff peaks he was looking for, brow furrowed. Slowly his eyes turned to the oven, the comforting scent of baking tart shells wafting through the kitchen. Then they fell upon the fillings and toppings, sorted each into bowls of their own.
Oh.
This was…a lot for one person. Too much, in fact.
Shaking his head, he returned to his whipping. It was fine, he tried to rationalize. He could just save the rest for snacks throughout the week. Nothing would go to waste. But his eyes returned to the tart toppings, specifically the sliced strawberries ready for decoration, and in that moment it felt as though stress wasn’t the only thing to have leaked out from his body over time, leaving his chest cavity hauntingly hollow.
The egg timer ticked loudly through the room.
…Maybe it was a little too quiet.
At 8pm Trey claimed his spot on the couch, tart slice in hand and ready to tackle his assignment for the week, when he stopped just short of grabbing the TV remote, hovering over as though touching it would burn him. His attention had landed instead on his phone. Setting the plate on his small coffee table, he slowly reached for it.
Riddle hadn’t contacted him in almost two weeks, likely occupied with wrangling in the new freshmen and showing Deuce the ins and outs of being a vice housewarden if his emails were anything to go by. Still, staring at the date of his last received message and scrolling up to reread their text conversations caused a strange yet familiar ache to blossom in the uncomfortably empty spot between his ribs, radiating right down his arm to the wrist that held his phone. It throbbed in time with every second beat of his heart, growing in intensity when he reached the messages time stamped from before the previous school year had ended.
He tapped the call button at the top of the screen without really thinking about it and immediately the beating was in his throat, rattling his frame twice as fast.
Why the hell did he do that? Riddle was busy. He shouldn’t be bothering him. Despite the traitorous hope that had sprouted in him from the mindless action, Trey shook his head and went to hang up, trying to ignore how the ache turned sharp.
Before he got the chance to, thumb right overtop the bright red button, his call was answered.
“Good evening, Trey.”
A breath that had been subconsciously locked in his lungs from the moment he started the call was knocked loose at the sound of Riddle’s voice, and he fumbled the phone up to his ear. His glasses were bumped askew with the movement. “Riddle! Good evening,” he returned the greeting, just a tiny bit stilted while he righted his frames. “I—sorry, are you busy right now?”
“I’m just about to start on my homework. Why? Is everything alright?”
His free hand rose to rub at the back of his neck. “Yeah, everything’s good. I’m just—calling to check in.” A sigh was repressed. He couldn’t help but feel as though he was being needy.
“Oh, well,” Riddle started, then paused briefly. There was a rustle through the phone speakers, the sound of fluttering papers. “Surprisingly, there hasn’t been much of note happening. The freshmen didn’t turn out as…unruly, let’s put it, as last year, and Deuce has been performing his duties adequately. In fact, it’s given me time to get ahead on budgeting and event planning for the Equestrian Club, which has taken up most of my attention.”
So Riddle wasn’t about to just turn him away. Trey smiled, sinking back against the couch as something that could’ve been relief, could’ve been joy, could’ve been both, filled him. “Really? That’s nice to hear. I think you’ve earned an uneventful start to the school year.”
“What about you? It’s been over a month since you relocated. How are you feeling about living on your own?”
“Strange, but in a good way. I can arrange things the way I like it without worrying about what anyone else might think, and I don’t have to fret over siblings or dorm mates interrupting whatever I’m doing.” He chuckled lightly, a sound Riddle echoed on his end. Then he looked up towards the rest of his apartment and added somewhat less enthusiastically, “...It’s really quiet too.”
As if it were a command, silence fell between them. Even if he strained his hearing Trey couldn’t parse the flipping of pages or the scratch of a pen on paper through the phone speaker. For a second he wondered if the line disconnected, and the thought sent a bolt of alarm down his spine, causing him to sit up properly.
“Riddle—”
“Trey—”
They spoke in unison, startled and exclaimed in unison, then laughed awkwardly in unison.
“Sorry, go ahead,” Trey offered.
“No, no, you first. I insist,” Riddle returned.
“I…” another weak, nervous huff of a laugh tumbled from him, heat rising to his cheeks. He ducked his head, lips pulled into a thin line as he braced himself. “Would…you be open to doing a video call?”
“Yes,” came Riddle’s immediate—so immediate it almost cut Trey’s last word off—reply. He quickly cleared his throat as if to acknowledge and apologize for the near-interruption. “Give me a couple minutes to move some things.”
Trey was already up off the couch, phone pinched between his head and his shoulder as he snatched up his tart and his work. “Oh, yeah, no problem. I was going to use my laptop, if that’s alright?”
“Of course. I’ll hang up and let you switch.”
It didn’t take very long for him to get set up at his desk, flicking on the overhead light and rousing the laptop from its slumber, and upon taking a brief few seconds with his phone’s front camera to make sure he didn’t look too unkempt, he called Riddle back.
Almost instantly, Riddle answered, and his video popped on. His hand was in the middle of retreating from tapping the phone screen. Judging from the angle, he had it on a stand against the back of his desk, tucked between two stacks of books that somewhat framed the edges of the video, showing off both Riddle in his entirety and the homework sprawled before him. “There you are. I can see you clearly.” He smiled wide and gave a small wave.
Trey returned it, absolutely beaming. “Hey.”
Hearing his voice had been one thing, but actually seeing Riddle smiling at him, still dressed in his housewarden attire despite it being so late (though given the time zone differences, it was only just past 6pm over there) was like a balm to the pain in his chest, a panacea to the clawing, empty feeling that had began as a crack and pried itself ever wider. Really, the only thing that could’ve been better was if he could physically be there to drape his arms over Riddle’s shoulder, to rest his chin on Riddle’s head next to that crown, to feel Riddle’s hands and his lips and his heartbeat as he was brought close. But that wouldn’t be possible until he could visit during the cultural fair next year. For now, Trey had to take what he could get.
Settling his arm on his desk, Riddle leaned in closer towards the screen. “You certainly look as though you’ve settled in. Is that your bedroom?”
Blinking out of his stupor, Trey glanced behind him at his room. All that could be seen through his mediocre laptop webcam was his bed, a bedside table with some books stuffed into the nook below, and a window with the white curtains drawn. “Yeah. Honestly, I haven’t completely finished unpacking. There’s a couple things I need to put out, but either way it’s pretty plain compared to my old room at the dorm.” He returned to the laptop. “Do you want a tour? It’s fairly cozy.”
“Ah, while I am curious, let’s save it for another opportunity when I can provide my undivided attention.” Riddle looked down at the paper beneath his pen and scrawled something. “I’d like to take advantage of the time I’ve been given. I hope you don’t mind if I continue to work while on call.”
“Go right ahead. Actually, I’ve got some stuff to take care of myself.” As an example, Trey flashed the outline for his assignment to the camera briefly, just long enough for Riddle to snatch a glimpse between his written sentences.
“What is that?”
“We’re supposed to put a mock lesson plan together surrounding food safety, which’ll serve both as a tool to put to practice later on and as a test to show that we know what we’re doing in the kitchen. I’m still not great at making concepts approachable like you are, so I figured I should work on that first,” he explained as he fished a stack of flashcards from the desk drawer and pulled off the rubber band.
Curiosity piqued, Riddle’s attention fixed from his homework onto the screen, head tilted. “I’d be happy to give you some pointers in that regard should you need the tutoring, but I must say I’m surprised. When you mentioned you were going to teach for your work placement, I had assumed you would have your hands full assisting in the classroom.”
Trey shrugged. “I will eventually, but right now I’m grateful we’re being eased into things. They really hammered in the importance of covering the basics for this sort of stuff. On top of that, many of the people in this program are coming from overseas, so I’m guessing they want to make sure the boarding’s all sorted out so we won’t vanish and leave a class understaffed.”
“It sounds as though you got off easy.” Riddle’s tone almost came across as judgmental; Trey knew it was directed at the workload—or perceived lack thereof for such an esteemed establishment—rather than at him.
“Mhm,” he laughed. “Unlike poor Cater.”
Riddle rolled his eyes, but he was smiling fondly. “Yes, as he’s frequently lamented to me.”
This time when silence fell between them, it was a far more comfortable variety. Only occasional comments were shared, with the shuffling of pages and muttered thoughts and the clink of Trey’s fork upon the plate filling the gaps between. Every now and then Trey would look up at Riddle through the screen, and it was at once a breath of fresh air and an agonizing reminder that he couldn’t just reach out to offer what was left of his strawberry tart. Sometimes he’d hear a soft sigh while his head was buried in a book, and though he didn’t check, Trey’s heart would flutter at the possibility of Riddle sharing that same longing. That same loneliness.
Eventually when he heard that gentle sound, he did look, and the yearning became unbearable upon discovering that Riddle was, indeed, gazing back at him, something brimming beneath the calm exterior which threatened to furrow his brow.
For a few heartbeats they merely held eye contact, and then, “It’s weird not being in the dorm,” Trey said to release some of the mounting pressure.
Riddle set his pen down, his smile empathetic, if a little sad. “It’s…certainly been an adjustment, not having you around. That’s partly why I’ve been spotty with my communication lately.” His eyes drifted to look somewhere off camera. “As embarrassing as this is to disclose, sometimes I…I accidentally call your name, expecting you to show up—”
“I miss you.”
He didn’t mean to interrupt Riddle, but the words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could hold them back.
Gaze snapping back to the screen, Riddle sucked in a breath hard enough to raise his shoulders slightly, and even from there Trey could tell that his eyes had gone glassy (not that Trey looked much better, if the little preview thumbnail of his own video feed in the corner was any indication). Riddle’s hands fell below the desk into his lap. Probably to fold them together. “I miss you too,” he admitted.
The laugh Trey managed was weak, but no less joyful at hearing the words. “This has been a huge help with that. Really.” Now it was his turn to fold his hands together, except they sat on top of his desk. “Maybe we could…make this a regular thing?”
“Could we?” That got Riddle’s face to light up. Then, as if to reign in his excitement, he reached over and pulled a flip calendar from offscreen at the far side of the desk. “I can’t guarantee that my evenings will be the same every day, but we could try to dedicate one day a week.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. At least until we both figure out what the rest of the year is gonna look like. Though I wouldn’t be opposed to some impromptu calls here and there.”
“Neither would I.” Something was written on Riddle’s calendar, and it was set back down. “May I get back to you about my most opportune days this weekend?”
Trey’s folded hands tightened their grip, his smile so wide and relieved it almost hurt. “For sure.”
Their call continued, flipping between periods of conversation and periods of quiet, until the clock struck 10pm for Trey, and Riddle declared that it was late enough and he should prepare for bed. As the screen went dark, the image of Riddle’s goodbye smile and wave being replaced with his own reflection, Trey sighed and melted against his chair.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so lonely after all.