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The term was coming to a quick end. In a few weeks, the school would stand empty in a quiet wait for a new group of students. For Trey, that’s an odd thought. He closes the oven as quietly as possible with a satisfied smile and lets the silence settle in around him. Carefully he starts to put all the baking tools back in their rightful place, leaving only the oven mittens within reach. Tonight the kitchen was his, but not for much longer. In only a few months there will be students in Heartslabyul whom he’s never met. They’ll be strangers by all definitions of the word and yet he feels a kinship with the people who will live in these buildings soon enough. If he closes his eyes it’s as if he can hear them, nervous voices mixing with excited ones. He can picture them looking around with wide eyes at the place that will be their home for the next three years if they’re diligent and can keep up with the rules.
There is no way of knowing who will sleep in his room next term. The amount of time before the dorm room will no longer belong to him wouldn’t take long to count if he would bother to do so. It’ll be a stranger making the bed and opening the curtains, sitting at the desk where he’s written countless assignments. Despite never meeting he sends the imagery first year student in his mind, a student that will soon exist, the best of wishes. It’s difficult now to look back at his own first year when he was that newbie who couldn’t get enough of the bright colors with worries about getting lost. Never before has he spent much time wondering about the student who occupied his room before he moved in. Someone only three years older. Maybe he too had wondered about him.
His own vice Housewarden career is coming to an end and there is little he can do for the next batch of students. He owes them nothing at all and yet he wishes he could do more, reach across time to offer soothing words of advice and warm cups of tea on sleepless nights. Leaving his modified recipes for tarts doesn’t seem enough, it doesn’t carry the care that he so tries to showcase. Words written on a page can never be a warm baked pastry delivered just in time to break up the studying. There’s an effort that goes beyond the baking itself. He wishes not for the first time that he could extend the love he carries in his mind and give it out like a birthday present. Perhaps leaving something tangible would soothe the concern he can’t put down, something that would remind every single student that passes through here that while they will never meet he thought of them.
That was not to say that he doesn’t have faith that there will be others to step up and into his place. The school’s dorm system would help them sort everything into place regardless if he was there or not. Ace and Deuce would be here to balance out Riddle’s strictness. One of the new first years might enjoy baking just as much as he does. The kitchen wouldn’t be abandoned.
For now, the place is empty. It’s past the regular bedtime for the dorm and he’s only still awake to wait for the last batch of cookies in the oven. Time has started to slip through his fingers more and more. Of course, he’s heard previous third years complain about the exact same thing. Those students who moved on to internships just as he graduated his first year at NRC had repeatedly told him, but it hadn’t felt important then. It hadn’t had anything to do with him, not when he had end of the year tests that felt like they would always be the most important thing in his life. Surely they had not planned correctly if an entire year had gone by and they still felt unprepared. He couldn’t remember feeling anything close to melancholy when he graduated from his previous school so how different could it be? “Wait and see,” they would tell him and extend it to Cater when he was around. In the glances they shared and stifled laughter it was clear they knew that in their position he would feel the exact same way.
They were right of course and now he can’t help but feel that they knew because they had been in his exact position. Starry-eyed first years who think they have a fast grasp of their life trajectory turn into third years in the blink of a handful of colorful memories. Maybe they too wished they could reach through time and give that advice to younger versions of themselves, a version who would react as if they had all the time in the world. React much like he had. He can see them in front of him if he really tries, though they’re mostly poorly held-back laughter and a blend of different shades of bright red.
Night Raven College wasn’t even sending him off on his own yet. There’s another year where he’ll do his internship and write a thesis that was meant to summarize everything the four years gave to him. What he learned, but presented with formality and structure. He has no doubts that this year will go by like a colorful haze of worry and writing and working, that a year from now he won’t feel any more prepared to graduate NRC for the last time. It makes him want to hit up the very third years he can’t get off his mind and ask them over coffee if they ever think about NRC as much as he suspects he will. It is falling away from him too quickly and asking someone who went through it should yield answers. It would be a quiet conversation, maybe even in his family cafe to make it a circle of his life. Every part of his life would be in one room. He wishes he remembers them more, wishes he had taken their numbers and written down their surnames. He heard once, he could no longer remember where that someone’s voice is the first thing you forget. It stuck with him and made him somewhat desperate to prove them wrong. Their voices had seemed immortal and now he can’t remember the way they teased him anymore. The only thing left is a vague knowledge that they had existed by his side, once as important to him as any other Heartslabyul student.
Trey barely bothers to look up as he hears footsteps. The kitchen isn’t exactly his private property even though it’s been unofficially his since the second week of his first year. Other students would often walk in and out, occasionally offering praise or conversation. In exchange, he would let them be taste testers despite seldom actually needing one. It’s nice to know that the kitchen is homely enough for people to want to spend their time here, comfortable enough to not worry if they were allowed in the first place.
It’s not a Heartslabyul student this time. He had expected someone who couldn’t sleep, mentally preparing to ask if they would like some tea or just a listening ear. There were many such students this time of year with the final grades just around the corner. He could even offer a strawberry tart, courtesy of his earlier stress baking. The kitchen wouldn’t be his much longer, unofficially or not, so he intends to enjoy it for as long as he can. Back home he’ll have to share the considerably smaller pastry kitchen if he wants to make something this intricate.
Instead, he’s met with a certain Savannaclaw student and a wide grin. He’s never been able to tell if his smile is lopsided or if it simply appears like that from Ruggie’s habit of smiling just a touch too much with his teeth.
“Hello, Ruggie.”
He watches as Ruggie jumps up on top of a currently unused countertop. Ruggie makes it look easy and effortless, but despite being taller he doubts he could pull it off that smoothly. Maybe it’s all of that spelldrive practice, he’s seen how Savannaclaw students excel at PE. A skill he wishes he had, but at least he would soon be free of Mr. Vargas’ classes. Small victories.
“Hey,” Ruggie says, all without dropping that trademark smile of his. The countertop is much too tall for him to reach the floor so he just swings his legs back and forth for a moment.
He’s wearing the Savannaclaw dorm uniform, which he really shouldn’t be wearing outside of the dorm itself. The more muted colors make him stand out in an otherwise bright room. He should reprimand him for it, being his senior and all, but he doesn’t mind. It makes him look more complete even though he has rarely seen him wear it. He wasn’t in the habit of visiting Savannaclaw. There was little for him there, but the realization that soon he wouldn’t have the option at all unsettles him. It’s always easier to set aside an option when you can pick it up again later at any time.
“So am I allowed to congratulate you on your new position, or am I not supposed to know?” He smiles at Ruggie.
He’s not supposed to know as it’s not been officially announced. Several dorms will have new management next year with the current Housewarden graduating. There hasn’t been a new announcement for Savannaclaw for some time, but he knows that this year there will be. It’s a relief that the title is going to be handed over and not fought for. He’s had enough Housewarden duels to last him a lifetime.
“Probably not, but I give you permission.” Ruggie’s grin stays on his face and doesn’t reveal the slightest surprise at how he knew that. It wasn’t supposed to be officially known until Leona announced it and Savannaclaw was meant to learn of it before any other. There were a lot of assumptions being made and gossip about all of the dorms that needed new management. For Savannaclaw there was no name mentioned more than his. Most were speculating that he would be handed the title, debating if he was strong enough for a dorm that represented strength.
“Congratulations on becoming the next Housewarden. It’s very well deserved,” he says.
Leona had slipped up during the latest Housewarden meeting and Riddle had relayed it to him afterwards. It’s no real surprise, not to him. There is no other serious choice. He couldn’t picture it being anyone else, all other names not coming close to the power Ruggie already held within the dorm. Of course it’s going to be him when the students already trip over not calling him the vice. He’s heard them tease him with the title, but just as often has he heard first years genuinely using it in gratitude. Savannaclaw doesn’t have a vice and why would it need one when it has him?
“Aww thanks, Trey.” If he has doubts about his capability to run the dorm he sure doesn’t show it. Ruggie’s still all smiles and an easy confidence that will be sure to serve him well next year. He can imagine him already, standing in the front with a toothy grin and casual authority. It’ll be a difficult task to live up to the legacy that Leona will leave behind, but if anyone could it would be him. Besides, he’s practically been running the dorm during his time here. He often attends the meeting with Leona and if not he preps him for them, dragging him there to make sure he goes. He runs errands, passes messages and lectures first years in the corridors to get them to class on time. The changes made would probably be minimal and barely noticeable in the first place. No, he’s not worried about either Savannaclaw or Ruggie.
“Are you here for a job?” He asks as he checks on the batch in the oven through the window. Usually, when Ruggie visited it was because of a job, even if it wasn’t a job for him specifically.
“Nah, I just got off a shift at Mostro. Azul is doing this whole dorm celebration or whatever he called it. To encourage everyone to engage in dorm solidarity before graduation.” Ruggie says, playing into the salesman type voice. No doubt he’s already sold the concept to countless customers at Mostro Lounge tonight.
That would explain the uniform.
“That sounds like him,” he says.
Azul is the kind of person to take advantage of the fact that many students were reluctant to go home and turn it into a monetizable event. For many, there was only so much time left to engage with the dorm culture before they graduated. While they technically went to NRC for their fourth year, living off campus made it a very different experience. He sincerely doubts he’ll have many opportunities to wear his dorm uniform after this year. It was quite a genius move to encourage people to wear their dorm uniform to the Lounge.
He wonders if Cater had been there today. If so he would probably hear more about it later. He’d get every single detail described to him with matching pictures. If not, he imagines he might be dragged there himself one of the upcoming days. He should check if Riddle would go along too. They could make a thing out of it so Ace and Deuce inevitably also got dragged into it. Yeah, quite a clever business idea from Azul.
“I’m gonna get a snack and then I’ll get out of your way, promise,” Ruggie says without making a move to get up.
He’s not in the way and he knows it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be lingering with such casual conversation. Ruggie has an annoyingly accurate perception of whether or not he was actually in someone’s way. If he then stayed out of their way was a different question entirely.
“May I offer you a tart then? I accidentally made too many. One might say I’m stress-baking. Just a little,” he chuckles and extends one towards Ruggie, who practically snatches it out of his hand. Ruggie has benefited from his stress baking plenty of times and would be one of the last to judge him for it. He’s pretty sure Ruggie couldn’t care less why he was being offered food.
“I never say no to food,” he says as he’s stuffing the tart into his mouth. That’s true. Ruggie always eats as if he thinks it’s going to disintegrate in front of him.
“It’s really good. You’ve gotten better. Remember the first tart you gave me?”
How could he not? Ruggie had looked much like Riddle had when he ate one for the first time, despite the burned edges and lack of frosting on the top. He had just gulped it down as easily as if it was a price-worthy desert looking like a kid in a candy shop. In truth, he had planned on throwing it out so he hadn’t handed it over out of his generosity. There was just enough batter left for another one, but not nearly enough of anything else. It was more practice than an actual attempt at a pastry. Finding anyone willing to eat it would have been a struggle if Ruggie hadn’t so happily taken it.
“Well I’d hope so, that one was barely good enough to be called a tart,” he says. Even last year that had been far from what he was capable of, with rows and rows of perfect strawberry tarts in the refrigerator as evidence. If his parents had seen it they would have immediately told him to either make more out of everything or throw it out. Making something half-heartedly was not accepted.
“Not like I could tell the difference, I had never had one before.”
Suddenly the comparison to Riddle makes a little too much sense for his comfort. If that’s true he wishes it wouldn’t have been burnt. He wouldn’t have given it to Ruggie if he had known it was his very first one and didn’t want that to be his first impression. While Ruggie truly meant that he’d eat anything that wasn’t spoiled, that must have been a poor example of a tart. Desserts were supposed to be dreams you could eat. His parents liked to advertise with that anyway, with loud cheery voices that were more high-pitched than their usual ones. It seemed to be true if one went by how well their bakery did, so he supposes he should take it to heart.
If he had known he would have made some excuse to give him one of the perfectly made ones for the next unbirthday party. He always made too many anyway to counter the mishap that would inevitably happen in a dorm filled with teenagers. Knowing him by now it would have taken a little convincing to get him to accept one of the better made ones, but not more than he could handle. He could have done it, could have forced it into hands a little too willing to take it.
Ruggie continues to speak before he can spiral further into what he should have done.
“Anyway I just wanted to, you know, say thanks. For giving me that tart. I’m sure you didn’t know, but that was the only thing I ate that day. Oh and thanks for every other time that you gave me leftovers too. Your baking is the best.”
Some part of him recognizes that it makes perfect sense. It’s a horrible truth, but one that’s so realistic he can’t deny it. No matter how much he wants to think that everyone had his own happy childhood he’s not so naive to think that anymore. NRC had fixed that mindset if his experience with Riddle hadn’t been enough.
Ruggie was a scrawny first year and has just barely started to look healthier now, no doubt because of Leona’s wallet. He knows that they eat together at the cafeteria and that Ruggie is not afraid to use said wallet without explicit permission anymore.
Trey remembers, vaguely, when the gossip had started that a first year had gotten into Leona’s good graces. At first, it hadn’t been spread as far because no one had believed it. He hadn’t either, couldn’t imagine Leona giving anyone the time of day for such rumors to be true. The rumor had been resilient and soon the majority of the school had been proven wrong when Ruggie Bucchi started to appear at Leona’s side. The memory of a first year Ruggie is stronger though. Standing next to Leona had made him look tiny, but their height difference hadn’t cushioned it. He had been all smiles then too, an ease around the Housewarden very few had. It seemed impossible that anyone was getting away with the amount of banter that got back to him from gossiping Savannaclaw students. Yet there he was, in the middle of the cafeteria loudly complaining that Leona better eat everything on the plate. He remembers being genuinely impressed when Leona had complied.
It didn’t take long before he had his very own run in with Ruggie. Well to be exact it was more like Ruggie had run into him, one day showing up in the kitchen with a bag of ingredients he was sure he asked a fellow second year Heartslabyul student to buy for him. With a grin that could compete with Cater’s, he had explained that the student had given him money to do the job for him. To give such a simple job to someone else sounded utterly lazy, but he wasn’t about to bring that up in front of a student from another dorm. He had to find said student afterward to lecture him and luckily had managed to before it got back to Riddle.
He hadn’t looked like much then. That was the very first impression he got of the smiling Savannaclaw student. He was shorter than most other students in his dorm and it had been obvious that he had been living in poverty for the majority of his life. The fact that he was wearing a uniform several sizes too big didn’t exactly work in his favor. The rolled-up sleeves made it more obvious than needed and he wondered if he ever tripped over the folded edges of the pants. It took many more months before he learned that it was actually an old one of Leona’s.
Ruggie ends up in his unofficial kitchen plenty of times that year. He quickly learnt his way around the kitchen without needing instructions and is eager to help out when there’s a reward at the end. It becomes easier to ask him to go on ingredient runs than attempt to convince a first year in his own dorm. When he keeps giving him tarts or other baked goods that he was working on as an extra reward, the price for said ingredients goes down. Personally he’s horrible at bargaining. He had always assumed it was because he grew up in a family-owned business, but Ruggie made it look like an art. A life skill Ruggie would tease when he asked how he did it. To his eyes it felt like there must be a secret he was unaware of, Sam wouldn’t just lower the price because someone asked.
The more time that passed the more he visibly had become comfortable in his spot next to Leona. He started to show up no matter the time complaining about princes and the rich, all while looking as if he had always been working in the Heartslabyul kitchen. Even he had to admit that Ruggie was a skilled baker and an even better cook, something he’s sure helped with staying on Leona’s good side. He needed only a few corrections, but he gave advice freely anyway. He loves sharing recipes and baking tips. Most considered him naive to think that Ruggie didn’t hang around him for the possibility of free food, but he had never been blind to that. Ruggie was one of the more open students at NRC about how his intentions were always himself first. It wasn’t that big of a deal, he often had baked goods he didn’t mind parting with. He had never gotten over the feeling that Ruggie expects him to want something in return even for the baking tips he had freely offered.
Sometimes he wanted to ask. When it was only them in the kitchen and Ruggie was obviously lingering for no good reason. He listened as Ruggie once again complained that Leona was impossible in the morning as he rummaged through the drawers for whatever he needed. Ask how exactly someone managed to bulldoze past all of the well kept walls someone like Leona kept. Though it would have been too close to the questions he himself received about how he got on Riddle’s good side. There were plenty who asked that, most with the intention to use whatever he answered with as test answers. He still doesn’t quite know what to say when someone asks that because childhood friends don’t really cover why Riddle had chosen to let him into his life. Sometimes he wonders if he just got lucky and met Riddle when there were no other options. He had been lucky enough to meet a Riddle still willing to make friends and he had been there. Proximity. It’s not a very satisfactory answer and it certainly couldn’t be copied.
“It was entirely my pleasure”. What else can he say to convey how fond he’s grown of Ruggie’s appearances in the kitchen? If he did attempt to do so it would sound cliche at best and insincere at worst. Better to keep it light and have it sound as genuine as he meant.
“Well, I’ll better be off. Early morning and whatnot. Goodnight Trey.” Ruggie jumps off of the countertop in one smooth move, giving him a playful bow when he lands on the ground.
He imagines Ruggie is one of few with an early morning alarm to rival his. It’s comforting to think of Ruggie’s routine as somewhat matching his, despite the two very different dorms they belong to. That across the dorms someone else was awake just as early, dealing with a similarly difficult Housewarden. Not for the first time he’s glad to have had Riddle as his Housewarden, to know that no matter what he would never have to attempt to convince him to attend class. The opposite was more likely to happen when Riddle got sick and should stay in bed. One becomes comfortable with the routines he supposes. He wonders briefly if Ruggie would miss waking Leona in the mornings.
“Goodnight. Sleep tight.”
For a moment he thinks he overdid it, his voice too sweet sounding. The fondness slips in, the tone that makes Cater tease that he’s like the mom of the dorm. Maybe it got too close to treating him as if he’s a Heartslabyul student that he was still responsible for. He’s not, in a few months Ruggie would be a Housewarden and hold more authority than he ever did during his three years living at NRC.
For now though, they’re two NRC students in a kitchen that would be empty otherwise. Perhaps that’s why Ruggie just smiles at him. He doesn’t think he imagines some of the playfulness fading from his smile. It makes him look so very much like Leona and he wonders how Ruggie would feel if he pointed that out.
He hears a light familiar laugh as Ruggie approaches the door.
“See you ‘round!” Ruggie doesn’t turn around, instead just waves over his shoulder. He’s the very image of a student constantly on the move and he is left smiling at the closed door.
Once again he’s alone in the kitchen that he has admittedly grown more attached to than he ever would have imagined. There won’t be many more nights like these, late night encounters with whatever student who ventured here for a snack or advice. Or both.
The oven alarm signals both that the last batch is done and that he should head to bed now that he’s out of excuses to stay up. The term is not quite over yet. Tomorrow he’ll present the latest tarts for the unbirthday party, tomorrow he’s still the vice Housewarden.
For now, Heartslabyul is still his.