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Rook hums cheerily as he waves off a gaggle of first years back to the lab, their mandrakes now neatly depotted and silent instead of screaming. Like Professor Crewel likes to say, they’re all good boys , albeit a bit clumsy in their gardening habits at the moment. They’re curious, though, and quite eager to learn, which makes them excellent Science Club members all around.
Although there’s an elegance to expertise, Rook also finds a certain charm to inexperience as well. Even diamonds start out dull and rough, after all.
With the first years off to the lab again and no longer occupying his time, Rook decides to see how his fellow third year members are doing with their own projects. Last he saw, one member from Octavinelle was attempting to breed a new variety of carnivorous plant that could serve as a deterrent towards home invaders.
So far, the plants have been more affectionate than ferocious, but Rook shivers as he imagines the potential maw as they grow bigger and have been trained to devour instead of nuzzle against human flesh. Oh, it’s such an exciting thought!
When Rook checks on him, the Octavinelle student has made some progress with his soon-to-be terrifying plants. Presenting the bare skin of his wrist as enticement, Rook is rewarded with a stinging nip, not sharp enough to draw blood but still quite harsh. A red mark blooms in its wake.
“Très bien! What a fine guard in the making!” Delighted, Rook attempts to coax some of the other plants into attacking, but their nips are much gentler, mere pinches in comparison.
With the plants’ viciousness tempered for now, Rook wishes the Octavinelle student good luck on his project before he heads off. None of the other third years are working on anything quite as bloodthirsty, but he has fun hearing about them all regardless.
At last, there’s only one other member of the science club Rook hasn’t seen yet, and he heads off to a far off section of the gardens to find him.
“Chevalier des roses!” Rook calls, when he’s within Trey’s range of hearing.
“Don’t call me that,” comes the familiar refrain, but Rook just hums in response. Despite Trey’s protests and attempts to fly under the radar, he truly does suit the image of the noble and chivalrous knight quite well.
Trey is knelt down by a patch of violets, roughly half of which have been plucked and are now sitting in the basket next to him. Even without Rook’s sensitive nose, their fragrant scent is obvious in the air around them.
“What are the violets for?” Rook asks, leaning over Trey’s shoulder to watch him as he works. “A potion? Or something for Heartslabyul?”
“Nothing so interesting,” Trey says, his hands still working deftly to harvest the remaining flowers. “These are just for myself. I’m going to make candied violets.”
Rook hums, considering the answer. He’s never had candied violets before, but he imagines that they would be beautiful at least, with the blooms crystallized in sugar or another glaze. It’s interesting too that Trey is choosing to make something wholly for himself, rather than his housewarden or other members of his dorm. “Do you know the meaning of violets, mon ami?”
Trey pauses briefly, glancing at Rook from the corner of his eye, before he turns back to the flowers before him again. “I do, actually. Why?”
“Oh?” Rook leans closer into Trey’s personal space. When Trey stays where he is, even bumping his shoulder against Rook’s own, he’s pleased that his closeness is allowed. “I just thought their meaning fit you quite well: faithfulness, hard work, and sincerity. I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted with the language of flowers, though. How romantique!”
“Well, I don’t know whether violets suit me, but I suppose there are worse meanings to be associated with,” Trey says. “And honestly my knowledge of flower meanings is hardly romantic. I just learned since my parents had a special promotion for floral baked goods one spring. The marketing was all about flower meanings so people would get the ones with the sappiest messages for their partners.”
“How lovely!” Rook exclaims, already imagining the possibility of a bouquet of baked goods and the emotions that it could convey. “An eloquent and delicious gift all in one. Your parents must be geniuses.”
“I’m sure they’d be glad to hear it,” Trey says, his tone wry.
The rest of the time is spent in casual conversation as Rook helps Trey with the rest of his harvest. With two people working, the patch of flowers is quickly made bare, ready to be used again for other purposes.
“Will you let me see the final product when you’re done?” Rook asks, as he places the last few blooms into the basket. “I’d like to see how you transform them.”
“It’s not that interesting, honestly, but sure.” At this point, Trey is more than used to Rook’s strange whims. At least this one is easy enough to fulfill.
There’s no Science Club meeting today, so Rook considers going back to Pomefiore now that classes are done. There’s always something to be done as the dorm’s vicehousewarden, even if it’s straightening out the other members’ uniforms to ensure that they meet Vil’s exacting standards.
“Rook!” a voice calls, leading Rook to pause. Just from the gait alone, he already knows who is approaching him, and he turns to face the other with a smile.
“Chevalier des roses!” he greets. “What a pleasure to see you!”
Trey sighs at the nickname as usual, but he doesn’t stop his approach. “I’m never going to get you to stop calling me that, am I?”
“Perhaps after we graduate, though it will be difficult to find something more well-suited, you know,” Rook allows, taking pleasure in the skeptical eyebrow Trey raises as well. “But I digress. Did you need me for something, mon ami?”
Trey shakes his head, but doesn’t bother to argue more than that. “I finished my candied violets, if you still wanted to see them,” he says, “though they’re nothing too special.”
“Oh, oui! I would love to see them!”
“Alright, let me get them out.” Trey turns to his bag, rummaging through it for a moment before he pulls out a clear glass jar, filled nearly to the brim with flowers. “Here you go,” he says, handing the jar over to Rook.
Rook takes the jar carefully, as to not accidentally drop it, though he’s rarely ever so clumsy. Holding up the glass jar to his eye level, the sun shines through and illuminates the candied flowers inside. At this angle, the sugar coating the petals gleam like fairy dust.
“It’s wonderful, Trey,” Rook says, his smile growing even wider across his face. The violets really are stunning, a testament to Trey’s skill as both a gardener and a chef. Like with everything he finds beautiful, Rook stows away the memory deep inside his heart.
“Do you want to try some?” Trey asks. He reaches out to take the jar from Rook’s hands and untwists the lid to open it up. “They’re not to everyone’s taste, but you might like them.”
“If you don’t mind!” Rook has always enjoyed everything Trey makes, even if he sometimes can’t bear to mar their beauty by eating them. He’s sure he’ll find these flowers just as pleasing.
Trey tips out a few flowers into Rook’s upturned palm. “I recommend letting the sugar dissolve in your mouth and then savoring the floral components after for the best experience,” he says, “but you’re welcome to do whatever.”
“I’ll trust your expertise!” Rook follows Trey’s advice, placing the delicate flowers on his tongue and letting the flavor slowly bloom rather than just swallowing them right away. Letting his eyes slip shut, he focuses his attention on the subtle shifts in sweetness as the sugar melts and the petals fully break apart on his tongue.
They’re not to his preference exactly, but there’s still something appealing about them, especially knowing that Trey created them wholly from scratch, seeds and all. Even without a spell or a potion to help the flowers along, there’s still a bit of magic in homemade food, especially those made with care.
When Rook opens his eyes again, he’s faced with Trey watching him, a slightly strange expression on his face. Strange as in, Rook has never seen such a look from Trey directed at him before. It’s the same way he looks when he’s concentrating on a particularly delicate project for the Science Club.
“Is something wrong?” Rook asks, tilting his head. The taste of violets still lingers on his tongue, a flavor that somehow intensifies as he speaks.
Trey is silent for a moment before he shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Your expression when you were tasting the violets was just interesting to see.”
Intrigued, Rook presses forth. “How so? They were quite délicieux, so I’m sure my enjoyment was evident at least.”
Trey goes quiet again, shifting minutely as if uncomfortable. Rook doesn’t want to be rude, of course, but he is curious and does want an answer, so he just waits expectantly for Trey’s reply.
“I guess,” Trey says, with a heavy pause like he’s trying to choose his words carefully, “seeing you try them made me want to have my own taste.”
“Is that all?” Rook asks, mildly bemused. It’s an easy enough thing to remedy. If seeing Rook enjoy the candied violets made Trey want to eat them too, then he could have just had some. They were his to eat anyway. “You don’t need my permission for something like that, you know.”
That strange, concentrating look passes over Trey’s face again as he holds Rook’s gaze. “Are you sure?”
It’s a strange question for the situation, but Rook nods anyway. “Of course, mon ami.”
It’s a surprise then when Trey leans forward and slants his mouth across Rook’s own. In his shock, Rook’s mouth drops open, allowing Trey to swipe his tongue inside, as if seeking out a taste.
“Hmm,” Trey hums, as he leans back. Rook is left blinking up at him, mouth still slightly agape. “I guess the flavor is still good even from someone else.” If Rook’s not mistaken, there’s the shadow of a smirk tugging up the corner of Trey’s lips.
“Chevalier des roses,” Rook says, once he’s managed to compose himself again. “I didn’t know you were so bold!” He’s known Trey for years now, and yet his friend can still surprise him with something new. It’s so interesting, and Rook wants to learn more.
“Let me try,” he says, leaning up to close the small difference between their heights. “I want to see what I can taste.”
“Ah, Rook, wait—“ Whatever Trey means to say is quickly silenced under a kiss, the second of many that they’ll share.
