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1. Ace Trappola
It all started with a flying tart, a moment of chaos that would sear itself into Riddle's memory with humiliating, inescapable clarity.
The morning had been too perfect—a dangerous sign in hindsight. He'd woken precisely at six-thirty as always, his uniform immaculate, every strand of crimson hair perfectly in place. Even his tea had been brewed to ideal strength, the steam curling in delicate tendrils that carried the soothing scent of bergamot through his sunlit room. Most shockingly of all, Ace Trappola—chronic rule-breaker, perpetual nuisance, the boy who treated punctuality like an optional suggestion, had, somehow, managed three consecutive weeks of perfect attendance without a single tardy mark. This unprecedented streak should have been Riddle's first warning that the universe was preparing to balance the scales with catastrophic force.
The Heartslabyul kitchen hummed with mid-afternoon activity, the air thick with the sugary perfume of baking pastry and simmering strawberry jam. Trey moved with practiced ease between counter and oven, his hands dusted with flour as he put the finishing touches on a fresh batch of Riddle's favorite tarts. The golden crusts gleamed under the kitchen lights, each one cradling a perfect ruby-red filling that shimmered when Trey brushed them with a glossy glaze. Riddle stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the process with quiet approval. For once, everything adhered perfectly to the Queen of Hearts' rules—no shortcuts, no imperfections. Even Deuce had arranged the tea service with military precision, each cup aligned exactly two inches from the table's edge.
Which meant Ace's sudden offer to carry the tarts should have triggered immediate suspicion.
"Let me take that," the orangehead said, already reaching for the tray before Trey could protest. His grin carried its usual careless charm, all white teeth and half-lidded amber eyes that crinkled at the corners. "You guys handle the tea. I've got this."
Riddle's fingers twitched. Every instinct screamed that this was a terrible idea, yet the words died in his throat. Perhaps it was the way sunlight caught in Ace's disheveled hair, making the red and orange strands glow like embers. Maybe it was the rare earnestness in his voice, the uncharacteristic willingness to help. Or perhaps—and this thought would haunt Riddle later—some subconscious part of him had already begun the fatal spiral toward disaster, lowering his defenses just enough for catastrophe to strike.
The first step went fine. The second step, too. Then Ace's shoe caught on the edge of the rug.
Riddle's world narrowed to horrifying slow motion as Ace's balance faltered. The tray tilted at a treacherous angle, sending tarts airborne in a graceful, jam-filled arc. Strawberry glaze sparkled like droplets of liquid rubies against the kitchen lights. Some detached part of Riddle's brain noted the almost artistic beauty of it—the way the pastries spun, the way the filling stretched in glossy strings between crust and tray—before survival instincts kicked in. His hands flew up, not fast enough, never fast enough—
Ace's body collided with his, all wiry muscle and startled warmth. Riddle's back hit the counter's edge, and the breath knocked from his lungs in a soundless gasp. His fingers instinctively twisted in Ace's shirt, fabric crumpling under his grip as he fought for balance. Riddle's eyes widened—huge and silver-bright, lashes fanning against his cheeks as his face contorted in panic. Their noses brushed. Riddle caught the faint scent of cinnamon and sugar clinging to Ace's skin.
Then their mouths met, and the world stopped.
Warmth. That was Riddle's first coherent thought. Ace's lips were impossibly warm, slightly chapped from his habit of biting them when concentrating, and sticky-sweet with stolen jam. The tart's filling smeared between them, sugary and tart all at once, flooding Riddle's senses with the overpowering taste of strawberries. Some distant part of him registered the texture—the way Ace's lower lip caught slightly against his own, the tiny hitch of breath that vibrated between them. Heat exploded across Riddle's face, his ears, his throat, a wildfire of sensation that left him dizzy.
Ace made a noise—something between a gasp and a whimper—and Riddle felt it against his mouth, the vibration traveling straight down his spine. His stomach swooped dangerously, and his ridiculous eyelashes fluttered, close enough for Ace to count each individual strand.
Then reality crashed back in.
Riddle recoiled so violently that Ace's shoulders slammed against the cabinets. His lips tingled, burning with residual heat and sticky jam. Across from him, Ace looked equally wrecked—mouth reddened, cheeks flushed, his usually cocky expression shattered into pure shock. A single glob of jam clung to his lower lip, trembling precariously. Riddle's traitorous eyes tracked its slow descent before snapping back up to meet Ace's gaze.
"WHAT THE HELL, ACE TRAPPOLA?!" Riddle's voice shattered the stillness, high-pitched and cracking on Ace's name. His entire body trembled, fingers pressed to his mouth like he could scrub away the memory. Every rule, every shred of composure, every ounce of self-control evaporated in the face of this atrocity. "YOU—YOU ABSOLUTE—OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"
Ace stumbled backward, hands raised in surrender. "I didn't—it was an accident. I don't want to kiss you, but I do want to. NO! I don't. I mean, I didn't intend to, it was an accident!" His voice cracked, the usual smooth confidence replaced by frantic desperation. "The stupid rug—Deuce, tell him it was the rug's fault—!"
Deuce, frozen in horrified silence near the doorway, suddenly sprang into action. He lunged forward, grabbing Ace by the collar and hauling him backward with terrifying strength. "We're leaving," he announced, voice strained with panic. "Right now. Before he actually decapitates you."
Ace didn't resist as Deuce dragged him toward the exit, his wide eyes locked on Riddle until the very last second. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off Ace's final, half-strangled apology.
Riddle stood motionless, his breathing ragged. The kitchen smelled overwhelmingly of strawberries and burnt sugar. His lips still tingled.
Trey, who had witnessed the entire disaster without uttering a single word, silently held out a napkin.
"...You've got jam," he said gently, "on your face."
Riddle buried his burning face in his hands and screamed.
2. The Octavinelle’s trio.
The underwater glow of Mostro Lounge cast shimmering blue reflections across the polished floors as Riddle stepped inside, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tiles. The scent of seared scallops in browned butter, fresh herbs, and the faintest hint of lemon zest wafted through the air, mingling with the briny freshness of the aquarium-lined walls. He adjusted his cravat, the delicate lace brushing against his throat, nervous, though he'd never admit it.
Azul had personally invited him to sample the new seasonal menu, and Riddle had dressed impeccably for the occasion. His uniform was pressed to razor-sharp lines, his gloves pristine, and his hair perfectly coiffed—though a single stubborn strand of crimson had escaped, curling just slightly against his temple. He smelled faintly of rosewater and black tea, a scent so inherently Riddle that it made the three inhabitants of the lounge pause the moment he entered.
Floyd, who had been draped lazily over the bar counter like a languid eel, immediately perked up. His two-tone eyes locked onto Riddle with predatory focus, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Goldfishie~" he crooned, already slinking forward with that unsettling grace of his.
Jade was polishing a wine glass behind the counter, and didn't even pretend to hide his amusement. His sharp eyes tracked Riddle's every movement—the way his gloved fingers fidgeted slightly at his sides, the way his cheeks pinkened under the attention. And Azul merely adjusted his glasses, a pleased smirk playing at his lips. Perfect.
Before Riddle could even greet them properly, Floyd was on him.
"You're heeeere~" Floyd sang, his long arms wrapping around Riddle's waist in one swift motion. He lifted him clean off the ground, spinning him once just to hear Riddle's scandalized gasp.
"F-FLOYD LEE—PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!" Riddle squirmed, his voice cracking in outrage.
Floyd just laughed, the sound rich and delighted. "Nope~ You're mine tonight, Goldfishie."
And then, before Riddle could summon his magic, Floyd plopped him down onto his lap at one of the plush lounge booths, his arms locking around Riddle's waist like twin bands of steel.
Riddle was tiny like this, pressed flush against Floyd's chest, his legs dangling just slightly off the ground. He smelled so good—like tea and sugar and something uniquely Riddle that made Floyd want to bury his face in the crook of his neck and never let go.
"You're so cute," the eel murmured, nuzzling his cheek against Riddle's hair. "Like a little doll~"
"I am not cute! And I am certainly not a doll!"
"Floyd, you're overwhelming him." Jade, having abandoned his post behind the bar, slid into the seat beside them with a knowing smirk.
"Nah~ He likes it," Floyd teased, squeezing Riddle tighter to feel him squirm. "Look how red he is~"
True to Floyd's word, Riddle was red—his cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet, his lips pressed into a thin, flustered line. His gloved hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, torn between shoving Floyd away and maintaining some semblance of dignity.
Azul arrived then, carrying a silver tray laden with the first course—seared scallops on a bed of saffron risotto, drizzled with truffle oil.
"Housewarden Rosehearts," Azul purred, setting the dish before him with a flourish. "Our first offering. I do hope it meets your... exacting standards."
Riddle, still trapped in Floyd's embrace, huffed. "I'll be the judge of that."
But the moment he took the first bite, his expression softened. The scallop was perfect—seared to a golden crust, the center still tender and sweet, the risotto creamy and fragrant. A small, involuntary noise of pleasure escaped him. Floyd stared. Jade's smirk deepened. Azul looked downright smug.
"Good?" Floyd asked, his breath warm against Riddle's ear. Riddle, still chewing, nodded absently.
"Mhm."
Floyd's grin turned wicked as he leaned in and licked the corner of his mouth, catching a stray drop of truffle oil.
"F-FLOYD!!" Riddle shrieked, nearly launching himself out of Floyd's lap in shock. Floyd just laughed, licking his lips.
"Mmm~ Tastes even better on you, Goldfishie."
Jade also took advantage of Riddle's distraction to press a kiss to his other cheek. "Simply ensuring you're properly taken care of,"
Riddle's magic crackled in the air, his face burning so hot he thought he might combust. "OFF WITH BOTH OF YOUR—"
"Now, now, Riddle," Azul smoothly interrupted, stepping between them with a charming smile. "Let's not ruin such a lovely evening with... decapitation."
The rest of the meal passed in a similar fashion—course after exquisite course delivered by Azul, each one more decadent than the last, while Floyd and Jade took turns teasing and doting on Riddle in equal measure.
By the time dessert arrived—a delicate strawberry shortcake adorned with edible gold leaf—Riddle was dangerously close to forgiving them. The food had been exquisite. The company... less so. But even he couldn't deny the warmth pooling in his chest as Floyd nuzzled against his hair, as Jade refilled his tea without being asked, as Azul watched him with that look, like Riddle was something precious.
When it was time to leave, Azul offered to walk him back. Riddle, pleasantly full and slightly drowsy, didn't protest when Azul's arm brushed against his.
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Azul said softly.
Riddle huffed. "The food was acceptable. Your associates, however—"
"They're rather taken with you, you know."
"That's their problem."
Azul stopped walking then, turning to face him. His glasses caught the light, obscuring his eyes, but his smirk was unmistakable.
"And what if I told you... I am, too?"
Before Riddle could react, Azul leaned in and kissed him—firm, deliberate, claiming. When he pulled back, Riddle was speechless, his lips tingling, his heart pounding. Azul adjusted his tie, smug.
"Only fair I get a kiss too, after all my hard work."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Riddle standing frozen at the gates of the mirror, his fingers pressed to his lips. Somewhere in the distance, Floyd's laughter echoed. Riddle buried his face in his hands and screamed.
3. Leona Kingscholar
Riddle's heeled boots clicked sharply against the cobblestone path as he stormed toward the botanical garden's sunniest corner. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, making his already short temper even shorter.
Professor Crewel had been very specific - he needed fresh forget-me-nots picked before sunset for his alchemy potion, and the stubborn blue flowers only grew in one inconvenient spot.
And of course, that spot was currently occupied by a certain lazy lion.
Leona lay sprawled across the warm stones like a contented housecat, his tail twitching occasionally in his sleep. Sunlight gilded his dark skin, catching on the golden piercings in his ears and making his messy braids glow. A few blue petals clung to his hair where he'd clearly rolled through the flowerbed. The sight would have been almost picturesque if it weren't so infuriating.
"Kingscholar," Riddle's eye twitched as he snapped, arms crossed over his chest. "You're in my way."
Leona's ear flicked, but otherwise didn't move.
Riddle's patience evaporated. He stepped forward and nudged Leona's thigh with his shoe. "I said you're in—mph!"
With terrifying speed, Leona's hand shot out and grabbed Riddle's ankle, yanking him off balance. Riddle barely caught himself on the garden wall, his free leg wobbling precariously as Leona's grip burned through his stocking.
"Five more minutes," Leona mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His thumb absently rubbed circles against Riddle's ankle bone.
"I don't care if you need five more minutes or five more hours! I need those flowers now!"
Leona cracked one golden eye open, the pupil narrowing to a disgruntled slit. "Buzz off, brat. Pick 'em tomorrow."
"Tomorrow will be too late!" Riddle tried to yank his foot free, but Leona's grip was ironclad. "This is for Professor Crewel's class!"
Leona yawned widely, showing off sharp canines. "Not my problem." His eye slid shut again, his breathing already evening out.
Riddle saw red. With a frustrated growl, he swung his alchemy basket at Leona's head. The lion dodged with a lazy roll, finally releasing Riddle's ankle, only to catch his wrist instead when Riddle overbalanced.
Riddle yelped as he tumbled forward, bracing his free hand against Leona's chest to avoid faceplanting directly into him. The heat radiating through Leona's half-unbuttoned shirt was ridiculous. Beneath his palm, he could feel the steady thump of Leona's heartbeat.
"Eager, aren't we?" Leona teased, his breath warm against Riddle's forehead.
"You—!" Riddle's indignant retort died as he finally noticed their position. Leona was beneath him, bracketed by his knees. His fingers curled in soft fabric. The way Leona's pulse jumped under his palm.
"Say please," Leona purred. His grip was furnace-warm even through Riddle's uniform.
"Let. Go."
Leona's smirk widened, showing a flash of sharp canines. "Make me, brat."
Their staring contest lasted all of three seconds before Riddle made a frustrated noise and tried to swing his magic pen, but Leona cut him off by scrunching up his nose adorably and said, "You smell like tea."
Riddle blinked. "...What?"
"Like that fancy Earl Grey you're always drinking." Leona's free hand came up to toy with a loose strand of Riddle's hair. "With too much sugar."
"I do not use too much—" Riddle cut himself off with a growl. "Why am I arguing about this? Move your ridiculous mane, I need those flowers!"
Leona's grin turned wicked. "What's the magic word?"
Riddle's eye twitched again. He leaned down further, so close their noses almost touched. "Please," he hissed through clenched teeth, "you overgrown housecat."
Leona's breath hitched. His grip on Riddle's wrist tightened momentarily before he abruptly rolled them over, reversing their positions with dizzying speed. Riddle's back hit the sun-warmed stone, Leona's braids curtaining around them like a golden-brown waterfall.
"Say it again," Leona murmured, his voice dropping to that rough, sleep-rough register that made Riddle's stomach do strange flips.
Riddle's mouth went dry. "...Please?"
Something hot flashed in Leona's eyes. Then—
Bonk.
Their foreheads collided painfully as Leona jerked back, his ears flattening. "Shit—"
In the resulting daze, Leona's sleep-addled brain short-circuited. Instead of apologizing like a normal person, he pressed a quick, dry kiss to Riddle's nose. A comfort kiss he gave his nephew when the cup was hurt.
Riddle could count every fleck of gold in Leona's wide eyes. Could feel the way Leona's breath stuttered against his lips. Could see the exact moment realization dawned as Leona's entire face went slack with horror.
"...That didn't happen," Leona growled, scrambling backward so fast he nearly took out a rose bush.
Riddle sat up slowly, touching his nose with trembling fingers. His face burned hotter than a Phoenix feather. "You—I—"
A blue forget-me-not petal fluttered down from Leona's hair, landing perfectly on Riddle's knee.
Leona was already halfway across the garden, his tail puffed up to twice its normal size. "We're never speaking of this!"
Riddle stared at the abandoned flower patch, then down at the single petal on his lap. His lips twitched against his will.
"...Idiot lion," he muttered, carefully tucking the petal into his pocket before gathering the remaining blossoms. His hands only shook a little.
(Back in Savanaclaw, Leona was aggressively face-down on his bed, screaming into a pillow while Ruggie cackled in the doorway. The hyena had never seen his housewarden's ears so flat against his head.)
4. Malleus Draconia
The whispers slithered through the cafeteria like an insidious spell, cutting through the usual clatter of dishes and student chatter with razor-sharp precision. Silverware froze halfway to mouths as Leona's rich, lazy drawl wrapped around the gathered students like a predator circling its prey.
"Twenty thaumarks says no one can get Rosehearts to crack a genuine smile before midterms." The Savanaclaw housewarden's golden eyes glinted with mischief as he stretched his arms behind his head, the movement deliberately careless. His tail flicked idly against the bench, the tufted end brushing Ruggie's shoulder.
Ruggie's pointed ears twitched as he snorted into his stew. "Make it fifty and you've got a deal. That guy's face is permanently stuck in a frown deeper than the Abyss." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before digging into his pockets. "I've seen statues at the Royal Museum with more expression."
Ace nearly choked on his drink, slamming his tankard down hard enough to make the table shudder. "Oh, this is easy money!" He tossed a handful of coins onto the growing pile, his grin sharp as a shark's. "I've lived with him for almost a year and never seen more than a smirk. And that's only when he's about to chop someone's head off."
The laughter that rippled through their group was abruptly silenced when the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the stone floors, creeping up the walls like living things. Silverware rattled against plates as an unseen force made the very air tremble.
Unseen in his preferred shadowed corner, Malleus Draconia's clawed fingers tightened around his teacup. The delicate porcelain—enchanted to withstand even dragonfire—developed hairline fractures as his magic reacted to the unpleasant tightening in his chest. They spoke of Riddle Rosehearts—the fiery little housewarden with the sharp tongue and sharper magic—as if he were some unfeeling automaton rather than...
Well. Rather than the captivating creature who made Malleus' ancient heart stutter when he got particularly riled up during student council meetings. The way his silver eyes flashed like captured sunlight when debating magical theory. How his delicate hands moved with precise, elegant motions while preparing tea. The rare, breathtaking moments when exhaustion softened his edges and he'd lean ever so slightly toward Malleus' taller frame during late-night meetings.
The bet was foolish. Cruel, even.
Malleus set his cup down with deliberate calm, the quiet click echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence. Emerald eyes glowed ominously beneath the fringe of his dark lashes as he rose from his seat.
He would prove them all wrong.
Riddle nearly dropped his towering stack of library books when Malleus materialized beside him in the alchemy section, appearing as suddenly as a shadow at dusk.
"Seven's sake, Draconia!" The Heartslabyul housewarden adjusted his grip on the teetering tower of texts, scowling up at the fae prince. His cheeks flushed an adorable pink from either irritation or the effort of carrying the heavy tomes—Malleus couldn't decide which he found more charming. "Must you sneak up on people like some... some..."
"Phantom of the stacks?" Malleus offered helpfully, reaching out to steady a precariously balanced volume on elemental transmutations.
Riddle's scowl deepened. "I was going to say 'overgrown bat,' but that works too."
Malleus tilted his head, the motion eerily smooth and distinctly inhuman. "I walked normally."
"With those silent fae steps of yours, I suppose." Riddle huffed, a loose strand of crimson hair escaping his usually impeccable styling to curl against his temple. The sight made something primal in Malleus' chest rumble with approval—he wanted to tuck it behind Riddle's ear, to feel the softness between his claws. "What do you want? I'm busy."
Malleus straightened to his full height, the dim library lights casting dramatic shadows across his sharp features. "I have a joke."
Riddle paused mid-reach for another book. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned to face Malleus fully, eyebrows creeping toward his hairline like two crimson caterpillars staging a daring escape. "...Excuse me?"
"Why did the alchemist cross the road?" Malleus intoned with the gravitas of someone reciting ancient battle poetry, his glowing green eyes locked onto Riddle's face with unsettling intensity.
Riddle blinked. Once. Twice. His plush lips—slightly chapped from where he nervously worried them during exams—parted in confusion. "I... don't know?"
"To turn his chicken into gold." Malleus delivered the punchline with solemn sincerity, as if imparting sacred wisdom rather than a four-century-old play on words.
Somewhere in the library, an enchanted clock ticked ominously. A first-year student sneezed three aisles over. The scent of aged parchment and dust hung heavy in the air between them.
Riddle's nose scrunched up adorably. Then—against his will—a tiny puff of air escaped through his perfect nose. "That's..." His gloved hand flew to his mouth. "That's terrible."
Malleus' eyes brightened like emerald stars, his entire being lighting up at the near-smile. "You almost smiled."
"I did not!" Riddle's cheeks flushed that delicious shade of pink Malleus wanted to paint with his tongue. "And that joke is at least three hundred years out of date."
"Four hundred seventy-two, actually." Malleus moved closer, the scent of petrichor and something distinctly fae wrapping around Riddle like an invisible cloak. "Would you like to hear another?"
"No!"
The attempts grew more absurd as the week progressed.
Malleus intercepted Riddle after Potions class with a perfectly preserved centuries-old "knock knock" joke so convoluted it involved three separate royal bloodlines and a cursed teapot. Riddle had to bite his lip raw to stifle the laugh bubbling in his chest at how seriously Malleus delivered each increasingly ridiculous line.
He left ancient fae riddles in Riddle's mailbox that were so nonsensical they circled back to being amusing—one particularly memorable scroll simply read "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" with no answer provided. When Riddle confronted him about it, Malleus looked genuinely puzzled and said, "I was hoping you'd know. It's been bothering me for six centuries."
During lunch, he solemnly demonstrated a "hilarious" magical illusion from the Draconian courts that involved dancing turnips, which shouldn't have been funny, except for how intensely Malleus focused on making the vegetables waltz properly, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted their tiny turnip tails.
Each time, Riddle fought harder against the traitorous twitch of his lips, his resolve weakening like a dam under relentless assault.
"You're trying too hard," Riddle snapped one evening when Malleus appeared outside his dorm with what appeared to be an actual court jester's hat procured from some ancient royal treasury. The bells jingled merrily in the twilight breeze.
Malleus paused, the ridiculous headwear dangling from his claws like some mythical artifact. Moonlight caught in the intricate embroidery—it was probably worth more than Riddle's entire dorm. "I was told this garment is universally amusing."
"By whom?" Riddle crossed his arms, but the corner of his mouth trembled dangerously. "Your great-great-great-grandfather?"
"...Great-great-great-great uncle, actually." Malleus adjusted the hat with solemn dignity, the bells tinkling like fairy laughter. "He said it never failed to—"
The sight of the fearsome heir to the Briar Valley throne standing in the Heartslabyul rose gardens wearing a jester's hat with bells was simply too much.
A laugh burst from Riddle's lips—bright and startled and utterly enchanting. It lit up his entire face, softening his sharp features, turning his eyes to liquid rose gold in the setting sun. The sound rang sweeter than the hat's bells, more musical than any fae melody.
Malleus froze, the hat forgotten.
Riddle's laughter faded as he registered Malleus' expression. The fae prince stared at him with something painfully raw in his ancient eyes, his usual composure shattered like glass. In that unguarded moment, centuries of loneliness and longing shone through like sunlight through stained glass.
"You..." Malleus breathed, stepping closer. The air between them crackled with magic, the scent of ozone and roses mingling strangely. "You're beautiful when you smile."
Riddle's breath hitched. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged bird. The world narrowed to the space between them—to Malleus' glowing eyes, to the way his claws hovered just shy of Riddle's cheek, to the impossible warmth spreading through Riddle's chest.
Then Malleus kissed him.
It was gentle but firm, cool lips pressing against his with centuries of restrained longing. Riddle's hands came up instinctively, fingers curling in Malleus' jacket—whether to push away or pull closer, even he didn't know. The scent of thunderstorms and ancient forests enveloped him as Malleus tilted his head, the motion achingly tender.
When Malleus pulled back, Riddle's voice came out embarrassingly small. "I... I can't."
Malleus went preternaturally still, the way only ancient creatures could. "Cannot what?"
"Return your feelings." Riddle swallowed hard, staring at the space between them. His fingers twisted in his cravat, the lace scratching comfortingly against his skin. "There's... someone else."
The silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid words. The rose bushes rustled in the evening breeze, petals scattering like drops of blood across the cobblestones.
Finally, Malleus asked softly, "Who?"
Riddle's face burned. His mouth opened, then closed. The name lodged in his throat like a fishbone.
Malleus studied him for a long moment—the way Riddle's gaze flickered toward the Heartslabyul dorm's kitchen windows, where a certain vice-housewarden could often be found baking. The way his fingers unconsciously traced the scar on his palm from that time Trey had patiently taught him to chop apples without magic. The particular shade of pink his cheeks turned when Trey smiled at him after a successful Unbirthday party.
Understanding dawned in those ancient eyes.
"Ah." A small, knowing smile curved Malleus' lips. "Him."
Riddle's head snapped up. "You—how—"
"You speak of him constantly during council meetings." Malleus stepped back, his expression softening into something bittersweet. "'Trey says this,' 'Trey would do that.'" He chuckled, the sound like distant thunder. "Go. Tell him."
Riddle stared. "Just like that?"
Malleus reached out, carefully tucking that stubborn strand of hair behind Riddle's ear. His claws barely grazed the shell, but the touch sent shivers down Riddle's spine. "I have waited centuries, little rose. I can wait longer to see you happy." His smile turned wicked. "But if he breaks your heart, I will turn him into a particularly unattractive toad."
Riddle's laugh came out watery. "That's... oddly sweet."
Malleus smiled properly then—the first real, unguarded smile Riddle had ever seen from him. It transformed his usually solemn features into something breathtaking. "Now go. Before I change my mind about sharing."
As Riddle turned toward Heartslabyul, his steps light with newfound determination, Malleus called after him:
"And Rosehearts?"
Riddle glanced back.
"Never stop smiling."
5. +1
Riddle's pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he hovered outside the Heartslabyul kitchen door, his polished boots rooted to the checkerboard tiles. The scent of vanilla and baking butter wrapped around him like a physical touch, so thick he could almost taste it on his tongue. Through the half-open door, golden light spilled across the floor, illuminating dancing flour motes in the air like tiny stars.
And there he was.
Trey stood at the counter, his broad back turned as he kneaded dough with those strong, capable hands Riddle had secretly admired for years. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, gilding the dusting of flour in his dark hair, catching on the faint stubble along his jaw. His rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms corded with muscle from years of precise pastry work, the green vest stretched taut across shoulders that had carried Riddle home more times than he could count—after magic overuse, after breakdowns, after particularly brutal letters from his mother.
Seven help me, Riddle thought, his gloves suddenly too tight around his sweating palms. He'd faced down rampaging magical beasts, stubborn professors, and even his own mother's wrath without flinching. But the idea of confessing to Trey Clover made his knees wobble like a first-year's during a pop quiz.
A sudden crash from inside startled him—Trey had knocked over a bowl of strawberries, the ruby-red fruit scattering across the marble counter like drops of blood against snow.
"Damn it," Trey muttered, his voice rough with fatigue. He caught one before it could roll off the edge, and without thinking, popped it into his mouth. Riddle watched, transfixed, as Trey's lips—those unfairly soft-looking lips—closed around the ripe berry. A drop of juice escaped, trailing down his chin in a glistening crimson line that made Riddle's throat go impossibly dry.
That's it. I'm doomed.
Riddle burst into the kitchen like a storm given human form. His usually immaculate housewarden looked—well, ruffled . His cheeks were flushed a furious pink, his hair slightly mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it in agitation. And— was that a jingle bell tangled in his bangs? Trey thought as his fingers stilled against the dough he’d been kneading, his pulse skipping at the sight. Riddle was beautiful like this, unguarded and breathless, his sharp edges softened by the dim kitchen light.
"You’re baking," Riddle blurted out, staring at the half-formed tart shells as if they held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.
Trey wiped his flour-dusted hands on his apron, forcing his voice to remain steady. "...Yes?"
"At," Riddle checked his pocket watch with exaggerated focus, his gloved fingers trembling ever so slightly, "eleven forty-seven PM."
"I couldn’t sleep," because Cater said he saw you with Malleus was left unsaid. "You’re up late too."
Riddle’s gaze darted to the strawberries, then to Trey’s mouth, then to the ceiling, as if he couldn’t decide which was the greater danger. His lips parted, then closed again, and Trey could see the battle raging behind those storm-gray eyes.
Then—
"Malleus kissed me."
The rolling pin slipped from Trey’s fingers and hit the floor with a thunderous clatter and Trey’s heart stopped.
His hands went numb. His breath lodged in his throat, sharp as a knife. Malleus Draconia. The prince of Briar Valley. The most powerful mage of their year. The one who could command storms with a flick of his wrist, whose very presence made the air hum with ancient magic.
And he had kissed Riddle. His Riddle.
Trey’s stomach twisted violently. Of course, it was Malleus. Who wouldn’t want Malleus? He was royalty. He was effortlessly handsome, with those piercing green eyes and that voice like velvet-wrapped steel. He was strong enough to level mountains if he wished. And Riddle—brilliant, fierce, perfect Riddle—had been kissed by him.
Trey’s fingers twitched at his sides. He should say something. Anything. But his tongue felt like lead.
Riddle was still staring at him, his blush deepening. "You... you’re not saying anything."
Trey swallowed hard. His voice came out hoarse. "...How was it?"
Riddle’s eyes widened. Then, to Trey’s shock, he let out a frustrated groan and dragged his hands down his face. "Terrible."
Trey blinked. "What?"
"It was awful," Riddle hissed, his voice cracking. "I mean, Malleus wasn't that awful, but lately people... I mean, some accidents happened, and I was kissed by so many people that I didn't want to. And then Malleus just appeared out of nowhere with those ancient proverbs and that ridiculous hat, and before I could even react, he kissed me like—like I was some damsel in one of his fairy tales!"
Trey’s pulse stuttered. "You didn’t... like it?"
Riddle made a noise halfway between a scoff and a whimper. "Of course I didn’t! I shoved him away and told him—" He broke off, his flush spreading to the tips of his ears.
Trey’s breath caught. "Told him what?"
Riddle’s hands clenched at his sides. "... that I liked someone else."
The words hung between them, fragile as spun sugar.
Trey’s heart slammed against his ribs. "... was it Floyd?"
"You absolute idiot!" The redhead exploded, marching forward until they were toe-to-toe, jabbing a finger into Trey’s chest. "It’s been you since the day you kidnapped me from my study time when we were young!"
Trey’s lips parted. The strawberry juice on his chin went ignored.
"And then there was the time you took the blame when I accidentally turned Crowley’s favorite teapot into a hedgehog!" Riddle continued, his voice rising with each memory, each confession spilling from his lips like an unstoppable tide. "And when you always make my tea with exactly one and a half sugars, even though I never told you that’s how I like it! And when you—you smiled at me during the unbirthday party after I overblotted, and I thought I might combust right there in front of everyone and... Trey! It's always you!!"
Riddle let out a frustrated noise, his cheeks burning as he strained onto his toes, fingers clutching desperately at Trey’s apron. His lips barely brushed Trey’s chin— damn it all, why was he so tall?! —before he wobbled, balance lost.
Trey’s hands shot out to steady him, fingers curling around Riddle’s waist as he stared down at him, eyes wide behind his glasses.
“Riddle…?”
“Kiss me properly, you insufferable,” Riddle’s demand was cut off as Trey finally, finally got the message.
In one smooth motion, Trey bent down, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of Riddle’s neck as he closed the distance between them. The kiss was searing, desperate—years of pent-up longing poured into the press of lips, the slide of tongues, the way Trey’s fingers tangled in Riddle’s hair like he was afraid he’d vanish if he let go.
Riddle melted against him, his earlier irritation forgotten as he fisted his hands in Trey’s shirt, pulling him closer. He could taste the faint sweetness of strawberries on Trey’s lips, could feel the way Trey shuddered when Ridge nipped at his lower lip.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping, Trey rested his forehead against Riddle’s, his voice rough.
“Was that… proper enough for you?”
Riddle’s breath hitched. “Again .”
And Trey, ever obedient to his housewarden’s demands, complied.
Trey's hands—strong and sure from years of baking—cupped Riddle’s face, thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks as he poured every unsaid word, every stolen glance, every late-night fantasy into the press of their lips.
Riddle made a noise—some cross between a squeak and a sigh—before melting into it. His fingers twisted in Trey’s apron, pulling him closer until he could feel the steady thump of Trey’s heartbeat against his chest, wild and unsteady, matching his own.
The world narrowed to this: the warmth of Trey’s mouth, the faint taste of strawberries lingering on his tongue, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly against Riddle’s skin, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Trey murmured, "You had strawberry jam on your face."
Riddle blinked. "...What?"
"From the tarts earlier." Trey swiped his thumb over Riddle’s lower lip, showing him the smudge of red. His voice was rough, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "I’ve wanted to do that since first year."
Riddle’s brain short-circuited. "But you—all those girls—"
"Distractions," Trey admitted with a sheepish grin, his fingers still tracing idle patterns along Riddle’s jaw. "Couldn’t have you noticing how often I stared at your mouth during tea time."
Something warm and giddy bubbled up in Riddle’s chest, a feeling so bright it threatened to consume him. He surged forward again, knocking Trey back against the counter with a force that sent a bag of flour toppling over, sending up a powdery cloud around them. He kissed him with all the pent-up longing of three years, with the frustration of a thousand stolen glances, with the desperation of a man who had finally found what he’d been searching for.
Trey laughed against his lips, the sound vibrating deliciously between them. "Someone’s eager."
"Shut up," Riddle muttered, biting Trey’s lower lip in retaliation, relishing the way Trey’s breath hitched in response. "I’ve been waiting forever."
The Next Morning
Ace and Deuce nearly choked on their breakfast when Riddle entered the cafeteria humming , his usual stern expression replaced by something suspiciously close to contentment. His cravat was slightly askew, his hair less meticulously styled than usual, and—was that a faint blush on his cheek?
But the real shock came when Trey followed minutes later, his usual neat appearance marred by a glaring love bite peeking above his collar. His lips were suspiciously red, his glasses slightly fogged, and he wore the dazed expression of a man who had just been thoroughly kissed within an inch of his life.
At the staff table, Professor Crewel sipped his coffee and sighed. "Puppy love. How... domestic."
Across the room, Malleus raised his teacup in a silent toast, his knowing smile hidden behind the rim.