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Junior year for Cater was coming to a close. And with another school year ending at Night Raven College, comes cleaning and packing for the next lucky student moving into a private room for the next semester.
Looking in the back of his closet and drawers, Cater finds things he had completely forgotten he had even bought. A decorative fan from the Scalding Sands during that one trip for the Yasamina River Fireworks Fest, various guitar picks that never got used in favor of the one he was gifted by Trey, and strange trinkets he found “magicam-able” and got on a whim for a quick photoshoot.
He may have gone overboard with the amount of props he stored, but there was probably some poor freshie willing to take some off his hands. Right?
He sorted each item into three bags. One for keeping, one for donations, and the last for the trash. The last two remaining largely empty compared to the one for keepsakes. At this rate, he may end up taking his entire dorm home. He supposes he could do another quick look over again later and see if he changes his mind.
After two hours of sorting, the room felt bare enough that Cater thought he could take a break. Flopping down onto the bed, his back moves against the bare mattress as he stretches himself. When he was done resting, he could take the donation and trash bags out to the lounge to see if anyone wanted anything before they’d go to their designated spots.
“Cater, are you in there?” He can hear Riddle on the other side, impatiently tapping his foot.
He guesses he doesn’t have to move the bags there himself if someone is coming in to pick them up.
“Come in.”
The door swiftly opens, and Riddle walks in with a couple of boxes in tow, laying them gently on the bed.
“I’ve gathered air fresheners that we can plug into each room, and some textbooks I can give to you to prepare for your senior year if you so please. Take a look.”
Cater sits up and pretends to be interested, not to shut down Riddle’s hope in helping his upperclassmen.
“Y’know Rids.” He waves a book around. “I don’t really see the need for these types of things. The teachers are going to give me everything I need to learn for the school year.”
“Yes, but it’s also nice to be prepared. I want to see you succeed, Cater.”
“Aw, my underclassmen are so cute! Always worrying about me like a little brother, I would pinch your cheeks if I didn’t know you would behead me!”
“Please don’t.” Cater can see a blush growing on the younger's cheeks. He wishes his phone weren’t on his desk so he could take a cheeky little snapshot of the redhead.
“Anyways,” Riddle cleared his throat. “I see you have cleared out all of your room and don’t need any assistance. I will leave these boxes here just in case you ever change your mind. I will be taking my leave now.”
Before Cater can ask Riddle to take the donation and trash bags on his way out, he hears a small tap and sees the housewarden lean down.
“Hm? What’s this? Cater, have you been putting cleaning off by hiding things under your bed?”
Under his bed? Wait…
“Riddle, don’t touch that!” He stands up from his bed and feels a sweat start to form down his neck.
“And here I thought you managed to clean everything up in time.” He murmurs.
Holding the shoe box in the air, Riddle shakes it a little.
“This is quite light. What are you putting in here?”
There is metal colliding.
“Give me that!”
Cater snatches the box out of Riddle’s hands. He could feel the crescents of his nails indent the younger's fingers, but that injury could be restored. What could not be restored if the box were to be opened would be Cater’s dignity, his reputation.
“I told you not to touch it!” He breathed heavily.
“Cater, this is unacceptable behavior! Do not snatch things from me!” Riddle looks down at his fingers and sees the red marks start to blossom on his delicate skin. Which infuriates him even more. A spell can be seen forming at the tip of the gem on his pen, something potent.
“Is this any way to treat your housewarden? OFF WITH YOUR-”
A small hic can be heard from the elder. Oh, Cater’s shaking over the box. And he’s… crying?
Riddle lowers his magic pen to his side and rushes to the ginger, placing a wary hand on his shoulder.
“Cater. I… I apologize for my outburst. I let my emotions get the best of me and-.”
“I said don’t touch it.”
“I know! And I’m sorry, but you did not have to-”
“You DON’T get it!” Cater yells.
Riddle’s body locks in place as his eyes flicker around the room. He has never seen Cater so agitated before. It was almost as if he were getting scolded by his mother. He feels tempted to call for the vice-housewarden to help defuse the situation, but it seems that Cater has already read his mind.
“Don’t. He can’t see this. No one can see this.” Cater said with a voice laced in grief.
Riddle takes a deep breath, assessing the situation. He can’t help Cater when the junior is this upset. He needs to seem nonthreatening; he needs to talk to him. Not as a housewarden, but as a schoolmate.
“Cater… please tell me what it is. If it’s contraband, I won’t get mad. I am more worried than anything if what you’re hiding has you this worked up. If you’re in any trouble, we can work through this together.”
Cater slows his breathing and looks down at the box gripped in his hands.
“Are you sure?”
Riddle slowly moves his hand from Cater’s shoulder to on top of his shaking hand.
“I promise.”
Like ripping the band-aid off, the upperclassman throws the lid of the box shamefully to the side.
…
“Oh, Cater.”
Inside the box lay a small, clear pencil box with multiple razor blades varying in size. Some made for tailoring and some from pencil sharpeners. Alongside it are rolls of bandages and disinfectant. But the most harrowing of all were the used ones crumpled in the corner. Dark dried blotches of blood tainted the sterile white of cotton. There was so much that Riddle wanted to cry alongside the ginger as well.
There were no words needed to be said at the moment. Because there is no amount of words for Riddle to say to describe how sorry he was for not noticing earlier. He latched onto Cater, surrounding him in a hug that pushed the cursed box to the side.
And he let him cry. And cry he did.
Half an hour passed before both of them finally started to calm down. At this point, Riddle was slowly rocking the junior as Cater quietly stilled his breath.
“Cater?”
“Yes?”
“...Do you want to die?”
“I don’t know, Riddle.”
(And yet I think about it all the time.)
Riddle sighed thoughtfully. Holding a lock of the ginger’s hair between his pointer finger and thumb.
“...Do you want to stop?”
Cater didn’t know if he wanted to stop cutting either, and that silence answered for him.
“Can I at least take one of them today? I won’t tell anyone. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, and I know just taking one razor blade will not do anything to stop you from finding a new one, but I at least want you to know that I want to do something.”
Cater sits there, still holding his underclassman. Musing about it silently before making up his mind. He opens the pencil box and carefully takes out one blade before dropping it in the others hand.
“Please keep it safe.”
“I promise.”
When it was almost time for curfew, Riddle slowly rose from Cater’s side, clutching the razor blade in a piece of tissue paper before tucking it in his pocket.
“I will be back tomorrow to see how you’re doing. Please keep yourself safe.”
“Thank you… and Riddle?”
“Yes, Cater?”
“Can you please take those bags with you?” He pointed towards the two near the end of his bed.
“...Fine.”