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That damn smirk.
The smile that stole his heartbeat.
That smile so small but so captivating, seeing goldfishie look so regal and confident after a 100% score on a fly test, brushing off dust from his shoulder.
It was like seeing him for the first time again in that low dimmed hall, the small (not at the time) queen acting like he was a child of Titan Goddess Themis carrying with all her might. Telling him off like no one has ever, he really thought his goldfish was small fry back then but he was so wrong, after all goldfishie has the instinct of a shark after blood.
He still remembers how he felt after the boy knocked in over, not just surprise, not just annoyance, no.
Something twisted deep in his gut, like someone grabbed all his whole being and squeezed hard enough to wake him up.
Goldfishie didn’t even realize what he did to me.
Or maybe he did.
I still don’t know.
I don’t think I wanna know, because not, knowing makes my chest feel weird, tight, hungry, enamored.
And then he smiled.
That damn tiny smirk, the one he makes after doing something perfectly, like getting a 100% score like what he is doing right now.
That smile that’s so small but somehow feels like a punch straight to your guts.
That smile that says “I’m absolute and you know it.”
And I did.
Oh, I did.
It hit me the same way it hit me back then, in that dim corridor, the first time he told me off with that voice all sharpened like a knife.
I thought he was small fry.
I really did.
But he 's not.
He 's not at all.
He’s a tiny queen who rules with sharp teeth, and he bit into me without even trying.
And when he knocked me down and then gave me that smug little look?
Something in me snapped.
Or maybe it woke up.
I don’t know.
I just know it growled.
Inside me.
Deep, deep down it was sleeping until Riddle told them to open it's eyes.
I want him.
I want him to knock me out again.
I want him to bite me until my skin breaks.
I want him to show me everything he got.
I want to fight back.
I want to ruin him.
I want to kiss him.
Is that what Pops felt?
I think about that night he met Mom.
He told us the story a hundred times:
how she was out late, part of that group of reckless teens sneaking to the Educational Center to mess with pufferfish for the thrill of it.
How they were laughing, glowing, wild under the moonlight, half-drunk on toxins and freedom.
How Mom looked like a whole tidal goddess.
How he saw her and felt something violent, hungry, holy.
He said he watched her defend her group of friends from two sharks alone, empty handed, smiling like crazy, taking the prizes of her hunt to her friends
“I want her to ruin me or marry me. Either works.”
Maybe that’s the feeling.
Maybe it runs in the family.
Because when Riddle glared at me with those icy eyes and talked like he could order the tides to listen, I felt it.
That surge.
That pull.
That need.