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Thursday, 9:15 PM
Striding into the Heartslabyul common room with an unusually contented smile on his lips is the Housewarden, heels clicking lightly on the wooden floors. He takes his tea from a nearby card soldier, and, sipping lightly, declares to the world his reason for delight.
“Gentlemen, I have seen something no less than miraculous. It seems our Ace Trappola is in love!” he says, settling into his plush velvet throne in the common area, his smile widening in pride now.
Two third-years, quite devoted soldiers to their Queen, share a single look of pure disbelief before fixing their smiles.
“Are you sure? It seems… out of the ordinary for Ace, don’t you think?” asks one, pushing glasses up his nose with one finger.
“Yeah, Ace isn’t really a ‘boyfriend’ kind of guy. He’s basically a walking red flag. No offense to him, of course! But, sweetie, he’s kinda lacking,” the other chimes in, barely looking up from his phone. “His relationship status hasn’t changed. Who’s the lucky person?”
“Why, the Ramshackle prefect, of course! And what a good influence! You know, they read an exceptional amount of books, I’m sure they’ll push him to be a better student just by being near him!” The Housewarden sips his tea once more, savoring both the steeped drink and the apparent victory. “I don’t know why you two aren’t more overjoyed. This is good for us all. We must go over again and see their courtship once more!”
“Is that where you were?”
“Yes, Cater, I told you I was going over there," the Housewarden says, one slight frown interrupting his moment of happiness. “The Prefect invited me. I wanted to see their home, at least once in the proper setting of a dinner or tea. It was perfect.”
“Riddle, where’s Ace now?” the first soldier inquires, looking over at his ginger companion with a look that clearly stated a desire (no, a necessity) to converse on this subject in much more detail at a later time.
“Still at the house, likely to help them clean up. He was assisting them all through dinner, and such manners I had never seen on him. They seem to have tamed him,” Riddle states, proud mother and cheeky old auntie rolled into one. “We must see them again, all of us. Me, Deuce, Cater, you as well Trey. I shall request another dinner upon seeing the Prefect tomorrow!”
And, taking his leave, the Housewarden walks off to his room, a lightness in his step not normally seen and a tune hummed on his lips, bright and delighted at this new chapter quickly unfolding.
Saturday, 4:30 PM
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘Deuce⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
“He was just here two days ago! He must be up to something!” Ace complains as he opens the door of Ramshackle dorms, pressing a key into the lock in practiced motion.
“You have your own key?” Deuce asks, suddenly feeling the lack of one as Ace lets him into the dorm, the heat a sharp contrast from the cold outside and making him shiver at the change in temperature.
“Yeah, I come over a lot. You know this, you’re with me, like, everytime. Stupid or something?” Ace responds, looking at Deuce as if he’d grown two heads.
Paranoid. You’re being paranoid. Riddle said they were dating, so you’re projecting that onto him. Paranoid.
“Right, sorry. Just didn’t notice before, I guess.”
“Just help me chop the vegetables,” Ace sighs, as if his friend was a burden he shouldered with great reluctance. Deuce shoots him a look.
“You’re chopping vegetables?”
“Yeah. Helping the Prefect out a little. It is my Housewarden they keeps having to make food for. Grocery bills are high, you know.” Ace walks into the kitchen with the confidence of someone used to these kinds of chores, pulling the cutting board and knife out of their respective homes. Deuce tries to remember where the vegetables were kept.
“In the fridge. They like them cold,” Ace pipes up, more impatient than helpful. Deuce pulls the carrots, tomatoes, and some kind of onions out of the fridge, and begins the cutting process.
“So, what’s the deal with you and the-”
“Honey, I’m home!” a mockingly deep voice calls from the foyer, the shuffling of a coat coming off as their voice returns to normal. “It’s freezing outside!”
“In the kitchen, loser,” Ace calls back with a snort, peeling a carrot. Deuce smiles as they walk in.
“Hard at work! I didn’t think that was possible for you, Trappola,” they tease, grinning as he scowls and grumbles at them. “Hey, Deuce. How’s it going?”
“My BlastCycle’s out of the shop, so I was thinking of going out for a ride sometimes. Wanna come?”
“They don’t like it. It’s too fast,” Ace says, cutting in almost protectively, eyes fixed on the carrot he’s now chopping. The Prefect shoots Deuce a sheepish smile, as if quietly agreeing with Ace though not wanting to stroke the ginger’s inflated ego.
“That’s cool, though! Make sure to wear a jacket, it’s almost snow season,” they say decidedly, pulling a pot out from the cabinet and filling it with water. Ace pulls away from the vegetables, opening the spice cabinet and grabbing the ones on higher shelves. Deuce gawks as Ace taps the Prefect’s cheek with a bottle of salt.
“You always put these too high for you. Organization can’t be worth having to pull out the stool every ten seconds.”
“Why do I need the stool when I have you?” they joke, though the grin that tears Ace’s face in two after is nothing to laugh about.
Saturday, 5:00 PM
◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆─Cater─◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──
“It looks amazing! Totally Magicammable, Prefect!” Cater cheers, pulling out his phone as he sits. His green eyes graze over the room, quick enough to not be noticed but slow enough to take it all in. Riddle sits at the head of the table, a place Ace is seemingly giving up if his irritation is to be taken seriously. He sits beside the Prefect on the right of the table, between them and Deuce, who is already sneaking bites of the pasta.
“Thanks, Cater! It’s a pretty easy dinner, but I thought it’d be nice,” the Prefect says with a smile, looking to Riddle as if to concede dorm power to him.
He smiles back politely. “Shall we eat, Housewarden?”
Trey’s neck turns to look at his friend so fast Cater cringes at the crack that protests the speed. Talk about whiplash.
He mouths “Housewarden” at Cater, and the redhead waves his hand lightly as if to acknowledge it, lips pulled tight to express his response. This will be discussed later, it says.
“Let’s eat,” the Prefect says cheerfully, and they all dig in. The pasta, so simply put together, is elegantly tasteful. Cater’s glad he snapped a photo before eating, because he doesn’t want to stop for anything.
Ace clears his throat once, and then a second time, louder. He elbows Deuce and the blue-haired boy grunts. The ginger raises an eyebrow. Deuce tightens his posture.
“Thanks for making dinner, Prefect,” he says, smiling across Ace’s plate to meet their eyes. They grin right back, as if delighted by the gratitude.
“No problem! It was super easy! I’m glad you like it,” they say, looking over at Grim who sits on Cater’s right side, scarfing down the food like he was starving.
The table becomes a chorus of muffled “thank yous” and the Prefect brushes them off kindly.
“Thank Ace and Deuce, too. They chopped vegetables,” the Prefect adds, returning to their own food. Ace looks down at his lap, as if distracted.
Cater hears it under the clatter of dishes and the quiet of chewing. Hears the almost imperceptible ding that he swears plagues his dreams. He thinks he’s going crazy for a moment, thinks he might have to admit to Trey that phantom phone is a real thing, until he sees the Prefect look down. They bite back a smile and their eyes flick to Ace’s, who’s grinning smugly at his food though clearly feeling their gaze.
Cater nudges Trey and gestures lightly with his chin. Trey nods knowingly, and Cater almost lets a huff of disbelief escape his mouth. Could Riddle be right?
“So, froshes, how are classes? Kicking your asses yet, or are you slaying?” Cater asks, hoping to escape the silence because no matter how comfortable it is, it’s still silence and he’d rather be talking.
“History of Magic is so hard!” complains the Prefect.
“I can’t get my broom off the ground without falling!” Grim chimes in.
“Don’t even get me started on Potionology,” Ace sighs.
“Agreed,” Deuce groans, frowning at his food.
“I could tutor you in Potionology. The both of you,” Riddle says, frowning as if troubled by the fact that he wasn’t already tutoring they.
“It’s good, Housewarden. Prefect’s helping me,” Ace says with a shrug, though it sounds like it might just be said to get Riddle off his back.
Trey and Cater share another look. A quiet snort escapes Cater before he can smother it.
Ace shoots the two of they a look so sudden and so dirty they might as well have put down his dog or shit in his food. Cater balks at the glare, and Trey raises an eyebrow.
Cater mouths “scary” and Trey puts a hand over his face.
Saturday, 5:47 PM
⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅.˳Trey˳.⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ ི☘︎ ྀ⋅.˳˳
“Mraw, I’m stuffed! I can’t eat another bite!” Grim declares after the plates are cleared and the party has retired to the couch. Trey pushes at the rim of his glasses, using this moment of shielded eyes to spot Ace with the Prefect’s feet resting against his leg.
Curious.
“That’s unfortunate, considering I took the liberty of baking a tart for the occasion,” Trey says, watching bemusedly as the direbeast’s ears perk and he begins the process of rescinding past statements.
“Aww, well, I’m sure I could have some o’ that, t’be nice, y’know,” he says, looking up at the Prefect as if to get permission.
“I didn’t know you brought a tart. You didn’t have to do that,” they say, eyes hooded with the contented nature of one having eaten a good dinner with good company.
“It was only polite. You did receive us so well,” Trey responds, nodding with a restrained smile. “I put it in the fridge while you were serving the salads. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not! I’m always jazzed to have extra food in the house!”
“I can help pull it out. Y’know, serve it and stuff,” Ace offers, getting off the couch where he was squished between the Prefect and Riddle.
“Sounds great! We’ll be waiting patiently. Remember who’s your favorite and give them the biggest piece,” the Prefect teases, batting their eyes at Ace, who scoffs and looks away quickly.
“Yeah, watch Deuce get half the platter.”
“Just say you hate me.”
“You’re stupid,” he says, snorting as he walks away with Trey following.
Trey enters the kitchen, heading towards the fridge, and suddenly Ace is grabbing him by the bicep, glaring up at the third-year like he might be in any way menacing.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“Excuse me?” Trey asks, taken aback.
“I’m talking you and Cater giggling at me all night long. What? Something on my face?”
Trey mulls over being polite for a moment, but decides he might as well take the leap. “Yeah, you do have something on your face. The blatant look of love you keep shooting the Prefect. Even Riddle saw it.”
Ace stops, and his face slowly turns as red as Riddle’s. They could be twins, or at least brothers, in this moment.
“Do they know?”
Trey blinks, and then blinks again. “So you’re admitting it?”
“I’m not admitting anything. Does. The. Prefect. Know?” He’s still glaring, but anxiety forms in the way his teeth worry at his bottom lip, pulling at chapped skin.
“No. At least, no one’s told them,” Trey says, opening the door of the fridge and pulling the bright red strawberry tart out.
“Good. Not that I like them or something! I just… they’re my friend, you know?”
“I know.”
“Cater’s your friend,” Ace says smoothly, diverting the conversation with ease. Trey sighs, pulling plates out.
“Not like that. We just talk. Where is the cake cutter?”
Ace shoots him a droll look. Trey sighs again. “Right, they doesn’t have one.”
“We have knives.”
“That’ll work,” Trey says, and Ace hands him a knife. “Cater and I… we’re friends. It’s nothing special, just…”
“You get him. He gets you. It doesn’t have to be more,” Ace says simply, pulling a slightly bigger piece onto a plate, unevenly bigger than the others.
“Is that for them?”
“They’ll get mad if I seriously don’t get them a bigger piece,” he responds, the ghost of a smile, soft and almost domestic, pulling at his lips as his hands hold the plate carefully.
“Will they?”
“You’d be surprised.”
The two walk, plates in hand, and dole them out good-naturedly. The Prefect spies their plate, studying the plates of the others, and grins in triumph.
“Hah, mine’s the biggest!”
Saturday, 6:53 PM
⠀🜲⠀˖⠀𓂃𓈒𓈒𓈒𓂃⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀𓂃𓈒𓈒𓂃⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀𓂃𓈒Riddle𓈒𓂃⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀𓂃𓈒𓈒𓂃⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀𓂃𓈒𓈒𓂃⠀˖⠀🜲⠀
“What a lovely time! We must do this again soon, Prefect,” Riddle proclaims contentedly, smug in both the feeling of good food and the triumph of showing his friends something they had not known before. He pulls himself from the couch, warm with conversation, and grabs for his coat. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, however. I still have tea at eight, and I must be in the dorms for it. It’s traditional, you know.”
“Of course, Housewarden! Thank you for coming over, we had fun,” they say with a smile, watching Grim, with his belly stuffed and groaning quietly, make his way towards the bedroom.
“It was my pleasure. Now, Rule number 456 states: ‘one must never leave the Queen to wander through woodlands.’ Would you be so kind as to walk me to home? Trey and Cater have made clear that they will be staying longer, and I would not like to keep them, nor you. Therefore, a brisk walk would be appropriate. If you would like, of course,” he says, holding a hand out, which they takes with a nod.
“I would love to. Ace, can you make sure Grim doesn’t vomit somewhere? I don’t think all that food’s staying where it is,” they say, shooting the redhead a smile. He huffs, but nods even as he crosses his arms.
The Prefect, pulling their coat on and intertwining their arm with the Housewarden’s, makes their way outside with him.
“It’s quite cold tonight. I expect we’ll see snow sometime in the next few weeks. No more than a fortnight passes on these chilly winds before the snow creeps in. Don’t you agree?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I like the snow. It’s soft and there's so much to do outside.”
"There's quite more to do inside, in my opinion. With the right person, of course,” the words would normally be easily tossed aside as a comment on the cold, but the way Riddle wobbles as he says them must make clear the intention. The Prefect looks at him, eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m sure you can find many a ways to stay warm inside Ramshackle. Perhaps with Ace. He seems to like it there, anyways,” Riddle continues, pushing through the embarrassment in efforts to seem like a casual conversation is taking place.
“Housewarden Riddle, are you hitting on me for Ace?” they ask, bewilderment coating their voice like the red that paints both of their faces.
“Well, Ace isn’t going to do it himself. He’s quite the idiot, though he has various good qualities as well. You’re a lovely influence on him; he turns in more homework and I get less complaints about petty grievances from Headmaster Crowley. He had his tie tied last week, which does not seem like much, but let me tell you-”
“Riddle, Ace doesn’t like me,” the Prefect says with a light chuckle, face red with both the cold and the implication. “Not like that, at least.”
Riddle pauses, frowning. “Of course he does. He treats you differently, doesn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“And he never lets you socialize without him without making quite a stink?”
“Yeah, but-”
“He gives you the biggest piece of tart. He chops vegetables when you ask. He never stops texting you, even past curfew. He stays at Ramshackle most nights - don’t protest, I know he does. I’m not an idiot, I know he sneaks out. He likes to be around you, and he’s willing to risk a lot for just the privilege."
The Prefect says nothing as they continue their walk, staring down at their feet until they reach the college campus, where Riddle finally lets they go.
“Keep warm, Prefect. And don’t break his heart. He’s a good man, even if he’s a bit rebellious.” And with that, Riddle disappears into the college, leaving the Prefect cold in body but warm in soul.
Saturday, 9:41 PM
⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──Ace── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆
“So, it wasn’t too much trouble? I have no idea why they keep bothering you, honest,” Ace says with a chuckle, flipping through channels on the Prefect’s shitty tv, their feet in his lap.
“It was nice. Better than just you. You’re annoying,” they mumble, leaning heavily against the armrest on the ratty sofa. Grim has long since retired to bed, snoring away like a chainsaw, and the Prefect, stubborn as hell, has sworn up and down that the exhaustion Ace saw in they eyes was actually just from how much of a dumbass he is.
Which is fair, but untrue for once.
“You’re such an asshole,” he retorts, sticking his tongue out at them. They return the gesture, barely able to contain a grin.
“Turn on something fun. The Amazing Race or whatever you watch is dumb,” they sigh, settling into the sofa.
“What’s The Amazing Race?”
“It’s a me-world thing. You won’t get it,” they hum, eyelids drooping as they stifle a yawn. Ace relents, flipping to some reality tv show he doesn’t care about, but will put the person next to him right to sleep.
“Wish it was an us-world thing.”
“But then you’d get it, and I wouldn’t be cooler than you. You’d be all ‘oh, so-and-so show, I already know about that, dumbass’ and I’d have to admit that you know more than me, which is totally a no… a no-go.” The words start to slur and Ace knows they’ll soon be out like the lights that flicker in the upstairs bathroom of Ramshackle.
“Go to sleep, Prefect,” Ace says, voice suddenly soft with a chuckle.
They groan in response, eyebrows furrowed and eyes fluttering in efforts to reopen. “But ‘m not tired.”
“Sure you are, stupid.”
“Don’t want you to leave.”
“Like I want to go.”
“Riddle says you like me,” they whisper, and their shoulders slump softly, an exhale of breath marking the exact moment they surrender to sleep.
Ace sighs, scowling at the idea of Riddle being the one to try and out him, but reluctantly admits that maybe someone should be telling the Prefect. Ace certainly wasn’t going to.
“Yeah, well. Maybe, just maybe, Riddle is sometimes, not often… right.”