Work Text:
Nothing felt more daunting than the plate in front of him. A glistening strawberry tart, shining like rubies in the light of the kitchen. One of the beautiful specimens of the last batch Trey baked. They would go bad if no one ate them, so everyone in Heartslabyul had been reaping the benefits of Trey Clover’s talents in the kitchen. This was one of the last ones, saved just for him.
But Riddle couldn’t stand to look at it. The tart was beautiful, baked to absolute perfection. Nothing less would be presented to the Housewarden, the Queen of their dorm. The glistening sugar, the sweet, stiff peaks of cream, the perfect tart. It made nausea turn in Riddle’s stomach, a churning pit that he wouldn’t be able to fight off should he look at the tart much longer.
As much as he wanted to put it away for later, Trey was watching him. After two days had passed without Riddle devouring his favorite treat, his Vice Housewarden had taken the initiative to bring it straight to him. Any other day, any other week, he would’ve been delighted. Not today. Not now.
“Thank you, Trey, but my appetite isn’t quite up to the task,” Riddle stated, trying to keep his voice level. He could practically hear his mother’s shrieks about the sugar content and the calories within the tart staring back at him. “Might you save it for later? Or, perhaps give it to Deuce. His grades have been quite exemplary lately.”
He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck as Trey’s brows furrowed. It was the first time he’d ever turned down one of Trey’s treats, and a sense of guilt ran through him. That guilt he felt toward hurting Trey’s feelings wasn’t nearly as bad as the guilt of eating too much, of poisoning himself from the inside out should he consume those sugar-coated strawberries and the vanilla-sweet crust.
“Are you sure?” Trey’s confusion- no, concern- seemed to grow as Riddle averted his gaze. “You never turn down a tart. Are you feeling unwell?”
“Just a little tired,” Riddle effortlessly lied. “I’ve had quite a bit to eat today. If I’m not up to dessert following dinner, give it to Deuce.”
To escape Trey’s further prodding, Riddle stood from his spot at the kitchen island. He swept his hands down his jacket to wipe the sweat off his palms, disguising it as brushing away any stray flour. Before Trey could protest, he turned on his heel and strode off, keeping his head high. He would not let this moment of weakness define him in front of his dormmates. A Housewarden never lost their composure.
The only issue was where he could go to avoid Trey and any further questioning. If he went to his room, Trey would surely come to check up on him. The next place to check would be the stables, as brushing the horses’ coats until they shone had become a well-known way of relieving his stress. Given that it was a weekend, the classrooms would be closed, so he couldn’t hide away in any of those. The rose gardens were off the table. Anywhere within Heartslabyul was.
As he ruminated over his options, the pit in his stomach grew deeper. He’d far exceeded the calories he was meant to follow daily, and he hadn’t yet done anything to burn them off. His mother always scolded him for his gluttony. A good son wouldn’t eat so much, she’d tell him. If he ate too much, he would eat less the next day, and he’d use the old treadmill in the basement. He didn’t deserve those extra calories, not until his grades were better than hers ever had been.
Before he knew it, he was in the Hall of Mirrors. Going to any other dorm sounded foolish. Riddle turned out of the hall and went to one of the gardens on campus proper. That was it. He’d walk until he’d burned all those spare calories away. He would walk and walk until his feet bled, the blood as bright as those of those glistening strawberries that tempted him so. For such healthy things, they’d been twisted by their placement upon a tart. They’d been infected by the excess fats and carbohydrates. Even if he removed them and washed them clean, those strawberries would never be perfectly clean again.
Just like him.
Riddle shook his head. He had to stop thinking about food. Every thought made the nausea swell, the sinking feeling grow stronger. He’d have to make himself sick should he keep thinking much longer. Even the thoughts of that excess felt like poison, like mud sticking to his skin.
His mother had been so disappointed when he came home. He’d followed her plans to the letter, how many calories he should consume daily, how long he should spend studying. But he’d gained two kilograms in his first year at Night Raven College, and she’d refused to believe it was from the muscle he gained in equestrian club, and not from overindulgence. The shaky feeling of hunger had settled deep in his bones that summer. It still lingered on the days he couldn’t manage to stomach anything, the days when any calorie entering his body felt like the poisons he’d brew in potions class.
A cold breeze blew through the garden Riddle had taken to pacing. He shivered, drawing his cape a touch tighter around himself. He got cold far easier nowadays. Cater had remarked he looked skinnier this year. That comment had been repeated several times since his overblot, each time a little softer and more concerned. There was nothing to be concerned about. A few shivers were a lax consequence of being a good son.
Riddle had gotten so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t noticed the presence of another student in the courtyard. When two long arms latched around him from behind, he startled so hard he almost slammed his head into his captor’s chin.
“Goldfishie~!” Floyd’s greeting, thick with amusement, had Riddle’s gut sinking further. He tried to stomp back on Floyd’s foot, but the taller boy picked him up to squeeze him better. “It’s so chilly outside. What’s a lonely Goldfishie doing out here?”
“Put me down, Floyd!” Riddle tried to squirm, but Floyd had a solid grasp on him. He grunted as he was set down and squeezed harder, feeling the crush of Floyd’s arms around his ribs. “Floyd! This is highly inappropriate behavior-!”
“Oah! Goldfishie’s chilly!” Floyd’s laughter rang out in the garden as he shifted Riddle around, now holding him face-to-face. Riddle could feel his face flushing up with a mix of anger and embarrassment. His next protest was silenced by the gentling of Floyd’s arms around him. The taller boy tugged him close, and the shared warmth had Riddle’s body involuntarily relaxing.
In all honesty, Riddle didn’t have the energy to get angry today. He’d spent most of the day studying and attending to Housewarden duties. His allotted calorie intake was just enough to get him through his typical weekday, but he was always a little more active on weekends. He just didn’t have it in him to use that precious remaining energy to shout.
“Unhand me, Floyd,” he muttered, trying to put a little venom in his voice. It was hard to even muster that. “I did not give you permission to touch me!”
When he looked up at Floyd, a slight scowl on his face, his eyes widened. Floyd’s teasing smile had gone flat. There was nothing more terrifying than a Floyd that wasn’t smiling. “Goldfishie’s skinny,” Floyd stated, and Riddle tensed. The taller boy’s hands moved up from his waist to his ribs. “Is Sea Turtle not makin’ ya enough snacks?”
Riddle scoffed and looked away. Floyd’s grasp was lax enough that he could shove himself away. Part of him mourned the loss of Floyd’s body heat, especially as a gust of wind sent further shivers down his spine, but he stood his ground.
“I can manage my own diet, thank you very much,” he spat, scuffing the bottom of his boot on the ground. The action felt childish, but he had no better outlet for his frustration. “Is it so wrong that I’ve lost weight? I can assure you, my parents are doctors. I know what a healthy weight is.”
Floyd’s blank stare didn’t waver. Riddle’s voice did, though, as he finished his rebuttal. He took another wary step back. This did not bode well for him.
Floyd lunged forward. Riddle yelped, turning on his heel and attempting to run. He only managed a few steps before Floyd’s arms latched around him, yanking him off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder. Riddle grabbed the back of Floyd’s shirt, his legs failing.
“Floyd Leech!” He shouted, uselessly wriggling in Floyd’s surprisingly strong grasp. “Put me down this instant!”
“Nah.” The flatness in Floyd’s voice sent another shiver down his spine. The last time Floyd’s voice had been this flat, he’d had to haul Ace down to the infirmary with several bite wounds. “If Goldfishie’s not takin’ care of himself, I guess I gotta.”
Riddle didn’t know how to respond. He was taking care of himself plenty well. He followed his mother’s rules, with a few exceptions here and there. He had excellent grades. He was a better Housewarden, he got along with the members of his dorm. But at the same time, he was always cold, and he was always tired.
“Fine. Just… let me walk,” he requested. To his surprise, Floyd acquiesced. He was set down on wobbly legs. Floyd kept an arm around his back as they walked to the Hall of Mirrors. Instead of going to Heartslabyul, he was brought to Octavinelle.
“I’m gonna make ya a snack,” Floyd stated, some of his usual chipper energy returning. The thought of a snack didn’t seem too terrible. “Nice ‘n sweet, just like Goldfishie!”
“As long as it’s healthy,” Riddle stated, allowing Floyd to stuff him into one of the secluded booths of Mostro Lounge. “And without strawberries, please.”
That got him a strange look, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t handle strawberries without thinking of that tart. And that tart made him think of his mother, which made him think of the calories he still had to burn, and the shame he felt for ever thinking he could be the perfect son when he couldn’t even handle a perfectly reasonable diet.
Floyd returned a lot quicker than he expected with a sandwich and a glass of tea. Whole wheat bread held crisp lettuce and tomatoes, with two slices of provolone cheese and some salami. The tea smelled floral and sweet. One sip felt like it was warming Riddle from the inside out.
“Eat it all, Goldfishie,” Floyd encouraged. The taller boy slid into the booth with him, watching him intently. “I won’t squeeze ya for two days if you finish it all.”
That was one hell of a bargain. Riddle took a polite bite of the sandwich, doing his best not to think about the excess he was consuming. The flavors, for their simplicity, burst in brilliant flavors across his tongue. Before he could stop himself, he was eating it with an eagerness he saved for tarts.
Floyd’s giggle brought him back to himself. When Riddle squinted at the taller boy, Floyd reached out to brush some crumbs off his face. His cheeks flared with warmth, and he smacked Floyd’s hand away. “Goldfishie’s hungry! Ya gotta eat if ya wanna be able to run away from me,” the taller boy teased. Riddle looked away with a huff, polishing off the first half of the sandwich. “Yummy, yeah? Azul gets the good, healthy stuff. But ya still gotta enjoy the extra-yummy stuff sometimes.”
Riddle knew Floyd would just keep talking, so he didn’t interject. He ate his sandwich and drank his tea. The chills faded away, leaving him feeling tired, but surprisingly content. Floyd’s concern wasn’t like Trey or Cater’s. It wasn’t hovering, it simply was. Perhaps that was why he found it in himself to actually eat.
Soon enough, the plate was empty, as was the teacup. Riddle folded his hands over his stomach. “Thank you for the food, Floyd,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I wasn’t quite myself.”
“Yeah, ‘cause Goldfishie was hangry,” Floyd stated, bringing a hand up to pinch Riddle’s cheek. The shorter boy stuttered and squirmed, but didn’t smack the hand away. Floyd’s giggle had his face warming, but not in embarrassment. “Ya gotta eat more.”
Riddle didn’t respond to that. He didn’t want to tell Floyd that he couldn’t. He didn’t want to put the truth out there. That he feared the sweetness of Trey’s tarts, of his mother’s disappointment, of the excess calories that would ruin him and his entire being. Because that small part of him knew that these fears weren’t true, but that didn’t mean they didn’t control him.
Floyd seemed to pick up on his reluctance to speak. The taller boy huffed and rolled his eyes, before grabbing Riddle again. He was pulled into a hug. Not a squeeze, but an actual hug. Floyd quickly became entertained by playing with his hair.
That, Riddle didn’t mind. He felt his eyelids going heavier, a syrupy contentment bringing his exhaustion front and center. Falling asleep in the middle of Mostro Lounge would be inappropriate though, so he reluctantly pulled back.
“I should get back to Heartslabyul,” he stated, but his voice wasn’t as firm. “I’m quite tired. I believe a period of rest is in order.”
“Is that a rule, or a Goldfishie thing?” Floyd’s inquiry made him let out an uncharacteristic snort. He was helped out of the booth and all but dragged to the Hall of Mirrors.
“Goldfishie thing,” he said in response. Floyd’s face lit up, and Riddle found his own lips twitching up in a slight smile. The Hall of Mirrors was still empty, and they stopped in front of the Heartslabyul mirror. Floyd grabbed his wrist one more time.
“If ya ever need a snack that isn’t Sea Turtle’s, come find me.” It wasn’t a request. Floyd didn’t make requests. Riddle thought his response over carefully.
It felt a little like a betrayal. He couldn’t eat Trey’s tarts due to the guilt. The fear of the sugar, the fats, the poison it felt like he was consuming. Trey’s hovering concern. But Floyd simply fed him. Riddle’s lips twitched slightly, and he nodded his head. The answer was easy.
“I will try.”
Floyd seemed satisfied. He let go, watching Riddle pass through the Heartslabyul mirror. This time, Riddle felt a little lighter. He felt a little less afraid, and a little less cold. He had somewhere safe to eat. Something safe to eat. That might just save him yet.