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There were days when Floyd felt like the ocean itself.
Restless, loud, impossible to contain.
Today, however, the ocean had gone eerily still.
The curtains in his room remained drawn long after breakfast had passed, shutting out the bright afternoon sun. distorted by the water that usually spilled across the floorboards. His phone had long since stopped buzzing after Jade gave up on sending increasingly passive aggressive messages.
Even Azul, who normally would have marched upstairs to complain about skipped shifts, had decided that whatever was happening behind Floyd's bedroom door could wait until later. It was unusual. Floyd was rarely quiet for this long. Even when sick, he usually found enough energy to complain dramatically about how boring it was.
Instead, he lay buried beneath a tangled nest of blankets, staring blankly at the wall.
His fever had settled in sometime during the night.
At first it had only been a dull ache behind his eyes and an annoying warmth crawling beneath his skin. By morning, every joint protested whenever he shifted, his muscles felt strangely heavy, and his head pulsed with a slow, relentless rhythm that made even blinking feel like unnecessary work.
He had kicked the blankets away because he felt too hot, only to drag them back over himself minutes later when chills raced down his spine. Nothing stayed comfortable for more than a few seconds before his body decided it hated that too.
Even breathing felt... loud.
The faint hum of the aquarium filter across the room grated against his ears.
Water dripping from the bathroom faucet echoed far louder than it should have.
Fabric brushed against his neck every time he swallowed.
His own heartbeat seemed to thump somewhere inside his skull.
Normally, those little things melted into the background. Today, each one demanded his attention like someone repeatedly tapping him on the shoulder.
"Annoyin'..." he mumbled weakly into his pillow.
His voice barely sounded like his own.
It came out rough and sluggish, stripped of its usual playful drawl. He frowned at that. Talking felt weird. Thinking felt slow. Even opening his eyes took more effort than he wanted to spend. He shifted deeper beneath the blankets, hoping that if he stayed still enough the world would stop bothering him for a while.
A knock interrupted the silence. Three polite taps. Pause. Three more.
"Floyd?"
Jade. Of course it was Jade. Only his twin would knock exactly the same way every single time.
Floyd squeezed his eyes shut. He knew he should answer. Normally he would've shouted something ridiculous through the door just to annoy him. But today nothing seemed to come out. His throat tightened for reasons he couldn't explain. Talking suddenly felt exhausting. He wasn't ignoring Jade on purpose.
The words simply refused to climb all the way out.
Another pause settled outside. Then the handle clicked. The door opened only enough for Jade to peek inside. "Good morning."
No response. Jade's smile didn't falter, though it softened ever so slightly. "I suspected as much."
He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him with deliberate care. One glance was enough to confirm what he'd already guessed. Floyd's hair was plastered messily against his forehead, his cheeks carried an unmistakable flush, and his usual sharp eyes looked hazy despite being half hidden beneath the blankets. The room itself felt oddly untouched, as though Floyd hadn't had the energy to make his usual trail of chaos.
Jade crossed the room without another word. He rested the back of his hand gently against Floyd's forehead. The warmth was immediate. "Oh my, quite the fever."
Jade crouched beside the bed, watching his brother carefully. Floyd wasn't simply tired. Usually, even while ill, he'd swat Jade's hand away or complain dramatically about being treated like a child. Today he barely reacted at all. His eyes drifted somewhere past Jade's shoulder, unfocused, while one hand absently twisted the edge of the blanket between his fingers in a repetitive motion that neither seemed conscious of nor particularly comforting.
"I believe visiting the infirmary would be wise."
Silence.
"Floyd?" Jade called out his twin's name. Floyd barely reacting.
"Don't wanna..." The answer was barely louder than a whisper.
Jade inclined his head. "A fair objection."
"Still hurts..." Floyd mumbled.
"I imagine it does."
"Don't wanna move."
"I know brother.." Jade remained quiet for another moment before rising to his feet. There was little point in insisting. Floyd clearly wasn't in a state where persuasion would accomplish much. Besides, he had already anticipated this possibility before coming upstairs. Fortunately, there was someone considerably more persuasive than himself when Floyd decided the world was simply too much to deal with. "I shall return shortly."
Floyd didn't answer.
He simply curled a little tighter beneath the blankets, eyes drifting closed once again as the sound of the door opening, then gently clicking shut behind Jade, faded into the hallway.
Several minutes later, another knock echoed through the room. The second knock was softer than Jade's.
It came after several minutes of silence, hesitant enough that Floyd almost wondered if he'd imagined it through the pounding in his head. He didn't answer. He couldn't bring himself to. His eyes remained fixed on the folds of the blanket gathered beneath his chin, one hand absently rubbing the frayed edge between his fingers over and over. The repetitive motion was one of the few things that still felt predictable.
The handle turned slowly.
"I'm coming in." Riddle's voice carried through the crack in the door before he pushed it open just enough to slip inside. He balanced a small tray carefully in both hands, his usual immaculate posture slightly compromised by the steaming mug, a glass of water, and a tiny cup of liquid medicine threatening to slide whenever he moved. The room was dim enough that it took his eyes a second to adjust. Once they did, his expression softened almost immediately.
"...You look dreadful." Floyd didn't reply.
He barely acknowledged Riddle's presence beyond a sluggish flick of his eyes toward the door before looking away again. His face was flushed a deep pink, strands of hair damp with sweat where they clung to his forehead, and he was bundled so tightly in the blankets that only the very tip of his nose remained visible. It was unsettling. Floyd always filled a room with movement, with laughter, with some ridiculous comment. Seeing him this still felt... wrong.
Riddle quietly closed the door behind him with his foot before setting the tray on the bedside table.
"I met Jade in the hallway" he explained, adjusting the cup so it wouldn't wobble. "He said you've hardly spoken all morning. He also informed me that you refused to visit the infirmary." He sighed through his nose, though there wasn't any irritation behind it. "I expected as much."
"...Mm." was what Floyd answered. It was barely a sound.
Riddle glanced at him for another moment before reaching out, brushing the back of his fingers lightly against Floyd's forehead. The heat startled him despite Jade's warning. His hand lingered only long enough to confirm the obvious before he withdrew it again, folding both hands neatly in his lap as he sat on the edge of the chair beside the bed instead of crowding closer. "Your fever is quite high."
"...Make it stop." The quiet mumble made something in Riddle's chest tighten.
There wasn't any of Floyd's usual dramatics in his voice. No exaggerated whining, no grin, no playful complaints about how everyone should wait on him hand and foot. It sounded like a genuine plea, spoken without enough energy to disguise it behind humor. Riddle looked down at the tray for a moment before picking up the small medicine cup.
"This should help reduce your fever." he said gently. "You don't need to drink it all at once. Just a little is fine."
Floyd's eyes landed on the cup and his nose wrinkled almost instantly. "...No."
Riddle blinked. "No?"
"It smells bad."
He held the tiny cup a little farther away, as if increasing the distance might somehow change Floyd's mind.
"It likely doesn't taste pleasant either." Riddle admitted. "Medicine rarely does. But it should help you feel better afterward."
Floyd stared at it. The longer he looked, the deeper his frown became.
Even from where he lay, he could smell the syrupy sweetness beneath the bitterness. It coated the air in a thick scent that settled in the back of his throat before he'd even taken a sip. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. The thought of swallowing it made his tongue feel strange.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Finally, Floyd pushed himself upright with obvious effort, every movement sluggish and reluctant. The blankets slipped from one shoulder as he reached for the medicine. His hand trembled slightly from the fever. Riddle waited patiently, saying nothing, simply placing the tiny cup into Floyd's palm.
Floyd lifted it toward his mouth. The smell became stronger. His expression tightened. He hesitated.
Then, squeezing his eyes shut as though preparing for something painful, he forced himself to take a small sip.
Immediately, he gagged.
A harsh cough tore through his chest as he jerked forward, nearly spilling the entire cup back into his lap. His face twisted in disgust, shoulders hunching instinctively while he clamped a hand over his mouth. The bitter aftertaste clung stubbornly to his tongue, thick and syrupy, refusing to disappear no matter how hard he swallowed.
"...Ugh..." His breathing had quickened.
Riddle quickly offered him the glass of water. "Here. Rinse the taste away."
Floyd accepted it automatically, taking a hurried drink, but the relief never came. He grimaced harder, rubbing at his tongue with the sleeve of his hoodie before immediately regretting the texture of damp fabric against his lips. His breathing became shallower. His foot started bouncing beneath the blankets without him seeming to notice.
"...Still there..." Floyd mumbled.
"The taste?"
Floyd nodded. "It won't go away."
"It will in a moment." Riddle reassured Floyd, his hand caressing Floyd upper arm.
"...No..." Floyd rejected Riddles touch as he raised his hands to rub at his face. Then at the blanket.
Then his fingers found the frayed seam again, picking at it faster now. The room suddenly felt warmer than before. The buzzing light overhead seemed louder. The mug on the bedside table released another curl of herbal steam, adding yet another smell to the air already clogged by the medicine. Floyd swallowed hard, trying to ignore all of it at once.
Riddle watched carefully.
"You don't have to take another sip right this moment," he said calmly. "We'll wait a few minutes."
But Floyd barely seemed to hear him. His breathing had become uneven.
His fingers tugged harder and harder at the blanket until his knuckles turned pale. He pressed the heels of his palms briefly against his eyes before dragging them up into his hair, wincing as if even the strands brushing against his forehead hurt. The room hadn't changed, yet somehow every tiny sensation had become impossible to ignore all at once.
"...Riddle..." His voice came out thin. "...Make it stop."
He squeezed his eyes shut again, shoulders beginning to tense as his breathing hitched, the first unmistakable signs that everything inside him was rapidly becoming too much to hold together. Floyd's breathing broke first.
Not into sobs, not yet, but into short, uneven gasps, worse than before. that refused to settle no matter how desperately he tried. His shoulders curled inward until he was nearly folded over himself, one hand flying up to clamp against his ear while the other remained tangled in the blanket. He squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that tears gathered at the corners despite not understanding why he was crying in the first place. Everything hurt. The fever. The taste that still coated his tongue. The buzzing light. The steam from the tea. Even the fabric brushing against his wrists felt unbearable.
"No..." His voice came out strained. "No... no, no..."
He swallowed hard as though forcing more words out. "I can't... it... I..."
The sentence dissolved into another sharp breath, his chest hitching painfully. He kept trying anyway, forcing syllable after syllable through a throat that no longer wanted to cooperate. Every failed attempt only made the panic climb higher, frustration twisting across his face until he looked more exhausted than frightened.
Riddle's eyes flicked from Floyd's trembling hands to the way he kept stumbling over words that never seemed to reach the surface. The realization came quietly, fitting together with every observation he'd made since entering the room. Floyd wasn't refusing to explain what was wrong. He was forcing himself to keep speaking.
"Floyd." Riddle's voice remained steady, never louder than necessary. "You don't have to talk."
Floyd shook his head immediately. "Gotta..."
"No." Riddle reassured "You don't."
Riddle carefully reached over to the bedside table, switching off the buzzing lamp before drawing the curtains the rest of the way shut. The room dimmed considerably, leaving only soft afternoon light filtering around the edges of the fabric. Next, he slid the untouched medicine behind the teapot so it disappeared from Floyd's line of sight, then quietly nudged the steaming tea farther away as well. One by one, the little irritations vanished until the room felt noticeably calmer.
Only then did he return his attention to Floyd.
"You've been making yourself speak this entire time," Riddle said gently. "You don't need to do that anymore."
Floyd's breathing caught. He stared at Riddle through watery eyes, confusion flickering across his feverish expression. His mouth opened automatically, another apology already forming, but nothing came out except a tiny, broken sound. His jaw trembled with the effort of trying again before he finally gave up, squeezing his eyes shut in visible frustration. "...Can't..."
Riddle remained where he was instead of moving closer.
He kept enough distance that Floyd wouldn't feel crowded, resting both hands loosely on his knees where they were easy to see. His posture stayed relaxed, his expression composed. There was no urgency in his face, no expectation that Floyd should answer immediately. He simply waited until Floyd looked at him again. "We can make this easier."
Floyd blinked slowly. "If the answer is yes..."
Riddle raised one finger. "...tap the blanket once."
Then he raised a second finger. "If it's no, tap twice."
Another pause. "If neither works, you don't have to answer at all."
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Floyd stared at the blanket gathered beneath his hands as though trying to remember how fingers worked. Finally, one trembling fingertip pressed lightly against the fabric.
Tap.
Riddle offered the smallest smile. "There you are."
Something in Floyd's shoulders loosened. Only slightly. But enough for Riddle to notice. "Good. I'm going to ask very simple questions. You don't need words to answer. Only if you want."
Floyd managed another weak tap.
"Is your head hurting?"
Tap.
"Does your stomach still feel upset?"
Tap.
"Is the medicine taste still bothering you?"
Tap.
Riddle nodded thoughtfully. "I suspected as much." He reached into his pocket before pausing halfway.
"I'm taking a peppermint sweet from my pocket. It may help with the taste after you've settled."
He waited.
Tap.
Only then did he finish the movement.
The deliberate warning seemed to make a difference. Floyd barely flinched as Riddle unwrapped the sweet, setting it on the bedside table instead of expecting him to take it immediately.
Another few quiet moments passed.
Floyd's breathing was still shaky, but it no longer sounded as though every inhale was a struggle. The tears continued to fall silently, more from exhaustion than emotion now. He rubbed at them clumsily with the sleeve of his hoodie before wincing at the damp fabric against his face.
Eventually, Floyd shifted beneath the blankets.
Very slowly. One hand emerged, hesitating halfway between them. His fingers curled uncertainly in the air, as though he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted. Riddle looked at the offered hand for only a moment before understanding.
Riddle placed his hand gently into Floyd's. There was no squeezing. No rubbing circles. No attempt to ground him through touch alone.
He simply let Floyd decide and almost immediately, Floyd's fingers wrapped tightly around his hand.
The grip wasn't painful. Just desperate. As though anchoring himself to something solid while the rest of the world spun too loudly around him.
Several long minutes drifted by.
The crying slowed, the shaking eased, Floyd's breathing gradually settled into deeper, steadier breaths until the room was filled only with the quiet rustle of blankets and the occasional sniffle. His eyes remained closed, but the tight knot between his brows had finally begun to relax.
Only then did Riddle speak again. "We're done with the medicine for today."
A few hours later, Octavinelle had finally fallen silent.
The bustling Lounge downstairs had closed its doors, leaving only the muffled hum of enchanted aquariums filtering through the dorm. Moonlight slipped between the edges of the curtains, painting pale ribbons across the bedroom floor before disappearing beneath the bed. Even the ocean beyond the windows seemed unusually calm, its gentle rhythm barely audible through the glass. It was the kind of quiet that only existed long after everyone else had surrendered to sleep.
Floyd had eventually done the same. But not before dragging Riddle to lay down with him too after he had calmed down.
He'd ended up asleep with one arm draped securely around Riddle's waist, refusing to let him wander back to Heartslabyul. What had started as an insistence that Riddle stay "just until he got sleepy" had morphed into this. Neither of them had ever acknowledged the comfortable feelings aloud. There was no need. It simply happened whenever Riddle helped Floyd with something too long.
Riddle rested comfortably against Floyd's chest, curled into the role of the little spoon with surprising ease despite how composed he usually insisted on being. His breathing remained slow and even, each quiet inhale matched by Floyd's a moment later, their rhythm gradually settling into one shared cadence. One of Floyd's hands rested loosely over Riddle's stomach while the other had disappeared somewhere beneath the blankets, still clutching a corner of the comforter even in his sleep.
For once, Floyd wasn't moving.
Normally, sharing a bed with him meant enduring constant shifts, tangled limbs, or the occasional sleepy attempt to claim every inch of mattress for himself. Tonight, however, he lay remarkably still. His face, so often stretched into playful grins or mischievous smirks during the day, had softened completely. The faint crease between his brows had disappeared, his breathing deep and steady as exhaustion finally won over the endless current of thoughts that usually kept him awake.
Riddle, too, looked different in sleep.
The perpetual tension carried in his shoulders had melted away entirely, leaving behind someone who seemed far younger than the stern Housewarden everyone knew. His head rested comfortably beneath Floyd's chin, crimson hair fanned across the pillow in gentle waves. Every so often, the blankets shifted almost imperceptibly as Floyd instinctively pulled him a fraction closer without ever waking, his hold remaining gentle enough that it never disturbed the smaller boy beside him.
And the room itself seemed to breathe with them. The aquarium light cast soft ripples across the ceiling, drifting lazily over the walls like moonlight beneath the sea. Shadows stretched and curled with every movement of the water, wrapping the room in a tranquil glow that neither of them noticed. There were no voices, no teasing remarks, no complaints about rules or nicknames. Only quiet. The sort of peaceful silence that was difficult to find at Night Raven College, and even rarer for either of them to experience.