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The argument—if it can be considered that—starts with something simple.
Trey agreed to help Riddle cook. Technically, he’s only there to supervise, ensuring that Riddle doesn’t skip any steps.
Riddle is stubborn and cocky, prone to making mistakes. Trey knows how to steer him in the right direction without pissing him off. He had years of experience doing so. It comes to him naturally. He knows the tone to use, which words to use.
You think you know what’s best for him, but you’re wrong, floats through Trey’s head, a blithe comment uttered by Floyd in passing.
It’s been nagging at him for days. The implication that Floyd, who’s known Riddle for all of one year, knows what’s best for Riddle is aggravating in the extreme. Trey knows that he knows Riddle better than anyone else in this damn school.
“Maybe we should take a step back and check to see what we should do next, huh?” Trey says, affecting calm. The kitchen is messier than he likes it, but the meal is still salvageable. He’ll take it.
Abruptly, Riddle pivots on his heel, scowling at Trey. He’s been doing that a lot more often. “Don’t patronize me.”
Trey laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not.”
Riddle puts his utensils on the counter, balling his fingers into fists. “Give it to me straight, Trey. You don’t think I’m any good at this, do you?”
Overblotting had made Riddle hyperaware of his faults.
He had always been something of a tyrant, following in his overbearing mother’s footsteps. He is what she always wanted him to be: an overachieving mage who was significantly stronger than most of his peers. She sacrificed Riddle’s social skills for prowess and felt no guilt about it, but it left Riddle struggling to understand his place in the world, all of nineteen years old and horribly confused.
Trey mulls over what to say. The clock is working against him and he knows it. Finally, he says, “Cooking is something that you get better at with practice. You shouldn’t expect to get everything right the first time.”
“You know how to cook.”
“Well, sure.”
Childishly, Riddle stomps his foot. “So stop acting like you don’t know what to do.”
Trey balks immediately, unsure how to respond to the new and improved Riddle, who, as far as Trey can remember, had never gotten snippy with him. “I just want you to have a good time.”
“I can handle anything you can throw at me,” Riddle declares, brow furrowed.
Later, Trey will tell himself he was just in a foul mood. Some part of him knows that this has been festering inside of him for years, that he’s reached the limit of what he can take.
He lurches forward, caging Riddle in. Height-wise, Trey looms over him. He can see the wariness—no, the fear—in Riddle’s eyes, but he ignores it, his plastered-on smile falling at long last. “I don’t think you’re a bad cook, but you are impatient. Just because you had to reevaluate your behavior after you overblotted doesn’t mean you need to get snippy with me. I’m just trying to help.”
Trey slots a knee between Riddle’s legs just to watch him squirm, heat rising in Riddle’s cheeks. He has Riddle right where he wants him, right where he’s always wanted him.
“You feel threatened. You lost your way and now you’re grasping at straws, playing at being an authority on all manner of subjects. You know I’ll always be there for you—that’s why you rely on me. No matter how bad it gets, you can trust me to be there, to act like nothing ever happened. Steady, sturdy, reliable Trey.”
Riddle’s chest heaves. He’s nervous. His eyes are wide.
Trey knows that he should stop.
He knows, logically, that pushing Riddle to the floor is a bad idea. Ace and Deuce had already humbled Riddle. Trey knows that Riddle is trying his best.
“You have a lot to learn about the world, and it scares you, doesn’t it?” Trey unzips Riddle’s fly. Riddle doesn’t yelp. He’s skittish, but he doesn’t fight back. Trey doesn’t expect him to. Why would he?
Eyes glossy, Riddle nods. He says nothing, biting his lip as Trey undresses him further, the tile cool against his cheeks. Trey pulls away for the briefest of moments to magic lubricant into his hands, pulling a condom out of his back pocket. Riddle stares at him in stunned silence, like he can’t believe Trey keeps those sorts of things on his person.
There are a lot of things his best friend doesn’t know about him. How long he’s yearned for this, how desperately he’s craved. Puberty had been difficult, complete with confusion about Riddle’s stunted development. He narrowly resisted the urge to steal Riddle’s underwear and sniff each pair.
Tasting Riddle now is a dream come true, even if Riddle is quieter than Trey thought he would be. In the back of his mind, Trey knows what he’s doing is wrong. He didn’t ask for permission. He’s ruining his nice guy façade, showing Riddle the animal that’s been lurking beneath the surface.
It’s easy enough to spread Riddle’s legs. Trey hears more than sees Riddle crying—if he looks up, he’ll lose his grip on reality. He flips Riddle over instead, bucking into him fiercely.
His skinny knees drag on the grout, winding up scraped. He sobs and he wails. He sounds winded when Trey smacks his flank. Trey drags his nails down Riddle’s chest, lingering on his nipples. Riddle is small in his hand. He spills over quickly, shuddering.
Riddle is covered in bite marks and bruises by the time Trey comes back to his senses, skin slick with sweat. It’s a miracle he’s still breathing, given that Trey choked him at one point.
Immediately, remorse sets in. Trey uses Riddle’s phone to call an ambulance. He pulls himself free of the condom, messily shoving dirty latex into his pocket as he flees the scene.
He leaves Riddle sobbing and snotty on the ground wondering how things had gone so wrong.
For three days, Riddle is in a daze, functionally comatose. The nurses ask him a lot of uncomfortable questions.
He’s furious when they ask him if he would like them to perform a full inspection of his nether region. “What? No, absolutely not.”
They reassure him that what happened to him wasn’t his fault, that there’s no need for him to protect his assailant, but Riddle insists that everything is fine. He tells himself that over and over again until the noise of the world around him is drowned out.
Static buzzes in his ears as he recovers. The nurses pump him with fluids to ensure that his levels are normal before he’s discharged. His doctor prescribes a visit to a licensed psychotherapist.
Riddle throws it away. There’s nothing wrong with him. It had been a mere misunderstanding. Soon enough, he would talk to Trey and apologize, then life would return to normal.
Mentally, Riddle knows talking to Trey should be his first order of business, but his body refuses to comply. He shivers at the prospect of going to Trey’s room, remembering the fierce look in Trey’s eyes all too well.
What if Trey had fucked him so ruthlessly because he hated him?
Riddle could stand any other reality.
Going to Cater is out of the question; he’s Trey’s friend. Che’nya had potential, but he kept a busy schedule and his college was hours away, halfway across the country.
Riddle needs someone who’s not from his dorm so rumors won’t fly, someone close, but not too close.
Azul, he thinks. His fellow housewarden had also recently overblotted. He would understand.
Riddle drifts through the mirror. It’s a Tuesday, so it’s busy on campus, but Azul is easy enough to get ahold of, waiting in the VIP room of the Mostro Lounge for unsuspecting students to wander in and ask for help.
Entering Octavinelle means Riddle to deal with his least favorite person, but Jade is there as a buffer. “Ah ha, Goldfishie. What brings you here?”
“I need to speak with Azul,” Riddle says. He’s all too aware of the bags under his eyes and the crispness of his uniform, ironed until he nearly burned the fabric.
“If you need help, it’s going to cost you,” Jade explains, cool and calm as ever.
“I’m not here to bargain with him. Let me in.”
They open the doors with matching grins. Riddle wonders if they know, somehow, if they can tell what happened, spotting an invisible brand on his back.
Azul is seated at the desk, dressed in his dorm suit rather than his school uniform. “Ah, Riddle. What a pleasant surprise. Your presence was sorely missed at yesterday’s meeting.”
Riddle rolls his eyes. He doesn’t doubt that, on some level, Azul is telling the truth. Considering that Idia, Leona, and Kalim did nothing to help, Azul probably had mourned the loss of Riddle’s task-focused nature.
“I would like to get your opinion on something,” Riddle starts. Mercifully, his voice remains even.
Azul lifts an eyebrow, lowering his pen. “Oh?”
Riddle inhales. Exhales. He’s been doing an excellent job of suppressing the experience, but talking about it resurfaces memories. “Has Jade ever done anything…untoward to you?”
“Define untoward,” Azul mutters, remembering the most recent time Jade poisoned his tea.
Riddle squirms in place, wringing his hands. “Something that changed the dynamic of your friendship.”
Azul hums. “In that case, not particularly. My relationship with Floyd and Jade has always been an odd one, considering our places in the food chain.”
“What do you mean?”
Azul lifts an eyebrow, unsure if Riddle is prying or simply ignorant. He decides to give Riddle the benefit of the doubt, well-acquainted with Riddle’s naiveté. “Moray eels typically eat octopuses. Octopus mers are not exempt.”
Riddle looks away, color draining from his face. “Oh.”
Azul rises from his chair, walking across the room. There’s a part of him that wants to take advantage of the situation. Riddle needs him. He would oh-so-easily agree to a convenient deal.
Another part of him has learned from his mistakes. He’s healing. More importantly, he knows what it’s like to need a friend. “Why don’t you stop talking around the subject and tell me what happened?”
Riddle opens his mouth. Closes it. Suddenly, he feels clammy. His hands shake. “I can’t,” he whispers.
“I’m afraid it will be quite difficult for me to advise you, then,” Azul says, no-nonsense.
Riddle trembles for a few minutes, struggling to get the words out, tears gathering on his lashes. “Trey isn’t talking to me,” he confesses.
Azul looks Riddle up and down, beginning to form a theory. His strange mannerisms. The increased level of paranoia. “I see,” Azul says.
The two of them come up with a game plan. Riddle promises to pay Azul for his time and Azul accepts his offer, if only so they can put this conversation behind them.
Azul tugs on Floyd’s collar the moment Riddle is out of earshot. Obediently, Floyd leans down so Azul can whisper in his ear. “Walk him home, would you? And keep an eye out for Trey.”
Floyd lifts an eyebrow. “You think Sea Turtle is gonna try somethin’?”
Azul shakes his head no. “Just check to see if he’s close by. Try to get him alone. It would be nice to have Riddle owe me a favor.”
“If you say so,” Floyd hums, waving goodbye as he leaves.
It’s a testament to his altered mental state that Riddle doesn’t snap at Floyd for pestering him. If anything, he’s grateful for the company.
“Unsettling,” Jade remarks.
Azul is inclined to agree.
Trey, for his part, studies.
He studies until he collapses. He avoids the dorm kitchen like the plague. He magicked it clean the moment Riddle was carried off by the paramedics, but beyond that, he hadn’t touched the place.
Everything he eats tastes like ash, but he can’t keep himself from baking—it’s instinctual. He feels like the rotten criminal Riddle’s mother always said he would grow up to be. Self-fulfilling prophecy.
He convinces himself that the best thing he can do for Riddle is to never be in a room alone with him. He steps down from his position as vicewarden. When the headmage asks why, he explains that he wants to focus on his education.
Cater has been on his ass about Riddle’s moping streak, begging Trey to join them for lunch. Ace and Deuce have also been in a tizzy, all too aware of Trey’s absence and its implications. A foul fog lingers over the entirety of Heartslabyul.
Trey keeps an eye on Riddle from a distance. He can’t help himself. More and more often, Riddle allows Floyd to ruffle his hair without kicking up fuss. Trey wouldn’t consider their newfound closeness romantic, but it’s so unexpected he nearly gives his position away.
Floyd’s head snaps to the side. He catches Trey in his periphery.
“See ya later, Goldfishie,” Floyd tells Riddle. Riddle, for once, looks heartbroken to see him go.
On some level, Trey knows that Floyd is his replacement. He hasn’t been around for weeks and Riddle needed someone, but the fact that it’s Floyd, of all people, hurts like hell.
Floyd grabs him by the collar. “You know, for a human, you’ve been awfully slippery,” he says. “Avoidin’ him ain’t gonna solve anything.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Trey replies, reciting a line from a script.
“To soothe your own ego, yeah,” Floyd drawls, achingly blunt as usual.
Trey wishes he could explain the strange phenomenon that occurs whenever he speaks to Floyd. Floyd activates his fight or flight response, makes Trey want to snarl. He’s soothed by the fact that most people on campus feel the same way.
Annoyingly enough, Floyd is right. That’s what makes him so infuriating.
“He’s treatin’ me like a rebound. Keeps tryin’ to make a move. It would be cruel for me to do anythin’ before you two had a chance to talk.”
Bile churns in Trey’s stomach, threatens to work its way up his throat.
Trey could stand to have a collar snapped around his throat, Riddle’s unique magic cutting him off for hours. A restraining order. A swift kick in the nuts.
He could stand anything, really—except forgiveness. The thought of looking at his small friend who’s still healing, who had lost weight, who would likely start crying, hurts.
“I can’t,” Trey whispers, head in his hands.
Trey is as surprised as he isn’t when Floyd knees him in the solar plexus, dragging him off to god knows where.
Trey would recognize the click of Riddle’s heels anywhere, though he’s currently tied to a chair in a dim room. Jade gingerly lifted Trey’s magical pen out of his pocket, confiscating it.
Seated like this, Riddle is taller than him, but he could only be described as looming by a toddler.
Riddle’s scowl is fierce. His eyes are red. He looks like he hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks.
“I’m sorry,” Trey says automatically. It’s the least he can do. “I can’t take back what I did. It never should have happened.”
“No,” Riddle agrees. “It shouldn’t have.”
The responding silence is thick. Oppressive.
Trey inhales. Exhales.
“I’ve been thinking,” Riddle says, beginning to pace. His heels have a sharp click, clack, click, clack rhythm. Thirty seconds later, he stops. “We need a better means of communication. I would like you to tell me what’s on your mind before it’s too late.”
Trey laughs humorlessly. “Riddle.”
“Trey,” Riddle retorts, tone flat. “I’m being serious.”
Trey swallows. A moment later, he nods.
“I don’t want our friendship to be inauthentic. I want you to feel comfortable telling me the truth, no matter how difficult that truth is. Do you understand?”
Trey sighs. “I’m going to piss you off if I do that. A lot.”
“I don’t care.”
“I might piss you off right now.”
“You have my full permission to proceed.”
“This is the stupidest stunt you’ve ever pulled,” Trey tells him. He can’t believe he’s taking this tone with Riddle, can’t believe those words came out of his mouth, but it’s fine. “You should have reported me. I’ve already looked into transferring schools.”
“I know.”
Bewildered, Trey blinks. “What?”
“Housewardens have to review exit paperwork for students who wish to transfer. I asked the headmage to put your request on hold until we had a chance to talk.”
Trey grimaces. He’d forgotten.
“I don’t want you to transfer,” Riddle says, voice softer now. “I’m upset with you, don’t get me wrong. Some of the blame lies with me. I never noticed that something was bothering you.”
It’s not blanket forgiveness, but it’s forgiveness nonetheless. Trey hates himself for the overwhelming relief that floods him, hates the fondness that swells in his heart when Riddle looks at him for approval, biting his bottom lip.
He’s so shy. Trey would hug him if he weren’t tied up, and if touching Riddle weren't completely out of question.
“Alright,” Trey concedes, knowing they have a long road ahead of them.
It’s a start.
With relations amended, Floyd returns to being a pain in the ass, a nuisance in the extreme. The difference is that he had a month to act as Riddle’s support contact. Riddle is nowhere near as frustrated by Floyd’s approaches as he used to be.
Trey waffles between accepting their blooming, would-be relationship and growling like an overprotective dog. Just because he ruined his shot with Riddle doesn’t mean Floyd did.
Floyd might be an obnoxious bastard, but he did have charisma in spades. Having sex, albeit forcefully, altered Riddle’s brain chemistry.
Trey’s eyebrow twitches when Riddle glances up at him, asking if he’s alright. “You know how I feel about Floyd,” he admits.
“He’s not that bad,” Riddle mumbles, seeking Trey’s blessing. “Right?”
Trey is forced to admit that no, Floyd isn’t that bad. A smile blossoms on Riddle’s face. Floyd lets his hand rest on Riddle’s hip and Riddle leans into him.
Riddle knows how Trey feels, but they’ve established boundaries.
Trey doesn’t know what’s worse—the bitter taste of what could have been or nothing at all.
The only thing he has left is regret.