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He was jumpier than usual since waking up, the lingering ghosts of a dream-turned-nightmare still taunting him behind his eyelids, and really who could blame him? Everyone had been on edge the week following the magical calamity, gradually mellowing out back to a cautiously artificial normal despite the looming presence of Styx, only for that unease to resurface tenfold when it was publicly announced that Malleus Draconia had returned. The strong front the student body had been putting forth until then shattered in an instant. Paranoia was common, and more than once he’d been asked by a classmate to pinch them just to see if they’d really passed a pop quiz. Despite the appearance Trey had cultivated for himself, it was hard not to fall victim to it as well from time to time.
Accompanying Riddle on his housewarden duties helped somewhat. Even after everything that had happened within the dream, Riddle somehow managed to let it all roll off his back, slotting right back into the role the next day with nary a hair out of place. When they patrolled the Heartslabyul hallways or attended meetings as a pair, things almost felt peaceful—as peaceful as it could get at NRC, at least. But that only went so far, and did nothing to ease the general sense of wrongness that permeated the campus and had students jumping at shadows.
So, yeah, Trey nearly vacated his mortal coil when Malleus suddenly called to him in the hall, but to his credit he only felt mildly embarrassed once the feeling of imminent peril passed!
“Malleus,” he greeted breathlessly, too busy trying to appear unaffected and swallowing down the startled yelp he’d choked back to properly inhale. He’d just had lunch with the guy earlier that week, no need to freak out. “What do you—uh, what’s up?”
“I have a question for you,” Malleus said simply.
“A question?” Seemed innocent enough. “Alright, ask away.”
“I have only arrived back on campus a few days ago, but have noticed in that short time that Rosehearts has been observing you. Has something come between you? I’m aware that my actions have caused trouble for many people, and should it be within my power, I wish to make amends.”
So much for it being innocent. Trey stopped listening about halfway through, when his heart did a backflip over the notion that Riddle had been watching him then dropped into his stomach and hit every rib on the way down. He had no reason to get so excited over something like that—or he shouldn’t have had one, but there was no getting around that lurch in his chest. There was a solid five seconds of silence, filled only with the ominous background chatter of students gawking at their exchange, before any sound escaped him.
“Oh.”
As if realizing he’d committed a grave error yet failing to comprehend in exactly what way, Malleus’s eyes widened a fraction. “You were not aware,” he said, a comment rather than a question.
“No.” His voice sounded distant to his own ears, drowning in the pitter-pat of his heartbeat. “No, I was not.”
The remainder of the day passed by in a blur. Every action felt like it was being performed by someone else, and he was watching this mystery person go through the motions from outside his own body. He tried to take notes, but only caught every third word. How could he listen when an invisible elephant sat on his chest and pinned him to the back of his seat? Sitting with the knowledge that Riddle was staring at him (his heart flipped again, and he grimaced) and being unable to do anything about it grew to be tortuous after the third hour.
That wasn’t even taking into account the looks he was getting from the other students. He must’ve appeared as dazed as he felt, his rationality continued to insist. But an anxious little part of him feared that they hadn’t just heard the exchange in the halls, whether from witnessing it first hand or from word of mouth, but that they knew. They could hear the thoughts in his head, see the turmoil in his face, and knew exactly what his feelings were better than he ever could.
Trey originally wanted to jump right into baking as soon as he made it back to the dorm, but those plans had long since flown the coop. No tea, no snacks, he retreated straight to his room, shut the door, and in the safety of isolation he plopped heavily onto his desk chair. Then he got back up, paced a lap of the room, and sat back down on his bed this time, frustrated over his confusion and his peers and, really, just everything. He took off his glasses and threw them on his pillow and dragged his hands across his face again and again, uncaring for how he might’ve smudged the club on his cheek.
He cared for Riddle, yes. A lot. But it was the kind of affection held for family, and for friends known so long, held so close, that they might as well be family. He felt comfortable enough in the privacy of his own head to call it love; a love very different from the breed others teased him about and Rook needled him over despite his desperate pleas to stop. He loved Riddle just as he loved Chenya: As brothers.
But.
An icy finger of dread trailed down Trey’s spine, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as if he could make the big bad “But” go away like all the other times it tried to rear its head, and when it didn’t get the memo he took a deep breath and held it and braced himself. There was no more ignoring it, not when his heart had jumped so high in the hallway over the mere possibility of being looked at, which was silly because people looked at each other all the time and in any other case, with any other person, Trey would have been unsettled by the idea of someone “observing” him. Mentally, he teased the edge of that “But” open.
Because the brothers thing? Maybe. MAYBE. That wasn’t true at all.
It had been at one point, and if he still knew anything with certainty, it was that much. When they were children playing football in the field and climbing trees and peeking down rabbit holes, the feelings he gained then were brotherly. But somewhere down the line something had shifted. Laid out next to the attachment he held for Riddle as a child, what he felt now was different, but in such a way it could reasonably be passed off as a change in how adolescents processed emotions compared to children. That was a normal thing for teenagers, as his dad explained to him one uncomfortable summer evening, and so surely it had to be the case.
Then he compared his feelings side-by-side with what he felt for Chenya nowadays, and that case was thrown off a cliff into the sea. Just as intense, yet wholly different and undeniably, unmistakably familial. No second guessing, no great looming “But”s, no heart-fluttering or face-warming at the prospect of being observed like an excited schoolboy with a crush. And that should’ve been a relief, but instead was the most awful outcome he could’ve anticipated. He’d been so sure, he’d been so sure of his feelings!
But. A crush.
On Riddle.
The air left Trey’s chest in one long, drawn-out curse, and his body fell onto the bed, arms splayed wide.
Okay. Fine. Fine! He’d already come this far, and Riddle always insisted he never do anything by halves—the fact that the thought of Riddle scolding him was what spurred him on almost made Trey burst out into manic, self-deprecating laughter. Because what would that mean, then, if his feelings for Riddle were romantic? Did he have a thing for guys in general, or was it just Riddle? Where did this start and end? And then the others—Trey’s heart leapt again, in fear this time. What would other people think if they knew? What would it do to the tightrope he’d been so meticulously walking to keep appearances up?
Not much, probably. I’ve already been teased for it as is. The thought wasn’t as comforting as he’d wanted it to be. There was teasing now, lighthearted and joking, but that could change if people found out, if the subject became real. He’d definitely be seen as weird by some. Or weirder, he supposed, after what Malleus dragged out into the open and plastered on full display.
And if those feelings weren’t mutual—if Riddle was among those people who found him to be weird?
Nuh-uh, enough was enough. He’d rode the train of thought as far as he was willing to go, and was officially abandoning the track. His feelings for Riddle were familial, end of story, because them being romantic ran too much of a risk, and would cause too much damage when Riddle inevitably found a partner of his own. The idea lodged a spike of pain directly between his ribs, a sign he was already in too deep, but it didn’t matter. Even in a best-case scenario where Riddle also happened to have a thing for men and it might’ve, possibly, maybe been mutual, there were smarter options for him. He needed someone with the skill to fly alongside him, all the way up to the stars, and Trey simply didn’t match up. Things were safer this way. Better.
Trey sighed heavily, finalizing the childish mental tear he’d just gone on. “Right then, that’s enough of that,” he declared aloud, and used it as motivation to reach for his glasses again and sit up. “That dough you left isn’t going to knead itself. As neat as that might be.” A quick check in the mirror found that he had indeed smudged his club suite. He took a moment to fix it back up, then ventured out into the kitchen.
Or, rather, he tried to, and instead almost slammed directly into Riddle the moment he opened his door. Both of them flinched back in unison with twin yelps to avoid a collision.
“Ah!”
“Woah!”
“Goodness, I’m—”
“Sorry, are you—”
Realizing they were stumbling over each other, Riddle shook his head and waved his hand, already raised in the air from where he was likely preparing to knock before being so rudely interrupted. “It’s fine. No harm done,” he said quickly, and set about adjusting his ribbon like he was trying to appear professional. Except his cheeks were pink. “I have something I wish to discuss with you in private. Is right now a bad time?”
Trey placed his palm against his chest, trying to calm his heart from the startle. Except it wasn’t slowing, not even a little, hitting hard against his hand, and he was suddenly seized by the all-consuming urge to dive head first out the window. “Now’s fine. Come in,” he said instead, hoping Riddle would overlook the strain in his voice. Smiling just a little too wide to feel natural, he stepped aside and held his door open to let Riddle in.
He was such a liar. The timing was bad. It was so bad. He had just finished cramming those troublesome thoughts back into the box he’d let them out from, and now here Riddle was strolling into his room like any other day, like he wasn’t one wrong moment away from doing something he’d regret. It wasn’t as though he could’ve avoided him forever, but a couple hours of solitude would’ve set things back in place! Instead, Trey had to stand there and look at Riddle’s big silver eyes, full of ambition and knowledge well beyond his years, and the crease in his eyebrows that kept deepening and smoothing out, and the way his mouth twisted and the smallest smidge of his lower lip disappeared like he was just barely holding himself back from chewing on it, a common habit Trey had noticed when Riddle was thinking hard—
Oh, entertaining those thoughts had been a HORRIBLE mistake.
At least Riddle’s pause gave Trey enough time to scramble back into his role as vice housewarden rather than the emotionally confused teenager he’d just been for the past few hours, kicking that whole mess under the bed to deal with later, probably with a bowl of whipped cream in hand. Whatever Riddle had wanted to discuss must’ve been exceedingly important if he needed silence first. Worry began to gnaw away at him for a completely different reason, and so he made sure to give his absolute focus when Riddle finally inhaled to speak, looking him directly in the eye.
“Trey Clover, I like you.”
…Okay, that had to be his mind taunting him. There was absolutely zero chance that Riddle had shown up to his room to say that mere minutes after—
“I wanted to make my feelings for you known, as part of our promise to speak our minds more freely to each other. I’ve felt this way for some time now, but only recently did I really…understand what this was, and as such you deserved to know.”
Oh, no, okay, this was really happening then, huh, because no way Riddle would joke about that and. And.
Oh.
Trey stood, and Trey stared. Only by the grace of the Seven had his jaw not hit the floor. Over and over Riddle’s words looped in his head like a blissfully broken record, struggling and failing to process what the hell just happened. Part of him wanted to check to see if the walls were twisting around him, or if he could accurately read the time on his alarm clock, but his gaze wouldn’t budge.
With every second that passed without a response, Riddle grew more and more visibly uneasy, the confidence beginning to withdraw on itself. The rosy blush across his cheeks somehow both intensified and yet began to fade, colour threatening to drain from the rest of his face as if he went and made an utterly disastrous error in judgement. “I…hope that was suitable. The books I studied gave conflicting information on how to approach this—but never mind that. I realize this is a lot, so all I ask is you give this proper consideration before you answer.” He paused, and briefly his eyes slid elsewhere, lips drawn straight to fight back a frown, before returning, resolve strengthened anew. “If the answer is no, I will accept it and would like to remain fri—”
Riddle’s expression, resigned and firm, as if the result was already a foregone conclusion, caused something in Trey to break and reverberate through his bones. He didn’t even let Riddle finish the sentence before arms were around him, his body acting on its own, though he likely would’ve made the same choice even if he hadn’t been knocked for several mental loops. A heartbeat thudded wildly through his torso, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if it was his own or Riddle’s. Probably both, twining together in anxiety and excitement and fear and euphoria.
It was Riddle’s turn to freeze, stock still in Trey’s hold, even as Trey shifted an arm higher to grip at his shoulder and cradle him closer. The box he’d hid his feelings in laid shattered at their feet, its contents filling him head to toe with a fluttery yet wholly pleasant warmth, an entire field’s worth of butterflies set free. Doubt tried to creep in, warning that maybe he was only pretending to reciprocate just to make sure Riddle wasn't sad. The butterflies proceeded to swarm it until it was thoroughly silenced.
Flying so high was dangerous, but right then he didn’t care. It felt like if he reached up, he’d touch the edge of a star, and Riddle would be right there with him. So he put the sentiment to voice: “I am such a fool.”
That seemed to be the magic phrase to thaw Riddle from his shock, hands gripping Trey’s arms as if he wasn’t sure whether to remove himself or hug back. “Wh—”
“It’s nothing, just…” Laughing, he tightened his hold ever so slightly. “Wow. I’m so, so dumb.”
“Trey, I can’t say that’s a reaction anyone would want to hear after a confession, regardless of the answer!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Slowly one hand lifted away from Riddle, moving up to the back of his other one still clutched tight to Riddle’s shoulder. His fingers felt along his own skin for a suitable spot. “It’s just a lot, and I, uh… Yeah.” Trey pinched his hand hard, smack dab in the middle. Pain blossomed and spread like watercolour on paper. But the scene didn’t shift, or break, or anything of the sort. He really was awake. “Yeah, I. I like you too. If it…wasn’t obvious from this.”
Even through all the layers of his uniform, he swore he could feel Riddle smile against him. It certainly rang clear in his voice, accompanied by the slightest of tremors. “...Really?” Then he started laughing too, giddy and disbelieving, and Trey just had to pull back enough to see his face. The sheer joy almost blinded him in its radiance.
How could he have deluded himself for so long? How could he ever believe he would’ve been fine letting Riddle go off with someone else? It was all so simple now, so stupid looking back, fifteen seconds shattering almost two years of confusion and repression.
Riddle didn’t move to hug him back, nor pull away, instead continuing to cling on Trey’s arms as if they provided some kind of anchor. When he did lift his head as his giggle fit died away, their faces were so very close together. Neither one seemed especially inclined to separate. “Does this make us romantic partners?”
Romantic partners with Riddle. Trey had to breathe deep so he didn’t pass out on the spot from how lightheaded the idea made him. “I mean. If you want us to be. Not sure if I’ll be the greatest you can find, but I’ll do my best.”
“If I didn’t want to be with you, specifically, I wouldn’t have made the choice to confess. I’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“Then yeah, uh. I guess we are.”
“Very well, ” Riddle’s grin morphed and twisted, as if he were trying and failing to hold back some kind of secret within his unrelenting joy. Before Trey could fully realize what was about to happen, Riddle dropped the word and finished his sentence, ”Boyfriend.”
That was too much. Trey had to let go and take a step back or two or three until his knees hit the bed and he dropped onto it, hands in the air. He was going to pop like a balloon. Shower the room in club-shaped confetti. Cater would probably insist on getting a picture before Riddle cleaned it all up and scolded the open air about causing a mess. “Can you give me a sec?” The hands pushed his glasses into his hair. It was the only thing he could do to stop from going mad as a March hare. He'd barely let himself entertain the possibility of liking another man, let alone Riddle, before bailing like a coward and now… Boyfriend! “This is a lot,” he repeated.
Thankfully, Riddle figured out that his reaction wasn’t a bad one much faster this time. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be teasing you so soon.” He did not appear sorry in the slightest. If anything, it seemed to delight him, still grinning away like the cat that got the cream. “This is a lot for me as well.”
“You sure seem to be handling it better than I am.” He set his glasses back into place, deciding that he was too far gone to salvage his self-image, especially if Riddle planned to keep dropping words like that so suddenly, and why wouldn’t he? Between the two of them, Riddle was always the one more likely to take the initiative.
“Do I? And here I was fearing that I might be making a right fool of myself.” Oh, the way he tilted his head right then was illegal.
“If this is you making a fool of yourself, I’d hate to know what I look like.”
Riddle chuckled, softer than before, and Trey’s heart sang with it. He patted the spot on the bed beside him, and Riddle joined him. They weren’t touching, more than a hand’s width of space between them, but even that proximity felt different, charged, like they were doing something scandalous. Now that the initial high was beginning to wear down, Trey realized his hands were shaking. He'd never dated before. Never even seriously considered it on his radar. Not until Riddle. He could say that about a lot of new experiences in the past couple years, he realized belatedly. “Um, so…” He tried to find a sentence to break up the tension, failed, and tried again. “What now?”
“I’m…not entirely certain. The books didn’t provide much in the way of what comes in the immediate after.” Riddle’s lip finally disappeared into his mouth, teeth worrying away at it as he thought. “A few of them suggested a kiss—”
Trey’s eyes darted to that lower lip, and he actually felt faint for a moment.
“—but I believe it would be best if we took this slowly. It’s my first time engaging with romance.”
He had to wrench his eyes up to Riddle’s again before speaking, lest he blurt something irrevocably stupid. “Mine too. And I’ve got some stuff I need to think about. Nothing bad! Just…related to earlier.”
“To your supposed foolishness.”
“Yeah, that,” Trey laughed again, and it wasn’t manic like he’d anticipated. Just comfortable and easy. “So I’m totally fine if we take it slow.”
Riddle nodded, his smile turning shy as he dropped his gaze. “Though…” his hand crept along the bed until his pinky finger touched Trey’s, peering back up through his lashes. “Is this much alright?”
Slowly, ever so slowly, Trey hooked their fingers together in a silent answer, then watched as Riddle’s hand gradually progressed to completely cover his. Or it tried to; it was so much smaller. With a tiny huff of a laugh, Trey shifted their hands until their fingers sat completely intertwined, palms against the bedspread. It felt so right. The potential jeers of his peers were a million miles away, and for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to care what anyone might’ve thought about them.
As they basked in the quiet, in the presence of this new, wonderful thing between them, Trey wondered if he should send some pastries to Diasomnia as thanks.