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Riddle surfaced from sleep gradually, awareness returning to him pieces.
The lingering heat beneath the blankets wrapped around him comfortably, the mattress pleasantly warm from sleep. Trough the heavy velvet curtains, the first pale light of dawn slipped into the room, soft and silvery, barely strong enough to touch the edges of the furniture. The air carried that quiet stillness particular to very early mornings, when the dormitory seemed reluctant to wake.
Riddle's body felt heavy, pleasantly anchored by the remnants of sleep. He kept his eyes closed for a long moment, savoring the peace. His alarm wouldn't sound for several more minutes yet. This was his favorite way to wake—gradually, naturally. He usually woke up before his alarm. On the rare nights he stayed up too late reading or lost track of time with Idia, the alarm would jolt him awake. But not today.
There was something peaceful about those few moments before the day truly demanded anything of him, and he usually enjoyed them. Slowly, without opening his eyes, Riddle shifted slightly beneath the covers. His hand brushed absentmindedly across the sheets beside him, seeking the familiar warmth.
Cool sheets met his fingertips.
Riddle opened his eyes. For several moments, he simply blinked at the space beside him as though sleep had somehow distorted his understanding of the room. The blankets were rumpled, the mattress slightly indented, evidence of someone who had been there recently enough that the absence felt fresh.
That was...unusual.
Somewhere in the past several months, he and Idia had slipped into a habit neither of them had ever properly discussed. One sleepover had turned into another, excuses gradually becoming unnecessary. Sometimes it happened after late-night study sessions, sometimes after movies that stretched late into the night, and sometimes because of...other, more intimate activities.
Eventually, staying over had become ordinary. Frequent enough that waking alone now felt strange, because Idia was almost never the one awake first.
At first, Riddle had thought it irritating. Idia slept late whenever circumstances allowed it, sprawled dramatically across the bed as though moving required unacceptable effort. More than once, Riddle had watched him stubbornly burrow deeper beneath blankets after muttering something incoherent about 'night owl rights' in a voice still thick with sleep.
But over time, those mornings with Idia had become something Riddle treasured. He had developed the rather embarrassing habit of remaining in bed longer than necessary. Only by a few minutes, naturally. Ten, at most.
He told himself it was practical: if they were tangled together, sudden movement would wake Idia, who was a light sleeper plagued by frequent nightmares. It would be cruel to disturb someone who so rarely could sleep peacefully.
But the truth was...
Sometimes Idia slept with one arm wrapped securely around Riddle's waist, as if even in sleep he had decided this was where Riddle belonged. Other times their legs would be hopelessly intertwined, blankets twisted around them in a warm cocoon. The sensation of being held still felt startlingly precious to Riddle, even after months of familiarity. So he would lie there, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of Idia's breathing, feeling the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the wamth of Idia's arms wrapped around him.
And sometimes he simply watched. Idia asleep looked entirely different than Idia awake. The tension he carried so constantly disappeared, his face softened in sleep. He looked almost unfairly beautiful like this. Peaceful, stunning, and entirely his. Riddle preferred not to examine exactly how long he had occasionally spent looking.
Riddle frowned and pushed himself upright. The blankets slipped down to his lap as he sat up slowly. His hair had fallen loose and messy around his face, entirely unlike the neat composure he preferred, and he rubbed absently at his eyes with visible annoyance.
Where had Idia even—
A sound interrupted the thought. A soft rustle of fabric, followed by the quiet click of something being adjusted.
Riddle looked up. Idia stood near his desk. For a brief moment, Riddle simply stared in surprise. Idia was fully dressed, and not in his usual oversized hoodie or the comfortable sleepwear. He was wearing the gray Styx uniform, all clean sharp llines and muted color. The severe cut of the outfit made him look older somehow, composed, more like the acting director he was occasionally forced to become. Idia was carefully adjusting one of his black gloves now, tugging it smooth with a frown.
"Idia?" Riddle called softly, voice still husky with sleep.
Idia turned quickly, eyes widening a fraction before an awkward half-smile appeared. "Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you up?"
Riddle blinked at him, still trying to fully orient himself.
"You're awake," he said slowly, as though confirming it aloud might somehow make the situation less bizarre.
Idia let out a quiet snort. "Yeah. Huge plot twist, I know."
Normally, Riddle might have rolled his eyes at the comment. Instead, unease settled in his chest. Something felt...off. Idia looked tired. Sure, he often looked mildly exhausted after staying awake until absurd hours gaming or working. But this was different. He looked tense and restless. And why, exactly, was he dressed for Styx at this hour?
Riddle shifted upright more fully against the pillows, sleep beginning to loosen its hold on him.
"You have work?" he asked, confusion slipping into his voice. "So early?"
Idia let out a long, weary sigh. He glanced toward the window where the dawn light was slowly growing stronger, painting the curtains in faint gold.
"Yeah... unfortunately our weekend plans are cancelled." His voice was low, laced with that familiar mix of resignation and bitterness. "It's just like my parents, right? Who cares if I have something else to do. Styx always comes first." He gave a small, humorless huff. "Well, but it's not like anyone else can do a better job with Cerberus maintenance, so... yeah. I'll be back on Monday. Sorry."
He spoke casually, almost carelessly, with the sort of tired acceptance someone developed after being disappointed enough times that protesting no longer seemed worth the effort.
Riddle stayed quiet for several moments. Outside, the world was beginning to wake. Somewhere in the distance came the faint sound of birdsong, hesitant and scattered. The warmth of the bed still lingered around him, blankets gathered loosely at his waist. Normally, they would still be enjoying that warmth together. For a moment, the contrast between their usual peaceful mornings and the image of Idia standing there in uniform felt... painful.
It was easy to forget, sometimes. On most days, Idia fit so neatly into the rhythm of school life—or perhaps more accurately, into his habit of resisting it—that it became simple to think of him as everyone else did. Another student, a housewarden, annoyingly difficult. Occasionally irresponsible. Brilliant, but frustratingly dismissive.
But moments like this reminded Riddle that Idia was different from the rest of them. Out of everyone at Night Raven College, he was one of the very few who had a real job. And perhaps the only one whose responsibilities came with consequences so heavy they could shape entire world.
There was supposed to be a housewarden meeting later that afternoon. Ordinarily, Riddle might have reminded Idia about it immediately.
You'll miss the meeting.
The imagined sentence felt absurd before he could even fully think it. He almost wanted to laugh at himself. Compared to Idia's role at Styx—acting director, shouldering the expectations of an entire hidden organization—school felt like children playing pretend. A housewarden meeting seemed laughably insignificant. Discussions about school events, budgeting complaints, petty arguments that occasionally dragged on for far too long because nobody could agree on simple matters.
The more Riddle thought about it, the more embarrassed he felt. There had been a time, not even that long ago, when he had scolded Idia relentlessly for skipping those meetings, for attending remotely, for acting like they did not matter. At the time, Riddle had genuinely believed he was right. Well, he still thought that if everyone simply decided which obligations were worth respecting, everything would collapse into disorder. But now, sitting here while Idia stood dressed for work before sunrise, the memory made him feel embarrassed.
He knew he had misjudged Idia. When it came to Styx, Idia never failed to show up. Even though he clearly hated it, even though it exhausted him, even though the mere mention of his family left him visibly miserable. Riddle had seen enough of it by now to understand that Idia's carelessness only existed in certain places. At school, perhaps, with things he viewed as unnecessary, with responsibilities that could be postponed, delegated, or completed another way.
And lately... Idia had been trying harder there, too.
Riddle noticed these things. He attended housewarden meetings in person far more often now. Admittedly, if discussions became too loud or dragged too long, he still muttered complaints under his breath about how he totally could've done this remotely.
At the time, Riddle had rolled his eyes. But honestly, he probably could have, unlike his position at Styx. That role could not be delegated because he felt overwhelmed, could not be ignored simply because he did not want to go.
Riddle looked at him again, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way he stood there already looking tired before the day had even properly begun. And suddenly, painfully, Riddle found himself grieving their weekend plans.
It wasn't anything extravagant. A picnic, feeding the ducks near the pond they had discovered together after accidentally wandering too far into the forest one afternoon. Then video games in Idia's room. Probably an argument over whose turn it was to choose a movie then falling asleep halfway through anyway.
Small things, simple things. But Riddle had been looking forward to them far more than he cared to admit. Because hidden inside those ordinary moments were countless opportunities to see Idia relaxed, happy. To hear him laugh unexpectedly at something stupid. To watch him ramble excitedly about games without catching himself halfway through in embarrassment. To see that sweet, soft expression he got whenever he forgot to be self-conscious.
To watch him smile.
Now, instead, Idia would spend the entire weekend at Styx. Working, gloomy and isolated, surrounded by sterile labs and responsibilities he clearly never asked for. Knowing him, he probably wouldn't even remember to eat properly. Riddle could picture it all too clearly: hours blurring together as Idia buried himself in maintenance logs, glowing screens, and endless reports. He would tell himself he'd eat later. Then 'later' would slip into evening, then midnight. If he ate at all, it would likely be energy drinks, packaged snacks, or instant noodles.
The image alone made Riddle frown. Then, suddenly, an idea sparked. Riddle sat up straighter, the last remnants of sleep scattering. "Just give me fifteen minutes!" he said, the words tumbling out with urgency.
"Huh?" Idia blinked, eyes widening in confusion as he paused with one gloved hand on his bag strap. "Fifteen minutes for what?"
But Riddle was already moving, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and slipping his feet into his house slippers. He didn't bother with his robe, didn't pause to smooth the covers or check the time. For once, his meticulously structured morning routine simply didn't matter. Not even Queen of Hearts' Rule #447—You must brush your teeth no more than twenty minutes after waking—crossed his mind as he hurried out of the room and down the hallway toward the Heartslabyul kitchens.
There, on a lower shelf where he had placed it two days ago in anticipation, sat the lunch boxes he had purchased specifically for their picnic. They were simple but charming—pale cream with a repeating pattern of tiny black-and-white cats wearing little bows. He pulled them out and set to work.
He wasn't the best at this yet, but the culinary elective course he had enrolled in last term had given him a foundation. His hands moved with careful focus as he assembled sandwiches: soft bread, sliced turkey and cheese for mild flavor, crisp lettuce for texture. He avoided anything too strange or slimy, nothing mushy, nothing with what Idia had once described as suspicious mouthfeel. He added a small handful of nuts and some homemade crackers from the pantry for extra crunch.
Into the second container went slices of fresh fruit—apples and pears cut into neat wedges, grapes and a handful of strawberries—and generous portions of the strawberry cake left over from last week's Unbirthday Party. The frosting was still vibrant pink, dotted with sugar roses.
Riddle paused, staring down at both containers for a long moment. His chest ached again at the image of Idia alone on the Island of Woe.
Right. Something to make him smile.
He took a small knife and began cutting thin slices of cucumber and carrot. He arranged them carefully on top of the sandwiches: a lopsided but unmistakable cat shape, complete with tiny ear triangles and dot eyes. Beside it, a simple flower with overlapping petal shapes. The result was far from perfect, the lines uneven, the cat's head a little squashed. But it was made with care.
His fingers hesitated briefly as he adjusted the placement. It looked...childish. Prhaps slightly embarrassing.But then he pictured Idia somewhere deep within Styx, opening the lunchbox and discovering the little cat. Imagining the surprise on his face, the happy grin that might follow...the ache in Riddle's chest softened, if only a little.
He hoped it would make Idia's weekend feel a little less lonely.
He closed the lids with gentle snaps and carefully packed everything into an insulated bag decorated with a cheerful strawberry pattern, before hurrying back toward his room.
When he slipped back inside, Idia was leaning against the desk, idly playing some game on his phone to pass the time. Riddle approached and held out the bag with both hands.
"I prepared a lunchbox for you,"
Idia turned fully toward him. His eyes widened, locking onto the bag with genuine surprise. For a long moment, he simply stared, as if processing the sight. "For... for me?" he repeated weakly. He put the phone away and reached out with careful hesitation, taking the bag as though it were some delicate, priceless treasure that might crumble under too firm a grip.
"It's nothing extravagant," Riddle continued. "Just sandwiches and snacks. I made plenty, enough for two meals, at least. I hope you don't forget to eat while you're there."
Idia's lips trembled faintly.. He blinked several times. "Is... is this for real?" he said. "I thought stuff like this only happened in unrealistic romance anime."His gaze dropped briefly to the bag again before lifting back toward Riddle with disbelief. "Seriously, aren't you too much?"
Riddle blinked.
"What?"
"How am I supposed to keep up with this?" Idia asked, sounding genuinely distressed. "I'm definitely losing in the best boyfriend competition!You're way too much of an overachiever!"
Riddle frowned, his face turning warm, defensive instinct kicking in before he could stop it.
"If you dislike it," he said stiffly, "you don't have to take it."
Idia gasped theatrically, clutching the bag tighter to his chest in a protective hug, arms wrapping around it as if someone might try to steal it away. "N-no way! This is like the rarest treasure drop!" His voice cracked with emotion, but then the grin broke through—wide, genuine, and bright enough to chase the lingering shadows from his expression. The flames of his hair flared up with warmer, livelier tones, dancing softly around his face. "Heehee... I really pulled the best boyfriend ever."
Seeing him like this—actually happy, the earlier slump in his uniformed shoulders easing—made Riddle's heart melt in a slow, aching wave.
He stepped closer, drawn in by that smile, until only a small space remained between them. "Goodbye kiss?" Riddle asked, cheeks warming with a faint flush.
Idia's face flushed a vivid pink. He hesitated for half a breath, then set the bag carefully on the desk and leaned down. Their lips met in a soft, unhurried press,warm and lingering. Riddle could feel the curve of Idia's smile against his own mouth, the quiet joy radiating through the contact. A gloved hand slipped around his waist, pulling him closer with obvious affection, the sturdy fabric of the Styx uniform brushing against Riddle's thin sleep shirt.
When they finally parted, Riddle let out a small, contented sigh, resting his forehead briefly against Idia's collarbone. In that moment, everything he had been holding back overflowed. The thought of Idia leaving— not just for the weekend but next year for his internship— the thought of the empty bed and the quiet months stretching ahead, made the longing hit him all at once.
He pressed closer, then closer still, arms wrapping tightly around Idia's waist as he melted into the embrace. His fingers curled into the back of the gray uniform. Idia was usually the clingier one when they were alone, seeking contact like a touch-starved cat. But right now, Riddle needed this, needed him, so badly it ached.
Idia seemed to understand without words. His other arm came up to wrap fully around Riddle's shoulders, pulling him in even tighter. The embrace was enveloping, warm, and full of tenderness. Riddle closed his eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of Idia's heartbeat, gradually allowing himself to relax.
"It...should be okay," Riddle said. "Even if we're apart for a while..." he trailed off.
Idia's hold tightened in response; he sighed and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Riddle's head. For a long, precious moment, neither of them moved, simply holding each other in the quiet morning light.
Even if we're apart... we're still each other's home.