Chapter Text
Riddle knew the moment he sent that message to the third years’ group chat that Floyd would show up. Whether it was through the door or the window was anyone’s guess.
As if summoned by thought alone, Floyd climbed in through the window with the ease of someone who’d clearly done this before.
“I’m gonna kill your mom,” was the first thing out of his mouth.
Riddle blinked. He had to stop himself from laughing at the sheer absurdity.
“You’d have to get in line. Trey’s already claimed the first spot,” Riddle said dryly, watching as Floyd strolled over to the bed like he owned it.
Floyd didn’t grin like usual. He climbed onto the bed with an ease that belied the tension in his eyes. “How you feelin’, Goldfishy?” he asked softly, reaching up to cup the side of Riddle’s face.
Riddle sighed and leaned into his touch.
“Tired. Disappointed. Angry,” he murmured, voice quiet. His fingers gripped the fabric of Floyd’s shirt, and without really thinking, he pressed his face into Floyd’s chest, seeking comfort in the warmth and weight of him.
Floyd didn’t say anything at first. He just shifted to hold him better, one hand petting slowly through Riddle’s hair, the other resting between his shoulder blades.
“Mm. That’s a lot of heavy stuff for such a tiny lil’ fish,” he said eventually, his tone light but careful.
Riddle huffed a weak laugh into his shirt.
“She said some awful things,” Riddle admitted, voice muffled. “She threatened to disown me. Said I was—” He cut himself off before the words could make it out.
Floyd’s fingers twitched against his back.
“I told you I was gonna kill her,” he muttered, resting his chin on top of Riddle’s head. “Just... y’know. A lil’ murder. It never hurt no one.”
That made Riddle laugh properly this time—short, sharp, and a little watery.
Floyd smiled, finally. “There’s my Goldfishy.”
They lay in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company, until Riddle broke it.
“I’m going to start studying law fully,” Riddle said absently, eyes unfocused as his fingers curled into Floyd’s sleeve.
Floyd hummed, unbothered. “You gonna collar me and toss me behind bars?” he teased, pinching Riddle’s cheek with a grin.
“You’d look good with a collar around your neck,” Riddle shot back, half joking, the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile.
Floyd snorted, then leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Any other big plans, Counselor?”
Riddle paused.
Really paused.
Because for the first time in his life the question wasn’t about expectations or duty or what came next—it was just… open.
Just his.
And that was terrifying.
He laid there for a long while, eyes distant, chewing on the thought. Then, finally, quietly, “I want to change.”
His fingers tightened in the fabric of Floyd’s shirt.
Floyd blinked, expression softening. “Change how?”
“I don’t know,” Riddle admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares me. I want it—I really want it—but I’m scared I won’t like who I become. I’m scared other people won’t like me either. That I’ll change and… and everyone will hate me.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Floyd tilted his head, casual as ever. “Why’s that matter?”
Before Riddle could respond, Floyd leaned in and cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing against the heat blooming under Riddle’s skin. His voice dropped, low and steady.
“You’re allowed to change, Goldfishy. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? You broke outta that tiny glass tank your mom shoved you in. You did all that already—told her off, stood your ground. You got free.”
He pressed their foreheads together.
“So what’s the point of freedom if you’re still scared to swim?”
Riddle’s breath hitched. Floyd’s hands were warm. Grounding.
“You’re allowed to live,” Floyd said softly. “Wear weird clothes, try dumb hobbies, fail hard and laugh harder. You’re allowed to be someone new every week just because you feel like it.”
“And yeah, maybe you’ll mess up along the way. Who doesn’t?” Floyd shrugged with a crooked smile. “We’re young. This is prime mistake season, baby.”
He grinned, sharp and sincere. “So let’s make some. Let’s go out and get stupid drunk, or let’s stay in and dance until our legs give out. Just the two of us. I wanna meet the version of you who isn’t scared of living. And I know I’m gonna love him too.”
Riddle didn’t respond with words.
He didn’t need to.
Because in the next heartbeat, he pushed Floyd down onto the mattress and climbed into his lap, and kissed him like he was trying to carve their names into the stars.
He kissed him once—hard.
Twice—desperate.
A third time—slow and full of everything he couldn’t say aloud.
Floyd understood. He always did. His arms wrapped tight around Riddle’s waist as he kissed him back, deeper this time, pulling him close like he never planned to let go.
And when Floyd laughed into the kiss—breathy, delighted, all teeth and affection—Riddle wanted to bottle that sound and hide it in the corners of his soul.
He wanted to remember this.
Every laugh.
Every heartbeat.
Every stupid, beautiful moment with this chaotic, brilliant boy beneath him.
And he never wanted to let go.
“I’m already regretting this,” Riddle sighed as Cater practically dragged him along by the wrist.
“Ah, but this is going to be such an enlightening experience for you, little Rose!” Lilia chimed, floating beside them with a grin far too mischievous for Riddle’s comfort.
They were going clothes shopping.
It had all started innocently enough—Riddle had been thinking a lot about what Floyd had said. About change. About freedom. About trying new things and figuring out who he wanted to be now that he was finally allowed to make his own choices.
So, he’d mentioned—casually—that he might be interested in picking up some new clothes. Something less uniform-adjacent. Maybe even something… expressive.
Cater’s reaction had been instantaneous and terrifying.
“Say no more, bestie. We’re going shopping.”
And somehow, Lilia had gotten involved.
Now here he was, being marched through a busy shopping district with one fashion-obsessed fourth-year and one ageless bat-dad who thought leather straps were casual wear.
He wasn’t sure if he was making a brave decision or a terrible mistake.
Possibly both.
“Do you have any ideas on what aesthetic you’re going for?” Cater asked, sifting through a rack of shirts with practiced flair.
“I—I think it was called… Harajuku punk?” Riddle answered, voice small but determined.
Cater froze mid-rack-pull and whipped his head around to stare at him. “You’re into punk fashion?” he repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. “Our prim and proper Riddle is into punk fashion?!”
Riddle felt his face heat up immediately. “Ethereal dreamcore works too…” he mumbled, as if softening the blow.
Cater’s expression softened instantly. “You really looked into this beforehand, huh?”
Riddle gave a stiff little nod, unsure of what to do with his hands.
“Don’t worry, little Rose,” Lilia said brightly as he reappeared from a different aisle, arms filled with hangers. “By the time we exit these doors, you’ll have a wardrobe full of your dream looks!”
Riddle looked between them—Cater, practically vibrating with excitement, and Lilia, somehow holding four plaid skirts and a ruffled crop top—and tried to calm the anxious flutter in his chest.
This was terrifying.
And kind of… exciting.
Riddle felt dizzy just looking at the mountain of clothes Cater and Lilia had shoved into his arms.
“We’re having a fashion show!” Cater declared gleefully, practically shoving him into a dressing room. “Now go! I picked this first outfit specifically for your inner fairy prince!”
Riddle groaned but obeyed, albeit with great reluctance. It took him forever to figure out where each layer was supposed to go—and more than once, he muttered curses under his breath as he fumbled with delicate clasps and confusing straps.
Eventually, he stepped out, adjusting the sheer top with careful fingers.
The outfit was… elaborate, to say the least. A soft, draped cape-like blouse in pale pastels floated around him, paired with flowing light-blue pants trimmed with lace at the cuffs. A silver-toned belt, glittering with charms and tiny blue ribbons, cinched his waist.
Cater audibly gasped.
“Awwww!! You look like you walked straight out of a dream!” he squealed, immediately snapping a photo. “Hashtag totes adorbs, hashtag look at this cutie~!”
Lilia cackled with delight. “Oh! Send me that one—I want to frame it!”
Riddle flushed a deep scarlet. “You better not post that,” he said with a full-blown pout.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Cater reassured him, waving a hand. “I triple-checked—this one’s only going on my super private account. Pinky promise.”
Riddle gave him a dubious glare but turned back toward the changing room.
“Now go try on something punkie!” Cater called after him.
“That’s not even a word,” Riddle huffed as the curtain swished shut behind him.
After much deliberation—and a few near wardrobe malfunctions—Riddle finally settled on an outfit and stepped out of the dressing room once more.
This one was bold. Dramatic. A long coat jacket in dark red and black patterns swept around his thighs like smoke, layered over a crimson lace top and a sleek black corset that hugged his waist. The look was completed by textured black shorts over fishnet stockings, tall dark boots decked out with buckles, studs, and chains, and a dark choker around his neck with a red heart gem that gleamed under the lights.
The room went still for a second.
Then—
“Ooh, little Rose, you surprisingly pull off the punk aesthetic well!” Lilia exclaimed, clasping his hands with glee. “We could match! Just dye your hair black and we’ll be twins!”
“Ack!” Cater squealed. “You do look super punky! But like, in a cute way!” He immediately snapped another photo. “Hashtag rebel, hashtag beware—there’s a new punk in town!”
Riddle sighed, half exasperated, half resigned to Cater’s dramatics. But as Lilia continued chatting about matching accessories and safety pins, Riddle’s thoughts drifted to the idea of black hair.
He… wasn’t opposed to it. Black would look nice. And there were hair styles you could use to hide the dye easily—ones that only showed depending on how you styled it. If he slicked his hair back or pinned it just right, maybe no one would even notice unless he wanted them to.
It was a strange thought. But not a bad one.
Not bad at all.
After their little fashion show, they spent some time shopping for more casual and lounge wear. Nothing too flashy—just soft, comfortable pieces Riddle could see himself actually wearing in his dorm.
And, as Lilia had promised, the whole experience truly had been… enlightening. He felt a little more grounded. A little more himself.
“If you ever need suggestions on how to layer or style an outfit, don’t be afraid to call me, alright, little Rose?” Lilia said warmly, pulling Riddle into a gentle hug.
“I will. Once again… thank you for the help.” Riddle returned the hug, his voice soft but sincere.
“Ahh, you’re just too cute,” Lilia beamed as he pulled back. “Well, I best be off. Have a lovely day, you two! See you at light music club, Cater!” he added with a cheerful wave.
“See you!” Cater called.
“Goodbye,” Riddle echoed.
They waved until Lilia quite literally vanished from sight.
“Well, today’s been eventful,” Cater said brightly as they started walking back to the dorms, casually levitating the pile of bags with a flick of his wrist.
“It was,” Riddle agreed. Then, after a brief pause, “Do you know anywhere I could go to dye my hair?”
Cater stopped mid-step. “You’re actually taking Lilia’s suggestion?!”
Riddle nodded, a little shy but determined.
“Oh oh oh—this is just great! I totally know this amazing boutique—super reputable, great with sensitive hair, and they do hideable dye jobs as well—”
Riddle just smiled as Cater launched into an excited ramble.
Today had been a good day.
A strange day.
An unexpected day.
But good.