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twstbookclub · 6 days

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Sharp Teeth, Tough Love

Summary: You caught Floyd's interest the moment fire and chaos erupted in the Mirror Chamber. One chance meeting gave you the nickname Shrimpy, and another left Floyd sinking deeper into the depths. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Floyd Being Floyd, Slow Burn, Minor ADeuce and Grim Shenanigans again, Unrequited Feelings, Floyd's POV (I hope yall remember whose nickname belongs to who) Word Count: 3, 044 If yall needed to know, I wrote this on the same day I wrote the Riddle fic. My brain is spent on these two, and I couldn't be any happier. I wish I could end this another way, though. Poor terrifying and violent Floyd. One thing to note, it's really fascinating how he only calls someone by name if he really respected them. Also, if yall catch that reference to one of Floyd's lesson chats, I will love you forever. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy again 💕

Floyd could never forget the first time he saw you.

Your face was twisted into a flabbergasted frown, mingled with distress, confusion, and exasperation. The cat monster—he’ll call it Baby Seal since its tiny height and gray fur reminded him of one—ran amok and spewed fire everywhere. Kalim’s screams rang in the air, followed by Crowley’s indignant shouts. He watched the chaos unfold with intrigued eyes and a widening grin, revealing sharp teeth and a thirst for more wreckage.

Amidst the smoke that billowed and swirled in the Mirror Chamber, you stood in the middle of it. The harsh glow of the fire pierced Floyd’s eyes, but all he saw was your silhouette surrounded by dying embers and crackling flames. Just as his gaze landed on you, your head swiveled around to look back at him. As if some invisible force compelled you to find the eyes that burned into your figure.

He wanted to see you again.

The next time he saw you, you were with Baby Seal and those two freshmen in Heartslabyul: Crabby and Little Mackerel. Even Goldfish and Sea Bream were with you. The six of you lurked in the courtyard, as if trying to spy on something. Whatever you were doing, it caught his attention.

“Careful, Floyd,” Jade simpered after he followed his brother’s line of sight, “don’t scare the fish away.”

Of course, Jade already knew what Floyd was thinking with one look. There was a reason why they chose each other and survived the coldest, harshest waters.

“Yeah, yeah.” Floyd flippantly waved away Jade’s words with a languid grin, before he snuck on the group. It was laughable, how they didn’t notice his tall and gangly figure slink in front of them. The six students spoke in hushed whispers, too engrossed in their conversation to see the shadow that loomed over them. His eyes roamed each freshman, checking the fresh meat, but they lingered on you.

You looked so small, and he had to tilt his head down to see your eyes. Back then, during the entrance ceremony, you hunched over as if to curl into yourself. Small and weak and afraid.

Floyd’s lips stretched from one ear to the other. He’ll call you Shrimpy.

“Oh ho ho! What is up, Lil’ Goldfish?”

Goldfish jumped, sputtering and floundering like a fish caught by its prey. The rest showed varying degrees of surprise. Sea Bream’s smile became strained, and Floyd could see the junior sweat a little. Crabby flinched, while Little Mackerel took a step back with wide eyes. His fists were raised to his chest, and Floyd’s eyes narrowed at that.

Huh, one of them was ready for a fight. Interesting.

His attention shifted to you, wide eyes fluttering in disbelief. You craned your neck to look up at him with parted lips. As Floyd engaged Goldfish in a conversation more like interrogation, he felt like he was floating. It’s as if he could run around the track field without breaking a sweat from the look you gave him.

He wanted to see more of that. He wanted to see you more.

Your gaze drifted to Jade, and you froze. Floyd brushed it off as fear. That was how people usually reacted to them, anyway. It was nothing new. He focused on the conversation with Goldfish without sparing your reaction another thought.

One sunny day, a few days after that chance meeting, Floyd saw you in the courtyard again. You were with Baby Seal—he always was—along with Crabby and Little Mackerel. The latter two stood in front of you, who sat on the edge of the fountain. Baby Seal was standing next to you with this annoyed look. Meanwhile, the Leech brother was lounging on the grass. Alchemy class bored him, so he decided to skip and bathe in the sunlight on the courtyard.

None of them seemed to notice him. Floyd watched, still bored out of his mind. He was debating on whether to spook the group or otherwise, when he heard you laugh.

You tilted your head back, letting the sun illuminate the smile on your face. It was a toothy grin, one that crinkled your eyes and emphasized the chub of your cheeks. He barely saw the color of your irises, and your unrestrained laugh echoed in the desolate courtyard. You even snorted.

You tilted your head back so much that you tipped over and fell into the fountain with a loud splash. Floyd snickered, ignoring the warmth in his chest and the flutter of his heart. Howling laughter followed your fall. Crabby clutched his stomach and doubled over. Little Mackerel held back a smile as he flailed, unsure of how to help you, in front of the fountain. Baby Seal was laughing his ass off, belly flopping on the edge of the fountain.

He decided to stand from his spot and help you, since the entire thing entertained him. Although, when he stood tall and took a step towards the fountain, he paused. You were drenched in water, from the top of your head to the tip of your leather shoes. Locks of hair stuck to your forehead and cheeks. Your uniform clung to your skin, and it looked uncomfortable. Despite all that, your smile remained.

“You assholes!” You laughed with a loud wheeze, happy and carefree with that toothy and blinding grin. He could clearly hear you laugh and sputter, even with Crabby’s and Baby Seal’s loud snickers and laughter. As he watched Little Mackerel help you—and fail, because you slipped back into the fountain—a thought nagged at his mind.

What should I do to make Shrimpy laugh like that again?

“Hey, Shrimpy!” Floyd chirped, grin too wide and sharp to be considered friendly. Little Mackerel and Crabby stepped back, as the sophomore grabbed your arm and tugged you out of the fountain. Your hand shot out to grip the edge, while you stood from the water.

“Need a lil’ help?”

“Oh merciful Seven—” Floyd pretended not to notice how your vocabulary changed in just a few months— “thanks, but how much did you see?”

The fact that you nonchalantly accepted his help, that you didn’t flinch from him, made Floyd’s heart do somersaults and cartwheels. The corners of his lips stretched towards his ears. He squeezed your arm and watched you step out of the fountain.

Water dripped from your uniform, and Floyd observed the droplets fall from your hair and fingertips. He briefly wondered what you’d look like if he dragged you into the sea. Would you be surprised? Would you scream?

Would you laugh and call him an asshole, like what you did earlier?

“What answer do you wanna hear, Shrimpy?” He teased, still grinning and holding your arm. For some reason, Floyd didn’t want to let go.

“The one that doesn’t embarrass me, thanks.” You chuckled, despite the other three freshmen being silent spectators of this interaction. As you thanked him again and flicked the water off your hands, Floyd couldn’t help but grin wider.

Another month passed. After that admittedly hilarious outburst from Azul, you became a regular at Mostro Lounge. You visited during the weekends, even if you were wary at first. You fell into a routine, just as fast as how you picked up on the lingo in Twisted Wonderland.

You walked in during the weekends and stayed for as long as an hour and thirty minutes. (Yes, Floyd kept count.) You’d talk to either Jade or himself, depending on whoever was waiting tables at the time. Azul passed by at times to make sure you were having a good time, obviously to maintain Mostro Lounge’s good reputation. After a few visits, Floyd began to monopolize your attention by literally taking over server duty during the days you visited.

Even if he had to subtly threaten Azul with profit loss via property destruction and sabotage.

“Hey Shrimpy,” Floyd drawled, sitting across from you in one of the booths. It was a slow day today, and all you ordered was a fruit shake. A history book was opened to some page Floyd didn’t care to know. Notes littered your table, and your penmanship occupied his attention a little.

That was, until he grew bored of the sounds of pen scratching paper and the clinking dishes in Mostro Lounge.

“Hm? Yeah, Floyd?” You asked, flipping a page and jotting down something on your notebook. The tall merman pouted, before he reached over and snapped your book shut. Before you could even react, he snatched it away and lifted it far from you.

“I’m boooored. C’mon, play with me!”

Floyd grinned when you stuttered and glared at him. Your reactions always amused him, moreso whenever you were irritated or angry. Something about the way your brows furrowed and your nose scrunched made him want to tease you more. When you began to flail your arms and make animated gestures, that was when he knew you were really fed up.

“You—” You sighed and stood up, trying to reach for the book. Floyd only lifted it higher, and he didn’t even need to stand up. The corner of his lips twitched, while he watched you struggle and stretch to snatch the book back.

“Floyd, give it back! Please? I promise I’ll—”

There was a reason why he always tried to annoy you. You’d always promise him something in the end: treat him to lunch, hang out with him in the Lounge, watch his basketball matches (even if you were there for Crabby, too). It was the only way he could spend time with you without outright asking for it.

Floyd wasn’t an idiot. He knew he liked you, and it all began with that incident involving the fountain. Even Jade pointed out the many times Floyd’s face lit up every time you were around. He couldn’t ignore how much his heart pitter-pattered every time he saw you. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t grinning every time he caught sight of you. The way his name rolled off your tongue made him giddy enough to want to throw you over his shoulder and skip class with you.

If he had a choice, he’d drag you to the deepest parts of the sea and keep you to himself.

The book was plucked out of his hand, but your own hands were empty. You owlishly blinked, and so did Floyd. Both of you stilled, until another voice broke through the quiet hustle and bustle of the Lounge.

“It’s not nice to play with the food in front of you, Floyd.” Jade smiled, the kind he usually wore that fooled anyone into thinking he was the safer option between the two brothers. It was still funny to Floyd how everyone gravitated towards Jade, only to realize the jagged teeth behind that fake smile of his.

You took your book from Jade with an awkward smile. “Ah, thanks, even if you said something subtly backhanded…”

“It’s my pleasure, Prefect,” Jade answered, his smile never wavering in that moment. Careful hands gripped the book and slipped it off his gloved one.

Without missing a beat, you set the book aside and asked, “How are you then, Jade? You and Floyd are usually together, but I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The book remained shut, as if you weren’t trying to get it back from Floyd to study earlier. The lazy smile he had dropped into a thin line. His eyes drooped as he watched the conversation between you and his brother. On the other hand, Jade still wore that perfected smile of his with a hand over his heart.

“I’ve been doing fine. Thank you for asking.” Jade hummed before adding, “I found this lovely new specimen—another species of fungi—while on a hike recently. You were interested in mountain hiking and foraging, am I correct?”

“Oh, yeah.” You laughed, light like tinkling bells. It was a stark contrast to the boisterous laugh you usually had. Floyd’s chest tightened, and his hands clenched into fists under the table.

Letting your laughter die down, you continued with a smile, “Can I join you next time? If not that, you have terrariums, right? Can I see them some time?”

Your smile was small and practiced. Whenever you smiled, it was always toothy and the corners pushed your cheeks up. Now, it reminded Floyd of a prissy princess who had been sheltered all her life. You smiled like a noble that faced the aristocrats in hopes of a good impression. You smiled like the guests his parents had, trying to curry their favor, while he and Jade grew up.

You solely focused on his brother, as if Floyd wasn’t sitting right in front of you for the last hour. Your book and notes laid forgotten on the table. Condensed droplets began to drip from the glass, and the fruit shake was forgotten as well. Even when the edge of one of your transcripts became wet, you didn’t bother moving it away from the glass.

Floyd wasn’t an idiot. Of course, he wasn’t.

His eyes flitted towards the smile you had, softened with an emotion he didn’t want to see. Your own eyes appeared brighter, livelier than whenever you were with him. Even when you sat down, your body was angled towards Jade as you leaned on the table with crossed arms.

His mood soured in that instant, and the pitter-patter of his heart dulled into silence.

Floyd scowled, standing from the booth and shoving his hands in his pockets. You jumped a little, while Jade watched him with that carefully crafted smile. He didn’t bother explaining himself. Jade knew already, and he didn’t owe you anything. You’d only take this as Floyd sulking because his brother ruined his fun.

“Whatever,” he mumbled and trudged out of the restaurant with an air of annoyance. Everyone who happened to be in his way immediately skirted around the Leech brother. One wasn’t fast enough, and Floyd’s arm knocked the tray out of the poor student’s hands.

His scowl deepened. He loomed over the terrified boy with his jaw clenched and eyes glinting ominously. The aggravated tone rang clear in his voice when he threatened, “Watch it, or do you want me to squeeze ya, huh?”

The Heartslabyul student silently despaired about his lunch. He was too intimidated and afraid of Floyd to even squeak. The merman left Mostro Lounge with a scowl and his fists in his pockets, like a child throwing a tantrum. He didn’t bother looking over to see your reaction.

Floyd was growing irritated at the thought that you’d give all your attention to Jade. He’d rather not see you make goo-goo eyes at his own brother. He didn’t want to think too much of it. Maybe he’d find something to do; something to get rid of this itch in his chest and fists.

If he couldn’t, then Azul would just have to deal with Crowley later. He wasn’t going to sit in that cramped office and get lectured by a headmaster that preened over his and the academy’s reputation.

As Floyd stomped through the portal that led back to Night Raven College, his thoughts veered towards you and Jade. His mind conjured every memory he had of you: how you perked up every time you saw Jade; how you always asked about him, even if you thought you were subtle about it; how you subconsciously gravitated towards Jade every time he was there—

A pair of Pomefiore students skittered towards the wall as Floyd passed by. A shadow loomed over his scowling face, which accentuated the dips and curve of his mouth. His blood boiled, and his footfalls grew heavier with each step. If he went on like this, Floyd would dig potholes in the corridors with his feet alone.

He always saw your smile brighten and look dainty around Jade. Your laugh grew softer, restrained and freakishly refined. It was as if you deliberately controlled yourself to look more appealing to his brother. It was annoying Floyd more than it should.

He liked you, even when your body tipped back and doubled over from laughing so much. He liked you, even if your laugh sounded like a dying whale. He liked you, even when you snorted so hard that it hurt your nose. He liked you, even when you smacked him on the shoulder out of exasperation. He liked you so much that he was tempted to tickle you in front of Jade—just so he could hear your loud and carefree laugh again.

He wanted all of you, even if you were weak and frail and helpless. He just wanted you.

He already hated how cheesy he sounded, but his heart called out for you with each waking moment. The image of your smile overlapped with his memory of your laugh. Your name was scrawled in his mind, his heart, his lips, his very soul. Floyd already knew it was bad if he was being poetic, sappy, and romantic like Seagull.

So, why’d you like Jade? His brother could care less about you in that sense. Floyd was already annoyed that Jade moved things behind the scenes: making sure that you were alone with Floyd as much as possible. They were brothers, but none of them would ever admit that they cared for each other out loud. That didn’t stop people from thinking Jade was the more capable and reliable brother than Floyd, cunning and mischief aside.

Floyd was the one who helped you out whenever he could. He was the one who spent the most time with you in Mostro Lounge. He was the one who made a beeline towards you every time he saw even a glimpse of your head. He was the one who made you laugh and smile, especially whenever he noticed that you were down in the dumps.

He found himself in the courtyard, and his mood soured more at the sight of the fountain. The memory of you, laughing and sitting like a drenched duck in the water, overlapped with the image. Grumbling, he kicked a pebble off the path and clenched his jaw.

“Ah…” Floyd sighed and ran a hand through his hair, before ruffling the locks on the back of his head. His feet halted right in front of the fountain, with its clear and burbling water. Looking down at his reflection, he saw your face beside his—all smiles and eyes hiding behind your cheeks. His heart felt weird, as if being strangled by some invisible force that Floyd couldn’t punch nor squeeze.

He clicked his tongue and looked away from his reflection. With a frustrated groan, he mumbled to himself, “Why did it have to be Jade, Shrimpy? I’d fight tooth and nail for ya, but it’s Jade.”

With that, Floyd kicked the base of the fountain like a petulant child. A dull crack echoed in the desolate courtyard, before water gushed out of the broken stone. It spilled through the fissure, and Floyd took a step back to keep his shoes from getting drenched.

He frowned again and stalked off to find something else to occupy his time with. The afternoon sun showered the courtyard with a golden glow, which only reminded him of the time the sunlight illuminated your grinning face as you laughed.

“Why’d it have to be you, Prefect?” Floyd mumbled, shoulders sagging and foot kicking another pebble in the way. Maybe, in the near future, he’d get bored and forget about you. His heart wouldn’t do that weird pitter-patter, and his lips wouldn’t twitch into a grin with one look at you. His chest wouldn’t grow fuzzy and warm. He wouldn’t get the urge to run to where you were whenever he wanted to see you—which was every day, honestly.

Floyd hoped he would forget about you, but you were so difficult to forget. He’d never find someone else who captured his interest this much. He’d never find someone who looked so beautiful, even if the noises that left them were unattractive and childish. Even if their smile was too wide to be natural. Even if they were fascinated by him at first sight, rather than scared and intimidated.

No one else would be like you, but you just had to like his brother instead.

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twstbookclub · 1 month

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Slowly, Surely, Sadly

Summary: Who would've thought one smile could make you like someone? Of all people, you never expected to fall for Riddle—not after his overblot. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Slow Burn, Minor ADeuce Shenanigans again, Unrequited (maybe not, who knows?) Feelings, Spoilers for Book 1 if yall haven't finished it Word Count: 3, 304 This is my first time writing full-on angst. I already had this plot in mind last April, but this was my only chance to finally write it all down. I hope I did my job, and I'm sorry also not sorry for the feels. I was running on 5 hours of sleep and a hopeless romantic playlist when I wrote this. I hope yall enjoy, though 💕

Whenever you looked at Riddle, the memory of his swollen cheek and tear-brimmed eyes overlapped with his stern expression. Even with the constant lectures and helicopter parenting becoming less frequent, you could never forget his ruthless reign over Heartslabyul. His first impression was that of a tyrannical and merciless ruler, and you’d never forget that.

Yet, you could never forget how he looked like a lost child in a garden of roses when Ace punched him that day.

“Would you like to sample one of our teatime treats, Prefect?”

Riddle’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts. Your eyes darted from your teacup to the housewarden. An expectant yet patient smile curled his lips, which was a stark contrast to his natural frown. Your eyes lingered on the smile on his cherubic face.

“Sure,” you answered, somewhat in a daze. You took a sip of your tea, before your nose scrunched a little. Before Riddle noticed your grimace, you put the teacup down and dropped three sugar cubes in your drink.

You didn’t miss the amused twitch of Riddle’s lips from the corner of your eyes. This action would have earned you a reprimand and a lecture on one of hundreds of Heartslabyul’s rules. After his overblot and the incident in the rose garden, Riddle was becoming more lenient.

“You should mind your sugar intake—” Well, he’s still working on the leniency, but he’s trying— “Do you prefer a tart, a cupcake, or a cookie? Maybe you’d like to try a slice of today’s cake?”

You gave Riddle your preferred dessert, then you watched him reach over the table. Dainty, gloved fingers curled around the dish, before he brought it to you. You gave a brief nod and a mumble of thanks, before you took a bite of the treat.

“...!” You quietly moaned from the sweet taste that melted on your tongue. With a hand on your cheek, you slowly chewed to savor the sugar that graced your tastebuds. Your eyes seemed to sparkle as you dug into more of the dessert.

“It’s so good!”

You didn’t miss the satisfied smile on Riddle’s face, still cherubic and radiant. Amidst the chatter and raucous noise in this week’s Unbirthday party, you somehow heard the hint of pride in the red-haired sophomore’s words.

“Of course, that’s to be expected. Trey’s baking skills are the best in Heartslabyul—possibly in the entirety of Night Raven College.” Riddle paused, before softly adding, “I prefer his strawberry tarts, though. It’s a shame he couldn’t make any for today.”

The wistfulness in that tone of his made you pause. As Riddle took his own sip of tea, you couldn’t look away from him.

One afternoon, you marched through the silent corridors of the arcane academy. Heavy footfalls echoed in your ears, as if to mock you. The reminder of why you were wandering the halls alone made you frown.

“Where the hell are you, Grim?” You mumbled, head turning left and right, as you stomped. All the doors were closed shut, and voices could be heard through them. You doubt this area had an empty classroom at the moment.

Professor Crewel’s scowl and his whip flashed in your mind. As much as you loved Grim and his snark, you’d rather not face the wrath of the dog-loving professor. Brows furrowing, you grumbled again, “If he skips alchemy lessons again, I’m going to wring his neck and—”

“Prefect?” The gentle voice forced you to a halt, and you blinked at Heartslabyul’s warden in front of you. Riddle looked at you with a raised brow, before he crossed his arms and tapped his heel on the floor.

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you, but…” He paused, eyes roaming your face. “You don’t seem to be in a good mood, and your class is about to start. I passed by Ace and Deuce heading towards Professor Crewel’s classroom earlier.”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and sighed. You were already on good terms with the housewarden, and you’d rather not get collared for misdirecting your annoyance.

“Hi Riddle,” you greeted with a small, strained smile to be polite. “I’m actually looking for Grim. I lost him in the crowd during the lunch rush, and well…”

You tried so hard not to curse the lovable, annoying puffball. Another heavy sigh left your lips with a shake of your head. The strained smile became an apologetic one. Riddle stared at you, most likely scrutinizing something about you. Maybe he was judging you for letting Grim get away.

“I shouldn’t be keeping you here. It’s nice to see you, though—”

“Hold on,” Riddle stepped closer and reached for your tie, “your tie is crooked. Let me fix it for you.”

You held your breath, biting your tongue to stifle any surprised noises. The red-haired sophomore was too focused on fixing your tie to notice your reaction. His knuckles brushed your chest as he tightened the knot, and you tensed. He didn’t even ask for permission. He just took initiative, and it reminded you of a doting yet strict mother for some reason.

“You should be more conscious of your appearance,” Riddle reminded kindly while smoothing the creases of your uniform coat. He stepped back and seemed satisfied with his intervention. His lips stretched into a satisfied smile again, and you couldn’t look away.

“Now, off you go. Professor Crewel isn’t forgiving when it comes to tardiness.”

“R-right,” you stuttered with a faint warmth on your cheeks. You were tempted to slap yourself for losing composure like this, but you wanted to keep your dignity. Riddle would think you lost your mind if you did.

“Thanks, Riddle.”

His smile softened, yet it grew wider. The sharp and scrutinizing gaze melted into one of appreciation. Your heart skipped a beat. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Something fuzzy and warm filled your chest as you stared at Riddle. Your fingers twitched, as if longing to touch Riddle in some way.

It was ridiculous, but you didn’t dislike the feeling either.

“You’re welcome. If you’ll excuse me, I should be heading to my own class. I wish you luck, Prefect.”

He skirted around you in one, fluid motion. The click of his heels echoed in the empty corridor as you watched him go. His short figure carried a sense of dignity and pride, something that used to terrify and annoy his wards in Heartslabyul.

It used to intimidate you, but you couldn’t look away from him now. Even when Riddle turned a corner and disappeared, you couldn’t stop staring.

Ever since that day, you couldn’t stop noticing these things about Riddle. His entire face brightened, eyes glittering and cheeks flushing pink, when presented with a strawberry tart. Whenever he smiled, his gray irises seemed to hide behind the chub of his cheeks. He always looked red in the face whenever he was embarrassed, but the addition of a scowl and wide eyes showed his anger instead. His voice always raised in pitch, becoming less gentle and more crazed, whenever he became agitated and enraged. He even lost his formality and courteousness at that point: language becoming more crude yet still refined.

One day, while preparing for a game of croquet, you pointed out how happy Riddle seemed when he took care of the hedgehogs. Ace shot you a weird look. Deuce looked perplexed, lost even, when his eyes darted to you.

“Really?” He asked, looking between Riddle crouched on the ground and you who looked surprised. “He doesn’t look any different. How could you tell?”

Brows furrowed in confusion, you told them, “It’s not obvious, but he’s smiling. See? His eyes look brighter when he looked at the hedgehogs, too. Oh, and there’s the fact that he gently pets their heads with a finger. He’s avoiding touching their quills, and he’s trying not to agitate the tiny things.”

There was a long, uneasy stretch of silence that followed your answer. After a moment, Ace’s stunned look shifted into a mischievous grin. Deuce mirrored his expression, and it reminded you of that one time he lost his composure and beat up a pair of upperclassmen.

“Huh, really?” There was an intrigued and knowing tone in the redhead’s voice. Meanwhile, Deuce turned to look at Riddle as if to verify your observation. Although, the ravenette was still grinning, as if he knew something you didn’t.

In that moment, you realized you were screwed—so, so screwed.

Upon seeing your confusion warp into a crestfallen and horrified realization, Deuce clapped a hand on your shoulder with a snicker.

“Looks like the Prefect has a crush,” he teased, but you wanted none of it. Ace followed with an incredulous yet amused, “Really? Housewarden Riddle? Strict and overbearing Housewarden Riddle? Oh, your standards are buried six feet under, Prefect.”

A hand smacked Deuce’s own off your person, and you began to stumble over your words. Both lovable yet annoying idiots laughed it off, while you half-heartedly threatened them with a raised fist.

“Shut up, or I swear to the Seven—!”

Ace and Deuce laughed louder, nearly howling and sniggering in delight. As they clutched their stomachs and you grabbed the collars of their uniforms, Riddle’s confused and curious stare was left unnoticed.

Riddle continued to invite you to their weekly Unbirthday parties as an honorary guest. He still offered you desserts with little to no comment on your sweet tooth. He still fussed over your appearance whenever you two passed each other in the halls. He always gave you a subtle smile, despite his stern demeanor. The more you spent time around the housewarden, the more dread weighed in your stomach.

You couldn’t ignore the flutters of your heart, how it flipped and did cartwheels whenever Riddle treated you kindly. No matter what he did, you always felt like you were floating and walking on clouds.

You still longed to touch him—maybe brush back a stray strand that fell over his forehead. You wanted to know how it felt to hold his hand. Maybe even take a stroll in Heartslabyul’s rose maze with him, hand-in-hand and talking about anything. You wanted to spend teatime alone with him. You wanted to see him smile after taking a bite of a strawberry tart you made for him. You wanted to gaze at the moon and the stars with him in the comfort of Riddle’s dorm room, just sitting together in that window alcove with pillows and blankets.

You wanted to do so much more with Riddle, but the large mirror before you spelled the end of your hopes and dreams.

“Well, Prefect,” Crowley began with a jovial tone, which was a stark contrast to the despair that gripped your heart, “I found a way for you to return to your world. After long, grueling hours of searching for the solution, I fulfilled my promise to you, and I even gathered your friends here for a heartfelt farewell.”

You called bullshit on that, but you still appreciated Crowley’s effort. True to his word, all of the people you befriended surrounded you in the Mirror Chamber. The occasion was treated as a formal one, if their dorm uniforms didn’t make a statement already. Everyone had varying degrees of restrained emotion, as you stood before the mirror that led to your home dimension.

Grim stood behind you with clenched paws and glassy eyes. You spotted Ace and Deuce grinning, but there was a hint of a strain in their smiles. Kalim was close to bursting into tears. Leona stared at you with a neutral look and a hand on his hip, but the harsh dig of his fingers told you otherwise. Azul wore his usual smile, one reserved for business, and Jade had a polite smile as well. Floyd didn’t share the same sentiment. The more capricious Leech brother scowled as if he ate Lilia’s cooking after being promised a tasty meal.

You didn’t dare look at Riddle. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You can’t.

Crowley spread his arms with a self-satisfied smile that both irked and endeared you to him. “Aren’t I a magnanimous and gracious headmaster to do something like this for you?”

He made a show of spinning on his heel and walking towards the doors to the Mirror Chamber. With a flamboyant wave of his hand, he exclaimed, “I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes and well-wishes. However…”

Crowley looked at you from over his shoulder, and your throat tightened at the soft smile that curled his lips.

“It was a pleasure to have you here, Prefect. I would’ve loved for you to stay until graduation, but alas. I wish you all the best once you return home.”

The last thing you saw was a swish of his cape, before a heavy weight nearly toppled you to the ground. Tan, bejeweled arms hugged your waist as a loud bawl harshly rang in the room. You didn’t even need to look to see that it was Kalim blubbering through his tears. Jamil’s alarmed voice echoed in your ears, and that seemed to be everyone’s cue to surround you.

Tearful farewells, wistful wishes, and unfulfilled promises filled the enclosed space. Grim clung to you all this time, all the while mewling and whining about how he’d lose his henchman. Still, he was crying his eyes out. The large mirror was obscured from your sight, as if the unusual group of friends you made during your time here intended this. You couldn’t help but laugh—a bittersweet sound—as everyone tried to get a word in with you. Even Malleus came to say his goodbyes, though he seemed more reserved than usual.

Then the dreaded moment came: Riddle approached you with that same smile, the gentle and subtle one he always graced you with. Everyone who noticed the shift in mood somehow left space for you and the Heartslabyul housewarden to talk. You almost giggled when you overheard Jade scold Floyd for whining about this.

You forced your smile to widen, even if your eyes stung and your throat tightened again. Your voice cracked at the end, but that could be mistaken for holding back tears.

“Hi, Riddle,” you whispered as you felt your throat tighten more, “I guess I’m leaving before I could have another Unbirthday party with all of you. I was so excited to try the macarons, too.”

The gentle smile became forlorn, and it reminded you of that time he lamented over not having strawberry tarts in that one Unbirthday party. A twinge in your heart made your breath hitch, but you hoped Riddle wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really,” he told you with a falter in his smile. The corners of his lips hitched up, as if that never happened in the first place. “I wanted you to try some tea from the Queendom of Roses as well, but… that may never happen now.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, finding it hard to breathe. The sting in your eyes worsened. Some invisible hand squeezed your heart, as if threatening to puncture the fragile thing with its talons. You maintained your composure as much as you can.

You couldn’t help but admit, “I wish I could have more time with all of you.”

I wish I had more time with you.

“I wish I could watch the third-years graduate. I wish I could see all of us graduate here, even if I don’t have magic.” You chuckled, and you found yourself with loose lips around Riddle.

“I want to have more Unbirthday parties with everyone in Heartslabyul. I want to have lunch with everyone in Mostro Lounge. I want to watch the next interdorm Spelldrive tournament and cheer for your guys. I want to spend Christmas and welcome the New Year with everyone. I want a lot of things, but… Well, I’m going home.”

Riddle’s smile slipped, and you watched him visibly swallow with a subtle frown. Even when he wasn’t smiling, he still had a gentle look on him.

“Who knows, Prefect? Maybe there will come a time when we find a way for you to visit and vice versa.” Riddle sounded so unsure, so hesitant, in his reassurance. Still, you appreciated it.

You ignored how much your heart hurt and your jaw clenched when he said that.

“I hope so.” Chuckling, you kept your arms to yourself as you smiled at Riddle. He was becoming a blur of red, white, and gold. Warm tears already spilled down your cheeks, before you even realized what was happening.

You couldn’t see his reaction, but you raised a hand to wipe away your tears. While the heel of your palm rubbed your cheek, you mumbled, “Sorry. I just…”

A white handkerchief was offered to you, and you took it with murmured gratitude. Your eyes were drawn to the embroidered initials of Riddle’s name on the corner. The cloth felt soft on your skin, and you found some comfort in that.

“Keep it,” Riddle told you with that smile again, “so that you would remember me every time you see it.”

Your mind blanked at his words. Riddle referred to himself rather than everyone in Heartslabyul, even everyone in NRC. Heart fluttering and throat tightening, you resisted the urge to sob. Hope came as a surge of warmth and the weight of dread in your chest.

Not now. Not when I’m leaving.

With a smile, melancholic yet bright, you dabbed away the last of your tears and tucked the handkerchief into your uniform pocket. A burst of courage let you wrap your arms around Riddle in a hug with a whispered, “Thank you. I’m going to miss you—all of you.”

I’m going to miss you more.

Normally, Riddle would be flustered at the sudden gesture of affection. You expected a loud stutter and an indignant scolding, but he simply returned the hug. His face was buried in your shoulder, and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“You’re welcome.” You heard him whisper, followed by a faint sniff. Something warm and wet soaked through the coat and into your shoulder. You hugged Riddle tighter, as if to hide him from the rest of the world at that moment.

Too brief for your liking, Riddle pulled away with that same smile. His eyes appeared to be glassy, reflecting your tearful expression and wobbly grin. Your heart twinged again, and your jaw clenched.

It was that smile that damned you the moment Riddle fixed your tie for the first time.

“I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?” You asked, laughing off your dread and despair. Riddle seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Your heart stuttered as you watched him open his mouth with reluctance.

Something held him back. He shook his head and merely smiled at you again.

“Of course,” he murmured, eyes hiding behind his cheeks again. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Prefect.”

In that moment, you’d have stolen the stars from the sky if Riddle wanted to make a wish. You’d bake tarts and cakes in the Heartslabyul kitchen, even if it ended in a mess of flour, if he wanted sweets. You’d stay past curfew in his dorm room to stargaze, if he was willing to break the rules just this once. You’d shower him in kisses, hugs, and cuddles if he hesitated to spell out his desire for affection.

You’d stay in Twisted Wonderland if he asked you to.

Swallowing your heartache, you forced a smile—bright and brilliant, putting the sun to shame. Your gaze never left Riddle, while unspoken feelings laid heavy on the tip of your tongue. Reality crushed your daydreams and wishes, reduced to rubble and dust. The next words felt final and absolute.

“Goodbye, Riddle.”

What remained was the handkerchief with his stitched initials in your pocket.

82 notes · View notes

twstbookclub · 2 months

Text

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

90 notes · View notes

twstbookclub · 11 months

Text

Adronitis

Summary: Deuce met you once, and he thought that was the end of that. Until, he bumps into you twice in two different occasions. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Third Time’s the Charm, Puppy Love (if you squint), Slow Burn with an open ending, Deuce Spade being an Awkward Sweetie, Romance, Fluff, MC is not the Ramshackle Prefect/Yuu Word Count: 1, 554

i’m alive lmao. finals are over, so i have the chance to post this. it’s been in my drafts for months, and i finished this while nursing a stomachache ;; this isn’t proofread, by the way.

Deuce first met you during club hours. He didn’t think much of you, not when he’s focused on becoming an honor student that’d make his mother proud. Your first meeting didn’t unfold like a romance drama. There were no cherry blossoms drifting in the breeze. Time didn’t slow down nor freeze when your eyes met. His heart didn’t pound so much that it’d jump out of his chest. It felt like any ordinary day in Night Raven College minus his shenanigans with the Ramshackle Prefect, of course.

If anything, it started with a water bottle.

Sweat dripped down Deuce’s jaw, slightly gaping due to his tired panting. With his hands on his knees, he watched the salty droplet fall to the ground as he gathered his bearings. The sun seemed harsher today, glaring down at the runners in the field. Deuce heard some of his clubmates groaning about the sweltering heat, either in loud complaints or hushed curses.

Water. I need water, was all Deuce could think at the time.

As if someone read his mind, a water bottle dangled in front of his eyes. Deuce blinked in disbelief, then his gaze trailed from the hand holding the miracle to another vaguely familiar face. You stood there with a lopsided smile and a hand on your hip. Under the blinding afternoon sun, you seemed like a guardian angel that descended in the middle of a desert.

“You look like you need it more than I do,” you chuckled. Once Deuce took your offer, you shot him another smile and continued on your way. The grime and sweat from all the running didn’t bother Deuce. The cold water bottle soothing his dry throat and hot skin didn’t deter him either.

Deuce just watched you run with a curious gaze.

The second time the Heartslabyul freshman saw you, Deuce had bumped into you in the cafeteria. A special menu came up, so the area was more crowded than usual. Students argued and dragged each other away from the line. Some snuck and cut into the queue in hopes of getting to the limited-time menu early. No matter where you went, you’d always bump into arms and elbows. He almost got hit on the neck by someone else’s elbow when Ace dragged him through the masses.

Deuce spied some guys trading lunch while another pair started a fist fight. Although, that ended when Jack lifted the boys by the collars; like a mother cat scolding her kittens. It was pandemonium, and Grim hasn’t even started making a ruckus. One pair even started fighting with magic until his housewarden collared them with his signature spell.

Honestly, that was dumb of them, but that’s not the focus right now.

He already found out some things about you at this point. You’re a freshman, just like him, and you joined Track and Field—again, just like him. Although, that’s where the similarities ended.

You didn’t attract too much attention. You didn’t seem to cause any trouble, which is rare in an all-boys school filled with the most rambunctious and rebellious students. With so many students attending NRC, you were just another face in the crowd. It was no wonder Deuce hadn’t noticed you until that day.

“Oh!” You beamed, another water bottle in hand. “It’s you! Um, Deuce, right?”

“Yeah,” Deuce stiffly nodded, feeling a bit awkward at his friends’ stares, “You’re part of Track and Field, too, right?”

Your name smoothly rolled off his tongue, like honey dripping into tea. Another huge smile graced your lips as your eyes shone brighter. Deuce felt his heart stutter at your change in demeanor. The ground under his feet felt unstable, which made him a bit dizzy and disoriented.

“I always wanted to run like you,” you sheepishly admitted. A wince from a hit to your side broke Deuce from his trance. “I could go on, but this isn’t the time and place, huh?”

Before he could say anything, Deuce watched you maneuver your way through the crowd with a wave. “I’ll see you around!”

“Merciful Seven,” Ace groaned and checked Deuce on the shoulder as he shoved past him, “Get your goo-goo eyes and head out of the clouds, man! We’re gonna get nothing at this rate!”

“Huh? What’d ya say?!” Deuce growled, chasing after the redhead. “Come back here, you punk!”

He could vaguely hear the Ramshackle Prefect exasperatedly sigh and call for them. Grim choked out an annoyed scream from behind. As the noise and jostle of the crowd consumed Deuce’s senses, the image of your bright expression seared itself into his mind.

The third time, he found you in the courtyard on his way to Sam’s shop. Deuce saw you fiddling with something as you muttered to yourself. Your fingers twisted a tiny key lodged into a mahogany box with gentle precision. Your tongue poked out of your lips as your eyebrows scrunched together. Deuce noticed that you’ve always made that face whenever you ran in the field. He just knew that the world around you didn’t exist whenever it happened. Not even the harsh heat stopped you.

“Hey Deuce!”

He almost flinched at your voice. Smiling, you patted the spot beside you on the grass, then returned to fiddling with the contraption. It was a music box, Deuce realized. It was an antique music box with some scratches and dust. The tiny thing had seen better days.

Wait, how did he end up in front of you? Better yet, when did he go off the path towards you?

“Hey, uh, what’s that you’re holding?”

… It’s obviously a music box. Why did I ask that? Deuce thought, nearly smacking himself in the face at how stupid he sounded. If Ace could hear him right now, he’d be cackling and howling til his stomach hurt the next morning. He could just imagine the mischievous smirk on the Prefect’s face while Grim snickered behind their legs.

Embarrassing would be an understatement.

“Oh, this?” You chuckled, and Deuce felt his heart almost burst out of his chest. “It’s a music box. I had Sam fix it up for me, so I’m checking if it works like before.”

Your smile faltered, replaced by a melancholic expression, as your gaze lingered on the tiny contraption. Deuce quietly sat beside you, who still stared at the music box. The frown on your face and the dull look in your eyes were something foreign to him. For some reason, Deuce didn’t like seeing you this way, much less feel this sad.

“My mom gave me this.” Your voice was nothing but a tiny whisper as your thumb traced a scratch on the box. “It’s the last thing I have of her, so… I hope it works.”

Deuce felt like he had been punched in the gut. The image of his own mother—dark circles under her eyes and calluses on her once smooth hands; crying into the phone about her delinquent son; smiling as she tells him how proud she is of him—flashed in his mind. His heart sank at the thought of a life without her. He can only imagine the pain and sorrow you felt at the moment.

“I’m sorry.” Before he could think about it, Deuce clapped a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. His lips were pressed in a thin line as your eyes met his. What else could you even tell someone who’s grieving over a deceased loved one, especially when the wound was still fresh?

You stared at Deuce for a bit, then the corners of your mouth twitched into a small smile. You huff as your hand squeezed his, the one on your shoulder. Deuce noticed that you had a firm grip despite your unassuming demeanor. He admired your smile, lips moving to answer him with a heartfelt, “Thanks.”

Nothing else disturbed the peaceful silence between the two of you. Even though it was peaceful, Deuce felt restless. He wanted to talk more; wanted you to share more about yourself. That tidbit about your mother made his heart hurt, but he wanted more. All of your attention returned to the music box, and he didn’t know what else to say. That antique clearly meant a lot to you. He should leave you to it.

But, for some reason, Deuce couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Even if Riddle threatened to collar him right now, he’d choose to stay next to you.

“It works!” Your voice brought him back to reality. A lullaby, one that he heard of as a child, rang in the air. The wind-up key slowly turned as the music box played its tune. Then, Deuce’s attention drifted to you.

The grin that stretched across your face and the sparkle in your eyes made the former delinquent’s heart lurch. He couldn’t look away from you, even when you turned to look at him with that huge grin. The world seemed to fade away. Your voice was muffled, and your words seemed to go into one ear and out of the other. His cheeks burned the longer he looked at you. As you excitedly marveled about the music box working, Deuce only thought of one thing.

Ace was going to have a field day once he figured out that Deuce has a crush.

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