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It’s only glass Riddle tells himself. Not even in miniscule pieces, just large chunks splayed on the floor. His mother will understand once he fixes it, his dorm mates will understand even if it comes back like this.
There are far worse issues in the world incomparable to this one, so worrying just wastes time. It is just glass.
But no matter how much Riddle tries, he knows this to be a lie. He’s been charged and now Heartslabyul, the college, and all he holds dear have been damned because of him. This is because he is on the very brink of violating a Queen of hearts law.
Rule 192- If you break a vase with hearts on it, you must fix it with red coloured adhesive in less than twenty minutes.
There’s red glue in his room but it’s practically empty. The school shop has been closed early which means no orders can be placed until tomorrow. The time it would take to get back to the dorm is far too long as well, even with magic.
Worst of all? Riddle cannot move. Body shaking ever so slightly, he used all of his energy just to dash from his chair to the ground in an effort to save this vase, and now he kneels to his wreckage in complete exhaustion.
Just barely another half an hour ago it was being transported from the library to Heartslabyul to be used in the next unbirthday party with its carefully painted rose red hearts. A detour occurred, one where Professor Trein was kind enough to lend Riddle an empty classroom after hours due to how much busier the library was.
Twenty minutes of studying later, Riddle stood and knocked the glass over like a blithering idiot and the sound it made was like an implosion in his ears. He destroyed and ruined something so wonderful.
Just like he usually does.
Now on trial for his grave error, it's all akin to first degree murder as Riddle can interpret. It would be one thing to be on the verge of a rule being broken, it’s another that a plethora of other rules have been previously broken by him and him alone. If this is really just glass it must have been charmed to suddenly make his heart race and his whole body begin to tremble.
Riddle is the defendant, and the judge is his mind once more. It lists his crimes one by one as some vivid clock in the back of it begins to count down.
For example, one week ago, he broke another Queen of hearts rule.
Rule 229- Grandfather clocks once per week must be dusted before 7:21 with a heart patterned cloth.
Halfway into the first class of the day, he realized the final clock back within the dorms had been missed and nearly screamed out in agony at the thought. He was forced to use his status as housewarden to not only atone for his mistake, but to also assure the number of ancient rosewood grandfather clocks were accounted for properly.
At the time, Riddle was proud of himself for not causing a scene- now he can see the truth of the matter. No matter that very midnight Riddle spent recounting all of the clocks again and again to make sure they were truly cared for, it would not change the fact he’d cursed himself to this very fate.
Others can break the rules, but not him.
And then he had the gall to break a rule that wasn’t even in the queendom codex- one where he arrived late to his study session with both Deuce and the prefect. Ten minutes after he promised to show due to an incident with the flamingos running amuck and everything felt wrong no matter how hard he tried to just focus on assisting his peers. No matter how profusely he apologized, it wouldn’t fix such a vile error.
They assured him it was fine, okay, but like now Riddle knows that to be a lie. He’s supposed to be responsible, good enough to never be so flagrantly hypocritical to his underclassmen. And with what he did and said to both Deuce and Lament at that fateful unbirthday party especially? After all they’ve willingly done for him thereafter? That whole session Riddle spent assisting them, he wondered how they could look him in the eye and not despise the monster in their presence.
In fact, Riddle deserved this doesn’t he? The little judge in his head continues on, with a new crime he has committed. He nearly lost his temper at a few of his underclassmen.
They were drinking honey sweetened lemonade after 8pm with extra douses of honey. Talking loudly amongst themselves, lounging after a long rotten day, Riddle had nearly collared and screamed at all of them at the mere sight. After the promise he made, he went back on it so easily and that is the thing that makes his present self feel as if he’s going to vomit.
He remembers so clearly how their faces slowly morphed into a mixture of both recognizable fear and disappointment. Once again, this was something Riddle could not take back.
So the next day after class when he returned to his bedroom door vandalized, it interrupted his entire schedule to wash away the wreckage with Trey’s help. But Riddle never stopped believing it was justified.
Trey insisted on helping as did Cater, Deuce, Ace, even Lament and Grim as well. It was to the point the cleaning was finished in mere minutes. And it wasn’t right at all, for them to be burdened with Riddle’s own mistakes. But they did regardless. He can’t breathe now, not when his eyes are hazy with liquid.
All this time coming back from winter break, Riddle has broken rule after rule from list after list he has memorized for years. Since when did he get so bad at this? Sometimes it feels as though the rules are more important than his life. So how is he failing this badly?
His mother will know about all of this- she’ll gut him alive just to get the information when she inevitably calls him tomorrow. Taking the time out of her day to check up on him only for her to find her son is a filthy criminal.
So now Riddle can hear the guilty chanting around him and the notion he’s going to drag those he cares for down with him as well. The image is so clear, so vivid, it’s repeated in new ways and continues all the while.
Trein will never trust him again, his title as housewarden will be revoked, everyone around him will realize just how awful he is and that he’s not worth caring about or depending on. He’ll be expelled from the college, his friends will be punished for his misdoings, he’ll watch everything he’s ever cared for engulf itself in decay.
He’ll return home to his mother and she will never forgive him, not after everything else he’s done. She’ll know what he is and she will hate him and hate herself.
Like packs of cards tumbling around him, the images Riddle imagines burn his very soul. He can picture so clearly his friends dying around him, his own bloody corpse splayed like the glass he has ruined, there’s so much gore and so much fear and Riddle still cannot move because it is just glass.
Using what little energy that isn't being used to assist in his current panic attack, he rips his gloves off and grabs the reddest shard and only then does he have the tiniest amount of control.
He’s a madman losing it, losing everything, what rule does he follow now? What can he even do? Is there anything that can be done when he’s like this? What’s wrong with him, what's wrong with him, WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM-
“Goldfishie there you are!”
Like the summoning of a cyclone, the sound is sudden as Riddle flips his head upward to find Floyd Leech standing in the doorway. “I’m so bored so I started looking for-”
The mer stares at Riddle and suddenly his lackadaisical smile turns to a simple line. Any of his initial booming energy is fading.
“Uh Goldfishie, what's up?”
“Do you have red adhesive?” Riddle barely whispers out.
Floyd chuckles. “Why you ask-”
“DO YOU HAVE A RED ADHESIVE, I NEED A RED ADHESIVE.”
The sound reverberates around the room as the two of them stare each other down. And then Floyd simply leaves with the door closing behind him. Riddle doesn’t say anything.
He can only scream inside his mind, he did it again! Floyd didn’t even do anything this time, his temper just got the better of him and now he’s aaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!
What do I do now, what do I do now, what-
Suddenly the door opens once more and Floyd is criss-crossed on the opposite side of Riddle to the shards of glass. “Here, lemmie help. It’s like a puzzle right?”
In his hands he holds what Riddle considers to be akin to the ability to grow a thousand times taller- a roll of red tape. Neither of them waste any more time.
Floyd snaps off lines of adhesive and Riddle carefully places the broken pieces. The two of them work together with only Floyd’s humming breaking the silence until just nearly before the twenty minute mark, despite being crude in appearance the vase is durably fixed.
Riddle finally feels like he can exhale. He’s no longer guilty- or just a little less.
“Man, that was fun! We should do puzzles together more often,” Floyd comments happily. “Now that we finished it though, you gonna fix your hands Goldfishie? They're bleeding.”
For the first time since Floyd's arrival, Riddle can notice the details of his surroundings properly. It’s gotten very late, there's little red dots painting the floor, and the palms of his hands are scarred and pouring in blood.
Riddle doesn’t say anything. Had it really taken him this long to realize he was injured? He’s no stranger to pain, but why did it take him so long to notice? Most of all, what is he supposed to do now?
“Do you have a first aid kit?” Riddle mutters, letting his hands continue to pulse in pain. Floyd nods, “You should wash your hands first. Then just come back here and I should have one. Don’t take too long though, K?”
He nods and musters himself upwards, Floyd being the one to open the door for him.
—
When Riddle returns,the little red dots are gone and the vase stands idly on one of the desks. Floyd sits with an empty chair in front of him, a first aid kid to his side, and his arms waving as he spots red hair and still red hands.
As for Riddle himself, he plops down exhausted with the pain of his wounds searing numbly into his palms. He attempts to open the kit, but the eel beats him to the chase. Floyd whistles to himself as he rips open one of the antibiotic packs. “Sooooo- what happened, Goldfishie?”
Staring down at his own shoes and away from heterochromic eyes, Riddle finds the concept of telling anyone at this moment about his previous tantrum appallingly foolish. Regardless, he hates the silence just as much.
“I apologize for yelling at you Floyd,” he starts with, just to get a single word out. “That wasn’t right of me.”
“Woah, Goldfishie apologizing to me? Guess hell really has frozen over!” the mer laughs. Despite the wariness and slowly rising irritation, Riddle extends his left hand to be taken by Floyd’s own.
“But so like, were you okay? You weren’t red like you usually were- just crying and shaking. Plus, you were white knuckling that glass real bad.
Antibiotic smooths over the first group of wounds, a sting Riddle slightly cringes at but moves no further. “Was it about your lil rules?”
Riddle nods. “Rule 192 states that if a vase with hearts on it is broken, the guilty party must fix it in twenty minutes with red adhesive. I didn’t think I would have been able to acquire red glue or tape, violating the rule before twenty minutes were over.”
Floyd tilts his head, he’s oddly careful with how much pressure he pushes the medical cloth onto Riddle’s palms. “What’s worse is I already violated a queen of hearts rule, and-” he stops himself short, embarrassed to speak even a moment longer. “It’s nothing, I just let my emotions get the better of me. Thank you for supplying me with tape.”
“No problem! I was supposed to take it to the gym, but then I forgot, and then I remembered I left it under the first staircase to the side and then I remembered it was there cause it reminded me of your hair.”
If it weren’t for Riddle’s deteriorating mental state at the moment, he would have probably shoved Floyd out of his chair right here and now. He settles for an annoyed eyeroll that Floyd only chuckles at. His left palm is cleaned now, less bright red and more dulled pink.
“Still, are you alright? Actually ever since you’ve been back from break you’ve been out of it. You taking care of yourself at all?”
Even after the time Riddle’s taken to understand Floyd’s mood swings better, that somberness in his voice still feels so out of place. And for him of all people? Riddle doesn’t know what to say. He goes quiet.
“I think I’m just going crazy” he blurts out. He’s already lost his mind before, it’s not a false statement. And it’s the only statement that makes sense to him.
Floyd doesn’t react, just starts carefully bandaging the wounds. “Wanna tell me about it? Like, why do you think that or something?”
Riddle suddenly goes stiff, head finally looking up and staring at the boy in front of him. “No!”
With the realization his voice is rising, he shuts himself down as quickly as he can. “Sorry. Again. I just don’t want to burden you with my troubles. Again.”
“You're not burdening me," Floyd suddenly snaps. “And yeah maybe I’m not gonna listen to everything you say. But I doubt bottling it all up is gonna help you right now. So you know, do you wanna talk about it?”
And it dawns on Riddle slowly, yes he wants to talk about it. He’s exhausted and still angry at himself and the judge who sits high above his ability for rational thought. And even he can’t help admitting the idea of Floyd genuinely listening is something he wants just for this moment, yearns to have once more. Head hung low, the only thing he can’t do is look him in the eye.
But slowly, he starts recounting his week- a strange fever dream of terror in essence. Every rule he’s disobeyed, every time he’s raised his voice, every time he’s been punished for his failings, and then finally how he doesn’t even know how he’s going to tell his mother about the last thirty minutes or less.
His words are tainted in desperation and weakness, all as Floyd cares for Riddle’s right palm and everything fades away until Riddle can feel the exhaustion seize him once again. When both of his hands have been wrapped in bandages and he can slip his gloves back on, he finally stops himself from revealing anything else.
“That’s about all of it. But once again, it’s my fault all of this even happened so I don’t even know why I’m getting so worked up about it.”
Floyd leans back into his chair, fiddling with the handle of the medical kit. “Hey you wanna know why I like you so much Goldfishie?”
He then flashes sharp teeth and an utterly giddy smile. “I like you cause you can kick my ass.”
Numerous baffling things grounded in reality for Floyd to say come to Riddle’s mind- none of which are the nine words proudly stated. “What in the sevens is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you're super cool! You're so much better than me, in school or in magic and it makes me wanna be on your level too. Work hard enough so I can challenge you every day.”
That burning excitement suddenly dies just a little, as if a premonition has arrived onto Floyd’s own mind. “So it sucks a whole lot that you think it's okay for you to get all walked over- like, if somebody tried writing awful things on my door? They're getting turned into a nice seafood boil.”
Riddle can’t help himself from finally retorting, gaze stern. “I snapped at them first. It's clear as to why they distrust me. And how do you know about that incident?”
“Crabby told me at basketball. Also, nuh uh” Floyd blurts childishly. “And he also told me when he saw you all mad like that, you weren’t like you used to be.”
“Sure you raised your voice and got all huffy like you do, but he says you didn’t collar any of 'em. You said you were sorry and you let them do what they wanted. Didja forget that part? Where your doing your best?”
Thinking far clearer now, Riddle had done just that. He’d bowed in embarrassment and excused himself immediately so as to not cause any more of a scene. But once again, does it matter?
“I still yelled at them. I still let down my friends. I still believe the rules are more important then my entire life. I’m still a tyrant, a monster, a crazy mad lunatic obsessed in every sense.”
“I think you're really nice, Goldfishie. Just not to yourself.”
Silence builds between them, thick until Floyd breaks it. “Your mom too, she’s causing you problems right now?”
Fists clenched and nails digging into his injuries, “Of course not!” comes out with a semblance of a tremble. “If anything, she’s the one suffering. My trifles are nothing compared to the struggle she navigates each day. My failures only burden her more, there’s no one in this situation in more pain than her.”
“She’s not the one who came back from winter break with a shiner.”
It’s like ice cold water has been dumped onto Riddle remembering that whole event. He’d returned to Night Raven College half a week early then when break was supposed to end with his suitcase packed by his mother, a massive black eye, and his left arm in a sling. The only thing Riddle could remember was how badly he wanted to distract himself.
Memories were his only option- of the times his mother proudly fought against those who judged her for being a woman in the medical field. Or when she once cried over a movie about the protagonist's mother passing away. Or the many nights after long work hours where she’d still read him a bedtime story so long as it wasn’t later than nine. He’d huddle close to her and let her voice soothe him to rest.
Not how when he broke that vase or when he broke his sacred rules, he was in as much terror as he was facing her. The same terror he’s going to feel when she calls.
There’s only one other feeling that could possibly compare in terms of that uncontrollable fear, it’s that look Floyd had when he intercepted Riddle’s attempt to flee back to his dorm and configure a plan to figure out what to do next.
The mer’s light evaporated when he saw him and what replaced it was genuine deep concern.
And it scared Riddle. He doesn’t want to be here anymore.
“Goldfishie, you still with me? You seem tired.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m sorry for wasting your time Floyd.”
He leaves his seat and begins gathering his things, already planning how to ensure the safety of the vase and to not drop his books. It’s something he can handle, something he can do alone. Floyd’s energy is already dwindling, he’ll become bored of Riddle inevitably and go on to something that isn’t him. It’s how it is.
But then his heavy history textbook is swiped and a teeth bearing smile greets him. “You're in a sorta puzzle right? I just got an idea to get you out of it!”
“When your mom calls, don’t tell her you broke the rules.” Before Riddle can refute such a claim, Floyd is continuing on. “We fixed your lil vase together so you're all good on that front- and the clock thing doesn’t count because of rule 720.”
Riddle is astonished on two fronts- the fact Floyd knows of at least one Queen of hearts rule or that he is correct.
Rule 720, rules relating to clocks can only be broken once per year.
The answer was right there the whole time. A part of Riddle would feel deeply embarrassed for getting worked up over nothing. But he isn’t, not when Floyd shows no judgement.
“Easy peasy right?” Floyd giggles, that peculiar wheezy laugh strangely comforting. “As for everything else, I don’t got a clue to be honest.”
He tosses the book up into the air, staring down at Riddle with this odd look- one of admiration. “But I will say this. If you wanna talk or if your in a bind cause of your rules or if your brain gets all loud and mad or somebodies not treating you right-”
“Call me up, no matter what. Then we can just have some fun instead.”
There’s something so preposterous about that idea, that if Riddle were to ever be tried again, Floyd would be the one to be his line of defense. However, even Riddle can’t help admitting the idea means more to him then he could ever express. Like that broken vase, despite it looking far worse for wear it still stands after what occurred.
It can survive this. Maybe Riddle can too.
“I’ll take you up on your offer. Just don’t break it alright?”
Caught off guard he’s suddenly entangled in a grand eel hug, and strangely he doesn't resist. It’s sort of nice. When Floyd finally lets go after what feels like years, he grabs the vase with both hands and begins to ramble.
“By the way, you should come by the lounge! We made a bunch of pasta. I wanna have you try. You probably knocked over that vase cause you were tired anyways.”
The two of them walk side by side and despite all of his hesitation, Riddle agrees.
“Hey Goldfishie, I spy with my little eye something that is red.”
“Let me guess, my hair?”
“No, curtains.”
The games of nonsense continue and Riddle feels safe. Floyd’s attention is on him for the entire time. Court is finally adjourned at least for the night.