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Ever since Riddle’s overblot, something had shifted.
At first, Ace thought it was just the aftermath: Riddle returning quieter, more subdued, the fire in him dimmed. He still enforced every rule with precision and demanded perfection, but now there was a brittleness, tension in his shoulders, and a hesitation in his voice when correcting someone.
Ace noticed it during study sessions, when Riddle paused mid-sentence, fingers tightening around his pen. He saw it in Riddle’s brief glances toward the garden where the roses had been, expression unreadable.
And there were the nightmares he hadn’t meant to discover. Returning from a late-night snack raid, he heard a muffled gasp and the creak of a bedframe. Through Riddle’s slightly ajar door, Ace saw him sitting upright, breath uneven, gripping the sheets.
He’d backed away quietly, pretending he hadn’t seen anything.
But it stuck with him, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Deuce had brought it up first, during one of their shared kitchen raids.
"Housewarden’s been… different," the raven muttered around a mouthful of stolen bread. "Like he’s walking on glass or something."
Yuuken nodded, stirring his tea absentmindedly. "He’s trying too hard. Like if he slips up even once, everything will fall apart again."
Grim, perched on the counter, licked his paw. "Maybe he just needs a good nap. Or more tuna."
"Yeah, because that’s gonna fix everything."
Still, they agreed—they had to do something.
Their plans ranged from the reasonable "Maybe we could just tell him he’s doing a good job?" Deuce suggested, to the ridiculous, "What if we fake a crisis so he can save the day and feel useful again?" Ace proposed, earning a smack from Yuuken.
But before they could settle on anything, Floyd Leech happened.
Ace didn’t know when Floyd had started hanging around Heartslabyul so much.
At first, it was just annoying. Floyd lounged in their common room like a lazy eel, grinning whenever Riddle scolded him. But then Ace began to notice the little things.
The way Floyd would linger after Riddle’s lectures, leaning against the doorframe like he was waiting for something. The way he’d drop random, nonsensical comments just to see Riddle’s brow furrow in irritation, only to smirk when Riddle inevitably bit back with a sharp retort.
He had seen a lot of weird things since coming to Night Raven College, but nothing was weirder than watching his strict, rule-obsessed Housewarden slowly soften up—thanks to Floyd Leech, of all people.
1.
Ace would remember that moment forever—the exact second the unshakable Housewarden Rosehearts snorted at Floyd Leech's antics.
It had been an ordinary Tuesday afternoon in Heartslabyul. The common room was filled with students finishing assignments, chatting quietly, or sneaking in last-minute card game bets before curfew. Ace had been sprawled across one of the plush armchairs, lazily flipping through a magic theory textbook he definitely should have started reading earlier, when the scene unfolded.
Near the grand fireplace, Riddle stood rigid as a statue, his gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back as he lectured a trembling first-year who had arrived exactly two minutes late to their dorm meeting.
"Rule #143 clearly states—" Riddle began, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Ace tuned out the rest. He'd heard this speech before, probably word-for-word. Instead, his attention drifted to the couch where Floyd had somehow made himself at home, stretched out, watching the scolding with undisguised amusement.
Floyd wasn't even supposed to be here.
Yet there he was, one arm dangling off the couch cushions, his usual lazy smirk in place as he observed Riddle's tirade with far more interest than anyone else in the room. Ace had noticed Floyd hanging around Heartslabyul more often lately, but he'd assumed it was just to annoy Riddle or steal snacks.
Then Floyd spoke.
"Goldfishie~," the eel drawled, "if you frown any harder, your face'll get stuck like that."
Ace's textbook slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a thump. Several students nearby inhaled sharply. Even the poor first-year being scolded looked torn between terror and awe at Floyd's audacity.
Riddle's reaction was immediate. His shoulders stiffened, his grip on his scepter turning white-knuckled as he slowly, dangerously turned to face Floyd.
"Floyd," the redhead warned, "this is none of your concern. And I told you not to call me that."
Floyd just grinned wider, completely unbothered by the murderous aura radiating from the shorter boy. "But it's true~," he whined, rolling onto his side to prop his head up on one hand. "You're gonna get wrinkles before you're twenty at this rate."
Ace held his breath. This was it. This was how Floyd died, smote down by an enraged Housewarden in the middle of the Heartslabyul common room. He should probably intervene. Or at least get popcorn.
Then Floyd poked Riddle's cheek.
Not just a light tap—no, he full-on squished Riddle's face between his fingers, mimicking his furious scowl with exaggerated precision. "See? Like this. Super scary~."
For one heart-stopping second, absolute silence reigned.
Then Riddle snorted.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't even really a laugh, just a quick, surprised exhale through his nose, his lips twitching against his will before he could school them back into a frown. But it was undeniable.
Ace's drink went down the wrong pipe. He barely registered the way Floyd's eyes lit up, his grin turning downright triumphant as Riddle quickly turned away, his ears burning red.
"That's enough," his housewarden snapped, though the effect was ruined by how flustered he sounded. "And you—" He rounded back on the first-year, who looked torn between relief and confusion. "Don't let it happen again."
With that, Riddle stormed off, his cape flaring dramatically behind him—but not before Floyd called after him, "Aww, don't run away, Goldfishie~! Your face was finally doing something fun!"
Ace, still wheezing, locked eyes with Deuce across the room. His friend looked just as shell-shocked as he felt.
2.
Ace had been in the middle of balancing three teacups on a tray (because Cater had bet him he couldn’t, and Ace wasn’t about to back down from a challenge) when the doors to the Heartslabyul garden burst open.
No announcement. No invitation. Just Floyd, slinking in with his usual lazy grin plastered across his face as he scanned the crowd.
Floyd didn’t hesitate. He plopped himself down in the empty seat beside Riddle, the one reserved for Trey, who was currently in the kitchen, and without so much as a greeting, stole one of the delicate rose-shaped cookies from Riddle’s plate.
"Floyd," the Heartslabyul housewarden said, voice dangerously calm, "this is an invitation-only event."
Instead of answering, Floyd reached into his jacket and slid a small, ornate box across the table. The lacquered surface gleamed in the afternoon light, tied with an absurdly perfect golden ribbon.
Riddle stared at it like it might explode.
"...What is this?"
"Open it~."
The entire garden held its breath as Riddle carefully untied the ribbon. The box opened with a soft click, revealing a perfect strawberry tart shaped like—
"Is that a goldfish?" Ace blurted out before he could stop himself.
And it was. An immaculate pastry goldfish, its scales piped in delicate latticework, strawberry slices arranged like shimmering fins. The craftsmanship was shockingly good.
Riddle's breath hitched. Ace saw his fingers tremble slightly before he clenched them into fists.
"I can't." Riddle's voice was quieter now. "Sugar is, umm, my mother always said—"
Ace remembered Trey's stories then. The strict nutritional plans. The banned food lists. The way Riddle would sometimes stare at desserts with something painfully close to longing before turning away.
Floyd didn't seem to care. He took a small fork and neatly cut a bite-sized piece, holding it up to Riddle's lips with a look Ace had never seen on him before—something soft and patient.
"Try it," Floyd murmured, so quiet only their table could hear. "Just for me?"
The silence stretched. Ace could hear Cater's camera clicking frantically from somewhere in the bushes.
Then Riddle leaned forward and took the bite, and his eyes widened.
"...It's not too sweet," the redhead said after a moment, sounding surprised.
"Special recipe~. Less sugar, more strawberries. Made it just for you."
Something in Riddle's expression shifted. Ace watched, transfixed, as their normally unshakable Housewarden took another bite. Then another. By the time Floyd stood to leave (with a wink and a stolen cookie), Riddle was finishing the last crumbs, a small, secret smile playing at his lips.
When Trey returned to find his seat occupied by an empty tart box and Riddle looking suspiciously content, his raised eyebrow said everything.
Somehow, against all logic, Floyd had done the impossible:
He'd gotten Riddle to break the rules.
And worse, he'd made him enjoy it.
3.
Dorm leader meetings were typically dull affairs—long-winded discussions about budgets, event planning, and inter-dorm relations that dragged on for hours.
Normally, only Trey or Cater accompanied Riddle to these meetings as Heartslabyul representatives. But when the Headmage had unexpectedly invited Yuuken as the Ramshackle Dorm’s acting leader, Yuuken had promptly requested backup (namely, Ace, Deuce, and Grim) for "moral support".
The meeting had started predictably enough. Kalim was enthusiastically suggesting an all-dorm carnival, Vil was shooting it down with a lecture on "maintaining dignity," and Azul was already calculating potential profits under the table. And Riddle, oh, Riddle.
His housewarden sat rigidly straight, hands folded neatly on the table, the picture of perfect decorum. To anyone else, Riddle might have appeared merely attentive, but Ace had spent enough time under his rule to notice the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers pressed just a bit too tightly together. The slight flare of his nostrils when Kalim suggested something particularly rule-breaking, the subtle intake of breath when Vil dismissed protocol with a wave of his hand.
Ace could practically hear the internal struggle. The old Riddle would have already slammed his scepter on the table, declaring half a dozen rules being violated. The post-overblot Riddle was trying so desperately to be better, to listen, to understand, to not immediately jump to reprimands.
It was painful to watch when he noticed Riddle's knuckles tighten briefly when Leona openly yawned through Vil's speech, but he said nothing. His lips pressed into a thinner line when Jamil muttered something sarcastic under his breath, but he remained silent. Ace could see the effort it took, the deep breath before each reaction, the conscious relaxation of his shoulders after every perceived slight.
This was Riddle trying. Really trying. And Ace wasn't sure if he wanted to applaud him or tell him he didn't have to choke back every instinct quite so hard.
The meeting dragged on, each minute stretching Riddle's composure a little thinner. Ace watched as his housewarden's perfect posture never wavered, even as his eyes grew progressively more tired behind their polite facade. The aftermath of his overblot had left him determined to change, to be better, but watching him choke back his nature was like watching someone hold their breath underwater.
Trey, seated on Riddle's other side, occasionally leaned over to murmur something that made Riddle's shoulders drop half an inch. Cater's fingers twitched toward Riddle’s hand to comfort him every time Riddle's jaw clenched.
Ace felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest. This wasn't right. Riddle shouldn't have to strangle his own personality just to prove he'd changed. And as Riddle’s brave card soldier, Ace decided he needed to do something for his Housewarden—but then Floyd walked in, making Azul nearly choke on his drink.
All heads turned as Floyd sauntered in, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his signature lazy grin in place.
Floyd never came to these meetings. According to Jade, "Floyd finds them boring." The shorter twin had once explained with an amused smile, “His attendance record was so abysmal that Azul had long since given up trying to drag him along.”
Floyd didn’t seem to have any intention of participating. Instead, he propped his chin on his hand and proceeded to make the entire meeting infinitely more entertaining for himself, at least. Every time Vil spoke, Floyd would mimic his expressions with exaggerated precision, his lips pursing in mock seriousness or his eyes rolling dramatically. When Kalim suggested something particularly outlandish, Floyd mouthed the words along with him, grinning when Jamil shot him a withering glare.
Riddle, to his credit, was doing an admirable job of pretending Floyd didn’t exist. His gaze remained fixed on the Headmage, but Ace didn’t miss the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the table—a telltale sign of fraying patience.
Ace wasn’t sure when Floyd had even gotten paper, but suddenly, there was a folded airplane soaring through the air, its trajectory flawless as it smacked Azul squarely in the back of the head.
It was a perfect shot. The folded paper missile caught Azul square in the back of his perfectly coiffed head with a satisfying thwack, sending his glasses askew. The Octavinelle dorm leader froze mid-sentence, his entire body radiating offended dignity as the airplane bounced off his shoulder and landed gracefully in his open ledger.
Then there was a laugh.
Stifled behind his gloved hand, but undeniably there.
Small, barely more than an exhale, but unmistakable in its warmth. The sound was so foreign coming from Riddle that at first Ace thought he'd imagined it. But no - there was their normally unflappable housewarden, gloved hand pressed to his mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. His eyes, usually so stern, sparkled with something dangerously close to amusement.
Ace’s jaw dropped. Deuce elbowed him so hard he nearly toppled out of his chair. Across the room, even Leona looked up from his nap, one ear twitching in interest.
Floyd looked downright smug. His grin widened, sharp and satisfied.
"There you go, Goldfishie," he purred, voice dripping with smug affection as if Riddle’s slip-up was the only thing he’d been waiting for. "You should laugh more often."
Riddle's cheeks flushed the exact shade of Heartslabyul roses, but for once, he didn't immediately protest the nickname.
4.
The Pomefiore ballroom glowed with the soft light of chandeliers, their crystals casting prismatic patterns across the polished floor. Ace wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his feet already aching from hours of practice. The VDC loomed closer with each passing day, and his dancing still needed work—hence why Riddle had offered to help him practice after hours.
"Your posture is sloppy," his housewarden corrected, tapping Ace's back with his scepter. "And you're dragging your feet. The waltz requires precision, Ace."
Ace groaned. "I'm trying, Housewarden. But these steps are—"
"Boring~?"
A new voice cut through the music, dripping with amusement. Ace didn't need to turn to know who it was—the lazy drawl was unmistakable.
Floyd leaned against the doorway with his usual smirk in place, arms crossed over his chest.
"Floyd. This is a private practice session."
"Dance with me, Goldfishie."
Before Riddle could protest, Floyd draped himself over his shoulders, his chin resting atop Riddle's head. Riddle's face flushed immediately, his grip on his scepter tightening.
"Floyd—"
"Loosen up a little~," Floyd purred in Riddle's ear. He slid his hands down Riddle's arms, guiding them into a proper dance hold with surprising ease. "Dancing's supposed to be fun, y'know?"
Riddle huffed, but his usual sharp retort died in his throat when Floyd's fingers brushed against his waist, adjusting his stance. "I'm trying to teach Ace, not— Floyd!!"
Without missing a beat, the eel tugged Riddle into motion, their feet gliding effortlessly across the floor. The music swelled, and suddenly, they were dancing—really dancing.
Riddle's back straightened not with tension, but with perfect posture as Floyd led them through the opening steps. Their joined hands lifted gracefully, Floyd's other hand a steady presence at the small of Riddle's back. The first turn came naturally, Riddle's cape flaring slightly as Floyd spun him with practiced ease.
"See?" Floyd murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Not so hard, is it?"
Ace saw the exact moment Riddle stopped thinking about the steps. His shoulders dropped that final fraction of an inch, his expression shifting from careful concentration to something open and surprised. The way his eyes widened slightly when Floyd guided him into an unexpectedly elaborate turn, the breathless little gasp when Floyd's hand tightened just enough to steady him through a quick series of steps.
They moved together like complementary forces, Floyd all loose-limbed grace and unpredictable energy, Riddle precise and elegant but now with an undercurrent of spontaneity that made the dance come alive. When Floyd suddenly dipped him low, Ace nearly choked on air, but Riddle didn't protest. Instead, his gloved hands tightened on Floyd's shoulders, his face flushing that familiar rose pink as Floyd grinned down at him.
The music changed tempo, shifting into something more playful, and Floyd responded instantly. His steps became more animated, his movements teasing as he guided Riddle through increasingly elaborate turns and spins. Riddle's lips parted in quiet laughter when Floyd added an unnecessary flourish to a simple box step, his eyes bright with something that made him look years younger.
Ace felt like he was intruding on something sacred. The way Floyd's gaze never left Riddle's face, the way Riddle's fingers curled slightly tighter in Floyd's grip during the turns. There was an intimacy here that went beyond simple dancing. When Floyd leaned in to whisper something, his lips nearly brushing Riddle's ear, Ace finally looked away, his face heating.
A hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to find Deuce standing beside him, his expression unusually perceptive.
"It's okay, Ace," Deuce said quietly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. His voice carried no judgment, only quiet understanding. "Let's trust Floyd to make our prefect happy."
Ace opened his mouth to protest, to say that wasn't what he was worried about, but the words died in his throat as another burst of laughter drew their attention back to the dancers.
Floyd had Riddle spinning now, their joined hands raised as Riddle twirled beneath them, his usually perfect hair coming slightly undone from its style, his laughter ringing clear through the ballroom. Floyd's expression was softer than Ace had ever seen it, his sharp features warmed by something that looked dangerously close to affection.
In that moment, Ace realized with startling clarity that whatever this was between them, this push and pull of teasing and unexpected tenderness, it was something Riddle needed far more than perfect dance technique. Riddle discovering something beyond rules and perfection.
And as much as Ace might pretend to complain, as much as he might roll his eyes at Floyd's antics, he couldn't deny what he was seeing.
Floyd, against all odds, had found the key to his housewarden’s happiness.
5.
Ace found them in the library.
In a secluded corner, bathed in the warm glow of a reading lamp, Riddle lay slumped over an open book, fast asleep. His usually perfect posture had given way to exhaustion, his cheek pressed against the pages, his fingers still loosely curled around a pen. The sight alone was shocking enough—Riddle never slept in public. But what truly made Ace freeze in his tracks was the figure sitting across from him.
Floyd lounged in his chair, one elbow propped on the table, his chin resting in his palm as he watched Riddle sleep. Ace had seen that look before. He'd caught glimpses of it when Floyd thought no one was watching, during unbirthday parties when Riddle scolded him, in the hallways when their hands brushed, at that damned dance practice. But never like this. Never so exposed.
Floyd's gaze traced Riddle's sleeping face with aching slowness. The way his lashes cast delicate shadows, the faint flush across his nose from the library's warmth, the slight part of his lips with each even breath. His free hand hovered near Riddle's hair, fingers twitching as if fighting the urge to touch.
Floyd exhaled through his nose, a quiet, amused sound as Riddle mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep. The corner of his mouth quirked upward, not in his usual teasing grin, but something smaller. Truer.
Ace should have left. He knew he should have left. But he stood rooted to the spot, caught between disbelief and morbid fascination.
Floyd moved first. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he shrugged off his Octavinelle jacket sftly and draped it over Riddle's shoulders like a makeshift blanket. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing a stray strand of hair from the smaller boy's forehead with a touch so light it might have been imagined.
Riddle stirred at the contact, his nose wrinkling slightly before his eyes fluttered open. He blinked up at Floyd, his gaze still hazy with sleep. "Floyd?"
The smile that curved Floyd's lips then was nothing like his usual sharp grins. It was small, private, and almost shy. "You're cute when you're asleep."
Riddle's sleep-softened expression warmed, a smile tugging at his own lips. "Do I become ugly when I wake up?"
Floyd huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers finding Riddle's where they lay on the table. "Nah," he said, leaning in. "You're always cute, Goldfishie."
And then, Floyd kissed Riddle. Not on the lips, thank the Seven, but on the cheek, quick and sweet and so affectionate it made Ace's stomach twist with secondhand embarrassment.
Riddle's face flushed pink, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers curled slightly around Floyd's, his smile growing just a fraction brighter.
Ace finally remembered how to move. He took a careful step back, then another, his face burning. This was—no. This was too much. He wasn't supposed to see this. No one was supposed to see this.
He turned on his heel and fled as quietly as possible, his heart pounding in his chest. Behind him, he could just barely hear Floyd's quiet laughter and Riddle's sleepy, contented sigh.
Ace didn't stop until he was three corridors away, leaning against a wall and trying to catch his breath. His mind raced with what he'd just witnessed. It was too intimate. Too real.
And yet…
Ace couldn't help but smile just a little.
Maybe this was exactly what Riddle needed.
+1
He and Deuce had been on their way back from the cafeteria, bickering about whether to study for potions or just sneak into Trey's stash of experimental desserts, when they rounded the corner and froze. There, in the middle of the hallway, stood Riddle and Floyd, caught in some quiet conversation that immediately set off Ace's danger sense.
He grabbed Deuce's arm and yanked them both behind a conveniently placed suit of armor before either noticed them.
"What are you—" Deuce started to whisper.
Ace clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up. Look."
Riddle took a deep breath. His fingers flexed, then stilled. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than Ace had ever heard it.
"What do you think of me?"
The question hung in the air between them, fragile and weighted.
Floyd blinked. Then, slowly, deliberately, he tilted his head, his usual lazy smirk creeping back onto his face.
"Hmm~?" Floyd drawled, dragging out the sound as he pushed off the wall to step closer. "You're strict," he said, counting off on his fingers. "Kinda scary when you wanna be. Super smart—annoyingly so, actually."
Riddle's shoulders tensed.
Floyd took another step forward, his voice dropping into something softer, something that made Ace's skin prickle with the intimacy of it. "And," he added, his grin turning into something smaller, more sincere, "I like you. A lot."
Riddle's face went from pink to scarlet in seconds, his eyes widening behind his lashes. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again—utterly speechless for what might have been the first time in his life.
And Riddle kissed him.
Right there. In the middle of the hallway.
It wasn't some grand, dramatic gesture. Just Riddle surging forward on his toes, one hand fisting in Floyd's shirt to pull him down, their lips meeting in a collision that was equal parts desperate and sweet.
Floyd made a noise, something between a gasp and a laugh, before his hands found Riddle's waist, pulling him closer like he'd been waiting for this exact moment his entire life.
When they parted, Floyd's usual sharp grin was replaced by a genuine smile. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes crinkled at the corners, his entire face alight with a happiness so pure it was almost painful to witness.
Ace felt like he'd been punched in the gut.
Next to him, Deuce made a strangled noise, his face nearly as red as Riddle's hair.
Ace grabbed his arm and hauled him away before either noticed their audience.
"We're never telling anyone we saw that," Ace hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.
Deuce nodded frantically, looking vaguely traumatized. "Never."
Somewhere behind them, Floyd's laughter echoed down the hall, bright and unguarded and full of something that sounded suspiciously like love.
From that day forward, Ace began to notice more things.
How Floyd would "coincidentally" show up whenever Riddle was particularly stressed. How his teasing had changed—less mean-spirited, more playful, like he was testing the waters to see what would make Riddle's composure crack.
And most damning of all—how Riddle, despite his protests, let him.
Not to mention all those kisses when they thought nobody was watching.
It was the beginning of something Ace definitely hadn't seen coming.
Yet,
Against all odds,
It brought a smile to his face.
He thought back to the Riddle he'd first met—the rule-obsessed, quick-to-punish Housewarden who'd seemed more machine than human. But he'd also seen the Riddle who dedicatedly fed the hedgehogs by the greenhouse, who stayed up late helping struggling students with their homework, who'd cried after his overblot when he realized how badly he'd hurt people.
Their Housewarden was problematic, sure—a brat with too much power and too many issues from his messed-up upbringing. But under all that, he was just a guy who loved too fiercely and cared too much, who'd never been taught how to do either in a healthy way.
And when Ace saw Riddle laughing at one of Floyd's stupid jokes in the courtyard, his face lit up with genuine joy; he couldn't help but smile more.
Riddle deserved this. Deserved someone who saw past the crown and the rules to the kind, overprotective dork underneath.
Even if that someone was a scary eel bastard from Octavinelle.
“My hoursewarden deserves the best.”