Archive of Our Own

(Riddle isn’t sure what starts it. He can’t tell which of the three of them is the original instigator. It might be Floyd; it might be Azul; it might be Jade. He could make a case for any of them. But even if he knew who had started it, he still wouldn’t know the most important answer: why .

Unbeknownst to Riddle, it starts, as many things do in Octavinelle, with a suggestion, an agreement, and a phrase: It’s a Deal .)

***

“Goldfishie!”

Riddle can picture the precise look on Floyd’s face before he even turns around. He’s going to be wearing that stupid, smug, and exceptionally annoying expression, like he always is, and the worst part is that he’s going to look happy about it. Floyd seems to enjoy interacting with Riddle without fail, regardless of the result.

“Come on, I know ya heard me.”

Riddle paces down the hallway faster. He swears he hears Floyd giggling behind him. Floyd catches up infuriatingly quickly. Riddle sometimes wishes there were rules about universal walking speed to avoid such situations.

“Goldfish,” Floyd sings, matching Riddle’s step rhythm in double length. “Should know better than to run from me. Don’tcha know I like chasin’ ya down?”

“I’m aware,” Riddle huffs. No matter what pace he switches to, Floyd syncs with him. “Have you ever considered that perhaps I don’t wish to be chased down?”

Floyd shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “But ya woulda just collared me or sicced some card soldiers on me if ya really didn’t wanna.”

As much as Riddle hates to admit it, Floyd is at least partially correct. Cater would send a few clones after Floyd at a moment’s notice, if he only asked. But Riddle is loath to admit that he does occasionally enjoy Floyd’s company, so he crosses his arms and glares. “What do you want, Floyd?”

“Hm?” Floyd tilts his head. Riddle catches a glimpse of his deceptively innocent frown from the corner of his eye. “I just wanna spend time with ya.”

“Floyd, I don’t have time to play with you.”

“That’s okay,” says Floyd with an unbothered grin. Riddle is beginning to get suspicious. Typically he’d push for such activities much more strongly. But here he is, taking the rejection in stride, still skipping alongside Riddle.

“Really?” Riddle asks, against his better judgment.

Floyd just laughs. “Sure. I’ll just let Goldfish decide what we do this time. Where’re ya goin’?”

It’s such a bizarre reaction that Riddle finds himself nearly tripping down the stairs in his riding boots. He corrects himself quickly, but the stumble causes heat to rush to his face, and he’s sure Floyd takes notice, if the way his smile widens is any indication.

“Equestrian club,” he answers belatedly. “Which you are not a part of.”

“I can go for a day, though, right?”

Riddle hesitates. Floyd’s correct, whether he realizes it or not. It’s a school rule that clubs must allow visitors the opportunity to attend three meetings before requiring them to join as a member, and Riddle wouldn’t dream of bending a rule for his own personal gain.

“You’re all red, Goldfish,” Floyd teases, poking his cheek, and with that, Riddle knows he’s lost.

He leads Floyd to the stables, and even lets him give Vorpal her carrot before practice. As she eats it Floyd complains that she almost bit him, but his smile remains in place. And though Riddle offers him the chance to spectate their practice, Floyd remains in the stables, staring down one of the resting horses with unfaltering interest.

“Goldfish!” Floyd greets him as he returns from practice. “Horses are so mean!”

“You don’t sound scared,” Riddle points out.

Floyd shrugs. “Nothin’s too scary with Goldfish around,” he says, and the look in his eyes is so profound that Riddle is rendered motionless with shock. His brief lapse is long enough for Floyd to throw an arm around his shoulders. “Lemme walk ya back.”

“That’s-” But Riddle cuts himself off as he considers. There’s little harm in letting Floyd take him back to Heartslabyul’s mirror. “Alright, I suppose.”

Riddle yelps as Floyd pulls him in closer, both arms on his shoulders as he tugs Riddle to his chest. Is… is Floyd hugging him? Riddle stands stock-still in surprise, although he doesn’t pull away. Floyd’s oddly warm for a cold-blooded creature, and he’s not as overbearing as usual. Riddle finds it- well, pleasant might be a strong word, but- yes, he does.

Strangely, for the entire walk to the mirror room, Floyd is cooperative, content to keep a loose hold on Riddle. When Riddle reaches the Heartslabyul mirror, he turns to Floyd. The sheer lighthearted delight in his expression gives him pause.

Thankfully, Floyd has no problem filling his sudden silence. “So that’s what ya do without me.” He takes his arm back; Riddle’s shoulders feel cold without him. “That was fun!”

Riddle inhales shakily, composing himself. “Well, I should-”

But words fail him as Floyd leans in, so close Riddle’s eyes begin to cross. He places one hand on Riddle’s chin, turning his face slightly. Riddle has half a mind to protest, but Floyd’s lips on his cheek force his mind to a halt. Did Floyd just… kiss him ?

“See ya, Goldfish!” Floyd calls as he vanishes into the Octavinelle mirror, a giant grin on his face.

Riddle stands still, shocked into silence. It would be one thing if Floyd had just kissed him, but no, he had purposefully turned Riddle’s head to keep the gesture decent. When did he become considerate? And for him , no less? Riddle’s face burns. He can feel the ghost of Floyd’s touch, and it’s not wholly unpleasant, and he should end that train of thought immediately because Floyd Leech is not someone to dwell upon. Besides, that was strange, yes, but not completely out of character for Floyd. He tends to do odd things.

It’s not as if anything else will happen, Riddle thinks firmly, and enters his dorm unshaken, or at least as unshaken as he can pretend to be.

***

“Ah, Riddle,” Azul says, catching his arm before he can leave the housewarden meeting room. “Might I speak to you for a moment?”

Riddle furrows his brow in suspicion, but Azul seems… no worse-intentioned than usual, so he’ll give him a chance. “Go ahead.”

Azul’s smile is almost sickeningly sweet. “In private.”

His tone is unfamiliar. Riddle feels himself becoming apprehensive. He’s sure it shows because Azul laughs, a light sound. “Nothing unsavory, of course,” he reassures. “I simply wish to offer a proposal, which you are free to decline.”

In all honesty, Riddle has his doubts about any proposals Azul might deign to suggest, but he won’t deny a fellow housewarden his time. Besides, Azul could, in a sense, perhaps, by some standards, qualify as a friend. He can already hear Trey telling him off for rejecting the offer, so- “I’ll entertain the idea,” he says, before he can think better of it.

“Wonderful.” The smile on Azul’s face widens, and although he doesn’t have knives for teeth like the Leech twins, Riddle feels the same odd mixture of unease and intrigue. “Mind if we take this somewhere more secluded? My office, perhaps?”

Riddle’s sure he’s imagining the edge in Azul’s tone. It’s not quite predatory, but smoother. The full weight of his gaze makes Riddle apprehensive, especially since they’re still in full view of at least three other housewardens (Malleus isn’t there, and Riddle’s not sure if Idia can see through the tablet, or just hear). “That’ll be fine.”

He follows Azul through the Octavinelle mirror, through Mostro Lounge and the VIP access hallway, all the way to his gold-trimmed office door. “After you,” Azul says, waving his pen carelessly. The door unlocks and swings open slowly, glinting gold in the light.

Flashy , Riddle thinks, but then again, what part of Azul isn’t? He sits in the chair across from Azul’s desk. It feels faintly interrogational.

“Please.” Azul sounds amused as the door clicks shut. Riddle wonders if he’s been trapped. “Try the sofa. It’s much more comfortable.”

Riddle relocates to the sofa. Infuriatingly, the cushioning is very inviting. “I simply figured you’d be wanting the desk to set up your contracts for exploitation.”

“Exploitation? Goodness, do you really think so lowly of me?” Azul’s half-genuine words are perfectly expected, but the way he sits next to Riddle, allowing barely two inches of space between their thighs, is less so. Riddle glances at Azul, only to find him much, much closer than he’s accustomed to.

“Well,” says Riddle, disappointed that his voice waves slightly, “what did you wish to discuss?”

“No need to be nervous, Riddle.” Azul’s smile is smug, and Riddle wishes he disliked it but the confidence suits him, to say the least. “I just wished to inquire about your schedule. I’d like to host a Rose Queendom-themed special menu next month, and you’re the perfect person to consult. You’d sample all our potential dishes and suggest improvements or make selections.”

As Azul hands him an invitation, it doesn’t sound half bad. There’s likely several desserts on that menu, knowing the Mostro Lounge’s specialties, and he likes to indulge from time to time, sue him. “You won’t do anything to the food, or require any payment on my part?”

“Of course not.” Azul places a hand over his heart, looking almost offended, though his smile stays in place. “I’ll cook everything myself, if it pleases you.”

And Riddle would have been perfectly fine with those words, and with that sly smile, if Azul hadn’t taken his left hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. Riddle has gloves on, so it doesn’t feel like much, but the action, and the look in Azul’s eyes, lights his face on fire. Azul laughs, genuine and delighted.

“Resorting to trickery already,” Riddle grumbles, turning away to hide the dregs of his flush. Surely there’s some strange motivation behind his flattery; Riddle curses himself for falling for it. “I should never have trusted you.”

“You wound me, Riddle. Would it do so much harm to admit that I’ve charmed you?”

“It’d be improper of me to lie,” says Riddle haughtily, trying his best for a scoff as he rises.

“Right,” Azul says, looking far too pleased with himself. “Do let me know what days you’ll be available. I’ll ensure every dish you’re served is the finest we have to offer.”

Riddle has one hand on the doorknob, but before he leaves, he turns back. “Next Wednesday, around five.”

Azul’s grin is that of a victor.

It isn’t until Riddle is lying in bed attempting to fall asleep that he replays the interaction and realizes Azul could have chosen… anyone else. Riddle isn’t the most experienced with taste-testing, anyways, and he’s by no means a chef. Why would Azul choose him over, say, Trey? Why would Azul want him specifically?

Riddle buries his face into the pillow and tries not to scream.

What is going on?

***

“Floyd,” says Riddle sharply, like it’s an insult. He shoves the card into Floyd’s hands. “Did you know about this?”

“‘Bout what?” Floyd asks. He studies the card. “Azul’s handwritin’… He wants ya to sample stuff for the Rose Queendom promo?”

“He… propositioned me,” Riddle huffs, trying his best for annoyance, although the experience wasn’t terribly unpleasant. “He promised he’d cook everything himself if I didn’t trust him.”

Floyd’s casual gait shifts instantly, large steps becoming unnaturally small to match closer with Riddle’s. His eyes narrow. “You don’t want that, do ya, Goldfish?”

The abrupt shift is unusual, even for Floyd. Riddle blinks. “It was a tempting offer, Floyd.”

“Well, don’t take it.”

Riddle frowns slightly. “I already did. I’ll be there Wednesday evening.”

“Let me cook, then,” Floyd insists, petulant. His arm has found its way around Riddle’s shoulders again, and he’s gotten much closer on the path. The dirt path to the stables is no main street, but it’s not narrow enough to require such proximity.

Any sensible Night Raven student knows better than to push Floyd when he’s in a mood. But Riddle is not sensible, so he proceeds. “Azul already offered. There’s no need.”

“But I wanna , Goldfish,” he whines. How he manages to pout dramatically while still keeping Riddle secured in his hold is a question for the ages. “Wanna cook for ya all the time.”

Riddle’s eyes snap up to Floyd. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” says Floyd, strangely earnest. "Why d’ya think I keep tryna get you to come to Mostro? I wanna cook somethin’ ya like. Wanna impress ya.”

Well. Riddle isn’t sure how to respond to that, especially when Floyd seems completely truthful. He’s been… wanting to impress him? Is that why he keeps following Riddle like a lost pet? Wanting to prove his worth?

Before his restraint can catch up, he says, “You can cook for me another time, if you like.”

Floyd stops in his tracks for a moment, but recovers quickly with a grin freshly minted on his face. “Mmkay,” he hums, practically skipping. Riddle stumbles to catch up with him. “I’ll cook for ya too! How soon? What d’ya like? And don’t say strawberry tarts, I know ya can’t eat those all the time! Oh, do ya eat Rose Queendom food? I dunno how to make most Rose Queendom food but I’ll try!”

“Slow down, Floyd,” Riddle chides, and Floyd obligingly shuts up. For about two seconds.

Nevertheless, as Floyd rambles on about his favorite dishes to cook, Riddle can’t help the slight smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t notice as Floyd slips the invite from Azul into his pocket.

***

“Azuuul! What the hell is this, huh?”

“An invitation. And I do believe it’s not polite to steal, Floyd.”

“Azul made this menu just to get Goldfish to taste test, didn’t ya?! That’s not playin’ fair!”

“My, my. You should know better than anyone that there are no rules in this kind of competition. Why, it almost sounds like you’re afraid you’ll lose.”

“ Lose? I’m so far in the lead right now, I’ll fuckin’-”

“Floyd, Azul, please be mindful of the chandelier-”

***

The end of the week hits Riddle with all the subtlety of the underage drinking at a Scarabian rager, which is to say, none. Not only does he wake up feeling exceptionally worn out from the upcoming weekend’s unbirthday preparations, but Trey is waiting outside his door. Without a tart as an offering. Never a good sign.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Trey says, before Riddle can get a word out. Riddle tries to make his expression less dire. Judging by Trey’s reaction, he fails. Trey hands him a small brown box. “This was left for you.”

“By whom?” Riddle asks, but Trey is already retreating back to his safe space, the kitchen.

Riddle stares at the offending box with suspicion. Then he notices a marker drawing on top: a goldfish, complete with fins that look too much like ruffled collars to be coincidental. He’s torn between the urge to smile and frown, and compromises by ripping open the package.

It’s a takeout bowl. Its clear lid betrays its contents: a cheese-filled omelet atop white rice with a side of steamed greens. Riddle stares at it, uncomprehending. Why would Floyd have given him breakfast?

When he opens the lid, steam puffs up around his face. It smells divine. He discovers approximately two minutes later that it tastes divine, too.

It strikes him, as he’s taking the last bite, that Floyd must have cooked it himself. Strangely, it startles him. He knows, objectively, that Floyd is a good cook, but it’s different to taste it himself. Besides, to have something personally cooked for him and even delivered ?

Riddle’s chest feels odd. He doesn’t hate it.

The feeling lasts all the way until he takes his seat in potions. He’s barely on time, so few seats remain available. Crewel directs him to the one next to Jade Leech.

“It’s a relief to see you, Riddle,” he says as Riddle sits, smiling even more serenely than usual. “I noticed you weren’t at breakfast. I was a bit worried. Are you alright?”

Riddle recalls the breakfast cooked by Jade’s own brother and feels strangely embarrassed. He busies himself with his bag. “I took breakfast in my dorm today. No need for concern.”

“Ah.” Jade’s eyes glint, and his smile twists into something more knowing. “I did wonder what my brother was up to this morning. Tell me, how did it taste?”

Riddle turns to him sharply, opening his mouth. One look at Jade’s expression, pleasantly amused, makes Riddle’s resolve dissolve. “It was excellent,” he admits.

“Oh, good. I’ll be sure to tell Azul you said that.”

It takes a moment to process those words, because Riddle is reading the assignment on the board, but once he does, he startles. “Azul?” he asks. “Wouldn’t you rather pass my compliments to Floyd instead?”

“I’ll do that as well, if you like. I only meant that Azul will surely outdo himself on Wednesday if he hears that Floyd cooked well for you.” Jade laughs softly to himself, smug. “You’re in for quite the treat.”

Riddle, who is measuring out water and infusion leaves for the potion base, nearly drops the measuring cup. Jade picks it up smoothly, handing it back with a knowing smirk.

They work in silence for a few moments, as Jade begins slicing up ginger root and heart of newt with precision. Still, Riddle can’t get Jade’s words out of his mind. He can’t find the right way to ask, but he tries to express his curiosity anyway. As he tips the ginger into the base, he speaks up, hesitant. “Why would Azul…” He falters.

“Why would Floyd motivate him?” Jade fills in, and he nods. “We have, shall we say, an ongoing competition. Azul likely thinks Floyd is winning at the moment, and this will only prove him right. As such, he’ll want to improve his performance.”

Riddle’s head spins, and not just from the potion fumes. “A… competition? Is that why they’ve been acting so strange around me?”

Jade looks intrigued. “Have they?”

For a moment, Riddle wonders why Jade can’t ask them himself. But the need to tell someone about how strange the last week has been is much stronger than his distrust of Jade, so he mentally throws his dignity out the window, and inhales deeply.

“Both of them kissed me,” he blurts. Jade’s brows raise slightly, which is essentially shock from him. “Not on the lips,” he adds. This seems to pacify Jade considerably. Strange, but Riddle can’t stop himself now. “Floyd went to equestrian club with me without complaining about being bored once. And he keeps walking me places! Besides, why did Azul ask me to taste test, anyway? I don’t know much about food service, and he didn’t have to be so flattering about it! I just…” Riddle buries his face in his arms and suppresses a scream.

Jade, to his credit, drops his ever-present smile in favor of a more sympathetic look. He rubs gentle circles on Riddle’s back as he calms down. This is what makes Jade approachable, Riddle thinks, half-delirious. He may be conniving, but at least he understands the finesse of emotion.

“That does sound rather odd,” agrees Jade, once Riddle has recovered. “But that all checks out with the competition’s goal. Besides, none of that sounds negative, yes? Unless you’re uncomfortable with it?”

“No, it’s… rather nice. I had thought it had to do with me specifically, so it’s a relief to know they’re only acting that way for a bet.”

Jade’s kind expression takes on a sly edge as he measures dragonfly wings for the potion. “Ah, but it is about you, Riddle.”

He stares at Jade in silence. Jade proceeds with the potion, seemingly unbothered. “What,” Riddle asks, breathy, “is the competition?”

“We made a deal,” Jade says pleasantly, but his eyes betray mischief. Riddle swallows thickly. “To find out who could win you over first.”

“…Win me over?”

“Call it what you like. Win your heart. Capture your affections.” Jade leans in closer, dropping his tone. “Seduce you.”

“I see.” Riddle fights to regain his composure, despite the heat flaring in his cheeks. Jade doesn’t so much as flinch, stirring the potion and setting another timer casually, like he discusses seduction competitions daily. Riddle unscrews the container of powdered dragonhorn. He fumbles slightly; he’s sure Jade notices.

“When you say ‘we’,” Riddle says quietly, “you mean that Floyd and Azul are involved in the competition, right?”

“They are.”

“And…” Riddle narrowly avoids shuddering under his intense gaze. “Are you keeping score for them, or-?”

“Oh, no,” Jade murmurs, smile growing so wide that Riddle can see the sharp edges of his teeth. “I’m competing just the same as they are.”

He straightens his gloves calmly, maintaining eye contact, and Riddle couldn't look away if he wanted to. His heart is racing. Jade is right there and just admitted to attempting to seduce him. Riddle is sure it’s highly improper, but Jade is such a gentleman about the whole thing, like it’s not even happening.

“You seem the type to appreciate honesty,” Jade explains, as if the competition itself makes perfect sense. “In any case, we only have to continue stirring the potion, then lower the heat. We make a good team, wouldn’t you say?”

Riddle is still reeling from all the nonsensical mysteries Jade has so casually unearthed, but he nods.

They proceed without further incident. The class goes so normally that Riddle is almost ready to write the whole thing off as Jade gaining a sense of humor overnight. That is, until he’s packing up, and Jade taps his shoulder.

“Do let me know if I can improve on anything,” he says pleasantly, politeness back in place. “I’d very much like to win.”

“It must be an appealing prize, then,” says Riddle; he’s never seen Jade want for anything, really.

“Ah, well. There is no prize.” His yellow eye gleams as he fastens his bag shut. “Aside from you, of course. And rest assured, all of us find that prize very appealing.”

Riddle burns. He’s sure his face is even redder than during the rage of his tyrant days. “Wait,” he calls, and Jade waits, like he’s been expecting the demand. “Aren’t the three of you- well, I suppose they’re only rumors, forgive me…”

“No, you’re quite correct.” Jade sounds almost amused at his hesitance. “Azul is in a relationship with both of us, and has been for several years now.”

“And you’re all competing to,” Riddle can’t bring himself to say seduce , so he settles for, “Win me over?” He crosses his arms, a defense mechanism. “Isn’t that counterproductive?”

“I thought we’d hit that snag.” Jade considers for a moment. “It’s quite simple, really,” he says. “We’re plagued by incredible greed, yet terrible at sharing things we want.”

Riddle mentally fills in that things they want apparently includes him. He’s not sure how he feels about it. Well, he is , if the distinctly pleasant buzz in his chest is any indication. The real issue is admitting it to himself.

“I’m afraid I must be on my way, then.” Jade’s smile is absolutely unnerving, but Riddle doesn’t exactly mind the shiver it sends down his spine. “Until we meet again.”

Riddle watches him leave the classroom for a very long time, until he’s completely out of sight. Then he sits down in his chair, hard, and stays there. He thinks if he tried to walk his legs would give out.

Great Seven. These three mermen have him, ironically enough, in over his head.

***

Come Wednesday, Jade turns out to be right; Azul outdoes himself.

Objectively, Riddle knows that the Mostro Lounge is classy, respectable, and boasts exceptional service. Still, he would think it excessive if every guest got this same treatment, he thinks, as Azul sits across from him at a private table, curtains drawn.

“Do let me know what you think of each dish,” he says, as he personally sets each plate down before him.

Riddle examines them. They’re intricately plated, each of them. Riddle thinks perhaps eight different dishes are on the table, though Mostro Lounge tends to only promote three items at a time. There are two different tarts, a mini cake, a cold pink beverage and a warm coffee-based one, and three different appetizers.

“This is quite a lot,” he says, feeling faintly overwhelmed. “Did you make it all yourself?”

“Sadly, no. Most of the recipes are my own, however. I only had assistance with ingredient preparation, so I can personally assure the quality of everything before you.”

Riddle doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he eats a bacon-wrapped date appraisingly. “It’s good, but the maple is a bit overwhelming.”

Something in Azul’s eyes visibly shifts as he clicks his pen, taking notes. Riddle concludes that he is entering his business mode. But that would mean he wasn’t in business mode prior to his notes. It almost doesn’t make sense, until he remembers Jade’s words. Until he remembers that Azul’s unusual behavior has a cause. Until he remembers that Azul apparently wants him.

Riddle chokes on his drink.

“Not good?” asks Azul sharply.

Riddle clears his throat. “Forgive me. I was… distracted. The coffee is lovely.”

Azul makes a note.

“I prefer tea, though. The Queen of Hearts ruled that coffee be forbidden in her courts, so Heartslabyul students might refrain from purchasing it.” For fear of my punishment , he thinks wryly. Look at him now, though, drinking coffee like it’s nothing. He hasn’t come far but at least he’s gone somewhere.

“No coffee, then,” Azul agrees. “We’ll have milk tea, then. With honey.”

Riddle nearly drops a shrimp into his cocktail sauce. “Honey?”

“It’s what you like, isn’t it?”

His silence apparently is answer enough.

“Then that’s what we’ll serve,” Azul says firmly. This time, he’s looking directly into Riddle’s eyes, notepad forgotten.

And although Riddle knows the answer, he can’t help blurting, “Why me?” At Azul’s inquisitive look, he continues. “Why would you choose me? Are more frequent patrons or more experienced chefs not better choices?”

“Look at it from my perspective.” Azul taps his pen on the table, a calculated mockery of an idle motion. “Perhaps, by inviting you here, I can sway you into visiting more frequently.”

“A great deal of effort to secure one customer.”

Azul smiles. This time, his teeth flash.

Riddle forces himself to swallow. Then, he moves on to the next drink. Azul snaps back to business mode, and he tries to do the same. By the end of the tasting session, he thinks he might understand why the lounge is so popular.

As Riddle readjusts his crown, Azul glances up from his notepad. “Might I ask, which was your favorite dish?”

Riddle considers. He looks over them critically. “They were all excellent. But I enjoyed the honey cake with chamomile the most. The flavors were masterful, and it was exceptionally well baked.”

Azul’s smile is wry. “I see.” He clicks his pen. The point retracts. “How interesting.”

“Is my choice odd?”

“Not particularly. You see, I created most of these recipes. The honey cake is the only one crafted by someone else.”

Riddle suppresses a loud, uncouth snort of laughter at Azul’s expense. Serves him right for being so smug. “By whom, exactly?”

Silence. Azul stands, with a bitter edge to his eyes. “Floyd Leech,” he admits, grumbling.

Oh. Riddle suddenly sees what Jade meant, because the notion of Riddle preferring Floyd’s dish clearly unsettles him. It’s dangerous, but Riddle also thinks it’s highly amusing. “I’ll be sure to tell him I enjoyed it, then,” he says, offhand. “Thank you, Azul.”

As Mostro Lounge’s heavy glass door shuts behind him, Riddle wonders if he’s made a horrible mistake, fueling this competition on purpose. Does this make him a participant, too? Does this make him implicit in their actions?

Seven above, does this mean he’s flirting back ?

***

When he tells him of this new predicament during flight class the next day, Jade laughs. Tips his head back and cackles, like the laugh of a kraken. It’s the most unrefined he’s ever seen him.

“That explains a great deal.”

Riddle frowns, tilting his head.

“About Azul and Floyd,” he explains. “Yesterday they were simply insatiable . I could barely keep Azul out of the lounge kitchen, and the moment Floyd’s apron was off Azul was on him like-”

Riddle yelps. “That is quite enough,” he says quickly. Though the mental image won’t leave him alone, now that Jade has willed it into existence.

“Rest assured, they both quite enjoyed it. And I certainly enjoyed the show.”

He swears he can hear Jade laughing as Riddle takes off on his broom, far, far away from the ground, far, far away from where Jade and his ludicrous implications can reach him. He breathes in, exhales slowly.

Unbidden, he thinks of Floyd in the lounge kitchen, of Azul stalking up to him with fire in his eyes, tearing at his already half-unbuttoned shirt, pushing him against the counter and pressing in close, breathing hard, and-

Riddle nearly falls off his broom.

“Rosehearts! You alright?”

“Fine,” he calls, trying to sound haughty. “Perfecting my barrel roll.”

When class is over, Jade smiles knowingly. Riddle avoids eye contact, trying not to let it feel like an admission of defeat.

***

“For the last time, I’ve never tried any kind of roe, and I don’t have a favorite!”

“But Goldfish,” Floyd whines, “how am I supposed to make ya somethin’ if I don’t know what ya like?”

“I don’t eat this much seafood! I don’t even live by the sea!”

Riddle is beginning to regret telling Floyd that he enjoyed the honey cake. He was overjoyed, yes, but he has also begun asking ludicrous questions about his food preferences, most of which Riddle couldn't answer if he wanted to. Perhaps this is karma for upsetting Azul. Perhaps he should have said the lamb was his favorite.

Floyd sighs, loud and dramatic. “Come on…” He sulks as he walks, but continues following Riddle. He’s far surpassed his three trial club meetings, but no one in the equestrian club wants to risk angering Riddle or Floyd individually, let alone both of them simultaneously. So once a week, on his basketball off-day, Floyd Leech joins the equestrian club. (Riddle hopes it’s his off-day. Maybe he’ll ask Ace later.)

The silence is tolerable for about two minutes. Then Floyd’s annoyed pacing in the stables gets a little too loud. Riddle’s impatient streak kicks in, and he groans in frustration.

“Fine!” Riddle snaps, startling Floyd into looking at him. “I… I like salmon. Grilled salmon. Maybe with a miso glaze.”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Floyd’s face. “There we go,” he says gently. Riddle’s never heard him speak like that before, especially not to him; it’s nice, actually. “Mmkay, anything else?”

“No tuna. I don’t like tuna.”

“What about things ya do like?”

Riddle has to consider. He tolerated whatever dishes his mother made, but he was never particularly fond of any of them. “I like sweet potatoes. Tofu. Honey. Any kind of berries. Spinach. Carrots, but not cooked carrots.” His face heats up as he realizes he’s been… expressing preferences . “You need not listen to such rambling,” he says quickly. “I apologize for going on.”

Floyd tilts his head. “Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why would ya apologize for doin’ somethin’ I asked ya to do?”

This gives him pause. No one’s ever really asked for his opinion before. Sure, Trey asks which tarts he should bake for unbirthdays, but Riddle answers according to the Queen of Hearts’ rules, not his own personal preferences. “I must be unused to such things.”

Floyd looks at him, hesitates, and then smiles. It’s soft, not showing his teeth for once. “Guess ya gotta get used to it,” he sings. “‘Cause I wanna know everything ya like! Favorite movies next, then favorite songs, then-”

“Club is starting,” Riddle announces loudly. “I can’t hold them up.”

Floyd cackles as Riddle leads Vorpal away. The smile on his face must look utterly stupid, because even Silver looks caught off guard when he sees Riddle’s expression.

Silver approaches him after practice. He pulls him aside, asking for help storing the saddle. Riddle is certain he knows where it goes, but obliges anyway. They enter the storage closet as everyone else filters out.

“He’s good for you,” Silver says abruptly.

Riddle drops his riding crop.

“I had my doubts at first. But he is.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Riddle, like a liar. “Saddle goes in that section.” Then he walks away, and brushes Vorpal’s mane, and lets Floyd walk him all the way into the Heartslabyul lounge, like a liar.

***

When he enters the Mostro Lounge’s second dining room, Riddle does a double take.

“What do you think?” Azul asks. He’s standing in the center of the space, coat dramatically sweeping around him as he motions around the room. Riddle’s sure he’s thought about every aspect of this entrance, from the lighting on his face to the shadows he casts. The effect is not lost on him; here, in his own space, Azul looks nothing short of stunning.

“It’s beautiful,” he says truthfully. “But… I don’t understand. Why change this room, specifically?”

In a few strides, Azul closes the distance between them. “I’ve always wished for a ballroom, ever since I found out about landgoers’ traditions of dance. I find it fascinating.”

“Would you not lose profit?”

“Ah. You see, the tables have only been relocated. No patrons would be lost to this layout.”

Riddle glances around. Sure enough, the edge of the room is lined with tables and chairs. They aren’t lit as dramatically as the floor, using dim wall lights instead, and candles on each table. He wanders over to one. “Would these be lit?”

“Of course. Such lighting evokes an air of romance, I’ve heard. In fact…” Azul slips his pen out of his breast pocket. “There.” The candle glows with a faint, mesmerizing light. “Have a seat.”

Riddle sits. “Have you had another menu prepared for me to sample? I fear I’ve already had dinner.” Azul had not told him anything aside from the meeting place and time - Mostro Lounge’s back room, eight in the evening.

Azul smiles. “No. In fact, that works perfectly.”

Then, he vanishes out a side door. Riddle considers calling after him, but refrains. Azul will be back soon, he’s sure. In the meantime, he admires the room. It’s Mostro Lounge’s second dining room, he knows, the one without a bar. He’s never seen it like this before. Was the Lounge always equipped with such lighting? Was its floor always so immaculately polished? Was the faint jazz playing here always so delightfully palatable?

Azul comes back in. He sets a small plate before Riddle with a flourish.

Riddle stares. He’s never seen such a dessert before, except on the baking show Cater and Trey binge watch when they’re feeling down. If he recalls, it has to be made immediately before serving, or else it’ll collapse.

“Chocolate soufflé,” Azul supplies, confirming his speculations. “Please, be my guest. It’s best right now, I’ve found.”

Riddle takes the spoon without hesitation. The soufflé melts in his mouth, with the finest of textures. It’s not overpoweringly sweet, either; it’s just right to satisfy his sweet tooth but not feel heavy.

“I’ve also prepared a raspberry thyme glaze and a lavender-infused cream as accompaniments.”

Riddle just stares. He’s watched bakers struggle over soufflés on film. He’s seen Trey laugh when asked to make it. He’s heard countless horror stories. And yet Azul not only made him one, but got the timing perfect to accommodate his arrival?

“Is it too much?” asks Azul, sounding delighted at the prospect.

Riddle shakes his head. Then, he picks up the spoon again.

In his life, Riddle’s tried lots and lots of desserts. And while strawberry tarts will remain his favorite forever, the spot of second favorite has long been available. As Azul sits across from him at a candlelit table, alone in a dining room set up as a dance floor, his second favorite dessert position is instantly filled. He’s never tried something so marvelous in his life.

Regretfully, Riddle polishes off the dessert within five minutes. Azul’s eyes remain on him the whole time, as if assessing his reaction. Riddle allows himself to wonder about Azul’s unwavering gaze, allows pleasant warmth to pool in his stomach. Combined with the sweetness of the soufflé, his guard drops.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” says Azul, smiling softly. Is it Riddle’s imagination, or does the candlelight make him look so much less intimidating? “If you don’t mind, I do have one more request.”

Azul stands, only to stop before Riddle and offer his hand. He knows what it means without having to ask.

“You want to dance?” asks Riddle incredulously. “With me ?”

“Is that so unusual?”

A moment of silence. Azul begins to withdraw his hand, looking hurt in a well-disguised way. Riddle impulsively reaches out, grabbing his hand. “I want to,” he says quickly. Terrifyingly, he does. “I’ve never seen you dance before, is all.”

Azul flushes slightly blue, even under the low lounge lights. “I admit I’m not the best. I suppose it’s more for the experience.”

When Riddle reaches for Azul’s other hand, Azul is hesitant. It strikes him suddenly that Azul is more than likely insecure about his dancing ability. For him to fear mockery, yet to invite Riddle, a notoriously seasoned ballroom dancer, despite it? Either Azul is foolish enough to desire reprimanding, or he’s devoted enough to risk his dignity for Riddle.

Riddle feels his face heat up. He thinks he knows which one it is, anyway. “Would you like to lead?” he asks quickly.

“Alright,” says Azul, sounding pleased. His hands settle at Riddle’s waist. Riddle blames the atmosphere for the way his heart skips. He hurriedly places one hand on Azul’s shoulder, matching their positions.

Azul leads him in a slow waltz, which is simple enough. Riddle doesn’t stumble, of course, but neither does Azul. Impressive, when Riddle remembers that two years ago Azul hadn’t even set foot on land before. He must have been practicing.

They dance their way around the whole ballroom. It feels like hours that Riddle allows himself to be directed by Azul’s hands, hours that he gives up his inhibitions for Azul’s attention.

Eventually, they fall still. “Thank you for indulging me,” Azul says, sweet in the way that cough syrup is sweet: to disguise its true purpose.

Riddle thinks of the true purpose Jade told him of. Is Azul angling for anything more? His eyes are intense, but when are they not? Riddle thinks of Azul pressing closer to him, hands on his back, maybe tipping his chin up. He thinks of Azul whispering sweet nothings into his ear, of his lips brushing against Riddle’s skin. His face feels aflame.

“Riddle? Something on your mind?”

He gets the distinct feeling Azul knows exactly what he’s thinking. He stands straighter, rolls his shoulders. “No,” he says haughtily. “If you’re finished, I ought to be on my way back to Heartslabyul before curfew.”

Azul smiles, sly. “Of course. We can’t have you breaking rules, not even for such occasions.”

As Riddle leaves, he half-expects Azul to call back for him, saying one last thing , but it doesn’t happen. If he feels disappointed, he chalks it up to an incorrect prediction.

Even as Riddle unlocks his door, he can feel a lingering ghost of touch on both sides of his waist. He doesn’t fall asleep for hours.

***

Jade becomes Riddle’s refuge, because it’s too embarrassing to tell Trey or Cater, and because Azul is too scheming and Floyd is too Floyd. Also because he sees him in almost every class, which is quite convenient.

“So Floyd made me salmon,” he recounts one afternoon, practically fuming, as he settles into Jade’s room, notebooks laid out before him. His hand gestures are getting egregious, but so are these mermen’s actions, so it’s warranted. “I went to Mostro Lounge to receive it, and Azul brought me a strawberry mint beverage! Surely they must be losing substantial profit from this?”

Jade’s laugh is tiny, hidden behind a pristine gloved hand. “Ah, but you see, some things are worth more than thaumarks.”

“Even to Azul?”

“Especially to Azul.”

Riddle considers this. In the meantime, he shifts on the bed, pulling both legs up. Jade is sitting next to him, and the way both his feet rest on the floor is sparking Riddle’s ever-present height-based rage.

Jade glances over. “Where are my manners? Are you comfortable? One cannot study without taking care of such things first.”

“I’m quite alright,” Riddle says sharply. Jade doesn’t even flinch.

“Right,” he says, smooth. “I was simply concerned. This room is not built for those of your stature, considering that Floyd and I are-”

“Nonsense!” snaps Riddle. “I resent that! I am of a perfectly-”

But he trails off as he realizes that Jade’s smile is serene, like he’s been expecting this reaction. Or perhaps… like Riddle had been set up, and fallen for it hook, like, and sinker.

“I see,” says Jade slowly. “Is that true?”

“Pardon?”

“That you resent it.” Jade turns to face him. “Are you certain that’s true?”

Even sitting on the bed, Riddle has to look up to meet his eye, and consequently, Jade is looking down at him. Jade looks at him like he’s something particularly fascinating, something he’d never need to look away from. And though he’s looking down, Riddle doesn’t feel looked down upon, not in the least. Instead, he feels almost revered.

As his pulse races in his wrists, as his face flushes, as Jade holds his gaze, Riddle realizes abruptly that no, he doesn’t resent it at all, that it might be just the opposite.

“It is,” he says shakily. He wonders, absently, if Jade knows the exact thought process Riddle ran through. “It’s true. I resent your height. I resent how you tower over people. It’s indecent.”

“Indecent.” Jade’s notebook has been set aside, the illusion of revising long abandoned. Now it’s just the two of them, alone in Jade’s bedroom. “That’s an interesting word choice.”

Riddle sputters. “It meant nothing!”

“Of course not. I was only making an observation.”

“There’s nothing indecent about your height. I revoke my statement.”

Jade smiles. For once, it reaches his eyes, but Riddle finds that it doesn’t make him any less intimidating. “Why would there be?” he says. “After all, I don’t tower over most. Only a select few. Including yourself, of course. Why, I imagine even your hands are much smaller than mine.”

Affronted, Riddle holds up his hand. Jade copies the action, pressing their palms together for a moment. Then, his grip tightens. He pulls Riddle toward him suddenly, with no small amount of force. Riddle crashes into his chest.

Jade chuckles. “My apologies.”

He’s very close. Riddle can feel his voice vibrating in his chest. His throat goes dry.

Even at this proximity, Jade looks at him the same as he had before, with that endless fascination that makes Riddle’s heartbeat go haywire. Riddle’s going nearly cross-eyed, but he can’t look away. Worse, he doesn’t want to. In fact, as Jade leans imperceptibly closer, he doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t pull away.

Jade’s other hand, the one not preoccupied with Riddle’s own, brushes against his face. Riddle’s eyes slip shut. Jade’s bare thumb drags against his lip. He doesn’t breathe. Then-

Nothing.

Slowly, Riddle blinks his eyes open. Jade is looking at him, faintly amused, and nowhere near as close. He’s back to a reasonable distance, pulling his other glove back on. “My, Riddle,” he says, teasingly scandalized. “To think you’d let a man like me get so close to you. I should like to think you’d react much quicker than that.”

Riddle ignores him, then ignores the remaining scraps of his dignity. “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

This only makes Jade’s pleasant smile widen. “Would you have liked me to?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question.”

“There’s the Riddle I know.” Jade chuckles. “In short, it’s against the rules.”

Riddle’s brow furrows. “To kiss me? Who made such a rule?”

“I did. So did Floyd and Azul. As part of our deal, you see. None of us can kiss you on the lips; it must be you who initiates something like that. It’d be unfair to overstep your boundaries for our sakes, so we set rules. I figured you might appreciate such measures.”

Strangely enough, he does appreciate it. It’s oddly endearing to think the three of them care enough to hold each other to rules. And for him , no less. Though his face doesn’t heat up, his chest feels warm.

“Thus, why Floyd and Azul restricted themselves to your hand or cheek.”

Riddle nods slowly. “That checks out. What of yourself, though?”

“Me?” Jade laughs like it’s the strangest idea in the world. “Oh, I don’t need to. You’re drawn to me all on your own.”

Fully intending to protest, Riddle opens his mouth, but Jade raises a single eyebrow and glances around the room pointedly, as if to say, you’re here now, aren’t you? Riddle has to admit he has a point. “I should go,” he says quickly, instead.

Jade’s smile is serene, his eyes knowing. “If you must.”

Riddle gets up, gathering his things in a hurry.

“Just know,” Jade calls. Riddle’s hand stills on the doorknob. “If we proceed like this, I will win. And judging by your demeanor, it won’t take long.”

“Goodbye!” Riddle shuts the door behind him with force. He swears Jade laughs.

As he walks into Heartslabyul, he thinks of Jade’s smug expression. Riddle grips the handle of his bag harder. Curse those mermen, he thinks. Curse whoever started this competition to win him over. Curse whoever decided to give Jade Leech the appearance of a gentleman. Curse whoever gave him the silver tongue of a diplomat and the composure of an advisor and the face of a portrait-perfect prince.

He thinks of his bare hand on Riddle’s face, and trips on the cobblestones.

Curse whoever made Riddle so terribly, horribly attracted to it.

That’s it. That’s Riddle’s breaking point. Enough is enough.

***

Riddle bursts into the Heartslabyul common room like he needs an ambulance. “Help me!”

Ace drops his cards on the table. They land face-up; he doesn’t notice. “Housewarden?!”

“What’s wrong?” Deuce asks instantly. He sits up straighter. “How can we help? Please let me know if I can be of service!”

Despite himself, Riddle smiles. He likes his underclassmen, much more than he thought he would. These two especially, despite their antics.

“Uh, Housewarden?” Ace asks, sounding concerned. “You’re all red. Are you angry?”

“No,” Riddle says quickly, then, “Yes? Not at you,” he adds. Ace visibly relaxes. “I’m angry. But not really. Only sort of. It’s complicated.”

Ace frowns, studying him. Riddle watches with shame as understanding dawns on his face. “Housewarden, you’re embarrassed ?” He cackles. “Holy shit, what happened?”

Riddle hesitates.

“You can tell us,” Ace says.

That’s all it takes.

“I’m being seduced ,” he cries, scandalized.

Deuce blinks.

Ace looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Uh, one more time?”

“I am being seduced,” Riddle huffs, taking a seat forcefully. “By three mermen who cannot learn to share, and are behaving like children engaging in some silly competition. And yet they somehow manage to establish and abide by rules to avoid overstepping my wishes! How ridiculous.”

“Three mermen,” Deuce says slowly. “We’ve heard this one before. One too many times.”

Ace’s face is grim. “Don’t tell me that’s why Floyd’s been ditching basketball for equestrian club.”

Riddle nods, making a mental note to reprimand Floyd for skipping practice.

“You could tell them to stop,” Deuce suggests, quite sensibly. “I think Azul is reasonable. He’d quit if you asked. And he can wrangle the Leeches.”

“That’s the worst part!” Riddle lets his head fall back onto the cushion. He stares up. The ceiling is rather uninteresting. “I… don’t mind it,” he admits. “In fact, I think I like it.”

“Housewarden,” says Ace, very seriously, “if you’re struggling, please let someone know. You have a vice housewarden for a reason.”

Riddle frowns at him. “Why is that relevant?”

Silence. Ace considers him for a moment. “Oh.” His eyes widen. “You’re serious. You… like them?”

“I do not like them,” Riddle scoffs. “Wherever did you get that notion?”

“You just said you liked it,” Deuce points out. “ It , being those three seducing you.”

Well, when put like that, it does sound pretty damning. Riddle has never considered the possibility that he might have feelings for anyone, let alone for three scheming, obnoxious mermen. Three oddly considerate, bizarrely endearing, uniquely intelligent, distinctly pleasant mermen. Ah. There it is. “Perhaps I do like them.”

Ace gapes. “You’re just now realizing that?”

Riddle feels his face heat up. “Well, how am I supposed to think about such things? I’m far too busy with my dorm responsibilities and coursework.”

“And equestrian club with Floyd, who is apparently trying to seduce you, and succeeding .”

Riddle falls silent.

“So, Housewarden,” Ace says, mischief in his tone. “There’s three mermen who like you. And you like them back. Now there’s only one thing to figure out.” His grin widens. He leans forward, looking directly at Riddle, and says, “What do you wanna do about it?”

***

They make a game plan. Riddle has never heard such a term before, but this is what Ace calls it, so he’ll call it that too. Ace gives it an obscene title that Riddle nearly beheads him for, which is quickly scratched out in favor of ‘Riddle’s Revenge’ , which Deuce coined. A little dramatic, but it’ll do the job.

In any case, he’s got a plan. So when Floyd next delivers him lunch (fried tofu in a roasted garlic and peach sauce), he knows what to do.

“Thank you,” Riddle says, as he takes the dish. Then, he tiptoes up and presses his lips to his cheek.

His heart is pounding like never before. But as he watches Floyd’s eyes widen with surprise, then with delight, he thinks it’s worth it.

“Goldfish!” he sings, absolutely elated. “Ya kissed me!”

It sounds downright improper coming from Floyd’s mouth. Riddle huffs. “I got nowhere near your lips,” he protests. “It means nothing.”

“Say what ya want.” Floyd waves a hand dismissively, the comment sliding off him like water. He must be in an exceptionally good mood. Riddle flushes. It’s a nice thought, that it’s all because of him. “I know how ya really feel.”

“You do not!” Riddle cries. But Floyd just laughs and laughs.

When Riddle takes the first bite, the tofu tastes incredible, and it continues to taste incredible, even after Floyd leaves, a skip in his step.

***

He gives it a few days. When he next sees Jade in class, he looks rather surprised, but not disheartened. Azul can’t meet Riddle’s eye during the weekly housewarden meeting.

“ Now you’ve gotta step it up ,” Ace had told him. Riddle had been a little shaky in his agreement, but he does not shake at all when he catches Azul’s arm after the meeting concludes.

“Riddle?” He sounds caught off guard, for once. “Did you need something?”

Riddle looks him right in the eyes. “Dance with me.”

Azul blinks at him. “Right now?” he asks, bewildered.

“Yes.”

His expression is priceless. It’s extremely rare to catch Azul so unaware; he prepares for nearly everything, and has a gift for keeping his composure in negotiations. Apparently Riddle is the exception to the rule, which does wonders for his confidence.

“I wanted to teach you something,” Riddle says. “It’ll only take a minute.”

Azul glances back. The hallway behind them is empty; the other housewardens are long gone. “Alright, I suppose.”

No time is wasted. Riddle lets both of his hands settle on Azul’s back. Azul blinks, but settles into the touch easily. Riddle leads them into a simple step, which Azul keeps up with fairly well, even as a follower. His hand settles on Riddle’s upper arm. The sensation is almost distracting, but Riddle has a mission, and refuses to deviate.

“Take one extra step to the side,” Riddle says, almost a demand. “Follow my lead.”

Azul looks curious, but does as told. Riddle steps with him, then shifts his weight and pulls Azul onto his back foot. Azul yelps, but Riddle supports him with both hands on his back, keeping him upright. Though he isn’t supporting that much of Azul’s weight, the brief loss of balance creates the illusion that Riddle is holding him up entirely.

He’s never seen Azul blush so blue in his life.

“That,” Riddle says as he helps Azul regain his balance, “is called a dip. Often used during certain interludes in waltzes.”

“I see.” Azul is gratifyingly breathless, his eyes wide. “Forgive me, I do have to get back to the lounge.”

“I’ll simply have to show you more another time,” says Riddle, with conviction. Then, he takes Azul’s hand and kisses it to seal the deal.

Seven above, Riddle thinks as he watches Azul’s least composed retreat ever. He’s never seen Azul so flustered; he doubts anyone but the twins has. Even if he wanted to tell someone of Azul’s reaction, no one would ever believe him.

***

Which, of course, leaves Jade for last.

“ Show them the same way they would show you ,” Deuce had advised him, when they drew up the plan. Floyd and Azul had been simple enough, but Jade presents a challenge. His entire strategy, it appears, has been to remain stoic, as if lying in wait. Riddle can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it, but he can hardly reciprocate such an approach.

He ruminates long and hard on repayment strategies. He comes up with nothing. But the next day, when Jade smiles at him from across the history classroom, it strikes him.

If anyone thinks oddly of him for crossing the classroom to claim the seat next to Jade, they don’t show it. “Jade,” he says, prompt. “I assume you’ve heard?”

Jade doesn’t bother pretending he doesn’t understand. “Azul was quite pleased,” he replies. “I must say, you’re very adept. Though if not only Floyd, but Azul too, are receiving this treatment, that leaves one of us remaining, does it not?”

Having expected immediate realization, Riddle is prepared. “ One of you never even appeared to be competing. Who’s to say the long game hasn’t paid off?”

“Ah, but you’re here talking with me. Would you bother if you weren’t planning something?”

Riddle huffs a dry laugh. “Am I so easy to read?”

“Not at all.” Jade’s voice is smooth, quiet, and Riddle imagines it’s just for him. “It’s only that I’m quite practiced in the art.”

It takes considerable effort to prevent heat from rising to his face, and even then, Riddle only half succeeds. “I’ve been reciprocating the same way as each of you,” he says. “As such, I’ll offer you what you offered me: insight.”

Jade leans forward in interest.

“Tomorrow night,” Riddle says simply. “I’ll be in the Mostro Lounge tomorrow night, and I’ll request the VIP room. All three of you will be invited to join me.”

Jade’s smile is calculating, but with anticipation, not with ice. “I assume the invitation will be more of a demand than a choice.”

“You’ll have incentive,” Riddle says bluntly. “You may tell the others, if you feel inclined.”

“And give them the advantage?” Jade’s smile widens. “What do you take me for, Riddle?”

“A man of decent morals?”

Jade laughs darkly behind a gloved hand. “I am a moray who masquerades as a gentleman,” he says, low. “We both know my morals evaporate the instant something I desire is on the line.”

The implicit and I desire you remains unspoken, but Riddle gets the message loud and clear.

***

Riddle tries, valiantly, to focus during his classes the next day. He does not succeed, but he likes to think the effort is worth something. In any case, people sympathize. Riddle’s normally so attentive; he had thought an off day might surprise someone, but his classmates seem to only shrug and move on. Even his professors look the other way.

Thank goodness, too, because Riddle doesn’t know how he’d explain his lapse in any sensible manner. He doesn’t think most people have such struggles.

Somehow, he makes it through. Doesn’t skip any class, either, though his notes are perhaps a bit lackluster. It’s fine. He’s three months ahead in most classes, anyway. Ace and Deuce reassure him that he’ll be perfectly fine, and send him off precisely ten minutes before eight in the evening. He hasn’t told them what exactly he’ll be doing, but he figures they get the picture well enough.

Riddle walks into the Mostro Lounge with haughty confidence. All along, those three have been playing him, and it’s finally his turn to play.

“The VIP room,” Riddle declares, before the front of house manager can ask how many people are in his party. “And I want all three managers there.”

The front of house raises an eyebrow. “I can ask,” they say, which Riddle knows means they don’t expect anything.

“Tell them Riddle Rosehearts wishes to see them.”

That does the trick, because of course it does. He’s sure Floyd’s allergy to shutting up extends to his dorm, too. Naturally, they’d all know about Riddle, his precious Goldfish, not to mention the fearsome Teapot Tyrant. He wonders how those images clash in Octavinelle, if the students here are less scared of him for it.

But he doesn’t have time to wonder for long, because the front of house comes back and motions. “Down the hall. Brass door on the left.”

The first thing he sees, when he opens the door, is Jade, wearing a pleased smile with an edge to it that might be anticipation. He’s sitting back, relaxed. Azul, on the other hand, is anything but; he sits forward, elbows propped on his knees. Floyd is leaning against the wall, curious.

With an echo of finality, the heavy door falls shut behind him. Riddle stares them all down. His head rushes with the knowledge that he’s the one directing them now.

“I’d ask when it began,” Riddle starts, “but I already know. So I’ll only ask one thing. Why .”

A second of silence. Two. Three. Riddle taps his foot.

Azul is the first to break it. “We made a deal,” he admits, sounding almost ashamed. “I admit that it, ah, involved allowing certain strategies, with the intention of winning your heart.”

Riddle huffs. “Not that. Tell me why you made the deal.”

“Easy,” says Floyd. “‘Cause we like ya. S’that good enough for ya?”

“Why in the name of the Queen couldn't you just court me like reasonable people ?”

“Not people,” Floyd points out. “And I don’t think me n’ the others are known for bein’ reasonable.”

Riddle frowns. He does have a point. “But why not court me separately? You each used different strategies, yes? Why have one competition?”

“Please,” Azul sighs, sounding tired, “if you wish to berate us for such foolish actions, there is no need for the interrogation. I am willing to accept whatever punishment you deem necessary.”

Silence. Riddle stares at him for a long moment. Azul looks ashamed, like a child caught with their foot halfway out the window, sheepishly going back inside, a predicament so familiar that Riddle finally realizes why Azul seems so tense.

“Azul,” he says slowly. “You misunderstand. Whoever said I wished to reject your advances?”

Azul blinks, dumbfounded.

Jade breaks his silence with a delicate, delighted giggle. “I thought we’d get there eventually,” he says. “Now, Riddle. I answered this for you already, did I not? We’re all terrible at sharing.”

“ You actually like us ?” Azul interrupts, bewildered. He’s sitting up straight now, eyes wide. “Are you joking?”

“Don’t sound so surprised ,” Riddle snaps, feeling his face heat up. “You three are deviously charming when you wish to be, unfortunately, and I happen to be amenable to such charms.”

Riddle’s own words linger in the quiet. He starts to feel a bit embarrassed about the outburst, but he can’t deny its truth. It’s even worse to think that he’d perhaps enjoyed each of their company a bit too much even before their game began, that he’d never allowed himself to consider it until they had made consideration easy, too easy.

Floyd’s grin is easier, less tense. “Goldfish,” he sings. “Ya really like us, huh?”

Riddle bristles, face heating. “That’s not-”

“C’mon, Goldfish, I know ya do. It’s alright. We like ya too. So what’s the issue?”

“Jade said you’re all terrible at sharing. But… if that’s true, why try to compete in the first place? Wouldn’t the others be unhappy if one of you won?”

Silence. Then Jade laughs.

“Riddle,” says Jade, “did you think there was winning involved? Oh, no. The goal was never for one of us to win.” His smile is sharp; Riddle wishes he disliked it, wishes he minded the spike of fear that shivers down his spine. “If I’m not mistaken, we’ve reached our goal, right now.”

Wait. “What?” Riddle says sharply.

“Cut the bullshit, Jade,” whines Floyd. “Goldfiiiish, what he’s tryna say is, we all want ya. And that means we gotta share with each other.” His grin returns with a vengeance, quite literally. “And we gotcha right here.” He stands up, off the wall, and takes two large steps toward Riddle, until they’re close enough to touch, should either of them make the move. “All to ourselves.”

Belatedly, Riddle notices that Jade has stood as well, and draws near to his other side.

“Boys,” Azul chides, exasperated. “My apologies. They’re always like this. Eels, you know how they are. Circling their prey.”

Riddle almost chokes. “ Prey ?”

From behind him, the sound of Jade’s laugh makes his head spin. “I do so enjoy the chase,” he purrs. “But please, don’t think of it like that. ‘Courting’ will do just fine.”

Riddle tries to turn around, glance at him, but Jade just moves again, to his right, while Floyd is on the left. “Stay still,” he commands, and to his surprise, they both do. “I have one more question.”

At that, Azul stands, too, but he, at least, remains a reasonable two steps away from Riddle. “Of course. Be our guest.”

Riddle hesitates, briefly. He stamps down the urge to fidget with his hands, the urge to run, run, run. “You’re all serious, right?” he asks, voice weak but refusing to break.

In response, Floyd just laughs, loud and boisterous. “Goldfish,” he practically snorts, “I fell for ya the second ya flipped me on my ass at orientation.”

“Literally,” Azul cackles. “Not to mention your insistence on holding the top spot, and admirable dorm management. It’s incredible.”

“I just enjoy how determined and reactive you are.” Jade is half-smiling. Riddle knows exactly where that could go, how it could get dirty fast, and curses his brain because his face heats up. Jade, however, looks very satisfied. “Exactly like that.”

“So… that’s a yes?”

“Seven,” Floyd groans, crossing his arms with a mock pout. “Whadda we gotta do to make ya get it?”

“This,” says Riddle, and drags Floyd down to kiss him firmly on the lips.

Riddle only intends to be brief, to make a point. But when he pulls away, Floyd stays down, eyes blown wide, and leans back in, chasing after him. Just like always, Riddle thinks, half-delirious. Floyd’s always loved chasing him, wearing him down. He wonders if Floyd knows he’s never needed wearing down, that all he had to do, all this time, was ask.

So when Floyd pulls him in, Riddle allows him to kiss him properly, messy and hot and leaving him weak in the knees.

He gasps for air, sure his face is on fire. He almost wants to apologize to the others for having to watch, but Jade only looks amused, Azul only pleased. Right, he recalls. It’s easy to forget about the bond the three of them have, when they never show affection quite like normal lovers. Riddle wonders if they’ll be like that with him, if his name will swirl around in rumors with theirs like ink in water, like a rose drowning in a whirlpool.

“So?” Riddle breathes, forcing himself to stand tall, proud, just like the Queen of Hearts would have mandated. “Who’s next?”

Azul’s smile, for once, is just as dangerous as that of a predator. “I thought you were finished with questions?”

Riddle just nods, sharp. The instant his confirmation is out, they descend on him, kissing and touching and whispering, and Seven, Riddle drowns in it, drowns on land until his vision swims and his breath runs out.

***

“You’ll have to continue courting me,” Riddle says, later that night, as he’s leaving the lounge to make it back by curfew. “If you want to do this again.”

The look on their faces tells him that his one rule will not present an issue.

***

(“Hey, Azul,” Floyd says one afternoon, lazily lounging to avoid dish-doing responsibilities, “we should court Goldfish.”

Jade smiles, serene. “An excellent suggestion. Don’t you think?”

Azul’s face flares red. “Don’t mock me! I can’t help if I’m attracted to him. It doesn’t mean I like either of you any less, you know.”

“Not mockin’ ya. I’m serious. We both like him too. So c’mon, whaddaya say?”)

(It starts, as many things do in Octavinelle, with a suggestion, an agreement, and a phrase: It’s a Deal . But it also starts, as few things do in Heartslabyul, with three mermen waiting to bow to their Queen of Hearts, waiting to take their chance; and with a tyrant who decides that there is more to life than a lonely throne.)