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Months of infuriating remarks, sleepless nights, then pining, turned to memories of hushed, stolen moments heard only by the ears of the rose garden hedges.
Red flushes no longer spark with anger. They spark something exhilarating within Riddle, an adrenaline high no kind of croquet victory could mimic.
The Rose Maze, their secluded, secret place. Where they spent their moments together, getting to know one another, all lead to red hair tickling the warmth of the hand on her cheek.
The uncharacteristic gentle brush of a thumb, silently asking for permission.
A beat of silence.
For her patience, Riddle is rewarded with a highly anticipated pair of lips on hers, soft and as fluttery as she feels.
Aside from the kiss leaving her breathless, she feels the thrill in red. It's creeping up her own neck to her cheeks, a pink flush forming on her face.
Riddle thought her talks with Trey had her prepared for every outcome, yet nothing could've prepared Riddle for how weak her knees feel, how she feels like she's going to fall head first into Floyd and send them toppling over into the hedges.
Even with the risk, she never wants this particular stolen moment to end.
It took too long pining in anticipation to get here, after all. Countless days and nights of Riddle nearly tearing her hair at the scalp from Floyd’s torment, then, admittedly slowly, realizing it was teasing, and even more embarrassing to admit, realizing Floyd's teasing was to get her attention, that Floyd was flirting with her.
Floyd didn’t get to give Riddle Rosehearts headaches for free.
Floyd didn’t get to rile her up so easily.
Floyd certainly didn’t get to do strange things to her heart, and yet, “I like you.”
But Floyd is blissfully unaware of Riddle's inner dilemma, she merely presents a familiar sharp toothed grin, a grin that is returned, unbeknownst to Riddle. “You kissed me.”
The grin used to unsettle Riddle, as it seems more malicious than friendly, but over time, it’s become a smile that Riddle likes to be the cause of, because a laugh with all of the pointy teeth on display is no better indicator of Floyd's exuberant mood; one of Riddle's favourite moods of hers.
It’s hard to come to terms with her feelings, but she’s getting better at it. She’s learning to embrace her emotions more, let less of the crimson tyrant show and have more Riddle come to light.
It’s a slow process, but she has help. She’s absentmindedly caressing Floyd’s cheeks, feeling more relaxed than she thought she would be despite the foreign territory they're treading in. Floyd, in all of her unpredictability, is grounding Riddle, is finding the scattered pieces of Riddle from the crimson tyrant and holding them up for Riddle herself to see.
Floyd is guiding Riddle to the colours that separate her from the tyrant, her mother, her rules, and the life decided for her. As self conscious as Riddle is about her own person, Floyd is never disgusted at the colours she finds, she looks at them as if she was an artist, and Riddle her masterpiece. She tells her the colours of Riddle are stunning, and Riddle wants to believe her. Floyd doesn’t have to stay with Riddle’s incomplete self, but she does. Floyd is ever so patient in this endeavor and occasionally shows a side of maturity only Riddle has seen, and Riddle thinks that’s the most romantic thing she’s ever experienced.
“I’ve never found time or interest in pursuing a romantic relationship, it’s all so...new to me.” It’s not like she was taught any rules for this kind of emotion, and it's not like Riddle was properly exposed to this kind of social interaction. Most people are put off by her strict attitude and Riddle has less friends than she can count on her hand. Admittedly, Riddle, for once, does not know what actions to take next. “However, I want to try this. I'm not opposed to it if it's with you.”
“Eh?? You don’t have to know how relationships work to be in one, y’know.” A pinch to the cheek, one that Riddle lets slide, this time at least. “But I wanna try with goldfishie tooo~”
Goldfish, it's that nickname again. Riddle thought it was insulting when Floyd said that it's because she's small and red, like a goldfish. Somewhere down the line, it's become a nickname that releases Riddle from her titles and lets her be as free as she wants. The true colours of Riddle have only ever shown in result of the nickname. She has never let go of her inhibitions in her life until she was chasing Floyd in the library for her magic pen. Perhaps she's grown to like the nickname, just a tad bit, even if it can still be infuriating to hear; because it's Floyd, and no one likes to get on Riddle's nerves more than Floyd. Even if they are to be dating, Riddle doesn't think any other pet name could make her heart flutter quite like Goldfish does. “Then, I give you permission to court me. But-”
“There are rules.” Floyd deflates a little, a lot less disappointment than Riddle expects. Is this Floyd making an effort to understand her?
“Correct.” A smug look makes its way onto Riddle’s face as she happily recites the list of rules she spent days and nights preparing– she has high standards, and her partners have to deal with it. “No public affection, no calling me short, no-”
“So does this mean affection is okay in private?”
“Wha- Were you even listening?!”
“Haa, goldfishie’s face is all red again! So cuute~”
Riddle truly doesn't know when seeing red turned to a rose blush. “Stop it!”
“Only if Riddle gives me another kiss~”
Ever so used to being referred to as "Goldfish", Riddle is taken aback by hearing her name slip off of Floyd’s lips. If Riddle had more time to process her shock, she'd think that her name sounded beautiful on Floyd's tongue. Riddle only has the time to recognize that Floyd addressing her by name is invoking something in Riddle that she physically cannot handle without going through a few more sleepless nights that ultimately leads to crawling to Trey to help, so she handles this emotion the only way she knows how.
“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”