#hail

"Of course it is," Riddle said, a small, proud smile on his face as he poured the tea. "A proper tea party requires a proper, orderly setting. It is the respectful way to—"

CLACK.

Riddle... froze. You... froze. A single, marble-sized piece of ice, as if mocking him, had landed directly in the center of the strawberry tart.

"...What," Riddle whispered, his voice dangerously quiet, "was that?"

CLACK-CLACK-TINK-CLACK-THWACK.

It was as if the sky had suddenly, violently, declared war on your tea party. Within seconds, a torrential, angry downpour of hail was hammering your perfect table. The "clack-clack-clack" on the porcelain was deafening.

"THIS IS... NOT... IN THE FORECAST!" Riddle shrieked, his voice barely audible over the icy assault. He was staring, wide-eyed, as his beautiful tarts were... pulverized... by the weather.

"Riddle, we gotta—!"

BONK.

A particularly audacious piece of hail, the size of a gumball, ricocheted off the teapot and bonked Riddle directly on the crown of his head.

He didn't move. He just... squeaked. He looked so personally offended, so unbelievably affronted that the sky would dare...

...You lost it. You burst out laughing. A loud, un-Heartslabyul, snorting laugh.

"It... it hit you!" you howled, covering your mouth. "Riddle, the... the sky... just tried to 'Off with your head'!"

"THIS IS NOT... AMUSING!" Riddle yelled, his face a furious red, but his voice was full of panic as he tried to shield the teapot with his own body. "THE TEA! THE... THE PLAN! IT'S... IT'S RUINED!"

"Riddle, forget the plan!" you laughed, grabbing his arm. "Run!"

You grabbed the tray of (now-dented) teacups and the (thankfully) safe teapot, and dragged your very-stressed, very-sputtering boyfriend back through the maze, the hail clattering at your heels.

You tumbled into the Heartslabyul lounge, both of you soaked, your hair dripping. Riddle was panting, his hair a mess, his face a picture of pure, unadulterated stress.

"This... this is... unacceptable..." he was muttering, pacing. "I... I checked twice! The... the order... the plan...!"

"Hey," you said, setting the tray down by the fireplace. You put your hands on his shoulders, stopping his pacing. "Riddle. Look at me. It's... funny."

"It is NOT—"

"It is," you smiled. "It's chaotic, and it's stupid, and... we're inside now. Where it's warm." You gently fixed his mess-of-a-hair. "So... the location of the plan has changed. We're having the tea party... here. By the fire. It'll be... 'cozy.' A... a new rule."

Riddle looked at the fireplace. He looked at the (slightly-dented) pot of tea. He looked at you, your face bright and amused. He let out a long, shuddering sigh. "...'Cozy'..." he repeated, as if testing a new, foreign rule. "...A... a tea party is... acceptable... indoors... in... 'inclement weather'..." he finally decided. "...Very well. Let us... 'be cozy'."

And it was better. You both sat on the floor on a big, fluffy rug, the fire crackling, the sound of the furious hail outside making the inside feel that much warmer. The tea was still hot. The tarts were... 'aesthetically challenged'... but still delicious. Riddle... visibly... relaxed. He even... smiled. "...This... is... acceptable," he finally said, a small, genuine smile on his face.

...Later, when the storm had passed, you announced you "forgot something." You ran back outside... and returned, triumphant.

You were holding a single, very lumpy piece of ice, wrapped in a handkerchief.

"...What," Riddle said, his brow furrowing, "...is that?"

"This," you said, with all the reverence of a royal decree, "is The Offender."

"...The... 'offender'?"

"The one," you said, tapping your own head, "that dared to 'bonk' the Dorm Leader. I'm... gifting it to you."

Riddle... stared. He looked at the melty, lumpy ice. He looked at your completely serious, beaming face. "...You... are... gifting... me... a... piece of precipitation." "Yep! We have to keep it! In the freezer! As a... a memento. Of the day the sky's plan... was worse... than your plan."

Riddle was... profoundly... concerned. He was... so... confused by you. He... also... had never been more in love. He let out a small, baffled sigh. "...Very well. I... I will... find... a... 'regulation-sized'... container... for... 'The Offender.' ...You... you are... so strange."

A "dish" prepared for... a very special "patron"! The kitchen is so delighted to serve this, and we all wish you the happiest, warmest, and most 'cozy' of birthdays!

We hope this FluffcFember "reservation" is to your satisfaction, and that it makes your day just a little cooler! (Hah!)