And then you knelt.

Right there, in the sun-warmed grass of the greenhouse lawn, you bent down on one knee, then both, until you were kneeling comfortably on your knees in front of him. Still tall even then, damn you.

Riddle blinked. “What on earth are you doing?”

You smiled, slow and easy. “Making it easier for you.”

He bristled. “I don’t need you to—”

“You were practically glaring up at me like I was a gargoyle,” you said, gently interrupting. “I figured I’d spare your poor neck before it filed a complaint with the rest of your bones.”

“I was not—!” Riddle began, voice going up half a register.

“You were.” Your eyes sparkled, almost teasing. “You always look so determined when we talk. It’s admirable. But it also makes me feel like a lamppost.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he huffed. “This is about principle. Proper posture. Maintaining decorum.”

You just watched him. No rebuttal. No smirk, no smug remark. Just that look—eyes slightly narrowed, a touch too soft, too earnest for Riddle’s comfort.

He folded his arms across his chest, looking down at you now. It should have felt like a reversal. A small victory. But somehow, standing over you while you gazed up at him like that—still somehow eye-level with his standing straight self… it made his stomach do that annoying fluttering thing again.

“What?” he said, tone sharp enough to cut parchment.

“Nothing,” you replied, which was a lie, because you kept looking at him with that ridiculous expression. One he only saw when careless students accidentally dropped love potions haphazardly.

“Just—this is nice. Seeing you like this.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like this,” you said, quieter now. “Eye to eye. Or close enough.”

“That’s not—” Riddle stopped, faltering. He felt his cheeks warm. He cleared his throat. “You’re being ridiculous.”

You didn’t argue. Riddle made a note that you rarely wanted to argue with him to the point where he could feel his anger bubbling over. It’s thoughtful of you, he thinks.

You tilted your head slightly, facial features catching the light—like some protagonist of a romance novel—and then you smiled. Not the playful one. Not the amused curve of lips you used when teasing. This one was warm. Honest. A little awestruck.

Even a little... loving, if Riddle dared think.

“You’re very easy to admire like this,” you said softly.

Riddle blinked.

The words struck harder than they should have. A rush of heat bloomed under his collar, all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked away, down toward the grass, then back again—unwilling to let you have the last word, unwilling to admit the effect you had on him.

“…You could’ve just sat on a bench,” he muttered, almost sulking.

“I could’ve,” you agreed. “But I’d rather be here. Like this.”

“Infuriating,” Riddle whispered under his breath.

But he didn’t tell you to stand back up.

Didn’t step away either.

Instead, he held your gaze. His neck, for once, not protesting. And you… you looked at him like he was something rare and brilliant. Like this moment mattered. Like he mattered.

And for once, Riddle let himself feel seen. Fully, gently, completely seen. Not as a dorm leader. Not as the boy who upheld rules with iron conviction. Just as himself.

“…Fine,” he said at last, voice a fraction softer than before. “But you’ll have to move if someone walks by. I won’t have rumors about us loitering in the grass like—like truant students.”

Your eyes gleamed with laughter. “Understood. So about the next herb they’ll be using...”

You didn’t move. Neither did he. And for a few long, heart-steadying moments, you managed to talk to Riddle like this—comfortable and close, like the space between two people no longer trying to measure distance.

You sighed. “Riddle is so smart.”

Trey glanced over at you, bewildered. “Where did this come from?”

Shrugging, you went back to the tart you were making. “Just an observation, that’s all.”

“Right…”

“Well, he is smart.”

“He is.” Trey furrowed his brows. “This has nothing to do with you failing Professor Trein’s history of magic class, right?”

You glared at him. “I’m not failing his class! I’m just not doing as well as I like.”

“Alright, alright. So are you going to ask him to tutor you?”

Shrugging again, you answered, “I don’t know. I don’t think the cooking club can handle not having their president around.”

He laughed. “Schedule your tutoring sessions around your meetings.”

Playfully hip-checking him as you put your tart ub the oven, you shot back, “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? Besides, it’s just easier if I tell myself that’s the reason why I haven’t talked to him  instead of facing his crushing rejection.”

“Oh please. He’s not going to reject you. He could never reject you.” Trey shook his head with a knowing smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ve said too much, But let me give you some advice. When that tart is done, offer it to him and ask him to tutor you. His answer might just surprise you.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked some flour at him. “Yeah. He’ll apologize and tell me just how busy he is and that he can’t help me.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

And that’s how you ended up in front of Riddle’s door, a strawberry-kiwi tart in your hand. If Trey hadn’t been so insistent on you giving it to Riddle, you would have left it for Ace and Deuce to enjoy. But there was no turning back now, not if you didn’t want to be relentlessly teased by Trey.

You knocked once and he opened the door. “Oh! Y/n! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I made a new tart I thought you’d like.” You showed him.

“Oh, thank you.” He hesitated for a second before asking, “Would you like to come in?”

You were surprised by his sudden hospitality and nodded. He gestured for you to take a seat. He sat  across from you and watched as you cut him a slice of the tart. When you handed it to him, he took a bite.

“My, this is exceptional!” He looked at you with a bright, sincere smile. “I expected nothing less from the ever extraordinary cooking club president! You are truly astonishing!”

An awkward giggle escaped you. “Ah, thanks.”

“You’re so pretty.”

Your jaw dropped. “Pardon?”

He smiled dreamily at you, one hand keeping his chin propped up. “Then again, you’ve always been so pretty. When are you not?”

“Uh, I’m not sure-”

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like if I held your hand.” His eyes seemed to sparkle at the thought. “Can I?”

“Riddle, are you-”

“So it’s working!” Trey’s voice came from Riddle’s doorway. Catching your confused look, he let out a nervous chuckle. “I may or may not have slipped a truth potion in your tart to give to Riddle.”

“TREY!”

“Hey, neither of you were ever going to make a move. Someone had to intervene.” He then added under his breath, “And Cater’s scissors beat paper.”

“You weren’t sure if you should be offended or embarrassed. However your train of thought was interrupted by Riddle twisting a lock of your hair around his finger. Your face practically burst into flames at his seemingly innocent action.

“Wow, Y/n. You have no idea how much I love you.”

“Well, it sounds like you two have a lot to talk about.” Trey winked at you. “I’ll leave you to it.”