fleur would also like to know

He sinks back into the decrepit couch in the living room, his elbows digging into the worn plush. He notes that even Grim and the ghosts who usually occupy the dorm are absent.

Yet traces of their routine lingered throughout this one room: the mug left on the table, the blanket abandoned over another chair, the notebook still open where Yuu had last been sitting.

Ordinarily, Malleus would not have paid such details any mind yet his gaze caught it time and time again as he awaits their return.

...Was he being too impatient?

Surely not.

But, again, what would he know? Human customs alluded him too many times. What he did know is that if one were to be "friends" with another, some level of attachment was only natural.

Malleus restrains the urge to bury his face in his hands; perhaps the rough leather of his gloves would be enough to deter him from returning to Diasomnia altogether.

The thought dissolves when a cold draft slips through the room, and he exhales slowly.

He should arrange to see Yuu another time if they were this busy… and yet the urge to remain here, rooted in place like a statue, persists regardless.

Instead, he wills his attention to drift back to his surroundings. The fireplace stands neatly, the wood underneath was small in quantity, partially burned that it wouldn't give any meaningful warmth right now. Malleus finds himself briefly wondering whether Yuu keeps matches somewhere nearby - until he recalls that Grim is a creature of fire by nature. Manual ignition would hardly be necessary.

Still, beyond the pale beam of moonlight spilling through the window, the room remains cold enough to draw a faint scowl from him.

That is when he notices it.

A grey lump of cloth rests over the very couch that had occupied his thoughts for the past several minutes. He moves closer and carefully pulls it free from its position, watching as the hood flops forward in his hands.

Ah , Malleus muses to himself, This must be how Yuu has been keeping warm, aside from relying on Grim.

Of course, the fabric is thick enough to shield against the chill, and yet…

The edges were shrewd, almost rough to the touch, and he knew this because he had known finer cloth before. Whether from idly worrying at the hems of his own garments or from the occasional brush of his hand against fabrics presented by palace tailors, Malleus possessed a passing familiarity with quality. This garment possessed very little of it.

It seemed old enough to be softened by years of use, and Malleus wonders where Yuu had acquired it since it hadn't been that long since Yuu even came here.

The dye itself since faded from its original shade, yet not so old that the printed design had completely disappeared. He turned the sleeve over in his hands, eyeing one cuff more worn than the other, with a small line of repaired stitching ran along one sleeve.

It was, objectively speaking, unremarkable.

At the very same moment, the room is still cold and Malleus finds himself glancing toward the fireplace. The wood remains unlit. The chill persists in the corners of the room, quiet but prickly and insistent on his skin.

A traitorous thought bubbles up in his head, and it would've been inefficient to ignore it.

Malleus shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on the hoodie. Fingers working until one sleeve falls open, and without much thought, he threads his arm through it. The motion is not deliberate so much as continuous, and Malleus keeps a thought to return this clean to Yuu.

The fabric settles against him, against his expectations given the quality of the material, it does retains heat more effectively than anticipated.

He lets the other sleeve hang for a moment before slipping his arm through as well. The hood rests behind his shoulders, heavy in a way that is not unpleasant, and Malleus does not seek to adjust it further.

Well, there is no immediate reason to remove it, especially since strictly speaking, this is because he wishes to inspect it further, and it's practical for the cold.

The fact that Malleus remains wearing it for the next hour is entirely unrelated.

When his phone finally alerts him later, the message from Yuu is brief - a sincere apology, a note that they will be delayed, and that they should simply see each other another time. This was what Malleus had suspected was going to happen, but it was only with confirmation does he stand, and teleport back to Diasomnia

It's still dark when he returns to his room; therefore, no immediate reason presented itself to put much thought into his appearance.

He's still wearing the hoodie...

A/N

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/86519786) - if anyone wants to bookmark this!

It was supposed to be funny because almost everyone knew how much Ace and Deuce squabbled in the school halls but never really parted, and you had laughed back then, nervous but too loud. Ace had leaned back with a cocky grin, and Deuce had flushed and muttered something about “don’t be ridiculous,” but the damage was done.

By the time you all hit second year, the joke had calcified into something weirder. You weren’t just a junior tagging along with “the duo” anymore; you were a partner. You debated together, prepped together, crashed on library floors together at 2 a.m. when slides wouldn’t stop multiplying. That was when Ace, clearly sleep deprived and in mid-prep, offhandedly quipped, “We might as well date at this point. Saves us the trouble of divvying up your time.”

You had rolled your eyes, thrown a marker at him, but Deuce - quiet Deuce - hadn’t denied it. Just shifted in his seat and scribbled faster on the whiteboard, jaw tight. That silence said more than words.

By third year, it wasn’t that funny anymore. 

You were seniors now, and the teasing hadn’t died - it had only matured into something everyone pretended was a long-running bit, “Just the person we were waiting for, “ Ace would announce when you showed up late to practice, and Deuce would scoff mockingly, “Don’t act like you didn’t fight me so you two could go and pair up for that RSA BP competition." Laughter always followed, one that filled the room too quickly, but when it died down, you were left with the faint hum of something else.

The intimacy had become muscle memory. Ace draped his arm along the back of your chair during strategy meetings, as casual as breathing. Deuce slid your notes back across the desk without asking, like he knew exactly where your margins ended. Once, half-asleep on the bus back from a tournament, your head had dropped against Ace’s shoulder, and by the time you blinked awake, Deuce had tugged your scarf over you to keep you warm.

None of you addressed anything the next morning. 

Until that night.

It was late again, the end of a mock round that had spiraled into a messy one was where someone cracked the old joke again, “If they’re all dating the same person, at least coordinate a schedule.”

The room howled. Ace grinned, and Deuce snorted. You laughed too, because what else were you supposed to do? But laughter doesn’t exactly disguise the way your pulse climbed.

Ace leaned in, eyes and grin too cheery. “So, Tuesday and Thursday for me, huh? Deuce can take weekends.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Deuce shot back, though the way his hand organized old paper preps (ones that you all had done together before) against the desk betrayed him. 

And maybe that’s what unsettles you most: how natural it feels. In between drafting government whip speeches and crashing into exhaustion after tournaments, you’ve stumbled into a rhythm that’s both reckless and inevitable. Two boys and you, caught somewhere between strategy sessions and something that looks like devotion.

In a passing thought, you tell yourself it’s delusion

On the other hand, Trey was so ecstatic to see Riddle again to the point that he was yapping and talking to his Heartslabyul dorm members about how good of a person Riddle is during the 2nd years ceremony

> also note, Riddle fully crashed out during their ceremony because Floyd GRABBED Riddle's hair and obviously that's rude but Riddle had to be physically restrained by Vargas too; might've been not a good first impression to the other Heartslabyul who didn't believe Trey's gassing up of Riddle.

Eventually driven by self motivation, Riddle takes the crown of Heartslabyul 2 weeks in the school year, and the vice dorm leader is removed as well which prompts Riddle call in an election of the dorm to choose their next vice. Yes. He didn't choose Trey as his vice, he didn't even ask or anything, Riddle just acted alone.

The rest of the dorm, probably scared shitless, votes the one person that could "handle" Riddle (and also technically the one that kept hyping up Riddle anyway) which was Trey.

To be honest, I don't recall any other canon info about what happened during the first year of Riddle's rule (there's probably more hidden in voice lines or vignettes that I just don't know..) so let's move on!

Cut to Prologue and Book 1, Trey and Riddle have clearly settled into their duo position more comfortably than ever. Riddle acknowledges Trey, and the dorm is stable now (I had another analysis of how good Riddle administered/changed Heartslabyul if ever)

A lot of things happened which I'm not gonna narrate again because suddenly my brain ran out of fuel actually...

And then the overblotting happens, and finally it forces to Trey to act because it's not a moment where Riddle just got mad at a student and Trey can just ease both people involved later - it's one where it's a literal "fight or die" scenario.

A metaphysical moment that I think really altered my brain on Trey and Riddle was when Riddle shoots to harm people and then Trey raises his pen and vanishes the lethal spell within seconds, and Riddle has a meltdown.

This could go in two route: for a pragmatic argument to this, I theorize that maybe he viewed Trey as inferior to him and so when Trey "wrote" over his magic that was supposed to be stronger, he got upset at the realization that Trey is possibly more powerful than him

OR, if we wanna go down the more emotional route: Maybe it was more like Riddle was devastated. Ever since he's been in NRC, after meeting Trey again, fulfilling the duties of being a dorm leader, and supervising a chaotic dorm, Trey has been with him for more than a year.

Most likely, he's probably comforted Riddle through a lot of vulnerable moments too and not just through moments where he gets angry.

It's the devastation that someone who you trusted, who helped you in your vulnerable times, someone who's been the shield to your sword, your aid, turned his back against you in your most vulnerable moment possibly.

He's supposed to know Riddle's mother is right, doesn't he? He's seen it himself when they were kids. So, why did he go against him, against her? And why can he do it, when Riddle can't? How can he step away, when Riddle has been bound his entire life? Why can he overwrite his magic so easily, when Riddle spent his entire childhood perfecting it? What did he have, that Riddle doesn't?

Maybe Trey eventually became his shield whether Riddle realized it or not at some point or subconsciously. In a dorm where people slowly but surely started to antagonise Riddle; Trey was technically one of the true ones that was locked in to whatever insanity Riddle had.

But, even a shield can't be your true shield if they technically "lie" to you because they want to "protect" you, because is it really protecting if you won't help the sword sharpen itself for future battles?

Even from the very beginning of their NRC arc, Trey has only looked at Riddle with his past version etched into mind; the one who smiled more, the one who beamed when he won a little harder at croquet and the version that Trey gave a strawberry tart to.

This aspect was actually made so obvious in the manga when Riddle overblots and there's blot tears running down his face, and right next to that panel of Overblot Riddle is child Riddle crying.

In the events of Book 2, I find Riddle immediately jumping to action after Trey was hurt so deeply healing because he wants to protect Trey for once; to show him that he does care and he's trying to change, even if it's slow.

Extra Trey and Riddle moments thoughts:

There's a scene in the TWST Anthology where Ace catches up with Riddle who's worrying about keeping up to standard and Ace tells him something along the lines of "Trey advised you to stop doing that, because what matters is that you try anyway."

Book 7 scene where Trey headpats Riddle, and Riddle is genuinely caught off guard by the casual sign of affection - I also see this as Trey finally feeling comfortable around Riddle as well outside of trying to be formal (tbf it was also Malleus disaster confrontation time lol)

Anyway, thanks so much for the ask btw anon!! They have a certain tragedy to them that can't be easily replicated, and adding Chenya to the mix is another thing too (maybe I'll make a Chenya dynamic analysis if someone asks lmaoskdj)

AND I ended up rambling so much oh my god, beware i hate these two from the very molecules of my dissolved tears (⁠个⁠_⁠个⁠)

He senses life forms through the thin plaster, neighbors, pity they are weak ones because Malleus finds himself regretting the absence of, say someone like the pest called Kingscholar, and the other elders (Lilia) now. There was a time when he could have crushed humans with the flick of a claw, something along the lines of sending thunder to their windows and silence to their hearts.

Now, all he can do is sense. Not do.

His fingers twitch in his lap, he is wearing white as well

Not just white, but soft white: long folds of pale fabric that pool at his feet like sacrificial linens. A cinched waist, sleeves too wide, collar laced with gold thread. It is not his regalia, but it is theirs - the human’s.

Yuu is not afraid because they never have to be and that fact irritates him more than he admits.

“Hey,” they suddenly speak without looking up. “Do you feel cold in that? I thought the fan might be too strong.”

Malleus does not answer at first. The bond, that tether between them, pulls at his chest like a noose gently tightening. Words are expected clearly, they must be given.

“…The cloth is not the issue,” he says at length with finality.

“Oh.” Yuu clicks something, the dastardly thing in front of them whirs as they do. “Is it the fabric?"

“It is not the fabric either,” he mutters. Then, louder, he adds, “We usually do not wear white in my culture.”

“…You mean to tell me I’ve been mischaracterizing you this whole time?”

Malleus closes his eyes and bites his tongue, simply wishing for patience to come to him; it should be easy since he has no other current purpose here other than to, as Yuu had said in jest to their ridiculous machine, "sit still, and look pretty."

His voice comes out then in a low and bitter tone “By making me regale white robes?” Malleus pauses, “Yes.”

Mischaracterizing.

That odious word that the human utters it often - sometimes in frustration or in jest, as if the act of rewriting a soul was a simple misstep.

Malleus opens his mouth, but finds his throat dry. Instead, he thinks, How foolish. And here I thought thou had studied me before shaping me.

Those words are never said, for he has no desire to test the rules of this place, at least not yet.

Yuu turns back to the "screen" with a soft grunt, and rubs their face which slumps in tiredness. “...Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

A mortal apology. Quite useless as Malleus knows it means nothing but he knows it still means something.

The silence between them trickles back in, and Malleus watches them, truly uncertain of what he’s looking for. The place is dimmer now, and he leans back against the futon, a thing too soft for dignity, and rests his eyes.

Just for a moment.

.

He did not sleep because his kind do not require it. He told the human this during the first dawn he'd stayed and even scoffed at the notion.

And yet, when his eyes open again, the light is different and he squints against it at first. Early blue, the color of morning attempting to crawl through smudged glass.

Malleus shifts and find himself stiffening immediately.

His robe has changed, and he raises his hand to examine his sleeve. Gone is the blinding white, and in its place are clothes just darker than before, a comfortable shawl rests on his shoulders and there's no unnecessary trim in sight.

He turns around, and spots Yuu asleep in their chair, limbs folded like a paper doll, sweat slipping down their cheek which the very moment he only notices that the fan was turned off.

He forces an unsettling feeling in his chest to settle, no, he will not ask how they changed the robe when they wake.

Instead, he stands in the center of the room, the new garment draping him like a returned name. “…Mischaracterized, then.” Malleus huffs reluctantly. “Let us see how thou fares with correction.”

A polite feeling pulses at his ribs, and he, a god does not smile at it.

Even when his inner fears or the “shadows” fade, he’s still restless anyway. He doesn’t find peace in having clarity, or in knowing the answers so instead he loops through it. I interpret this as a sign of insomnia, not literal insomnia but insomnia of the soul

“The yearning for more never tiring / Even my pride is a shield”

THIS LINE. I feel like this is one of the few times we get Leona admitting what the pride really is - a defense mechanism. During his overblot, he lashes out about being "just a spare," and "never having the throne" but there’s something quieter there.

You don’t get to hear this vulnerability in canon unless you read between the lines (or in another case, read the novelization of TWST - which btw still has Leona being in denial about what he truly fears) So seeing it acknowledged like this? It’s SO satisfying character wise.

“The light’s disappearing, / The world’s unchanging / Still the color is infallible”

This feels like futility. No matter how much the light fades or the world stays frozen and indifferent, he can’t unsee the beauty or ideal he once reached for.

“The color” (possibly metaphorical for purpose, inspiration, or desire) doesn’t fail, because it's him that fails or falls instead. It's like painful admiration from a distance, something too pure for him to touch.

“No matter how many times this hand / Is extended, even if I try / This hand has always / Held emptiness”

Leona using his hand as a metaphor throughout the song is honestly so raw?? Like it hits on two levels

1) his unique magic literally involves his hand (turning things to sand), and 2) that same magic has canonically made people fear him before (like the servants flinching away from him). So the idea that his own hand is both power and isolation… yeah.

That attempt to grasp meaning, validation, connection, it never lands. It's a raw confession that “I have tried, but I always come up empty.” Because imagine reaching for something again and again, only for it to slip through.

“If that’s so, then turn it all to sand”

A lot of the “I hold out my hand” moments feel like him saying: I have tried. I reached out. And I was turned away. So now what’s the point? All that’s left in his palm is sand, and that image just hurts, it’s his unique magic obviously, but it also becomes his metaphor for emptiness, for being left with nothing even when he wanted something. And because it’s part of him (biologically? magically?), he can never really get rid of it.

So he’s saying: If I can’t have it, then let it be destroyed. Maybe not out of malice but because he's resigned to it. If it’s unattainable, then maybe it’s better if it never existed in the first place. It's fatalistic, because he’s using his power not to change the world, but to erase his yearning for it.

“Even the teasing illusions / Are far too dazzling and bothersome”

Even hope, fantasies, hurt. They’re “dazzling” in how they tempt, but “bothersome” in how they mock him with their impossibility. It’s easier to scorn than to suffer their brightness.

“Even if only as lies if they can remain / That’s that then / It’s fine / I’ll just sneer”

This part reads like… yeah, he knows joy exists. He knows connection is there. But it’s too much. Too bright, too easy to fall for and painful to believe in.

So instead of chasing it at all, he pulls back by laughing at it or sneering, which isn't done out of cruelty or some malice filled bone that Leona has, it's more like self-preservation.

“Grasp onto the light, / My gaze has warped / To that color that’s infallible”

Even in reaching for something pure, he knows his perception has been distorted. He no longer sees things the way he used to.

But the ideal still shines untouched. It never was the problem, it was always him. His own despair, his own weariness shaped him but that color “infallible” is still there.

“No matter who I end up blaming, / With all my reasons laid out / Every time I turn my back / I held this hand”

He’s tried to rationalize it by blaming others, his brother, the throne because he wants to make sense of why nothing works.

This part especially kills me because it’s like, yeah, maybe he’s angry, maybe he’s bitter and blames the world. But in the end, the “hand” is still his.

And whatever he touches, it slips away. That’s his burden and the song isn't even about accountability, it’s about resignation. He knows what’s going to happen, and he carries that anyway.

He hears joy, he sees where happiness could be, and he wants it but Leona still won’t go toward it. That tension between desire and retreat is so heavy in the song.

"Everything, turn it all to sand"

Every time he walks away, he walks away with that same hand, that's still empty and reaching. It’s like he’s haunted by his own failure to connect or succeed; so he uses the one power he does have: destruction. To erase the proof of that emptiness in the first place.

Final thoughts

Anyway, Leona's solo song really reads like someone who was once idealistic, who wanted to matter, but now flinches at hope because it only reminds him of what he’s never had. Someone who has tried, deeply, repeatedly, and only found more emptiness. So he turns inward and self destructive. He doesn’t destroy out of hate at all, but out of exhaustion.

I think even the “the light,” “the color,” and “the cheerful song” are left untouched. He lets them exist, but walks away from them, convinced they’ll never be for him. The act of turning things to sand isn’t just violence, it's control over things he feels and wants.

If he can’t have it, at least he can make it go away.

He remembered her; his ex. The one with long hair, and a beam on her face. Usually talked with that kind of cheeriness that made you feel like the sun was always two inches from your face. She was nice too, and probably still is.

But “first love” nostalgia? That was a dramatic stretch. She wasn’t the kind of memory that came back when he smelled perfume or some tragic song came on.

No, for him, nostalgia smelled like dirt and wet grass and that weird cheap cologne his brother used to wear while practicing card tricks in the garage. It sounded like plastic decks snapping into formation. It felt like bruises on his shoulder from when Deuce tackled him into a hedge because “I told you not to press that lever, Ace!”

“Ace!” Speak of the Great Seven.

Deuce’s voice dragged him back to reality, and there he was--hair far from perfect, messy as hell, and the blot - was it even real in this dream? - smudged across his face like war paint. His hands trembled like it was bracing for another nightmare that Ace didn’t flinch this time.

Funny, he remembered flinching last time. The first time it happened, when Riddle snapped and the whole garden shattered with his vision red, Ace remembered thinking, 'I don’t wanna die in this dumb dorm.' Fear then had tasted like sugar melting too fast, sweet and sharp and sickening.

But now? Now he stood straighter, right now he had Deuce next to him, already clenched up like he was gonna throw himself headfirst into another wall.

And behind him– A tug at his sleeve, and he found himself turning around too quickly. Yuu was crouched down, their knees dug into the dirt stained like the roots were trying to grow into them.

Their expression was a mess too - half smile, half grimace - like they were pretending not to feel the pain in their ribs. “Go get him, Ace.” And his chest didn’t flutter with butterflies at that but he nodded without thinking like it actually did - and took a step forward.

“You never forget your first love,” the screen had said, and maybe it was true. But it wasn’t the girl from middle school who made him double check his jokes in his mind before saying them. Wasn’t the girl who made him want to hit restart on a conversation just to hear their voice say his name again.

Nah, not at all. It was dumber probably.

Somewhere in detentions and way too many overblots and dumb food fights. In shared glances when someone said something way too emotional to digest and they both looked away at the same time.

But maybe… maybe your first love wasn’t the first time you kissed someone or held their hand in that way.

Maybe it was the first time you stood in front of something terrifying and realized someone was still behind you.

Maybe it was when someone tugged your sleeve, voice cracked around your name, and told you to go.

Also... lowkey, he’s kinda narcissistic? Not in the “I’m the best” way, but in the “I suck and everyone’s probably thinking about how I suck” kind of way

The end result is still self focus but just negative. He’s caught in his own head assuming people are watching or judging him, still self centered, just flipped sideways.

And then I spiraled because there’s such an Ace-Yuuya parallel that shows this attitude happening too. Like, Yuuya internally goes, “I wish I was bold like Deuce and Grim who don’t care what people think, they literally make me sick,” and then we literally get Ace in Book 7 thinking the exact same thing

i.e., Ace envying Deuce and Ortho’s bravery and capacity to use harder magic while he freezes up in front of Blot Riddle again.

If the novel version of Book 7 ends up hinting at Yuuya finally getting a metaphysical brick thrown that Ace is just like him, someone scared but trying anyway, YOU GUYS ARE SEEING ME CRY.

Because, note that Book 1 already shows Yuuya looking up to Ace despite Ace roasting him in the prologue (iirc the excerpt went like):

“Were they really the same age as each other? Ace’s articulation and explanations with the inserted jokes interested Yuuya too, and any question that came his way, either from Yuuya or Grim was answered with good will. Yuuya found himself warming up to Ace, and perhaps feeling eyes on him, Ace turns to look at Yuuya and smiles. He was so cheerful.”

If that’s the right term for it – emotional maturity isn’t just saying, “oh yeah i know i did wrong” or “i did this, i didnt mean to” aka the intention doesn’t lessen impact thing, emotional maturity is sitting with those ugly feelings and actually carding yourself through it and Rook understands that.

He pushes people in the right way (Vil) even if it means hurting them for a moment because he knows that in the long run it’s better for them. 

It’s like tough love and that type of affection from him reminds me of Leona...actually he is like Leona but nicer, more flowery with words