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For as long as Riddle could remember, the only color he’d ever seen was blue.
As a child, whenever he could sneak away, he’d run outside just to stare at the sky. He loved how the blue above stretched endlessly, how it shifted from soft and pale to deep and heavy with clouds. Even the ocean, in the few pictures he’d seen, looked alive to him, vivid and endless in a way the rest of his grey-toned world could never be.
Moments like that were rare. His mother kept his days packed with lessons, studies, and endless extracurriculars, leaving little time for idle wonder. Still, he cherished those stolen seconds beneath the open sky, where the world felt a little less dull, a little more alive.
And yet, even as he loved the color blue, he couldn’t help but long for more. He wanted to see what others saw, the full spectrum of color hidden just beyond his reach.
He could tell one shade of grey from another, knew by description what each hue was called, but that was all they were to him: names, not meaning.
He knew his hair was red, but he couldn’t quite understand what that meant. To him, red was the same lifeless grey as purple, as green, as every color he’d never seen.
Still, he held on to a quiet hope that one day, when he met his soulmate, the world would open up, and he’d finally see every color it had been keeping from him.
Red was a rare color in the ocean.
Floyd had only ever seen it in flashes, on certain fish darting between the rocks, on the fins of merfolk who liked to stand out, and, most vividly, in the coral reefs that glowed like a warning sign.
Red meant danger. Everyone knew that. If you saw red underwater, you were supposed to keep your distance.
Naturally, Floyd did the opposite.
He couldn’t help himself. Red was the only color he could see, and it was alive compared to the dull grays coating the rest of his world. It shimmered, pulsed, dared him to come closer. So of course he did—he always did.
He liked the thrill of it. The way danger made his heart beat faster. Maybe that was why he liked red so much, it was wild, unpredictable, fun.
He wondered sometimes what kind of person his soulmate would be.
Would they be as bright and dangerous as the color he loved so much?
Would they make his dull world light up or would they be the reason it finally burned out?
His parents didn’t love each other, despite being soulmates.
Riddle couldn’t remember when he first realized it. Maybe it was the nights he’d watched his mother plead for his father’s attention, voice trembling while he barely looked up from his work. Or maybe it was the time he overheard her shouting—her words sharp and broken—about the nurse his father had been seeing behind her back.
He never could understand how two people bound by fate could seem to hate each other so much. Soulmates were supposed to complete one another, not tear each other apart.
The happiest he’d ever seen them was in a faded photo he’d found tucked between the pages of one of his mother’s old journals. His father’s arm was around her shoulders, both of them smiling at something beyond the frame. They looked… real. Warm. Like they belonged together.
Naively, he’d brought the photo to her.
“Mother,” he’d asked, holding it out, “when was this taken?”
She froze. For a moment, something soft flickered in her eyes, then it vanished.
“Where did you find that?” she demanded, her tone sharp enough to cut.
“In your journal,” Riddle admitted quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You were snooping,” she snapped. “You had no right to go through my things.”
He shrank back, guilt tightening his throat. But before he could apologize again, her voice wavered, just slightly.
“…Sometimes,” she said at last, turning away from him, “you meet your soulmate, and you realize you’re not compatible after all.”
She let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Love doesn’t always survive reality, Riddle. Remember that.”
Then she took the photo from his hands and walked away, leaving him standing there with the faint scent of her perfume and a hollow ache in his chest.
His mother had only ever seen blue—just like him—until she met his father.
Now, she seemed determined to erase the color from existence.
There was barely any blue left in their house, a deliberate decision on her part. If something so much as hinted at the color, it disappeared within a day, quietly taken away by the maid before she could notice it herself.
Curtains, vases, trinkets—gone. It was as if his mother was trying to bleach the memory of him from their world.
She rarely looked Riddle in the eyes. They were the same shade of bluish-grey as his father’s, the one color she couldn’t bear to see.
It was cruel, in a way. Blue was the only color Riddle had ever known, the only one his world allowed him to see. It shimmered faintly in mirrors, in his eyes, in the sky above him. It was his constant, his comfort.
The thought of hating it scared him.
Because if he ever learned to hate blue… he wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself.
Floyd’s parents weren’t soulmates.
He and Jade had been pretty surprised when they found that out. For as long as they could remember, they’d assumed it was normal, everyone’s parents were supposed to be soulmates, right? But both of their parents had already met their own soulmates long before falling for each other, and neither of them seemed bothered by it. If anything, they seemed content.
When Floyd asked about it, his mom just laughed and said, “Just because two people are soulmates doesn’t mean they’re required to date.”
She’d gone on to explain that soulmates came in all shapes and sizes. Some bonds were romantic, others purely platonic. “A soulmate,” she said, “is simply someone the universe thinks you’ll connect with deeply. It doesn’t mean they’re the only person you’ll ever be compatible with.”
Floyd remembered blinking at that, trying to process it. It made sense, sort of, but it also didn’t. The universe sure had a funny way of doing things.
Their parents never discouraged them from finding their soulmates. In fact, they encouraged it. But they also made one thing very clear, if the relationship didn’t feel right, they could always swim away, societal norms be damned.
“Just cause the universe points you toward someone,” his dad had once said, “doesn’t mean you have to chain yourself to them.”
It was a strangely comforting lesson to grow up with. While other merfolk whispered about destiny and perfect matches, Floyd and Jade learned that love wasn’t about obligation, it was about choice.
And maybe that was why Floyd found the whole soulmate thing so fascinating. He liked the idea of meeting someone who made the world look different, but he also liked knowing that if it didn’t, he was free to swim off and find something else that did.
Riddle wouldn’t meet his soulmate until his first year at NRC.
The entrance ceremony was already in full swing, and Riddle had been focused, listening intently to every word from his future professors, mentally noting every rule, every expectation.
Then someone grabbed his hair.
“It’s red, but it’s not hot!” an obnoxious voice said, tugging at the strands like a child testing a toy.
Riddle’s reaction was immediate—reflexive. Without hesitation, he drew his magic pen, set the boy’s sleeve ablaze, and promptly hurled him across the room.
Gasps filled the hall. Riddle was trembling with fury, vision narrowing. How dare he? Who the hell did he think he was?
It took two teachers to hold him back before he could lunge again. His heart pounded, magic sparking at his fingertips.
And then—finally—he looked.
The idiot who’d just ruined his first impression was grinning up at him from the floor, still half-smoking from the fire spell. And the moment their eyes met—
Riddle’s world exploded into color.
The moment the red-haired boy threw him across the room, Floyd knew.
There wasn’t any hesitation, no need for second-guessing, his instincts were loud and clear. And when the boy finally looked him in the eyes, color bled into Floyd’s world like spilled ink, blooming and spreading until everything felt alive.
His suspicion was confirmed.
Across the room, his soulmate just froze. The kid’s expression shifted from fury to wide-eyed horror, like he’d just witnessed the end of days. Floyd couldn’t help himself—he burst out laughing.
He didn’t even know the boy’s name yet, but he didn’t need to. The universe had a funny sense of humor, and this time it had outdone itself.
It had given Floyd the perfect soulmate.
Riddle avoided Floyd—his soulmate—like the plague.
Whenever he spotted the boy in the halls, he would, poisedly of course, turn on his heel and walk briskly in the opposite direction. (It was not running. Absolutely not.)
It didn’t help that he was still struggling to adjust to the endless flood of colors the world now offered. Everything felt too bright, too alive, too much. He’d never realized how vibrant his own hair was until he saw it for himself, scarlet like flame, impossible to ignore.
He hadn’t told his mother yet. He wasn’t sure how she’d take it, or if she’d take it at all. The idea of introducing Floyd Leech to her felt like inviting a hurricane into their living room.
Floyd, from what he’d observed, was a force of nature in the worst possible way. Loud, unpredictable, and seemingly dedicated to terrorizing the entire student body. Riddle, unfortunately, included.
“Goldfishy~!”
Riddle froze. A full-body shiver went down his spine. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned around.
“I–I told you not to call me that!” he sputtered, voice rising in indignation.
Floyd only grinned wider, like he’d just found a new favorite game.
“I heard you’re a Housewarden now,” Floyd drawled, plopping himself down right across from Riddle and effectively trapping him in the far corner of the library, the one place Riddle had foolishly thought he’d have some peace.
Riddle looked up from his book, eyes narrowing in mild irritation. “The previous Housewarden was incompetent,” he said curtly. “Someone had to step up.”
He wasn’t entirely sure why he was bothering to explain himself to Floyd of all people. He’d been Housewarden for nearly a week now, and most students still acted like it was some elaborate joke. They hadn’t taken him seriously when he challenged the former Housewarden—a third year—for the position. Not until they’d seen the duel.
It had been brutal. For his opponent, at least. Riddle had gone in with the full intent to win, and he had. It wasn’t his fault the other boy hadn’t taken him seriously until it was far too late.
“Is it true you took away their magic and almost suffocated them?” Floyd asked suddenly, tone far too casual for the weight of the question.
Riddle blinked, momentarily caught off guard. No one had asked him that directly before. Most just whispered and steered clear.
“I didn’t suffocate him,” Riddle said, posture stiff. “He could have yielded at any time.”
Floyd’s grin widened, sharp and amused. “Heheh~ that’s kinda scary, Goldfishy. We should fight—like, now.”
Riddle exhaled through his nose, long-suffering. By this point, he wasn’t even surprised. Ever since becoming Housewarden, everyone seemed eager to test him, as if they could knock him down a peg.
He shut his book with a quiet thump. “Very well,” he said coolly.
Riddle was so vibrant. It wasn’t just the color—though, Seven, that red burned brighter than anything Floyd had ever seen—it was him. The way he moved, the way his magic flared. Floyd felt like some deep-sea fish, helplessly drawn toward the shimmering lure of an anglerfish. Beautiful, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
Another fireball hissed through the air, missing him by inches. Floyd laughed, twisting midair to avoid the next.
Riddle didn’t waste a single motion. Every step, every flick of his wrist carried precision. He was all sharp lines and control, flame dancing at his fingertips like it belonged there.
He was smart. Stupidly, ridiculously smart. It had only been the first month of school, and Riddle was already the top student in their year, and one of the top ten in the whole school. Azul wouldn’t shut up about it, which amused Floyd to no end. But now, seeing that brilliance turned on him, Floyd had to admit, it was kind of terrifying.
At first, he thought Riddle was just throwing fire around to keep him moving. But then he noticed the pattern, the way the flames curved, the shrinking space, the subtle tug in the air. Riddle wasn’t just attacking; he was building a trap. The heat wasn’t the real threat. He was burning up the oxygen, forcing Floyd closer and closer until he’d have nowhere left to breathe.
Floyd grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. “Heh~ you’re mean, Goldfishy.”
Riddle’s eyes narrowed, his flames reflecting off them like twin suns. His hair, that blinding, impossible red, flickered brighter in the glow. Floyd’s pulse quickened. The fire painted him in color—red on red on red.
It was vicious, and brilliant, and Floyd couldn’t look away.
So that’s what danger looks like, he thought, laughing as he darted through another burst of flame. Guess I’m hooked.
Riddle had thought he’d made his disdain for Floyd apparent. Soulmates or not, Floyd was a thorn in his side.
They were already in the second semester of their first year, and Floyd still wouldn’t leave him alone.
He was everywhere, in everything.
He was so blindingly blue, it drove Riddle mad.
Not just in the way he held himself or how his hair shimmered like the ocean Riddle had never seen—no, it was deeper than that. Floyd was blue in every sense of the word: unpredictable, untamed, endless.
There was something about that color that clung to Riddle, staining the edges of his world no matter how hard he tried to scrub it away.
It irritated him more than he could say. It wasn’t fair. Floyd shouldn’t have been allowed to shine so brightly in Riddle’s now colorful world, shouldn’t have been allowed to make him feel warm when he smiled.
Riddle told himself he hated it.
He told himself that every time Floyd laughed, every time he called out to him, every time that flash of blue brushed by his side, he hated it.
And yet, somewhere deep down, beneath all his pride and fury, Riddle cherished it. Because for all the noise and chaos Floyd brought, he also brought color.
And Riddle—who had lived so long in shades of greys and rulebooks—had never known how truly beautiful blue could be.
The flames had finally consumed Riddle.
That was Floyd’s first thought when he heard Riddle had overblotted. The only reason he even found out was because Azul told him.
Floyd had admittedly been worried, so he went to find Riddle himself.
Riddle looked nothing like his larger-than-life self as he lay in the infirmary bed.
His face was flushed that beautiful, furious red of his, but Floyd couldn’t enjoy it. Not when that red meant Riddle was sick.
“What a pickle you’ve gotten yourself in, huh, Goldfishy,” Floyd murmured, running his fingers gently through Riddle’s hair.
Riddle whimpered, leaning into his touch. His eyes cracked open, that bluish gray—a sharp contrast to his usual vibrant red.
“Floyd?” Riddle slurred, expression painfully vulnerable.
“Hm?”
“I’m glad it’s you,” Riddle mumbled.
Riddle liked Floyd.
Groundbreaking information, truly.
They were soulmates—it wasn’t exactly shocking for Riddle to feel the way he did. He knew Floyd felt the same; Floyd had never bothered to hide it. But it was one thing to know and another thing entirely to confront it.
Riddle’s interpretation of soulmates was… warped. He wasn’t sure he wanted to chain himself to someone, no matter what the universe thought.
The idea of being in a relationship like his parents’ made his stomach twist.
The constant screaming. The crying. The way love had curdled into something ugly.
He didn’t want that kind of life.
He didn’t want to end up resenting the person who brought color to his world.
But Riddle couldn’t help but imagine the life they could have together.
It was so easy to see. So easy to picture them side by side—content.
He could almost see it in color, like one of those perfect daydreams he’d never dared to have before.
Floyd would drag him out of his room whenever he worked too long, laughing as Riddle scolded him for tracking dirt into the kitchen. They’d argue, yes—Floyd would push, and Riddle would push back—but somehow it wouldn’t feel like breaking.
It would feel alive.
Warm.
Something worth the mess.
But the more Riddle let the thought linger, the harder it became to push away.
He wanted that life. He wanted the laughter, the chaos, the warmth that Floyd seemed to bring wherever he went. He wanted to stop pretending that the sound of Floyd’s voice didn’t make something in his chest go soft.
It terrified him.
The idea of wanting someone so completely—of letting them in, of being seen—it made his stomach twist. But beneath that fear was something gentler. A longing so deep it scared him to acknowledge it.
He’d spent so long trying to be perfect, to follow rules, to never disappoint anyone. Floyd didn’t care about any of that. He didn’t want Riddle’s perfection; he just wanted Riddle.
And that realization hurt in the most wonderful way.
Floyd always knew Riddle was going to be a hard nut to crack.
That was part of the fun, really. The little goldfish was all rules and sharp words, but underneath it all, Floyd could tell there was something warm, something soft he didn’t know how to show.
And Floyd? He had all the patience in the world for that kind of thing.
He liked watching Riddle, liked seeing that tiny furrow between his brows when he was thinking too hard. He liked how Riddle tried to act composed when his temper started to slip, or how his face would flush red when Floyd teased him just a little too close.
Most people saw Riddle as cold, strict, untouchable. But Floyd saw the way his hands trembled when he was tired. He saw the way Riddle’s gaze softened when he looked out the window, like he was searching for something just out of reach.
Floyd wasn’t sure when it stopped being a game.
One day, he realized he didn’t just want to make Riddle angry or fluster him—he wanted to see him happy. He wanted to keep him safe, keep that spark alive.
Because the truth was, Riddle wasn’t fire. He was light. Bright, fragile, beautiful light.
And Floyd, who had lived his whole life chasing color and noise, finally found the one person who made the world quiet.
Riddle hadn’t meant for it to happen. He’d just needed a moment to breathe—one quiet corner of the rose maze where the world couldn’t reach him. Everything that day had gone wrong, one thing after another, until all he could do was sit beneath the old tree and press his face into his knees to hide the shaking.
Of course, Floyd found him anyway. He always did.
“Look at the cute goldfish I found,” Floyd drawled, dropping to the grass beside him with all the subtlety of a crashing wave.
Riddle didn’t look up. His throat ached, and his chest felt too tight. He heard Floyd shift, felt fingers thread gently through his hair, and then—softly, almost unexpectedly—
“Won’t you look at me, Riddle?”
The gentleness in his voice made Riddle falter. He hesitated, then lifted his head. Yellow met blue-grey, and Floyd smiled, not his usual sharp grin, but something smaller, quieter. His thumb brushed away a tear that Riddle hadn’t realized had fallen.
“Bad day?” Floyd asked.
Riddle only nodded. He expected teasing, but it never came. Instead, Floyd leaned back against the tree, arms open. “C’mere.”
For a long moment, Riddle just stared. Then, without a word, he leaned in, letting Floyd’s arms wrap around him. The warmth was immediate—steady, grounding. Floyd’s heartbeat was slow against his ear, calm in a way Riddle desperately needed.
“You’re so tense, Goldfishy,” Floyd murmured, his hand tracing slow circles along Riddle’s back. “You gotta let yourself rest sometimes.”
Riddle hummed softly, exhaustion tugging at his voice. “You’re comfortable,” he admitted before he could stop himself.
Floyd’s laugh was low and fond. “That’s ‘cause you fit just right.”
And for once, Riddle didn’t argue. He didn’t think about soulmates, or destiny, or what anyone might say. He just let himself stay—held close beneath the roses, surrounded by the faint scent of salt and warmth—and, for the first time that day, it was enough.
Something had shifted after that day in the rose maze. Riddle wasn’t sure when exactly it happened, only that he noticed himself smiling more when Floyd was around. He’d catch himself waiting for the sound of Floyd’s laughter echoing down the hallway, or the teasing lilt in his voice calling out, “Goldfishy~”
He laughed more at Floyd’s ridiculous jokes, and found himself leaning into the easy touch of his hand or shoulder. The closeness came so naturally it almost scared him.
It was hard to stay guarded when Floyd made trust feel so effortless. Floyd, who never lied about what he wanted, who spoke his mind without hesitation—whether he was interested, bored, or somewhere in between. There was comfort in that honesty, in knowing that Floyd’s affection wasn’t a game or an obligation.
And yet, the fear never truly left him. That old, gnawing dread lingered beneath the warmth, the fear of being trapped, of repeating his parents’ mistakes. No matter how gentle Floyd’s touch or how bright his laughter, some part of Riddle still worried about what it meant to belong to someone.
So he pulled away.
It started small, missed lunches, delayed replies, a polite smile instead of a genuine one.
Riddle told himself he was busy, that Housewarden duties and exam prep demanded his full attention. But deep down, he knew that was a lie.
Every time Floyd’s hand lingered too long on his shoulder, every time his laughter softened into something almost tender, panic would twist in Riddle’s chest. He’d see flashes of his parents in his mind—love turned to resentment, soulmates who could barely look at each other without venom in their voices. He couldn’t bear the thought of ending up like that.
Floyd noticed, of course Floyd noticed.
Riddle had been halfway through slipping out of the library when the eel’s voice drawled behind him.
“Where ya going, Goldfish?”
Riddle froze mid-step, hand still on the doorframe. Floyd’s voice was playful, but underneath it, sharp as a knife. When Riddle turned, the eel was already there, slouched against the shelves, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t quite mischief.
“I— I have work to finish,” Riddle said, quieter than he meant to.
Floyd’s grin didn’t falter, but his tone dropped, soft, deliberate. “You’ve had ‘work to finish’ every day this week.” He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them with slow, measured steps. “You’re avoidin’ me, Goldfishy?”
Riddle’s stomach twisted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve just been busy.”
“Busy, huh?” Floyd tilted his head, studying him. “Why’d ya look like you’re about to scamper away every time you see me?”
That hit too close. Riddle’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to meet Floyd’s gaze. “Because—” He stopped, breath catching. For once, he didn’t have an explanation, no rule or logic to hide behind. Just fear.
It drained out of him all at once. “I—” he began, voice trembling. “I’m scared.”
The words hung heavy between them, fragile and raw. Floyd’s teasing grin finally faded, replaced by quiet confusion. “Scared? Of me?”
“No,” Riddle said quickly, shaking his head. “Not of you. Of–of this. Of what it means.” He looked down at his hands. “You’re my soulmate, Floyd. That’s supposed to mean something permanent, and I–I can’t– I don’t want to end up like my parents. They were soulmates too, and they hated each other. They made each other miserable.” His voice cracked. “I don’t want that to happen to us.”
For a long moment, Floyd just stared at him. Then, slowly, his expression softened into something gentler than Riddle had ever seen on his face.
“Y’know,” Floyd started quietly, “my parents aren’t soulmates.”
Riddle blinked. “What?”
“Yup,” Floyd said, flopping back against a nearby table. “They both met their soulmates before each other. Real sweet people, actually. They all hang out sometimes.” He shrugged. “My mom always said bein’ soulmates doesn’t mean you gotta date. Doesn’t even mean you gotta stay together if it hurts. It just means the universe thought you’d understand each other.”
Riddle stared, unsure what to say.
Floyd tilted his head, smiling again, but softer this time. “You and me, Goldfishy, we don't have to be like your parents. We don’t have to be anything we don’t wanna be.”
The tension in Riddle’s chest loosened, bit by bit.
“Then what if—” he hesitated, voice small, “what if I hurt you?”
Floyd laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. It was warm. “Then I’ll bite back. Easy.”
Riddle huffed a small, shaky laugh despite himself, and Floyd’s grin widened.
“See? Not so scary,” Floyd said, leaning closer, eyes gleaming with something almost tender. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? Together.”
And for the first time in a long while, Riddle didn’t feel like running.
Loving Riddle was easy.
Floyd wasn’t sure if it was some soulmate shenanigans or if it was just him. Floyd honestly couldn’t bring himself to care.
Riddle made everything brighter, softer, more.
After they got over their little hurdle, Riddle surprised him. He was an attentive lover—fussy sometimes, always overthinking—but he cared in that meticulous way only Riddle could. He remembered little things: what Floyd liked to eat, when his moods shifted, the exact tone that made him laugh instead of pout, the things he’d never say out loud.
And Floyd, for once, didn’t mind slowing down for someone.
He liked the way Riddle’s fingers fit between his own, the way his cheeks flushed when Floyd teased him too much, the way he still scolded him for being late but couldn’t hide his smile while doing it.
Maybe the universe had planned this. Maybe it hadn’t.
Didn’t matter.
Floyd decided that if soulmates were meant to understand each other, then he’d spend the rest of his life doing exactly that—learning every shade of Riddle’s red, every piece of what made him, him.
Floyd leaned close, pressing a kiss to Riddle’s temple, smiling against his skin. “Y’know, Goldfishy,” he murmured, “you’re my favorite color.”
Riddle rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed a familiar pink that made Floyd grin wider. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” Floyd said, his voice softer now, “but you love me anyway.”
And as Riddle’s hand found his, fingers intertwining, the world around them seemed to hum with light.
And just like that, it was enough.