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[Valentine's first winter - Riddle Rosehearts]

Summary: Through the haziness of his sickness, your light shines through. You stay by his side and Riddle's heart blossoms for you.

Notes: gn!reader, sickfic, fluff, could be read as a continuation of my other Riddle oneshot but it's not necessary to understand, super self indulgent, established relationship, Riddle's mother is it's own warning

Spring is the time for warmth, the time to watch the flowers bloom and appreciate the calming breeze. Winter is the contrary, it's the time for the chill, the time for the skies to open and cry onto the earth. 

Riddle usually was prepared for such times, of course. He'd check the weather cast everyday to make sure to bring an umbrella or a coat with him and text you to do the same. The thing is, he was also very busy, what with the finals weeks and winter vacation coming, as the Housewarden he had to deal with more paperwork than usual and keep an eye on the Heartslabyul's students to make sure they were keeping up with their studies. Since Trey wasn't the vice housewarden anymore, having moved on to the next grade and doing his reasearch somewhere at the Queendom of Roses, Riddle had more work than he was used to.

You made sure to check on him, reminding him to take breaks periodically. You even went to his room yourself, a tray of hand made sweets and tea in your hands. Riddle could feel the warmth of spring through his entire being as he looked at your gentle smile. He'd stop everything he was doing to spend some time with you, talking about your days in a way that brought peace for his soul for a moment, no thoughts spared for the mountains of paperwork left to do.

Still, it was due to having such a stressful schedule that he got too caught up with his work and forgot to check the weather cast one day. It was only one day, a little slip, but it cost him. On that day, Lady Luck turned her head away from him and the heavens poured onto the campus of NRC. What's worst, Riddle had been on the botanical garden when it happened, tending to his alchemy experiment. He only noticed the downpour once it was too late to run back safely, getting caught in the middle of it.

And that's how Riddle Rosehearts found himself on the nurse's office, body burning up and cursing his unattentiveness.

Riddle remembers when he got sick once, as a child. He felt terrible, hot all over, sweating and dizzy. What's worse, he couldn't concentrate on his books at all, his eyes felt heavy and kept closing on their own. He just wanted to sleep, but he still had to finish one exercise. His hands trembled as he tried to write some gibberish, he'd never felt so bad before. His eyes watered and his vision was blurry, words getting mixed with the others, although there was one thing he could see clear as day. His mother disappointed face as she came to check on him. 

She put the back of her hand against his forehead and the cold felt so good against his burning skin, he couldn't help but lean into it, closing his eyes in relief and letting out a whimper. The sensation was gone sooner than it appeared, leaving Riddle to almost topple over with the weight of his own head. She said something about him not listening when she warned him about the climate change, as winter approaching tended to bring such colds. He couldn't listen properly, his head was full of mush, he could barely keep his eyes open. She tutted and grabbed him by the arm, getting him up so fast he felt like throwing up, his vision blacking out for a second and losing his footing, only that firm brusing hand on his arm keeping him up. 

She took him to his bed and gave him some bitter medicine, telling him to stay put for the rest of the day. He obliged, as always, what else could he do? His mother was a doctor, she knew what she was talking about. He knew she had better, more important things to do than look for her disobedient son that went and got himself sick. She's a busy woman, so busy that outside of lessons he almost never saw her. He understood, she had to work hard to keep herself at the top, and that meant she didn't have much free time to spare him. Still, he felt very lonely in such a vulnerable state. Alone in his room, the aching in his chest felt worse than the cold. The red of the wall burnt his eyes, so he burried himself on the covers, still sweating, hugged his pillow on his chest and wished, desperately hoped, for it to go away soon.

The sensations from back then come to haunt him again. There's shivers breaking out on his body but his skin burns, he can't decide if he's running too cold or too hot or too much. His muscles weight a ton, holding him back on the bed, making his movements sluggish. He wants to rip out his vocal cords and weave new ones, ones that won't grant on his ears and won't rasp his throat with every syllable.

He can hear the door opening. It's not the nurse, but you. Through the haziness of his sickness, your light shines through. You stay by his side and Riddle's heart blossoms for you.

You have a worried look in your eyes as you pull a chair to sit next to his bed, eyeing him with concern. He hates that he's a bother, that he caused you distress over something so easily avoidable. Even so, your presence washes over him as if cleansing his soul. He's glad to see you, he realizes. He's glad to not be left alone.

There's a cup of water in your hands, and he gladly takes it, greedily downing it. The liquid freezes all the way down his throat, his flaring insides lapping it up, he wants to drink more and more. Your hand takes his and makes him slow down, least he chokes. It's a little thing, but this simple gesture makes his insides flutter. You take the glass from his hands once he's done, putting it on the bedside table and focusing your whole attention on him. He wants to drink up the sight of you.

The way Riddle looks at you leaves you breathless, fever ridden lidded eyes glancing through his lashes as if you were everything he could ever need. You hung up the stars on the sky, you painted every color of the sunset, you were the sun and the moon, the cosmos itself. He looked with so much adoration, as if he couldn't believe that you were still there, with him of all people. Him. You choose him and you stayed with him and he was so, so grateful for it.

You call out his name softly, oh so softly, and give him a kiss on the forehead, your lips leaving a tingling sensation. He wanted to berate you, to tell you to not that, since you could get sick too, but no word left his sore throat, he couldn't gather the strenght to protest against something that felt so good. Instead, he lets the words that run through his mind leave his tongue, unfiltered.

"You shouldn't be worrying about me, you have more important things to care about."

You smile, a bittersweet thing, eyes contemplating, as if asking youself 'doesn't he get it?' He's not in the best state to read your expression, though. You tenderly put your hand on his forehead, moving some hair sticking there and feeling his warmth. He leans into the touch, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips.

"Oh, Riddle, I'm taking care of something important. In fact, I can't think of a single thing that could be more important than you. The rest can wait, I want to make sure you're ok first and foremost."

Riddle's eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. What could he say to that? His vision blurries, but he isn't sure if it's because of the fever or something else. Maybe it has something to do with the way your eyes gaze at him, so full of unfiltered love that Riddle could never doubt a word that falls from your lips, doesn't matter if they seem too good to be true.

You giggle at his cute dumbfounded expression, teasing him a little. "Cat got your tongue?"

He pouts, cheeks puffing up a bit and turns his head away. It's extremely endearing, you can't help but let out a laugh. Your hand run through his bangs, taking them off his sweaty skin, massaging his temples. He closes his eyes, pure relief flowing through him.

It felt nice to be taken care of like this, the simple comfort of your steady presence by his side made him feel like he was safe, like it would be alright, that he could let go and trust you'd take care of him. He wanted to grip onto this feelings and not let go, let them fill him up and chase the disease out of his system. One of his hands lifted to cover yours that was still in his forehead, a childish impulse to make sure you'd stay. You let out another soft laugh, the sound being enough to make him breath better, lifting a weight from his chest. You'd stay, he was sure of it. You always do.

Still, Riddle felt disgusting, runny nose and sticky skin, face as red as his hair. He wanted to get out of his dermis, rinse his bones until they shined and stopped feeling like that, unbearably dirty. But you didn't move away from him, your expression was always that of worry and fondness, never of disgust. "I'd never be disgusted of you, Riddle." You murmur, and he must have let his thoughts slip through his loose tongue. "It's a normal reaction, you can't control it. There's no reason to feel ashamed." It's so easy to fall for your words, so easy to let himself fully believe in them, so easy to accept the reassurance.

Riddle can take care of himself. He doesn't need to be babied and he doesn't need anyone's pity. He wants to do things his way, he doesn't want to depend on anyone, doesn't want to look weak. But your gentle voice echoes in his head, saying that's ok to ask for help. He doesn't need to do everything alone, he can count on you. And he trusts you so much, with his entire soul, so he lets you stay by his side. He knows that once he wakes up, you'll still be there. You always stay. 

"Rest up, dear." Your voice hypnotizes him, there's no way to not listen when you hold so much fondness in a single word, a single word that makes his heartbeat run faster and a his lips curl upwards.

He lets himself fall freely in the feeling of your love. Your breathing lulling him to sleep, his fingers gripping your hand and not letting go. His eyes close softly, naturally, and the tension seeps away from his body. You'll take good care of him, he's sure. You'll hold his worries in your hands, taking them out of his mind to let him rest.

There's no doubt in his mind that what he feels is love. Outside, the harsh winds of winter cut through the sky. Inside, the soft warmth of spring envelops his sleep.

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