latte [ twst oneshots ]

- to what is suffering and small. riddle rosehearts.

If there was anything Riddle had ever wanted, it was to feel human.

No, that wasn't true. To be human was to be unruly, incapable, imperfect. Imperfection was inadequate, and inadequacy was to disappoint his mother, and above all, the Queen of Hearts. 

So Riddle knew he was human. That was fine. Being human was a burr in his side, a pain in the neck, and he fought it every step of the way. Never mind the fact that he might probably never taste another tart for it, neither did it matter if he might never make friends other than Trey and Cater simply because he couldn't sit around an extra five minutes to talk with the others. He could deal with the little inconveniences, if it made him a little less human, a little more perfect.

And yet - the devil really could quote scripture to serve his purpose is what he might say, if Riddle were religious in any way. Breaking rules should not have been this appealing, this fun, but there you were, crashing into his second year at the academy in a whirlwind of chaos and fire (courtesy of Grim). Perhaps his school life might have been much less troublesome and a lot quieter without you, but hadn't you been a key part in exposing Savanaclaw's treachery or undoing Ashengrotto's contracts? Despite your complete lack of magic or knowledge of the world you'd been unceremoniously dropped into, you'd proven yourself capable and resourceful time and time again... even if it often was at the expense of the rules. 

Riddle didn't understand. His mother was correct, therefore her rules were correct, and by following them, he could certainly reach the level of excellence that might, one day, please her. But why was there a fundamental part of him that longed to be... more like you? So normal, so carefree, so human. Watching you dashing about school with the other freshmen, barely scraping by on the heels of their antics, made him acutely aware of an unpleasant bubble of bitterness in his chest that made him want to either bake a tart for you with his own two hands or throw up.

It was sickening, was what it was. He couldn't afford to be distracted like this.

Still. Perhaps he should invite you to their next Unbirthday Party. And maybe you'd like a slice of his favourite tart? And he wouldn't mind giving you a little hand with your work, if you didn't mind.