splitmemory | riddle/cater shenanigans

"No," Riddle tugs the small stack away from Cater, "It's my responsibility. I'm the one who pulled so many down. I should be the one to carry them." Besides, he had a bag to use to carry things in. Cater'd have to carry them in his arms and-- well, that would mean they'd be less able to hold hands.

Riddle stands up, beginning to slip things into his bag, glancing up towards Cater.

"... It's most likely closer to lunch time by now." Hard to tell, without looking at a clock. "We can make something together." To make up for the time Cater'd spent already taking care of him yesterday.

There's a stare that Riddle begins to give Cater, beginning to notice that the flush to his face hadn't gone down much yet at all. Was it that cold out? "Is the snow coming down again?"

Cater huffs, but ultimately can't help but smile at Riddle. What was he going to do with this Queen of his?

"Fine, fine..."

He holds up his hands, relenting, and then moves them into his pockets.

"Sounds like a plan, to me. Maybe some tea sandwiches." To go with tea, of course. Cater only thinks about it briefly before Riddle asks about the weather. He shakes his head.

"No, just cloudy and cold. It'll probably snow later."

In the face of Riddle Rosehearts, no one could match his stubbornness. Had Cater complained further, tried to help, he might've been scolded, asked whether he thought Riddle couldn't handle it-- really, this was the better option.

As he collects everything into his bag, Riddle continues to glance from his bag up to Cater, his eyes narrowing after a few glances.

One of the books is left on the table, bag abandoned for long enough to allow Riddle to move close to Cater, staring up at him.

Lifting his hand up, he presses the back of it against Cater's forehead.

"How are you feeling?" Cloudy and cold, no matter if snow would fall a little later, wouldn't keep him this flushed this long... Was Cater alright?

Cater's skin is definitely too warm, though it hasn't reached a burning fever, yet. "Awww, worried about your solider? No problemo, Queenie! I'm a little tired, but it's nothin' ya boi can't handle."

Ah, but Riddle's hand felt so nice on his flushed skin. His eyes go half-lidded of their own accord, savoring the feeling.

"Ready to get going?"

.... He'd gotten Cater sick, hadn't he? The thought slips in quietly, overtaking any other. Riddle's hand stays put for a little too long on Cater's forehead, as he inspects the older teen.

"... Yes." Riddle nods, pulling his hand back. He turns away from Cater to finish putting the last book away. The heavy bag is pulled on, hanging over one of his shoulders. Tucking his pen away into his pocket, Riddle moves close to Cater again.

His hand doesn't grab at his sleeve, but instead slips around his waist. His hand itself rests on his hip.

"I'll make our lunch." Riddle decides, shifting to begin leading them out of the library. No, he wasn't going to say why he wrapped his arm around Cater like that, or why he was deciding he should make lunch for them. Good luck trying to figure it out, Caycay.

Cater has an idea what Riddle's thinking when he offers to make lunch, even if he's not sure why Riddle's holding onto him. Well, whatever. If it made Riddle happy, Cater decided he wasn't going to argue. He wasn't quite ready to believe that he was getting sick, too, but at least they were getting back to where they needed to be.

"Sure you feel up for cooking?"

Riddle was also still recovering, after all.

Could Cater really complain when Riddle was leading him out of the library? When he was accepting returning without much complaint? No, Riddle doesn't think so. Sure, he should be resting still. By no means was he all the way better, no matter how stubborn he wished to be... and yet.

"Are you doubting me, Cater?"

The tone he took was definitely one of his more usual ones, showcasing his light annoyance at the assumptions that were, at this point, absolutely true. He shouldn't force himself to work too hard, especially when they had a long walk back to their dorm. "I said I'll take care of it, so that is what I'm going to do." It's not a matter of 'feeling up to it' or not.

Reaching the large double doors, Riddle shifts to push them open for the two of them.

"Easy, Queen! If you say so, I believe you."

Whew, Riddle was definitely feeling spicy, now. Well, Cater didn't mind it so much--that feisty temper was part of his charm, too. He grins as they reach the library doors, only to let out an oof under his breath as the cold wave hits them.

"What's for lunch, then? Already cooking up ideas in your head?"

Shuffling closer, Riddle's hip presses against Cater's, pressing them as close as they could get with that arm around him. Was he trying to make it obvious that he was a little worried about Cater? No- absolutely not.

"I saw a recipe that I believe we have all the ingredients for. Something that should be good for the both of us, with plenty of nutrients, warm enough to make up for the time spent in the cold."

It really was cold, wasn't it? Riddle glances up towards Cater, "How do you feel about spinach in dishes?"

"I'm a good boy who eats his greens," Cater assures. It's not like vegetables are his favorite, but he'll take a plate of them over desserts any day of the week. He winks at Riddle, not making any comment about how closely Riddle's pressed them together.

"By the time the break's over, I'm going to be so spoiled."

It's a good thing it wasn't too long of a walk, because even he finds himself gravitating in toward Riddle to capture as much warmth as possible. His breathing is a little too hard from the exertion just from walking from one place to the next.

"Good. Then, I will proceed with the dish I found earlier." It would, hopefully, be something that Cater enjoyed. If not, they'd both at least have something substantial in their stomachs by the time they'd finished eating.

"I would not say spoiled," Riddle glances back out towards the path ahead of them, before looking back up towards Cater. He could feel the way he was breathing, the struggle he was having.

Gritting his teeth, Riddle can only hope that Cater can make it until they reach the dorm. He's not sure he'd be able to carry both Cater and his book bag. "More that you will be eating right. I won't have us subsisting off of junk food throughout our break."

"Yeah, but who else gets to say that they got fed by their beloved Housewarden so regularly?"

He wouldn't be surprised if everyone expected that Cater was cooking all their meals. In fact, Cater had kind of expected it, himself. This was much nicer. Sniffling, it's a relief when they're through the mirror that leads them back to Heartslabyul. By the time they're entering the dorm, even Cater has to admit he's feeling pretty rough.

"Do you mind if I go lie down while you cook?"

Could he really compete with that comment? To disprove it? The only other Housewarden who might ever spoil those under their purview was Kalim, and even he had Jamil cooking, not him.

He allows the topic to drop, instead focusing his attention on helping Cater through to the mirror, and back to their dorm.

"I don't mind. In fact, I insist." For once, Riddle drops his bag unceremoniously by the door, seeming to decide that his attention was much more useful to be on Cater and Cater alone. "Do you need assistance getting to bed? You could also lie down on one of the couches, if you need to rest sooner."

Cater hums, faltering as he tries to decide between the bed and the couch. "I got it, really," he promises, smile still as big as ever on his face as he starts toward the staircase that leads to the bedrooms. "You just worry about lunch. I'll be fine after I take a little reset."

Oh, how he'll be eating his words to go along with lunch.

Riddle does not believe Cater's words for one minute, even with that smile on his face. What can he do but allow Cater to go? He's laying down. That is the least that Riddle can ask of him. He watches Cater go, waiting until he disappears up the stairs before getting to work on lunch.

It was... a process. One that required more effort than Riddle is willing to admit. He was capable of reading a recipe and following it, sure. That wasn't difficult. The difficult part was making sure he did everything exactly correct, without ruining even one step.

Cooking takes as long as one might expect, with a few hiccups. He's sure the cleanup is going to be hell, after one glance at the mess he's made of the kitchen. That could wait until after he'd gotten food in them both. Riddle places two teacups upon a tray, having prepared tea for the two of them. Then are their two bowls of food, as well as utensils. A small plate with some orange slices is placed between the bowls. Hopefully this would do just fine...

Otherwise he'd have to figure something else out.

With this all finally ready, he makes his way up the stairs, to Cater's room. Struggling holding the tray in one hand, he takes the time to knock, though does as Cater had the other night, opening the door before he so much as gets a response.

It's a good thing that Riddle doesn't wait for a response, because one look at Cater and it's clear he wasn't going to get one. It looks like Cater fell directly into bed as soon as he reached it, the way he's sprawled across it with his legs dangling over the edge, shoes on. The older teen is fully asleep, face red. Just as Riddle had expected, it looks like a fever has begun to truly set in.

The noise of the door and the tray does ultimately cause Cater to stir, and he groans, disoriented.

"Done already?"

It had to have only been, like, ten minutes?

All the proof he needed was right there, in the way Cater was out, having not even removed his shoes before flopping down into his bed. Shifting over, Riddle sets the tray down on Cater's nightstand. Moving over to where Cater's legs hang off the bed, Riddle kneels down, his hand coming up to one of his shoes.

"Yes," Riddle confirms, "It took me a bit longer than I would have liked. I apologize for the wait." 'Already' made it sound like Cater didn't seem to realize how much time had passed...

He really had gotten him sick. That much was obvious.

Careful fingers work on undoing the laces of Cater's shoe, slower than Cater himself might be. It wasn't something he was used to helping another with. More, he usually had help with his own.

riddle/cater shenanigans

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