splitmemory | late night study sessions

As promised, extra honey for Riddle. And for him, the barest hint of sweetness to make the delicate floral bouquet of their tea all the richer, like candied violets melting on his tongue. For a moment, it doesn't feel like he's rolled out of bed in the middle of the night to fuss over to fuss over a friend in distress. Even if the feeling fades as quickly as it began.....

For now, it feels like he's home, cuddled up on the couch with his baby brother snuggled up against his side, enjoying a treat together and talking as quietly as they can so as not to wake anyone else up. A sneaky, hidden pleasure, a secret indulgence they stole just for them in the twilight hours they should both be asleep. Nobody else needs to know, right? They can have a special, shared memory to treasure.

But he's not home, is he? And Riddle isn't his baby brother. And nobody is here to catch either of them, let alone in any position to tell them they shouldn't be doing this. And they're up for a reason, no matter how cozy it is, whether Riddle is willing to admit it or not. Even so, Trey's arm settles loosely around Riddle in a gesture that's clearly well-practiced. "No problem. What brought you out here tonight, anyway?"

It can't hurt to ask, right? Even if Riddle doesn't want to answer outright, how he dodges the question will probably still be somewhat telling.

There's always going to be that distant desire, that want to feel like this was home. For Riddle, it felt different, yes, but it would never feel like home. That nostalgia was never a good one. Instead, for him... it reminds him briefly of what he wanted. The attention he desired for years, the light affection that he'd received very briefly once upon a time, before it was snatched away from him.

Almost like he didn't deserve it, being led away by his hand, never to know whether he'll deserve it again. It doesn't matter how hard he reached out, how often he did what he was told; there would always be that part of him, wanting more. Wanting... even just a second of love. Not that he'd ever fully consciously understand this desire, not in this moment at least.

The arm around him finally makes it click that he was leaning so close. His cheeks flush, and he does his best to bring the cup a bit higher, to hide his face in the mug as well as he could. How embarrassing.

"I said before, did I not? I couldn't sleep." Riddle stubbornly says, turning his face away to further hide it. "... I did not even try to return to sleep once I awoke." He admits, softer, lowering his voice to an octave that, hopefully, Trey wouldn't be able to quite make out. His shoulders tense all over again, his small body like a ball of tight muscles.

Oh, is he overstepping his boundaries? He probably is, huh..... As habitual as the gesture is, though, Trey finds he doesn't regret it enough to pull away. Not if Riddle is rattled enough that even such clear embarrassment isn't enough to make him put that distance back between them. It must be a pretty big nightmare, if he's this flustered, hmmm? If he hadn't even tried to get back to sleep.....

"You didn't? That doesn't sound like you." After all, Riddle knows better. This is a school night, and you need to be well-rested to properly pay attention, learn, and retain knowledge. Riddle is far too diligent to stay awake like this unless he's too upset for rational thinking to rein in his heart. He knows that. Riddle knows that. For that matter, Riddle surely knows that he knows that, as well.

So there's really no need to press such a blatantly evasive half-truth, is there? He can just..... let that logical inconsistency hang in the air between them, unvoiced but very much present--not unlike one of his parents silently staring him down until he confessed to his latest mishap. (Seven, is he really turning into them already? Isn't that sort of thing supposed to happen when he's much, much older? Like midlife-crisis older?) Trey just raises a questioning eyebrow instead, raising his own mug to his lips.

There's no rush, after all. They have all night, if they need it. He doesn't relish the idea of staying up that long, but if that's what Riddle needs, then..... well, what else is he supposed to do? Just leave him to suffer in silence alone?

Yes, this was a major embarrassment, to have them be close like this. It wasn't... one that he wanted to end, though. The arm was comforting, the closeness warm. His own small body had been getting pretty cold; he could use the warmth, as much as he wanted to pretend he didn't want it. The statement hangs in the air, the silence almost deafening.

Riddle squirms uncomfortably. Sips further at his tea, and tries to think of a way to figure out how to word this. How to explain, if that's what he was going to do. The inconsistency will continue to hang over them, almost like a guillotine ready to chop his head off, as if the Red Queen herself had declared he was unfit.

Finally, Riddle breaks the unbearable silence. "I couldn't bear the thought of slipping back into those dreams-- those nightmares. They make me feel so alone. Remind me of just how true that is. That I'm alone." Or, well, that he was. He's still trying to work through the idea that he has people here. That he can reach out a hand, that he doesn't need to struggle alone.

And that's where that blossoms from. The sentiment of being alone, of feeling alone.

"Riddle....." He thinks he understands, now. It might be a strange thing to say, declaring definitively that you are alone while cuddled against someone's side, but..... That hasn't always been true for him, has it? For most of his life, Riddle has very much been alone. Even after enrolling in Night Raven College, even after becoming the Housewarden, he had been alone even while surrounded by people. No matter how hard he had tried to reach out, all he had ever learned how to do was push people away--had nearly killed himself with the sheer brutality of trying to pull people close only on his own terms.

But Riddle isn't alone right now, is he? Even though he had tried to be, Trey had come looking for him. His life is different now--Riddle is different now. It may be slow and unsteady progress, but he is changing. Can Riddle actually see those changes, when he's the one who has to look at himself in the mirror every day? Or is it something his heart just can't accept yet? Hah..... even the heart is just a muscle, in the end, literally and metaphorically. It's bound to atrophy if you don't make good use of it. How much physical therapy would you even need to get back onto your feet, if you weren't allowed to walk for most of your life? What kind of exercises can you even do, to help your heart heal?

Trey looks down at his own wavering reflection in his tea, feeling the warmth seeping into his hand, breathing in fragrant steam, tasting the lingering sweetness on his lips, feeling the weight of Riddle leaning against his side. And finally, he can only shake his head, smiling a little in spite of himself as he takes a long drink. He was overthinking things almost as badly as Riddle does for a moment there, huh? "Why don't you join me in the kitchen some time?"

The loneliness was enough to crush someone under the weight of it. No matter how long he spent in his own dark room, wondering when the time would come that he was enough. That he would be allowed to step out into the world and make something of himself -- only, he was a spitting image of that woman he called Mother, the same woman who he would defend with his life and see no harm in her actions. The same one, that... that caused these feelings to bubble and fester deep inside of him.

The question surprises him. He lifts his head, eyes coming up to look directly at Trey, his brows knitting in confusion, but not an anger. He opens his mouth to protest, before quickly closing it as soon as he notices it's hanging open like that.

His fingers curl against the teacup he holds so close, closer to his chest than he'd ever had a single soul.

"I..." His hands shake, ever so slightly, with how he's holding that cup. He dips his head back down, focusing his gaze back onto the swirling liquid in his cup. "I would only get in your way." He knows his place, too. The kitchen was a sacred place, somewhere he couldn't quite step into, somewhere that was covered in a fog that he couldn't pass.

"..." With a shake of his head, he forces his own gaze back up to meet Trey's, "Can we start with... can I. Can we--" Riddle stops himself, swallows down his nerves, and asks it plainly: "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"That couldn't be farther from the truth. Even the smallest kitchen runs smoother with a commis chef, you know; whether you've cooked before or not, it's still an important job." Is a kitchen really such a sacred, magical place? Even for someone who finds so much love and joy there, it's still a place Trey finds thoroughly grounded in reality and practicality. All manner of treasured moments can be made in the kitchen--but so can aching feet and backs, scalds and burns, painful knife slips, the mindless tedium of chopping and stirring and cleaning, countless messes.....

The kitchen is where life happens, glamorous and ugly, satisfying and painful, frustrating and uplifting. Somewhere in the middle of all that learning, growing, experimenting, hard work, and minutia, you learn how to be who you are.

Trey is patient enough to wait and listen in silence, sipping his tea as he gives Riddle the space he needs to stumble through..... through..... It's a minor miracle Trey doesn't choke, staring at Riddle in pure bewilderment. He couldn't possibly have heard Riddle right, could he? It's Riddle, after all. That sort of obscenity isn't even remotely-- "You want to--"

Oh. Oh Seven, he needs to get his head together. To think he'd actually believed for a moment that the request had been less than pure..... Their repaired friendship still feels like such a tenuous, fragile thing, with so much potential to shatter like a fallen teacup in his hands if he handles it too roughly. A misunderstanding like that would be nothing but unnecessary stress on it, wouldn't it? "I-I mean..... of course. I'd be glad to."

Could the kitchen really run smoother with him in it? Riddle's not sure. His magic isn't shaky, he could help with his spells, but he's sure that wouldn't be what Trey would allow, in his space. The kitchen... no, it's more his battlefield than Riddle's, a battlefield that he isn't sure he can conquer.

Anyways.

He notices the stare, the bewilderment clear in his eyes. Riddle himself blinks, unsure what was so shocking about the idea. Was it... how strained they already were? The concern that, anything a little closer would cut into old wounds, would push them further apart all over again, much like his own words had done not all that long ago. It's painfully obvious Riddle didn't get the implication of his words now--

and he surely wouldn't with Trey not pointing it out. Instead, he just nods slightly, leaning back from Trey to glance towards the few books he had out. Mm, he should clean up....

"Let's finish our tea in your room, then." Riddle sets his teacup down carefully, his hands coming to the books and organizing them into a small pile. Then, he brings that pile to his chest as he moves to stand up. His teacup is grabbed, too, leaving not a single hand open for him to offer to Trey to help him stand.

It's a funny thing, how fluidly roles can shift and rebalance. For all that Riddle is a Housewarden, they both know that Trey rules Heartslabyul's kitchen. For all that Trey stands ready to quietly support Riddle in all the small, seemingly insignificant details he needs to keep running smoothly, Trey stands ready to entrust Riddle with that same mantle in the kitchen. Just as he had been as a child, even the most inexperienced cook can still be genuinely useful--chopping, stirring, sifting, timing, monitoring pots, getting things in and out of the oven.....

It takes a court to rule a whole kingdom. Too many cooks may spoil the soup, but there can almost never be too many pairs of hands in the kitchen.

Trey clears his throat awkwardly, doing his best to push aside the flustering mental images his slip up had conjured. Just a moment to linger behind and compose himself again, and it'll be like nothing had ever happened. "Sure. You go on ahead; I'll turn off the lights."

One day, Riddle would understand better, to be able to know and put together the pieces of the puzzle he was currently missing. Until that day, he'll take it one step at a time, push forward and continue to do what he always has: try.

For the moment, the way Riddle decided to start? This tea, and curling up in someone else's bed. An action that might seem childish, were he to admit he was scared of falling back into a nightmare all over again. Of feeling alone, then waking up with that reality.

He offers Trey a simple nod.

"Alright. Don't take too long. You know I'm hardly one for patience." With that, the small housewarden finally begins to make his way up the stairs, back to the dorm rooms. An initial stop at his own room to drop off the books, then he was on his way over to Trey's room.

Opening the door, he wanders in, not quite thinking about needing to close the door or wait within the threshold of the door. He instead focuses on moving into the room, towards the bed. His teacup is set for a brief moment on the nightstand, as Riddle moves to get into his bed, only pausing when he spots a cardigan that... okay, it looks cozy, he's cold. Sue him.

It's slipped on before he gets into the bed, finally settling down and picking his cup back into his hands. The sleeves need to be pushed up a bit, as the boy swims in the fabric. Now to wait for Trey... he really better not keep him waiting.

Even if it might be childish, it's comfortingly familiar, at east to Trey. Once upon a time, he'd crawled into bed between his parents when he had a nightmare, safe and warm between the people who loved him most, who were strong and smart and amazing enough that he knew he had nothing to worry about. And years after that, when he had little siblings of his own..... It was in fact his bed they ended up crawling into even more often than their parents', wasn't it?

Has Riddle's mother or father ever welcomed him into their bed? He can't help but wonder--and secretly, spitefully, doubt. It's wrong of him to be so uncharitable, isn't it?

Thankfully, Riddle doesn't have to wait too long. A moment to rub his face and gather his wits, a brisk shake to ward off those untoward thoughts, and Trey picks up his tea cup to follow Riddle, padding down the hall in the dark. For as much as he'd tried to compose himself, he can't quite help the way his heart skips a beat, seeing Riddle curled up in bed waiting for him, swimming in one of his cardigans..... Geez, this really is unfair, isn't it? And he needs to just ignore it, and crawl into bed alongside Riddle like everything is completely normal.....

He's not sure if he should count himself lucky or unlucky, at this point. "Comfortable?"

Truthfully? Riddle can't recall a single time he's been in a bed aside from his own. Maybe one rare occasion, where he'd fallen so ill that Mother wanted to watch over him closely. Not a single time like this, where he could act as a child. Where he could ask for comfort, for safety from the harsh realities. Not because he was shunned or pushed away when he asked, more... that he never felt safe asking. Never wandered to her bedroom and asked for the attention he so craved.

That's what makes this moment so different. So much of an improvement. He asked for what he needs, once it seemed safe to do so.

By the time Trey enters the room, Riddle has his teacup back in hand, soaking up the last drops of warmth from it. He lifts his eyes to look at Trey, before nodding slightly towards him in confirmation. A flush, very slight, was visible on his face, as a realization comes over him. They're not kids anymore. Borrowing a sweater like this-- he has a sense of embarrassment, and he's not sure why.

"I hope you don't mind...?" Riddle finally manages out, unafraid to meet Trey's gaze. He's going to be confident, even through his embarrassmemt. This was fine, normal. That's what he's going to push forth.

Oh. Seeing Riddle waiting in his bed, curled up in his clothing, and blushing like that..... Hadn't he only just told himself to get his act together? Whatever the exact opposite of getting his act together is, Trey is pretty sure it's something like this. What would his other friends do in a situation like this?

Cater might propose a pajama selfie, and cuddle up to browse his phont together until it was time to sleep. Che'nya would probably tease Riddle mercilessly just to enjoy seeing him puffed up and flustered over something so inconsequential. Rook..... he has no idea what that guy is thinking most of the time. Maybe he'd wax poetic about it somehow? Why are all his friends so weird? That little thought exercise didn't help in the slightest.

Just..... ignore it. Be cool. It'll be fine once they start chatting again. Trey shakes his head, lifting the covers to slide in next to Riddle. "I don't mind, but I can't guarantee it's the coziest thing to sleep in, either."

What was going through Trey's head? It's obvious that something is on his mind, something is making those gears turn and the muscles in his face twitch in such a way that-- even after all these years, Riddle can put together that there's something bothering him, something eating at him. Instead of commenting just yet, he sips the last few drops of his tea from his cup, setting it down on the bedside table once and for all at Trey finally slides in next to him.

Then, he can shift to get just a little bit closer, turn his body to face Trey, rest his cheek against his shoulder.

"You're distracted -- thinking about something," Riddle finally speaks up again, pointing out the obvious, "What is it?"

He isn't going to take a lie for an answer, so choose your next words carefully, Clover.

"It's just..... a little weird, I guess? I never really expected to see you like this, that's all." Trey laughs a little sheepishly, free hand settling atop Riddle's as the younger boy leans against him.

It's not a lie. But then again, it's not not a lie, either. Ever since the thought had first occurred to him, he had dismissed it out of hand, without even a moment's hesitation. The gulf between them back then had been..... vast, after all. Insurmountable. That teacup had shattered into too many pieces to ever put back together, let alone hold tea; trying would have only sliced his fingers to ribbons. He would have been a fool to even entertain the idea of anything except regrets.

And yet..... even thinking nothing untoward, he could easily say the same thing, too. Seeing Riddle so weak and shaken, so vulnerable when he hadn't just been pushed to the point of a breakdown..... It's a strange, rare sight. Not so much because he doesn't believe Riddle capable of it, but because..... because Riddle finds it so deeply unpleasant, doesn't he? He always seems to prefer being poised and collected, in control. A prescribed, Objectively Correct answer for everything, to know how to properly handle each situation as it comes.....

So what about murky twilight situations like these, where there are no rules to be found? What about those nights where the ghosts of old doubts and fears haunt his every step, dreaming and awake? "Sorry. You've got enough on your mind without hearing stuff like that, huh?"

The pieces of the shattered teacup... unable to be mended by their hands directly, was still gathered. Each piece held close to the chest of a small boy, clutching them so hard that he sliced and cut open his hands, the pieces digging in and yet... he never let go. No matter how many times he tried to shake it off, tried to tell himself that it wasn't worth it, that he would never be able to repair it, that little boy held out a sliver of hope.

Even when the pieces were wrenched away, tossed to the ground again, he didn't give up. He wouldn't. Deep inside, that little boy was still going to hold onto those memories, that broken relationship that he'd shattered and continued to shatter. Piece by piece, as he slowly realizes what he needs, what he wants, he can turn back to the small boy. Take his hands in his own, heal his wounded hands. Begin, slowly, to help him try and repair that broken teacup. Not with his hands, not with anything else, but the magic they shared.

Because that little boy is him, a part of him, still holding onto the hope that he wished he could trust wholeheartedly.

That, is why Riddle adjusts his hand, moves it, so he can pull it back from Trey's. Only to then press his fingertips against the other boy's palm, slipping his hand up carefully against his, to interlock their fingers together. His eyes were unfocused still, but even in this state he was able to squeeze together their hands, as if nothing had ever changed. But it had - and it would keep changing.

"It's alright." Riddle murmurs, keeping his voice lower, quieter. "I asked, didn't I?" He can feel his heart, racing away in his chest.

"Besides, I'd never imagined I'd be here. Being seen like this. To be vulnerable not once but... more. Again and again," His hand squeezes onto Trey's a little harder, before softening his hold, breathing out a careful, slow breath. "... Or do you mean wearing something of yours again? Being in your bed? Is that how you didn't expect to see me?"

Hey, who taught Riddle to tease--

It's..... nice, isn't it? Peaceful, holding hands and nestled together under the covers. If he were with one of his siblings right now, he might be talking to them about their dream, (bad idea, Riddle probably wouldn't want to say a word about it at all) or sitting up with them and reading for a while until they were tired again, (bad idea, Riddle would get too absorbed in the book) or talking about what they've both been learning at school. (Pointless idea, Riddle is at least as advanced as he is, if not more so, even if he's a second year.) So just..... what is he supposed to do in circumstances like these, exactly?

Things had seemed so simple back then. Maybe not easy, but..... simple. If Riddle could only sneak outside at a certain time, then they just needed to make sure they could play then. If he wore a sweatshirt and a jacket, then they could both be warm. If Riddle was stressed out and upset, they might not be able to fix it, but they could bring snacks to share, or let him pick their next game, or..... something. Anything to help him smile. It's harder to make him smile these days, isn't it? That said, though..... they feel more earned, now. Maybe even more likely to stick around for a while, even after they part ways for the day.

"Hah..... both, I guess? None of this is really your usual style." Trey laughs sheepishly, embarrassed but pleased in spite of himself. To think that he'd be getting teased by Riddle instead of Cater..... who ever would have imagined he had it in him? He must be starting to feel better already too, if his mind can wander to having a little fun at Trey's expense, rather than circling uselessly around the nightmare that had been keeping him up. If that's the case, who could possibly begrudge him for it?

This was... possibly one of the first times in a long time that there was peace. Enough that he could let up somewhat on his anxieties, on his stress. To focus instead on their clasped hands, on the way that Trey's chest rises and falls with his breathing, the small laugh from Trey at the teasing. All of this was so... calm. As if the wild ocean of his mind had stilled, water no longer thrashing out at the rocks at the edge of the cliffside.

He tilts his head up to look closer at Trey, seeming to take a minute to think.

Then, he makes a face.

"What's that supposed to mean? You don't dress all that differently from me when you wear casual wear." The pout is visible, maybe too much so. Then, he adds, squeezing Trey's hand carefully again, "It's nice, though. Isn't it...? This."

It's all he's ever wanted, really. A calm, peaceful, normal school life, not standing out or causing trouble. A bit of a tall order, somewhere like Night Raven College, (especially this year, for some reason) but..... it feels like he's not doing too bad a job, when they can sit and relax together like this. Trey smiles to see such a childish, normal pout, raising his teacup as though toasting to the observation. "Yeah..... We might wear similar things, but you make them look dignified."

Him, though? He just..... looks like some guy, really. A little awkward and out of his depth in anything stuffy and formal, a little scruffy in anything too casual--the kind of guy suited to wearing a simple uniform, not only for ease and practicality, but also to take away the need to make fashion choices on his own. He's meantfor the rank and file, just like a good card soldier, not..... not for being the one to hold the Queen's hand. Is it..... really okay for him to do this?

"That's because you slouch." Riddle fires back with ease, ease that he's not sure he's had in a while. Usually, the words that came the quickest were the ones filled with anger and annoyance, frustration. These were anything but. They're soft-spoken, with the kind of ease that only came when...
When he was with someone he truly cared for, wanted to spend time with. His Vice, who, while he'd treated him poorly during the start of his time here... still seemed to go out of his way to keep the peace within the dorm.

"If you straightened your back and stood with more purpose, you would look just as dignified. Maybe run a comb through your hair too, so it doesn't look as though you rolled out of bed right before dressing yourself?" Riddle continues to poke and prod with his words, shifting enough to sit up somewhat so he can reach his opposite hand up to mess with Trey's hair.

"I'm sure it was him who taught you to be so lax with your body language. Perhaps we should have lessons on posture for the whole dorm...?" It's a joke, hopefully Trey can see that, hear it in Riddle's tone.

"Wha--hey!" Trey splutters a protest, laughing and trying to lean away from the hand mussing his hair. Rude much? He can't say it's not true, though..... But even so! It's just how short his hair is, looking wild with even the slightest ruffling. "It's not that bad, is it?"

It almost feels like they're back home, rolling around in the grass and playing tag. Like all they have to do to make things the way they used to be--no, the way they should be--is just remember how. With a solid foundation, and a little support to climb along, can't tomato plants grow straight and tall?

"It hardly seems fair to blame Che'nya, when the guy barely even has a spine to begin with....." They say cats are liquid, don't they? And their friend has never seemed to be far behind, the way he has a knack for draping himself into impossible positions that make Trey's back hurt just to look at.

Riddle wears the smallest smile as he squirms, pulling his hand back away from Trey's, only to fully sit himself up. To devote his attention to grabbing at his hair, trying to smooth down parts of it and fluff up others. No leaning would get him out of reach, when Riddle was able to get so close to him and continue wriggling closer.

"Not 'that' bad, no... but some days I wonder if you had even bothered to look yourself in the mirror! How can I simply let the state of my Vice go without pointing it out, hmm?" The teasing is going to continue for just a little while longer. Enough that, for this moment, Riddle has all but forgotten his nightmare.

For this moment, he wasn't alone.

"True, fair point..." Che'nya was such a sly little one, never changing from the strange cat he was, never straying a single foot too far away. Anyways, that is becoming less and less the point, with how close Riddle had gotten. How his hands slow, stop. One more smoothing of his hair, and Riddle's fingertips ghost down a little further, against his cheek.

Ah. He. They're. Close. That finally processes as something less than normal for them, as something unusual and different.

"And you thought that pointing it out in the middle of the night was the best time?" Trey shakes his head in mock exasperation, glasses askew and hair in disarray. He's lucky it's so short, or surely Riddle would have pulled it down over his eyes and made him look like a sheepdog by now..... Good thing he's used to horsing around and looking a little silly, huh?

Sometimes, he wonders how different Riddle's life might have been, if he hadn't been an only child. Would the family dynamic have been kinder to him? Would he have been happier, more supported, if he had an older brother or sister to look up to? Or perhaps even if he simply had a younger sibling to look after and commiserate with? Maybe all he had really needed was to have someone be there with him.

For once tonight, though? Riddle is the one feeling the awkwardness before he is. Trey doesn't yet move to sit up or scoot away, smiles up at the hazy shapes and colors he can see past his crooked glasses as gentle fingers stroke through his hair and over his face. Is Riddle feeling better now?

He's quiet, as his heart skips a beat. As his hand lingers, hesitates. There is no witty retort, just the calm silence of a boy who is thinking too much, focused on all the wrong things. The curve of Trey's cheek, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. The warmth of another living, breathing human in front of him, unmistakably.

Was this a mistake? Should he even have asked for something like this? Something so risky, so daring, so... innapropriate? Against the rules that he set down, without the proper paperwork and notes to make this okay, he's sat there transfixed on Trey, his cheeks taking on a deeper rosy hue.

Anything he could say wouldn't come out right. Instead... he brings both of his hands to properly re set his glasses how they should be. Offering a tiny smile to acknowledge the adjustment.

"Maybe... maybe I'll let you off with nothing more than a warning for now. I seem to have neglected my duties by forgetting to speak with you, after all."

It's a strangely fragile silence, the longer it stretches on. This time, it's Trey aware that Riddle is thinking too hard about something else, just as he had been when Trey first found him tonight. At least it might be about something a little more pleasant than nightmares, judging by the flush he can see once Riddle replaces his glasses.....

Trey offers him a mischievous, crooked smile, spreading his hands in a pointed shrug. See? It's no big deal if he doesn't cross every T and dot every I..... Nobody's going to be upset at him over it, except maybe Riddle himself. They're the ones who would have to take care of the paperwork anyway, right? "I won't say anything about you filing the forms belatedly if you don't. Sound fair?"

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drops into this three months later

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