Chapter Text
Riddle wasn’t entirely confident that he’d made the right decision.
The past eight weeks had been centered around managing his hair-trigger temper, only briefly branching off into his personal life when relevant to the discussion. It had effectively become cognitive behavioral therapy in all but name. To the counselor’s credit, it did bear fruit somewhat; Though his anger wasn’t completely under wraps, it was certainly easier to reign it in than before, especially when a third party acted as a buffer.
Since he had, in essence, fulfilled his commitment to the program, it was no longer necessary for him to attend sessions. From the moment he stepped into the waiting room on the final week, he had every intention of taking what he’d learned and walking away, confident that he could stand on his own again without concern.
But at the last minute, as they were wrapping up, the counselor had made an offhand comment. “Your home life sounds very interesting. Had we the time, I would love to touch upon more of it with you.” It made Riddle pause, and before he’d really thought about it he had asked if it were possible to schedule another appointment the following week.
So there he sat in the waiting room, flipping through neatly outlined flash cards as if reviewing for a test with the counselor’s previous words echoing in his mind. There was no homework, no clear stopping point to pick up from, and the open-endedness of where he could potentially take things both intrigued and unnerved him. Perhaps this would be the true final session, wrapping up any meager loose ends and sending him off with a more solid sense of satisfaction than last time.
When the counselor’s door opened he glanced up, more to peer into the office itself rather than at the person, but when he saw Azul step out, looking somewhere between frustrated and spooked, he couldn’t help but pause. That was…unexpected. How long had he been attending counseling?
Remembering himself, he offered a smile. “Good afternoon, Azul–”
But Azul fled. That was the only way Riddle could describe his reaction. Was it embarrassment Azul felt? Shame at getting “caught?” He always was cautious with his image, perhaps he assumed their chance encounter would become blackmail. Once upon a time, some eight weeks past, Riddle might’ve empathized.
Sighing, he cast one last look at his flash cards and entered counselor Gothel’s office.
“Good afternoon, Rosehearts,” the man in question greeted as he shuffled through some folders on his desk. “Please excuse me for one moment while I get this in order.”
Riddle settled himself in the chair, folding his hands neatly over his lap while he waited.
“Even though you’ve completed the minimum eight weeks, you’ve chosen to continue with counseling.” The comment was made without Gothel looking up from the desk, more small talk than anything with substance.
“For now,” Riddle added. “It felt as though there were some…loose ends yet untied. I wish to rectify that before I walk out of here for good.”
Gothel smiled and took his seat across the table, clicking the butt of the pen against the clipboard. “We certainly don’t want you to leave unsatisfied. Well, we can always begin like the previous sessions and see where it takes us, or we could start somewhere fresh if you have a place in mind?”
Admittedly, yes, he did have one; the interest shown in his home life. However, with the open sea of possibility ahead, the offered familiarity was welcome. Just to test the waters of how the next hour would pan out, if nothing else. Besides, something in Gothel’s tone piqued his curiosity, that perhaps he already had a thought about where to go. “Let us proceed as we have been,” Riddle said.
With a nod, Gothel flipped the page. “In that case, how have you been fairing with regards to your anger over the past week?”
“Quite well, actually. There was a…situation, let’s refer to it, where several students at the dorm had gotten themselves in trouble. Save for a few who needed to be reprimanded further, I had figured that the resulting problem they landed themselves in was enough of a punishment already.”
Gothel jotted a note down. “That’s quite generous of you.”
“Indeed. Before, I would’ve had all of their heads without question.”
“Do you feel that was right?”
Riddle narrowed his eyes. That felt like a trick question. He allowed himself a moment to select his wording carefully. “I believe,” he started, placing emphasis on the word, “this course of action was just. Those who accepted their mistakes received a lighter punishment than those few who tried to obfuscate their actions. They all faced fair consequences.”
“Perhaps the consequences they faced were proportional to the wrongs committed.” From the tapping of Gothel’s pen on the paper, Riddle knew he’d made a misstep. “But that isn’t what I asked. I asked if you felt that was right.”
He drew his lips into a thin line, frustration already beginning to rap at the door.
“If I may make an observation…” Gothel leaned over and flipped through a folder. Riddle felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. “I may be off-base here, please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve noticed a pattern over these past eight weeks. Whenever we discuss your progress, you tend to approach it as though there’s a ‘most correct answer.’ This is not to say that I don’t believe you when you share your progress–on the contrary, I believe you’ve taken a greater step than you realize. But I don’t have any ‘good job’ stamps or gold stars to stick on your file. So, why do you think this is?”
“I…” The question blindsided him. His fingers curled in his lap. It was something he was, paradoxically, both consciously doing and completely unaware of. Having it dragged out into the spotlight didn’t result in some massive, shocked revelation, but it was…uncomfortable, like pointing out some mindless habit; Leg bouncing, hair twirling, finger twiddling.
Recollecting himself from the momentary stagger, he shifted in his seat to sit straight again, as he had leaned back in his surprise. “Before I answer, I must inquire: If this is a tenancy I happen to have anyway, then in this case, why ask if I feel it’s right?”
“To get you to think about it,” Gothel replied without missing a beat, as if he’d been prepared for the question. “I’m not going to reprimand or lecture you, I simply want to know your thoughts on this.”
…Well, he didn’t really have an argument for that.
“Perhaps I…” Again, he found himself in need of a pause to gather his words together. Not quite as pressing this time, but present nonetheless. His gaze went on a journey around the room, from the window, to the table separating them both, to the bookshelves, to the clipboard in Gothel’s hands, before finally returning his gaze. “My mother was very thorough with my education. If an answer was technically correct, but there was a better one I hadn’t considered, she would continue to teach me on the topic until I started coming to those answers instead.”
A hum, and something was written down. “Your mother has come up a few times before. You said she was a magical healer, yes? She must have had a very profound impact on you.”
Riddle nodded lightly. “Because she is the most experienced and most prolific healer in the city, she’s therefore the most correct.”
“But is she?”
What?
Riddle looked at the counselor as if he’d just been slapped. Felt like it too, from the stinging heat rising to his cheeks. “Yes,” he said, tone indicating that he was not up for a debate, “she is.”
Gothel pressed on regardless. “You’ve expressed frustration with the Headmage in the past, but as he’s the most experienced mage in the school, then would his judgments, however unscrupulous, not also be the most correct?”
He tried to summon back that same spark, but found himself just short of reaching it, fingertips grazing the edge and leaving him with a chill. His head dipped, and his gaze dropped to the table. “That’s…that’s different.”
“How so?”
“However much respect I hold for the Headmage, his judgements in the past have been…questionable in their benefits towards the student body. In some ways, he has brought outright harm to them.” His arms rested atop each other, fingers drumming against an elbow.
“And your mother hasn’t?”
He snapped up his head to look Gothel in the eye, opened his mouth, ready to shoot back a firm and confident No. But it never came out. He couldn’t make it come out. Slowly, his mouth fell shut, eyes dropping and jaw tightening. Silence hung between them save for the faint ticking of the clock.
“We’re approaching the end of our appointment.” Gothel unclipped the papers from the board and tapped them twice on the table to line them up neatly. “I have no homework for you presently, but we covered some interesting ground. Would you like for me to schedule another next week?”
He felt like a cat that had been rubbed the wrong way, agitated and discomforted, pulling at his skin and making it itch. The whiplash from the hour’s worth of tension to the way it all rushed out at once left him without any means to smooth it all back down, nor rip it the rest of the way off. Forced to let it hang backwards and pull and tug with every attempt at formulating an argument, and he knew well that if he didn’t come back, that feeling would linger for much, much longer than a week.
So Riddle merely nodded.
“Hey, Riddle,” Trey greeted with a smile as Riddle entered the dorm kitchen that evening. “How’d it go?”
Riddle blinked, still feeling so disconnected. So…strangely raw. “I’m going back next week.”
Trey’s smile fell, surprise crossing his expression. “Didn’t quite tie up the loose ends?”
He shook his head.
When Riddle didn’t continue, Trey in turn didn’t press further. Instead, a slice of key lime pie was set on a plate, a healthy dollop of whipped cream plopped on top, and pushed across the island. “Would you like to try some? I’m playing around with a modified recipe.”
For some reason, he felt relieved at the change in topic. “What was modified?” He asked while Trey retrieved a fork and slid it over as well.
“They had actual key limes in stock in town, and I asked Chenya to pick some up for me. I know they have a tendency to be very bitter, so I tweaked some amounts to try and keep it tart.”
Riddle made sure to capture some of the whipped cream for his first bite. “Mm!” He smiled wide, pausing to savor the taste before diving in for another, but then a sharp aftertaste hit his tongue. It wasn’t bad per-se, just something about it made his chest clench. “It’s good, very tart, but there’s definitely a bitter aftertaste.”
Trey clicked his tongue. “Dang. Didn't quite get it, then. Well, as long as it’s edible it won’t go to waste.”
“Perhaps a little more whipped cream?”
A brow was raised, but Trey’s grin was playful, and he leaned all the way across the island counter to drop another spoonful on Riddle’s plate.
Gradually, his conversation with Gothel faded into the back of his mind.