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“I cannot believe you kept all of these. You should have thrown them away!”
Trey, from behind his redhead friend– who appeared to take the likeness of a brunette at the moment with the amount of dust on his head– adjusts the glasses guiltily.
“My family just kind of… dumps everything in here to be honest.” He says, wrestling with a still-decorated Gift's Eve Tree that was wedged in between boxes. “Your junk became our junk.”
Riddle sneezes in response.
After it became clear to his mother that he was serious about not pursuing magical medicine in the least bit– and, admittedly, he was the one to raise his voice first in that fight– Mother had barred him from ever returning to her home and sent all his necessary documents the next morning. With the end of the year fast approaching, quite a few people offered to store the things he'd collected throughout the school year, Trey included.
He'd thought he'd collected them all, but it appears that he'd missed a few, which were now at the center of the attic floor.
Trey slices apart the tape with a bit of magic and Riddle pulls away the flaps, trying not to inhale more dust. He pats blindly at the contents, since the only source of light is the entrance to the attic.
Trey clears his throat. “...Sorry, I should have pulled out the boxes so we could sort them all out on the lawn or something, shouldn't I have?”
“I thought you quit your apologizing habit years ago.”
“...And I forgot you could use that tone of voice, ha-ha.”
Riddle huffs with mild amusement, making sure to smile to assure Trey his words weren't taken as offense, as he pulls out a stack of journals similar in appearance.
“What're those? Study notes? They're a bit small, though.”
“No,” Riddle quickly replies. Even though he recognizes the identical covers, he still flips through the pages of one at random, spotting his own uniform handwriting. This one in particular is of his first year– he can tell due to the neatly spaced, matter-of-fact information, while the later ones are packed page-to-page with anecdotes and other unnecessary contents. “They're my housewarden logs. I used to buy the same model at Sam's every time I would fill one.”
“Oh.” Trey clears his throat, attempting to tread carefully regarding those memories. “So, you're going to keep them?”
He hums, running down his hand on the golden-foil spine of the red journal in his hand. They were certainly a blast to the past, but not to a necessarily particular happy time.
“I fear they may just take up room– that is to say, become ‘junk’ as you put it.”
Trey, ever sympathetic, can read his underlying fears. “How about you read a few and then decide on if you want to keep them? Even if they’re junk, they'll be better off with their rightful owner.”
Riddle makes a noncommittal hum while Trey begins to pat around the space for a light switch, the dull thuds bouncing off the walls of the small space.
“Hold on, the light switch should be around here. That is, if the power's not shut off. I'll have to find the breaker, which is all the way… down.”
He can hear the life drain out of Trey's words the moment he hears a fruitless click. They both chuckle.
“Better get to it, then.” Riddle says.
His childhood friend mumbles something beneath his breath, awkwardly scooting towards the exit and promising to be quick.
“Yes, of course. Do watch out for that– ah…”
He winces, watching Trey bump into the tree last second.
Soon, he’s left on his own… just himself, and the journals. He sighs, biding his time.
He reaches further into the box and finds his actual study notes. Notebooks upon carefully maintained notebooks, along with the occasional doodle from certain inattentive, mischievous underclassmen.
Among them, he finds a thin little notebook with a faux-leather cover with rounded, worn edges, no more than fifty pages long. He doesn’t remember this thing– could it have been misplaced?
He pries open the first page with some difficulty, the words SYMPTOM LOG written in bold, black marker. A small blurb is written beneath it.
This Journal is to log my ongoing hypothesis that there is an issue relating to my health regarding my immune system. If my hypothesis is correct, these findings will be useful in future diagnostics.
For the past two weeks I have noticed a pattern of reactions within my body that only occur in specific environments, including dizzy spells, dry mouth, hot flashes, shortness of breath, and elevated heart rate.
How curious. while he was often the first to fall victim to viruses, especially after returning from school breaks– he doesn’t recall being particularly ill while attending Night Raven College. He turns to the next page.
February 16th, Year 2.
Recorded symptoms; Elevated heart rate, dry mouth, hot flash. 10:05 AM, East stairwell.
Azul was chosen as the soloist. I find his position justly earned— I feel as if even in a harmony of thousands, I could pick out the distinctive lilt of his voice. That is to say, I quite like it. My intention was to approach him after class to request we practice one-on-one as I, the conductor, believe I should familiarize myself with all members of our class.
I located him near the water fountains. When I attempted to call his attention, he licked his lips and that is when I experienced a hot flash, and dry mouth. According to others, I appeared to be visibly flushed afterwards. His voice was unexpectedly raw as well, and I felt something I lack the words to describe below my ribcage. Stomach Ache?
I couldn’t get a word out. Unfortunately, I had to bid him farewell early.
April 22nd, Year 2.
Recorded symptoms; fever, weakness in muscles(?), shortness of breath. 9:50 PM.
I needed to deliver a few papers to Azul for a matter previously discussed during a Housewarden’s meeting. Jade guided me to the V.I.P room and left me to knock on the door three times without an answer.
I'm embarrassed to admit to my lack of manners, but I burst in due to my impatience. I found Azul asleep right at his desk, and the light refracted from the tanks washed him with such a beautiful glow I couldn't begin to describe on paper. I suppose I never gave Octavinelle its deserved appreciation for it's aesthetics, as they are wholly unfamiliar to me.
I don’t believe I've given him credit for how beautiful he is, himself.
I felt downright feverish and rather unsteady on my own two feet. I decided to leave the papers with a note on top and leave him be, though I am concerned for his neck. That position could not be good for long-term naps.
April 24th, Year 2.
Recorded symptoms; Hot flash, nausea, dizzy spell. 12:30 PM.
Azul brushed past me to get a book on the same shelf as me today. The nerve! could he have not waited? He didn't even announce his presence until his lips were practically touching my helix and he whispered right into the canal of my ear. I could feel his warm breath trail all the way down my nape.
I fear my immune system is getting weaker. I felt a hot flash so severe I shuddered at the same time Azul whispered in my ear, and I felt nausea and dizziness. This all provoked me to panic and speak above the recommended volume for the library, and I was reprimanded by a ghost!
The Clover’s attic suddenly bursts into light. Riddle gasps, and the thin notebook slips from his fingers– it appears that Trey has found the breaker, and turned the power back on for the attic.
Well, he supposes he can read more comfortably. He decides to skip to the later pages.
September 1st, Year 3.
Symptoms recorded; All of the above.
Over Summer break, I experienced all of my previously listed symptoms. I have failed to follow a pattern, as I have experienced them both inside and outside, including my own home. I have been more distracted than usual.
Going over the contents of this journal again, I realize there’s a lot of unnecessary content I will need to blot out in order to hand this in to Mother, or any doctor at all, for that matter. Regardless, returning to school grounds, my symptoms returned.
I wasn't aware Azul and Jamil were that close. They hugged, and my chest hurt in a way that made me dizzy. Not even angry.
But when Azul approached me with the same enthusiasm as he did Jamil, I not only felt silly, but my chest continued to hurt and tingle, as well as all of my symptoms returning the moment I heard him say my name.
My knees were under the threat of buckling when he hugged me. His cologne makes me dizzy.
March 5th, Year 3.
Recorded symptoms; Elevated heart rate, shortness of breath.
Today marks Night Raven College’s annual celebration. We gathered at Ramshackle Dorm for the event, and the mood was enough to make me dizzy. When I heard Azul’s laughter, I’m ashamed to admit I choked on my food.
Musical training has done wonders for his voice. I noticed my heart rate elevating again, and Yuu handed me a drink with a remark that I was red. Perhaps it was because I was outdoors… the heating in this school, due to its age, tends to vary wildly depending on the location.
Azul beat them to it, however. Our fingers brushed, and I swear their touch lingered longer than it should have. I wanted to laugh.
May 10th, Year 3.
I’m an idiot. I’m a complete and utter fool!
May 30th
I’ve hardly had a chance to come to terms with my feelings, and Azul confessed. To me! All these ‘symptoms’ I have experienced for over a year, this log– all of it, fruitless!!!
I don’t know why I’m upset. I asked him to give me a day to think about it.
Did I ruin my chances?
…And that is the last of it. He hadn't realized how good he was at writing cliffhangers.
Beneath his thumb, where he holds open the little log, there’s a leftover excerpt. The handwriting was sloppy, off-line, and hugging the corner of the page. Some of the ink is smudged. Riddle squints, casting a shadow over
is it normal to be significantly sore after–
…and he shuts the journal. If it were a heavier, bigger book, it would have certainly made a heavy sound and stirred the dust into a cloud of significant proportions. Luckily, the book was not, and there was no need to open it again.
Just in time, he hears Trey’s heavy footsteps as he ascends the ladder to the attic, followed by a grunt as he pulls himself up with a sheepish smile.
“Ugh, you know what this reminds me of?”
Riddle tucks the leather journal in between notebooks, coughing lightly. “What?”
“That one story– of the Wayward Girl who breaks into a citizen's home, finds cookies in the topmost room of the house, eats them, and– get this– grows so big her arms and legs stick out of the front door and windows.”
Riddle chuckles. “...I certainly hope I won't be finding any cookies in this mess.”
“My siblings might’s stashed a few up here, who knows?” Trey laughs, adjusting his glasses. He tilts his head at the box. “You decided on whether you want to keep them yet?”
“...I think I'm going to keep them.”
“Good! I'm glad–” A sneeze. “...I don’t suppose you remember a cleaning spell that could make this all a little more bearable?”
Riddle feels a little dumb. With a wave of his hand, a few materials– a rag, a stick, a pile of feathers– come to life and begin to sweep at the immediate area. Something on his hand catches the light; two milky, round pearls with a transparent crystal in between, all three embedded into a thin band of silver.
An engagement ring.
He smiles down at the ring, it’s existence– and the person who had given it to him– were technically the reason he was here at all, in between dusty boxes and rediscovering lost journals.
“...Well, I'm certainly not finding a cure for this ailment any time soon.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”