Archive of Our Own ^beta

For Riddle, the most difficult part of Christmas was not figuring out what to buy. New oven mitts for Trey, a pack of cards for Ace, a diamond key chain for Cater and some athletic head bands for Deuce (he wasn’t sure how they helped, but figured that Deuce would know). Simple.

The most difficult part of Christmas was also not preparing the celebration and various events leading up to it. Riddle was so used to planning he could do it in his sleep and was often halfway there. He knew that the white elephant gift exchange would be in three days. He’d already bought a textbook for it because as far as Riddle was aware, the point of a white elephant was to give gifts that were disappointing. Not that he’d be disappointed if he got a textbook, but he wasn’t so dense that he didn’t realize that others wouldn’t be.

No, the most difficult part of Christmas wasn’t dealing with all the festive pop-music they played everywhere, nor the freezing weather, nor the snow that piled up everywhere and took forever to shovel, though that was a pain.

The most difficult part was gift wrapping.

Riddle could not fathom how people did it at all, much less quickly. It was impossible. How did you know how much paper to use before you cut it? How did you make the folding look good? And the pattern never lined up right! No matter how many times Riddle tried, there was just something off about it. The paper was crooked on one side or one spot of the box was showing. And forget about anything that wasn't rectangular.

So, that morning, when the doorbell rang, Riddle was laying on his back on the cold, shiny, wooden floor, having been fighting gift-wrap for the past hour. He got up with a groan (from himself and the floorboards), brushed nothing off his sweater and opened the door.

“Morning, Riddle.” Trey stood across from him, sporting a shiny grin, a plastic box, and a nose as red as Rudolph’s—a movie Riddle had seen for the first time a few nights prior, and that he kept wondering about the logistics of. A red and green scarf was bundled around Trey’s neck. It went well with the tufts of moss hair that poked out from under his gray beanie. His golden eyes reminded Riddle of tea in the sun.

“Good morning, Trey. What brings you here?”

Trey held up the container he brought. “Cookies. For Christmas. I’m bringing them over ahead of time.”

Riddle cocked his head and carefully took the box, cradling it to his chest. “Well, thank you.” He paused. “Wait, why so early?”

Trey’s cheeks flushed even pinker than the cold had made them. “Oh, um, why not,” He chuckled weakly. Trey’s fingerless-gloved hand clumsily pushed up his big glasses and he began to closely observe Riddle’s door-frame. Riddle narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but forgot all about that when he saw how red Trey’s exposed digits were.

“Goodness, Trey! Come inside. Warm up.”

Trey shifted awkwardly and held up his hands. “It’s alright. Don’t feel like you have to–”

“Trey,” Riddle articulated sternly, “I’m not asking. Come inside.” Riddle grabbed Trey’s puffy coat with one hand and dragged him across the threshold. Trey’s thick lenses fogged up immediately and he took them off to rub them on his pants.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” Riddle voiced, slipping into the kitchen. He slid the container to the back of the counter and told himself that it was fine where it was. About to exit, though, he felt like that placement just wasn’t right. Riddle slid it to the corner on the other side. That wasn’t it either. He set it next to the toaster, then next to the coffee machine, then in one of the cabinets. Then, he took it out of the cabinet and put it back where he’d set it first. Riddle took a step back and stared intently at it.

“Do you need help with the stuff on the floor?”

Riddle jumped and spun around. Trey was standing in the doorway, an easy smile on his face. He was gesturing in the direction of the living room. Right. The gift wrapping. Riddle’s brain had repressed it.

“Oh, no, that’s alright. I was just…” He trailed off, avoiding Trey’s eyes.

“Having some trouble,” Trey suggested. “Hey, I’m pretty good at that kind of thing. You’re sure you don’t need a hand?”

Riddle shook his head rapidly and stumbled back, playing with a lock of his strawberry hair. “No! No, I don’t. I’ll get it, I…” He bit his lip, peeling at the dry skin.

Trey stepped over. “It’s no problem.” He gently cupped Riddle’s chin in his rough hands. Riddle froze. His entire face was suddenly alight. “Don’t bite your lips,” Trey said gently. “It’ll just make them irritated. You should try chapstick.”

Riddle stared at Trey dumbly. He moved his mouth but his tongue and lips couldn’t coordinate so he just stuttered a few times and gave up. Trey seemed to realize what he was doing because he stiffened and his face was red enough that it looked like he was still outside in the cold. He stepped away and laughed nervously, rubbing behind his neck. “S-sorry. That was just—I saw you biting your—and I—I don’t know; I’m sorry,” Trey stammered.

Riddle walked past him, turning his face away even though Trey had already seen his red cheeks. “You can help, if you’d like.” His voice was smaller than he meant it.

Trey trailed behind Riddle into the living room and observed the wreckage. Corpses of opened boxes on their sides and scraps of wrapping paper, choked by tape.

Riddle noticed something on the ground. Trey’s gift. He tried to be discreet, stuffing the oven mitts further into their turned-over box with his foot but got caught on it and stumbled. He swore (fiddlesticks) and threw it off his foot. Trey snorted and covered his mouth with his fist to try and hide it. Riddle kicked the package behind the tree swiftly and tried to stand as if nothing happened.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t see anything.” One of Trey’s hazel eyes winked.

“Shut up and help.” Riddle shoved the small box that was Cater’s keychain into Trey’s arms.

“Yes, sir,” Trey joked. Riddle rolled his eyes, but a small smile crept onto his face, betraying him.

They sank to the ground to work. Trey rolled out a stretch of paper and set his box in the middle. “Okay, so, you want to know how much paper to use before you cut it. What you can do is fold the sides up while they’re still on the roll, to make sure they work. Then, you cut.” He demonstrated as he talked. Riddle could imagine him teaching the junior dentists how to do the job at his office so vividly. How lucky they were to have such a good teacher. Riddle mimicked what Trey was doing with Deuce’s gift and cheesy snowman-themed wrapping paper.

Trey wrapped around his small box the long way and taped it at the top. Riddle copied, but hesitated with the tape. The snowmen didn’t line up. They needed to line up. He messed with it for a few moments but realized that it was impossible. As Riddle was starting to measure out more paper, he noticed Trey looking at him curiously. “The snowmen cut off,” Riddle explained reasonably, unsure why Trey looked so confused.

“Oh.” Trey grinned, breath expelling from his nose. “Okay. Let’s make sure it lines up before we cut, then.” He adjusted to be across from Riddle.

Riddle watched Trey as he maneuvered the paper and measured it so that the pattern would be seamless. His hands were large and strong, with more callouses than were expected for a baker, thought Riddle, who baked seldom. Trey perpetually had flour under his short nails. His flannel was rolled up to show very toned forearms with darker spots where he’d been seared. Riddle knew the pattern of all those scars like he knew his own arms. He wanted to trace them with his fingers.

“There. See?” Trey’s buttery-smooth voice broke through Riddle’s thoughts. Trey had folded Riddle’s gift for him. “Now you try.” He let go, the paper falling away like melting chocolate.

“Hm? Oh. Right.” Riddle had not been paying any attention. He tried to use the creases that Trey made, but when he was finished, it didn’t even look a bit right. Trey breathed a very small, disappointed sigh that made Riddle’s heart collapse in on itself. He whispered, “sorry,” so quietly it was almost not there at all.

Trey looked at Riddle, eyes softening. “No, no, it’s not your fault. Here, let’s try something different.”

He moved behind Riddle and slid his solid, treebranch arms around him. Riddle inhaled sharply, breathing in the smell of pine and sugar. With Trey against his back, it felt like his whole body had cranked the thermostat up. He could feel Trey’s chest rising and falling against his back rhythmically.

Trey took Riddle’s twin twigs and puppeted them. “Grab the paper,” he said, voice flowing over Riddle like hot cocoa. His warm breath tickled Riddle’s ears. “Good. Like that.”

Riddle found himself, once more, too focused on Trey to listen to what he was actually saying. His eyes fogged over and before he knew it, the box in front of him was fully assembled. “You…did it.” Riddle sounded breathless, even to himself.

“No,” Trey said, turning Riddle around to look him in the eyes. Trey’s were warm maple syrup on fresh strawberry pancakes. “You did it.” That’s not even remotely true, Riddle thought, though he still smiled for Trey.

“Only, what is it, three more to go?” Riddle yawned widely and checked the time on his watch. Yikes. Nearly fifteen minutes wrapping two gifts.

Trey grimaced, peering over. “Hopefully it’ll go by faster now?”

It did not. Riddle tried to visually copy the presents Trey made but he kept messing up. Trey suggested that maybe he should do them by himself, which crushed Riddle. When Trey took over, Riddle just couldn’t stop apologizing. Finally, Trey took Riddle's hands and sincerely told him that it was fine. That everyone had things they weren’t good at. That just made Riddle feel worse. He knew that a lot of what he’d been taught growing up was wrong—he knew that after years of being untrained by his friends—but it was still rooted so far deep in him that being told that he wasn’t good at something felt terrible. He told Trey that he needed to use the bathroom.

Riddle stared at himself in the mirror. Trey definitely thought that he was incompetent. Trey thought he was stupid for not being able to wrap gifts. There was something wrong with him. Mirror Riddle stared at him with dissatisfaction. “I don’t want to get that from you,” Riddle vocalized. Then, he felt foolish, so he turned away and stared at the wall instead.

There had to be something that he could do. Riddle wasn’t good at gift-wrapping, but he was good at cleaning up. He was good at creating effective working environments. He could turn the kettle on and get out the hot cocoa mix. Riddle nodded to himself. He wasn’t going to mope about not being able to do anything, He could prove to Trey that he was competent.

Riddle left the bathroom with a mission. He marched into the kitchen and poured water into the kettle before turning it on with a clik. He then went and got a trash bag to put all the garbage in. Trey thanked him and set the last wrapped box on the ground. Riddle flushed when he realized that he made Trey wrap his own present. What a terrible friend he was.

“Thank you so much for helping, Trey. I mean it.”

“It was no biggie. Thank you for helping clean up,” Trey said, pushing his glasses up his thin, crooked, large nose. He was far too polite.

“It is my house,” Riddle pointed out, stuffing a piece of paper with tape and red carpet hair (rather disturbing) stuck to it into the bag. “I’m making hot chocolate, if you want any.”

“I’d love some. Thanks. Do you want help—”

“No. I think I’d better actually do some of the work,” Riddle said, lightly so Trey couldn’t tell how guilty he actually felt. Trey, unfortunately, knew Riddle too well.

“Hey, I don’t mind. This is nice. We can split the work.” Trey stood up and brushed off his sweatpants. “Relationships aren’t meant to be 50/50 anyways.” His ears became a shade pinker. “Platonic relationships. Too. Not just romantic. Not that there’s anything wrong with being romantically involved, just that we’re not…not that I’d mind if we were! Just—”

It was Riddle’s turn to say, “Trey, it’s fine. Come on. Let’s get hot chocolate.” He elbowed Trey and sauntered into the kitchen, feeling like that day might not be too bad after all.