“I figured I’d find you skipping out,”

Riddle’s voice came, calm but cutting, from directly behind you. His bluish-gray eyes, sharp and unyielding, settled on you, and a faint sigh escaped him as he shook his head, his stern expression somehow deepening.

“How… immature,”

he continued, his tone precise, almost surgical.

“Skipping class. You should know better than to indulge in such delinquency.”

Riddle always seemed to take meticulous pleasure in finding some fault to correct, no matter how minor—or how random. Today was no different. Somehow, the hot-headed housewarden had tracked you down, and, of course, found a reason to lecture.

but lately, it almost felt intentional. Like he had gone out of his way, traced your steps, just to reprimand… and maybe, just maybe, to see you, even if it meant cloaking it in reprimand.