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♡; 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝑻𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓.

⋆˚꩜｡𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠; Jade is in love with (Name). (Name) is in love with Jade. The only problem? They’re both terrible with feelings. Suddenly, their tongues go numb, their words come out tangled, and their only hope lies in painfully indirect hints. Attending a wedding, however, might just help clear things up.

⋆˚꩜｡𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠; 4.866

⋆˚꩜｡𝐴/𝑁; I’m so happy that the Riddle fanfic was received so well! We reached 100 likes so quickly! Thank you all so much for the love and for reading! I hope this story—this time with Jade—can be just as enjoyable as the last one! <3

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Jade Leech is a strange individual.

Maybe it’s the mornings—trying to escape Floyd’s damned “hugs” and, in the process, bumping shoulders with other students in the hallway. You can’t quite tell whether your breath is too short or his legs are simply too long, but either way, you end up cornered and squeezed within an inch of your life.

As you pound your fists against his back and kick at his shins, he bursts into laughter and starts spinning. Faster, higher, more chaotic. Your vision whirls, and if the Seven really exist, you’re praying for an eighth.

Even after the sound of shoes snapping against the floor draws near and Floyd finally stops, everything is still a blur.

Everything—except for Jade’s sharp smile, far more on edge than usual.

His hand digs into his twin’s shoulder, veins standing out beneath the pressure, knuckles taut. Floyd turns to look at him, clearly annoyed, already going on about “learning to share” and “not being a spoilsport”—as if he were the responsible one between them.

You’re tossed to the ground like a beloved sack of potatoes, and as you try to steady yourself, you’re already plotting how to jump on his back and get even. But Jade steps in first, extending a hand that should feel welcoming, while the other boy fades into the background.

Your gaze flickers between the offer and his usual expression. Trusting him feels impossible, and paranoia screams in your ears that accepting would be the same as getting roped into something illegal.

There’s something suspicious about him—especially in the way it lingers on his lips. They always seem to promise bad news or some flowery twist of words, in a way you can’t quite decipher: a slightly crooked curve hinting at irritation, paired with a subtle pout that tries to appear gentle.

Every time Floyd crushes you, it ends like this. Jade appears like a specter, takes control of the situation, and offers to help.

“Sibling rivalry,” you think. It’s probably worse when your sibling is your exact copy.

And yet, his mannerisms are too tense, too immature to be entirely spontaneous—or entirely planned. It’s confusing, yes. But is it really worth acting kinder just to save one of your relative’s victims?

Maybe it’s the afternoons—the exact moment when your gazes meet. No hurry, no intention, and yet Jade seems almost unhinged when your attention aligns with his.

Those bicolored irises send a chill down your spine. You feel your soul being examined, your sins judged. But looking away feels just as dangerous, so accidental glances stretch into long minutes.

The classroom noise fades into a dull, soothing buzz, and honestly, you hadn’t been paying much attention to begin with. But now you are—focused, trying to understand how, even from across the room, you can see his pupils round out—almost swallowing the yellow hues—and your own reflection inside them.

A coral tint blooms across his cheeks, worthy of his origins. Jade isn’t pale nor particularly flushed, which only makes the blush stand out more. It doesn’t match his ever-composed demeanor, and strangely enough, you can’t recall a single time he wasn’t like this.

He blinks with the flair of a damsel in distress, tucking a darker strand of hair behind his ear, making his earring chime softly. The few seconds he allows himself to look elsewhere—still fluttering his lashes—are, indeed, very few. The merman struggles to look away from you, devouring your figure in one last desperate feast.

You both know it’s not the last. It’s not the first—far from it—that you find yourselves in this stalemate, competing for reasons neither of you fully understands.

You avoid blinking for your own safety. And Jade? Why does he look so utterly possessed?

It’s fascinating—borderline terrifying. Especially when, right after the professor remarks in refined tones that eels keep their mouths open to attract potential partners, you catch a glimpse of small, serrated teeth glinting in the light.

Dwelling on how lethal those teeth might be would only give you new nightmares. Swallowing hard doesn’t stop the fear that he might lunge at you and shake you like a dog with its prey.

Can he smell your fear? If so, then maybe he should make it clearer why all his efforts seem to circle back to trying to appear kind.

Maybe it’s the nights—being welcomed into the Mostro Lounge with obvious privileges: 50% off every order, the best table in the house, and a personal waiter—not exactly, but there is a certain eel who lingers around you throughout the entire shift.

You stop yourself from ordering anything beyond your budget, barely daring to go past a simple glass of ice water. A safe, modest choice that suddenly goes wrong: the longer you stay, the more your table fills up.

Three-tiered cakes with generous frosting, perfectly prepared shrimp cleaned just the way you like, freshly made juices bursting with ripe fruit, and so much more. Coincidentally, all these delicacies are served only by Jade—and charged to his account.

Men in uniform are easy on the eyes—fact. Still, the eel leans over your table, hips tilting as he recites the menu in a soft voice, as though he could offer you private, special services.

Sometimes you feel like snatching the tray from his hands and smacking yourself over the head with it. Brushing those thoughts aside, you settle for the house water.

Other customers notice. And how could they not? One of the infamous Leech brothers insisting on wiping a smear of sauce from the corner of your mouth with an embroidered handkerchief—far superior to the napkins set on the tables—is not exactly an everyday sight.

Then again, maybe it is. Any student must be used to scenes like this by now, so sugary they might as well cause cavities.

You can’t blame them—you don’t do much to dispel the image either. When the flow at the Mostro Lounge slows down, nearing closing time, Jade asks if you’d be willing to wait until his shift ends.

You wait. Customers gradually pay and leave. Floyd waves at you enthusiastically, telling you not to do anything obscene with his brother in the kitchen. Even Azul, the owner, leaves, entrusting the keys to you—because he knows the dorm’s Vice Housewarden won’t forget them if you’re around.

Jade locks the register and tries to loosen his tie, his fingers a little clumsy from wearing gloves. He steps out from behind the counter and pretends to be distracted, checking for any lights left on beyond those in the main hall—conveniently ignoring the fact that you’ve stolen his hat and are wearing it without a shred of ceremony.

You hand him the keys, saying all the closing procedures have been taken care of. With this odd routine repeating so often, you’ve memorized how to check everything: the stove off, dishes washed, chairs stacked.

In a way, you’re doing his job for him. Maybe you should be paid—or perhaps this is your way of thanking him for the meals. It’s hard to tell, just like it’s hard to understand why you don’t make excuses to dismiss Jade and head straight home to the comfort of your own space.

Is it fair to indulge him this much? Helping him undo his tie, even though you’re fully aware he could do it himself—without gloves, with gloves, even with his hands tied. Listening to the lock click shut as he moves to your side, the two of you walking together toward the Mirror Chamber through the empty, dim hallway.

The palm of your hand is brushed once, twice, three times—however many it takes until you give in and let your fingers intertwine with his.

Why is he so persistent about your company?

But surely, it was the invitation to the Coral Sea City. Especially considering it was for a wedding.

You weren’t sure which was more dangerous: accepting a travel offer or attending a stranger’s marriage.

You and Grim had been sitting on one of the many steps of Ramshackle Dorm, complaining about how life had grown dull and uneventful, when he suddenly appeared.

Once again, carefully crafted words were shaped to bless your ears. Floyd had run into… an issue, one that would prevent him from attending the event and leave Jade in a difficult position.

Not only did the merman hold a role of great importance in the execution of the Trials of Romance, he would also require all the support he could get. Pressing a hand to his chest, feigning a broken heart, lowering his voice into something melancholic—it was all quite convincing.

Most of the explanation went over your demonic cat’s head. The whole conversation might’ve been boring, irrelevant to Grim’s wise, fluffy ears—but the hint of gossip made him perk up:

“Wait! You’re getting married, Jade?!”

He went quiet, pondering for a moment, his kind smile slipping away in the process. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the gears turning in his mind. With a tongue as sharp as his, taking this long to answer wasn’t expected.

Then Jade turns to you, blinking the same way he does during class, before breaking into a foolish smile and quickly trying to hide it, pressing his lips together.

The idea of someone marrying him already unsettled you, regardless of the reason. But watching him sway slightly in his expensive shoes might’ve explained the way your brows arched.

“Oh, no,” Jade replied, not letting even the smallest of your reactions escape him. “Not yet.”

If possible, his face grew even brighter. Children on Christmas morning couldn’t rival his excitement, though he made a clear effort to maintain his composed posture.

His eyes remained consuming, yet seemed to carry accusations all the same. You admit you got lost in the yellow—the glow, the elongated shape. It was deep, almost suffocating, silently begging to be understood.

You didn’t think much of it.

But Georgina Leech did. Because she knew something.

When the twins’ mother learned about the last-minute guests, she reacted with good humor, ready to make everyone comfortable. She didn’t flinch at Riddle’s personality, Rook’s curiosity, Grim’s gluttony, or even the presence of Malleus Draconia.

However, when she recognized you, Georgina froze—as if she had made an unbelievable discovery.

“Stunned” wouldn’t begin to describe it. The silence that fell over the group, everyone trying to make sense of her reaction, was painfully awkward.

Pulling her son’s head down to whisper, her hushed tone still didn’t stop you from overhearing:

“Is that her? The girl from your school?”

“Yes.”

Jade sounded unmistakably proud. And Georgina’s expression reminded you that she was Floyd’s mother too—that infamous, toothy grin full of enthusiasm.

Her mermaid-style dress flowed with precise elegance, and when she stood face-to-face with you, the oppressive height difference made you instinctively want to hunch down, to seem smaller.

She seemed pleased by your discomfort, though her eagerness to socialize was evident. Perhaps beauty and sadism really were genetic traits.

Either way, Georgina took your hand and kissed it. The touch was as light as a butterfly landing, her lipstick leaving a mark on your skin—leaving you both uneasy and flattered.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she sighed, enchanted.

Madame Leech took a liking to you quickly. And when the ceremony outfits arrived, you began to suspect a family conspiracy designed to spoil you.

Jade’s father—who had already provided excellent accommodations and carriage rides—had clearly outdone himself with the attire, staying true to Floyd’s nicknames.

Each piece was more beautiful than the last, draping your friends in perfection and the culture of the city. Fabrics reminiscent of ship sails felt delicate against the skin, gem-studded ornaments spoke of their high value, and even the stitching seemed scented with a faintly citrus fragrance.

A fairytale, without a doubt. Imagining the Leech patriarch as a fairy godmother was a stretch—but you couldn’t deny the quality and dedication delivered within such a short time.

Then came your dress—just as divine, yet carrying unique and anything-but-subtle traits.

The length of it was covered in pearls, varying in size as they cascaded down from the corset into layers of ruffles. Puffy sleeves, exaggerated in just the right way, framed your shoulders in an off-shoulder style. Scarves and veils—translucent or reflecting the cruelest hues of the ocean’s depths—wrapped around your body, nearly trailing along the floor like the tail of a true mermaid.

Earrings, bracelets, and a necklace matched the maritime color palette, but the entire ensemble was a delicate mirror of Jade’s attire.

The same colors, the same type of fabric—and a single ring to complete it, resting bright and resolute on both of your ring fingers.

Georgina was just as enchanted. She covered her mouth as though on the verge of sobbing, insisting that you and Jade stand side by side for a photo.

Highly suspicious, wasn’t it?

Your thoughts drift away as you return to the present, watching the couple at the altar—soaked from head to toe, yet radiant in those conditions. They had passed the trials, especially the Float of Eternity. Of course they were happy as they exchanged vows, weaving promises of love while holding back from simply grabbing each other.

At that very moment, you should be rooting for their happiness—or moved by the ceremony. Instead, you’re far too focused on Jade’s slow, yet promising, approach.

The guests are overcome with emotion, not even noticing as the merman takes tiny steps closer, until the distance between you is reduced to his elbow brushing your shoulder. The height difference is almost disheartening.

Being an eel capable of capsizing a boat, he’s just as soaked. Some accessories have been removed, and a change of clothes might have been impossible with how the current ones cling to his skin, outlining the exact shape of his slender body.

Your contact only proves the dampness, gradually spreading from him to soak the side of your dress and part of your arm. Honestly, it’s a terrible trap—but you find no reason to object.

You wonder if he’s cold, with all those layers of fabric holding water, or uncomfortable. Before your concerns can even settle, Jade pulls your arm and wraps it around his waist, insisting on the closeness.

His hand glides along your forearm with the rhythm of elegant waltzes, absorbing the softness beneath his calloused fingers. Strangely gentle, masking the fear of coming across as threatening.

His palm curls around your wrist, reminiscent of the times his tail tried to coil around your ankles. The grip is firm, in contrast to the clear submission and the way he seeks your hand.

You press against the bones of his hips, mapping their shape. Water overflows—droplets falling to the floor and against your skin, creating rhythmic and oddly unsettling sounds.

Considering everything you think about Jade Leech, you should push him away—stop him from unraveling the rest of your composure. And yet, you simply accept it when he bends his knees just enough to rest his face in the curve of your neck.

As if by magnetism, your head tilts over his, holding him there in whatever this gesture of affection is supposed to be.

His lashes tickle, the curve of his cheeks betrays a smile, and your thumb slips beneath the fabric, trying to reach him.

You catch glimpses of his hair—likely combed back with his fingers to keep it from covering his eyes—the shape of his nose, and the awkward posture that will surely lead to future aches.

“In sickness and in health…” draws your attention back to the main couple.

Golden rings are exchanged, bridesmaids cry, and the newlyweds kiss—overwhelmed after what must have felt like an endless wait to finally belong to each other. Is this the famed “happily ever after”?

You think you could share one of those with Jade.

In truth, (Name Surname) is a strange one too.

Maybe it’s the shared meals, separated only by tables in restaurants ranging from the most refined to the most questionable.

You watch Jade eat. Small bites, followed by long pauses to chew and swallow. He takes slow sips of his drink, murmuring in contentment as the taste reaches his tongue.

When you raise a brow at him, the merman experiences the jolt of being caught in a cheap lie—so unlike his usual standards. He grabs the napkin, covering his mouth as he lets out a soft, clearly forced cough.

Jade glances between you and his plate, torn between maintaining his table manners—entirely fabricated—or revealing the true capability of his serrated teeth.

You know how a Leech prefers to eat large portions. His fork usually works like a high-speed shovel, and that’s never been a concern to him.

If people were bothered by the fact that Jade could finish a double burger in minutes, then they should be the ones to leave. Yet here he is, eating with the demeanor of an English lord in front of you—recognizing which utensils are for salad and how to properly sip tea.

It’s strange behavior. If you didn’t enjoy watching him indulge in your shared meals—his cheeks full, that deep sigh of someone genuinely delighted by the flavor—you wouldn’t invite him so often.

Eating slowly, to him, must mean the food is no longer at the perfect temperature, the process dragged out unnecessarily. The scene repeats often: Jade is stubborn, determined to appear refined despite the discomfort of changing his habits.

Both of you can play this game of indulgences. Against all of the merman’s performances, you give his shin a kick—bordering on affectionate—beneath the table. Jade always jolts slightly, eyes widening in surprise you can’t quite tell is genuine or acted. You nod toward his plate—a silent plea for him to drop the act.

The most beautiful smile spreads across Jade’s lips, stretching nearly to his ears. His eyes curl into little crescents as he gathers a generous portion onto his fork, needing the knife to keep it from falling, and brings it to his mouth.

His cheeks fill, a satisfied sigh escapes—and you couldn’t be more entertained.

He devours the food, all grace and pleasure. You rest your face in your palm, watching in silence, committing every movement and expression to memory.

His overly polished personality enchants you—especially in moments like this, when it slips just enough to reveal him. It’s subtle, minimal, yet you can’t help the growing smile.

Jade notices the way he’s being admired like a work of art. Every so often, your gazes meet, and something like electricity seems to run faster than blood through your veins. The poor eel lowers his head slightly, trying to hide the visible delight of feeling beautiful.

You read every reaction. Not content with merely making him blush, you nudge his leg under the table again.

Maybe it’s the mushroom conventions.

Yes, it sounds strange—but, surprisingly, there’s nothing criminal about it. It simply involves going back and forth between unusual places to learn about new species or collect samples.

Jade has such an intense fixation on fungi that it’s almost unsettling. And yet, you never refuse the meals made from them, nor stop yourself from gathering new specimens for his collection.

He lights up while showing you the composition of his terrariums—speaking with pride about the fresh soil he collected from the mountains, perfect for proper growth, gently nudging the tiny leaves that enhance the beauty of his mushrooms.

He could go on about these little things for days—and you would listen, asking questions, proving yourself a good audience. Jade smiles foolishly, lowering his voice by a few octaves, pleased that his hobby is taken so seriously.

Even if you’re not part of the Mountain Lovers Club, you agree to the trails he suggests. Walking through nature, climbing uneven terrain, missing the internet—it may not be exactly your thing, but it’s worth it for how grateful Jade seems to be to have you there. Besides, when it’s time to rest, he grills what you’ve gathered along the way and turns it into a feast.

Taking him to those conventions—where people from across Twisted Wonderland gather to express and commercialize their love for fungi and plants in general—also makes for a great outing.

While he socializes with others like him, exchanging cultivation tips, Jade carries all the bags—but asks for something in return: for you to touch him. It’s nothing new, regardless of the occasion, to see the eel doing anything at all with a strand of your hair wrapped around his finger. He even seems more eager to interact that way.

He values your suggestions on decoration and species, even knowing your lack of expertise. If you say that string lights around the jar would make the terrarium prettier, Jade will soon have mushrooms shining brighter than festive ornaments.

He enjoys creating terrariums inspired by friends and family. In his room, there’s a shelf dedicated solely to them: a pot with plants growing in opposite directions yet somehow maintaining a teasing harmony—dedicated to Floyd; another with purple soil and painted circles along the glass, mimicking Azul’s suction cups; and yours—lush, fragrant grass growing, with mushrooms of different colors and sizes arranged in an almost heart-like shape.

Maybe it’s his mystical anatomy, showing you just how different this world is from yours.

Octavinelle has large private water tanks, where students from the sea can return to their origins—transforming into their primary forms and swimming freely without worrying about oxygen.

Jade didn’t use that privilege often, he once told you. He had been focused on learning about the daily life of bipedal creatures, integrating without losing focus.

However, after you casually mention to a friend that you’d love to see a mermaid in action, something clicks in his mind.

It wasn’t your intention to provoke Jade—but since he made a point of listening to the highlight of the conversation, why not take advantage of the perks?

Ignoring human routines, the merman begins returning to his roots, under the excuse of giving you something to marvel at.

You doubt that’s the only reason. Jade is quite the exhibitionist when it comes to you.

He asks you to sit at the edge of the pool, watching carefully as your feet sway playfully in the water.

When he dives in, his figure disappearing into the depths, you search for him across the pool, looking for something—anything—familiar. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Until a pair of hands, large and tinted a deep petroleum blue, slowly emerge and rest open against your knee.

Each finger trails downward, building tension you could compare to horror scenes—monsters gripping the edge of a bed in the dark. But those long claws, as dark as the streak in his hair, only dare to brush lightly against your skin. The sensation is almost illusory—more ticklish than forceful.

Jade lifts himself up, water streaming from his hair without disturbing his immaculate style.

Leech is a beautiful existence. Eccentric, yet captivating. And within a confined space—one clearly ruled and embraced by his nature—he indulges in an inexplicable elegance.

You feel the weight of his body settling onto your knees as he rises closer. The scent of fresh water is striking, contrasting only with the perfume you once complimented—and which has since become his signature.

He tilts his face in different directions, never looking away from you. It feels as though his pupils—now so sharp—need to readjust to your silhouette. It doesn’t take long before they widen again.

“You’ve seen a mermaid. Did I make your dream come true?”

“Honestly, I’m more worried you might drown.”

You remove his hands from your skin, and Jade sinks as if struck down, as though he might actually suffer. What a dramatic eel.

The moment the back of his neck disappears, he resurfaces. His tail moves restlessly, striking deeper water and sending ripples across the surface. He laughs—a rare sound, reserved for special moments. In this form, his teeth are sharper, and his gills expand and contract in happy rhythm.

“Hypnotizing” is the word that floods your mind.

Jade swims with pure elegance, drifting through the pool like a ribbon of silk. His body glimmers in blue stripes, shimmering even when fully submerged.

And whenever he returns to the surface—always bracing himself against some part of you—he tries to coax you into diving in, to join him. His tail, long and thick, coils perfectly around your calves, tempting you.

After hours of floating, teasing you with fins brushing lightly against your feet and leaping high only to crash back down and create small tsunamis, the merman finally settles into your presence.

Jade’s head rests heavily on your thighs. His arms wrap around your legs, pulling them close to his chest, so firmly that you can feel the outline of his muscles.

Curious, your fingers follow the same path—tracing along his ears until reaching the membrane, where the texture feels like brushing against fine veils. He presses his face deeper, savoring the laziness firsthand.

The merman doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to interrupt—and even letting his eyelids fall seems like too much effort. Seven, what comfort.

Jade doesn’t complain—he never will—about the marks traced along his biceps, the way his upper lip is lifted, his gums touched, or his scales—however subtle beneath his smooth skin—being caressed.

He hums, almost like a song. You hope it’s not the infamous “siren’s song,” the one that lures poor sailors into the open sea.

Then again, you doubt it’s possible to fall any further for someone.

But surely, it will be the opportunity—served on a silver platter, allowing your longing to finally bloom.

The moment the ceremony ends, with guests rushing to attack the buffet or congratulate the couple, it will be just you and Jade. Your friends will be distracted by the commotion; only after they’ve eaten their fill and danced enough will they notice your absence.

You’ll look at him—still, still pressed fondly against your side. Acting on instinct, your thumb will press just a little deeper into his covered skin, enough to draw a soft sigh from him and make him lean in, searching for more.

The tip of his nose will drag along your neck, while his cupid’s bow seems to ache to be next. The salty scent of the seaside, lingering in the air, will feel strangely welcome.

And at last, you’ll understand that this feeling isn’t fleeting. Much less something that had gone unnoticed.

Ignorance may have clouded your senses, keeping you from recognizing the truth. If Jade had been inching closer and closer, making such saccharine advances that were hard to decipher, then you hadn’t been far behind.

Jade is not merely this mess of opportunistic thoughts and questionable actions. If there is—and you know there is—a gentle side beneath all those mysteries, it would only be revealed to someone special.

You allow yourself to be bold—overconfident, even—offering yourself as that special person. You want to sink your hands into him, kiss him until he has to search for air, and watch that cunning expression melt into the lovestruck softness of a romance film.

When you offer him a towel to dry off, insisting on walking him back to the hotel room—one his father made sure you would share—the way the soft fabric drags along Jade’s neck will not be accidental.

Even less accidental will be the way you use the towel to pull him closer, crashing your lips against his, dragging your tongue as you explore him.

Leech won’t have time to react—nor the strength to. He’ll melt, trying to keep up as you draw him in, clinging to the ruffles of your dress as if he wants it to last forever.

As he whimpers, asking for more kisses and already dreaming up a confession, you’ll scatter soft pecks across that dangerous face. It will be fun, delicious—a way to express the overwhelming feelings that have been tormenting you both.

In the end, Jade Leech and (Name) are strange individuals.

But they are strange—together.

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