Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rook runs along the winding footpaths of the university campus, already almost late and still hasn't found the right building. Her guide says it should be right behind Biology I, except none of the buildings are labeled with their faculties, they just have regular old street numbers, but this should be the right direction, surely. It's not like she didn't look around during orientation, but she didn't have her seminar plan then, and why does the campus need so many buildings that all look the fucking same and have so many paths between them? Neve wasn't kidding when she said the campus is called "the maze" for a reason.

She almost slips on a patch of wet leaves, courtesy of the wet-cold Harvestmere weather, barely catching herself in time. Maybe she shouldn't be running, but she doesn't want to be late to her first class, doesn't want to miss her spot on the list (because Neve warned her that there would be lists for the more popular — and mandatory — courses), doesn't want to start her university career on the back foot. It doesn't help that she got in on a scholarship, requiring her to keep up her grades and attendance unless she wants to find a way to pay for tuition herself. Not likely.

Her bag swings out to the side as she dashes around a corner at breakneck speed — only to ram headfirst into a semi-solid object. Said semi-solid object lets out a low curse and she can feel hot liquid splashing against her leg and a hand gripping her shoulder for a moment as they both rock back (or forward, in her case).
"Mierda, are you alright?"
Rook quickly steps away, rubbing her nose where she bumped into the stranger's chest. "I am so sorry, I really shouldn't have run around the corner like that." Her eyes dart down to the hot, wet spot on her leg. "Aaaand I spilled your coffee. Of course. Again, so sorry."
"Don't mind my coffee, that stuff was hot. Is your leg ok?"
Only now does she look up, meeting a pair of kind brown eyes framed by dark lashes that seem more worried than angry. "Oh, I'm fine. I think my jeans caught most of it. I would offer to buy you a new one, but I think I'm about to be late to my first class and I still haven't found the damn building."
A sympathetic smile pulls at his lips. "First semester, huh? Where are you headed?"
"Orientation for educational science, room 105, building A6."
He nods. "Gotcha. Turn right over there by that wall, see? There's a shortcut that's a little hidden, which will lead you right behind that building over there, that's A5, and from there you head straight for A6."
She follows the line of his finger to where he's pointing straight at an ivy covered wall, squinting. "Are you sure there's an opening there?"
"Positive."
She sighs, readjusting her bag. At least she didn't spill that one's contents all over the damp ground. "Thank you. If I see you again, I owe you a coffee!"
And with that, she is off again, throwing one last look over her shoulder to see him smile and offer her a small wave. Given how many students inhabit the campus, it's unlikely she'll run into him again.

By the time she arrives at the correct room, there's barely a seat left, the clock striking true the moment she sits down, heart still hammering from her rush. The lecturer lifts their legs from the table and stands. "Good morning, lambs! Welcome to orientation for educational science and congratulations on finding this room! Bet you've already learned a lot about our lovely campus on the way here."
The assembled students groan, and Prof. Cavel smirks.
"That was the first test, you see. But now that you're here, allow me to introduce you to our curriculum …"

When the noon bell rings, Rook is glad for the break. The second lecture was, thankfully, much easier to find than the first one — albeit on the other end of campus. Both of them covered easily as much content as a month of school, so she's already adding more notebooks to her list, along with the books and study materials included in her class lists.
But first, food.

Rook: You there yet?
Neve: Course. Saved you a seat - third row on the right.
Neve: Do NOT get the curry.

The main canteen is huge, with enough seating for what feels like the whole university (though there are, of course, a secondary canteen with a slightly different selection as well as several cafés scattered around the campus, too) but probably isn't. There's no pecking order and no designated seating areas for the various disciplines that Rook can see, but these things are often subtle. In any case, she's glad for Neve's company.

"Did you find your lecture rooms ok?" Neve wants to know as she sits down.
"Developmental Psychology was ok. Orientation for educational science was almost impossible to find."
"Let me guess - Building A6?"
"How did you know?"
"Some of the professors like to use that one to thin the herd - the less people to find your room, the less people will be bugging you about the waiting list."

Neve has been here for a year already, practically a campus veteran. Knowing Neve, she's probably figured out more of the campus' secrets than most alumni. Getting through the last year of school without her best friend was harsh, but at least there was plenty of studying to keep her busy. They're in different disciplines now, too — but living right next door again almost feels like home.

"How many courses did you put on your list?"
Rook pulls out her notebook, takes out a hand-printed list. "20."
Neve throws her head back and laughs. "You're not planning to keep all of those, right?"
"Well, no, I haven't forgotten your horror stories from last year. But I want to check them all out at least, to see which ones I want to keep."
"Good girl." With a grin, Neve steals one of the fries from her plate.
"Are you happy with your roommates?"
Rook shrugs. "They're not you, but they seem fine? Aveline is kind of intense, Bellara seems like even more of a busybody than me, and I haven't seen Hawke around much yet."
"Well, if they're not fine, I know the best places to bury a body."
She would, too.

After her afternoon classes, Rook's head feels like sludge, too much information in too short a time on too little sleep making her feel like her brain cells are melting out of her ears. Thankfully, Neve has a solution for almost anything.

Neve: Meet me in front of the library
Neve: I know a place

The place, it turns out, is a small café at the edge of campus called "The Lighthouse". It doesn't look much like a lighthouse, but the mingled smells of coffee and baked goods are plenty enticing, reminding Rook that food does usually revive her brain. The interior straddles the line between sleek and cozy, the mismatched furniture feeling handpicked rather than salvaged. About two thirds of the tables are occupied, their patrons ranging from students staring at their laptops over chatting office bees to small families letting their kids work on a good old sugar-high after school.

The barista is a fabulous looking specimen who greets Neve with a dazzling smile.
"Hello there, Sherlock. Fresh meat for the slaughter?"
Neve grins back. "Hardly. This is my friend Rook, we went to school together."
"Well, in that case — any friend of Neve's is a friend of me. Welcome to my humble establishment, Rook."
Rook blushes slightly under the weight of his attention. "How do you do," she answers politely, before her eyes drift over to a sign beside the register: 'Looking for help'.
"Are you looking for staff? I've worked in food service before."
He laughs. "Looking for work on your first day? Tell you what, sweetheart: Survive your first week, and then you can ask me again. Makes no sense to go looking for work when you don't even know your schedule yet."

They find a table near the windows when their order is ready — latte macchiato with a healthy dollop of caramel syrup for Rook and a plain black coffee for Neve, as well as a half-off sandwich from this morning.
"His name's Dorian, and he actually owns this place. I helped him with a little b&e issue last year that turned out to be a particularly enterprising raccoon. Don't get your hopes up, by the way — he knows that he's fabulous, and he has no interest in girls."
"Good to know," Rook replies with a lopsided smirk. Less chance of workplace harassment then. "He looks a bit on the young side for a café owner though."
"Rumor has it that he used to study law, but instead of taking his bar exam, he went and bought the Lighthouse from its previous owner with his fancy trust-fund money." If Neve was sharing that information, it was more than rumor.
"Huh. I bet his family was … pleased."
Neve snorts. "Yeah, pretty sure they were pissed. Rich people get to have all the fun."

Neither of them would know, having grown up in the rough part of town as they did, wearing nothing but hand-me-downs and thrift shop couture all their lives. This was their chance to get out of that — to take their parents' hard work and care and make a better future for themselves. In as far as striving for a career that gave back to society is capable of doing that.
Rook used to say they're like weeds — impossible to kill and thriving on the tiniest bit of sunlight and water, happy in a crack in the road where others require a carefully tended bed. Well, it was still nice to get a place with fresh earth instead of hard cement.

Outside the window, the wind blows a light drizzle and a few stray leaves against the glass. From the inside, the streetlights reflecting off the wet street look almost cozy— if they didn't have to walk back to their dorm at some point.

---

Rook's third day dawns bright and early — too early, in fact, with the outraged screech of one of her roommates.
"What is it with the water in this place?" Turns out Aveline just learned that the hot water is gone pretty early in the morning, what with most of the building trying to primp before class. (It comes back around 9, when most people have left for their lessons — but that's not much of a comfort when you need to be in class by 8.)

Bleary eyed, Rook grabs for her phone. 6:30 am. "Why on earth …"
But then she remembers: Aveline likes to go for a run in the morning. Like one of those fitness fanatics. Or those lifestyle coaches on insta, the ones who preach a run and a spinach smoothie to start your day and yoga to end it. Aveline doesn't look like one of those though, red hair worn in a practical braid down her back instead of glossy waves over her shoulders.

"It's 6:30, why are you even up yet?" Hawke grouses from across the hall.
"Because none of us are getting ready in time if we all get up in an hour," Aveline shoots back, wet hair dripping on the hardwood floor when she sticks her head out of the bathroom.

Realistically, Rook could turn around and try to sleep for another 30 minutes. But it's not very likely that she will, too many thoughts chasing themselves around her head, and anyway, she could use the extra time to find out exactly where today's classes are. No more running headfirst into other students. The next one might be a lifestyle coach instead of a handsome coffee connoisseur.

When she drags herself into the kitchen, she can see that Hawke has apparently had the same idea, greeting her with a yawn and a wave. They're all still finding their rhythm — both with the semester and with their new living situation. Sharing one bathroom among four girls is a challenge, even with the separate toilet. Better get breakfast first, while Aveline is still fighting with the shower.

By 7:30, Bellara is the only one who hasn't made an appearance yet. Rook knocks on her door before carefully sticking her head into the room — she's noticed that the engineering major has an even worse sleep schedule than her. Looks like Bellara managed to sleep right through Aveline's shriek earlier.
"Bellara? Don't you have class?"
The other elf blinks, swiping a strand of long hair aside before groping around for her phone. "7:30?! Oh nooo I'm going to be late!" She stumbles out of bed, stripping off her shirt and grabbing the clothes thrown over her chair.
Rook closes the door with a soft click and goes back to the kitchen. When Bellara joins her ten minutes later, she hands her a jam sandwich.
"Thank you! You're a life saver!" She shoves the sandwich into her mouth and casts around for her jacket, making Rook chuckle. They're the same age, but there's something about Bellara that reminds her of the kids she used to babysit over summer. Maybe it's just the boundless energy, or the way she forgets to eat and sleep when she's focused on something.
"I think we have Introduction to Literature together this morning, so I thought we could go together."
"Yes please!"

"Why do you even have a literature class if you're majoring in Engineering?" Rook asks while they speed-walk over to their destination.
"Oh, well, you know … I write a little, just as a hobby, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to learn a bit more about the craft when I'm already at uni!"
"What kind of stuff do you write?"
Bellara blushes. "Oh, nothing special, a little fantasy, a little romance …"
Rook narrows her eyes, squinting. "You write fanfic, don't you?"
"Maybe?"
Rook laughs at Bellara's embarrassed expression. "Hey, that's cool. I mean, who makes it through high school without having read at least one bad slash-fic?"
"You'd be surprised …"

Fortunately, their class is not at the other end of campus for once, so they make it just before the bell tolls. There's even two seats left; the only thing missing is their lecturer. They spend a full 15 minutes in increasingly restless murmur, and some students are thinking about leaving to check out if there's still space in another course when the door opens again and Prof. Tethras walks in, carrying a coffee-to-go and a big smile.
"Oh, sorry, were you waiting for me? Haven't they taught you about the academic quarter yet?"
Turns out his class is fun though. Which is not necessarily the norm, as Rook is beginning to find out.

---

When the weekend rolls around the corner, Rook can't believe she's made it through a whole week already. Her 20 classes blur together in her mind, an off-tune medley she's still trying to hash out. She's going to keep maybe half of them, but it's still good to have looked at the selection before making her choice.

Last night was the big first semester party — inviting them all to mingle and shake of the stress of the first week over loud music, free beer and enough space to dance. Neve was there, too, to keep her company and to check out the new generation, and it was nice to let loose together again. They danced until her feet hurt and her head swam, and then stumbled back to the dorm together.

Even Aveline went out to dance yesterday, though Rook isn't sure how voluntarily she came along, judging by the way Hawke practically dragged her out of the apartment. As such, no one is screaming at the shower at 6:30 am this morning. In fact, there isn't much noise at all before 10; their apartment isn't the only one that spent the night out.
When Rook climbs out of bed, Bellara is in the process of brushing her teeth, so she makes a beeline for the kitchen to boil some water. No classes today, so she can have a cup of tea instead of coffee, and she's noticed that Bellara isn't much of a caffeine junkie either. Probably a good thing, considering her regular energy levels.
In return, Bellara fries up some eggs when she comes out of the bathroom. She always makes more than she needs, because the rest of them aren't exactly kitchen-proficient. Rook grew up on boxed meals and dinner at Neve's, Aveline doesn't believe in fun, and Hawke is not to be trusted at the stove.
"Sooo, how was your week?" their only useful cook asks as they sit down to have breakfast together.
"A bit of a whirlwind, to be honest. I still haven't figured out which courses I want to keep, and some of them kind of blur together in my head at this point."
"Why not just keep them all?"
"Neve tried that last year, and I got an earful when she found out the hard way why that's not a good idea," Rook grins. "Besides, I need a job if I want to afford anything more than basic groceries."
"Ok, that is good to know actually, because I was halfway committed to try. Keeping all my courses, I mean. What kind of job did you have in mind?"
"They were looking for staff at the Lighthouse — you know, that café at the edge of campus —, and I've done that kind of work before. Also it's close, and I've heard staff sometimes get to take home leftovers." She asked Antoine, one of the regular baristas, on Thursday afternoon.
"That sounds nice! Maybe I'll try that, too. I'm not good with money, so having a bit extra would be nice."
Rook smiles. "I look forward to serving coffee with you then." And she does. Bellara is smart and kind, if a bit scatterbrained.

On Sunday, Rook has made up her mind about which courses to keep. She'd drop most of her early morning classes (but not Introduction to Literature with Prof. Tethras, because she needs something fun to balance out the dry foundational ones) so she can pick up morning shifts at the Lighthouse. Turns out Dorian is delighted at the prospect of foisting off the morning rush on someone else, and willing to pay extra for the privilege. It'll mean getting up earlier, but she wakes up to Aveline stomping about more often than not anyway. Also staff gets free coffee, so that'll help. She'll be sharing those shifts with Antoine and Evka, the other regular, and some afternoon shifts with Bellara. Her Saturdays remain free, for studying and grocery shopping.

Monday starts dreary and cold, students huddling in a long line into the Lighthouse, most of them sporting exactly the kind of mood you'd expect on a gloomy morning. Rook is buzzing with energy. Or maybe coffee.
"You shouldn't be this chipper this early on a Monday," grumbles her current customer. His dishwasher blond hair is pulled into a sloppy ponytail and his stubble says that he hasn't remembered to shave all weekend.
"I have a secret," Rook smirks as she rings up his order.
"What's that?"
"Actual sleep. Maybe you should try it." Because judging by the bags under his eyes, he hasn't.
"Ha ha, very funny."
"Ok, fair, that may have been out of line. You name was …?"
"Anders," he grouches, and moves up to wait for his coffee.
Rook's next customer looks familiar, and she blinks. "Oh. hey."
"Good morning," he says, looking equally surprised to see her. "Second week and already working?"
"What can I say? I like to eat." He huffs an amused breath, and her smile reasserts itself.
"What can I get you?"
"Just coffee, please." When he reaches for his wallet, she stops him.
"On the house."
"You don't have to —"
"Yes, I do. I told you, I owe you a coffee."
He frowns for a moment, looking at her intently, as if he's searching for something. She's not quite sure if he's found it or not when he speaks up again.
"Are you sure?"
"Very."
"Alright, if you insist." His mouth twitches into a small smile and he pulls out a note anyway. "This is for the next person in line then."
She rolls her eyes, but the smile stays, and she accepts his money. Paying it forward is a kindness she won't discourage.
"What name can I put on your cup?"
"Lucanis."

Chapter Text

Working at the Lighthouse is surprisingly fun. They wear black aprons with a little white lighthouse stitched just above their hearts, because black doesn't show stains easily, and name-tags, because customers are more likely to treat staff like people when they have names.

Dorian is a gem, as employers go, and Antoine and Evka are utterly adorable together. True, Eva can be a little gruff at first, but seeing at the way Antoine looks at her, there's no question as to the soft heart behind the unimpressed facade. Evka also has a key to the Lighthouse, opening the doors when Dorian can't be bothered to show up early, so her face is usually the one that greets Rook when she comes in for her morning shifts — bright and early at 7 am.
That's when their deliveries for rolls and regular pastries come in, too, and Antoine is happy for her help in preparing a number of sandwiches for when the starving, under-caffeinated masses inevitably rush through their doors between 7:15 and 8:15 am. The academic quarter is indeed alive and well.

While the Lighthouse offers a surprisingly wide selection of fancy teas and coffee roasts, none of those actually come into play before 8:30, when the morning rush is over. No time to select and brew to individual tastes when you want to ensure that each of the shambling zombies that approach the register in the morning leave with their allotted share of the magic bean potion.

It gets quieter after that first rush, when most people have found their seats at their respective classes and office jobs. The time between 8:30 and Rook's own 10 am classes is for parents who have just handed their offspring off to professional caretakers and can take the first quiet breaths of their day; for students like Rook, who skipped the early morning classes; and for self-employed busy-bodies who prefer the low murmur of industrial coffee machines and the Lighthouse's lo-fi list to the quiet of their own homes.

It's when Rook gets to know her co-workers, too.

On first glance, Evka seems very straight-laced and no-nonsense, but once she gets to talking, you learn quickly that she knows all the gossip. Like how professor Volkarin (one of their regulars) once had to leave in the middle of a lecture because he had to pick up his kid from school while his partner was at a conference. Turns out little Manfred had been a little too excited about his science-experiment and set his teacher's coat on fire (by accident, of course). In response, Antoine got to relay a story of how he once nearly set the Lighthouse on fire with one of his culinary experiments, to help with the fire safety lecture.

Or how Davrin, another regular, first brought his puppy Assan to the Lighthouse, and the little fur ball chewed through his leash all quiet-like so he could sneak into the kitchen and steal a ham sandwich. Evka says that's why they have dog treats behind the counter now, to discourage him from the human food, but really it's just because they're all soft on him.

She is also the first to clock when Dorian is between lovers. Maybe because he's prone to actually coming in early then.

Antoine is a sweetheart, and plainly very much in love with Evka. He's also in charge of the kitchen most of the time.

"Hey Rook, could you help me with the next batch of croissants?" he calls over from the kitchen.
"Sure thing!"
Antoine provides most of the Lighthouse's fresh baking. While they get a standard delivery of ready made baked goods every morning (because neither Dorian, nor anyone else on his payroll is willing to keep actual baker's hours), Antoine makes sweet and savory muffins, cookies, and all manner of stuffed croissants over the course of the day. There are different days for different tastes: Weekends and Wednesdays are for waffles, when Antoine and Evka bring two huge containers of batter over in the morning and the smell of fresh waffles fills the Lighthouse all day. Mondays are for bagel experiments — salmon & cinnamon-eggs or ham & strawberries are surprisingly popular. Tuesday is croissant-day, which is how Rook learns of the existence of ricotta & blackberry-jam filling and is forever ruined on regular chocolate croissants. Thursday is muffin day, and Fridays are for cookies.

Antoine likes to experiment, and the regular patrons of the Lighthouse enjoy the spoils.

Lucanis is a regular, too — and not just in the morning. It's because he likes the fancy coffee Dorian keeps in stock, Evka reveals. He's always friendly and tips well, but rarely sticks around. Rook isn't quite sure why Evka feels compelled to add that she's never seen him with a girlfriend though (or boyfriend, for that matter).

Contrary to prior expectations, Rook does run into him a couple of times, even outside the Lighthouse. Like on Thursday, when she tries to pick up one of the books recommended by her Thedan History lecturer, only to come face to face with the mystery of the disappearing step stools. The library has any number of them, to help students reach the higher bookshelves, but somehow, they're never there when you actually need them. Neve had told her about that, but she'd called her silly; solid objects didn't just disappear, and there were only so many places they could hide in the library.
And yet, Rook finds herself balancing precariously on the tips of her toes, her fingertips barely brushing the coveted volume when she hears a familiar voice behind her.
"Need some help?"
Rook sinks back to her soles and turns, to find Lucanis smiling at her from the mouth of the aisle.
"I wouldn't say no to a step-stool."
"Sadly, I'm no magician. I am taller than you though."
"Not that much taller."
"Let's see if it's enough, shall we?"
He's standing almost shoulder to shoulder with her now, the bookshelf aisles being pretty tight and all that, wearing a smirk that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
"Alright, Mr. taller-than-you. I'm trying to reach The Origin of the Thedosian Calendar on the sixth shelf there."
She shifts a little to the side to give him space, watching him stretch — and, yes, rise to the balls of his feet — to reach the book she indicated. She isn't normally keen on getting an armpit whiff from fellow students (some of them clearly still have to grow into the whole personal hygiene thing), but Lucanis smells surprisingly nice. Sandalwood and coffee and something spicy.
"There you go." He looks decidedly smug as he hands her the book, right until her fingertips brush against his when she accepts the worn volume.
"Thank you," she says earnestly, before her own lips pull into a grin. "Do you come here often? Just in case I find myself vertically challenged again."
He laughs, but there's a nervous edge to it now, and crosses his arms as he leans against the bookshelf.
"Not often enough to make up for the disappearing step-stools, I'm afraid. And I'm usually over in section seven."
That would be economics then. She files the information away for later.
"Too bad. So who do you ask when you can't reach something?"
"My cousin, if he's around. But I'll admit I've reconsidered how badly I really need a book more than once."
She chuckles. "I'd put Neve on the mystery of the disappearing step-stools, but I think she tried already. At least I got a bunch of very cryptic, frustrated texts about the library last year."
He grins, but doesn't say anything. Silence descends on them when she runs out of words, and he shifts awkwardly.
"So, ah … how is student life treating you? Is the university everything you hoped it would be?"
She thinks for a moment. "Honestly? I'm not sure what I expected, exactly. It's certainly more work than I thought it would be, but I think I like it. So far. Ask me again when exam season rolls around."
His turn to chuckle. "That's fair. I won't keep you from your studies then." He pushes off the bookshelf and turns to leave. "See you around, Rook."
"See you around, Lucanis."
She watches him go, absolutely not paying attention to how his tight dark turtleneck is hugging his waist and shoulders.

When she returns to the Lighthouse later — not for work this time, just to hang out — Bellara is on shift, peeking out the kitchen door as Eva takes another girl's order. She looks like she's trying to be inconspicuous about it, but the way she ducks back behind the door when the girl moves over to pick up her order is pretty obvious. As is the fact that Antoine is behind the counter instead of inside the kitchen for once.
Once she has picked up her order, the girl thanks Antoine politely and disappears out into the twilit campus. As soon as the door falls shut behind her, Bellara darts out of the kitchen again. "Thanks Antoine!"
"De rien," he replies with a grin and returns to his customary place by the oven, watching over one more batch of muffins.

Rook chooses that moment to lean over the counter. "Someone you know?"
Bellara flinches — she hadn't even noticed her coming in — and ducks her head in embarrassment. "That was Irelin," she explains, "we broke up just before summer vacation. I didn't even know she goes here."
"Ohh, an old flame!"
Eva slides over a muffin and a cappuccino. "Employee discount." Which means it's on the house, really. Rook's shifts are frequently too short for much of a coffee break, and she has a tendency to forget them even when she's staying longer.
"Do you think she knows that you work here?" Rook asks between bites.
"I don't know! I hope she didn't see me hide. That would be embarrassing."
"Why did you?"
"I just wasn't prepared to see her, I think. It was a bit of a shock."
"Bad break-up?"
"Mhh … not really? I mean, it was kind of harsh. She just said that she didn't think it would make much sense to continue if we didn't even know if we'd go to the same university. She still hadn't decided then. But we didn't have a huge fight about it or anything."
"Ouch. Not even wanting to try does feel kind of hurtful."
"Yeah."
Bellara does look unusually deflated; clearly not something she's completely left behind yet.
"Want to spike her coffee the next time she comes by?"
"What? No, I couldn't! I like this job."
"I bet Dorian would understand."
"He might," Eva throws in, "but not if it hurts his business."
"Fair. Want me to find out where she lives and pull a prank on Satinalia?"
Bellara pauses for a moment, giving the question some thought.
"How would you do that?"
"Which part?"
"The finding out where she lives part."
Rook grins. "I've got a Neve."
Bellara chuckles. "And the prank part?"
"Haven't thought about that yet, but I bet we can come up with something fun."
"You know what? Let's do it." And with that, Bellara's melancholy mood seems gone, and Rook is pleased.
"Kids these days," Eva comments with a grin.
"What, like you've never pulled a prank to get back at someone?"
"None that you can prove."

Neve is delighted to help, of course.
They're sitting on her bed, with Rook painting Neve's toe nails while the latter is working on her notes. For class this time, not for a case.
"There, done. What did you say Bellara's ex was called again?"
"Irelin Morlyn."
"Uh-huh. What's her major?"
"No idea, but she used to go to school with Bellara."
"Ok, I can use that. You're not going to use that information for anything nefarious, right?"
"Please, you know me. I'll just help Bellara come up with something that brings her closure."
"Alright."
Rook puts the finishing touches on Neve's littlest toe nail, blowing on her foot to make the polish dry quicker. The foot twitches in her lap.
"That tickles!"
"Just don't move it! By the way, did you ever find out where the step stools in the library disappear to?"
Neve huffs an annoyed breath. "No. And I did try! Why, did you need one today?"
"Yep."
A smirk pulls at Neve's mouth. "So what did you do? Climb the bookshelf?"
"Do you think it would hold me without starting the worst kind of domino day? But no, I didn't. Lucanis walked by and helped me out."
"Who's that?"
"What, you don't know everyone on campus?"
Neve kicks her lightly.
"Lighthouse regular. I ran into him on my first day, when I was looking for building A6. Literally. Spilled his coffee all over my jeans."
"So that's where that stain came from! He cute?"
Rook frowns, trying to hide the blush she can feel creeping up her neck. "I don't even know him!"
"That's not what I asked though." Neve's smirk is definitely growing.
" … maybe a little," Rook admits, ducking her head.

Neve knows her well enough not to push. Not yet, at least.

---

It's after 7 pm when Lucanis walks home, the sky already dark as midnight. Fall days always end far too early, and he looks forward to the weekend, when he can go for a run while the sun is out. The rain he'd heard pattering against the windows of the lecture hall has subsided, turning into puddles that reflect the orange streetlights. He's trying to decide between cooking something for himself or just getting something from the bodega coming up on his right when he hears a familiar voice from inside. With a frown, he steps up to the door. While he knows this voice, he hasn't heard it quite like this before, tense and angry and brittle.
"Venhedis kaffan vas, I am so sorry, I don't know why this stupid card isn't working, I swear I have money." Rook is standing in front of the register, a large sandwich in one hand and her bank card in the other, looking like she's on the verge of tears. The line behind her isn't particularly long, but people are still people and the man directly behind her is starting to look impatient. Before he can think of a rude remark, Lucanis brushes past him and swipes his own card over the waiting sensor.
The proprietor turns to Lucanis with a relieved smile. "Gracias, signore!"
"De nada," Lucanis replies, and Rook whips around to blink at him.
"Lucanis!"
"Hello, Rook." He smiles; she looks like she could use a friendly face. She doesn't smile back though, brows pulling down like thunderclouds.
"You can't just pay for my dinner!"
"Evidently, I can." Teasing her is probably not the smartest move when she's in a bad mood, but he can't help himself.
Her lips open and close without a sound, like she can't find the right words for her outrage yet.
"Why don't we go outside so you can eat your sandwich, and then you can yell at me if you still want to?"
Her lips press together in a thin line and she turns, stomping out the door without another word. With an apologetic smile toward the proprietor and the other customers waiting in line, Lucanis follows.

Rook is leaning against the wall next to the door, already digging into her sandwich. She doesn't seem to be in a speaking mood right now, so he just leans next to her, waiting for her to finish. The tree in front of the bodega is still dripping with leftover rain, and the soft drip drip drip sound of water hitting the ground coupled with the petrichor scent rising off the wet cement feels oddly soothing.
Lucanis doesn't mind silence. Usually prefers it to meaningless prattle, actually. There's all kinds of silences. Light and heavy ones, the kind where you have simply run out of words and the kind where the words are stuck in your throat, piling up against the quiet like water against a dam. This feels like a waiting one, but not the bad kind.

When she has devoured two thirds of her sandwich, Rook heaves a heavy sigh.
"I'm sorry," she says, looking down at her hands — or her sandwich, he isn't quite sure. Doesn't really matter. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I was stressed out and hungry and it was uncalled for." Her eyes dart over to him and away again.
His lips pull into a lopsided smile. "Long day?"
They've all had those. He certainly has, and it's a good thing the only person to nag him when he does is usually his cousin.
"The longest. First our dishwasher broke down — probably sometime in the middle of the night, but I only noticed it at 6 am when Aveline started cursing. The whole kitchen was flooded. Which is why I was late to my shift at the Lighthouse —" (he noticed, because she wasn't there when he came by for his morning coffee) "— and Evka said it wasn't a big deal, but it is to me, and then I found out that I forgot an essay that was due today day, so Prof. Berrith chewed me out in front of the class, and then I dropped a tray and broke three mugs during my late shift, and now I just wanted to get a sandwich and go hide in my room, only to have my stupid card refuse to cooperate."
"That does sound like a day," Lucanis replies with a wince.
"Yeah."

A short pause follows, in which he fidgets with a piece of paper left in the pocket of his coat. Whatever was written on it once, it's little more than crumbs at this point.
"Feeling better now?"
Her lips twitch. "Definitely less murdery, yes." She takes a deep breath. Lets it out again.
"Thank you. For covering for me. You really didn't have to pay for my dinner though." Her eyes do find him then, looking at him like he's a puzzle she can't quite solve.
"It's fine, I don't mind. Are you really just having a sandwich for dinner?"
"I already had cookies at the Lighthouse, and we're still figuring out our cooking rotation back at the apartment. It's Hawke's turn today, and she's even worse than I am. What brings you here, anyway?"
"I was thinking about what to do for my own dinner, and I live around the corner." He points up the street that hugs the building containing the bodega.
"Huh. No dorm?"
"Too noisy. I shared a flat with my cousin for a year and a half before I fled."
"Well, aren't you lucky."
He chuckles. "You could say that." If she wasn't already aware of the weight carried by his family name, he wasn't going to draw her attention to it.

"So what are you going to do about dinner?"
His gaze drifts over to the bodega door, then back to her. "I'll cook something. I can't very well judge you for having a sandwich for dinner and then get one myself."
"You cook?"
Why are people always surprised about that? It's not exactly difficult.
"I do."
Her lips twitch then, pulling into that mischievous smile he likes. "With no one else to appreciate it? Feels like a waste."
Is she flirting with him? He can never quite tell, has never been good at that unless someone was being really obvious about it. "Less discussions about the meal plan that way."
She chuckles. "There is that." Looks at him again curiously, before pushing off the wall.
"Time for me to go home and hide in my room. Good night, Lucanis."
"Good night, Rook."

Chapter Text

Rook looks much more herself the next time he catches her at her morning shift.
"Good morning, Lucanis!" Her smile dimples at the corners.
"Good morning, Rook. Did you solve the trouble with your card?"
She chuckles somewhat self-consciously as she marks his cup. "Yeah. Turns out it was just me being stupid. The bank gave me a new card recently, and I had forgotten all about it — and the new PIN. I've got it now."
"Good." When he moves to pull out his own card, she pushes a paper bag at him.
"Ah, what's that?"
"Breakfast. You should have some." And before he can move to intercept her, she swipes her own card over the card reader, grinning at him. He rolls his eyes.
"You really don't have to do that."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Now scoot, you're holding up the line." She winks at him and he moves down the counter to collect his coffee, shaking his head with a smile.
The paper bag contains a croissant, light and buttery and still a little warm. It does go well with the coffee, and he can't muster the energy to be mad at her for being too proud by half.

---

The semester is a month old, and most students have found their groove by now — even the first semesters, though Lucanis can still see them getting lost in the maze sometimes. Not Rook though — that first day appears to have been an outlier. He's quickly become accustomed to being greeted with a friendly smile instead of a gruff nod when he collects his morning coffee at the Lighthouse (except on Wednesdays, she probably has class on Wednesday morning). That new normal persists on most afternoons; Bellara is friendly, too, and he gets the feeling that Evka is happy to foist the first contact off to the new hires.

This afternoon is a little different.

The Lighthouse is abuzz with energy — and people —, and Dorian is manning the register himself for once, resplendent in a mask of gold and feathers and glitter that somehow still manages to look elegant instead of gauudy. It suits him. All the staff that he can see are wearing masks, too, as are some of the patrons; of course they are, it's Satinalia, how did he manage to forget?
Rook should be on shift, but he can't see her; maybe she's helping Antoine in the kitchen. Evka grins when she hands him his coffee (Andoral's Breath, one of the special blends that Dorian keeps in stock, bless him), nodding towards something behind him. "Rook is on make-up duty today, if you want to get a last-minute mask."

Curious, he turns, and there is indeed a little change in the seating area, with some space cleared toward the wall to accommodate a make-up table where Rook is just taking a Polaroid of one excited little girl. Her father was probably blocking his view earlier. As he watches, the girl skips off happily, her indulgent father trailing behind. Her face is adorned with a sword across one eye and a blue shield across the other.
"Have fun, Mila!" Rook calls after her.
"I will!" Her father looks less excited, but gives Rook a grateful nod all the same.

Against his better judgment, Lucanis finds himself ambling over. There's something different about Rook's face. She's not wearing a mask, per se, but has a mask drawn on her skin: A pair of moth wings rendered in soft brown and white and hints of orange that bring out her eyes.

"Hello, Lucanis," she greets him with a grin. "Forgot your mask?"
"I'm not much for playing dress-up," he admits. Hasn't ever learned to be anyone but himself, and it feels weird to pretend differently.
"Aw, come on, you can't do Satinalia without a mask! Want me to paint you one?"
There's a little booklet on the table next to her, with pictures of colourful face-paints; happy little tigers next to fierce dragons and glittery fairies.
"I think that's a little too colourful to suit me."
She shrugs. "I can do subtle, too — or creepy, if that's your vibe. Little Manfred wanted to be a skeleton."
"I'm not a child, Rook." He is smiling though.
"So what? Neither am I. And I did Davrin's make-up, too!"
"So he could match his dog?" Davrin and Assan are kind of a fixture in the Lighthouse. Probably because the other canteens and cafés on campus won't allow dogs.
"No, silly. He wanted to be a griffon. Come on, it'll be fun!"
Lucanis shifts his weight, hesitating. "I wouldn't know what to get."
"Let me surprise you then."

He really shouldn't; he doesn't like dressing up, or people touching him. But she's grinning at him like the cat that got the canary, and somehow, he finds himself sitting down, still holding his coffee like an emotional support cup. She hands him an apron to protect his clothes; it's a little short, but he's sitting down, so it doesn't really matter. He has to put down his coffee to put it on though.
"You might want to put your hair up, so it doesn't get stuck to your face."
"Ah, I don't have a hair tie on me."
"That's fine." She pulls a scrunchie from a small rack on the table behind her and holds it out to him, eyes sparkling with mischief. It's bright pink and glittery. Raising a brow, he plucks it out of her hand, fighting a grin of his own as he ties his hair back. She's smiling like a Cheshire cat now, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Alright. I'm going to start with a sponge to put down the foundation —" she holds up a fresh little make-up sponge "— so close your eyes, please."

He does as he's told, startling briefly when he feels her hand gently grip his chin before she begins dabbing the sponge against his skin, starting on his forehead and working in a circle around his eyes. She's careful, especially when she works on his eyelids, checking in if the pressure is ok or if his skin feels weird anywhere. The sponge is surprisingly cool on his skin, and somehow, he doesn't hate it. She doesn't expect anything of him, except that he hold still while she works. There are several short breaks, presumably for her to reapply or switch colours, before she tells him to open his eyes again.
"I'm going to work on details now, using a brush." Again, she holds the instrument up for his inspection. "This might tickle a little, please tell me if it gets uncomfortable."
Her grin has given way to a look of sincere concentration, an artist at work instead of a barista teasing a customer. It's still a little nerve-wrecking to watch her lean close, close enough that he can smell her shampoo (oranges and ginger and something else) and see the flecks of green in her amber eyes. She smells nice.
"Did you do your own make-up, too?" For some reason, it feels imperative to break the silence.
"Of course I did — how else was I going to convince anyone that I know what I'm doing?" That impish grin flashes over her face again, and somehow, that's easier. "I used to do this for the kids in my neighborhood every year. They couldn't always afford a nice mask, but they could afford to tip me in sweets for some nice make-up. I thought it might be fun to offer something like that at the Lighthouse, too, and Dorian agreed."
"That sounds nice." The brush does tickle a little. "Can I take a sip from my coffee real quick?"
"Of course! Wouldn't want it getting cold."
The coffee helps, familiar bitterness reminding him where he is and grounding him in his own body. It's also the perfect temperature now, just hot enough to no longer burn his tongue.
"Why a moth, and not a butterfly?" he asks when she resumes her work. Most girls would want to be a butterfly, wouldn't they?
"I've never been that flashy. And moths are important, too."
"It's still beautiful." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he's overcome with the sudden desire to sink into the floor. She blinks, a little startled. Well, that makes two of them. But she still offers him a smile without pausing her quick brush strokes. "Thanks."

He bites his tongue for the the other maybe ten minutes it takes her to work out the details of whatever she's painting on his face before she asks him to close his eyes again. This time, the cool tip of the brush runs directly along his lashes, and he has to try not to twitch. It doesn't help that he can feel her breath ghosting over his skin now, smelling faintly of coffee and waffles and powdered sugar.
Then she leans back, switching out the little brush for a large one. "One more step, then you're done! Try not to breathe in right now."
His breathing has been shallow for a while now, so this shouldn't be too much of a problem. She applies some sort of powder over her work, and then bids him open his eyes again, holding up a mirror.
He blinks. The face in the mirror is covered in a mask of black feathers with subtle green and purple highlights fanning out from its eyes, like a crow or a raven. It manages to skirt the edge between subtle and dramatic, and looks actually pretty cool.
"What do you think?"
He smiles. "I like it."
"Awesome." She exchanges the mirror for a Polaroid camera. "Can I take a picture for my wall?"
There's a number of other Polaroids stuck to a little cork wall, showcasing some of the work she's done today. Mostly smiling children in colourful make-up, but there is indeed one of Davrin, too, a little similar to his but with a different colour scheme, and one of Anders, looking like a particularly grumpy cat, and one of Lace, Prof. Tethras' beleaguered student aide, with sunflowers around her eyes.
"Sure, why not." He takes out the pink scrunchie and hands it back to her before shaking out his hair.
"Say coffee," she prompts, and he can't help but smile as she presses the trigger.

"So, are you doing anything later?" she asks as she shakes out the photo, waiting for it to settle.
"Just class, I'm afraid."
"Ah well, at least your classmates get to admire my work then."
"What about you?"
"Neve's taking me to some local pub later, for karaoke and costumes. We're going as Dorothy and the Wicked Witch of the West. I even have a tiny white dog." She's grinning, clearly looking forward to it.
"Well, then I hope you enjoy yourself," he says, rising to make way for the next customer — a dark haired boy being shepherded by a bored looking mother.

Lucanis has maybe half an hour left until his next class, and decides to settle in for a few more minutes. There's a free table in a corner, allowing him to watch the hubbub while he downs the rest of his coffee. Watches how Rook adorns the boy's face (Kieran, his mother said); he can't see with what, exactly, but he can guess. Watches Dorian sparkle and flirt with his customers, and Evka poke her head through the door to the kitchen to steal a kiss from Antoine. Watches the other patrons type away at their laptops or chat happily about their plans for the day. It's kind of nice. Maybe he could do his notes in here rather than at home or in the library from time to time.

Then it's time to leave, and he takes his cup back to the counter and waves goodbye to Dorian and Evka. Rook is still busy putting the finishing touches on another student's face and talking to them about something or other.

When he reaches his class, Illario is already there, slapping the seat next to him. Of course. Less need to pay attention when he can borrow Lucanis' notes later. "Hey, Luca! Didn't think we would match today."
He's grinning under his mask, a physical one, but with the same black feathers Rook painted on his face. "I thought you didn't like to play dress-up!"
Lucanis shrugs. "I felt like it." No need to tell his cousin that a pretty girl talked him into it.
"So who did your make-up?"
"The Lighthouse is having a theme day."
"That place where you always get your coffee? Maybe I should check it out some day."
Please don't, Lucanis thinks, but doesn't say it. And why would he? There's no reason why his cousin shouldn't grace the café with his presence.

---

Rook is still working on the last details of her last happy customer's make-up — a mask of vines and mirror-shards for Merril — when Neve waltzes through the door in a slinky black dress, an outrageously cliché witch's hat, and all-over green make-up. While Neve tries very hard to look serious and put together most days, she's always enjoyed letting loose for Satinalia. They've done some pretty great partner costumes over the years — like Mario & Luigi, or Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, or the two Muppet stooges. Today's ensemble is coordinated to match the song they're planning to sing.
Rook's own costume is still in her bag in the tiny staff cloakroom at the back of the kitchen, to make sure she wouldn't have any wardrobe malfunctions before they set out.

"How goes the painting, Trouble?" Neve asks, leaning over her shoulder to admire the tangling vines in Merril's face.
"Almost done!"
"You look great," Neve adds toward the happy subject, making her beam.
"Have a coffee while you wait," Dorian calls over from his place by the register. "Can't have a gorgeous lady without a drink!"
Neve laughs, ambling over to the counter. "How could I say no?"

Once Merril leaves (after thanking her profusely for the cool make-up), Rook begins to gather her things, packing away the make-up, trashing the sponges and carrying the brushes over to the sink to clean. She'll soak them properly when she gets home, but it's important to get the excess make-up off first.
Then it's time to change. The Lighthouse's one employee bathroom is small, but she's had worse. At least it's clean. When she reemerges, she's wearing a white blouse under a barely knee length blue apron dress, white pantyhose and sparkly red shoes — plus a tiny stuffed dog key-chain dangling from the straps of her dress.

Her sweater and jeans and boots are stuffed into a bag that will get an exclusive overnight stay at the Lighthouse — she'll pick them up tomorrow.

When she steps out of the kitchen again, Dorian whistles.
"You clean up nicely, Rook! Here, let me take a picture of you two."
She links her arms with Neve's, striking a pose while Dorian takes a pic with her Polaroid camera.

"There — now get out of here so I can close and clean up."
Antoine and Evka are already waiting by the door, happy to get out and go out; they're not going to the same venue Neve is taking Rook to, but they're definitely planning to have some fun tonight, too. Being the boss means that Dorian has to be responsible tonight and stay late to close up properly.

Rook had asked him why he didn't do cocktails for days like this when she proposed her party make-up idea. He'd just laughed, telling her that he would not go through the trouble of obtaining a liquor license only to have to babysit a bunch of drunk students for the night.

When they arrive at the pub, she feels inclined to agree with him. It's still pretty fun when you are not responsible for it all though. They are met by the doors by a Sherlock Holmes, an Icarus, and a very fine looking Elisabeth Bennet — Neve's friends Rana and Elek, and Bellara, respectively.
"Hi guys!" Bellara waves emphatically, clutching a tiny, almost period-appropriate purse in the other hand.
"Bellara, your costume looks amazing! Did you really make this yourself?" Rook considers a little fawning only appropriate, given the quality of Bellara's dress and accessories.
"I did," her room-mate replies bashfully, "but everyone thinks it's something from Bridgerton." She throws the bouncer a dirty look.
"You know most of these people are just uncultured idiots," Rana tries to mollify her.
"Besides — it is the same time period. At least they get that part right," Neve adds, before turning on Rana.
"Sherlock? Seriously? Should I feel offended?"
"That is entirely up to you," her friend answers, twirling her fake mustache.
Elek throws his scantily clad arms around both of them. "How about we stop with the arguing and go in and have some fun, ladies?"

They have a table waiting inside for them (Elek's treat, and Neve says it's probably better not to ask how he managed that), and two rounds of shots later, Rook can actually imagine going up on stage to sacrifice her pride on the altar of friendship and a light buzz. She can do many things, but singing had never been one of her talents. Neve is little better, but years of doing karaoke together have taught them that it's all about the enthusiasm. Or most of it, anyway.
That certainly holds true for Bellara, who is beaming at being called up as "Miss Elisabeth Bennet" and belts out a surprisingly good rendition of "I need a hero". Their entire table sings along, as does much of the audience, and their friend returns to the table beet red and under much applause.
Time for more shots.
The listen to a great performance of "One way or another", a very sad (in more than one sense) duet of "My eyes", and a number of other songs that Rook can't quite remember, and then it's their turn — hers and Neve's, and she almost doesn't care about the humiliation anymore. Hardly anyone here knows her, anyway, she's wearing a costume and a mask (of sorts), so what's the harm?
Neither of them have the vocal range to do "Defying Gravity" justice, but they are almost loud enough to make up for it, putting in enough of a performance to have the musical minded parts of the audience crooning along with gusto. To be fair, some of the applause they reap may be due to Neve's dress, but that doesn't diminish the sense of alcohol-fueled accomplishment.

Rana and Elek eventually get their turn on stage, too, singing "Every breath you take". Rana's performance — with an actual looking glass — has the audience howling, and Rook, Neve and Bellara are howling right with them. There's a lot of laughing that night, and dancing. It's nice to forget about studying and work and the world at large for a night.
"So how's your paramour," Neve asks when they stumble back to their table for a short break and a glass of water, the rest of their group still hidden in the throng of moving bodies on the dance floor.
"He's not my paramour," Rook argues, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. "But I think Lucanis called me beautiful today."
"Did he now?" Neve smirks. "Wait — what do you mean, you think?"
"It was technically a comment on my make-up? But he looked a little like a deer in the headlights after, and didn't say a word for another 10 minutes."
Neve snorts, almost spitting her water across the table. "Adorable. You may need some patience with that one."
Rook rolls her eyes. "We're not even friends, not really."
"Yet."
"How about you go dance with Rana instead of nosing into my not-relationships?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Neve takes another big gulp of her water.
"Uh-huh. Sure."

By the time they head homeward, it's 2 am and they mostly feel almost sober again — right until they step outside and take the first deep breath of fresh air. Rook ends up slinging her arm around Bellara's shoulders for balance, leaving Neve to lean against Rana while Elek herds them home like a litter of unruly puppies.

Tomorrow is another day.

Chapter Text

Tomorrow is another day of classes — and work.

Rook can barely manage to pry her eyes open when her alarm rings. Her eyes feel like they're filled with sand, and her head is stuffed with cotton that somehow still manages to scrape against the inside of her skull.
Drinking and staying late had seemed like such a good idea yesterday. Probably because of the shots, and the company. It feels like much less of a good idea now (thank you very much, yesterday's Rook). At least she doesn't have to work this morning. She can probably manage to drag her sorry ass to Prof. Tethras class and pretend to be awake for that.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Not even Aveline has the energy to be annoyingly awake and mature, having been dragged along by Hawke last night. Bellara looks like she's in danger of face-palming straight into her cereal.

In a few weeks, the sun won't even be up yet when Rook shambles into Introduction to Literature, but it is now, so she's wearing sunglasses as she falls into her seat next to Bellara. Prof. Tethras is surprisingly on time this morning, as if to mock their collective hangover. He beams at his assembled students in their varying states of regret, evidently amused by their struggles.
"Good morning, shamblers!" Is he always this loud, or is that Rook's headache talking? "I am honored that nearly all of you wen to the trouble of leaving your beds at this ungodly hour just to hear me talk. Are the sunglasses really necessary, Miss Mercar?"
"They don't hurt you, but they help me," Rook mutters, making him chuckle.
"Fair enough. Since most of you appear to be grappling with the consequences of a little overindulgence, why don't we talk about Oscar Wilde today …"

It's good lecture — fun, even, and surely informative, too — making Rook regret her inability to process half of what Prof. Tethras says. Her notes reflect that sorry state of mind: Most of the words are barely legible, some of them make absolutely no sense to her later, and there might be a spot of drool watering the ink in one corner.

Somehow, she makes it through her next class, too (no sunglasses this time, as Prof. Pentaghast doesn't have a noticeable sense of humor), and then all the way to the canteen (sunglasses on again). Bellara is already waiting at a table when Rook ambles over with Neve , chatting amicably with Rana. It's not fair that both of them look almost human again. They're all having salad today — as are much of the rest of the assembled students, and for once it might be less of a signal of the quality of today's meal selection than a testament to the night everyone's had.

"By the way," Neve starts once she's done with most of her salad, "I've tracked down your ex, Bellara."
"You have?" Bellara puts down her fork, appetite suddenly absent.
"Yes. She's one floor above us, room 418, and her major is veterinary medicine."
"Oh, ok, that makes sense." She picks up her fork again, starts pushing greens around on her plate.
There's a moment of silence where everyone's looking at her, making her fidget even more.

"… it's ok if you don't want to do anything with this knowledge, you know," Rook offers eventually. "But if you do, I'm right here to support you."
"What's this girl's crime?" Rana wants to know.
"She dumped Bellara just before summer break because she didn't want to risk a long distance relationship."
"Oooof, that's harsh. I mean, it's honest, too, but telling someone they're not even worth trying?"
"Right?!"

They're quiet again, considering.
"This is about love, right? So what if we trick her into thinking she has a secret admirer?" Neve suggests after a while.
Bellara perks up. "How would we do that?"
"You could send her fake love-letters," Rook adds. "You are a writer after all, right?"
"And then at some point, you ask her to meet, and all she finds is disappointment."
Neve's smile has an edge to it that reminds Rook never to get on her bad side. Good thing they're friends.
"That is positively diabolical, and I love it. Let's do that!" Bellara seems excited, and it's great to see her so energized. What could possibly go wrong?

---

When they head over to the Lighthouse for their afternoon shift, the world seems a lot brighter already. Sunglasses still help, though Dorian makes her take them off, laughing at the shadows under her bloodshot eyes.
"Had fun last night, did we?"
"As a matter of fact, we did." Rook sticks out her tongue as she ties her apron. Thankfully, at least half their patrons look little better than herself today, so there's a lot of sympathy going around.
Lucanis doesn't, of course — look like yesterday's trash, that is —, failing to hide his smirk as she takes his order.
"Long night?"
"Yep. Still worth it."
He intercepts her when she moves to mark his cup. "No, it's alright — I thought I could stay for a bit today."
She puts the to-go cup down and switches to one of their regular ones — black with a white Lighthouse on them — and adds 2 $ collateral to his charge. For some reason, some people seem to view these cups as a collector's item.
"Want to submerse yourself in the irresistible atmosphere of sleep deprivation and hangover?"
He chuckles. "Something like that."

Today seems like an odd day to change his routine, but there's not much time to ponder that as a wave of afternoon regulars pour through the doors. At the tail end of the line, Anders is shuffling his feet, looking a little nervous — and yes, just about as wretched as the rest of them.
The cause for his tension becomes clearer when it's his turn to order.
"Just give me a—" meow.
He clears his throat, tries again. "A coffee, please."
meow.
Rook leans forward, frowning. "Anders, did your coat just meow at me?"
"What? No, of course not!"
meow.
Bellara leans over, watching his coat intently.
"I heard it too, it definitely did."
meow.
He's blushing now, trying to stammer an excuse.
meow.
"Anders, open your coat."
"That's sexual harassment!"
"Open your coat or you don't get coffee."
Muttering to himself, the ragged looking med student begins to unbutton his coat. Peeking out of the pocket of his hoodie is a tiny orange-striped head, eyes still closed and ears still folded, mewling for attention in a small, high voice.
You can practically see the surrounding girls beginning to lactate.
"Oh my god that's tiny!"
"So cute!"

Dorian ambles over, attracted by the commotion.
"That looks far too small to be away from its mother."
"It is! But I found it outside in a cardboard box last night, all alone. It would have died in the cold if I hadn't taken it in!"
"No need to get defensive. Did you sleep at all?"
"How could I?"
"Here's your coffee. Do you have anything to feed it?"
"I got some baby formula, but I'll need hot water…"
"For human babies? That's no good for a kitten!" Bellara cuts in.
"Alright children. Anders, sit. Bellara will go fetch something from the pet shop around the corner. This is a café, not a zoo or a daycare, but I'm willing to make exceptions so long as my other patrons can still get their caffeine fix. We good?"
They all nod at Dorian, and Anders shambles over to a table in the corner as Bellara goes to fetch her coat.
Dorian sighs. "I keep having to remind myself that I like this job because it's never boring."

When Bellara returns, it becomes clear that she has done this before. She didn't just buy formula, she also bought a kitten bottle and a couple of cloths, mixing the formula without batting an eye and explaining to Anders exactly how he needs to feed the kitten, burp the kitten and help it pee and poop.
The poor boy looks more overwhelmed by the second, but when she offers to take the kitten off his hands, he holds his hands over it protectively.
"No way! This is my responsibility now." In a much smaller voice, he adds "but I wouldn't mind taking your number in case of emergencies. Also could you write that all down?"
At which point Lucanis leans over and hands him a page from his notebook, containing a summary of the instructions Bellara just laid out.
"I thought you might need that."
Bellara skims it quickly. "You have really neat handwriting!"
"Thanks?"

Maybe it is a good day to change his routine after all.

Lucanis stays for an hour or two in the afternoon more often now. It really is never boring, and there's good coffee — and nice company.

It's how he properly meets Davrin and his golden retriever, Assan, because Assan has to greet everyone (especially new people , because new people may be hiding new treats!). The Lighthouse is the only café on campus that doesn't have a strict no-pets policy, and despite Dorian's claims of it not being a zoo, there is a small bag of dog treats behind the counter. He claims it's just good customer service.

There's also members of the faculty, like Prof. Tethras, trailed by a harried looking Lace Harding, who appears to have her hands full keeping him on schedule. And, of course, Prof. Volkarin, who will often come by after picking his son up from school for some tea and hot chocolate.

He even chats with Antoine sometimes, when the Lighthouse's primary baker leaves the kitchen, to compare recipes and exchange advice on common kitchen pitfalls.

The latter is quite useful when things go awry.

It's Tuesday morning, and the coffee line at the Lighthouse is longer than usual. At least it's still early; a little more time standing in line won't be a problem.
The why becomes evident when Lucanis moves closer to the register. Normally, three people staff the Lighthouse in the morning: One for taking orders, one for filling them, and one in the kitchen to prepare the day's baked goods.
Today, he can only see Rook, looking increasingly stressed as she tries to make up for the lack of coworkers.

"Rook, are you alright? Where's Evka?" he asks when it is finally his turn.
"I'm fine!" She is clearly not fine.
"Evka is taking Antoine to the hospital after he fell down the stairs this morning. She just stopped by to unlock the Lighthouse. Dorian is out of town and won't be back until noon and Bellara is in class and I also have to be in class by 10 and I can't miss that one because the professor already hates me because I forgot my essay that one time." In fact, she's looking close to tears, even as she's already filling his cup.
Lucanis glances down at his watch. Frowns. He can miss one class. He never has before, so it really shouldn't be a big deal.
"Lucanis? What are you doing?" Rook asks when he heads around the counter. There's a swing door at he end that's never actually locked.
"Helping."
"Uhm … you don't work here though?"
"Serving coffee is not rocket science, Rook. Let me help."
"Don't you have class?"
"I can miss one lecture. Plenty of my class mates skip lectures for all sorts of reasons, mostly of the 'couldn't be bothered' variety."
For a moment, she just blinks at him, trying to think of an argument. But there's already another student at the register, clearing his throat to get her attention.
"Fine. Aprons are in the kitchen, on the wall to the left."

The kitchen door swings open at his touch, revealing a mostly pristine kitchen. There are several large containers stacked against the wall by the back door, containing ready made pastries to be sold in the morning. In the far corner, the employee coat rack holds exactly one coat right now, and next to that, a number of aprons hang off a wall hook. He hangs his coat and bag next to Rook's and picks up an apron, tying it at his back before washing his hands. It's 7:40 am now. The pastry containers at the counter could probably use a refill, so he opens a couple of cabinets until he finds a plate.

Rook shoots him a tight but relieved smile when he steps back outside to refill the pastry baskets, before fishing a hair tie (neutral black this time) out of her pocket.
"Two out of three of my roommates have long hair. Someone's always missing a hair-tie." He takes it and tucks his hair back while she fills another cup and hands it to a waiting faculty member.
"Alright — regular coffee is in the big machines behind you. If one of them empties, we need to start a new batch; the coffee must never run dry. Espresso and cappuccino come from the fancy machine to my right, as does hot water, and anything else won't go on sale until 8: 15, milk and sugar are at the end of the counter for self-service, but you know that. Bags for baked goods are over there."
Then she hands him a cup, and they get started.

It takes a couple of minutes until he gets the hang of it and manages to get the right amount of coffee into each cup. Once people start ordering anything other than regular coffee, he understands why their selection is limited for the morning rush; it takes longer for the fancy coffee machine to finish a cappuccino than it does to fill a cup with regular coffee, and he has to take care to press the right button for the cup he's handed. Add orders for croissants or pretzels to the mix, and he has to make sure to hand out the right order to the right person, especially at the speed at which Rook is taking orders. And then one of the big coffee machines runs dry, and Rook has to take a quick break from manning the register to start a new one, because Lucanis has never worked with one of these before and has no idea how many beans to fill in and where. With respect to the waiting students, he takes one look at the register and balks. There are buttons for tax groups and other things on there and he has no idea which orders those are required for.

When 8:15 rolls around and their line begins to taper off for the moment, they both take a moment to breathe. Then Rook turns, and offers him the first real smile he's seen on her face today. "Not bad, for a first timer."
"I apologize for underestimating the complexity of your job."
She snickers. "At least you see the error of your ways." Then her smile slips. "If only I had any idea what to do about my class and the lack of staff for the Lighthouse. I don't have a key, so I can't even close up! But I really can't miss my class, because I would not put it past Prof Harrowmount to give me grief with my scholarship review."
He didn't know that she was here on a scholarship. Shouldn't those cover students' expenses so they should not be required to work on the side? Before he can think better of it, he lifts his hand to rest it lightly on her shoulder.
"Rook, breathe. And then call Dorian, because I can't imagine that he doesn't have some sort of backup."
"For two people?"
"I can stay until noon."
"I can't make you miss two classes!"
"You're not making me do anything, and it's still the same class. All my lectures are four hour blocks."
Her eyes go round. "That's … a lot. Wow. Ok. But what if there's a new customer while I'm on the phone?"
"Then I will very kindly ask them to be patient and try to distract them until you're done."

In the 5 minutes it takes her to reach her boss and find a solution, there's only one customer to distract — a Lighthouse regular that Lucanis hasn't met yet, on account of usually sitting in a lecture at this time. She's very sympathetic; possibly because she has some free time now that she's dropped her daughter off at daycare. It also helps that he's already filled her order and is just waiting for Rook to process her payment. Once she's done that, she relays Dorian's proposal.
"He says he'll call in Lace Harding — Prof- Tethras' student aide —, because she has worked as a fill-in at the Lighthouse before, and he's going to hurry to get here sooner, but there's only so much he can do about traffic. Are you absolutely sure you are ok with helping out until noon?"
"I'm sure. I have people whose notes I can borrow in a pinch, and there's a tutorial tomorrow that I could technically catch if I have issues. I wouldn't have offered otherwise. I think I can even prepare some of those special croissants Antoine usually makes if you can show me how to turn on that oven."

A complex wave of emotion washes over her face, too quickly for him to decipher, and then she steps forward, wraps her arms around his back and rests her head against his shoulder, and Lucanis can feel his brain short-circuit.
"Thank you," she mumbles into his sweater, and he awkwardly pats her back, breathing shallow. It takes him a moment to recover his speech.
"It's going to be alright," he answers lamely, and then she steps back and flees into the kitchen. There's no other word for it, really, with his heart beating too fast and his thoughts moving too slow. For a full minute, he just leans on the kitchen counter, feeling the heat race up his neck and swallow his face.
The hug was unexpected.
He doesn't like people touching him, especially unexpectedly. But all he can think of while he tries to regain control of his body is that it didn't feel uncomfortable at all. Just … surprising. And warm. Her scent of oranges and ginger and a hint of cinnamon still lingers around him.

He should probably get started. Give his hands something to do.

Rook ducks her head inside a few minutes later to show him where Antoine keeps his equipment and ingredients and how to operate the industrial oven, and then he busies himself making dough and creating fillings (there's a collection of recipes inside a drawer) until Rook's substitute arrives. She explains the situation, thanks Lace profusely for her help, and a few minutes later, Rook is gone, and he can breathe easier.

When Dorian finally arrives at 12:10, there's two fresh batches of filled croissants out on display, and he declares that Lucanis won't pay for his coffee for at least a week.

Chapter Text

When Rook comes back for her late shift that afternoon, Lucanis and Lace are gone, replaced by Dorian and Evka. Evka spent a good chunk of the morning at the hospital with Antoine, first sitting around and waiting, then getting several tests done, then waiting again until someone could put his ankle in a cast, and then a little more waiting until a doctor could sign his scrap of paper to hand to Dorian for insurance purposes.
He is recuperating at home right now, with a mild concussion and a twisted ankle. They gave him crutches to use for two weeks, at which point he should be right as rain. It's a relief.

"Hey Rook, do you think your boyfriend would help out in the kitchen until Antoine is back on his feet?" Dorian asks, eyes twinkling.
"Not my boyfriend, and I am pretty sure he has classes in the morning? Won't make much sense to only start the oven at 4."
"Hmm, and yet he was here this morning." His grin widens as Rook can feel her ears going red.
"He skipped this morning. I told him not to, but he said he could do it the one time." She busies herself with rearranging the pastry display, to avoid noticing the way Evka is smirking at her, too.
"By the way, is there anything nice we can do for Lace for coming in on such short notice? I still feel bad for leaving at 10."
"Leave that to me, cupcake. And you really shouldn't feel bad for prioritizing your studies — you know, the stuff you actually came here for? Plenty of time to grow disillusioned, no need to start going bad in your first semester."
"Geee, thanks."

---

Antoine is still recuperating at home the next day, but thankfully, Wednesday is waffle day, and they're all perfectly capable of employing a waffle iron so long as Evka brings enough batter. Also Dorian always comes in early on Wednesdays, that being the one day during the week when Rook starts classes at 8.

It's afternoon and the Lighthouse is filled with the enticing scent of fresh waffles when Lucanis enters, for once not on his own, but accompanied by Illario and Teia and Viago.
"Ohh this place has character!" Teia exclaims as she brushes past a put-upon looking Viago.
"That's one way to put it," Illario sneers, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Lucanis. "How about you secure us a table and I'll get coffee? Any special wishes?"
"A café mocha please!" Teia orders, leading the way to a table in the corner, making sure to claim the most comfortable looking chair. Illario and Viago are less discerning, the former because he trusts Lucanis' coffee obsession to steer him right and the latter because he genuinely doesn't care so long as they can get started.

Lucanis sighs and rolls his shoulders as he strides over to the counter.
"Hey, Lucanis!" Rook's smile eases some of the tension that has been gathering between his shoulder blades. "Here with friends?"
"Hello, Rook." The corners of his mouth pull up in response without conscious thought. "Something like that. That's my cousin, Illario and two of our classmates, Teia and Viago. We have reached the group project phase of the semester."
She winces. "My condolences. Some coffee to ease the pain?"
"Please."
"What brew are we feeling like today?"
He pauses for a moment, considering. It'll be easier if he orders one kind for everyone — save for Teia, whose mocha will probably come from the machine to his left. "Three medium cups of Maferath's Embrace, please, and one medium Café Mocha."
She glances over to the table where his group has gathered. Narrows her eyes briefly before calling out.
"Hey, Teia!"
The curly elf looks up, startled. "Yes?"
"Would you like some syrup with your Mocha?"
The other girl's eyes light up. "Hazelnut, if you have it!"
"Sure thing!"
Rook turns back to Lucanis, who is blinking at her curiously. "How …?"
She shrugs. "Some people have that look about them."
When he wants to pull out his card, she stops him.
"Nononono, your money is no good here for at least a week. Didn't Dorian tell you?"
"For my coffee, yes. He didn't say anything about my classmates, though."
"Just take the coffee, Lucanis," she says, rolling her eyes with a smirk.

Meanwhile, Viago pulls out his laptop, while Illario takes in the café around him and Teia watches Lucanis' interaction intently. Illario eventually catches on, raising a brow.
"Careful Teia, Viago is going to get jealous if you keep watching my cousin like that."
Viago mutters something under his breath, and Teia playfully taps her foot against his. "Hush! I think he's flirting."
"What?" Illario does a double-take, turning to get a better look. "Impossible. I tried for a year to get Lucanis laid, and he didn't bite once. At this point, I'm convinced that part of his brain just wasn't installed properly."
"I'm telling you, he likes that barista. See how he's turned his whole body toward her, leaning forward? Lucanis usually leans away from people. And he's smiling."
"Lucanis is always smiling, that's not special."
"There is a difference between a politely friendly face and a smile, Illario."
Viago heaves an annoyed sigh. "Could we concentrate on the project, please?"
Illario side-eyes Teia. "Explain to me again what you love about this grouch?"
Viago glares, and it's probably for the best that Lucanis chooses this moment to arrive with their cups on a little tray. Everyone looks a little less testy once they've taken their first sip, because Lucanis wasn't lying, the Lighthouse does serve good coffee.
At least until Teia turns to him, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"That barista is cute, isn't she?"
Lucanis goes very still behind his cup. His mouth opens and closes, but no words will come. Eventually, he takes another sip before clearing his throat.
"Should we begin?"
"Fucking finally," Viago mutters under his breath.

---

There's a storm warning for the next week, but that doesn't stop Rook and Bellara from enacting phase one of project 'giving Irelin a taste of her own medicine' (Codename: Hummingbird). Though it does help that they don't have to leave the dorm to do that.
Bellara has written a love letter from a "Mysterious Stranger" who has become enamored with her old flame. She's working with the benefit of actually knowing what Irelin likes, and who doesn't love a handwritten letter? It wouldn't do to have Irelin recognize her handwriting though. Fortunately, Hawke is more than happy to pitch in and copy the letter. Unfortunately, Hawke's handwriting looks like chicken scratches, so Aveline has to step in and repeat the exercise.

Naturally, they also need a return address; a dead-drop, so to speak, to make sure the mysterious admirer's identity remains a mystery. If it wasn't edging toward winter, the abandoned squirrel nest in the big oak tree between the canteen and building C5 would have made a marvelous dead-drop, but as it is, any letter left in there would be soaked or blown away before they could retrieve it. Good thing Dorian loves a good intrigue, so the menu stand on the unpopular table closest to the customer restroom becomes their improvised letterbox.

Rook feels a little like a secret agent when she sneaks up to the fourth floor, trying her best to look casual on her way to room 418. She briefly considers humming the mission impossible theme, but decides against it. Bellara and Neve are keeping watch from the stairs, following her every move. When another pair of students approaches, she pretends to drop something, proceeding to check her fingernails when she rises. Only when the possible witnesses have passed around the corner does she walk the last few steps to the right apartment as quietly as she can, before crouching down to slide their letter under the door.
As soon as it disappears, she sprints back to the stairwell — like a kid playing Ding Dong Ditch, and they all hurry down to their own floor, giggling like teenagers.

Whatever else this is, at this stage, it is highly entertaining.

---

The weather only gets worse over the next couple of days, reaching its peak on Friday with gale force winds and torrential rain. As a result, business at the Lighthouse is slow. Which is a good thing, really, because it's Evka's afternoon off, and Dorian's car has picked the worst possible day to have a battery failure, so Rook and Antoine are supervising the café alone. He's gotten a lot better at navigating his crutches in the kitchen, and Rook has some practice in handling both orders and serving by herself now. It's really not so bad so long as it's not rush-hour.

Technically, Bellara is also there, but she isn't on shift, meeting with Anders to check on his kitten instead. He came in wearing one of these cheap, transparent rain overcoats that make you look like a cheaply wrapped barbie doll, but it did keep him — and the kitten — dry underneath, so he doesn't care how he looks (and more than one drenched student looks at him enviously as he comes in).

The kitten has a name now — Sir Pounce-A-Lot — and is looking more lively every day. At roughly two weeks, its eyes and ears are open now and it's trying to take its first few steps whenever Anders takes it out of his pockets. Fortunately, it still spends most of the day asleep.
"Ohhh look at his little feet!"
What started as a serious developmental assessment has quickly devolved into kitten adoration hour, especially as there's not much else going on.
The tiny little feet try to carry it across the table to take a closer look at Bellara's fingers. "How does he do in class? Are you having a lot of trouble with that?"
"He's mostly asleep, and I keep a thermos in my backpack for when he isn't. Keeping his existence a secret from my teachers didn't work as well as I had hoped, but it turns out that sticking to a strict 'no pets in class' rule is pretty difficult when half your class will scream bloody murder at you if you suggest someone this small should be left outside."
There's a smug grin on Anders' face, and while he still looks like he could use at least a week's worth of sleep, he seems a lot more content now.
"Fatherhood suits you," Rook remarks with a grin when she swings by to collect their empty cups, making him blush.

Lace is also there, without Professor Tethras for once (he didn't want to brave the weather just for good coffee). She is utterly unperturbed by the storm outside with her heavy duty hiking boots and her serious rain coat, regaling Neve with some gossip from behind the scenes. She's already received her share of cookies from Rook today, who will likely remain grateful for her quick help the other day for as long as she works at the Lighthouse.

Davrin was in shortly a little earlier, but couldn't stay - Assan has a little too much fun with the rain, and he didn't want any of the other patrons getting drenched while sitting inside. Being caretaker of a water loving pup is its on circle of hell in this weather.

It's just after 6 pm when Lucanis bursts through the door (the wind being what it is), looking a bit like a drowned cat. His hair clings to his skull and his nice coat is dripping on the hardwood floor as he stares balefully at the remains of his umbrella.
Rook comes around the counter with a clean dish towel.
"Take this, and give me your coat. You can leave your sorry umbrella by the door."
"I suppose there's very little chance of anyone wanting to steal it in this state," he remarks ruefully and accepts the dishtowel. "What do you want with my coat though?"
"The kitchen is warm and well aired and much easier to mop than the seating area," she replies with a wink.
"Oh. Right."
He starts toweling his hair while Rook takes his dripping coat to the employee rack in the kitchen, leaving a trail of water behind. When she ducks back through the door, she pours him a large cup of Andoral's Breath, pointedly ignoring his attempt to pay for it, earning a resigned grin for her efforts.
"Will you ever let me pay for my coffee again?"
"Maybe. Probably not anytime soon though."
He shakes his head with an air of exasperated fondness and hands back the now decidedly damp dishtowel. His sweater is a little also damp around the shoulders, too, sticking to his skin, and his hair is a mess, and Rook has to fight the urge to comb her hands through it.
"Wouldn't it have been smarter to just head home if you broke your umbrella?" she blurts instead.
"The Lighthouse was closer than my apartment, so I thought I could warm up a little and hope that it'll be marginally less miserable outside when you close."
"Ok, that's fair. Have a cookie." She pushes one of heir last dark chocolate ones over the counter, having noticed a preference the last time he came over on cookie day.
He opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it again, offering her a smile instead as he accepts the small pastry. "Thank you."

He finds a seat just as Anders gets ready to leave, stuffing Sir-Pounce-A-Lot back into his pocket before closing his coat and slipping back under his cheap raincoat.
"Thanks again, Bellara. Bye Rook!" He waves to them, and then ducks through the door, letting another gust of cold, wet air inside.
Bellara looks after him for a moment. "He better not get the baby wet," she mutters under her breath, before rising to amble over to the counter.
"Need any help, Rook?"
"Nah, it's fine. I mean, look around; I highly doubt we'll get any sort of last-minute rush in this weather." And aside from Neve, Lace, Bellara and Lucanis, there were less than a handful of other students still milling around, each obviously dreading the moment they had to step back outside.
"You're probably right. Can I have another cookie? One of the chocolate ones?"
"Sure. Here, have the last one."
"Nice." Bellara takes a bite, humming with pleasure. Antoine chooses that moment to come out of the kitchen, drying his hands on another dishtowel.
"Do you like it, Bellara? I put some brandy with the chocolate this time, like you suggested."
"Yes, it's amazing! You're a kitchen saint, you know that?"
Antoine blushes at the compliment and turns to Rook. "The kitchen is all clean now. Well, except for the puddle by the coat rack, but that's taken care off quickly enough."
"You're a gem, Antoine, really."
"I think I'll head home," Bellara says then, "try to hide the kale before Aveline comes back. I don't think I can take another kale dinner."
Rook snickers. "Good luck!"

One person leaving always works like a magic signal to everyone else. Maybe 10 minutes later, Lace knocks on the table and bids them goodnight, with Neve following suit (but not without telling Rook to look out for falling branches on her way home).
And then over the next 20 minutes, all their remaining customers filter out the door one after another, until Lucanis is the only one left.
It's 18:50 now, and Dorian still hasn't shown up.

"Rook, is it alright if I head home? If I go now, I think I can still catch the earlier bus."
Antoine has his coat in hand, looking between Rook and the door.
"Sure, go ahead. I have to wait until Dorian shows anyhow, makes no sense for you to miss your bus when there's nothing to do, really." Rook has already cleaned up all the tables and put all the leftovers away (she'll be taking half of them home, just in case Bellara couldn't hide the kale quickly enough).
"Thank you. Be safe and have a good night! See you around, Lucanis!"

And then it's only the two of them.

"Ah, should I go? You should be closing around this time, right?" Lucanis has closed his laptop and is looking uncomfortable. A short glance toward the large windows shows that the rain hasn't notably eased up, though it is perhaps a smidgen less windy.
"Don't worry about it, I can't lock up without Dorian anyway. You can keep me company. You can help me put up the other chairs though, if you like."
She has turned the sign on the door to closed now — no sense in tempting fate (or some lunatic with a late craving for coffee) — and is starting to put the first chairs on their tables for a proper sweep of the floor.
"Of course!"
It takes much less time with two people, and a few minutes later, Rook grabs the broom from the kitchen.
"Any way I can help with that? I feel bad, just watching you work."
"You sit around while I work here all the time, Lucanis," Rook teases.
"Point taken. But this feels different."
"I'm afraid we only have the one broom. I'd be happy to raise the issue with Dorian though, if you're volunteering for clean-up duty?"
"Ah, well, that's not …"
She chuckles, and he sits down again with a rueful smile.

Once she's put away the broom, she saunters over to his table and plops down into the chair opposite him.
"Hey."
"Hey." He can't help but smile when she's grinning at him like that.
"So what brings someone like you to a place like this?"
He snorts.
"Oh, you know. I couldn't resist the allure of good coffee."
"Hmm, somehow, you strike me like the kind of person who has coffee at home, too."
"I do. But the Lighthouse keeps a wider selection."
"I see."

For a moment, she just smirks at him, and he can feel himself smirking back.
"How are you doing, Rook?"
"You mean when I'm not suddenly left alone with rush-hour? Pretty good, actually. I'm getting used to the whole roommate thing, even though some of our dinners are definitely an acquired taste, and I think I've found a decent rhythm for my studying. Could do with more actually quiet spaces in the library though. And more step ladders. How about you?"
He huffs an amused breath. "I'll second the library comment. I could do with less 4 hour lectures, but it is what it is. Not having a roommate is pretty nice, too. At least no two-legged one."
"You have pets?"
"A cat. Spite. I swear he's a little demon in disguise, but I guess it's nice to have someone waiting at home who does not drag his dating drama to my door every weekend."
"Sounds like you had a shitty roommate before."
A smirk pulls at his lips at the thought of relaying this conversation to Illario. "Something like that. He's not terrible, we're just too old to live together anymore."
"Family?"
"My cousin, yes."

She leans her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her stapled fingers.
"Maybe you just need better roommates."
He's almost certain she's flirting with him now, or maybe she's just pretending to be, having some fun. The not-knowing makes his stomach feel like an anthill.
"So I can have kale for dinner more often?"
That startles a laugh out of her, bubbling past her lips in a wave of delight. He likes making her laugh. She's less disorienting when she laughs.
"Ok, fair point. What do you like to cook?"
He thinks for a moment. "I grew up on Antivan cuisine, so that feels comfortable, but I like switching things up, too. And Antoine has some interesting ideas about baking that I'd like to try out at some point."
"Well, if you need someone to taste-test, I wouldn't say no. I'm a glutton, I can always eat."
His smile widens. "I'll keep that in mind."
A memory of Rook licking waffle batter off her fingertips alights at the back of his mind, and he can't help but glance at her lips. His throat feels dry all of a sudden.
"Lucanis?"
"Hm?"
"I asked if you have a favourite recipe."
"Oh. Right, sorry. I think that changes with my mood that day? I really liked grilled Treviso with citrus sauce growing up, and I first learned how to cook because I wanted to know how to make churros."
"Feels like a good reason to me!"

It is 19:30 when Dorian finally steps through the door, but they've barely noticed the time, talking about favourite dishes and music preferences and what pets they wanted when they were children. Rook has a soft sport for muscial soundtracks, for example, and Lucanis admits that he likes rock ballads. He feels reluctant to leave, and not just because it is still raining outside.

Rook fetches both their coats as Dorian goes over the register and the day's earnings, and on a whim, she hands Lucanis her umbrella along with his coat.
"Here, take this. You can't really use your own, after all."
"I can't take your umbrella! You'll get soaked!"
"It's not as bad as it was earlier, and I just need to run across the plaza and I'm home free. You live outside campus, right?"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean …"
"I insist."
"Rook, you shouldn't …"
"I mean it. Either you take it, or I leave it here for Dorian."
— "I don't need your umbrella, Rook," rings Dorian's voice from behind the counter.
Lucanis frowns. Unfortunately — fortunately — he has some experience with her stubbornness by now.
"Alright, if you insist."
And then she's grinning again, wishing him (and Dorian) a good night, and dashes out into the night-dark evening.

Chapter Text

When Lucanis walks into the Lighthouse early Sunday afternoon, Rook isn't there. He tried to return her umbrella yesterday, only to be informed that Rook has Saturdays off and should be back on Sunday afternoon. It's remained mostly dry since Saturday morning, but he would still prefer to not be the cause for her getting caught in the rain. Evka smirks when she notices his searching gaze. "Sorry Lucanis. Rook called in sick earlier."
He blinks. "Is she alright?"
That's when Bellara slips around the back of the counter, having just cleared a few tables. "It's just a cold. She started sniffling some time yesterday, but she had a light fever this morning, so I took over her shift."
A sense of guilt drops like stones in his stomach. If he hadn't accepted her umbrella, she wouldn't have gotten wet on her way home. I she hadn't gotten rained on, she wouldn't be sick right now.
"Do you want me to pass something on?" she asks in response to the perturbed look on his face.
"Ah, yes. I was meaning to return her umbrella. Mine broke on Friday, and she insisted that I take hers because I have the longer walk home."
Bellara begins to hold out her hand, then stops as a crafty smile steals over her face. "You know, you could just drop it off at the dorm, if you have time. I bet she wouldn't mind."
Lucanis frowns. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother her, especially when she's not feeling well."
"I'm pretty sure she's bored anyway and wouldn't say no to a little distraction."
He hesitates, caught between the desire to check on Rook and the concern that it would be inappropriate and unwelcome to just show up at her doorstep unannounced.
"We're in apartment 312, on the third floor," Bellara informs him, right as Evka pushes a paper bag in his direction. "Here, take her some waffles."
He reflexively accepts the paper bag. "You're certain that …?"
"What, that my sick colleague deserves some waffles? Absolutely."
His eyes flicker over to Bellara, who nods emphatically.
"Alright …"
Still a little uncertain, we walks out the door, completely forgetting to get any coffee for himself.

Bellara and Evka look after him, both grinning like the cat that got the canary.
"So we're on the same page here, right? That he likes her?"
"What, Mr. 'I'm only sticking around when Rook is on shift'? Who skipped class to work behind the counter without getting paid because she was having a bad day? Noooo, why would you think that?"

---

The waffles are decidedly cold by the time Lucanis makes it to room 312, because he had to make a little detour. He feels responsible for Rook's illness, so it's only fair if he tries to do something about it. She had mentioned that meals in her shared apartment could be a little dicey, and that she wasn't much of a cook herself, so a pot of good chicken soup should do nicely. And if you go to the trouble of making fresh soup, you may as well do it properly and make enough for everyone; anything else would be both impolite and impractical. He's lucky the grocery store two blocks down is even open on Sundays.

Only now it feels weird to stand in front of her door with an umbrella, a handful of waffles and a bag of soup ingredients. What is he even supposed to say? 'Hi, I wanted to return your umbrella and I thought I could make you soup since you're sick?'
Which is when the next door to left left opens, revealing Rook's friend Neve, who has no reservations about knocking on the door he is currently staring at like a dog that may or may not bite if approached. Or not knocking, as it were; "Hi Lucanis," she throws over her shoulder as she simply turns the doorknob and strides inside. "Hey Rook, can I borrow your scissors? I think mine have grown Elek-shaped legs again."
"Sure, go ahead," croaks Rook's voice from somewhere to the right, before she steps into view wearing a faded looking bathrobe over baggy sweatpants and fuzzy unicorn slippers, holding a mug that says 'Partner in Crime'.

When she spots Lucanis in the hallway, she stops, a baffled expression on her face. "Uh, hi Lucanis."
"Hello, Rook." He gives an awkward wave with the hand not holding the groceries.
Neve has disappeared into the apartment by now, clearly unconcerned with his presence.
"I'm sorry for showing up unannounced, but Bellara said I should just stop by to return your umbrella, and I thought I could make soup, because you're sick?" It sounds even worse when he says if out loud, and there is a bout of snickering from somewhere inside the apartment, making him wince. "I feel a little responsible for your cold, seeing how you got rained on because of me."
Rook steps closer to the door, still looking decidedly bemused. "I didn't get sick because I got a little wet on Friday, I got sick because the girl sitting next to me in Common History was coughing up a storm."
For a moment, she just stares at him, brows pulled down in that thoughtful expression that makes him feel like a puzzle she's trying to solve.
"But I guess I wouldn't say no to some soup. Come in?" She steps out of the doorway and deeper into the apartment, expecting him to follow.
So he does.
After a short hall, the apartment opens up into a small but cozy looking common area combining kitchen and living room, and two more short hallways to the left and right of the living room lead to several other doors, presumably the individual bedrooms. There's the requisite amount of clutter one would expect from a student dorm, but the kitchen is surprisingly clean. (Which is not the regular state of affairs, but Rook had a lot of time on her hands today and too much cotton in her head to concentrate on her studies.)

Neve reappears out of a door to the left, takes one look at them and smirks. "Thanks again, Rook," she sais, waving the scissors in her left hand, before sauntering out into the hall. "Have fun, kids!"

They look after her, then at each other, then away.
"I'll be right back," Rook mumbles, before placing her cup on the dining table and disappearing through another door, and Lucanis busies himself by emptying his grocery bag on the kitchen counter.
He doesn't see Rook frantically splashing water on her face and brushing her hair in the bathroom, nor does he hear her asking her mirror self if it would be too weird to put on a bra and change into something that makes her look less like a slob. To be honest, he doesn't even notice the difference when she returns, having decided against a change of clothes (he's already here, he's already seen her, and it's not like she's trying to impress him, right?).

"Uhm, you want to hang your coat on the coat rack?" With all her roommates out and about, there's actually space for once, and Lucanis briefly interrupts his rummaging around the kitchen to divest himself of his coat (somehow, he had completely forgotten about that).
"Do you have a cutting board?" he asks when he is done, and Rook opens a drawer to hand him one, then crouches down next to the sink to pull out a pot. "Is that one ok?"
He ducks down next to her, looking into the cabinet. "I think that one is better," and pulls out a bigger one. Which is when she really looks at the ingredients he's piled on the counter for the first time.
"That is way too much stuff for just one person."
"You can't really make soup for just one person unless you want to eat nothing else for the rest of the week. But you have roommates, right? And you mentioned something about dinner sometimes being a little dicey? So I thought it would be ok."
"Uh, sure. I mean, I bet Aveline won't mind not having to cook when there's already something healthy on the menu, and I know that Hawke and Bellara won't turn down a free meal either. In fact, you may not be getting rid of us again once you've fed us." It's easier to say us than me, but judging by the way he ducks his head and smiles, he may have gotten the message anyway.

And then he gets to work cutting carrots and onions and leek and celeriac and a whole stewing hen (the herbs come later).
Rook leans against the counter, watching. "You don't believe in ready-made stuff, do you?"
For the first time since he came in, he smirks. "Not generally, no."
She smirks back. "It would be a lot less work though!"
"A lot less aromatic, too."
Shaking her head, Rook moves over to where she left her cup. "I'll put on some music." When she puts her phone into the speaker set-up, "Let it Go" begins to blast through the kitchen, and she hastily fumbles for the pause button and switches playlists, feeling her ears go red. A quick glance over to the kitchen reveals Lucanis trying to suppress a grin.
"Ok, so I may have been listening to Disney best-of's to distract me from my cold."
"I don't mind. It's your home, after all. That reminds me," and he turns, fishing something else out of his bag. "Evka asked me to bring you some waffles? The soup will take a while."
"Ohhh nice!" Rook darts over to snatch the paper bag out of his hand, then retreats back to the dining table. "I don't want to give you my cold," she explains around a mouthful of waffle. Definitely not because it's weird to have him suddenly standing in her kitchen, cutting vegetables to cook soup for her. Or because she wouldn't know how close she's allowed to stand, and doesn't want to spook him, so she settles for watching him from her chair by the table.

"Do you cook fresh every day?"
Now he does smirk at her. "Is that really so strange? But no, not every day. I usually have leftovers the day after, because making only one portion at a time is a waste of resources, but having the same thing for three or four days in a row isn't an attractive option either."
"But you never just order pizza?"
"Why order pizza when I can make pizza? It's not difficult."
"But then you wouldn't have to waste time prepping things and cleaning up afterwards!"
"I don't mind that. It keeps me busy."
She shakes her head again. "Do you cook for your cat, too?"
"I tried, but he wouldn't eat it. He's perfectly happy to steal from my plate though, but I'm not as happy to clean that mess afterwards."
She chuckles, ending in a cough, so she takes another sip from her tea. It's almost cold now, but she doesn't feel like getting up to make a new cup.
"How are you feeling, Rook?"
She tilts her head this way and that. "Still a little mushy, but the company is nice." Her words settle like good soup into his stomach — warm and comforting and maybe a little spicy, leaving a tingling feeling behind.

Tack tack tack, goes his knife on the wooden board. He's much more skilled at this than anyone else she knows (save perhaps Antoine, but she usually only sees him bake).
"Will your roommates be back soon?" Lucanis wants to know.
Rook tilts her head, thinking. "Aveline left for the gym an hour ago, so maybe? She sometimes goes for drinks afterwards though, or smoothies, or whatever people who are really into staying in shape drink after a workout. Bellara is still on shift until 6 pm, and I'm not entirely sure where Hawke went, but I think she might be seeing someone, and even if she's not, she'll be more than happy to not have to cook today. As will the rest of us, for that matter. Why?"
"It just occurred to me that it's their kitchen, too, and I don't want to be imposing."
"Lucanis, I told you, you're feeding us. No one will mind."
Rook still can't quite wrap her head around the fact that he's just standing here, in her kitchen, cooking, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. But maybe it is, to him; he seems to relax more the longer he stands there, cutting things into surprisingly regular shapes.
Perhaps she should interrogate this more — what drove him to come here to make soup for her. No one has ever swung by just to cook for her when she was sick; her parents couldn't even afford to miss work most of the time, once she was old enough to be trusted with the microwave. But trying to pin him down might make him leave, and she rather likes having him here.

It takes an hour until everything has found its way into the pot and is set to simmer, but at the end of that hour, he has managed to shake off most of his nerves. Just in time, the apartment door opens, spilling Aveline into the short hallway, who does a double-take after calling a general greeting inside.
"Hey Aveline, this is Lucanis — Lucanis, Aveline."
Lucanis waves from his spot by the stove. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." She still looks a more than a little baffled to find a stranger cooking a large pot of soup in her kitchen.
"Lucanis was feeling responsible for my cold and was kind enough to make enough soup for everyone."
"Huh. So I don't have to cook tonight?"
"Yep."
"Cool." And with that, she disappears into her room, only to come out again a few seconds later. "I'm taking a shower!" "Have fun!"

Rook turns back to Lucanis with a grin. "Told you!"
"Ah, but they're not all back yet."
She rolls her eyes. "Hawke is even worse than me in a kitchen, and you know Bellara."
He chuckles. "Alright, I concede."
It feels oddly domestic, with the smell of fresh soup in the air and some feel-good playlist resounding from the speakers and the faint sound of running water from the bathroom. Rook has never really thought about Lucanis in this context, but it suits him.

"Do you often cook for friends?"
He has his back to her, stirring the pot. "Not really? I used to cook for my cousin when we lived together, and sometimes for his guests, but I don't … I don't entertain much." His shrug looks mostly nonchalant, but something there snags at Rook's awareness.
"Are you saying you don't often have people over, or that you don't have a lot of people you'd want to have over?"
"Little bit of column a, little bit of column b."
"But how?! You're kind, and funny, and generous. You should have lots of friends!"
He's quiet, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and she feels like an idiot.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry," she mutters, curling in on herself like she's trying to shrink into her chair. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable when you've just started to relax.
When he finally turns, she can see that his cheeks have turned a delicate shade of pink — or could, if she wasn't so busy looking down at her cup in shame. Lucanis hopes that his complexion will be attributed to the heat rising off of the pot of soup he's been stirring; he's probably blushing more today than he has in years.
"It's ok, Rook. And thank you." His lopsided smile makes her heart do funny little circus tricks.

Which is when the apartment door opens once more, admitting a flustered looking Hawke inside. "Hey Rook, hey — uh …"
"Lucanis", he offers, before Rook can jump in.
"Hi, Lucanis," Hawke echoes, shooting Rook a curious look.
"Lucanis is a friend," Rook explains, "and he graciously offered to make soup to help with my cold. But because you can apparently never make fresh soup for just one person, Aveline doesn't need to cook tonight."
"Friend, huh?" Hawke grins.
"Yes."
"Sure. But hey, so long as I don't have to eat another variation of kale tonight." She kicks off her boots and drops her jacket on a chair.
"So how was your date?" Rook calls after her as she saunters over to her room.
"What date?" Hawke calls back before closing the door to her room.

"Ah, your roommates are very …"
"Obnoxious? Yeah. They're nice though. And at least we won't have to do this a third time, because Bellara already knows you."
He chuckles. "She did send me here, yes."

A few minutes later, Hawke returns and begins to fiddle with the music before plopping down next to Rook. "That smells really good. So how long until we can eat?"
Lucanis gives the pot another stir. "Maybe another 10 minutes."
Hawke claps her hands together. "Awesome! So what do you do, Lucanis?"
He blinks. "What do you mean?"
"Like, when you're not making soup for my roommate."
"Ah. I'm studying economics."
"Hmm. What focus?"
"Hawke, stop interrogating him," Rook interjects when she notices Lucanis tensing up.
"What? I'm just asking about his subject!"
Off to the side, the bathroom door opens, releasing vanilla scented steam and Aveline into the hallway before she crosses the few steps to her own room, pulling the door close behind her.
"It's fine, Rook," he says quietly. "I'm leaning towards management."
"Looking to make the big bucks, huh?" Hawke observes with a smirk, and he stills, clearly uncomfortable.
"Everyone likes money, Hawke," Rook states with a roll of her eyes. "I saw you ogling that guitar last week, and that thing is easily 200 bucks."
Hawke sighs. "Yes, but it's sooo shiny."
"Do you play?" Lucanis wants to know.
"Not as well as I'd like, but I bet I would be motivated to practice more with a beauty like that!"
Rook snorts.
"I'm serious! We could make a band. I know Isabela has a great singing voice, and Fenris plays bass, and I bet we could find someone who does drums."
"So long as you don't plan to practice in here," Aveline interjects as she ambles into the kitchen, damp hair in her customary braid down her back.

Because she's Aveline, she immediately starts clearing away some of the clutter that inevitably accumulated on and around the dining table. "How are we supposed to have dinner here when you keep leaving your notebooks all over the table, Rook? And stop using the chairs as your personal wardrobe, Hawke!"
"Yes, mother," they echo in unison and set to taking their things back to their own rooms. When they return, Lucanis declares the soup good to eat.
"I'll get out of your hair then," he remarks, turning to get his coat.
Rook hurries after him. "What? Nononono, you can't just spend over an hour cooking for us and then leave! What were you planning to do, just go home to cook something else?"
"Yes?"
"That's ridiculous, just sit down and eat with us!"
He hesitates, glancing around at her roommates. Hawke is already grabbing plates and spoons, and Aveline has taken charge of the ladle. Both look at him expectantly.
"I mean, how do we know you didn't poison the soup if you won't eat it?" Hawke suggests with a grin, earning herself a glare from Aveline.
"Hawke!"
The corner of Lucanis mouth twitches. "If you insist."

It's nice, not to eat alone for once. Hawke is a bit obnoxious, but not in a bad way, and Aveline does feel like the kind of older sister who was born a grown-up, but they seem to get along well, and Rook is smiling, and maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

---

When Bellara comes home at 6:30 (there was an unexpected late-rush at the Lighthouse), the soup is set to keep warm on the stove, and everyone else has already put their plates away. Rook is dozing on the couch (she meant to read a book, but she was warm and sated and comfortable and anyway, her head was still busy digesting the afternoon), waking when she hears the door fall closed with a clang (because someone left a window open again).
"Hey, Bellara," she calls out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "You just missed Lucanis."
"Oh, did he stick around for a while?"
"He made soup."
"Wait, what?" Bellara's eyes find the the pot on the stove. "Wasn't it Aveline's turn to cook?"
"Yeah, but Lucanis felt bad for me catching a cold after I bullied him into taking my umbrella, so he made soup. A giant pot of fresh chicken soup. In our kitchen."
"Huh. I didn't now he cooked."
"I technically did, but this was still … unexpected."
"Yeah, I guess most people don't just show up at your door to cook for you when you're not feeling well." When Rook looks up at her, Bellara is grinning from ear to ear.
"You're welcome."
"Oh, hush."

Chapter Text

The rain has turned into sleet when Irelin leaves the first return letter at the Lighthouse dead drop. Evka spots it first, the slip of white envelope peeking out from the table display next to the bathroom door. Of course, now comes the tricky part: They don't want anyone else to pick up the letter, but they don't want to be too obvious about collecting it either. So they play it smart, keep watch, and when the tables around it need cleaning up, Rook walks over to snatch it up (Bellara is too jittery, there's no way she'd be able to play it cool).
They congregate in the kitchen after, Rook and Bellara, leaving Evka to man the register with the promise of details later. Turns out Bellara is a good writer — of fake love letters, at the very least. Irelin is cautiously hooked, wanting to learn more about her secret admirer.

Later that evening, they meet in Bellara's room to discuss strategy — or rather, what to write back now that Irelin has swallowed the bait. She wants to know something about what her admirer looks like, of course.
"How about you focus on details that don't give anything away — like the color of your eyes, or a favourite accessory, or a piece of jewelry you wear all the time?" Neve suggests.
"But that doesn't tell her anything she wants to know," Rana interjects. She got curious and couldn't stay away.

"I know, that's the whole point."

"No, this is brilliant!" Bellara begins to scribble some ideas into her notebook. "How about … a moon pendant, because it reminds me of her smile? Soft and radiant, even in the dark."

"Ok, that is very romantic," Rook agrees with a grin. "Make sure to add something about how you'll miss catching glimpses of her from afar during the winter break."

"Right, that's in two weeks already isn't it? I almost forgot!"

"It does have a tendency to sneak up on you. Got all your First Day gifts yet?"

Rana groans. "Maker, I completely forgot about that. How did I completely forget about that?"

Rook grins. "I bet Neve would help you look. She's the best at finding last-minute gifts."

"No guarantees when it comes to the reception of those gifts though — I'm still convinced my aunt wasn't actually all that into that Andraste-shaped nutcracker, but it was just too much fun to pass up," Neve argues, giving Rook the side-eye. She doesn't appreciate meddling, hypocrite that she is.
Rook did her gift-shopping early this year, certain that she'd forget about if she didn't do it as soon as she thought of something suitable. Her mother gets a nice, almost new sweater she found at the second hand store around the corner, and she got her father a good, fully equipped tool case that Bellara helped her pick out. The latter was a little more pricey than she would have liked, but he's been complaining about his old tools breaking down for years now. Neve gets a nice, leather-bound notebook, and her roommates and the Lighthouse crew will get home-made cookies. She isn't much of a cook — at all — but baking is like alchemy: So long as you follow the recipe to the letter, it's hard to go wrong. And she's made that particular one a couple of times over the years.

She wants to give some to Lucanis, too, but hasn't quite made up her mind if that's too forward or not. He hasn't really made a move ever since he came over to make soup, as if that one act of ludicrous kindness had used up all of his courage.

When Bellara has finished her letter, they draw straws to determine who has to sneak up to Irelin's apartment to deliver it. Neve got the short one this time, somehow managing to look entirely nonchalant as she strides along the fourth floor hallway, right until she has to crouch down to slide the letter under the door. Afterwards, she dashes back just as quickly as Rook had, hoping that the uneven sound of her artificial leg doesn't give her away. Rook still isn't entirely sure if she feels like a part in a sitcom or a spy movie, but it's fun. And hey, it's not like they're hurting anyone — Irelin will feel pleased and flattered the entire time, and then it's just some good old payback, right?

The impending holidays begin to settle like a curtain over the campus; everyone seems just a little more busy and distracted, tying to cram in some more study lessons at the library and then spending half of it just chatting. More than one lecturer remembers that it's really not that long until exam season anymore, especially with the two week break, and assigns last minute classwork, meaning more laptops and notebooks at the Lighthouse than usual. Judging by the conversations floating around the space, Rana isn't the only one who hasn't arranged all her gifts yet, and the overall mood alternates between dread and excitement.

Dorian is unusually morose; the Lighthouse will be closed over the winter break, because Rook and Bellara won't be the only ones going home. Antoine and Evka have family to visit, too, and are owed some nice, relaxing quality time alone on top of it. It's not that he begrudges them the time, and he isn't exactly hurting for funds, either — the Lighthouse isn't the only business he has stakes in, and money begets more money when you play your cards right. But he's required to visit his own family, too, unless he wants them to make an effort to make his life difficult, and that's always a recipe for disaster. He hasn't been close to his parents for years (long before he decided to quit his law school career, to be honest), and family gatherings are always a prime opportunity for comparisons and accusations. Fun for the whole family. It doesn't exactly help that he's between boyfriends, either, part of him still aching for the one that got away.

Rook did end up making enough cookies to give a little sachet to Lucanis, too. The whole apartment had been filled with the scent of sugar and cinnamon, and it had been nigh impossible to keep all her roommates from stealing either bits of batter or barely cooled cookies (Hawke being the main perpetrator), but she had erred on the side of "too many cookies" for good reason (you could never have too many cookies).

Now she stands behind the counter, fidgeting as she keeps glancing over to his table between coffee and muffin orders, waiting for a lull in customers. It's like everyone wants to make sure they get their fill before the two week holiday break. Tomorrow is the last day of classes before the winter break, and she isn't sure if he'll still come by in the afternoon or if he'll be leaving early. Plenty of people do — Hawke and Aveline are already mostly packed, ready to head home as soon as their Friday classes end. Rook will be taking the train together with Neve on Saturday (Bellara will, too, just in a different direction). As a result, today seems like the best bet to hand over her gift, and she's starting to feel nervous.

Finally, the onslaught of customers slows to a drizzle, and she asks Dorian if she can take five, dipping back into the kitchen to retrieve her cookies at his nod. Lucanis is scowling down at his laptop when she slinks over to his table, only looking up when she pulls out a chair for herself.
"Everything alright?" she asks as she sits down, the little sachet of cookies cradled in her lap, out of view. His startled expression melts into a lopsided smile, the one that always makes her ears go a little red as warmth pools in her stomach.

"My cousin is being an idiot, again, but it's no trouble."

"Can't escape family," she replies with a crooked grin of her own. "Are you going home over the holidays?"

He nods. "Together with my cousin, yes. I think our grandmother would disown us if we didn't; First Day and the night leading up to it are always a big event."

"Having a party?"

"Something like that. What about you?"

"No big party, though we do usually gather with our neighbours in the street to watch the fireworks. That is, I am going home, yes — my parents always take at least a week off this time of year, and I usually spend some time with Neve and her family, too. It's cozy."

"That sounds nice." That lopsided smile has grown into a real one, softening the hard angles of his face, and for a moment, she's at a loss on how to continue. Then she takes a deep breath, lifting her cookies onto the table.

"I don't know your traditions, but we usually exchange gifts with friends and family for First Day, so I wanted to give you this."
The surprise is back on his face, eyes wide and mouth hanging open for a second. "I … for me?"

"You made soup for me," she blurts, feeling her ears go red again, and maybe her cheeks, too. "I don't cook — you wouldn't like the result — but I do bake cookies, so I thought … well, I know you're not super into sweet things," because she'd noticed his ordering habits, "but I'm not good at anything else, and I didn't want to do nothing, and I guess you don't have to eat them if you don't want to."
She almost pulls the sachet back, suddenly convinced that this was a terrible idea, when she feels his hand cover hers, just for a second before he pulls it back again, almost as if he startled himself as much as he startled her.

"No, it's fine! That is, thank you, I do appreciate the cookies." He does grab the little satchel when she lets go of it, careful not to crush the small cinnamon stars within. Then his face scrunches up, looking genuinely contrite.
"I'm sorry. I didn't get you anything."

"That's ok, you've already given me plenty," she says, unable to contain her smile, before getting up in a hurry. "So, uhm, I guess I should get back to work. Have a nice winter break, Lucanis!"
And with that, she flees back behind the counter and into the kitchen, definitely not trying to hide the blush she can feel overtaking her entire face, leaving a somewhat befuddled Lucanis behind.

Dorian will be teasing her mercilessly about that.

On Saturday morning, she stands next to Neve on the train platform, shivering in the cold morning wind. Whoever designed this train station did not have to spend any time here in winter. Fortunately, it's not long until their train arrives — they timed their arrival well, and for once there's no delay to contend with, though the cars are, for some reason, hooked up in reverse order, making it difficult to find their seats. They both drop down with a sigh once they've stowed their luggage in the overhead compartments (made for tall people, because of course they are), taking a moment to soak in the warmth inside the train.

It's a strange feeling, going home again. Objectively, it's really only been a couple of months, but she feels different than the Rook who set out back at the end of Kingsway; not necessarily older (her birthday was back in Harvestmere) but maybe a little wiser, and definitely more grown up for being fully responsible for taking care of her own life (and dishes, and laundry, and sometimes her roommates' dishes, too). It's not like she hasn't done any of those things when she still lived at home, but somehow, sharing those duties with your parents feels different than sharing them with a bunch of strangers who are not obligated to love you and clean up after you if you don't feel like it.

"What's going through that head of yours?" Neve asks with a smirk.

"Oh, you know. The inevitability of dishes, and how weird it feels to go home again and be a daughter instead of a roommate."

Neve laughs. "Yeah, that'll get you every time."
They chat about their class assignments after that — because maker forbid dedicated university students enjoy two weeks of family time without some research or paper to keep them busy — and what they're looking forward to the most about their return to the nest. Neve is glad not to make the journey alone this year, and their 90 minutes of travel time seem to fly by.

Rook's parents are overjoyed to welcome her home, having missed their only daughter terribly now that she's no longer a permanent fixture in their daily lives. They spend the days leading up to First Day catching up and playing board games and roping her into the kinds of small household projects that tend to keep piling up when you're working full time. The night leading up to First day is celebrated with a veritable feast — Rook's mum unearths their old hot pot set, because it's nice and communal and takes ages and you don't actually need to be a good cook to achieve a good meal. Afterwards, they stand outside with their neighbours, same as last year and the year before that and the year before that, counting down to midnight and then watching the fireworks together.

First Day itself is for gifts, and visiting your loved ones, meaning Rook spends half the day with Neve and her family.

"So how are things going with your paramour?" Neve asks as they sit in her room, demolishing the bag of sweets she got from her uncle for First Day.

"My what now?"

"You know. Lucanis."

Rook sighs, drooping backward onto Neve's mattress until she can hide under a pillow. "I don't know! He came over to make fucking soup for me when I was sick, but he hasn't made anything resembling a move since then! What if I'm just imagining things?"

"He also skipped class to cover for you, although I bet that boy hasn't worked a day in his life, and paid for your dinner when you were having a breakdown, and only sticks around at the Lighthouse when you're on shift."

"You don't know —"

"Yes I do, I asked Evka. That boy has a crush on you the size of Antiva."

Rook groans, the sound of her voice muffled by the pillow she keeps pressed to her face. "I mean, I think so, too? But then he deflects or retreats any time I try to actually flirt with him, and I have no idea what to do about that."

Neve shrugs. "So maybe he's shy. Just means you have to be the one to make the first move."

Rook lifts her pillow, glaring at Neve. "But what if it's all a big understanding and he's really just trying to be friendly?"

"Don't be ridiculous, you're too smart for that."

At which point Rook throws the pillow at her.
"So how are things with Rana?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Neve says, tucking the pillow behind her back.

"Sure you don't. What's your excuse?"

Neve sighs. "That she's my roommate and my friend? I happen to like my living situation. I don't want to make it weird."

"But what if you could make it better?" Rook needles, smirking at her friend, who snorts.

"Come on, when have relationships been anything but drama?"

"I'm sure the good ones must exist somewhere, else no one would bother anymore."

---

Lucanis is standing at his own kitchen counter, staring down at the little bag of cookies Rook gave him. Inside are a handful of little brown cinnamon stars topped with white glaze, utterly unremarkable and yet perfectly capable of making his heart stutter inside his chest. She made these. For him. Well, probably not specifically for him — he's pretty sure she gave more cookies to her colleagues and friends, too, but she also made sure to give some to him. Personally.
Curious, he opens the sachet and pulls out a single little star, plopping it into his mouth. It's crisp on the outside, but still soft and almost succulent on the inside, cinnamon and sugar and a hint of vanilla and nutmeg spreading on his tongue with every bite, sweet and a little spicy. Nothing special, as cookies go, and yet there's an unfamiliar warmth pooling in his stomach, sending tendrils of heat all the way from his toes to the tips of his ears.

He'd like to say that he's never been gifted home-made cookies before, but the truth of the matter is that there's been girls in high-school who've shoved little sachets much like this one at him around winter break, faces flushed and hands shaking, stammering something before rushing off again. He's never really understood why they'd want to give him cookies — he'd never been close to any of them — or why they'd been so nervous about it, only to have Illario laugh at him later when he told him about it. "That's the price of our good Dellamorte genes," his cousin had smirked, "doomed to attract attention. A terrible burden, really. Are you going to eat those?"
Most of the time, he had passed the cookies on to his cousin, because Rook was right: He really doesn't have much of a sweet tooth.

There's no way he'll be giving away a single one of her cookies though.

The cookies accompany him home — his family home, not his own apartment — and carry him through the winter break. They sit in his backpack on the back seat next to Spite's carrier while he drives, listening to his cousin's prattle and his cat's insistent protests for 3 hours straight. Turns out Illario's girlfriend dumped him just yesterday, and he isn't quite sure yet if his cousin is complaining about the fact that she dumped him, or about her dumping him before he could get around to it.
At least he knows that Spite is just complaining about the carrier, and the car, and the indignity of travel. He's hated the drive last year, too, hated it so much that he took a shit in his carrier in the middle of the highway and they had to live with the smell for another two hours, because cleaning it up inside the car was not an option if he didn't want Spite running wild while he was driving (or worse, escaping altogether). He's really hoping that Spite remembers the indignity of sitting on his own shit for two hours, too.

Caterina isn't too happy about him bringing his cat; she wasn't thrilled last year, either, but accepts that his pet can't simply stay on its own for two weeks and starve. She is happy about having her boys back home though, and demands a detailed summary of their exploits. Mostly, she just wants to hear about how their classes are going, and lays out plans for possible internships over the long summer break, because Maker forbid they just focus on their term papers and exams and then relax and take it easy for a couple of weeks.
He eats another cookie after he's closed the door to his room and let Spite out of his carrier, savoring the taste and the memory of Rook's smile as he watches a puffed up tail disappear under his bed. There were ten little cinnamon stars in the satchel. Now there's only eight left, so he'll have to pace himself.

Spite is not pleased at the change of scenery and being restricted to Lucanis' room only, though he does seem to enjoy sleeping on his bed. That doesn't stop him from indulging his zoomies at 4 am, scant hours after his human finally fell asleep. It's a good thing that their cook makes excellent coffee, even if it is served without the smile he's become far too accustomed to.

While Illario is out visiting old friends, Lucanis digs into the essay he's supposed to write over the holidays — something about the challenges inherent to working with international teams. It's actually interesting, reading about how people's cultural backgrounds inform their work ethic and practice. And it's maybe not too terrible that he doesn't have to remember to cook for and clean up after himself for a while, even if that means that he does have to keep his grandmother's hours.
What is strange is that his room begins to feel quiet after a few days — too quiet, almost lonely. He's never minded the silence before, has always preferred solitude to work and study, but over the past weeks, he's grown used to his frequent visits to the Lighthouse and the ambient noise of the other patrons, the smell of coffee and baked goods in the air.

Somehow, the taste of another one of Rook's cookies only makes it worse, this tight feeling in his chest, driving him outside despite the light drizzle and the crisp wind. Without a plan or a destination in mind (he doesn't really have old friends he wants to visit), he ends up wandering along the canals, pretty much following his nose to the markets. The lights, the scents, the people, the chatter — it helps, at least a little bit. If nothing else, it's distracting, and giving him some ideas about recipes he might like to try when he gets home.

"If you need someone to taste-test, I wouldn't say no."

He ends up buying some new spices before moving on, letting his feet carry him all the way to the harbor, and for a little while, he just stands on the quay wall, feeling the sea-salt spray on his face and the cold wind in his hair.

First Day festivities are a huge production again, same as every year, one of the few occasions when his grandmother's huge house is filled to bursting with life. The family portrait over the mantle shows more faces than are able to attend anymore, a reminder of all they have lost, but Caterina refuses to take it down. Lucanis isn't quite sure if it's pride or belief in her lost children still watching them from beyond the Veil, but at least he doesn't forget his parents' faces this way.

The great hall is bustling with activity, extended family and friends and business partners mingling, enjoying expensive champagne and and bite sized delicacies, and all the fruits of Caterina Dellamorte's hospitality. Where Lucanis was looking for a break from his room's silence a few days ago, now he longs for it. It's not just the number of people, or the general noise; it's that they all expect him to be the perfect heir, the poised, successful grandson; to be charming and smart and eloquent — after all, what else does he go to university for?
It's exactly the kind of event Illario excels at, except he can see that his cousin isn't entirely content with the measuring stares, either. At least Teia and Viago are there, too, their parents longtime friends of the family and treasured business partners of Dellamorte industrials. Teia was born for these nights, happy to redirect attention where necessary and basking in the admiration directed her way. And there is no denying that she looks beautiful; there is a reason why Illario keeps teasing Viago about how someone dour as him has bagged someone radiant like her.

Looking at them now, with Viago's arm around her waist and her laughing up at him, Lucanis thinks for the first time that maybe he'd like something like that, too. It's well past midnight when he goes to bed that night, the taste of another cinnamon star on his tongue and the memory of a pair of sparkling amber eyes at the back of his mind.

Chapter Text

Winter break has never felt this long. It's as if the last couple of days are dragging their feet, refusing to let the clock tick down to midnight. It doesn't help that Lucanis is done with all his classwork, that his grandmother keeps trying to pin him down on his summer plans, that Illario is going a little stir-crazy, too. He ate the last of Rook's cookies on Thursday, after he spent two hours chasing Spite through the villa when the little demon decided that he'd had quite enough of Lucanis' old room, too, and figured out how to open the door. He has to lock it now; his own door, even when he's inside, like a prisoner in his own room.
That's being overly dramatic, he's pretty sure it is, but he can't help the jittery feeling in his limbs, even after a good run. It's not really the weather for it — the wind keeps blowing in clouds, bringing rain (never snow here on the coast), leaving him drenched half the time, but that's nothing a hot shower can't cure.

Even Illario has caught on to his mood, trying to coax some answers out of him when they watch a movie Friday night, but somehow, "I haven't seen my favourite barista for two weeks and it's as if I'm holding my breath until she smiles at me again" doesn't feel like a reasonable answer.
"Lucanis is a friend," she said, but that label doesn't fit right, like it's both too tight and too loose at the same time.

On Saturday evening, they're having dinner with their grandmother again, like they had every day they've been here, but this time, she's summoned a five course dinner to lend their last night at home the proper gravitas, and Lucanis is about to scream. All he wants to do is go to his room and sleep, because sleep is like time travel, and when he gets up again, he can finally drive home — because at some point over the past three years, the family villa stopped being home, became a way station, like a museum or a graveyard that he just visits to remember. His own apartment may not have grown into a home quite yet, but at least he can just be himself there, doesn't need to fulfill any expectations but his own. And it doesn't hurt that it's in walking distance of the campus and the Lighthouse.

Illario is grumbling when Lucanis knocks on his door at 9 am the next morning, making sure that his cousin gets up in time for them to leave around 10. It's a compromise; Lucanis would have been gone by 8 if it had been up to him, impatient to leave, but there's no way he'd be able to rouse Illario that early and without a good explanation. This way, he can at least claim it's because of traffic.
Sheer determination keeps him from breaking every speed limit on the way home, dropping his cousin off at his flat at 13:20 (because Illario didn't see any reason to hurry, of course) and letting Spite out of his carrier at 13:30. Technically, Rook should be on shift since noon (he'd asked Dorian if the Lighthouse would be open this weekend), though it's entirely possible that she's still on her way back. It can't hurt to check though.

He's a little breathless when he arrives — there was no need to hurry, but his feet wouldn't slow down anyway — and the sound of the door chime shakes something loose behind his sternum. There's a short line at the register, more Lighthouse regulars returning to their favourite haunting. At first, he only sees Evka ringing up orders, feeling his mood falter for a breath, but then the kitchen door opens, allowing Rook to step through (bearing more waffle batter for the hungry horde), and his heart skips a beat.
She pours more batter into the waiting waffle irons, already pulling plates from the cupboard before Evka calls her over to switch places with a smirk. There's moment of puzzlement before she steps over to the register, looking up at him for the first time time in just over two weeks, eyes widening for a second, and then she smiles, like the slow spread of sunlight over her face.
"Hi, Lucanis."
And for the first time in just over two weeks, he can breathe again.

"Hello, Rook."
"Did you have a nice winter break?"
There's no one in line behind him, giving them a moment to chat.
"It was alright." You weren't there.
Her eyes crinkle with amusement. "Family time not all it's chalked up to be?"
He chuckles. "It was … something. It's always a little strange to come back."
"Feel that. It's like they can't decide whether they want you to be their precious child or a respectable grown-up, isn't it?"
"Exactly."
She shifts her weight, hesitating for a moment. "Did you like the cookies?"
His own smile grows. "Yes." Anything else he might say would make him sound like a lunatic, like "they kept me sane over two weeks of not seeing you," or "it was like having a part of you melt on my tongue."
"I'm glad," she says, glancing down at her feet with a pleased smile. Then she seems to remember where they are, looking up at him again.
"So, uh, what can I get you?"

---

It's remarkable how easy it is to slip back into the life she's grown accustomed to on campus. She loves her parents, always has and always will, but she's stepped over a threshold, and going back creates friction. Not that there's no friction at apartment 312 — Bellara has a new project she's tinkering with, and it's scattering small parts all over the floor where they can be found by soft, bare feet; Hawke has taken up guitar practice again, so now there's discordant notes echoing through the the apartment at odd hours, and Aveline has switched her focus from kale to fennel.
None of them have changed Rook's diapers and sent her off to her first day of school and taught her how to tie her shoes though, so none of them can tell her to Go To Her Room.

At the Lighthouse, everyone has stories to tell of their winter break. Evka and Antoine spent time with both their families, which seems to come with its own kind of friction, and then a few days in a nice little hotel in the mountains to build snowmen and recuperate from All That. Dorian's tales are light on the family details and heavy on the news and sights from the capital, neon-colored memories polished to a shine. Bellara spent some time with her family's clan, though to hear her tell it, much of that time was spent providing tech support.

The Lighthouse regulars have stories to tell, too.
Lace went on what is apparently an annual camping trip with her mum, in the snow, because that's apparently something people do when they're truly outdoorsy. She draws all sorts of animal footprints on a napkin when Evka asks her about what kind of stuff she saw out there.

Davrin spent some tome outdoors, too, visiting his uncle who works as a ranger, focusing on halla preservation. Assan got his first lessons in tracking and standing very still — not something he seems to associate with spaces with lots of people in them though.

Prof. Tethras spent a week at a writer's retreat — Lace told them that he's publishing popular fiction under a pseudonym once — because there's 'no better way to deal with family madness than to turn put it into your stories and give them all the end they deserve'. And the next time Prof. Volkarin comes in with his son Manfred, the boy is excited to tell them all about their adventurous vacation exploring various caves in southern Nevarra.

By the end of the first week, everyone seems to have found their way back into the well worn grooves of their university lives though. Bellara has received another letter from Irelin, and they spend another Saturday brainstorming the best response. Rook has a surprising number of ideas on how to express their Mysterious Admirer's longing over the winter break, making Neve snicker.

And because it's nice to spend time with friends, they decide to go watch a movie together the following week — the proper way, with movie tickets and a giant bag of popcorn and whoever else wants to come. The more the merrier, right?

Which is how Rook finds herself fidgeting with her apron on Friday afternoon, working up the courage to ask Lucanis to join them. She's caught him staring at her a couple of times since they've been back from winter break, looking as if he wanted to say something, but then he never did.
"So maybe he's shy. Just means you have to be the one to make the first move."
Worst case, he'll say no, and then she'll be right back where she started.

---

A cinema auditorium is never truly quiet before the movie starts; often enough not even afterwards, as quiet whispers breeze through the audience. Right now, the room is filled with laughter and the buzz of conversation. They have sprung for a giant bag of popcorn that is being passed to and fro, barely missing the first layer by the time it reaches Lucanis despite their group happily munching away.

"Hey Lucanis, we're all going to watch a movie later. You want to come with?"

He hadn't expected her to ask him; judging by her face, she hadn't really expected him to say yes, either. Isn't sure why he did, really. It's been more than a year since he's last let himself be dragged along by Illario, longer still since he voluntarily followed some other friends, has never truly enjoyed 'going out'. But she keeps surprising him, and maybe it's time for him to surprise himself.

Davrin is telling a story about Assan's latest mishap, making Bellara laugh, and Neve is pointing out that it was all his own fault, really, making Bellara snicker, and Rook is smiling at him, waiting for him to take some popcorn or decline, and maybe this isn't so bad, even if he isn't truly part of their group, sitting at the edge of the row so he doesn't take up too much space. When the lights dim, they joke about the ads vying for their attention on the large screen, ranking them from 'maybe' to 'yuck, never!', and Rook leans in to whisper in his ear.
"So - bubblegum flavoured instant noodles, yay or nay?"
And then she bursts out laughing at his disgusted expression, and he can feel his heart fluttering in his throat as he tries to ignore the goosebumps covering his side from where her breath ghosted over his skin.

They grow quieter as the movie trailers start, trying to restrain their commentary to whispers and devolving into giggles when their fellow cinema patrons begin to glare at them. It isn't until the last lights blink out and the opening credits begin to roll that things really calm down and he becomes uncomfortably aware of Rook's hand sitting on the armrest next to him. He tries to focus on the screen in front of him — some action comedy whose title he's already forgotten — while his skin prickles at her proximity, and his eyes keep straying to her side.

The memory of that afternoon thunderstorm rises unbidden, how they'd ended up watching the rain beat against the windows after everyone else had left. How she'd leaned across the table between them, almost close enough to touch, and the words had dried up in his throat. How he'd returned to his apartment later, annoyed at himself, regretting that he hadn't — done what, exactly?
Still isn't quite brave enough to answer that question, just knows that he wants to be close to her. Can't forget the way her absence made him feel like part of him was missing over the winter break.

Again his eyes stray to the right, marking the light grin on her face, illuminated by nothing but the shifting images on screen as the hero makes an objectively stupid decision that is bound to bite him in the ass later, and she is beautiful. It's easier to look down, away from her face, but instead of turning to watch the movie his gaze lands on her hand, again, like a beacon in the dark.

She hugged him, and he didn't hate it. She makes fun of him without malice, laughing with him when he counters. She let him stay after hours and sat with him, just to talk and enjoy his company. She let him cook for her in her apartment, introducing him to her roommates as a friend. She gave him cookies for First Day, asking his opinion when he came back. She smiles every time she sees him, even when she's not working (except that one time when she was having a really bad day). He's pretty sure she's tried to flirt with him a couple of times, even if he isn't very good at that.
She asked him to come here when she didn't have to.

It feels like he's standing at the edge of something, something nice, something he'll regret not trying for if he remains as he has been.

So he tries.

He swallows, throat suddenly tight as he slowly raises his right hand. It's a deliberate choice, and yet he feels like he's being pulled by some unseen force. The blood pounding in his ears becomes almost deafening as his hand creeps closer, something between relief and nausea coiling in his stomach when his fingers land on top of hers, small and warm and terrifying.

The next thing he hears is the sharp intake of her breath beside him (like it's the only sound in the large room despite the exploding cars on screen and the hammering of his own heart), barely dares to glance at her as she stares, wide-eyed, first at her hand — their hands — and then over at his face. Holds his breath when their eyes meet, like two deer caught in the headlights, and then she smiles, sweet and a little shy, before turning toward the screen again even as her hand shifts to twine her fingers with his.

His exhale should bee deafening, but somehow, nobody seems to notice. Much as he doesn't notice much of the rest of the movie, caught by the feeling of her hand in his and the warmth of her smile.

---

He lets go of her hand when the credits begin to roll and the lights turn back on, reluctantly withdrawing from her touch. With absolutely no idea what he is supposed to do next.
Fortunately, everyone else is too busy to notice his predicament, happily discussing the movie's finer — and lower — points, laughing at the cheesy dialogue, at the way the directing leaned into the ridiculous setting. There is something ritual about their chatter, as much part of the experience as their hushed quiet in the dark. When they finally begin to gather their things, Lucanis stands, making way for everyone else to leave their seats. He's been perfectly happy with the aisle seat, except now, it leaves him in position to lead the way out, and no one has told him what the plan for the rest of the night is.
Rook's hand brushes against his when she catches up to him on the way to the door as if by accident (but her smile says it isn't). "We were planning to go for cocktails and snacks now, is that ok with you?"

There is a reason why he never really goes out for drinks; loud, crowded places give him a headache, he doesn't really drink, and being the only sober person in a throng of drunk students is a special kind of hell. But he doesn't want to leave her side yet.
"Of course."
Her smile is already worth the headache.

After a short discussion in the lobby, they decide on raiding the Antivan place two blocks over for Tapas and drinks. He brushes his fingers against Rook's hand again on the way there, confidence growing with the dark outside and the general bustle of the group.
There isn't a single free table large enough to fit all of them, but the staff is happy enough to put several tables together to accommodate their group. More customers mean more tips, after all. The place is evidently popular with university staff and students, several familiar faces scattered around a room already filled with the buzz of conversation and the clink of cutlery. Soon enough, their tables are filled with a selection of finger foods and local delicacies and colorful cocktail glasses, and yet food and drink don't do anything to impede their conversation. If anything, they almost have to shout to be heard over the ambient noise.
Lucanis can already feel his headache building, but somehow, he doesn't mind, sipping his virgin mojito and watching Rook laugh and joke and lick oil and salt from her fingers after a bite. Bellara and Davrin are building a card house out of everyone's coasters, Neve is scribbling something on a napkin, and Lace is in the middle of an outrageous story about running into a bear on her last camping trip. It feels warm, almost domestic, and utterly unfamiliar.

Illario spent most of their first semester (and much of their second) dragging him to bars and parties, trying to get him to be "normal for once" — before eventually throwing his hands in surrender, labeling him a lost cause. All he'd managed was to make Lucanis increasingly uncomfortable and wondering if there was something wrong with him, something broken, not quite fit for society.
This feels different. No one expects anything of him, happy when he speaks up, but just as content to know that he is listening and nodding along. And then there is Rook's shoulder bumping into his when she moves, and the way she smiles at him between drinks, warmth slipping like wine down his throat to leave a dizzying heat in his stomach.

It's well after midnight when they finally leave, the cool night air and the lack of noise a soothing balm to his senses. Rook staggers a little on the uneven cobblestones, stumbling into him, and his arm goes out to steady her, wrapping around her waist, and somehow, it just … stays there. They are closer to his apartment than they are to the campus dorms, where most of their group is headed, but while he feels hopelessly out of his depth, the least he can do is walk her home. So she doesn't stumble and fall (into someone else), of course, not because he can't make himself let go of her.

The walk back to student housing takes hours and no time at all. Blink, and Davrin peels off to his apartment. Blink, and they reach the east building, home to the girls of heir group. Blink, and Lace peels off down a corridor. Blink, and Neve says goodnight next door. Blink, and Bellara stumbles through the door ahead of Rook.
And then it's just the two of them, and suddenly, his palms feel sweaty and his heart is stuck in his throat. His arm falls away as Rook disentangles herself, just enough to turn around and look at him, and his eyes keep slipping down to her lips.
"Thank you for taking me home, Lucanis." Her smile dimples at the corners, and he really wants to kiss her.
"It was my pleasure."
A flush colors her cheeks, her ears, the tip of her nose — cool night air and alcohol and maybe something else, too.
"Did you have fun?"
"I did." He isn't even lying, his face almost tired from smiling the same besotted smile. Her lips are stained red from her drink, grenadine and maraschino cherries. He really shouldn't kiss her, not when she's drunk, not when they haven't even —
And then she leans forward, pressing her lips to his, and he is falling. She tastes of salt and cherries and rum, and she pulls away again before he has a chance to respond.
"Good night, Lucanis," she whispers, slipping through the door and closing it in his dumbfounded face.

—

Rook leans against the door, face burning, one hand pressed over her lips. Lime and sugar and fried peppers, his lips impossibly soft next to the light scratch of his beard. Her heart is thundering somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, making it hard to breathe, competing with the pleasant buzz of alcohol to make her dizzy, glad to be leaning against something solid.
Lucanis was nice and solid, too, with his arm around her waist, and if her face could get any redder she would probably burst into flames.

When she finally raises her eyes, she finds Bellara leaning against the opposite wall, grinning from ear to ear. "Sooooo, did he kiss you?"
"No."
"Whaaaaat? But I thought —"
"I kissed him." Eyes drop to the floor again as she feels an answering grin splitting her own face.
Bellara squeals, bounding over the few steps separating them to throw her arms around Rook, and they both burst into giggles.
"Shut up, some people actually want to sleep in here!" scolds a muffled voice from the next room over, and they both hold their breath for a moment, before breaking into breathless laughter again.

Chapter Text

When Spite lands on his chest with a yowl, Lucanis feels like he only closed his eyes five minutes ago. He had a lot to think about after he got home. Like the feeling of Rook's hand in his, the way she smiled at him over tapas at the restaurant, the taste of her lips when she kissed him.
Especially the last part.

He feels hung over, the light filtering in through the window threatening a headache where it penetrates the cotton wrapped around his thoughts. That feels unfair, given that he didn't even drink alcohol last night. Spite's claws digging into his shirt remind him that cats have no patience for these things. With a yawn, he drags himself out of bed and shuffles over to the kitchen under a barrage of demanding meows, as if he might forget the way to the little demon's bowl. Only when he's measured out Spite's fill of kibble does the little menace give him some peace.

He did his best to provide the little bundle of fur and claws with nothing but the best wet food when he first got him, but Spite has stubbornly refused to touch any of it, restricting his diet to regular store brand kibble — and whatever Lucanis is having, if his human isn't paying enough attention. And sometimes the kitchen herbs, though giving himself diarrhea feels like an oddly masochistic way of punishing Lucanis.

Coffee. Coffee will help him pull the cotton out of his head, surely.

Fortunately, he could do the steps to brewing himself a cup of coffee in his sleep. Has done it at least half-asleep more often than not, actually. There's something infinitely soothing about the well worn routine — at least until his bare foot steps into something wet and sticky. Spite's left him a gift, again. Well, the coffee needs to finish brewing anyway.
With a sigh, he hops over to the roll of kitchen paper — no need to leave more wet prints on the floor — and proceeds to wipe off first his foot, and then the spot of mostly liquid cat barf. Could have been worse. Feet are easier to clean than socks, after all.

Then the coffee is done, finally, and the first sip is like magic — hot and bitter and familiar, soothing an ache behind his eyelids he had almost forgotten about. The heat soaks into his limbs to melt away the last remnants of sleep, quieting the static in his mind.

He needs to talk to her. To see her.

Unfortunately, he doesn't even have her number. It never seemed important, because he always knew when he would see her next. Never urgent enough to break through the wall of anxiety that surrounded asking her for it, because that would mean asking himself why he wanted to, or what he planned to do with it (and possibly explaining the same to her, which felt even worse).

But now he's reached for her hand, and she kissed him, and he can't ignore that anymore.

Would it be too much to just show up on her doorstep? He does know where she lives, after all, and it wouldn't be the first time. But she may not even be awake yet — unlike him, she doesn't have a four legged menace to control her sleep schedule — and she had been drinking. She's probably hungover; bothering her when she's dealing with a hangover is probably bad timing.
If it was a weekday, he could just show up at the Lighthouse for her shift, but it's Saturday, and she doesn't work on Saturday. He's checked, before. Has figured out all of her regular shifts, in fact. Not that he planned to, it just happened. At least that's what he tells himself.

Maybe he'll have a better idea after he goes for a run. To clear his head, and to pass the time. And if his run takes him past the Lighthouse, well, there's always time for another coffee, and the off chance that Rook forgot something at work.

---

Rook wakes to a headache, and the feeling that she forgot something important. With a wince, she stretches, feeling her joints plop and her bladder inform her that she better get up soon. Her face is still covered in the impressions of her pillow when she blearily blinks into the mirror, and her mouth tastes like roadkill. Cold water and toothpaste help, at least a little. When she shambles into the kitchen, Hawke is just finishing up her late-morning coffee (there's no getting her out of bed early on a weekend).

"Good morning," she is greeted with a smirk. "Did you have fun last night?"
"Morning," Rook replies around a yawn. "Yeah, the movie was fun, and then we —" and then she remembers. About Lucanis' hand on hers during the movie, and the way he held her close on the way home, and how she kissed him.
Oh.
She can feel the crimson heat creeping up her neck, spreading over her face, suddenly hot and cold at once from her toes to the tips of her ears.
Hawke's grin grows until it stretches from ear to ear. "Looks like someone had a lot of fun, huh?"

"I need a drink," Rook mumbles. "Tea. Yes, tea sounds good." And then she turns her back on Hawke and busies herself with the electric kettle, ignoring her snickering roommate. You were supposed to drink lots of water after you've had too much to drink, right? Well, tea was almost water. And maybe after, her head would stop spinning quite so quickly, like a broken record that keeps snagging on how she kissed him and then shut the door in his face. Just before the end of the semester was a bad time to switch universities and move to a different city, right?
But she didn't really want to leave, anyway; she'd miss Neve, and Bellara, and her silly roommates, and everyone at the Lighthouse. And Lucanis.

Maybe she should just talk to him. Some time after breakfast, if she manages to get anything down. And a shower. And … another night's sleep? Because how is she even supposed to find him? Unlike him, she has no idea where he lives. Well, a rough direction, but that isn't particularly helpful. And it's Saturday, so it's unlikely that he would be hanging around campus. But maybe he'll come by the Lighthouse for a coffee and a snack? It's worth a shot, at least. Because she doesn't think she'll get much sleep that next night otherwise.

---

Lucanis is standing in front of the Lighthouse, mentally kicking himself. Of course. How could he forget? The Lighthouse doesn't open before noon on weekends, because the regulars — meaning Evka and Antoine — need a bit of a break, too, and there's not terribly many people looking to go out for coffee this early when there's no job or classes forcing them out of bed, anyway (and neither is Dorian).
So he goes home to shower and change, plays with Spite for a bit, does a load of laundry, cleans his apartment. He even tries to go over his classwork for the week, but it's a feeble attempt. He can't focus; it's too quiet, and being alone with his thoughts is exactly the wrong thing right now. A look at the clock ticking away over the kitchen counter reveals that it's still only 11 am.

With a frustrated sigh, he grabs his coat and his laptop and heads out the door. Maybe he'll have more luck at the library. And maybe, just maybe, Rook will need to do some class work there, too.

There's little foot traffic on campus at this time, but he does run into Davrin, who is out walking Assan. "No rest for the wicked?" he calls out, earning himself an exasperated grimace.
"Somehow, dogs have no respect for weekends," the other student offers by way of greeting, drifting to a stop as Assan sits in front of Lucanis, looking up expectantly.
Lucanis chuckles. "Neither do cats. My apologies Assan, I don't have any treats." Assan doesn't seem to mind, so long as he gets scritches.
"Cats don't force you to go out though," Davrin retorts.
"Ah, no. I needed a change of scenery."
"Uh-huh. Going to see Rook?" Davrin grins, and Lucanis realizes that they are, indeed, just around the corner from her dorm.
"I wouldn't want to wake her," he mutters. There's no telling when she'll be up, but before noon feels like a bad time to call on her. "I was headed for the library."
"Well, knock yourself out. Come on, Assan!"
With a wave, he disappears around the corner, and Lucanis continues on his way.

The library is almost as deserted as the rest of campus, but there's always a few stragglers working on an essay, some homework or a thesis. Lucanis joins their number at a free table on the lower communal level, taking out his laptop to work on a presentation script due next week, eyes flickering up to the hall every so often. He doesn't usually try to work on this floor, the section containing books for his field being higher up, but he has a better chance of seeing who goes in or out from here. No Rook though. After 90 minutes, he throws in the towel; the Lighthouse should be open now, so he can at least get a coffee to fortify himself before he tries knocking on her apartment door.

He ends up spending another 30 minutes at the Lighthouse, squirming under Bellara's knowing smirk. She's whispering with Dorian now, glancing over every so often, and he could swear they're talking about him. No Rook, but Bellara told him that she was awake when she left for her shift. No time like the present. He puts his empty cup back on the dish return, knocks on the counter and steps out the door.

His heart is racing and his palms feel sweaty when he finally stands before her door. It doesn't help that the air inside the dorm is always a little stuffy — like feet or well-worn shoes, even though no one would be careless enough to leave their shoes in the hallway. (It's not so much that anyone would steal your shoes — though there's that possibility, too — it's about what people might put into your shoes.) No matter how deep a breath he takes, it doesn't seem to help.
There's a sense of dejà-vue about it: Standing in front of her door, wondering what to say. Though this is definitely worse than the time he came by to make soup. What if one of her roommates answers the door?
"Hey, is Rook home? I'd like to talk to her about our not-date last night. Specifically about why she kissed me." No, that wouldn't do at all.
Less thinking, more doing.
He knocks.

A few seconds pass, then the door opens, revealing Aveline with a towel slung over her shoulders, hair still damp from what he presumes was a shower.
"Oh, hello. Lucanis, right?"
"Yes. Is Rook home?"
"Sorry, you just missed her. She left about half an hour ago. Should I take a message?"
"No, it's fine. I can just … tell her tomorrow."
She shrugs. "Suit yourself. See you around!"
And once more, the door closes in his face.

Only when he is already halfway home does Lucanis remember that he could just have left his number with Aveline so that Rook had a way to contact him. Would that have been weird? It's too late now, anyway, and maybe it's better if he doesn't spend the rest of the day waiting for his phone to buzz.

---

When Rook drags herself to the Lighthouse for her Sunday shift, her eyes still feel like sandpaper and her stomach is an angry beehive.

She made the mistake of going to the library first yesterday, to see if Lucanis had maybe decided to get some studying in. Of course, that meant scouring the entire library from top to bottom, just in case, while doing her best to look casual and not like she was searching for someone like a desperate border collie who's lost his flock. To support her cover, she then had to check out at least one book relevant to the essay she has to hand in at the end of next week.

Dejected and more than a little exhausted, she had turned to the Lighthouse for hot chocolate and waffles, because hot chocolate and waffles always help. Naturally, Bellara waited until she had settled in to tell her that she'd just missed Lucanis. She'd wolfed down her waffle and nearly burned her throat on the rest of her hot chocolate in record time after that, not that it did her any good — because he hadn't conveniently mentioned where he was headed next. So she ran all across campus — again, much like a confused collie —, trying to catch a glimpse of him, only to give up half an hour later. Maybe he would come by the apartment; he did know where she lived, after all.
And he did. Just before she returned home. She wasn't sure if she wanted to pull out Aveline's hair or her own when her roommate told her that she had missed him — again.

Suffice to say, she didn't sleep a whole lot that night, and then she spent the rest of the morning fretting, because he usually came by the Lighthouse on Sunday, and what did she even plan to say to him? "Hey, I'm sorry for not checking in before I kissed you, was that ok? And can we do it again?"
Or worse — what if he didn't come in?

"Damn girl, you look terrible," Dorian offers by way of greeting, and Evka hands her a sympathetic cup of coffee. "Rough night?"
"You have no idea," she mumbles over the edge of her cup, nearly scalding her tongue.
"So I'm guessing you didn't run into your paramour after all?" There's no malice in Dorian's smirk, but somehow, she still feels like emptying her coffee over his head. Must be the insomnia. She glares at him instead and disappears into the kitchen to exchange her coat for an apron. When she returns, the door chime rings, and Lucanis walks into the Lighthouse. Why does it suddenly feel like everyone is looking at her? (Not everyone; Dorian and Evka, though, are definitely staring.)

"Hello, Rook."
He sounds a little breathless.
"Hey, Lucanis."
So does she.
For a moment, they just stare at each other, and Rook hopes fervently that no one else can hear her heart hammering like a war drum. This is ridiculous. Why is she even nervous like this? What's the worst that could happen?
"Uhm, coffee?"
"Yes, please!"
He seems glad for the simple script, and she forgets to ask what kind of coffee he wants, specifically, but it's ok, she knows his usual order anyhow, and right now, he would drink pretty much anything she hands him (not that she knows that).
He moves to pull out his card, hesitates.
"Ah, Rook, I was wondering, … that is, can we talk? After your shift, I mean."
Her shift won't be over for another six hours. She nods. "Uh, sure."
"Ok."
He pays, collects his cup, and finds a table.

Rook spends the next hour taking orders and making waffles in a daze, eyes straying over to Lucanis every other minute only to have him glance down at his (empty) cup whenever their eyes meet. When she moves out from behind the counter to clear some tables, she nearly trips over her own feet in her effort to glance over at his table without being obvious about it. Once she's back behind the counter, Dorian drags her into the kitchen.
"Ok, I can't keep watching that; this is pathetic. Take 5 — no, take 30, I don't care, just clear the air and tell us how it went afterward?"
"I don't know what you —"
"Oh no darling, don't even try, Bellara told me everything."
"But I—"
He holds up a hand. "Don't worry, I'm not docking your pay, I just can't deal with another five hours of that."
Under his pointed stare, she feels her face turning a bright scarlet. With a nod, she turns, collecting her jacket without even taking off her apron.

Lucanis brows pull down into a puzzled frown when she walk over to his table with her jacket on.
"So, uhm, turns out I'm free now."
His eyes widen.
"I — yes, of course. Should we go?"
She nods, and he hurries to slip into his own coat. For once, he doesn't remember to put away his cup, but she's too busy trying to get her heartbeat under control to notice. He holds the door for her when they step outside, and the cool Haring air feels like a blessing for once.

For a few minutes, they just walk in silence. Her fingers are playing with a piece of lint in her pocket, desperate for something to do, because she'd very much like to hold his hand again, just to have something to hold on to, but what felt so easy Friday night feels suddenly impossible.
Weirdly enough, the walking helps. Little by little, her heartbeat slows, until it feels almost appropriate to her current level of exercise. Judging by his heavy sigh, he seems to agree.
"I am so sorry. I have no idea what I'm doing."
He sounds so contrite that she can't help but sympathize, feeling a small, lopsided smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"I'm afraid I'll need you to be a little more specific."
His eyes dart over to her and away again.
"I've never done this before."
"Walk across campus?"
He takes a deep breath. "Dating. Relationships. And … everything that goes with that."
Oh. She slips her hand out of her pocket and brushes her fingers against his. They're ice-cold, but he doesn't shy away, wrapping his hand around hers even though he still can't seem to look at her.
"Would you like to?"

He stops, half his shoes coming to rest in a puddle. "For the longest time, I didn't think I did. Would. When we enrolled here, my cousin spent almost a year trying to get me to date." Get me laid. "To be normal."
She feels her smile slipping into a frown.
"I think he mostly wanted me to stop complaining when he brought a new girl to our apartment every other week and I kept having to clear some else's lingerie out of our living room, so he kept dragging me to bars and parties. But I didn't like drinking cheap beer just so I could tolerate all the other drunk people around me, and I didn't like strangers trying to put their hands all over me and sticking their tongue down my throat."
He grimaces, and Rook feels horrible.
"Lucanis, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have —"
"No! There's no need for you to apologize, Rook. You asked, and I said yes because I wanted to. I wanted to spend more time with you."
"I didn't ask before I kissed you though," she mutters, looking down at her feet.
"No." His voice is much quieter now, and maybe a little strangled. "But I wanted to kiss you, too." At this, she does look up, staring at him like a deer in the headlights.
"I still do," he whispers, like he can't quite believe the words out of his mouth.
She swallows. Whispers, "you can, you know," and then he does lean in, the touch of his lips featherlight and soft and his beard is only a little scratchy and she feels dizzy even though he pulls back way too soon.
"That's a standing invitation, by the way," she croaks when she remembers how to use her vocal cords, and he smiles, possibly for the first time that day.

"I like you, Lucanis. I don't care if I'm your first girlfriend or your 50th — Ok, no, I guess 50th would be weird, but, you know — and I'm fine with taking things as slow as you like. But I like you, and I'd like to spend more time with you, too."
That was a lot of likes in a row, but to be fair, her brain isn't exactly working at full capacity right now.
"I'd like that, too," he answers, voice rough, squeezing her hand just a little.
"There's only one thing I refuse to be, and that's a secret," she adds, more serious for a moment.
"A secret?" He looks puzzled, so she explains.
"I had a boyfriend once who was very much into making out with me behind the gym, and very much not into letting his friends know we were a thing. I'd like not to repeat that."
His brows pull down like storm clouds while she talks and his hand tightens around hers. "I would never!" Then he winces, looking slightly bashful. "But, ah, would it be ok if I waited a week or two to tell my cousin? I'd like to wrap my head around this before I am interrogated about it."
She tilts her head thoughtfully, but there's a smile playing around her lips when she answers. "I think I can live with that."

She couldn't say how long they just stand there after that, grinning at each other like two idiot peas in a pod, but somehow, that doesn't matter. At all.
"Ok, give me your phone," she says eventually, and he pulls it out of his pocket, looking puzzled again. Then she types in her number, hits call and waits until her own phone rings before hanging up.
"There. Now I have your number, and you have mine, and we don't have run around just missing each other again."

He walks her back to the Lighthouse, still holding her hand, and she pulls him to a stop just before they reach the doors. "Can I have another kiss?" she asks, a little cheeky, and he smiles before leaning in to comply.
She could get used to that.

The angry beehive feels more like butterflies for the rest of her shift.

Chapter Text

Rook: Hey

Rook: You free on Saturday, say from noon?

Lucanis: Sure

Lucanis: What did you have in mind?

Rook: That's a surprise ;-)

Rook: Meet me at the Lighthouse?

Lucanis: I'm looking forward to it.

"Hey, Luca, you coming or what?" Illario is getting impatient, shivering next to the locked car in his short leather jacket. Lucanis puts his phone away, still smiling. "Maybe you should have dressed for the weather. Or not have wrecked your own car." A warm kind of excitement is filling his stomach and tingling in his fingertips, very much in contrast to the cold and his cousin's predicament.
"Yes yes, very funny. Now would you please unlock the damn car?"
Lucanis presses a button, and the doors unlock with a low beep. Without waiting for him, Illario practically jumps into the passenger seat, banging the door closed behind him. To be fair, his cousin's lips are beginning to take on a decidedly bluish hue, on account of the time he spent waiting for him at the mechanic after being towed. Somehow, the closest one never has so much as a waiting room, nothing but a dingy little office next to the workshop that smells of motor oil and stale smoke.
"How did you miss that red light, anyway?" Lucanis asks as he gets in and pulls on his seatbelt.
"You're making it sound like I did it on purpose," his cousin mutters, sullenly looking out the window. Lucanis turns on the heat, taking pity on him. That's what you get for favoring style over substance.
"I didn't say that. And I am glad that managed to only hurt your car," he adds. "Now put on that seatbelt or we'll be here all night."
"Yes, mother." Illario rolls his eyes, but complies anyway. There is no arguing with Lucanis on matters of road safety. "… think Caterina will make much of a fuss about covering the repair?" he muses as they begin to drive, street light casting a pale glow over his face.
"Don't tell me you've already emptied your trust fund?"
Silence.
"Illario?"
"The old dragon froze my access."
Lucanis blinks. "She what now?"
"She was not happy with how I was spending my money, so she used her power of attorney to restrict my access," Illario mutters. "I have to ask her now before I make larger withdrawals, like some common child."
Lucanis snorts.
"It's not funny!"
"It is a little bit."

Illario sulks quietly for a bit. But he has never been one for silences, always finding an excuse to fill it with chatter. "Can I have your car on Saturday?"
"What for?"
"I promised my girlfriend I'd take her out to dinner."
"Which one is that?"
"Uhm …"
"Illario!"
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Illario laughs. "Allera."
"… have I met that one yet?"
"I don't think so? She's nice though. A beast between the sheets, too." He grins, waggling his eyebrows. It's Lucanis' turn to roll his eyes now.
"Fine. You have to pick it up early though, I have plans."
"Plans that don't require a car?"
"Yes." At least, he is fairly sure they don't; Rook has no reason to know that he even has one, and she certainly doesn't.
"Huh. How early?"
"11 am." Knowing Illario, it's better to set the time a little earlier than absolutely necessary.
"On a Saturday?!" Illario groans. "What kind of plans drive you out that early — without a car, on a weekend?"
Lucanis shrugs. "Just plans." He can feel Illario staring at the side of his face, trying to decipher his silence. He could simply tell him, of course, but for some reason, he doesn't want to. Not yet, at least; it's all still too new, and he wants to keep this feeling to himself a little longer before his cousin starts poking at it.
"Fine, keep your secrets," Illario huffs eventually. "So long as I get your car."

---

Rook refuses to tell him any details when he sees her again over the next two days. All she will reveal is the promise that she'll be taking things slow, as he asked.
It feels a little weird, to collect his morning coffee from her now. He doesn't know if he should kiss her in greeting, but it feels awkward to do that while she is working, and the morning line is usually too busy anyway. It's not until he sits down at his lecture that he notices the little heart she has doodled next to his name on the cup. Such a silly little thing, but it makes him smile anyway, warming him in a way even his coffee couldn't.

He meant to wake up early on Saturday, to give himself time to prepare — even if he had no idea for what — but it took him ages to fall asleep the previous night, and it is almost 10 by the time the morning sun slanting through his blinds rouses him from his slumber. For once, he remembered to close the bedroom door to keep Spite from standing on his face at 5 am. Now there's just enough time to shower, obsess over what to wear (which feels absurd, but he can't seem to find an off-switch for his nerves), find out Spite has chewed a hole into his favourite sweater, and wolf down a quick breakfast before Illario swings by to collect his car.

Lucanis: Do I need to account for anything in particular with my clothing?

Rook: Nope! Your regular is perfect :)

And then Illario rings the doorbell, trying to weasel out some details about his plans that he doesn't actually have before driving off with a wave. In the end, he is still 30 minutes early to the Lighthouse despite oversleeping, his whole body buzzing with nervous energy.
Thankfully, Evka is perfectly happy to supply him with coffee while he waits, nervously tapping his foot under the table and checking his phone every other minute. Rook rounds the corner at 5 minutes to 12, greeting him with a wide smile.
"Hey, you."
"Hello, Rook."
"Are you all finished here?"
"For you, always."
"Charmer."
She bends down to kiss his cheek then, twining their fingers when they are out the door. Her gentle tug leads him along the edge of campus while she tells him about her morning, something about a dishwasher catastrophe and lingerie in the sieve. She eventually comes to a stop at the tram station.
"And now, we wait."
"Alright. Will you tell me where we're going?"
"That would ruin the surprise," she replies with a wink, and he bends down to kiss her on the lips. Cinnamon and coffee and peppermint, a hint of what must be her toothpaste still lingering. When he pulls away again, her smirk has softened to a smile, with a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
"What was that for?"
"I wanted to greet you properly."
"Hmm, I could get used to that."
It's probably a good thing that there aren't too many people around, to take notice of their besotted smiles.

Lucanis can't remember ever taking the tram before, but it isn't so bad, with Rook's knee bumping against his leg and her fingers still laced with his. There is a curious mixture of passengers at this hour, tired parents with their high-spirited children next to retirees and scruffy looking vagrants next to teenagers talking loudly on their phones.

When they finally disembark, Lucanis finds himself staring up at the imposing silhouette of the National Gallery.

"We're going to a museum?" He didn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this.
"Yup!" Her grin is back in place, clearly enjoying his baffled expression. "Come on! Students have free entrance." So he trots along, happy enough to be led so long as she keeps hold of his hand.
They start their tour at the painting gallery, showcasing the works of great painters of a bygone age, and he is still wondering what had made her choose a museum for their first official date when she stops in front of a large canvas depicting a mounted military officer pointing his sword toward an unseen aggressor.
"So, what do you think?"
"Uh … It's very … grand?"
She chuckles. "I think that horse is having a stroke, and that hunting dog looks like whatever rabbit he last ate had some kind of wasting disease." The horse's eyes are indeed rather large and wide and rolled at a weird angle, and the dog does look a little like he is about to be sick. Lucanis tilts his head.
"… Perhaps it's because of the hat."
The officer's hat is a large and fabulous specimen, and tall enough to swallow its wearer should it put its mind to it.
"Definitely the hat."

The next painting she pauses at has a finely dressed lady sitting opposite a gentlemen who appears to be talking to her, but her head is turned away from him to look right at the viewer. It reminds Lucanis a little of one of the the less receptive girls his cousin had been flirting with during their first semester.
"I bet he's telling her all about his car."
"Or his summer vacation."
She snickers. "She's definitely looking at the camera like she's begging for an excuse to get up and walk away."

They continue their slow tour through the painting gallery in this fashion, stopping at every other picture to speculate about the feelings of the depicted or make up stories about how they'd gotten there. They incur more than one scandalized look by the museum's attendants — or other visitors —, but Lucanis can't seem to muster the appropriate contrition. He can't remember the last time he's laughed during a museum visit before; has barely ever set foot in one unless on a school trip or dragged along by his grandmother in the guise of broadening his cultural sensitivities. Certainly never like this. When they reach the sculptures, Rook imitates their poses, inviting him to take a picture — or play along in reverse. Making memories he can revisit any time he choses.
"What do you think this one is pondering?"
"Grocery lists."
"Why is that man embracing a snake?"
"I think they're supposed to be fighting."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
He snorts, shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter, and she leans against him to smother her own giggles against his chest. It's the most natural thing in the world to loop his arm around her back and hold her close, filling his senses with the sweet smell of ginger and oranges until he feels almost drunk on her, but better, because this feeling won't leave him with a headache.

The museum also sports a small archeological section, but it's currently closed for renovation. When they approach the main exit again, Lucanis finds himself reluctant to leave. He did not expected to enjoy this visit so much, but his stomach aches from laughter, and he didn't remembered to worry about messing things up even once.
Rook doesn't seem to be in a hurry either, meandering along the main hallway at a snail's pace, before tugging him toward the souvenir shop.
"Really? Aren't those usually … ah …"
"A money grab? Sure, but museums sometimes have really fun stuff in there, and the entrance was free, so I think it's fair to at least check it out."
It's not like he has anything better to do, perfectly content for any excuse to extend the time they spend together. And the shop does have a nice selection — from art prints and books to star-maps, fossil reproductions and small nick-knacks down to an aisle that is clearly designed to drive parents to despair, sporting stuffed animals and figurines in all colours of the rainbow.

Lucanis finds himself reaching for a brightly coloured little wyvern, a small smile playing around his lips.
"I used to love wyverns as a child. I had my entire room decked out in wyvern pictures and figurines at some point and would spew wyvern facts at my parents until they got sick of it."
"Really? That's so sweet!" Rook grins at him without an ounce of condescension. "I think I had a unicorn phase like that. I remember arguing with my elementary school teacher about whether they were real or not. You know, because in the myths not everyone can recognize them?"
"Who won the argument?"
"We agreed to disagree, because neither of us managed to convince the other."
That makes him chuckle. "You had very indulgent teachers."
"Yeah, well, my fantasy wasn't hurting anyone, and I think they were impressed with the way I presented my arguments. Wyverns are real, at least."
He nods. "Critically endangered though. I still wish I could see one, just once, but they're not really suitable for zoos."
"You should definitely get a plushie then."
"What? No, I'm not a child anymore." Memories of his classmates rolling their eyes at his obsession and of his grandmother telling him to clean up his room flash behind his eyes.
"So what? You don't have to give up on things that make you happy just because you grow older. So long as it's not hurting anyone, what's the harm?" Her teasing smile slips into something more serious, a strange intensity to her voice. "Adults are allowed to have fun, too. Abandoning you inner child is how your soul dies."
He blinks, not quite sure how to respond, and watches as a delicate blush spreads across your cheeks.
"Sorry," she mumbles, dropping her eyes, "I don't know where that came from."
The last thing he wants is to make her self-conscious — worrying that he's being an idiot is his job, not hers.
"It's ok," he says, gently squeezing her hand. "And you're not not wrong. Maybe I'm just not a stuffed animal person. Besides, I bet anything I brought home would end up under the couch in short order or get shredded by claws anyway."
Spite has a tendency to focus on the things that are not intended as toys for him.
Rook perks up. "Your cat is a little troublemaker?"
"Very. He's a little demon," he explains with a lopsided smile.
"You'll have to introduce us sometime!" Her smile is back, and he feels a flash of heat crawling up his neck, imagining her in his apartment.

When they eventually turn to leave, she's picked up a little key ring miniature of the man "fighting" the snake.
"For Neve," she explains, "because it'll make her laugh, too." But that's not the only thing she pays for. After they step out of the museum into the early afternoon sun, she spins around, facing him with a grin. In her hand is another key fob, a tiny stuffed wyvern.
"For you," she says, dropping it into his hand. "Because you're not allowed to say no to a gift from your girlfriend," and his heart does a funny little flip inside his chest.
"Thank you," he answers quietly, unable to suppress the blush he can feel climbing his cheeks.
And then he tugs on their joined hands, pulling her closer, and leans down to kiss her. 'It's a standing invitation,' she'd said, and he can feel her smile against his lips.
The little wyvern disappears into his pocket when he straightens up again. "Where to next?"
"I don't know about you, but I could eat."

They end up at a small café near the museum. Probably at least half a tourist trap, but it's close, the wind is cold, and the cake display does look enticing.
"You know cake doesn't really count as lunch, right?" he teases after they've ordered.
"And coffee isn't really a lunch drink, either, but here we are." She's having hot chocolate, reinforcing the idea that you don't have to give up on the things you liked as a child. Or maybe she just has a sweet tooth. They talk about their week, and which paintings they liked best, and then their order arrives. There's something about the way she savours her first bite, closing her eyes and humming happily, that goes straight to his core. He can't seem to take his eyes off her when she wipes her lips with her thumb and licks the last stray crumbs from her fingers. Like he wouldn't mind helping her with that.

It's almost dusk by the time they leave, short winter days always ending far to soon, what little warmth the sun provided gone in a gust of wind.
"What now?" he asks as they make their slow way toward the tram station, huddling into the little shelter.
"Now, I'm afraid I do have to go home," she sighs. "It's my turn to feed the horde tonight, I haven't decided what to cook yet, and I still need to get groceries."
"I could help."
A surprised bout of laughter bubbles past her lips. "Lucanis, today was supposed to be fun. Not to make you do my household chores."
"I like cooking. And I like spending time with you."
"Going grocery shopping?"
"Why not?"
"It's not very romantic."
He shrugs, an impish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Neither is the National Gallery, but I still enjoyed myself."
She goes quiet for a bit, studying his face intently, as if searching for a lie. It's not there, but he can understand the urge. "Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't have offered it otherwise. Unless you'd rather do your grocery shopping in peace, I don't want to —"
"No, I don't mind!" she interjects quickly. "I'd love to have your company. Even for groceries. Maybe especially for groceries."
Her cheeks are red from more than the cold now, and he'd really like to kiss her again, but their tram just arrived, and they hurry inside.

Getting groceries requires a quick stop at the dorm, so Rook can duck inside her shared apartment, grab some bags and ask if anyone else needs anything, and then a short walk to the nearest convenience store. Fortunately, the campus attracts all kinds of infrastructure, meaning almost anything its student population required is in easy walking distance.

"Do we have to plan for any special dietary restrictions?" Lucanis asks as the bitter cold of winter gives way to the comfortable chill of several large cooling counters.
Rook snorts. "Please, I think one time we threw all the leftovers we could find in a pot with some water and called it soup." His shudder makes her laugh, and it might be his favourite sound in the world.
He thinks for a moment. "What about some pasta?"
Pasta is easy to make and easy to scale to any number of people.
"Sure! With some sort of Bolognese sauce?"
"That can be arranged."

Lucanis carries the shopping basket and directs Rook on which ingredients to pull from the shelves ("no, we're not using ready-made base, put that back"), and she adds some things that have nothing to do with dinner and everything to do with her roommates' extra requests and some general necessities.
"I am so sorry I'm making you buy toilet paper with me on our first date."
He snorts. "Everyone has to buy toilet paper, Rook. I don't mind. And you didn't make me do anything." And he really doesn't mind. Their impromptu shopping trip is oddly soothing in its domesticity, something he would repeat in a heartbeat. It doesn't hurt that she takes his free hand again on the way back, both of them carrying a grocery bag in the other.

Bellara is lounging in the hallway when they return to the dorm, evidently waiting.
"Soooo, how was your daa— oh, hi Lucanis!"
"Lucanis is helping me cook tonight."
"Oh, that's nice!"
Another head peaks around the corner. "Isn't that cheating, letting your boyfriend cook when it's your turn?"
The word settles into his stomach like molten chocolate.
"I'm not letting him do all the work! Besides, you don't even like my cooking, Aveline."
"That's because you're not very good at it."
Rook sticks out her tongue and everyone laughs.

She does help — with cutting things, and with tasting, and bumping his elbow while he works. It's a lot more lively than when he cooks for himself, at home — there's always someone wandering by, stealing bites, listening to music or complaining about the water pressure. They're clearly less perplexed at his presence this time. The apartment door is open more often than not, with other students walking in with a question or something they borrowed. It's chaotic and warm and unfamiliar, but somehow, he feels like he wouldn't mind getting used to it.
More people stick around when the smell of tomatoes and ground beef and spices begins to permeate the space, and he's glad they erred on the side of "too many leftovers". ("There's only four of us — five with you — but honestly, you never know who else might stop by.")

The kitchen table seats six, but half of the chairs are covered in books and papers and crafting materials, and there's a flurry of activity to clean everything up when he announces that dinner will be ready soon. Rook's friend Neve joins them, drawn in by the smell and her own curiosity (apparently, everyone in Rook's circle knew they were going on a date today), and everyone is talking over each other and gesturing with their forks while they eat.
Lucanis is pretty sure that some tomato sauce ends up on his sweater, but he has plenty (and Spite ruined his favourite, anyway) and it's nice to see the people around him engaged and having fun. And enjoying his cooking, too. He could make a habit of this just to see Rook's face again as she takes the first bite.
"I changed my mind, you can cheat anytime you want," Aveline declares as she sags in her seat with an expression of of deep contentment. "Just don't ask me to get up anytime soon."
Rook grins, and there's a little bit of sauce on her cheek that he wouldn't mind wiping (or kissing) away.
"Seriously Lucanis, this was so good! You should cook more often. Rook usually just makes boxed stuff," Bellara adds. The subject of her criticism shrugs, unperturbed. "What can I say? I was raised on microwaved meals."
It feels nice to be appreciated.

Eventually, everyone stacks their plates by the sink (someone forgot to turn on the dishwasher that day, and now there's no space). When Lucanis begins to roll up his sleeves, Rook slides in front of him, blocking the small mountain of dirty dishes. "Nononono, you already did most of my cooking, I can't let you do the dishes, too!"
"I don't mind."
"No, seriously, I insist."
His eyes land on the clock over the dining table, and he sighs. "Alright. Maybe I should get out of your hair, anyway, before Spite decides to eat the basil again."
"Is that bad for cats?"
"It's definitely bad for my carpet."
She chuckles. "We can't do that to the poor carpet, of course. Let me walk you to the door?"

Her roommates wave their goodbyes before disappearing into their rooms (no way are they getting roped into dish washing or -drying duty), leaving them alone in the hallway.
"I had fun today," he offers with a smile.
"I'm glad. I know the museum was a mildly weird choice for a date, but I thought it might help to take your mind off things."
His turn to huff an amused breath. "It certainly did."
For a moment, they go quiet, staring at each other awkwardly, until she asks "can I kiss you?" and he says "yes", and then they kind of fall into each other. Not quite like the innocent pecks they've shared during the day, there and gone again, but lingering, exploring, reciprocating.
This Rook tastes of tomato sauce and soda and laughter, and something uniquely her, muddling his thoughts and warming his insides. He feels a little unsteady when she pulls away, like there was a word on the tip of his tongue, but now it's gone.
"Goodnight, Lucanis," whispers her breath across his lips.
"Goodnight, Rook," he croaks as he steps backward and out the door.

He doesn't stop smiling the entire walk home.

Chapter Text

Lucanis is still smiling when he walks into class on Monday morning, not even trying to hide the little heart Rook doodled on his cup again.

"Look who's smiling," Teia greets him with a cat-who-got-the-canary grin. "Have a nice weekend?"
"As a matter of fact, I did." He takes a sip from his coffee, not breaking eye-contact.
"Did you finally take out that cute barista of yours?"
Viago groans. "Teia, why don't you —"
"Actually, she took me out." There's nothing Lucanis can do about the blush creeping into his cheeks, but that's ok. It goes nicely with his smug grin.

Teia squeees, shaking Viago's shoulders (she has known Lucanis long enough to know that he probably wouldn't appreciate a hug). Viago does not look impressed.
"Who took whom out?" Illario asks as he drops into the seat next to Lucanis.
"Your cousin has a girlfriend!"
"Wait, what?"Illario whirls around to stare at him. "Since when?"
"If I had to guess, about a week."

Now it's Lucanis turn to stare at her. "How …?"
"That's when your coffee started to come with little hearts on the side," Teia explains smugly. Of course she would notice. To be fair, Viago might have, too, he just doesn't care. There was a time when that would have bothered Lucanis, but that time is long gone.
"No way," Illario cuts in, making a grab for his cup. "For real?!" Then he throws an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a sideways hug. "Didn't think you had it in you!"
"Neither did I," Lucanis mutters, a little self-conscious, but not enough to break his good mood.

---

The next time Anders comes in for an afternoon coffee and bagel, it's impossible to miss his four-legged tag-along despite the warm coat. His pocket-kitten isn't quite so pocket sized anymore, and very lively to boot. Sir-pounce-a-lot does still ride in the pocket of his hoodie, but only if he can stick his head out and look around. As soon as his human sits down, the the little bundle of fur squirms his way out and begins to explore, clearly grown into his name. It's a miracle that the kitten hasn't gotten lost yet, and his human looks like he might go prematurely grey at the challenge.

"You'll have to start leaving him at home when you go out," Bellara chides, taunting the kitten with a piece of string.
"But he's not used to being on his own for hours on end! What if he gets lonely? Or what if he gets bored and gets into my roommates' stuff and they tell the caretaker? Or worse, if one of them leaves to door open by mistake and he escapes?"
"What if he sees a bird and jumps out of your pocket while you're walking across campus? Or escapes out of the lecture room?"
Anders scowls down at the kitten. "… But I like having him with me," he finishes weakly.

"How about putting him on a leash when you go out then? I'm pretty sure they sell itty bitty kitty harnesses," Rook suggests as she walks by with an armload of dirty cups.
"You'd have to train him to tolerate both the harness and the leash, but that could work!" Bellara agrees. "It's definitely safer than just keeping him in your pocket and hoping for the best."
"I guess you do have a point … Ok, fine, I'll try. Any helpful tips on how to make him not hate that?"
"Sorry, haven't done that before. But let me know how it goes!"
And with that Bellara gets up, ambling back to her spot behind the counter.

She's been a little restless lately, more so the next time they spot a new letter at their dead-drop location next to the Lighthouse bathroom. There's less glee in her face when she reads it, and for once, she doesn't want to brainstorm a response together with Rook and Neve, claiming that she'd like to do this one on her own. Her cheer feels forced when she withdraws to her room that night, and Rook worries a little for her friend.
This whole prank was meant to make Bellara feel good about herself; maybe they should end it, if it's starting to trouble her?

Not that Bellara is the only one troubled in matters of the heart.

Hawke has been mooning over her not-boyfriend from the guitar shop for two weeks now, noticeable mostly through the songs she chooses for her guitar practice. It's not like there's anything wrong with melancholic love-songs, but there's other kinds, too, and honestly, Rook and Aveline are getting a little sick of the chords to 'Bring Me To Life' echoing through their apartment by now.

Or that lovely second year student Evka catches making puppy-dog eyes at Prof. Volkarin on Thursday, when he comes in with his son Manfred for muffins.
"Isn't he just dreamy? And such a good father!" the student sighs when she leans on the counter for a refill on her caramel mocha. "He always seems so passionate in class, too."
"You are aware that he's happily married — to another man — yes? And that that cute boy munching his chocolate-cherry muffin at his table probably wouldn't be too happy about anyone getting in between his dads?"
The girl's lower lip juts out in a pout. "Spoilsport. It's not like I'm doing anything, just thinking about it!"
"Pining after a married man almost three times your age isn't going to make you happy though. At least set your sights on someone who's not already taken?"
The girl sniffs dramatically, snatching up her finished drink without another word and sashaying over to her table with swaying hips.

And then there's Lace.
Davrin coaxed a new customer into the Lighthouse last week, a tall, muscular Qunari with one crystal horn who works at the gym that opened up one block over at the start of the new year (because that's when people still believe that they really are going to drop alcohol and chocolate and get into shape). Their name is Taash, they're a little reserved (but mostly just shy around new people) and they love Antoine's chilli chocolate cookies.

And Lace can't take her eyes off them.
"You could just go over and talk to them," Rook suggests when she catches her trying to be inconspicuous about her staring for the third day in a row. "I bet they don't bite."
"What? No, I can't just go sit with them! That would be weird. What would we even talk about?" Her blush almost manages to make her freckles disappear.
"Easy. You ask if they'd mind some company, and if they let you sit with them, you can ask if they're new in town or if they know any good exercises to prepare for a hiking trip. You still do those, right?"
"Of course I do! … do you think they'd be interested in that?"
"Can't hurt to try," Rook argues with a wink, before continuing on her round.

At least her own love life seems to be in safe waters for now. She thoroughly enjoyed their first date, and judging by his insistence on sticking around for grocery shopping and dinner, she has an inkling that Lucanis hadn't been eager for it to end, either. She still feels warm just thinking about it. It doesn't hurt that he leans over for a kiss when he collects his morning coffee now, either. And that Dorian doesn't mind when she takes 5 during an afternoon lull to sit with her boyfriend for a bit.

"You are still free on Saturday, yes?" Lucanis inquires, his foot resting lightly against hers under the table.
"Of course! Saturday is my one free day of the week; I'm not going to block that for just anyone." Her hand finds his on top of the table, linking their fingers together. It makes him blush, still not used to her casual physical contact, but he doesn't pull away.
"I'm glad. Is it ok if I pick you up at 3 pm?"
"That's perfect. While I loved spending almost the entire day with you, I do have some classwork to catch up on." Not that she'd mind just quietly sharing space with him as she works, but 'hey, would you like to silently sit next to me while I study' feels like a weird ask. Not that he wouldn't be delighted to do just that, but she has no way of knowing that yet.

"I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your studies," he replies with a smirk, fingers tightening around hers ever so slightly. "Do you have a favourite kind of food?"
The topic change throws her for a moment. "Anything you're making," she teases once she's recovered her wits.
"That is surprisingly unhelpful."
She chuckles. "It's true though! Probably. I told you that cooking wasn't a huge priority where I grew up, didn't I?"
He nods. "Still, there must be something you enjoy more than other things?"
Her smile slips into something more thoughtful, before growing devious again. "What if my favourite dish is just really cheap mac&cheese from the box?"
"Then I will endeavour to recreate that," he answers with a shrug. "And maybe work at extending your palate."
She laughs at his smug little smirk; likes it when he teases her back, because he's never laughing at her, but inviting her to laugh with him.
"I wouldn't mind that, actually."

They share a smile (they're doing that a lot, and her friends keep teasing her about it, but she doesn't mind) before she answers his original question. "Spicy food. I like complex flavours, because it's different. And reminds me of special occasions, I guess."
"Special occasions?"
She nods. "Like First Day, which is one of the few occasions where both my parents have always taken time off work. That's when the old hot-pot set gets dusted off and we see who can eat the most before giving up. It's always a bit of a mess and it takes ages until everything's finished, but it's fun."
"That sounds nice. Much more cosy than the glorified office party my grandmother hosts."
"You have an office party on First Day? That's …"
He chuckles, but it feels dry now, lacking the warmth it just carried. "A bit odd, isn't it?"
"Something like that."
She'd like to invite him to her own silly little family gathering, but it feels a bit early to make plans for something almost a year away — and his family probably wouldn't be too happy if she stole him away, anyhow.

Time to change the topic to something easier.

"So — am I allowed to know what we do on Saturday? Aside from you feeding me properly?"

His smirk makes a return, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Ah, but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

"I guess I had that one coming," she grins, before leaning in for another kiss. "Alright, I should get back to it."

--

Rook: Do I need to wear anything in particular?
Lucanis: Dress warm. Maybe gloves, if you have them?
Rook: Gotcha. You won't let me freeze though, right?
Lucanis: Never!

Rook is waiting at the Lighthouse when a sleek black sedan stops out front, and Lucanis climbs out a moment later.
"Are you ready? I'm not actually allowed to park there," he explains when he walks in.
"As ready as I'll ever be," she responds with a grin before stepping up for a kiss.
"Ugh, get a room!" Evka calls over, rolling her eyes, but there's laughter in her voice, too.

They both grin and wave goodbye, and then Lucanis is holding the door for her (first the Lighthouse entrance, then the car).
"Nice ride," Rook comments as she slides into the passenger seat. The leather seats are pleasantly warm, and she's pretty sure she's never seen the inside of a car that was this new and expensive before. Her parents never drove anything younger than a decade and showing it's age — and previous owners. His car even smells nice, clean leather and something floral, instead of old take-out and faintly moldy upholstery.
"It comes in handy now and then," he says as he buckles his seatbelt, and she follows suit.
"I'm guessing you won't tell me where we're going until we get there?"
"Correct." He grins, but his eyes remain focused on the road.
"… you know, if you were anyone else, I might point out that taking a girl all alone in your car to an undisclosed location might be considered problematic behaviour," she teases.
"Ah…" his grin falters for a moment, until she bursts into giggles.
"It's a joke, Lucanis. I really don't think you're the type to even consider anything nefarious."
"Should I be relieved or offended?"
"Dealer's choice!"

Rook keeps up a steady stream of pleasant chatter, not because she's nervous (though she is, a little — what if he picked something she doesn't like?), but because she genuinely enjoys talking to him. Lucanis doesn't seem like the type who'd ever voluntarily join a drama club, but he's great at yes, and-ing her jokes.

After half an hour of driving, he pulls into a large parking lot next to some sort of stadium, but she can't see the sign from here. He takes her hand as they amble closer the to entrance, where a small queue of families and couples of all ages is waiting for their turn to pay for admission.
"An ice-rink?"
"Yes. Is that ok?"
"If you're willing to hold my hand so I don't fall flat on my face? I've never actually skated before."
"I would never let you fall," he says earnestly, before pulling her in for another kiss. It's almost a little intimidating, how quickly he got used to that. "You've really never done this before?"
She shakes her head. "There wasn't one close enough to where I grew up to make the trip feasible, what with my limited free-time next to school and jobbing."
"Well, it's never too late to start."

Lucanis pays for both their admission and the lending fee for their skates, because he argues that it was his idea and she shouldn't be forced to pay for something she didn't choose, and for once, she lets him — it's sort of part of going on a date, isn't it? Not that she'll let him get away with that all the time. He's clearly not hurting for money — not with that car — but Rook has her pride, too.

The pride doesn't stop her from holding on to him when they step on the ice though, unaccustomed to the way her feet want to slide away from her. He doesn't seem to mind. He does show off a little though, skating backwards while holding both of her hands to slowly coax her forward, one wobbly step at a time.
"How are you so good at this?" she complains, still trying to find her rhythm.
"I've been doing this every winter since I was a kid," he explains with a smile, "but I'm really just average."

Well, average is apparently enough to stabilize her until she's found her stride, so he eventually turns to skate beside her, still holding on to her left hand. It is kind of fun once you've figured out how to move, though she doesn't mind the excuse to keep holding his hand. Neither does he, it seems. When they are all asked to step off the ice for a break, he pulls her over to a small food stand selling ice cream (really, in this climate?) and fries and warm beverages. Walking on solid ground (or what passes for solid around the rink) with the skates on her feet feels supremely weird, but at least she's much less likely to slip now.
Lucanis pulls a face at the taste of his coffee, but her hot chocolate is perfectly adequate.
"Being particular about taste isn't always a blessing, is it?"
"Definitely not always, no," he agrees with a sigh.

They amble over to the guardrail again, settling in to watch the ice resurfacer slowly making its rounds over the rink. Rook shuffles to the side until she can lean against Lucanis' chest, smiles when he wraps his free arm around her waist.
"This is nice," she says as she covers his hand with hers where it lays against her middle.
"It is," he agrees softly, his breath just barely stirring her hair to send a shiver down her spine.

---

They spend another hour at the rink, skating in lazy circles until Rook's hands get cold despite her gloves and Lucanis holding on to her. At least she only fell onto her ass once, when one particularly energetic preteen cut right in front of them. She almost pulled Lucanis down with her too, but he somehow managed to keep his balance and help her up afterwards. She had to assure him that she mostly just hurt her pride, though she's quietly sure that there'll be bruises later.

"No cooking tonight?" she asks when he takes a left instead of a right coming out of the parking lot, heading further into the city instead of toward the university campus.
"You'll see," he deflects, hoping that he didn't overstep, that she'll like his choice. He finds a parking space in a quieter side road before he leads her towards a small, unassuming restaurant. They'll be eating Tevene cuisine tonight, because Rook said she likes spicy food and because the reviews said this would be a good place — no cheap tourist trap, but nothing too fancy, either.

Lucanis is pretty sure that Illario would sneer at him for taking his girlfriend to a small family restaurant, but he doesn't want her to feel uncomfortable, and the staff at the kind of places his family tends to frequent are enough to make him feel self-conscious, checking his wardrobe for loose threads or overlooked stains.
He pulls out her chair for her when they reach their table (which he reserved in advance, just to be sure), making her chuckle.
"Is this alright?"
His nerves are making an appearance once he's settled into his own chair, and she smiles, reaching for his hand.
"It's perfect. Well, I think it is. Ask me again once I've had a taste."
"Fair enough. I haven't actually been here before either, but the reviews were good?"
"Then we shall hope that they knew what they were talking about."

They were. After what feels like mere minutes filled with lively conversation, their table is filled with steaming plates whose enticing smell reminds him that it's been hours since his last meal. The food is good, hot and aromatic and plenty, and he likes watching Rook enjoy herself, savouring her own plate and stealing bites from his.

When they've shared desert and have run out of excuses to extend their stay, he pays their bill and hands their server a generous tip. It's only when he puts his wallet away that he notices her frown.
"You know you didn't have to pay for me, right?"
He stills. Did he mess up already? The day seemed to be going so well …
"I … apologize? I thought that was expected, when I take you out on a date."
She grimaces. "That's a … pretty antiquated view, actually. Most people our age just split the bill."

That is not what Illario has been insinuating with regard to his own dates — though perhaps he shouldn't take his cousin's dating life as inspiration; he'd really like to spend more than two weeks with Rook. A lot more. And he had been thinking of her financial situation, too, but how to phrase that without being patronizing or insulting?

"I'm sorry. I just wanted you to have a good time without having to worry about your finances. I know you work at the Lighthouse because you need the income."
"Yes, so I can have nice things like dining out every once in a while." She sighs. "Look, I appreciate the thought, just … ask me first, next time? If you keep paying for me, I'll feel like I owe you something, and I don't like that."
"I would never expect any kind of compensation!"
"I believe you. Doesn't change how I feel about it though."

He lets her words sink in for a moment, watches her face, her posture. Nods. "Understood."
There's a lopsided smile on her face when she responds, a little relieved and a little pained. "Thank you. And I'm sorry, too — I didn't mean to ruin the mood."
Her hand feels almost cold when he finds it on top of the table again.
"I don't mind. It's better to have these things out in the open that letting them fester."
"Agreed. Though you'll find that I'm pretty bad at keeping these things to myself in general."
"Good." And he means it; a somewhat uncomfortable conversation is better than misunderstandings stacked on top of each other until they come crashing down with a vengeance.

They manage to find their way back to the ease they've shared for the rest of their date on the drive back, and when they reach the campus, he regrets not taking the longer way. He doesn't want their date to end yet, but he's already taken her out to dinner, and he's not quite ready to take her home.
"I had fun today," she says when he's let the silence grow roots.
"I'm glad," he says with a smile, thinking furiously of a way to keep her just a little bit longer.
"Can I get a good night kiss?" she asks when he keeps grasping for words inside his head, her smile growing cheeky, already leaning over the centre console.
"Of course," and he meets her half-way, perhaps a little clumsy in his enthusiasm. He really likes kissing her. It's nothing like the sloppy, awkward kisses he's endured while tagging along with Illario, the ones that made his skin crawl and his mind wander somewhere far away. When he kisses Rook, he doesn't want to be anywhere else; if anything, he wants to be closer, wants to curl up under her skin. Her happy sigh when his finger slide along her cheek to rest at the nape of her neck flows like honey down his throat.

It's still a bit of a shock when he feels her run her tongue along his lips, but not unpleasant. Rook doesn't push; she's slow, careful, waits for him to respond before she does anything else. Kissing with tongue feels weird at first, warm and wet and unfamiliar. He doesn't really know what to do with his tongue, what's expected of him, but she is patient and she tastes of spices and matcha ice cream and he wants to taste more of her.

When she eventually pulls away, he chases after her for a second before opening his eyes to blink at her in a daze. Her lips are very red now, darker than the flush in her cheeks, though not as dark as her eyes.
"Goodnight, Lucanis," she murmurs with a smile, leaning in for one last kiss before she opens the door and strides across the street-lit campus, leaving him to stare after her.
"Goodnight, Rook."

Chapter Text

For their next date, Rook leads Lucanis to the Aquarium. It's a little out of the way and though she could have asked him to drive, she insists that they take the bus. Getting there takes a little more time this way, but not having to concentrate on the road does have its perks, too. Rook has absolutely no qualms about holding his hand and kissing him on public transport, and it's difficult to remember why he should, either, until an older gentleman behind them clears his throat in disapproval and Rook descends into giggles.
No one complains when she rests her head on his shoulder though, or when he presses a soft kiss to her knuckles.

The aquarium is a lot busier on a Saturday than the museum was; they are forced to take their time between exhibits to actually catch a good look at the colourful inhabitants of the various water scapes. Rook's favourite are the jellyfish, who look a little like ghosts drifting through space in the soft, blueish lighting in their tube. Lucanis is partial to the seahorses that look like kelp, almost invisible on first glance but intricately beautiful if you look a little closer.

When they stand under the giant "underwater" walkway beneath the biggest seawater tank the aquarium has to offer, she asks him what kind of fish he'd be.
"Which one I think I'm most similar to or which kind I'd want to be?"
"Your choice!"
He thinks for a moment, watching a manta ray fly overhead.
"I think I'd like to be a whale shark." They're big enough not to be mistaken for prey by anyone (except maybe Orcas — Orcas have no respect for size or teeth or anything, really), but are actually gentle giants who'll only eat plankton.
She grins. "Good answer."
"And you?"
Her eyes drift along with a large reef shark. "Something like a cleaner wrasse, I think. You practically get your food delivered, get free rides, and the big guys won't eat you because you're useful. If it didn't have to be a fish though, I'd probably go with sea lion; they seem fun."
The mental image makes him chuckle. "Not an otter?"
"What, because they look so cute and cuddly, holding hands not to drift away? No thank you. You do not want to google what the males do to baby seals."
"I'll take your word for it." He has seen enough documentaries to know that nature, while beautiful, can also be seriously fucked up.

They proceed to guess which kind of fish their friends might be. Neve gets cast as an octopus, "because they're masters of deception and can get into anything", and Bellara reminds Rook of a parrotfish. Dorian might work as a lionfish, because they're so very flashy, but he feels too friendly to be poisonous.
Lucanis jokes that Illario might be a koi carp, simply because they appear to be the show-horses of the Aquarian scene, and Viago reminds him of a moray eel.
Neither of them are fish-people though, so it's a little difficult to find a fit for everyone, but it is a fun exercise.

Afterwards, they go back to Rook's dorm together, because she mentioned that her roommates have been asking if he'd cook for them again anytime soon. They grab groceries on the way for him to make them a proper paella, filling the apartment with the smell of seafood and saffron (which feels a little morbid, after their aquarium visit).
Rook hovers around him as he cooks, asking about what he's doing and why and helping him cut up ingredients. He lets her taste the spices he's using, because getting a feel for those is one of the most important aspects of cooking. When all that's left is adding the ingredients to the pan, she leans against his back and puts her head on his shoulder — to watch and learn, she claims, but he has his doubts. It's very distracting, but he wouldn't dare tell her to keep her distance.

Hawke, Aveline and Bellara are appropriately appreciative with the result; after they've all had their fill, Hawke withdraws to her own room to practice guitar (again), and Bellara begins to grill them about their day at the Aquarium. When Rook asks her which fish she would be, Bellara launches into an excited recollection of various fish and their eccentricities. Her mum used to work in a pet shop, so she has a lot of fun animal facts and stories to share. Fortunately, she does eventually remember that she is not actually supposed to be part of their date, excusing herself to tinker with something in her room.

When Rook kisses him goodnight this time, Lucanis pulls her close so he can wrap his arms around her, relishing in her warmth. It feels a lot less weird to feel her tongue sliding against his own this time, tasting of paella and soda and Rook, and he can't help but angle his head to deepen their kiss. There's slight hitch in her breath when his fingers glide into her hair at the base of her skull that goes straight to his core, and it becomes increasingly difficult to disentangle himself.

When he finally does walk through the door and down the corridor, he doesn't see Rook leaning against the door for a moment, or Hawke stepping around the corner to ask her why she keeps sending him home alone. Doesn't hear her sigh and explain that they're taking it slow, or Hawke's good natured laughter.

---

Not everyone's love life is going smoothly, much as Rook would love to share her joy. Hawke still hasn't managed to wrangle a date out of her crush (not that they've met him, except for Aveline, who has spied on her friend through the guitar shop's large front windows), and Neve is still refusing to do anything about Rana, and then there's Bellara.

The next time Irelin drops a letter at the Lighthouse, she doesn't want anyone else to read it, saying it feels private and withdrawing to the kitchen to get some quiet time. She looks troubled, and not like she's enjoying their prank anymore. Perhaps it's time to stage an intervention.

As a result, Neve and Rook corner her in her room after dinner that night. She doesn't suspect anything when she opens her door.
"Oh hey guys, what's up?"
"We need to talk," Neve declares ominously as she pushes her way inside, and Rook closes the door behind them with a soft click.
"Uhm, about what?" Bellara's eyes dart nervously between them. No matter how innocently meant, those four words always invoke a sense of dread.
"Let's sit," Rook says and pats the space on the bed beside her, watching her friend sink down nervously while Neve claims the chair.
"The thing with the letters to Irelin — it's not fun anymore, isn't it?"
Bellara looks down, clenching her fingers into the fabric of her sweatpants.
"Not really, no," she answers quietly.
"What happened?"

Bellara shrugs. "I don't know? I just … it feels mean? Exchanging letters with her reminded me of what I used to like about her, and pretending to be someone else and slinging her along … it feels wrong. I thought I'd be fine with it, but I don't actually want to hurt her."
Rook and Neve glance at each other for a second.
"What do you want to do?" Rook asks.
Bellara has rolled the spare hair tie that she usually wears around her wrist off her hand and is stretching it between her fingers. "I'm not sure? I had originally planned to eventually ask her to meet and then just leave a box full of the things I still have of her and maybe a note.
I could just stop answering her, but I always thought that ghosting someone is really unfair. Or I could think of something to write that would make her want to stop, or signal that I've lost interest or have to move away?"
Neve snorts. "The last one would be kind of poetic justice, wouldn't it?"
"Or you could just talk to her," Rook suggests.
"Talk to her how?"
"Ask her to meet, much like in your original plan, and explain everything. Maybe do bring that box of stuff you still have of her."
Bellara blinks at her. "Uhm."
"You're going to give the poor girl anxiety, Rook."
"What? I know it'll probably be a pretty uncomfortable conversation, but it's also the only one that feels like it might actually give Bellara closure."
When they look back at the friend in question, she is still staring down at her hands.
"I'll think about it," she says quietly.

---

"… and that's why we'll be hiding around the corner from that little courtyard next to building C3 in two weeks to provide moral support," Rook explains to Lucanis when she's on her break on Thursday afternoon. It's sleeting outside, and not many customers feel like bracing the weather in the afternoon dark.
"Let's hope you have more luck with the weather then," he muses.
"That's actually part of the plan: If Irelin has absolutely no interest in that confrontation, the weather will give both of them a good excuse to get away quickly; but if she does want to talk, they can go somewhere nicer together, like the Lighthouse, where we can still listen in without being super obvious about it."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"
"Well, it wasn't just me. But I like to be thorough."
"Your friends are lucky to have you," he adds with a smile.
"That they are," she agrees, taking another bite from her muffin with a grin.

"So — this weekend. How do you feel about minigolf?"
Rook chokes on her muffin, cough-laughing her lungs free.
"Minigolf? Isn't that … I mean, in this weather?"
"There's apparently an Indoor-Funpark that offers different kinds of entertainment — like neon-minigolf and lasertag and escape-rooms. It looked interesting on the website?"
"Ok, that does actually sound fun, and I'd love to give it a try, but, uh, rain check?" Rook grimaces. "I've fallen a bit behind on my studies, and with exam season coming up …"
"Oh. Of course, I wouldn't want you to fall behind on my account," he says, but can't quite hide the way his face falls at her response.
"We could still do something in the evening?" she hurries to add. "Like, pizza and a movie at your place? You do still owe me an introduction to your cat, and my dorm room is a little crowded."

For a moment, she's afraid he'll refuse — they have been taking it slow, so coming over to his place feels like kind of a big deal — but then he breaks into a smile.
"I'd like that."
"Great," she returns his smile, "so, uh … what kind of movies do you like?"
To her surprise, he hesitates for a moment, not like he has to think about it, but like he's apprehensive about her reaction.
"Promise you won't laugh?"
"Lucanis, I grew up on a very strange melange of horror and kids animation. I won't laugh."
"Romance and documentaries."
"Really?" Rook grins. "What kind of documentaries?"
"Pretty much anything; I always learn something, plus sometimes it's just nice to look at pretty pictures while a soothing voice talks to me."
"David Attenborough is an international treasure," Rook agrees.

"What about you?"
She thinks for a moment. "Animated movies and Action comedies, but I have a soft spot for period pieces, too."
"Not horror?"
He always listens when she talks.
"Nah, horror is Neve's thing; but no one else would sneak into the movie theatre to watch those with her, so we made a deal: She has to watch sappy, frequently tragic kid's movies with me and in turn I'd sit through two hours of scary time with her. We'd usually pay admission for one thing and then sneak into the next one after, once we were past the velvet ropes."

His chuckle pools like hot chocolate in her stomach. "Smart. I can see why you wouldn't like horror movies, but what's Neve's objection to animation?"
"Pretty sure it's mostly just that she doesn't like to cry in public. I think she cried more than I did when we went to see Up! in cinema. To be fair though, that movie should come with a trigger waning."
"That bad?"
"That sad. The first 20 minutes of that kid's movie are one of the most heartfelt pieces of media writing I have ever seen, and I refuse to watch them ever again because I think they gave me psychic damage. The rest is fun though, but then talking dogs always are."
"Ok, now I'm intrigued."
"With anything else, I'd offer to watch it with you, but in this case, I'll just advise you to make sure you have tissues. Lots of tissues."
"I'll take that under advisement. We should probably pick something else for Saturday though."
"Yeah, we should. Let's think on it until tomorrow?"
"Good idea."

---

Lucanis means to take a page out of Rook's book on Saturday and catch up on his studies, but he cannot seem to concentrate. His apartment is generally clean, but he doesn't normally have people over (people other than occasionally his cousin); he's certainly never had a girlfriend over — his girlfriend. Suddenly, it feels imperative that his place is spotless.
Spite is not helpful, but at least he doesn't puke on the bath mat today.

It's not a large apartment, so even scrubbing it from top to bottom doesn't take more than two hours (and honestly, he's pretty sure she won't see much of his bedroom; well, maybe 90 percent sure). Might as well get groceries. And then take a run. And a shower.

It's a very long six hours until 7 pm.

He offered to pick her up at the dorm, but she told him it would be silly to make him walk all the way twice, so he spends the last 30 minutes just waiting for the doorbell to ring (and still nearly jumps out of his skin when it does).
"Hey", Rook greets him with a grin when he opens the door.
"Hey," he answers, foolishly breathless.
"Can I come in?"
"Of course! Please," and he steps aside. "Did you find the place alright?"
"It's not exactly well hidden," she teases as she shrugs off her coat and he takes it off her hands.
Then she looks around, taking in his apartment (or at least the parts she can see).
"Hey, this is nice! And really tidy." She turns back to him with a smirk. "Did you clean up just for me?"
He really shouldn't feel embarrassed about cleaning up his place for visitors, but the heat is creeping up his neck all the same. "I like having it tidy."
There's no malice in her laughter, just the good humor of sharing a joke. "Don't worry, I wouldn't judge you either way — you've seen how I live." Before she can spike his blood pressure any more, she bends down to the black cat now twining between her legs.
"And who's this fine gentleman? You must be Spite," she croons, scratching under his throat.
"Traitor," Lucanis mutters as his cat begins to purr.

"So, where's the menu?" she asks when she straightens out again.
"The menu?"
"To order pizza?"
He blinks. "Order Pizza? We're not ordering pizza — we're making pizza."
Her turn to blink, before she breaks into a laugh again. "Of course we're making our own; silly me. You don't ever do anything the easy way, do you?"
"Not if I can help it," he says with a smirk.
More laughter as she follows him into the kitchen. "So what are my choices?"
"I got a bit of everything, because I wasn't sure what you'd like."

He's already prepared the dough, but hasn't cut up any of the toppings yet so they wouldn't get dry. The selection he pulls out of his fridge and cupboards is pretty impressive — salami calabrese, Serrano ham, olives, bell peppers, chillies, anchovies, artichoke, … Rook, of course, makes a beeline for the little can of pineapple.
"Ohh nice, pineapple!"
Lucanis pulls a face. "Pineapple doesn't belong on pizza!"
"Everything goes on pizza if you're determined enough," Rook teases. "And pineapple happens to go perfectly well with a variety of savoury toppings!"
He shudders. "Savage." Doesn't move when she leans closer, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Ah, but you still got some, and you put it out with the other toppings."
He's blushing again, avoiding her gaze. "I didn't know what you'd like." Can't help but look back at her when she steps into his space to wrap her arms around his neck. "You're sweet, you know?"
Can't not kiss her when she looks at him like that, leaning against his chest, and his hands land on her hips as if they belong there, tethering him. When she pulls back again, he doesn't feel quite so nervous about her presence anymore.

"Alright, so how do we start?" Her nose is still almost brushing against his, and it takes him a moment to gather his wits.
"I roll out the dough and you pick whatever toppings you like?"
"Even pineapple?"
"Even pineapple," he assents with a roll of his eyes.

Sharing his kitchen space with her feels strange, because he has to think before he moves now, but it's nice, too. She helps with cutting up their toppings, right until they reach the meats and Spite starts to become very interested in what they're doing. After the fifth time Lucanis has to remove him from the counter, Rook is relegated to holding their ham and salami slices out of reach (because otherwise, there won't be any left for the pizza, and he'll have to spend half the night cleaning up after Spite again).

Unsurprisingly, Rook's pizza ends up containing a small mountain of anything-goes toppings (bell peppers and Serrano ham and pineapple and chillies), while Lucanis opts for more traditional fare (calabrese salami and olives and artichoke). With the pizza in the oven, he starts putting leftover ingredients away and cleaning up the counter while Rook plays with Spite, and it feels cozy and relaxed and maybe he isn't doing so bad after all. But then he starts setting the table and she looks up at him with a frown.
"What are you doing?"
"Setting the table?"
"But … I though we said dinner and a movie?"
"Yes? Sorry, I assumed that you'd want to eat first — did you want to start with the movie?"
She snorts, shaking her head. "No, silly, I wanted to eat while watching the movie." Then she tilts her head, studying him for a moment. "Have you never had pizza on he couch while watching something?"
"Ah — not really?" He doesn't like making a mess, and that feels like an invitation for getting crumbs and sauce all over the upholstery, not to mention making it easier for Spite to try stealing from his plate.
"We clearly need to teach you to live a little then."

So they cut up their spoils and carry their plates to the couch, to 'do this the proper way', and Lucanis loads up their movie choice. They had been writing back and forth for a bit on Friday, but in the end, they decided on "A Knight's Tale", which Lucanis somehow missed but Rook hasn't. It's one of the movies she saw when catching Mystery Mondays at her local cinema when she was in high school. Tickets for those were dirt cheap, because no one likes to go to the movies on a Monday, but in exchange, you'd never know what you'd get. Anything was possible, from vintage classics over C-movie slashers to sneak previews for upcoming blockbusters; it's how Rook and Neve got to see a lot of weird films.

It's odd to sit on his couch next to Rook, with her knee leaning against his thigh as she balances her plate in her lap and her arm brushing against his as they eat, warm and unnerving and more than a little distracting, but he doesn't want to be anywhere else, either.

She has a lot of opinions about the movie, particularly about the female love interest and her anachronistic attire, but it's clearly criticism born out of love for the subject. He isn't used to chatting during a movie, but her light commentary keeps him grounded and distracts him from the way his insides tense every time she brushes against him. When they've both cleaned off and put aside their plates, she leans more solidly against his shoulder, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands until she informs him with a grin that he's allowed to put his arm around her at this point. It takes a little shifting and rearranging until they're both comfortable, but then her head rests on his chest and his hand on her waist and something is going to cramp or fall asleep at some point, but it's the best feeling in the world.

"He should have picked the smith," she mutters when William embraces Jocelyn after unseating Adhemar, and he finds himself agreeing.
"It's still a satisfying finale though. I like it when these things circle around."
"Oh yeah, that part is awesome."
And then the credits start to roll, and there's not much to distract him from the way she's melting into his side, the way hair hair tickles his nose, the smell of her favourite shampoo mixing with the pizza smell permeating his apartment. His thumb is rubbing absentminded circles over her waist as he feels the pull of nerves on his insides again.
Right until the credits stop and the after credits scene begins, and Rook snickers at the supporting cast having a flatulence contest, and he can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it, too, or maybe it's just the sudden release of tension.
"This is juvenile, I should not be laughing at this," he wheezes, and she disagrees, lifting her head to grin at him. "Of course you should laugh at this, that's the whole point," and her eyes sparkle and she's so close and then he's kissing her, shifting and turning to pull her in.

There's nothing slow and careful about it this time, because she's intoxicating and he's been waiting to do this since she walked through his door and she's meeting his enthusiasm beat for beat. There's no audience to consider now, no piqued old men on the bus, no need to hurry; there's just them, and his couch, and the need to eliminate any distance between them (well, and Spite, but he's busy licking crumbs off their plates).
It's how her hand ends up against his chest, curling into his sweater, and how his free hand slips into her hair and he just needs her closer, because her kisses taste like home and he wants … he wants.
It's still new, never more than a flicker, candlelight licking at his core when she laughs, when she holds his hand, when they kiss. It's not a flicker now; his entire body is consumed with it, too warm and too tight, an inferno raging beneath his skin everywhere they touch, all at once, and it's too much.
There's a small gasp when his teeth skim her lower lip, striking like lightning to his groin, and he needs to pull away. They're both panting when he does, eyes dark and half-lidded, and he can't seem to meet her gaze.

"I … it's getting late, I should probably take you home."
His words hit her like a bucket of cold water, and she blinks at him in confusion, taking a moment to process. Her fingers drift up his chest to lightly cradle his jaw, nudging him to look at her.
I'd much rather you take me to bed, but she bites down on the words, because it's clearly the wrong thing to say right now.
"Only if you want to."
"I couldn't send you home alone at this time of night," he mumbles, and he can see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, because that isn't what she was asking, he knows it isn't, and she knows it, too, and he doesn't want to be a disappointment, but that's half the problem and he can't seem to make his mouth work to change his answer.
And because she's Rook, she's already smiling again as she pulls away. "Alright then. Let me get my coat."

They're quiet on the way to her dorm, largely because he feels like kicking himself for the entire walk, too busy feeling like an idiot to hold up a conversation. She still holds his hand, matching his stride, and turns to him with a smile when they reach the entrance to her building.
"Just so you know, I did enjoy myself tonight, and your pizza is definitely better than the take-out stuff."
"I'm glad."
And then she leans in again, pressing a very soft kiss to his cold lips, and all he wants is to hold on to her and never let her go, but it feels too late to change his mind now, and he can't find the right words.

He spends the entire walk home wishing he was better at this.

Lucanis: I'm sorry
Lucanis: I'm an idiot
Rook: … [typing]
Rook: That's ok
Rook: We all are, sometimes
Rook: I'm not going anywhere
Rook: Well, unless you make me
Lucanis: … [typing]
Lucanis: I don't deserve you
Rook: Good thing that's not how this works ;-)

Chapter Text

"… and we were just getting to the good part, too," Rook groans as she recounts the highlights of her weekend to her friends during lunch break on Monday.

Today is burger day, and she's still licking a last bit of ketchup from her fingers. Neve always manages to remain spotless somehow, but she's never succeeded in teaching Rook that particular trick.
Neve chuckles as Rook pouts, and Bellara makes sympathetic noises, but it's Rana who responds first.
"Well, I think you're a bloody saint. I'm pretty sure I would have jumped him at that point."
Neve nearly chokes on her drink.

"He was clearly panicking about something, I don't think jumping him would have been a good idea," Rook argues. "Even if I reaaalllyy really wanted to."
"Maybe next time," Neve smirks, patting her head.
"Maybe." Rook sighs, takes a sip from her milkshake, then straightens up a little. "But it got me thinking — do you think they also do surprise movie nights around here somewhere?"
"What are surprise movie nights?" Bellara wants to know.
"You know — nights where your local cinema isn't really busy, so they sell you dirt cheap tickets but don't tell you what for."
"Ohhhh that sounds fun!"
"It is! Well, sometimes it's weird and kinda off-putting, too, but anything can be fun when you bring the right people," Rook explains, grinning at Neve who rolls her eyes.
"Want me to find out?"
"Yes please! We could introduce Bellara and Rana to the wonders of indie horror-musicals and half-off blockbusters."
Rana laughs. "I'm in, so long as it's not the night before Friday. I don't think I can survive that morning class if I don't get my beauty sleep."
"We wouldn't want you to miss your beauty sleep. What about you, Bellara?"
"I'm in!"

---

"… and of course they do, because they know what's good for business, and that's why we're going to see a movie next Tuesday," Rook explains with a grin when Lucanis walks her back to her dorm on Wednesday evening after her shift.
"That sounds like fun. Can I join?"
Her grin shifts into a grimace as she glances down and away, then back again, a beseeching expression on her face.
"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but, uhm — I'd rather you didn't? At least the first time."
"Oh."

He can't help feeling rejected — did he mess up that badly when he walked her home on Saturday? Is she turning the tables on him because he made her feel like he didn't want her? It's a horrible feeling, like cold stones dropped into the pit of his stomach. He really likes her, likes spending time with her, doesn't want her to pull away, did he really ruin it already? He —

"It's not because I don't want you around!" Rook hastens to say, squeezing his hand. "It's just that Neve has a thing for Rana, but she doesn't want to do anything about it because they're friends, too, and roommates, and she doesn't want to make it weird, so I'm trying to, well … nudge them in the right direction? But I don't want to spook either of them by making it look like a date night, so a girls' night out feels safer. For now, at least."
Oh. Lucanis blinks, takes a deep breath. Lets it out again. "So you're trying to play matchmaker?"
"What? No, it's not like that! I'm not pushing anyone to do anything. I'm just … creating opportunities."

And something clicks.
"… Like when you asked me to come see a movie with you and your friends?" he asks, lips curling into a smile.
Her cheeks are already flushed from the cold, but he could swear the colour deepens a little as she glances down again. They've reached the entrance to her dorm now, but she doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get inside, fingers playing with one of the buttons of his coat.
"Well, yes. I had this hunch that maybe you like me, but it felt like perhaps you needed a little push."
She peeks up at him through fluttering lashes, and his smile widens as he wraps his arms around her waist to pull her closer.
"What gave me away?"
"Oh, mostly little things — and then you went ahead and came to my apartment to make soup for me." She's grinning again, and he can't help but laugh, a bubble of nervous energy bursting into merriment as he remembers his own anxiety, standing in front of her door with a bag of groceries in one hand and her umbrella in the other.
"I suppose that was pretty weird, wasn't it?"
"It felt a little like an episode of the Twilight Zone, but in a good way."
"What's the twilight zone?"
"You don't know the Twilight Zone? Now I've got to scour the internet archives, we really need to work on your pop culture education!"

Again he chuckles, before leaning in to gently rub his nose against hers. They're both cold, but it doesn't matter; he would happily stand here for hours if it meant holding her a little longer. "In any case, I'm glad you created that opportunity. I really don't know how we'd have gotten here otherwise, though I do feel bad for making you do all the heavy lifting."
"I don't mind," she says, raising her head for a kiss. "I'm pretty happy with the result. And I'm a big girl, I don't need to wait for my prince to woo me. I could make you carry my bag if it makes you feel better though?"
He snorts. "I would, you know."
"Nah, it's fine. It's not that heavy."

---

It's Rook's turn to pick an activity that weekend, even though Lucanis didn't get a chance to take her out last time, but she insists. He starts to catch on when they take the same tram again, even though she does her best to distract him during the drive, looking a little puzzled when they emerge in front of the museum again.

"The National Gallery? Not that I didn't enjoy our last visit, but …"
"They have a new exhibit," Rook explains with a grin. "Remember how the natural history section was under construction last time? It's done now, and housing an exhibition on Mythical Beasts of Thedas — including wyverns!"
"Wyverns are no mythical beasts though; they're almost extinct, yes, but there are still several small populations in Orlais and northern Arlathan."
"Yes, but they are related to dragons, and dragons are kinda mythical? Look, I didn't make the exhibit, but I thought you might enjoy it."
"I'm willing to be persuaded," he relents with a smile. He's willing to do a lot of things, so long as it's with Rook.

And it is a fun exhibit — there are life-sized models of all manner of creatures, with information on how they entered the general consciousness as well as possible origins. Some of them are mere fables, while others are, indeed, animals that are either rare or extinct and have inspired various stories.
There are unicorns and harpys and jackalopes, winged snakes and griffons as well as wyverns, drakes and dragons.
The Wyvern models are beautiful (most of them reproductions, but there's also a single stuffed carcass from the private collection of an Orlesian nobleman), and they even have a life-sized reproduction of a great dragon skeleton. Lucanis particularly likes the detailed biological notes on former and existing habitats and their influence on colouring and morphology.

"Are you sure you picked the right major?" Rook teases when he takes pictures of the info panels even after reading through them.
Lucanis blinks; for a moment, he almost forgot she was there. "I'm so sorry, am I boring you? I can come back later —"
"No!" She grabs his arm and leans in for a kiss. "I like that you're so invested. It's cute."
He can feel his cheeks heating up under the weight of her grin, but it's a nice kind of heat. "I'll show you cute," he mutters, pulling her closer.

They spend over two hours in the new exhibition alone, and this time, he makes a beeline for the souvenir shop on his own account when they move towards the exit, picking up a book on wyvern biology. He trusts Rook not to take offence at him being a total nerd about his favourite animals by now. He even gets a tote-bag, because he didn't think to bring a backpack, and Rook's bag is too small.

It's a surprisingly nice day outside; the morning's cloud cover has mostly cleared up, and the wind isn't as bad as it could be, so they spend some time just wandering around town afterwards. It's too late to get cake now, already late afternoon; they wouldn't have any appetite in time for dinner. Rook's turn today, technically, which is why Lucanis is following her home to cook for them all.

"I'm sorry I'm making you cook for us again," she says, fingers twined with his inside the large pocket of his coat (it's warmer this way). "In my defence, I did warn you that you wouldn't be getting rid of us again after you've fed us once." That would have been the day he came over to make soup, out of nowhere, like a lunatic. Not that Rook minds him being a little bit crazy about her.

He chuckles, squeezing her fingers. "I don't mind. Seriously. It's kind of nice. And I really don't want to get rid of you."
Her grin is bright like the sun peeking between the clouds. "Well, good. Cause you won't." It doesn't go away when he leans down to kiss her, merely shifting into something softer.
"I'm counting on it," he murmurs against her lips before he pulls away again, still a little self conscious about flagrant public displays of affection.

"Actually … we could make that a regular thing, if you like. It could come over on Fridays to cook for you guys, and we could spend Saturdays at my place?" With any luck, his scarf will cover the heat climbing up his neck, the memory of last week's fiasco still fresh in his mind. He can do better; he wants to do better.
Her gaze is curious when he dares to meet her eyes again, and perhaps a little cautious. "Are you sure?"
He swallows against the dry lump in his throat. Nods. "Yes."
The smile that follows his proclamation dimples at the corners . "Alright. We'll give it a try, next weekend," she says with a wink, and tugs him towards the nearest tram station.
"What should we make for dinner?"
"'We'?"
"Come on, I can help!"
"If you say so …"
She bumps her shoulder into his, and they both laugh.

Dinner ends up being curry; Rook can wash and cook the rice, at least, after she manages to cut her finger trying to peel a potato. There's a small band-aid around her index finger now, and Lucanis has taken her knife away. It's difficult to argue with him when the evidence of her failure is stuck to her finger for all to see.

"Don't feel too bad about it, I suck at peeling potatoes too," Hawke comments from her perch at the dining table. She is tuning her guitar while they're busy in the kitchen, happy to provide a running commentary to their efforts.
"I'm not sure if you're the best role model in this case," Lucanis teases — actually teases her roommate! Like he belongs! Rook is so proud.

"Probably not," Hawke concedes with a shit-eating grin that only slips when Aveline walks in and plucks the guitar from her hands.
"Hey!"
"You can have it back tomorrow, because I'm sick of it for today," her best friend declares, carrying the instrument into her own room.
"Aveliiine!" Hawke complains, but Aveline won't be moved, so she follows. A few moments later, the sounds of a mild argument can be heard through the wall, and Rook turns up the music.
"Will they be ok?" Lucanis asks, a little worried.
"They'll be fine; far as I know, they've known each other for years and consider this a perfectly reasonable way of passing the time."

Bellara chooses that moment to come in through the front door, eyes lighting up when she sees that Rook is not cooking tonight. Rook might feel offended, if she wasn't also happy that she's not cooking tonight. Lucanis doesn't mind discussing his preferred spice mix with her, and Rook retreats to the dining table to give them space when they start comparing recipes.

Lucanis' offer to come over to cook every Friday is met with enthusiastic approval all around when they're all gathered for dinner, and Rook can see that he's pleased. It really would be a shame not to share his kitchen wizardry with more people more often, especially when it makes him happy.

---

"Oh, right, before I forget — I meant to lend you that book, didn't I? Come on."

They had been talking about their literary tastes, and what books they'd read recently. Lucanis made the mistake of admitting that he likes reading romance, and one of Rook's recent faves was a romantic fairytale medley with a spunky runaway princess rescuing a damsel-in-distress cursed prince. Doing a little private book exchange felt only fitting.

So when she strolls over to her room, he follows, taking in the small space for the first time.
"Please excuse the clutter," she throws over her shoulder, well aware how much tidier his place is in comparison.
She did make sure that there is no underwear lying around and cleared off her laundry chair that morning, just in case, but her desk is still a mess. There are several different stack of notes and papers, an old teacup, a half-empty bag of crisps, her laptop, a watering can, and two stacks of books in the corner — ones she still needs to read, and ones she needs to return to the library. Her personal books — the stuff she owns because she needs it constantly, because it's required reading or because it's reading-for-pleasure are stacked onto a wall shelve over the desk, and she has to rise on the balls of her feet and lean over to reach the one she's looking for.

Lucanis left the door cracked open, but someone must have opened window because it closes behind him with click. Not that he's paying much mind to that at the moment, because he has a pretty nice view of Rook's butt from where he sat down at the edge of her bed.

"There we go," she says when her fingertips find the coveted volume, and she turns back with a triumphant grin only to find him looking up at her with a smile, a slight flush to his cheeks, giving her an idea that has absolutely nothing to to with the book in her hand.
It's barely two steps from the desk to the edge of her bed, and she drops the book on the cover even as she slides one knee onto the mattress right next to his thigh, very slowly, and then the other, making sure to telegraph her movements the entire time. He doesn't move, doesn't make any attempt to stop her. She still keeps her weight off his lap when she's straddling him, resting her hands on his shoulders.
"Is this ok?"
He stares up at her out of large, dark eyes, swallows, then nods. "Yes."

His hands trace lightly along the outside of her thighs as she begins to relax, settling her weight on his thighs before leaning in for a kiss. He got overwhelmed when they were kissing on his couch last week, so she's taking it slow this time, letting him set the pace as she's gently brushing her lips against his. His hands wander up her back, over her shoulders and down again, soft enough to trace goosebumps in their wake. They settle on her hips for a moment when he slips his tongue into her mouth, and she curls her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Because she wants him closer, all the time, and its difficult to resist when he's already playing along like this.

It's almost a shock when he moves his hands again, fingers slipping under the edge of her sweater to lightly graze the skin just above the waistband of her jeans.
"Is this ok?" he murmurs against her lips, and she smiles.
"Yes," she breathes, "but only because your hands are warm."
His breath is a warm huff against her face, too. "I'll keep that in mind."

It's rather distracting when his fingers wander upwards, over her ribs and along her shoulder blades, a slow exploration of her skin. Her world narrows down to the points where they touch, his solid warmth beneath her, the eager press of his lips, the trails of heat left by his fingertips. Can't contain a soft gasp from escaping her throat when his thumb brushes the underside of her breast, a thrill of excitement curling at her core — abruptly cut off with a rush of cold air in her face when he suddenly pulls away.
She's about to chase after him when she notices the change in the light and the light breeze coming from her left, courtesy of the now open door to her room holding one gaping Bellara.

"Did you forget to knock again?" Rook grumbles when she recovers her speech, and her friend blushes a bright scarlet.
"OhmygoshI'msosorry," she stammers as she steps back, slamming the door in her own face.
"Put a sock on your door next time!" her muffled voice rings through the door, and then her steps begin to beat a hasty retreat.

They both blink at the door for a moment before Rook snorts and breaks into helpless giggles. It takes only a moment until Lucanis joins her, snickering into the crook of her neck, and his hands slip out from under her sweater to wrap around her back again. The laughter helps to dissipate the delicious tension that was building between them, letting her heartbeat level out again.
"Is that really something that people do? Put a sock on their door?" Lucanis asks when he's regained control of his breathing.
"Honestly? I have no idea. I lived with my parents until last fall, I did not want to announce my intention to get frisky with anyone to my parents."
He huffs an amused breath that tickles along the hair on her neck, then tilts his head up to steal another kiss. "I get that, I think."
The idea of his grandmother walking in on him like this is enough to deflate the bulge in his pants in an instant.

It still takes them a moment to disentangle themselves, because neither of them is in a particular hurry to put more distance between them. But the spell is broken, and Lucanis is a little too aware of the possibility of someone else knocking on her door at any moment; probably better to explore the softness of her skin another time.
He barely remembers to pocket her book when she eventually slides off his lap, leaving him momentarily cold, and his kiss goodnight may end up a little more involved than he had intended.
It becomes more difficult to take his leave from her every time.

But at least her roommates have the presence of mind not to stick around and stare for that part.

Chapter Text

Game theory is almost fun, as Lucanis' math-focused lectures go, and unlike Statistics III, it's surprisingly easy to wrap his head around it — but it does take focus, which is surprisingly hard to come by that Monday. Even if it is one of his rare two-hour courses. For once, it's not Illario's fault; his cousin is busy messaging some girl he hasn't quite succeeded in wooing yet, safe in the knowledge that he can borrow Lucanis' notes later if he needs to. Well. Maybe hope is more accurate than knowledge today, because Lucanis keeps getting distracted.

The ghost of a spark still sets his fingertips to tingling from where they brushed against Rook's when she handed him his coffee that morning, spreading warmth through his core that has absolutely nothing to do with the hot beverage. Like the warmth that kept building when she carefully slid into his lap on Saturday, robbing him of breath for a second as she settled herself.
"Is this okay?"
Okay doesn't even begin to describe it.

It keeps replaying in his mind when it wanders — to her, always to her these days — , recalling the way she kissed him, slow and patient, smiling against his lips when he slipped his hands under her sweater. The way her weight on top of him — warm, solid, and not going anywhere unless he asked her to — made him a little reckless, following the line of her spine and the contour of her ribs, exploring her shape with curious fingers. He remembers the moment when her muscles pulled taut because he found a ticklish spot, the pleased exhale when he reached the nape of her neck, the soft gasp when his thumb grazed the soft curve of her breast, the —

The elbow in his side is not part of his memories, and he blinks back into the present, a little befuddled still, trying to get his bearings.
"Welcome back, Mr. Dellamorte. Would you care to solve this prisoner's dilemma with us?"
Heat shoots up his neck when he realizes Prof. Danzig is staring at him expectantly (not the pleasant kind this time), arched brows and the faint hint of a smirk indicating that the lecturer is more amused than annoyed — yet, if he can pull his mind out of the gutter and concentrate on what's in front of him.
"Yes, I'm sorry. Just a second."
His classmates snicker as he stares at the whiteboard, noting just how many lines have appeared on its surface since he zoned out.
Mierda.

It's enough of a wake-up call to keep his focus where it's supposed to be for the rest of the lecture, but it doesn't keep his cousin from bugging him about it.
"Hey Luca, you feeling alright? Getting enough sleep? Can't have you dozing off in the middle of class, you know!"
The words may sound worried, but the smirk that accompanies them certainly isn't.
"I'm fine," Lucanis mutters, feeling his ears go red again. "It wouldn't hurt you to take your own notes for once, you know?"
"What, me? Perish the thought! Besides, you know what my notes are like."
Unfortunately, he does. There was this one week close to their high school finals that Lucanis caught a stomach bug going around and had no choice but to rely on some of Illario's notes (because Teia and Viago didn't were in a different history class). He's almost certain that week cost him 1.5 points on his finals.
"So what's got you spacing out in the middle of class, anyway? Isn't that one you actually like?"
"Nothing," he grumbles, feeling the heat spreading over his cheeks again — much like that saucy grin on Illario's face.
"Had a nice weekend with the girlfriend?"
"I hate you."

Illario's laughter carries them all the way to their next class.

---

Rook is also a little distracted that week, but it's a distraction of a different kind. Sort of. It's not her who's distracted, you see, but her who's providing the distraction. No, not that kind, not in this case.

Bellara seemed mostly ok when they delivered the last letter to Irelin's door the week before, but now that the fated day is fast approaching, she's a bundle of nerves in dire need of distraction. Yes, sure, she wanted that confrontation with Irelin — though honestly, she just wanted closure, and to stop lying to her erstwhile paramour, and meeting her face-to-face to talk things through and explain sounded like the most promising option — but mostly, she just wants it to be over and done with.
No one likes uncomfortable conversations, and there's no telling how Irelin will react.

Fortunately, they still have movie night — and it's a good thing, too, that this particular event falls on a Tuesday, because all bets are off on what mood Thursday will leave Bellara with. For now, she seems ok, anxiety shifting to excitement on the way to the movie theater despite the bracing gusts of wind.
"What do you think we'll be watching? Do they only play current movies or, like, really old ones too? I've never actually sat through a whole silent movie, the pacing's just so different from what I'm used to …"
Rook laughs, content to let her friend prattle away if it keeps her happy. "I don't know, we haven't tried Mystery Tuesdays over here yet, remember?"

Apparently, it was originally meant to be Mystery Monday (which made far more sense with the naming), but that clashed with some of the theater's other scheduling, so it was moved to Tuesday. Less alliteration, but also less stress for the employees.
"Is there anything you'd like to see?" Bellara asks next.
"No gore, please." Rook will watch horror if she has to, but blood and guts all over the floor are where she draws the line (and closes her eyes until it's over).
"I'm fine with whatever," Rana adds. Rook has a feeling that she's going to enjoy mystery movie nights.
"Anything but some animated kid's movie."

Neve probably shouldn't have said that.
It turns out that the movie theatre does not restrict its surprise showings to the current program line-up; when the lights go out, the title music to Kubo and the Two Strings begins to play.
To be fair, it is a beautiful movie in every regard — but it's also really fucking sad. Neve is livid. And completely clogged up with snot and tears (she does not cry pretty). It doesn't matter that almost all of them are, too — what does matter is that Rana isn't, though she is suitably sympathetic when Neve re-emerges from the bathroom after the credits roll. (It's not like the tragedy didn't touch her, too; she's just built less close to the water.)
"Need another tissue?" she offers, and Neve mutters something unflattering under her breath, making her friend / roommate laugh. "What, did you think I'd respect you any less for watching you ugly cry over that movie? Honestly, I think it's sweet that bad-ass Neve Gallus can still cry over a sad kid's movie."
Rook's grin widens in relation to the blush spreading across Neve's cheeks, and a glance at Bellara reveals a similar reaction. "Not a word," Neve hisses when she stalks past, and they both descend into giggles.

Operation "Girls' Night With Rana" is deemed a cautious success, and they all agree on a repeat performance despite Neve's grouching.

---

Thursday rolls around cold and grey, but at least it's not raining.

Bellara invited Irelin to meet just after lunch, which seemed like a good idea at the time but now has her nervously moving her food around on her plate, unable to swallow a single bite.
"What do I do if she's angry?"
"Well, she made you angry too, didn't she?"
"Not … angry, not exactly, at least not at first. More hurt?"
"Then tell her that."
"But … I don't want her to hate me!"
"I get that, but you can't control her reaction."
Bellara pulls a face at Rook and Neve's responses.
"But what if she —"
"Look, do you want to clear the air or not?" Rana is being uncharacteristically blunt, cutting to the heart of the issue.
"… I do," Bellara replies meekly.
"It's going to be ok," Rook tries to reassure her, "and if it isn't, we'll be right there, buying a big can of ice cream to help you through it."

They keep going in circles, but that's ok; sometimes, that's what you have to do when a friend is having a crisis. At least this one has a set end time. Once Rook is done with her lunch, she takes Bellara's mostly untouched tray with her — it's not like staring at the mess of mashed potatoes, peas and meatballs is going to make it disappear, and they still need to go back to their apartment to grab that cardboard box full of old stuff of Irelin's that Bellara has held on to. Neve and Rana will join them at the meeting point — or rather, join Rook behind the hedge just around the corner. They meant it when they said they'll be right there, both for moral support and to satisfy their shameless curiosity.

Bellara does look awfully small, standing there with that box hugged to her chest.

At least she doesn't have to wait very long. By the looks of it, Irelin was also anxious (or is it excited?) for their meeting, even if — or especially because — she had even less of an idea of what to expect.
Judging by the surprise on her face, whatever she has imagined is not what she finds.
"Bellara? What are you …?"
"Hey, Irelin. I'm afraid we need to talk."

The wind picks up then, carrying Bellara's quiet words with it, so all they can do is watch the way Irelin's expression changes. Surprise melts into confusion, her brows pulling down in something close to anger, then sadness as she listens. Because you have to give her that much: She keeps her quiet until Bellara has said her piece, and then some more as she considers her words. When she speaks up again, the wind has calmed down just enough that they can just hear her.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize … should we get out of the cold? To have a proper conversation?"
Bellara nods, the box still clutched close to her chest, and they leave together.

Rook, Bellara and Rana watch them go but don't follow; at this point, they deserve some privacy to hash out their feelings. And it's not like Rook won't get the run-down when she comes home tonight.

---

"So how did it go?" Lucanis wants to know when he comes over on Friday, arms loaden with groceries.
"You know you don't have to take care of all the shopping just because you agreed to cook for us, right?" Rook says as she takes the bags from him so he can hang up his coat.
"It's nothing. Now, about Bellara …?"
Rook grins. "I don't know, it is technically her story to tell …"
He rolls his eyes, and she relents, laughing at his expression. "It went fine. They had a good, long talk, and Bellara gave me a big hug when she came home. Apparently, they agreed to try being friends again, because they still care about each other but anything else would feel weird. Bellara can give you the details when she's back."
"Thank you."
She sidles up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she grins. "I didn't take you for someone interested in gossip, you know."
"It's not gossip to ask after a friend."
"Is it though?"
"You're the one who made sure to keep me in the loop in the first place. I just wanted to know how it played out in the end."
"I don't think this counts as an end yet," she argues, rising to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
"You're distracting," he murmurs, turning just enough to catch her lips.
"Oh no! Wouldn't want to distract you from the important task of feeding me," she teases, slipping her arms from his waist to perch on the counter a few steps away.

He would like nothing more than to pull her back and let himself be distracted, but the communal kitchen of her shared apartment is probably not the best place for it.

Tonight's dinner is spaghetti carbonara — the proper way, with eggs and good cheese and bacon and no cream in sight.
"But … how?!" Rook asks when she watches him whisk the sauce together. "There's no way those things make that kind of sauce. There has to be a trick!"
"The ingredients are the trick," he explains with a smile over his shoulder. "It's ... chemistry."
"Huh." She still sounds suspicious, but there is a spark in her eyes now, the corner of her mouth twitching ever so slightly as she levels a challenge at him. "But does it actually taste good?"
He scowls at her in mock affront, perfectly well aware that she is merely taunting him for fun, but equally happy to play along.
"I'm sorry, do you not trust my cooking? Would you prefer I just take this home instead?" He moved as if to grab the pot, and her face cracks, laughter spilling from her lips.
"Nooo don't you dare! Hawke would eat me."

"Damn straight I would," her roommate comments with a grin as she ambles into the kitchen to peek into the pot. "Any chance I can steal a taste?" She flutters her lashes at him, making Rook scoff.
"Get your own boyfriend to cook for you!"
"What boyfriend?"
"The one you keep practicing guitar for."
"That's purely for my own self-fulfillment! And the band, of course."
"The band that doesn't exist?"
"Yet."

"The band better start existing and finding a different spot to practice soon or I'm confiscating your guitar," Aveline adds as she joins them. She may be the designated adult of their community, but she isn't immune to the smell of good food either.
"You wouldn't dare!"
"I would and you know it."
Hawke pouts, and Aveline sighs.
"Your not-boyfriend works at a guitar shop. Just … ask him if he knows a place? I'm serious."
Rook's eyes light up. "That's actually a great idea — for all you know, he has a place where you could practice."
"Creating opportunities again?" Lucanis chimes in with a smirk, and her grin widens.
"I feel bullied," Hawke declares with a huff just as the apartment door opens, spilling Bellara inside. "Bellara, save me! They're all ganging up on me!"
Bellara stops in the motion of slipping off her boots, thoughts clearly engaged elsewhere. "Huh?"

There's a warmth to their bickering, a trust to their teasing that is as comforting as it is unfamiliar. It's hard to believe that aside from Hawke and Aveline, they've only known each other for a handful of months — and yet they built their own little family, making space for each other's rough edges instead of trying to file them off. And theirs is not a closed circle, either — they've opened more than just their kitchen to him, and he's not the only one.
Judging by the number of people who keep swinging by when he's there, they really don't mind sharing the warmth they've built.

Illario's had friends for years that only ever seemed happy when they could be awful to each other. They'd always insisted it was all in good fun, and yet it hadn't felt like any of them were ever happy to be on the receiving end of the group's cutting remarks.

Maybe his previous disinterest in making friends — or any kind of deeper connection — wasn't entirely unfounded. But this feels different, and Lucanis wouldn't mind for it to become familiar.

---

Rook: Just so you know, today's your pick.

Rook: For the movie.

Lucanis: No pressure.

Lucanis: No horror, right?

Rook: Like you would suggest a horror movie.

Lucanis: You never know.

He does not pick a horror movie, of course.

With no more than a week left until the beginning of exam season (and two weeks til the end of the semester), it's a good thing that Lucanis suggested meeting up on Friday and Saturday evening. It gives Rook more time to study. Lucanis, too, at least in theory, but he's finding it difficult to concentrate (has found it difficult to concentrate all week). As a result, his apartment is spotless again (the ingredients for tonight's dinner were among the first things he prepared that morning) before he manages to at least review his notes for the week and begin typing up a summary for his International Management course.

When his focus runs out, he spends some time playing with Spite (maybe he'll be less of a menace later that way) before feeding him.

It's a relief when his alarm goes off, reminding him that it's finally time to pick up Rook (she could walk over on her own, but it's dark and he needs to loose some nervous energy anyway).
Her doorbell has barely stopped ringing when she steps outside, already huddled up in her coat and shawl. Maybe he'll make her a new one for her birthday (he asked Neve), because Guardian feels a little late to start, even if it'll be cold enough for another month or so. For now, her hand disappears into his pocket again, fingers still warm against his cold palm.

"So what's for dinner tonight?" she asks as she hangs her coat on his coat rack (a sign of respect; at home, she'd just throw it over a chair until Aveline throws a fit over everyone's clothing being strewn all over the common space).
"Arancini. You seemed set on the idea of eating while watching a movie last time, so I thought you might like something that you can eat with your hands."
"Smart!" She grins. "I like a man who's quick on the uptake." He can feel the heat climbing up his neck again when she leans in to steal a kiss.
"So what exactly is an Arancini?"
"Arancini are stuffed, fried rice balls," he explains as he takes his preparations out of the fridge. The filling still needs to cook for a bit before he can mix it with the rice. Rook listens attentively when he walks her through the process, insisting on giving it a try when he's ready. Her arancini don't quite meet his standards, more than a little lumpy and misshapen, and the kitchen is a mess afterwards, but she seems to be having fun, and that's enough; he'd gladly get drunk on her laughter.
Though it doesn't hurt that she helps clear the worst of it away before Spite can get to it while he fries their dinner.

"So what are we watching?"
She managed to wait until they're both settled on the couch to ask.
"Ever After. You said you like period pieces, yes? This one's a fairy tale retelling with very nice costumes."
"It's also a romance." Her eyes are sparkling as she takes a bit from her first arancino.
"Well, yes. Do you like it?"
Her grin widens. "It's perfect."
"The arancino or the movie?"
Laughter, again. "Both."
He feels like he could do this every night for the rest of his life and never tire of it — watching her enjoy the food that he made, her warmth against his side and her laughter in his ear.

And who doesn't enjoy a princess ready and able to save her own prince?

Maybe he should have picked a movie he hasn't seen yet though. Might have made it easier to focus on something other than her knee resting against his thigh, the smell of her shampoo from her head leaning on his shoulder, or the way she licks the last bit of spice off her fingertips.
It makes it increasingly difficult to keep his hands in his own lap.

It's still a good movie, and Rook seems to be enjoying herself. He's glad. He's also glad when the credits begin to roll and he can curl his hand around her neck to catch her in a kiss. This Rook tastes like Antivan spices and strawberry soda (normally far too sweet for his taste, but she likes it) and Rook, and he can't get enough of it. His other hand wraps around her waist, tugging her closer, feeling her smile on his lips, and she's still too far away.
He's not quite sure which of them is more surprised when he pulls her all the way into his lap with her knees to either side of him, and she takes a moment to look at his face, catching her breath.

"No running away this time?"
"No more running away," he rasps, already leaning in again as she wraps her arms around his neck. The thought of her here, like this, has been taking his breath away all week. His hands stay on top of her sweater while his lips wander from the corner of her mouth to the edge of her jaw, placing butterfly kisses down the length of her throat. He can feel her pulse fluttering under his touch, hear the way her breath hitches as he makes his way down to her collarbone. Can't miss the way she gasps when he kisses his way up again to nibble at her ear, can't stop the groan from escaping his own throat when she rolls her hips against him.

Feels her freeze under his touch. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —"
"No!" His hands fly up to frame her face. "Don't apologize." Catches her lips again, clumsily. "Don't stop."
So she doesn't, and he's on fire again, but this time, he's not afraid to get burned.
He wants this.

His hands slide from her face down to her hips, slipping under the hem of her sweater, and she rolls her hips again, swallowing the undignified noise falling from his lips in a kiss. Her skin is just as soft and warm as he remembers, and she doesn't protest when his hands wander upwards, not along her back this time. She whimpers faintly when he palms her breasts, then louder when he flicks his thumb over her nipples, so he does it again, careful motions that make her heart pound under his touch and her breath grow ragged next to his ear.
"Lucanis …"
Her exhale is hot on his skin, and his hesitancy has left the building, driven out by the need to know exactly where this path leads.

Slowly, his hand glide down over her stomach again, hovering over the waistband of her jeans.
"Can I … ?"
"Yes!"
How do women's pants work? Why are buttons?
The way she shifts and squirms on top of him is making it very hard to think, and all his blood pooling south isn't exactly helping his fine motor control.
She chuckles, placing a kiss to the tip of his ear as she lowers her hands to help (her restraint has also left the building).
She's not chuckling when his fingers carefully slide over the silky fabric of her underwear, already decidedly damp as he dips deeper, noting the way her sounds change as he explores. There's absolutely nothing dignified about the way she rubs against his touch, but he is beyond caring, not even sure anymore who is swallowing whose moans, his free hand clutching her hip like the only port in a storm.
Soon enough, he is lost at sea, the cliffs fast approaching, a violent crash that shakes him to the core when he feels her shudder on top of him.

Coming back feels a little like breaking the surface of a deep, dark ocean, that sense of weightless drifting slow to recede. Her forehead is resting against his, hot and a little damp with their breath mingling in the space between them. Part of him is certain that he should be embarrassed — about the wet stain in his pants, about the bruise he can see forming on the soft skin where her neck meets her shoulder, about the way his limbs feel like jello and he can't imagine ever getting up again.
But it's a small part, the rest of him busy feeling happy, relaxed and oddly … relieved? "See?" he wants to say to his monkey brain, "this wasn't so scary after all." Actually, it was rather nice; really nice.

"That was … unexpected," Rook murmurs, brushing her nose against his.
"For you," he mumbles, barely audible, feeling more than hearing her amused huff of breath.
"Last Saturday, in your room … I couldn't stop thinking about it. This. You."
There's something like wonder in his eyes when he pulls back just enough to look at her, something that makes her chest pull tight with an emotion she doesn't want to poke at just yet.
"Is that so?" Her lips pull up in that lopsided smile he likes so much, perhaps a little softer than intended.
He nods, voice somber. "Yes. You're very distracting."
"Good. I think I like being distracting, for you," she whispers against his lips before kissing him again. There's no urgency to it this time, the motion almost lazy, no longer hungry but sated, comfortable; a kiss like coming home.

When she eventually pulls away again, he buries his face in her neck, breathing her in and holding her close, arms looped around her middle in a tight embrace. And for a little while, they just stay like this, wrapped around each other, her fingers fondling his neck in a way that would definitely make him purr if he was to switch places with Spite (who is staring at them disdainfully from his spot on the windowsill).

But they can't remain like this all night, can they?
"I think I should probably clean up," he sighs after a while.
"Mhm. Probably." Agreement doesn't mean she shoves, though.
"… I think you'll have to get up for that."
"What? No, that can't be. You want to get up, not me."
He chuckles, places another kiss to the side of her neck. She likes that, arching her head to the side.
"I do apologize."
"Well, you'd better," she mutters, but begins to shift her weight and turn until she can drop to the side to sprawl on the couch next to him. Not much else she can do; her legs are well and truly asleep, only just beginning to break out in pins and needles again. He leans down to press one more kiss to the tip of her nose before shuffling over to his bedroom.

When he returns, Spite has claimed his spot on the couch, the look he gives him making it very clear that it's his turn there now. That's ok though, Rook is already rising, stretching her arms over her head.
"How do even your sweatpants look cool and classy?" she quips in mock affront as she ambles over to the bathroom, stealing another kiss on the way. He doesn't really know how to respond to that, but she doesn't seem to expect an answer, closing the door behind her as he begins to collect their scattered dishes around the sink.

She does protest when he begins to fill the sink with water and soap upon her return.
"No way, you cooked, I'm not letting you do the dishes, too!"
"I really don't mind, Rook."
"Don't care, move!"
He's gently pushed aside to make space for her, shaking his head as he grabs a tea towel. She can't really stop him from drying what she has cleaned, and it's nice to work side by side like this. Cozy. Mundane. Also a little weird, to just … do household tasks together, after they just — well.
It's nice.

Her eyes slide over to the clock on the wall next to the fridge when they are done, voice rueful when she speaks up again. "It's getting pretty late. I guess I should head home soon."
It's not a question, not exactly, but it feels like one, and he realizes with a start that he really doesn't want her to leave. That's not unusual; he never wants her to leave, or to leave her.
But for the first time, he thinks that maybe she doesn't have to?

"Only if you want to," he blurts before he can think better of it. Watches her eyes widen, that moment of held breath before she tilts her head just slightly to the side.
"Are you sure?"
"I … yes? We could just … sleep? In my bed? If you like?"
Bravo Lucanis, very convincing, A+ string of words that almost form a sentence. His face is probably bright red right now, but Rook doesn't seem to mind, going by the slow spread of her smile and the crinkling of her eyes.
"I'd like that. Very much."
"Oh. Good. Uhm."
Her smile cracks into a laugh, taking mercy on him as she steps into his space to kiss the mildly panicked expression off his face, and weirdly enough, that helps.

"I might need one of your shirts though," she says when he feels mostly normal levels of warm again.
"One of my shirts?"
"To sleep in? Sweater tends to be a little warm over night. I mean, you're also warm, so I could go nude, but …"
She can probably see the steam coming out of his ears. "You can have a shirt," he hurries to say, watching her smirk. Mierda.

He even has a spare toothbrush (of course he does; you're supposed to change them every month, so he always has some in reserve), and by the time she comes out of the bathroom again in nothing but his shirt (and her underwear, probably, but he's not going to check), he has managed to change into his pajamas and add a second pillow to his bed.
"Is that one of your throw pillows?"
"Ah — yes? Sorry. I didn't exactly … plan for this. Is this ok?"
She's not going to stop grinning anytime soon, and he does his best to keep his eyes on her face and not on how his shirt barely covers the tops of her thighs.
"It's fine, Lucanis. Relax."

It's a bit of a relief to find her already snug under the covers by the time he's brushed his teeth and left some good-night kibble for Spite, closing the bedroom door behind him (he's used to being woken by a furry butt in his face at odd hours, but that doesn't mean Rook has to).

For a moment, he just stands there, right behind the door, staring. That's Rook — his girlfriend — in his bed. Wearing little more than one of his shirts. After just making his mind go completely blank on his couch.
It doesn't feel real.

Joining her is a bit of a puzzle; she wants to snuggle close and he wants to hold her, but there's always at least one arm that's in the way, either squished between them or awkwardly folded to the side.
Suppressing another laugh, she assures him that this is perfectly normal, and that she doesn't mind. They eventually manage to find a position that works for both of them, though he's almost certain that his arm is going to fall asleep.

It's a small price to pay for being allowed to rest with her head pillowed on his chest and her arm slung across his waist, her happy sigh the last thing he hears before her warmth and the sweet scent of oranges and ginger lull him to sleep.

Chapter Text

The waking descends on Lucanis sluggishly and all at once. He's not quite sure what roused him from his slumber, but it can't be a bad thing; he is warm and comfortable, and the faint light filtering through his blinds tells him that he slept through the night for once. Did Spite also decide to sleep in? Or has the little devil finally learned how to open the cupboards and tear into his bag of kibble all by himself?

The body curled up next to him is a bit of a start though, his mind still slow to recollect the events of last night. When it does, all the adrenaline-spiked tension goes out of his limbs again, a huff of breath that barely stirs a hair on Rook's head.

It feels … surreal, to wake up next to her like this. Like something stolen, something he shouldn't be allowed to keep.

She is still fast asleep, even breaths rolling over his pillow where she's curled into a ball, his blanket scrunched up almost to her ears. He doesn't want to wake her, doesn't want to disturb her peace. But part of him refuses to believe she's real, and not some leftover fragment of a dream that will dissipate like smoke when he so much as looks away. His hand lifts almost of its own accord, his touch light and careful on the side of her head, slowly sliding over the silky softness of her hair, but it's enough to register. She makes a low noise in the back of her throat and burrows a little closer, sighing against his chest when he wraps his arm around her back.

Lucanis is not the type to stay in bed after he wakes, but right now, he cannot fathom ever getting up again.

He's not sure how long he lies there, feeling her warm breath against his skin, but little by little, the rhythm of her breathing changes, consciousness returning as a tension to her limbs until she nuzzles into the crook of his neck, placing a soft kiss to his collarbone.
"Good morning."
Not all the way awake yet, but no longer asleep.
"Good morning," he answers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"Why are we awake?" she mumbles, a fluttering of lashes against his skin.
"I imagine because it's morning."
"It's Sunday though. We can totally sleep in."
The chuckle rumbling through his chest brings a smile to her lips (not that he can see, from his angle).
"I wouldn't dare ask you to leave the bed yet."
"Excellent."
And he wouldn't either, if it wasn't for his body informing him that some things will only wait for so long.
"… I might have to get up though."
"What? No, stay!" The hand that was resting against his chest curls into his shirt.
"I'll be back in five minutes," he promises, pressing another kiss to her forehead. "Tops. But we might get to stay in longer if I feed Spite while I'm at it."

She still grumbles, but lets him go. The cold air outside the blanket (their blanket, now, and he really ought to get her a decent pillow, too) is a shock to his senses, summoning goosebumps to his skin as he pads over to the bathroom. It's not until he's washing his hands that he registers the lack of yowling and winding around his feet, but maybe Spite chose to claim his warm spot on the bed instead. No matter; he'll come running the moment the first kibble hits his bowl.

The first sign that something is truly amiss is a sharp pain in his foot when a shard of glass buries into his skin. With a wince, he leans against the counter to pluck out the offending fragment; it's neither too big nor lodged too deep, so the wound doesn't require his immediate attention. Better make sure that no one else steps into glass.
"What did you break this time Spite," he mutters as he goes to grab the dustpan from its place in the corner. It's not until he works his way around the kitchen counter that the full extent of the problem becomes impossible to miss. Because it's not just glass that's littered across the kitchen floor: There's also the scented candle that Teia had gifted him ("to set the mood" — he'd put it on top of the fridge, out of sight, out of mind) — not quite as broken as the glass that surrounded it, but definitely missing some pieces —, a puddle of what can only be cat vomit, and the perpetrator himself, convulsing and salivating and barely conscious.

"Spite!"
The dustpan clatters to the floor, spilling part of its contents again as Lucanis rushes over to his stupid, suicidal, ridiculous cat, cradling the small body in his hands. "Spite, no, what did you do?!"
He knows that just holding him won't make it better, because something is clearly very wrong; knows that he needs to do something, but there's a ringing in his ears that makes it awfully difficult to think.

Summoned by the anguish in his voice, Rook rolls out of bed and hurries into the kitchen, barely avoiding the sharp bits of candle-glass still waiting to cause injury. "Shit," she curses when she sees Lucanis on the floor with his clearly unwell cat cradled in his arms, and dashes back into the bedroom to pull on her pants and sweater in record time.
"Do you have an emergency vet?" she calls over when she reemerges, carrying both their phones.
"What? I … have a regular vet?"
"Do they do Sundays?"
"I don't know?"
"It's ok, I can check, what's their name?"

Rook grabs the abandoned dustpan and swipes the remaining glass shards into a corner while she calls, and Lucanis feels less than useless, even while he is grateful to her for taking charge. He is … not good with sudden medical emergencies. His gut twists with a feeling of impending loss and helplessness that makes it hard to breathe.

"Alright, we're lucky, they do have an emergency service. Where's his carrier?"
He frowns, dragging the information through the fog that is closing in on his mind. "In the basement. I have a small compartment there."
"Yeah, that feels like too much of a hassle right now, I think we'll be ok if I just carry him as he is. Let me hold him so you can get dressed? Are you good to drive?"
Clear directions help. "Yes."

When he's exchanged his pyjamas for something suitable for outside his apartment, Rook has carefully wrapped Spite into a towel and is just slipping her bare feet into her boots. They pile into his car in a hurry, neither of them bothering with a coat (Rook's arms are full, and Lucanis doesn't have the presence of mind to remember).

Spite doesn't stir over the entire drive, the normally so fiercely energetic cat hanging limp in Rook's arms, the slight wheeze in his panting the only obvious testament to his continued survival (yet). If he could, Lucanis would teleport them to the vet at record speed, but is white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel doesn't make traffic move any faster. As it is, he turned off the radio to avoid any unnecessary distractions, the better to hear his cat's laboured breathing.

The silence inside the car feels deafening.

For once, Rook does not maintain a comforting stream of conversation; the tension in the air doesn't allow for idle chatter, and she can't think of anything helpful to say. She wants to reassure Lucanis that it's going to be alright, that the vet will know what to do, that they'll be able to help Spite for sure, but she doesn't know that, and she doesn't want to lie to him.
There are people who live on empty platitudes, but something tells her he's not one of them.
Instead, her fingers move in soothing little strokes over Spite's head, silently urging him to hold on.

She's out of the car when it has barely stopped moving in the parking lot, Lucanis hot on her heels, pushing ahead to ring the doorbell (because outside of regular business hours, the door is closed).
"Toth veterinary clinic, how can I help you?" a tinny voice sounds over the speakers.
Rook is the first to find her voice. "Yes, hi, I just called about our cat? Under Dellamorte?"
The door buzzes open, and they're greeted by the mingled scents of old urine, damp fur and sharp antiseptic.
A young woman in a teal overall greets them at the door, takes one look at the bundled up cat in Rook's arms and waves them along to follow her.
"Please tell me what happened," she prompts as she walks, leading them along a short corridor and through a non-descript door.

Right. Time to shine.
Lucanis clears his throat. "I think he ate a candle? That is, he pushed a scented candle off the fridge, and I found him on the floor just a few steps away from the pieces. I'm very careful about what plants I keep and didn't leave any food out for him to steal, so I can't think of anything else he could have eaten. I don't think he would eat the glass shards." Maker, he hopes Spite didn't eat any of the glass shards.
"I don't suppose you know what was in it?"
The veterinary attendant motions for them to put Spite down on the table, where she proceeds to look into his mouth and listen to his heartbeat.
"The candle? No, I … it was a gift?"
She sighs. "Right. Did he throw up at all?"
Lucanis can feel the gears grinding inside his head. "Yes."
"Well, that's something — but obviously not enough. How long has he been out?"
Her hands move along Spite's body, pushing and prodding and feeling for any hardness around his stomach.
"I don't know? I went into the kitchen to feed him as soon as I got up this morning, but I don't know how long it's been since he …"
Lucanis tapers off; swallows. Starts when there is a sudden warmth on his hand, Rook's finger wrapping around his cold palm, squeezing gently.
"Please. Can you help him?"
"We'll do what we can."

The door opens again, allowing another vet assistant inside. Rook and Lucanis watch as they take Spite's temperature and some of his blood (Lucanis is certain that the little nuisance is going to hate that bald spot on his leg — if he makes it).
"Right — we're going to flush his stomach and put him o fluids. There's really no need for you to be here for that. You're welcome to wait out front though?" It's as clear a dismissal as they're going to get, and Lucanis nods mutely, following the soft tug of Rook's hand outside.
He barely notices the path to the waiting area. Blink, and he's in the corridor, staring at a row of identical doors. Blink, and he's rounding the corner toward the reception desk. Blink, and he's sitting in a chair, looking up at a number of cheerful 'thank you' messages and pictures on the opposite wall.
It's cold here on a Sunday; there's no other explanation for the trembling in his shoulders. The temperature doesn't explain the nausea twisting his stomach or the way he can't seem to draw a deep enough breath, but he might blame that on the scent of disinfectant hanging in the air; it reminds him of that too-clean hospital smell.

There's another squeeze around his hand, more substantial this time, and he lifts their entwined fingers to press a kiss to Rook's knuckles. Her skin smells faintly of oranges and ginger and the spice mix he used for last night's dinner, and he heaves a heavy sigh, closing his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" Her voice is impossibly gentle, heavy with the kind of care that makes his eyes sting.
"This … isn't what I had in mind when I invited you to stay."
She can't help herself; she snorts, trying to hide her bout of helpless laughter behind her free hand.
"Lucanis … your cat ate a candle. While we were sleeping. This is very much not your fault, and you're clearly very much not happy about it. There's absolutely no reason for you to apologize."
He scowls, unconvinced. "I should have put it into a cupboard; somewhere he couldn't reach it."
Her sigh pulls is gaze from the middle distance, her eyes a beacon that he can't seem to look away from.
"Perhaps. But judging from the fact that you didn't, I'm assuming that he's never tried to eat a candle before. I'm also pretty sure that there are plenty of cat owners out there who have candles standing around without incident all the time. You couldn't have known."

He wants to believe her, wants to wash his hands of this misery, but denying responsibility feels like a cop-out. Spite is seriously hurt, there's no telling if he'll even make it, so clearly there must be someone to blame, and he doesn't want it to be Teia, because she meant well and did not make him leave her gift out for Spite to find.

"Hey," Rook draws his focus again, "beating yourself up over it won't change the outcome. It happened. And nobody is perfect. One of my mum's friends is a pediatrician, and you wouldn't believe the number of parents who's kid manage to roll off the diaper changing table despite that being one of the first thing all new parents are warned about."
"Spite is not a child."
"No, he's a cat. Cats are much more difficult to control than babies."

But guilt is hard to argue with, and so they spend most of the next 20 minutes in tense silence.

Rook is beginning to consider the merits of pulling Lucanis to a stand just so she can wrap her arms around him (because there is a kind of comfort in a good hug that nothing else can quite match) when they hear steps in the hallway and he jumps to his feet anyway, anxiously awaiting whatever news there is to be had.

"So the good news is that we've successfully flushed his stomach and haven't found any remaining obstructions on the ultrasound. The bad news is that he's still weak and in obvious discomfort, so there's a good chance that some of the toxins in that candle have already entered his bloodstream.
All we can do now is give him an infusion and keep him under observation to see how his condition develops."

Lucanis visibly wilts under her explanation, and Rook squeezes his hand again.
"I see. Is there … will you call, when anything changes?" His voice sounds hollow, the words feeling oddly practised — like he's been here before, and can't believe he is again.
"Of course. I'm sorry I don't have better news for you yet."
With effort, he schools his face into a sickly little smile. "It's not you're fault. You're doing the best you can."

They've barely pulled out of the clinic's driveway when Rook fishes her phone out of her pocket, quickly tapping in a number before holding it to her ear.
"Hey, Bellara. I'm not waking you up, am I? … Sort of, and I'll tell you later. Listen, I need to ask a favour. … Can you cover my shift at the Lighthouse today? If Dorian asks, tell him I have a family emergency to take care of. … No, nothing like that, I'll explain when I get home. … You're the best. See you later!"
Lucanis is watching her from the corner of his eye when she puts her phone away again.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did. I'm not leaving you alone with this."
"With what, waiting for a phone call? I'm not a child, Rook."
"So what? Doesn't mean you don't need someone to comfort you every once in a while. And I'm happy to keep you company."
He looks like he wants to argue, but wisely manages to hold his tongue. It's not like he wants her to leave, after all.

The first thing on Lucanis mind when they return to his apartment is to clean up Spite's vomit and the rest of the glass. He gets about as far as his tiny pantry when Rook spots the red footprints he leaves behind.
"Lucanis, your foot!"
He glances down, finally noticing the mess he left behind. The bottom of his sock is soaked with half-congealed blood; he had completely forgotten about the cut in his foot, and walking and driving on it has apparently not served to stop the bleeding.
Rook points to the nearest chair. "Sit down! Where's your first aid kit?"

Following his directions, Rook retrieves both his first aid kit and the broom from the pantry, leaning the latter against the counter as she fills a small bowl with water and pulls a fresh tea towel out of a drawer.
"Rook, there's no need, I can —" he begins to argue when she kneels in front of his chair, but the words catch in his throat at her unusually stern glare.
"Just let me take care of you, ok?"
There's a pause as she waits for his assent, and he nods. It's not like he has a good reason to stop her, beyond not wanting to be a burden.

Her hands are gentle when she slowly strips the ruined sock from his foot, and he can't entire suppress a wince when it clings to the wound for a second. It really didn't look that bad earlier.
She proceeds to carefully clean his foot with a corner of the tea towel, gradually colouring the water in the bowl a light red.
"You stepped into a shard earlier, didn't you?" she mutters as she works, and he nods.
"I … kind of forgot. I meant to take care of it after clearing away the glass," he explains, earning himself a scowl.
The antiseptic from his first aid kit stings, but he's probably earned that.
"There, good as new," she declares after applying a band-aid to the injured spot, brushing off her knees when she stands. Another glare stops him from getting up again. "Oh no, you don't! Stay! .. please."

So he stays, watching her rinse out the bowl and sweep up the remaining glass shards. No matter how chaotic her dorm apartment may look, she is clearly no stranger to housework. She almost manages to put away the broom and dustpan before her stomach emits and audible gurgling noise, and he can see the flush spreading over her cheeks, unable to suppress an amused huff of breath.
He may not have much of an appetite, but they have been up for a while now, and the least he can do is make sure that she gets some breakfast.

She doesn't protest when he makes his way over to the stove now, starting the coffee machine and pouring some milk into a small pot. "Is hot chocolate ok?"
"Yes. Thank you," she mumbles ruefully, shuffling over to lean against his back, arms wrapped around his middle. Her touch is warm and unexpected and he has to blink against the sudden blur in his eyes.

He has just put away their plates when she walks over to the sofa, flopping down into the cushions with a huff. When he follows, she extends her arms, motioning for him to join her.
"Rook, I don't know, I …"
"Just come here?"
With a sigh, he yields, allowing her to draw him down on top of her until his head is pillowed on her chest and her fingers are combing through his hair. It's … not what he expected. For a moment, he was afraid that she had something else in mind, and he is very much not in the mood. But this? This he can do. Truth be told, he'd be hard pressed to get up again of his own accord.

"We don't have to talk if you don't want to," she says quietly. "But if you do, I'm here to listen."
And for a while, he doesn't, just lets the soothing motion of her hands brush away his thoughts in silence. Grief and worry are exhausting, and he isn't sure yet which of the two he needs, so they're both warring for his attention. Easier to ignore them for now, to just not think for a time, allowing the comfort she offers to lull him into a light slumber.

The light drifting in from the window has changed when he opens his eyes again, overcast sky giving way to rays of sunlight. Judging by the angle, he cannot have drifted off for very long though; just long enough for Rook to join him, her even breaths the only sign of life inside his apartment. The faint sounds of traffic echoing through the closed windows are a distant melody, interrupted here and there by the noise of people living somewhere above and below him, and it's … peaceful.
He can feel her arms loosely wrapped around his back when his chest expands as he breathes in, holding him even after she fell asleep. No one's done that since he was a child, he thinks — just hold him, no questions asked, just because he was sad and upset. Not since his parents died.
Any other day, he would have insisted that he didn't need it.

He would have been wrong.

Just for a moment, he closes his eyes again, nestles a bit deeper into her sweater, taking refuge in her warmth and the by-now familiar smell of oranges and ginger and something else that is probably just her laundry detergent. He can feel the moment when she wakes, the slight twitch in her hands, the way her heartbeat changes. Then her fingers resume their gentle path along his spine, and he sighs.
"Hey," she mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep.
"Hey."
"Feel any better?"
"A little."
"A little is better than nothing."

The silence that follows feels … expectant; pregnant with words that aren't quite ripe yet, not heavy, but waiting. Waiting for him to speak, or for her to find the right questions.

"I'm not good with hospitals," he offers.
"… the human kind?"
"Yes. Though the veterinary clinic didn't feel much better."
She thinks for a moment, picking her words carefully.
"Did you lose someone in a hospital?"
"Yes. My parents."
"I'm so sorry."
"It was a long time ago."
"Can I ask what happened?"
"Car accident. Some asshole ran a red light."
Another moment of silence.
"I'm surprised you still drive."
He shrugs awkwardly. "My therapist suggested it might me help me regain a sense of control. She wasn't wrong."
"Whatever helps."
He nods.

Feels better for having told her, but it's still a bit of a relief when she changes topics.
"Is Spite your first pet?" Is, not was.
"Yes. I was too young for one when my parents were still alive, and my grandmother isn't keen on animals, at least not in her own home."
"But you wanted one?"
"I was a child; of course I wanted one."
She chuckles. "So why a cat?"
"I didn't feel like I'd be able to take care of a dog in between classes."
"Sounds fair. How'd you land on Spite?"

So he tells her; how he decided to get a cat partly to annoy his cousin and partly because it felt a bit lonely to live by himself. How he picked Spite up from the shelter, because he was cute and people were weird about adopting black cats and that wasn't a reason to let the poor little guy waste away at the shelter. How Spite turned out to be a little demon, scratching up all his furniture until he got him a big cat tree and covered all the corners in scratch mats. How he still took great pleasure in pushing anything within reach off the table. How he kept chirping at birds flying by the window. How he kept trying to eat Lucanis' plants and steal food from his plate when his back was turned. How he chewed a hole into his favourite sweater.

They are both smiling by the end of it.
"And yet, you still love him."
"I do." Doesn't know why, but he does. Doesn't even mind admitting it.
And somehow, it helps. To talk about his cat, alive; remembering how the little demon keeps pushing his buttons, only to curl up on his lap afterwards (usually just before he needs to get up).

They end up spending most of the day curled up on his couch like this, only getting up for a glass of water or a snack or a bathroom break, and just … talk. About everything and anything, deeply personal things and idle gossip and it doesn't matter, not as long as Rook is stretched out alongside him. There is no pressure, no expectations, nothing but her warmth to ward off worry and guilt and grief.

Caterina would have given him an earful for spending the whole day wallowing like this just because his cat was sick, but according to Rook, warmth, comfort and company were exactly what you needed in times of emotional turmoil. It's a different kind of intimacy, one he wouldn't have thought to expect from time spent with his girlfriend — but then, he is beginning to realize that it might be entirely futile to model his expectations on what he knew of his cousin's relationships.
Rook makes his head spin and lights a fire under his skin, yes, but she also makes him feel safe, and welcome, and … loved. And he really hopes the feeling's mutual.

He's still wrestling with that particular revelation when his phone rings, and he nearly swipes it off the table and onto the floor in his frantic haste to accept the call.
"Dellamorte, hello?"
Rook sits up beside him, listening just as intently.
"Good evening Mr. Dellamorte, this is Toth veterinary clinic. We just wanted to let you know that Spite is responding well to his infusion and should be making a full recovery. We would still like to keep him over night, just to be safe, but he's made it through the worst of it. When would be the best time for you to pick him up tomorrow?"

His shoulder sag with relief, what feels like a small mountain of worry dropping away all at once.
"Thank you."
He can't see the woman on the other end of the line, but the smile in her voice transfers loud and clear. "You are very welcome. Now, about your preferred pick up time tomorrow?"
"Ah, right. Sorry. Would it be ok if I picked him up in the afternoon? I'd like to stay with him when I bring him home, and I have classes until 5 pm."
"That is perfectly alright. If anything else comes up, we will call you again, we'll see each other tomorrow, Mr. Dellamorte."
"Yes, thank you, see you tomorrow."

For a full minute, he just stares at his phone after the call ends, until Rook bumps her shoulder against his.
"Spite's ok?"
"Yes."
And then her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, and he can't think of anything but to return her embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck as relief paints damp streaks down his cheeks.
Rook doesn't mind.
She just holds him, content to be his anchor until his eyes remain dry and his shoulder stop shaking. When he eventually relaxes his grip enough to lean back so he can meet her eyes again, she just smiles, raising her hands until she can wipe the remaining wetness from the corner of his eyes.

And for the first time since he climbed out of bed that morning, he leans in to kiss her, breathless and greedy and more than a little unsteady. When he finally pulls back to catch his breath, there are a hundred different things he wants to say to her, but only one of them matters.

"I love you."

Chapter Text

It's not until Rook arrives in her own room that night that she realizes she's still wearing Lucanis shirt under her sweater. She had been in such a hurry that morning that she didn't bother to take it off first, and then too focused on making sure that Lucanis was ok for most of the rest of the day to bother with it, and then she was in kind of a daze and trying very hard not to panic, and …

And she really needs to talk to Neve. Like, right now.

"Hi Elek, is Rana in?" she asks when the door opens in response to her rather insistent knocking.
"Hi Rook, nice to see you, how are you doing? Yes, Neve's in her room."
"Great, thanks," and she pushes past him, barely remembering to stop before she just barges into Neve's room.
"Neve? Can I come in?"
"Rook? Sure!"
Unfortunately, Neve is not alone when Rook ducks through the door, but Rana is a good sport; she takes one look at her face and quietly excuses herself. Neve waits until the door clicks closed behind her before addressing her clearly unnerved friend.

"Hey, Rook. What's up? Bellara said you had some kind of family emergency?"
Rook crawls onto Neve's bed and leans against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest.
"Something like that — Lucanis' cat ate a candle and we had to take him to the emergency vet and Lucanis was really miserable about it, so I kept him company until they called to let him know that Spite's going to be fine."
Neve grins. "His cat is called Spite?"
"Yep."
When she doesn't offer anything else, Neve tilts her head, frowning at her friend.
"But he's fine, so that's not why you're here."
"Nope."
"… come on Trouble, I have yet to master reading your thoughts, so I'm afraid you'll have to spell it out for me. What has you so spooked?"
"… Lucanis told me he loves me."

Neve's brows shoot up towards her hairline.
"Ah. Did you say it back?"
"Of course I said it back! He just spent the whole day worrying that his cat might die!"
" … but you didn't mean it?"
Rook drops her face into her hands. "I don't know? I really care about him, and I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him, but I'm not sure if I love him, and I've never actually said that to anyone I've dated, and how do I even know if I do?"
"Oh, Trouble," Neve sighs, slinging her arm over Rook's shoulders. "What makes you think I'm the right person to ask?"

---

Rook's knees feel a little wobbly when Lucanis picks up his coffee on Monday morning.

"Does he always smile at me like that?" she mutters towards Evka when he has left for his class.
Evka finishes filling the next order (3 medium coffees) before she answers.
"Like that? Pretty much since you started dating, though he's been close since just before the winter break. Why?"
"He told me he loves me," Rook mumbles after she's rung up their next customer.
"Come again? Couldn't hear you over the coffee machine."
"He said he loves me," Rook repeats, louder this time, feeling her face heat up as the pair of students in front of the register begin to snicker. When she glances over at Evka, it becomes clear that her friend and colleague understood her just fine the first time, too.
"Not funny."
"Yes funny."

"It's nice though, isn't it?" Evka asks when the morning rush had passed and they can slow down and start serving the real goods.
"Is what nice?"
"That Lucanis told you he loves you? Not that it wasn't already glaringly obvious to anyone with eyes."
"Not to me," Rook mumbles, though that's not entirely honest; in truth, she just … didn't really think about it. "And I guess it is nice? It just feels … early, and I wasn't really prepared for it, and now I'm kinda freaking out about it because what if I don't love him back?"
Evka looks her up and down, an amused smirk on her lips.
"Yeeeaaahh, terrible conundrum, really. 'Oh no, my boyfriend loves me, whatever shall I do?'"
The pout on Rook's face is new, at least to Evka, and the scowl feels foreign, too. "It's not that simple!"
"Isn't it? Because you clearly like him. A lot. So what if you're not ready to put the big label on it yet? People make far too big a fuzz about that one, and it's not like there's one universal definition of what love means to everyone. Maybe you love him but you just don't know what that feels like yet, and maybe you don't. Doesn't mean you can't grow into it. Would feel like a shame to ruin a good thing just because you're not sure yet."

She does have a point.

"So stop sulking and help me clean the coffee machine? I swear there must be a cog loose or something the way it keeps leaking all over the counter."

---

Lucanis is still in a bit of a daze when he finds his seat for his Monday morning lecture.

Spite is going to be fine.

And Rook spent the night in his bed, and then the entire day at his apartment, just to make him feel better. Well, the last part was to make him feel better. He's about 99% sure that she spent the night just because she wanted to. Hopes so, anyway.

The last time anyone took time off work and spent time with him just because he was having a bad day must have been shortly after he started school, when the noise and uninvited commentary of his classmates became too much and he needed a break. His mother had taken him to the aquarium to watch the fish and bought him ice-cream and watched a movie with him when they got home. He'd loved that day, and looking back on it from the remove of more than a decade, he was pretty sure that she'd needed a break, too.

I love you, too.

He barely reacts when Teia and Viago come in, already arguing over something or other, or when Illario drops into the seat next to him just before the bell rings. They've been together for years, and best he can tell, they seem to enjoy being at odds with each other more often than not. Between their frequent arguments and his brother's callous affairs, it's little wonder he hasn't had any inclination to enter into a romantic relationship of his own before.

But if that's what led him here, now, he can't find a reason to complain.

If he closes his eyes, he can still feel her breath against his skin, her fingers carting through his hair, her warmth seeping into his bones. That feeling of being held, of being welcome and wanted even when he wasn't at his best. It's almost as intoxicating as the feeling of her skin under his hands —
"Hey Luca, are you listening?"
Lucanis blinks, shaking his head to disperse the cobwebs clinging to his thoughts.
"My apologies. You were saying?"
Illario rolls his eyes. "I asked when you want to meet up to study for next week's exams?"
"You actually want to study this time?"
"I'd like to not have to explain to Caterina how I managed to fail the degree she pays good money for, yes."
Lucanis sighs. "Alright, fine, just — come over to my place on Sunday?"

Satisfied with this turn of events, Illario returns his attention to his phone again, at which point Lucanis notices Teia grinning at him.
"Have a nice weekend again?"
He starts to respond, then stops. "Actually, I'd like to talk to you about that. No more scented candles, please? Spite tried to eat the last one while we slept, and we had to take him to the emergency vet first thing in the morning. He almost died."
Teia's eyes have gone wide as saucers, and she's practically tripping over herself in her rush to apologize. "Oh Maker, I'm so sorry, I had no idea! Is he going to be okay?"
"He's fine now; who knows, maybe cats really do have nine lives. I'm picking him up this afternoon."
She visibly deflates, hand over her heart. "Gracias el Hecador. You really gave me a fright there."
"Imagine how I felt. I don't blame you — I didn't expect him to try to eat it or I would have put it away safely, and I had no idea it would be that toxic to him either — I just don't want to go through that again."
"No more candles — you have my word. Though … I couldn't help but notice the 'we' in there. Did your Rook stay the night?" she adds, already smirking again.

There's very little Lucanis can do about the heat creeping up his neck, the memory of Rook's breath in his ear rising from the depths again, and Teia's smirk widens.
"Awww, look who finally lost his V-card," Illario leers, and his blush intensifies.
He doesn't feel like contradicting them, even if they have the wrong idea — well, mostly —, because Rook did stay over, didn't she? And she did make him unravel on his couch before that …
"She held Spite on the drive over to the vet and stayed the whole day until we knew he was going to be ok," he mumbles instead.

It's a bit of a relief when their professor comes on, cutting his friends' delighted jeering short.

---

It's Wednesday when Lace drags herself into the Lighthouse along with Prof. Tethras, looking frazzled and tense while they go over what sounds to be his schedule and her tasks for the next couple of weeks, and positively murderous when he eventually leaves.

Evka is already holding out her hand to refill Lace's tea when she shambles over to the counter.
"Here, on the house. Now spill."
Lace groans and leans heavily against the well worn wood.
"He is insane! You know how he's always so nice and charming and easygoing? That's because we are the ones going around doing the actual work. He just smiles, and says it's going to be ok, taking on more extra work than we can supervise, and now he's agreed to edit a fucking anthology! He's never edited anything, he just writes and then hands everything off to his editor!
And of course he can't do that now, because he'd have to pay her extra for that, but his poor student aides are already there with our hourly contracts, so guess who gets to do that work now?"
"Oook, that sounds … rough. Sorry," Rook comments, trying to sound soothing. "What kind of anthology is it?"
"Oh, you know — the scientific kind, technically. Which really just means that someone sets a theme, and a bunch of professionals — published doctors and professors and other kinds of highly esteemed writers — hand in essays and articles to match it. So you'd think it'd be easy, right? Because they all know what they're doing and probably have their own secretaries and stuff to proof-read for them?
Well, you'd be wrong. They're all idiots. They don't proof-read nothing, only vaguely reference the topic, and can't tell the difference between a scientific article and a fucking blog post. And I bet at least half of them don't know what a deadline looks like, either.
And it's exam season! What was he thinking?!"

If this were a comic, there would be steam coming out of Lace's ears, and she looks about ready to bite someone.
"Ouch," Rook observes, just as Evka mutters "that sucks", and then grabs a waffle from the cooling stack.
"Here, take this, you earned it. I don't suppose you can just tell him off?"
Lace sighs, again, and takes a bite from her waffle. "I kind of need the job, and it works nicely with my schedule — well, mostly."
"Well, if you ever feel like blowing it all up, I bet Dorian would take you back."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you guys — I needed this," she mutters, leaning over the counter for a quick hug.
"Maybe Taash could help you blow off some steam?" Rook suggests with a sly grin.
"Oh, hush, you."

---

Exam season means that Rook doesn't get to spend a lot of time with Lucanis that week, and she can't quite decide if that's a blessing or a curse. His proximity still makes her feel a little dizzy, but she doesn't like his absence, either — it's like an empty spot in a room where something used to be, the feeling of something missing. Like a phantom limb that itches whenever she thinks of it.
He's not at the Lighthouse as much as he used to, either, because Rook isn't the only one who needs to get some serious studying in and he's finding it difficult to focus when she's around. His eyes keep tracking back to her, watching her laugh with her coworkers or chat with friends or offer a friendly smile to a customer.

He still comes over to cook on Friday, of course. It is perhaps a little bit awkward, the way she greets him at the door that day, but he is too caught up in the relief of wrapping his arms around her again to really notice her nerves, the scent of oranges and ginger welcoming him home.
The way he looks at her still makes Rook's knees feel a little weak, but it's not so bad when he's holding her up, warm and safe and solid, and then her roommates are there to take the edge off.

No Hawke this time, because she did finally talk to her crush and he does have space for her to practice and anyway, she hasn't been home that much the last couple of evenings. How she'll deal with her own exams is anyone's guess, one that Aveline is all too happy to grouch about.
Funny enough, it doesn't help at all that it was her idea that Hawke find somewhere else to practice her guitar playing.
There will be leftovers for her, of course, because Lucanis still errs on the side of 'too much food is better than too little'.

Bellara has cautiously spent a little time with Irelin when she came in to the Lighthouse that week, and while things are still a little shaky, she seems much more cheerful than she was before their confrontation.
Clearing the air really does help.
Still, maybe spending some more time would also help?

"Hey Bellara, do you think we should ask Irelin along on our next Mystery Tuesday?"
Bellara nearly chokes on her drink. She can be a little distracted, but she's very much aware why Rook suggested Mystery Tuesday's when Rana was around.
"Uhm, I don't know — do you think I should?"
"I was just asking you that," Rook chuckles, and even Lucanis is trying to hide a smirk.
"Well, I — I'd have to ask? If she feels like it? Also Neve and Rana, because I wouldn't want to break up our group," Bellara adds, always considerate.
"Wouldn't want that, no," Rook agrees, still grinning. She'd bet her own money that both of them are curious to get to know the girl that spends so much time on Bellara's mind. Letters to a mostly fictional admirer aren't really the best way to get to know a person.
"You can come along after that", she adds as she catches Lucanis eye, winking.
"Oh, did you want to come too?" Bellara asks, and he smiles reassuringly.
"I did, but I don't want to intrude on your thing. There's no rush."

There's a bit of a rush when Rook manoeuvres him out the door after dinner, only because she really does have her first exam on Monday and time is of the essence, but not before kissing him breathless.

---

When Lucanis picks her up on Saturday, Rook's head feels heavy with knowledge, but how much of that will stick is anyone's guess.
"I feel silly making such a fuss about my final exams last year — this feels like just as much material, except it's from just one semester instead of three years? Why didn't anyone warn me about this?"
Lucanis chuckles, squeezing her hand. "I suspect they didn't want to scare you off higher education."
"I guess," she sighs, letting him pull her along for a few steps. "At least Neve warned me not to keep all 20 courses I checked out."
"How many did you land on again?"
"I meant to keep 10, but had to drop one because it messed with my schedule."
"No wonder you take your studies seriously."
"Scholarship, remember? Not much of a choice here."
"Ah, but did they make you pick 10 — sorry, 9 — courses for your first semester?"
"Well, not exactly … ok, I may have a habit of biting off more than I can chew."
He chuckles again, raising their entwined fingers to press a quick kiss to her knuckles. "You'll be alright. Biting off more than you can chew is a bit of a first semester rite of passage."

Spite clamours for attention as soon as they step through the door, lamenting the fact that his bowl is regrettably empty.
"I just fed you you little glutton," Lucanis grumbles, dropping a few more bites of kibble into the food bowl. "You don't need to fatten up for the winter; you're a house cat, and it's almost spring anyway."
Rook laughs, and finds a balled up piece of paper for Spite to play with after he's licked up the last crumbs. Lucanis is making fish today, so he's glad for anything that keeps his second-favourite menace (the first being Rook) out of the kitchen. He put his foot down about having dinner before the movie this time, wanting to introduce her to one of his favourite dishes.

Rook doesn't mind; playing with Spite requires very little thinking, and she's done quite enough of that for today, thank you very much. She has just enough brain juice left over to chat with Lucanis about his week while they both keep their hands busy, and it's nice — easy. The awkward tension she had been dreading has, so far, failed to assert itself. He doesn't treat her any different after having said the three big words, and doesn't seem to expect anything different from her, either. Maybe it's not such a big deal after all.

Dinner is excellent, of course, even if they have to remove Spite from the table at least three times. To be fair, the fish does smell very enticing.
The only trouble with filling their stomachs before they descend on the couch is that they have nothing to do with their hands when they mean to start the movie. The other problem is that they didn't agree on a title beforehand.
While they scroll through the vast streaming library, Rook leans against Lucanis side and his hand lands on her knee, drawing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh, and somehow, the screen just can't quite manage to hold either of their attention.

Suffice to say, they never make it to the movie.

Lucanis has done his best to prepare for his own exams in his free time, reviewing notes and writing summaries and reading through all his scripts, but Rook turns out to be his favourite subject. The comfort of his couch becomes the classroom in which he learns how to make her unravel, how to use his hands and tongue and teeth to draw all those sweet sounds from her lips, and he's always been an excellent student.

I feels safer to do this here, where he doesn't have to lay himself entirely bare, where he feels like he knows at least some of the rules. Rook doesn't mind, so long as he keeps up his studies (he's very detail oriented; she approves).

They do end up watching a documentary after, mostly to be able to say that they did watch something, and because neither of them feel like getting up just yet. Lucanis loves feeling her heartbeat on his cheek and her hands combing through his hair, and Rook is more than happy to play pillow for a while if it keeps him curled up alongside her.
It takes an effort of will to eventually rouse them from their drowsing state and relocate to his bed for the actual sleep part, but Rook is delighted — and a little intimidated — to find both a proper pillow and last week's toothbrush waiting for her.

She does need another one of his shirts though, because she put last week's loan in the laundry — ostensibly to return it to him in mint condition, but let's be honest, that's Rook's shirt now.

"I realize it's a little late now, but are you sure you want me to stay?" she asks when she shifts closer to him under the covers.
"Of course I want you to stay! Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, last I slept over, time Spite got himself really sick …"
"Rook, it's really not your fault that my cat is an idiot and tried to eat a candle."
"I know, just … I don't know."
He huffs an amused breath and pulls her closer, wrapping his arm around her middle and placing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Go to sleep, Rook."

Not like she could stop herself, wrapped up in his arms and his ridiculously high thread count.

---

When Illario knocks on Lucanis' door the next day just before noon, he is a little surprised to find his cousin with company for once. Sure, intellectually, he knew about the girlfriend, but there's a difference between hearing about something and actually seeing it in action.

Technically, he has seen Rook before, but he doesn't usually pay much attention to staff. They're just … there, you know? Like background noise, or furniture. Furniture that makes you coffee and takes your dirty dishes away.

Well, except when they're cute, but Rook isn't really his type.

What he really hasn't seen before is the absolutely besotted look his cousin wear's in the presence of his girlfriend.

"I apologize for disturbing your domestic peace," he teases as Rook clears her notes from Lucanis' dining table.
"You're not," she answers, even as his cousin's look over her shoulder says otherwise. "I was just leaving. Sorry for making you watch me study," she adds towards Lucanis, and his cousin's face shifts into a smile that forces Illario to admit that Teia may have been correct.

"I really don't mind, and it's not like exam season lasts forever."
"And thank the Maker for that."

"I'll drink to that," Illario agrees, earning himself a grin from Rook and a raised brow from his cousin.
"With coffee, I presume?"
"Eh, for now. Make it a good Antivan red when we're through."

Lucanis shakes his head as he helps his girlfriend into her coat, stealing a kiss when she's all buttoned up.

That's … more than a little disorienting, and Illario probably shouldn't be staring.

"By Illario, have a nice study session while I'm working," Rook calls in his direction when she finally slips through the door, and it's a bit of a relief when it clicks shut behind her.

"What?" Lucanis prompts when he turns back to find him staring.
"I don't think I've ever seen you kiss anyone on purpose."
Lucanis rolls his eyes. "Well, I've seen you kiss far too many people for my comfort, so I think we're square."

Which is probably fair, all things considered.