Chapter 61: Restless Nights
The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light filtering through the thin curtains of the shared room. The soft chirping of crickets filled the otherwise silent night, creating a serene ambiance in their new home. For most, it would've been the perfect setting to drift into a peaceful sleep.
For Lucian, however, it was anything but.
"Will you please stop fidgeting?" Lucian growled, turning his head to glare at Quintin, who was tossing and turning on the other bed.
"I can't help it," Quintin whined, sitting up. His hair was a disheveled mess, and his blanket was tangled around his legs. "This bed feels weird. It's too soft. Like I'm sinking into a pile of clouds. The tavern's beds were firmer."
Lucian sat up as well, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you seriously complaining about having a comfortable bed?"
"I'm not complaining," Quintin retorted, throwing his arms in the air. "I'm just saying it's… unfamiliar. And the pillow smells like soap."
"That's because it's clean," Lucian deadpanned.
Quintin flopped back onto his bed with a dramatic groan. "Well, you try sleeping on something this soft after years of hard beds and cold floors. My body's confused. It doesn't know what comfort feels like anymore."
Lucian stared at him, his patience wearing thin. "I'm starting to think you're confused about a lot of things."
Quintin shot him a smirk, despite the dim lighting. "Oh, come on, Lucian. You should be used to my quirks by now. We've been through so much together, and yet, you still act like I'm the bane of your existence."
"That's because you are," Lucian muttered, lying back down and turning his back to Quintin. "Just go to sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us."
Quintin was quiet for a moment, the room falling into an almost peaceful silence. Just as Lucian began to think he might finally get some rest, Quintin spoke again.
"Do you think Seraphine's bed is as soft as ours?"
Lucian groaned audibly. "Why does that even matter?"
"I dunno," Quintin replied. "She probably has the best bed, considering how much she spent on this house. Maybe I should sneak in there and test it out."
Lucian sat up abruptly, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "If you even think about stepping foot in her room, I'll make sure you sleep on the floor for the rest of your life."
Quintin raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Relax, I'm just joking. I wouldn't actually do that. She'd probably stab me before I even touched the door."
Lucian sighed, lying back down again. "You're insufferable."
"Thanks," Quintin said cheerfully.
The silence returned once more, and for a moment, it seemed like Quintin had finally settled down. But then, the unmistakable sound of snoring filled the room—a loud, uneven snore that echoed off the walls.
Lucian's eye twitched. "Quintin," he said through gritted teeth.
The snoring continued, oblivious to Lucian's growing frustration.
"Quintin!" Lucian barked, throwing his pillow across the room. It hit Quintin square in the face, cutting off the snore mid-breath.
"Huh? What?" Quintin mumbled groggily, sitting up and rubbing his face. "What was that for?"
"You were snoring," Lucian said flatly.
"Oh." Quintin blinked, then shrugged. "Yeah, I do that sometimes."
"Then fix it."
"How am I supposed to fix it? I can't control what I do in my sleep."
Lucian groaned once more, running his hands down his face in exasperation. "Why did I agree to share a room with you?"
"Because you're secretly fond of me," Quintin replied with a sly grin, his voice laced with mock innocence.
Lucian fixed him with a withering glare, his eyes narrowing as if sheer willpower alone could make Quintin disappear. "I'll leave this house before I ever admit to that."
Quintin chuckled, thoroughly unfazed, and threw himself onto his bed with a dramatic flourish, pulling the blanket over himself like a king draping a royal cloak. "Oh, Lucian, for someone who acts like they despise me, you sure tolerate a lot. Admit it—you'd miss me if I wasn't here."
Lucian gave no response, opting instead to lie down on his own bed and turn to face the wall. His silence was less an invitation for peace and more a desperate plea for Quintin to stop talking.
For a few blessed moments, it worked. The room settled into a quiet hum, broken only by the muffled sounds of distant street activity and the occasional creak of the old inn's wooden frame. Lucian closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly, praying Quintin would finally take the hint.
But, of course, peace with Quintin was a fleeting thing.
"Hey, Lucian?" Quintin's voice pierced the darkness like a dart, cheerful and far too awake for Lucian's liking.
Lucian's eyes shot open, his face buried in his pillow. He didn't bother turning around. "What now?" he asked, voice muffled and heavy with exhaustion.
Quintin hesitated, his tone softening just enough to make Lucian pause. "Do you think we'll ever have a quiet night? You know, without missions, fights… or me annoying you?"
Lucian sighed, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His voice was dry, but there was a faint trace of humor in it. "No. And at this point, I've accepted it."
Quintin laughed softly, the sound oddly genuine, and settled further into his blankets. "Fair enough," he said, his voice quieter now. "Goodnight, roommate."
Lucian grunted in response, unwilling to expend the effort of actual words. His patience had long since run out, and all he wanted was to sleep.
Yet, as silence finally settled over the room, Lucian couldn't help but replay Quintin's question in his mind. He glanced sideways, catching the faint rise and fall of Quintin's chest as he began to drift off, his earlier energy now replaced by a rare moment of peace.
Lucian turned back to the ceiling, his thoughts racing despite his fatigue. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but Quintin's antics—chaotic and infuriating as they were—had a strange way of filling the gaps in the quiet. There was something oddly comforting about having someone there, even if that someone made it their mission to get on his nerves.
The thought was fleeting, quickly buried under layers of annoyance and practicality. He'd never admit it out loud, and certainly not to Quintin. Still, as he closed his eyes, he made a mental note to look into soundproofing spells first thing in the morning.
And yet, as he finally began to drift off, he found himself vaguely wondering if he'd miss the noise if it were gone. A troubling thought he dismissed immediately as the pull of sleep finally overtook him.