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Summary
Rook made a habit of seeing Lucanis last on his rounds, in hopes of some kind of indication of interest in providing some…help with his straying thoughts in his own room afterwards, to no avail. At nights, or whatever mimicked nights in the Lighthouse, Rook would close his eyes and furtively fist himself to thoughts of hands pushing him to his knees.
After another afternoon of honeyed implication and a night of fitful sleep cut short by wet, tented trousers, Rook broke, donned his clothes, and left his room in search of Lucanis.