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The Lighthouse common room was alive with conversation, the warmth of the fireplace casting flickering light across the stone walls. The Veilguard had gathered here after a long, grueling mission—one filled with too many close calls, too little sleep, and far too much stress.
Rook was exhausted.
More exhausted than he let on, if he was being honest with himself.
He sat slouched in one of the worn-out armchairs near the fire, listening to the others talk—drifting in and out of focus as the conversation swayed between victories won and drinks owed. Someone was recounting a particularly reckless maneuver that had miraculously not gotten them all killed. Someone else was laughing. It was comfortable. Familiar.
And Rook—Rook was warm, comfortable, and tired enough that he stopped fighting the weight pressing down on his eyelids.
At some point, he stopped listening entirely.
At some point, he drifted off.
Lucanis was leaning back against the wall, one boot propped against the stone, idly twirling a dagger between his fingers as he half-listened to the conversation.
It wasn’t unusual for Rook to push himself too hard. He had a way of always staying on high alert, always keeping one eye open, as if letting his guard down for even a moment would leave him vulnerable.
That was why it surprised Lucanis when he noticed Rook had gone completely still.
He glanced over, expecting to see the rogue deep in thought—but instead, he found Rook slumped in his chair, arms folded over his chest, head tilted slightly to the side. His breathing was slow. Steady.
Fast asleep.
Lucanis smirked. Well, that’s a rare sight.
The others seemed to notice as well. There were a few quiet chuckles, a few knowing glances exchanged, but no one made a move to wake him.
And then—
Rook murmured something.
Lucanis blinked.
The room quieted slightly as the others glanced toward Rook, waiting to see if he’d wake up. But the rogue remained still, his breathing even, his face relaxed in sleep.
And then he spoke again.
Soft, barely above a whisper.
Lucanis furrowed his brow, leaning in just slightly to catch the words.
At first, it was nonsense.
Fragments of sentences, half-formed thoughts—things that made no sense. Something about knives. Something about the way the floorboards creaked. Something about…
Lucanis.
Lucanis stiffened.
"Mm… stupid assassin…" Rook mumbled, shifting slightly in his sleep. His voice was quiet, slurred with exhaustion. "Always… so damn smug…"
Lucanis’s lips twitched, half a smirk forming before Rook spoke again.
"…but he’s got a nice voice…"
Lucanis’s breath caught.
The room had gone completely still.
Rook let out a quiet sigh, head tilting further into the chair. "…and his hair’s soft… s’not fair…"
Lucanis’s stomach twisted.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Lucanis’s mind raced, his grip tightening slightly around his dagger. He’s asleep. He’s just talking in his sleep. It doesn’t mean anything.
And yet—
"And his smile…" Rook’s voice was barely a whisper now, but every word seemed to echo in Lucanis’s ears. "Maker… ‘s so damn distracting…"
Lucanis froze.
His chest felt tight, like someone had knocked the breath from his lungs. His thoughts were a mess—a whirlwind of confusion, of shock, of something dangerously close to hope.
Because this wasn’t teasing.
This wasn’t the playful back-and-forth they always fell into.
This was…
Real.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Lucanis felt warmth creeping up the back of his neck, a rare and unfamiliar sensation. He forced himself to glance at the others—only to find them staring at him with varying degrees of amusement and intrigue.
Lucanis scowled.
"If any of you say a word—" he began, voice low and warning.
One of them—perhaps Harding, perhaps someone else—held up their hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
Lucanis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
He needed to think.
He didn’t mean it. He was just talking in his sleep. That doesn’t mean it’s real. Right?
Right.
Except—
Lucanis’s eyes drifted back to Rook, still slumped in the chair, still lost in whatever dream he was having.
And for the first time in his life, Lucanis wasn’t entirely sure what to do.
Rook woke with a start.
He blinked groggily, his mind sluggish as he tried to remember where he was. The common room. The Lighthouse. Right.
He stretched, rolling his shoulders as he let out a yawn. "How long was I out?"
Silence.
Rook frowned.
The others were looking at him.
No—watching him.
Like they were waiting for something.
Something he wasn’t aware of.
Lucanis, however, wasn’t watching him at all. In fact, the assassin was very pointedly not looking at him, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere off to the side.
Rook narrowed his eyes. "…What?"
No one answered.
Rook’s frown deepened. "Okay, what the hell did I miss?"
Lucanis let out a short, humorless laugh, finally meeting Rook’s gaze. "Oh, nothing. Just learned a few interesting things, that’s all."
Rook stiffened. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
Lucanis tilted his head, expression unreadable. "Do you usually talk in your sleep, Rook?"
Rook’s stomach dropped.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
He glanced around the room, suddenly aware of the way the others were barely holding back laughter.
Maker.
What did I say?
Lucanis smirked, but there was something in his eyes—something calculating. "Oh, you know," he said, voice maddeningly casual. "Just some very flattering observations about my smile. My voice. My hair, even."
Rook’s blood ran cold.
He felt heat creeping up his neck, a slow, mortifying realization settling in. "I…" He swallowed. "I don’t—"
Lucanis took a lazy step forward. "So, tell me, Rook," he said smoothly, "was that just dream-talk? Or do you actually find me distracting?"
Rook wanted to die.
Right here. Right now.
It would be less painful than this.
He tried to think, tried to form any kind of coherent response, but his mind was blank. Absolutely, utterly blank.
Lucanis took another step closer, close enough that Rook could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.
Rook’s brain finally, mercifully, kicked into action.
He shot to his feet, brushing past Lucanis in a hurry. "I need a drink," he muttered, already making his way toward the door.
Behind him, he heard Lucanis chuckle—a low, knowing sound that sent heat straight up Rook’s spine.
"Good idea," Lucanis called after him. "We should get one together. You do owe me a drink, after all."
Rook groaned, cursing whatever cruel god had decided this was his fate.
He was never sleeping in public again.