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The night was quiet in the Lighthouse. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting faint orange embers across the walls, giving the common room a dim, dreamlike glow.
Rook hadn’t meant to stay up this late, but then again, neither had Lucanis.
It had started as just another late night—another conversation stretched thin over exhaustion, another moment where neither of them really wanted to be alone with their thoughts.
Lucanis had taken up his usual spot, lounging comfortably against the worn couch, legs stretched out, one hand idly twirling a dagger. Rook had been next to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the assassin’s body but far enough that neither of them had to acknowledge the proximity.
At some point, the conversation had slowed. The exhaustion from the day’s work had caught up with them both.
And that was how they had ended up here.
Pressed close together, tangled in a way neither of them had planned but neither of them had tried to fix, either.
Lucanis had let his head rest against Rook’s shoulder, his usual guarded demeanor softened by sleep-heavy limbs and the comfort of trust. One of Rook’s arms had ended up slung loosely around Lucanis’s waist, a casual, thoughtless gesture that neither of them commented on.
It was warm. Comfortable.
Rook had never really thought of himself as someone who needed this sort of thing. He wasn’t overly affectionate, wasn’t prone to seeking out physical contact unless it was necessary.
But with Lucanis, it was different.
Lucanis, who spent so much of his time sharp-edged and unreadable, who wielded charm like a weapon but rarely let anyone see him without the mask.
Here, now, he was just Lucanis.
Not the infamous assassin. Not the smirking enigma.
Just him.
And maybe that was why Rook did it.
Maybe it was why, without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a soft, absentminded kiss to Lucanis’s forehead.
It was brief, barely more than a brush of lips against skin, but as soon as he pulled back, he felt Lucanis shift against him.
Then—
"You missed."
Rook blinked.
Lucanis was pouting.
Not in a dramatic, exaggerated way, but in a way that was just subtle enough to be dangerous.
Rook frowned slightly, still half-drowsy. "What?"
Lucanis tilted his head, his voice a slow, amused murmur. "I said, you missed."
Rook hesitated. "What are you—"
Lucanis leaned in.
Rook barely had time to react before warm lips pressed against his own.
It was soft—softer than Rook would have expected. A slow, deliberate press of warmth and intent, no teasing, no theatrics. Just Lucanis, kissing him like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Rook inhaled sharply, his body tensing for half a second before melting into it, instinct taking over. His fingers tightened slightly where they rested against Lucanis’s side, pulling him just a little closer.
Lucanis made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, pleased, before pulling back just enough to hover against Rook’s lips.
His eyes were half-lidded, his smirk softer now, less of a taunt and more of an invitation.
"Much better," he murmured.
Rook exhaled, still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened. "You’re impossible."
Lucanis chuckled. "And yet, you keep me close anyway."
Rook rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.
Because Lucanis was right.
And, Maker help him, Rook wasn’t letting him go.