"Am I too early for the conference?"

Quinn jumped at the soft voice that pierced through the quiet inside the art classroom. Turning around, they found Hannah standing by the door, shifting uncertainly on her feet.

"Hello, Hannah." They offered her a small smile. "You're not too early. Right on time, actually."

With a relieved nod, Hannah took a few steps into the room.

"And it's not a conference," Quinn added, leaning back against one of the desks. "We just want to talk."

Hannah made a face. "We're all meeting at a specific time to talk about a plan you have. That's what conference means."

Quinn had to chuckle at the way she said it, her tone utterly confident even as she couldn't look Quinn in the eye. Before they could respond, another voice cut in. "Is someone being a smarty-pants again?"

At the sight of Vincent, Hannah's face immediately lit up. "I am smart," she stated. "I have listened to more lectures than all of the students here combined."

"That is... probably true," Vincent agreed. Looking at Quinn, he explained, "Hannah loves to sit in on the college courses during the day. She's likely the best-educated twelve-year-old on this planet."

"And all that without paying a single penny in tuition fees," Quinn chuckled.

"The whole range of Oakriver College's education offers for the small price of my life," Hannah said solemnly.

Quinn only realized that the dry tone of her voice had been sarcasm when Vincent burst out laughing.

"Don't mind her. She's been spending too much time around Joy." He gave an affectionate ruffle to Hannah's brown curls before crossing the room to lean against the desk next to Quinn. "Everything okay?"

Quinn gave him a quick once-over—he looked more solid than he had two days ago, his eyes a clear blue—before they nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for telling everyone about our meeting—"

"Conference," Hannah interjected.

"—on such short notice."

"Of course. I can't wait to hear what you found out. You sounded so excited when you told me about your dinner with—"

He was cut off by a brighter, decidedly lively voice. "Oh, hello! What are you doing here after class?"

Quinn's head snapped up in time to see Mrs. Conti squinting at them from the doorway, her heavy CD player in one hand while the other balanced a stack of binders. "Oh. Hello. I-I'm just... trying to find some inspiration," Quinn stammered. "I like being here when everyone else is gone."

"Mh. I see." Mrs. Conti cast a sweeping glance around the empty room before fixing Quinn again. "Do you find yourself being alone a lot, Quinn?"

Quinn blinked. Next to them, Vincent and Hannah had gone very still, as if Mrs. Conti would somehow see them if they moved even an inch. "Uhm. Sometimes? I-I mean, I'm rooming with Valerie so we hang out a lot. Why?"

"It's just that I noticed a... change. In your behavior in class, as well as in the things you hand in." She paused, the downward curl of her bright red lips decidedly unhappy. "It seems as though something is troubling you. I know that college can be a difficult time, and very isolating, sometimes. I just want you to know that whatever it is, you can come talk to me. You know when my office hours are. I am by no means a guidance counselor, but I am an excellent listener if you—"

"That's—that's really kind," Quinn quickly said, trying to ignore Vincent's concerned stare. "But I'm fine, I promise. It's been... a lot, recently, but I'm figuring it out. And I'll try to do better in class. Really."

Instead of looking reassured, Mrs. Conti heaved a troubled sigh. "Oh, Quinn. This isn't about grades. You are still one of my most technically skilled students. It's just... that spark that I saw in your work last semester. Where did it go?"

"I don't know." Even to their own ears, Quinn's voice sounded terribly choked-up. "I guess I just... haven't been in the right headspace lately."

"I see," Mrs. Conti softly said. There were a few seconds of silence before her face suddenly lit up. "Tell you what." She pulled a slip of paper out of one of her binders. "I am not supposed to talk about this just yet—it's being officially announced in three days—but I think considering the situation, it is perfectly fine to break the rules a little, as all great artists do."

Quinn reluctantly pushed away from the desk and crossed the rooms to see what it was that Mrs. Conti was holding out for them. "A contest?" they questioned when they got a closer look at the flyer. It showed a brick wall, the words Oakriver Art Prize sprayed on it in colorful graffiti.

"Yes! It is held once every two years. All entries will be displayed in the foyer of the art building, and the grand prize is a feature in the local art museum. This year's theme is identity." She paused, adjusting the binders in her arms as she beamed expectantly at Quinn. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, I... I've never submitted anything to a professional jury."

"You submitted a portfolio when you applied to go to school here," Mrs. Conti pointed out.

Quinn couldn't possibly explain to her how far away that moment felt— how foreign the person who had signed the application letter, so naive, so oblivious to the magick that had by now become the inadvertent focal point of their life. Their arm trembled slightly when they accepted the flyer from Mrs. Conti's outstretched hand.

"You don't have to decide right now," she added, still smiling at them from behind her thick glasses. "But I really think that this might help you find it again. Your joy in creating."

"Okay," Quinn said. "Thank you."

"Of course. I'll see you in class on Monday. Enjoy your weekend, okay? Don't stay up too late."

Quinn nodded numbly. A moment later, the front door fell shut behind Mrs. Conti and they were alone again. Alone with the two ghosts still watching them, that was.

"She's really kind," was the first thing Hannah said when Quinn turned to face them.

"Yeah." They rubbed a hand over their eyes. "She is."

"Are you going to do it?" Vincent asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse at the flyer in their hand. "Enter the contest?"

"I don't know. I haven't been able to come up with anything good in a while. And besides, there are more important things to worry about. Like getting you two out of here."

Vincent looked like he wanted to object, but the rapid approach of four sets of footsteps beat him to it.

Caleb and Josie barrelled through the doorway a heartbeat later— Jun and Joy followed at a more leisurely pace, plopping down on two chairs near the desk where Quinn, Vincent and Hannah were standing.

"What's crackin'?" Joy asked, propping her boots up on the desk in front of her. "We miss something important?"

"Sorry we're late," Jun added. "We were playing tag outside and kind of lost track of time. Isn't that right, Caleb?"

The little boy nodded eagerly. He and his sister were sitting in their chairs like two students waiting for their lesson to start, backs straight, their hands folded in their laps. "Yes! I got them all. It was totally awesome."

"That sounds nice! Well done, Caleb." To Jun and Joy, Vincent said, "Thanks for playing with them."

"Sure thing, Dad," Joy snorted. Quinn noted that there wasn't a hint of sharpness in her grin.

"So." Leaning forward, Jun braced his elbows on his knees. "What's this meeting about?"

The coil of nerves in their stomach pulled tight as every single pair of eyes shifted to look at them. It was the first time they were in a room with all of the ghosts at once; the weight of their combined attention along with the terrible amount of hope in each of their faces was enough to make their heart skitter.

"I... I had a meeting with someone yesterday," they forced themself to say. "A family of witches who know a lot about magick and ghosts and... all of that. They told me about a ritual."

Caleb and Josie's eyes widened visibly at the word witches. Hannah only nodded along, a concentrated furrow between her eyebrows.

"It's supposed to help you get to the other side," Quinn continued, "But it's a little bit complicated. It requires one of your possessions from your former life. And it has to take place on February 1st."

"But that's in seventeen days!" Hannah pointed out.

"I know. Who... who of you wants to move on?"

One after another, all arms went up. When Vincent didn't raise his hand, Joy impatiently reached over and yanked it up for him.

Quinn gulped. "Okay. I will need your help, then. I need each of you to think about where and how we might find one of your belongings. Do you think you can do that?"

The others murmured their affirmations.

"I think we'll start with you," Quinn said, looking at Jun. "I'm sure my mom still has something of yours."

Immediately, his eyes lit up. "Do you think I could see her?"

"Would you want that?"

"So much."

Quinn was nodding before they could think better of it. "Okay. I'll invite her to visit me here."

Jun smiled at that, brighter than Quinn had ever seen. Leaning into his side, Joy gave his hand a little squeeze.

"For the rest of you, things will probably be a bit more difficult," Quinn said, "But I'm sure we'll find a way. Okay?"

"Hell yeah," Joy immediately said.

"Then we have a plan."

In the excited chatter that followed, Vincent was the only one to remain silent.

As the others filtered out of the room a few moments later, Quinn turned to him and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's a really good idea." His distant gaze was fixed on the window, the light of the waning moon filtering weakly through the glass. "I don't think we'll find anything of mine, but it's good if the others move on from here. It's what they deserve."

"It's what you deserve, too." Quinn frowned. "We'll figure something out. You're not going to be the last one left here, Vincent. And you're not going to vanish. I won't let it happen."

He finally met their eyes, the tension in his shoulders melting away. "Okay."

Quinn looked past him at the moon, contemplating. Then, they turned to him again and asked, "Why did you disappear yesterday?"

"Luis's dad." He uncomfortably scratched at his arm. "The way they spoke to each other... it reminded me of my father."

"I'm sorry," Quinn told him. They were sorry for both of them. Even now, they could still see the tense set of Luis's shoulders in their mind's eye, hear the tightness in his voice. They'd only watched them interact for a few seconds, but even then it had been painfully obvious that things between Ortíz and Son weren't as harmonious as they seemed. "Speaking of Luis... I think I'm going to head over to his place and tell him about our new plan. Do you want to come with?"

Vincent gave a small shake of his head. "No. I think I'm going to spend some time with the little ones, if that's okay. I'm sure they have a lot of questions."

"Okay." Quinn slipped off the desk. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

Vincent only spoke when they were almost at the door. "Hey, Quinn?" He shot them a small smile. "Thank you. Tell Luis hi for me."

***

Quinn's bravado left them as soon as they stood in front of Ortíz and Son. Earlier, their only thought had been that they needed to tell Luis about everything; now, staring up at the dark façade, they felt like turning around and scurrying back to their dorm. The window that belonged to Luis's room was dark—the only room that seemed to be lit was one on the second floor, where Luis had mentioned the workshop was.

Biting at their thumb, the sensation muffled through their new mittens, they stared up at the light and warred with themself. The message they'd sent to Luis twenty minutes ago—a simple Are you up?—had gone unread. It was close to midnight by now. Luis had always struck them as more of a night owl, but maybe he had gone to sleep early and his dad was still up working on something. Quinn didn't think they wanted to risk ringing the doorbell and facing Mr. Ortíz after their awkward first encounter, and they had a hunch the feeling was mutual.

After a few more seconds shivering in the cold, they had almost convinced themself to leave, when a car pulled up and parked right in front of the building. Every one of Quinn's instincts told them to run, but it was too late—the door had already opened and a woman stepped out.

"Hello," she said as she neared the front door and spotted Quinn lingering awkwardly next to it. "Can I help you?"

"Uhm. I... wanted to visit Luis? I know it's a bit of a strange time, but—"

In the flickering light of the nearby streetlight, Quinn could just barely make out the smile that lit up the woman's face. "Oh! You must be Quinn, right? I've heard so much about you. Come in, come in!"

Before Quinn could think better of it, they were already following Luis's mom inside. She closed the door behind them and turned on the overhead light before toeing out of her shoes. "Excuse me. Late night at the ER," she explained. "It's always hell on my feet."

Nodding in understanding, Quinn subtly studied Mrs. Ortíz. It only took one glance to recognize that Luis came after her more than he resembled his dad. Her shiny brown hair, her warm brown eyes, her thick lashes, even the way she smiled, toothy and with her cheeks dimpling, reminded Quinn of Luis. When she walked towards the staircase, it was with the same grace that Luis moved with, except her limbs were less lanky and she was much shorter. Then again, her son was a giant.

"Follow me!" she said when Quinn stood frozen by the door, unsure what to do.

Quinn had no other choice but to obey. As they made their way to the second floor, Mrs. Ortíz holding tightly onto the handrail in a way that gave away her exhaustion, she told them, "It's good that you're here. He texted me earlier—another fight with his dad. He'll be glad to have a distraction."

For the tenth time that night, Quinn wondered if it had really been a good idea to come over.

Mrs. Ortíz sighed when they reached the second floor and she noted the light seeping out from underneath a door at the very end of the corridor—the one behind which Quinn suspected the workshop. "He always does this when they fight," she murmured. Shaking her head, she looked at Quinn again. "Well, go on in. It was nice meeting you, Quinn."

Quinn gave an awkward nod. "Thank you, Mrs. Ortíz."

"Oh, call me Juana," she said with a tired smile. Then, she turned around and disappeared into a room at the other end of the corridor, leaving Quinn alone in the dark hallway.

The old wooden floorboards creaked softly under their steps as they slowly neared the workshop. If they strained their ears, they could faintly pick up the muffled sound of sandpaper against wood, the rhythm even, methodical. It stopped the instant Quinn knocked.

There were a few seconds of silence—then, the sound of footsteps hesitantly nearing the door.

"Oh," was the first thing Luis said when he opened the door to find Quinn, his eyes widening a little. "Uhm. Hey?"

"Your... your mom let me in," Quinn stammered. "I-I'm sorry if that's weird or if it's bad timing, I can totally leave—"

"No!" Luis said. He cleared his throat, studying a spot on the ground with great interest. "I mean... I would like it if you stayed."

It was only then that Quinn fully took him in. He was wearing sweats and a maroon woolen sweater, the sleeves long enough that he had to push them up to his elbows. Around his neck hung a pair of headphones, and his tousled hair looked slightly damp, as if he'd only just gotten out of the shower a few minutes ago.

It was odd. Quinn was used to seeing him in his fancy vampire outfits and jewelry, every aspect of his appearance put together and well-controlled. Hell, they had seen him naked before, and even then he hadn't appeared as vulnerable as he was now. Standing before them with an uncertain expression and socked feet, he looked... soft.

Quinn didn't know why the revelation that Luis Ortíz didn't always look like a character from a Gothic novel made their heart feel so weird.

"Okay," they forced themself to say.

They expected Luis to step aside and let them into the workshop—instead, he reached inside to hit the light switch and pulled the door shut behind him. "I'll show you my room."

"You already did."

He gave them one of his lopsided grins, though this time, there was a strange nervousness to it. "No. My real room. The other one's just the one where I usually sleep."

Intrigued, Quinn followed him towards the staircase that led to the third floor. While they climbed, they asked, "What were you doing just now?"

"Putting some finishing touches on a coffin and listening to The Magnus Archives," he said with a shrug. The gesture didn't hold any of the nonchalance he was probably trying for. Quinn didn't press any further.

When they reached the third floor, Luis took them straight past the door to his room and instead stopped in front of an attic ladder that hadn't been pulled out last time Quinn had come over. He gestured at it with a flourish. "Paranormal entities first."

"Not an entity," Quinn mumbled but climbed the ladder nevertheless, Luis following behind them.

Once they were both firmly standing on their feet again, he left their side and blindly made his way to the other end of the room. There were a few seconds of silence while Quinn tried to adjust their eyes to the dark. Finally, a lamp flickered on and the room came to life.

This was what Quinn had expected Luis's room to look like. It was a mess. In the small attic space, there was a mattress with soft-looking blankets and pillows but no bedframe. It was like a tiny island in the middle of the sea—the sea being mountains of fabric littered everywhere along with a bunch of other art supplies. Bookshelves lined the walls, these ones much less organized than the ones in his bedroom, and the angled ceiling was barely visible; everywhere Quinn looked were sketches showcasing different cryptids, posters of obscure movies, grainy photos of forests and mountains and lakes, each with a blurry shadow that, with some imagination, looked like vague humanoid shapes.

They startled when Luis let out a loud sneeze, followed by a delighted "Oh, there you are! Hi, Vic!"

Vic, it turned out, was a severely unimpressed-looking black cat that was curled up on one of the mountains of clothes thrown haphazardly about. At Luis's greeting, she lazily cracked open one eye before going back to dozing.

"Nice to see you too, asshole," Luis told her. To Quinn, he said, "Quinn, meet Victoria Everglot. Beware—she despises me and is probably plotting the downfall of humanity as we speak."

"Victoria Everglot?" Quinn echoed. "Like the girl from Corpse Bride?"

"Yeah!" He beamed at them before stifling another sneeze in the crook of his arm.

"Are... are you allergic to her?"

"What? No," he said, drawing out the last syllable. When Quinn narrowed their eyes at him, he admitted, "Okay, maybe a little. Don't tell my mom."

"I won't." Holding back a smile, Quinn gestured at the room. "So... why do you hide your real personality in the attic? Is this some sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation?"

Fanning himself, Luis sank down on his bed. "Better stop with the references, or I'll have no choice but to fall in love with you."

"Ha-ha," Quinn deadpanned as all the blood in their body suddenly shot into their face. "Come on, tell me. I told you my big secret."

"Blackmail, huh? That's kind of sexy."

"Luis."

"Okay, fine. This is the one room that my dad doesn't go in. There."

"Oh." Slowly, Quinn crossed the room and sat down next to him on the bed, placing their coat and mittens next to them. "You two don't get on too well, huh?"

"No." Luis looked down at his hands, picking at the chipped black nail polish on his left thumb. "I don't even know what we were arguing about this time. He came to me to tell me he noticed a small error in last month's paperwork, and I just exploded." He shook his head. It was only now, sitting so close to him, that Quinn noticed that his eyes were slightly reddened, his voice scratchy like he'd been shouting. "I'm not usually an angry person. Honest. There's just something about him that always brings out the worst in me."

"I can imagine that it must be difficult to run a business with someone you're so close to," Quinn carefully said.

"God. The business." Luis rubbed a hand over his eyes. "That's probably the reason why I'm so angry at him. It's not really fair, I guess, but... all of our stupid arguments started when I realized he expects me to run the shop myself at some point."

"And you don't want that?"

"Not really. It's dead boring here." He paused for a moment, waiting for Quinn to laugh. When they didn't, he looked down at his hands again. "I don't mind working here. I know that this is something I'm good at and something that I can make good money with. A stable income, and all that. But, I mean... a coffin's a coffin. No one enjoys being a one-trick-pony all their life, right?"

"I suppose not," Quinn murmured. "So he's forcing you to stay here?"

"No, not... not forcing. But he makes it very clear that it's what he expects from me."

Quinn's throat tightened as they studied him. They hated the defeated slump of his shoulders, the glassy look in his eyes. They hated that Luis looked like he had already given up. He was twenty years old, for heaven's sake. No twenty-year-old should look this resigned over a future that had barely even begun.

His words from the other day made more sense now: I've just always felt like there has to be more to all of this. Something that's not so mundane. Quinn could see the appeal in immersing oneself in the mystical when you were so thoroughly disillusioned by the real world.

"Have you talked to him about it?" they blurted.

"I've tried, but... It's hard. I don't want to disappoint him. I mean, fuck. My family has run this shop for decades. I don't want to be the one who screws it all up, you know?" There was a desperate sort of rawness in his voice that Quinn had never heard before.

For a long moment, both of them were silent, the quiet only interrupted by another sneeze. Finally, Quinn asked, "What would you do? If you could choose, I mean?"

Luis glanced over at the sewing machine on the small table near the bed. "I think I'd study fashion."

"Can I see something you made?"

Luis rubbed at his neck, a flustered smile flickering across his face. "I can show you some sketches. But you have to promise not to judge—I'm not an elite art student like you, okay?"

"Luis, I talked to ghosts in front of you," Quinn laughed. "I don't think I have room to judge."

Luis still seemed nervous, his movements a little uncertain as he reached for the sketchbook on his bedside table. Quinn could feel his eyes boring into their cheek as they flipped it open, but his staring shifted into the background when their gaze fell on the drawings.

They were amazing. Figures with gangly limbs and prominent facial features modeled different garments; blouses with sleeves that reminded Quinn of a bat's wings; cloaks with elaborate lace details; dresses with intricate cut-outs and layered skirts that brushed against the floor; corsets and ruffled collars and gloves that reached up to the wearer's elbows. They were at once old-fashioned and brilliantly modern, elegant yet provocative.

More than that, everything about the sketches, from the colors to the style to the figures' confident posture screamed Luis—not the Luis who lived downstairs in a neat bedroom with a tidy bed, but the one who plastered his walls with weird posters and owned a spirit box, the one who was so unapologetically himself that one couldn't help but feel comfortable around him.

"Luis," Quinn breathed, reverently running a finger over a close-up sketch of a complicated embroidery pattern. "You're so good."

"Really?" he asked. He sounded so unsure. Quinn would have scolded him for it if they didn't hate every single one of their drawings as well.

"Yes, really. The details, the style... God, my best friend would probably kill to wear any one of these outfits."

A small smile crossed Luis's face then. "Thank you," he softly said, still not meeting Quinn's eyes.

"Is this the reason you started modeling for Mrs. Conti's classes?" they tentatively asked.

"Yes," Luis admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's stupid but... I thought that, if I can't create, I can at least be made into art by someone else."

"You are art, Luis."

He glanced up at them in surprise. "What?"

"I meant—you're an artist," Quinn quickly said. "These are really good."

Luis slowly accepted the sketchbook when Quinn handed it back to him. Setting it down on his bedside table again, he asked, "So... What brought you here? Were you just walking by on your midnight stroll?"

"No. I wanted to tell you about our new plan."

Immediately, Luis perked up. "Oh, right! You saw your witch friends, right?"

Quinn quickly filled him in, telling him the same thing they had told Vincent and the others. "It's probably going to be a bit difficult, especially because we don't have a lot of time," they finished. "I just hope we'll somehow find something of Vincent's. He's not very optimistic, but we have to at least try, you know?"

Luis nodded firmly. "Definitely. I'll help."

"Really?"

"Of course! This is the most interesting thing that has happened to me in years. And Vincent... I mean, he's a good guy. He deserves better than to just vanish."

Quinn nodded silently.

Luis, who was watching them closely—how did he always do that?—seemed to notice the shift in their mood. "What is it?"

Normally, Quinn wouldn't have said anything. But Luis had told them so much, and there was something about him, always unflinching and never judgemental, that made them want to talk. "It's weird," they quietly said. "In the beginning, all I wanted was for them to leave me alone, but now that I know there are only seventeen days left until they'll probably be gone, I... kind of don't want them to." They shook their head. "I don't know. It's selfish. It's just that when I first met Vincent, it felt like it was the first time in weeks that someone saw me. The first time I didn't feel alone."

"I see you too," Luis said. His tone was whisper-quiet; his eyes, when they met Quinn's, held enough understanding to make them feel warm all over. "I know it might be hard to remember when you're around spirits all day, but you are not a ghost, Quinn. You're here."

At once, Quinn became aware of just how close they were sitting. They weren't sure if they'd sat down like this a few moments ago or if they had unconsciously leaned closer to each other, but however it had happened, Luis's face was suddenly only inches away, his knee pressing against theirs.

When they dragged their eyes up to meet Luis's, they found him sitting very still. He swallowed. Tilted his head. And then...

Sneezed.

Quinn couldn't help it—they burst out laughing as he turned away at lightning speed, his nose buried in the crook of his elbow. Immediately, whatever tension had filled the space between them evaporated, Quinn gasping for air as Luis turned to glare at Victoria Everglot.

"Goddam cat!"

"Bless you," Quinn panted, holding their side.

Luis only made things worse by poking at their ribs, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Shut up."

Quinn wanted to respond, but they didn't have the breath to form words as Luis began to tickle them in earnest, making them fall back against the pillows with a squeak. "L-Luis, stop!" they managed to get out. "I'm wa—I'm fucking warning you, I will put a hex on you!"

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, his face hovering over theirs, bright with glee. "What will you curse me with?"

"N-never seeing the Loch Ness Monster," Quinn sputtered.

At that, Luis finally let off, rolling onto his back next to them with a laugh. "Don't bring my girl Nessy into this."

"I... hate... you," Quinn wheezed as they caught their breath. "I hope we didn't wake your dad."

Luis grinned. "I hope we did."

Shaking their head at him, Quinn pushed themself up on their elbows. "It's kind of late. I should probably head back to the dorms."

"Or... you could stay," Luis said. Quinn thought he was joking at first, but when they peered down at his face, he was looking up at them with that same nervous look he'd worn earlier. "This bed is comfier than the ones in the dorms, I think. Look, I'll even read you a bedtime story!" Before Quinn could protest, he reached over to his bedside table and produced his tattered copy of Frankenstein as well as a pair of reading glasses.

And, fuck. Quinn hadn't been keen to decline earlier, but now, with Luis beaming hopefully at them from behind a pair of glasses that made his eyes look even bigger, there was no way they could say no.

It was unfair, really. Absolutely rude.

"All right," they surrendered, falling back against the pillows. Luckily, they weren't a wearing a binder—only a sports bra that would be comfortable enough to sleep in for one night.

Settling down next to them, Luis pulled one of the heavy blankets over both of them. He was lying close enough that their shoulders were pressed together, his body a long line of heat next to them. "Better listen closely," he told them as he flipped open the book. "There'll be a quiz tomorrow."

Unable to hold back a smile, Quinn closed their eyes against the soft light of the single lamp. "Uh-huh."

Luis began to read. Quinn didn't particularly try to keep up with the story—it was enough to just lie there, listening to the soothing cadence of his voice, feeling the vibrations of it at every point their bodies pressed together. It was the opposite of sleeping next to Vincent; where he was cold and always just beyond reach, an echo from another world, Luis was warm and solid, the soft fabric of his sweater smelling like wood and washing powder, the blanket rising and falling gently with his even breaths.

It was the first time in weeks that Quinn felt truly, heart-poundingly present.

When they shifted so that their head was resting against his shoulder, Luis didn't stop reading. His only reaction was the slightest hitch in his breath before he flipped the page and murmured, "There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand."

It was the last thing they heard before they drifted off.