“Shh.”

Angus put a finger over his lips, shooting you a sideways glance as you accidentally stepped on a particularly creaky floorboard. The halls were dim and empty, the only lighting from the silvery, rectangular patches of moonlight cast across the floor from the tall windows to your left. You stayed close behind him, squinting and trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness quicker.

It was Christmas Eve, and, as far as you two knew, there would be no celebrations, no presents or decorations up. Hunham had certainly not given any sign of wanting to and, frankly, you weren’t sure you were in the spirit for it. But you’d be damned if the night passed without anything happening.

You slowed as Hunham’s door approached, socked feet padding silently across the bare wood. Angus crept ahead, pressing his ear to the door and nodding at you a second later. Coast is clear.

He slipped in first, and you followed. Hunham’s room was large, and better heated than yours—unfair—his things scattered about much more messily than you’d expect from a man like him. Maybe he was drunk—it certainly looked like it, the way he was still wearing his daytime clothes, rumpled as they were.

The two of you split up, opening drawers and searching the closet surreptitiously, wincing at every tiny sound. What seemed like hours later, you had to idea to peek under his bed and let out a low, breathy laugh as your hand clasped around the neck of a bottle of whiskey.

You came up, triumphant, and you and Angus quickly left the room to rush back to your cots. When you’d made it back, you laughed at the ridiculousness of it all—the sneaking around, the dead quiet.

“Here, here, give me,” Angus laughed, opening the bottle and pouring it into two water glasses. He handed one to you.

“Cheers,” he nodded at you with a smile, before downing his drink.