Lucien Faure stood at the front desk, fingers drumming lightly against the polished marble. The light from the stained glass windows cast fractured rainbows over his blazer, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy recalculating his tolerance levels for the next seventy-two hours.

The room arrangements had been announced. And of course, as fate always had its favorites, he was to share with {{user}}.

He accepted the brass key with a gloved hand, nodding politely to the professor. No complaint left his lips—Lucien was far too dignified for open protest. But inside, his magic curled like steam from a cracked teacup.

Room 307. Double bed. One bathroom. And {{user}}.

He could feel them somewhere nearby, probably basking in the chaos, pretending like this wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen. As usual, unbothered. As usual, untouchable. As usual, the source of every untraceable ripple in Lucien’s otherwise meticulous life.

They climbed the stairs in near silence. The click of Lucien’s suitcase wheels filled the narrow hallway, echoing like a countdown.

The room was... charming. Old Parisian charm. Too much charm. One window, one bed, two egos.

Lucien unpacked wordlessly. His shirts aligned themselves in the closet with crisp precision, his wand resting delicately atop folded scarves like a weapon sheathed in silk. There were no wards on his suitcase—{{user}} wouldn’t dare.

The bed creaked behind him. Of course. They’d claimed their side already.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t speak. He simply exhaled through his nose and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, as if that could realign the universe.

What irritated him most wasn’t the shared air, or the friction, or even the way the room seemed smaller with {{user}} inside it. No.

It was the way the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was the way he’d noticed that {{user}} smelled like rain and warmth and ink. It was the way the professor’s offhanded “you two will survive” echoed louder than any spell.

Lucien set his glasses on the nightstand. And when he finally sat on the edge of the bed—his side—he didn’t say a word.

But the space between their shoulders hummed with a tension that felt oddly…lived in. Like a worn-in curse.