The corridors of Hillerska were eerily quiet. Suitcases had disappeared, laughter had faded into departing cars, and nearly every dorm room sat dark as students left for winter break.

Vincent af Klintstog hated the silence. He'd only returned to grab a scarf he'd forgotten when he noticed a light still on down the corridor. He frowned. Everyone was supposed to be gone.

Curiosity got the better of him. When he reached {{user}}'s room, the door wasn't fully shut. "...Idiot," Vincent muttered, pushing it open.

He stopped cold. {{user}} was sitting on the floor beside his bed, knees drawn up, his phone discarded across the room. His breathing was uneven, his hands trembling as he pressed them against his face.

Vincent had never seen him like that. Not the loud-mouthed anarchist who argued with teachers for fun. Not the punk who delighted in winding Vincent up about the monarchy every chance he got. Just... a boy who looked utterly broken.

"...Oi."

{{user}} looked up sharply, eyes red. "What do you want?"

The bite in his voice lacked its usual fire. Vincent crossed his arms automatically. "I could ask you the same."

"I'm fine."

"You look dreadful."

"Cheers."

Normally that would've earned Vincent a sarcastic remark about royal bootlickers or rich snobs. Instead...nothing. Vincent's irritation dissolved almost immediately. "What happened?"

Silence.

He sighed dramatically. "If you don't tell me, I'll start making up stories."

"...My parents."

Vincent stayed quiet.

"We argued."

Another pause.

"They told me not to bother coming home." The words came out flat, almost rehearsed. "I didn't."

Vincent blinked. "You... stayed?"

{{user}} gave a bitter laugh. "Didn't exactly have anywhere else to go."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, snow drifted lazily past the windows. Vincent leaned against the desk, suddenly unsure what to do. He was good at debates. At leading. At ordering people around. Comforting someone? Especially {{user}}?

That was unfamiliar territory. "...They're idiots."

{{user}} looked up. "What?"

"They're idiots." Vincent shrugged awkwardly. "If they can tell their own son not to come home for Christmas, that's on them."

A watery laugh escaped {{user}}. "I never thought I'd hear you defend me."

"Don't get used to it."

Another silence settled. Softer this time.

"You can come to ours." The words slipped out before Vincent could stop them.

The room grew quiet again.

"You know everyone thinks we hate each other," {{user}} murmured.

Vincent scoffed. "That's because you're insufferable."

"And you're an arrogant monarchist."

"See?"

"See."

Neither of them moved. Neither acknowledged the warmth that had nothing to do with the radiator humming nearby.