a/n: Hope prepares to sleep, but Quincy has a question. Or two.
Editing? No.
All the good things belong to Monolithsoft.
Hope hustled off to the bathroom down the hall to brush her teeth, wash her face, and change into sweatpants. She just was not going to change in her room, and she wasn't going to wear her regular night clothes. She didn't think too hard about this decision, focusing on getting the necessary things done before she started to wake herself up. She was back, minty fresh and ready for bedtime. It was already tomorrow.
Quincy had excavated himself from the hill of stuffies, but he had left her more than half the bed. He didn't say anything, but his closed eyes didn't fool her. This would be fine. Hope was resolute. She got under the covers. Honestly, this was fine. She tapped the settings to a twinkle of security light by the door and promptly failed to relax.
The day had been too much for her. The emotions, the anxiety, the surprises. Even the laughter over dinner had left her jangled. She knew that sleep wasn't going to arrive quickly for her. She hoped she wasn't going to stare at the ceiling in the dark all night.
"I have two questions. Maybe two." Quincy hadn't moved. She suspected that his eyes were still closed. She didn't answer. He continued anyway. "Why is the bed so big, and is there someone who should be here instead of me?"
Hope kept very still. The things she was thinking a second ago were gone, gone, gone.
After several silent breaths, Quincy continued. "Or do I deserve a smack on the top of my head? I suddenly realize that it's none of my business."
Hope couldn't bring herself to fill in the gaps of his memory. She stared into the darkness at the space that used to be a top bunk, hovering over where her current bed ended.
"I'm sorry, Hope." He rolled away, leaving her even more empty space to be alone in.
Above her was darkness, around her was loneliness, and she didn't say anything, because she wasn't sure what would come out if she opened her mouth.
Quincy shifted again and Hope wanted to rage. How much space did he think she needed? But he wasn't moving away. She felt more than saw when Quincy rolled onto his side, then propped himself on one elbow. He was looking down at her, she knew he must be, although there was no way he could actually see her. She was glad it was too dark for her to meet his eyes. It saved her having to pretend that she was busy looking for a lost sock or some other polite fiction.
"Might as well spit it out," Quincy said. "Say it once instead of thinking it over and over." His voice held no judgement, no frustration. He was stating sad facts.
He probably meant that she should tell him to mind his own business. That's what she should say. She found herself saying something very different.
a/n: One, I am not strong enough to determine Hope's normal sleep attire. Two, next week may be delayed by a day. Three, I am vibrating about the Direct tomorrow because of course I am. Silly brain full of hope.
Next up: We talk about Ornella.