Moving Out (but not on)
Quinn can’t stand being in his dorm anymore. Professor Felmea offers a way out for him.
TW: Drinking near the very end, and a mild panic attack(?)
“Quinn!”
Quinn snapped awake as a wand struck the surface of his desk. He jolted back into his seat as he looked around with a wild look in his rapidly blinking eyes. Professor Greyrose was flying in front of his desk, a frown on her lips as her wings beat furiously behind her. “Are my lessons boring you, Mr. Firethief?” He rubbed at his eye roughly.
“N— No, no ma’am,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I had a late night, I was… I was studying.” That was partly the truth. He studied at the local tavern until it was happy hour, which was always an hour behind closing, and then stumbled home. At least, he tried to stumble home, but he couldn’t handle the thought of going back to his dorm. It was so cold, dark, and lonely, even with his pets. He had fed them before he went out, so he knew they weren’t going hungry. That had sealed the deal for him, and he curled up on a bench in the commons and passed right out. He woke up as the sun was rising, had gone to the dorms to shower so he didn’t look like he had just slept outside—which he had—and then went to his classes. But sleeping on a bench had given him a very fitful sleep, and he found it difficult to stay awake during the classes.
Professor Greyrose’s eyes softened for a moment before she sighed. “Take better care of yourself, Quinn. Now, as I was saying, the properties of the snow serpent…” Quinn rubbed his face and blinked a few times. He was glad he wasn’t in an undergrad class because the room would be full of snickers if it was. It had been a startling awakening, but he quite deserved it. Professor Greyrose was a kind spirit, but she absolutely hated it when people slacked off in her class. She didn’t like taking in people who weren’t maining in her school, as she felt like ice couldn’t be mastered if you didn’t have your full attention on it. She still taught those of course, but she could be a bit more strict with those classes. She had limited class time with them, they often only met three times a week, and she didn’t like that. So she allowed for absolutely no distractions so everyone could learn as much as possible. Ice was difficult, Quinn would admit, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. When he had a good night's rest, anyway. He had made it through Professor Falmea morning classes, and after this, he would have a Myth class, and then he could go home and…
And do what? He hated going to his dorm. Last night hadn’t been the last time he had slept somewhere else. He had fallen asleep in the tavern quite a few times, and the owner, an older woman who always seemed to look at him as if she understood but with no pity which was why he liked going there, always let him stay. She often put a blanket on him so he wouldn’t be cold. It would leave a crick in his neck and his sleep would be fitful, especially if he had drunk a lot prior, but it was better than going to his dorm. The bed was too comfortable. There were too many memories, god, too many. They were all good memories, but they had been tainted so much by the events of the past few months that he couldn’t handle it. It choked him sometimes, and the only way he could breathe would be to drink or to leave. He had stopped drinking on school grounds after he finished the bottle he had kept in the floorboards and made a fool of himself in front of Professor Cyrus and Professor Wu, so he usually had to leave just to get some sort of reprise from it all. That meant that more often than not, he wasn’t sleeping in his bed, which meant he wasn’t sleeping that well.
The rest of the lesson was a blur. He did his best to pay attention, but he knew he was going to have to study this section by himself at home, or… Just… Somewhere. Probably the tavern, maybe a bench. He could take Amber to some more training and study as she ran a few courses. She needed the training, it had been awhile. Even if neither of them was going to be questing for a while, they needed to keep in shape. He was doing that just fine with Professor Cyrus, though. They kept meeting every Saturday, though it was much earlier now. They started at six, and often stopped at nine, sometimes ten. No matter what time they stopped, though, Quinn was always exhausted. It was one of the few times he actually slept in his dorm because he was too exhausted to go anywhere else. Quinn really wasn’t seeing any improvement in himself just yet, but considering Professor Cyrus hadn’t dropped him just yet, he assumed he was making some progress. That was hard to believe sometimes.
The day was a blur. He went to Myth school and was able to keep himself from falling asleep. Professor Cyrus’s droning voice was just so… boring though. It was quite difficult to keep from nodding off. He rested his eyes every now and then, but never more than a few seconds. The Professor wasn’t afraid to shell out extra homework to those who weren’t paying attention in his class. That was the last thing he needed. Then again, if it kept him at the tavern longer, or even got him to go to the library…
“Mr. Firethief, while I’m sure you enjoy my lessons, class ended several minutes ago.”
Quinn jumped and looked up. Professor Cyrus had his back to him as he was writing on the chalkboard, preparing for the next class. Quinn looked around as he sat up taller, uncrossing his arms. All of the other desks were empty, and the door was open. Fresh spring air blew in and woke him up a bit more. The place didn’t seem so stuffy, now.
“Uh, right. Right. S— Sorry, Professor.”
“If you love the subject so much, I could give you a packet of work.”
“I’ll, uh… Let's do a raincheck on that.”
Quinn knew more than he saw Professor Cyrus roll his eyes. As Quinn stood and quickly began packing away his books, the door creaked open a bit more as someone stepped inside. Professor Cyrus glanced over his shoulder and then paused. “Mrs. Falmea, what a surprise.” Quinn looked up, startled, to find that the Fire Professor was indeed standing in the doorway to the Myth classroom. The curled ends of her long red dress danced in the wind. Her red hair bounced with every step she took, and her chocolate brown eyes smiled more than her lips did.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Drake. I was looking for a student.” She glanced at Quinn. “I wasn’t sure of what to make of the rumors saying you were minoring in Myth, but I’m glad I entertained them long enough to check.” Quinn blinked at her.
“Is— Is something the matter?” He asked, picking up his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and Professor Cyrus scoffed.
“Use the strap like a civilized person, Mr. Firethief.” Quinn resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Professor Falmea chuckled.
“I want to talk to you if you have the time?” Quinn broke out into a sweat, a hard feat for a fire wizard like him.
“Um, well… Professor— Professor Cyrus was about to tell me about this packet he was going to give me.”
“It can wait.”
Quinn glared at the back of his head. Seriously? Any other time he was more than happy to talk his head off and give him more work to do. That was all he did during their dueling practices, though the work was more physical during those. Professor Falmea’s lips, painted red from her lipstick, drew up in a smile. “Perfect! Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Drake, but this really can’t wait.” Professor Cyrus only flicked his wrist dismissively before he continued writing things on the chalkboard, glancing down at his notes that he had gripped in his other hand.
“Go on then.” Quinn glared at him for a moment longer before he huffed and resisted the urge to stomp as he walked away from his desk, over to the door where his Professor waited. She held the door open for him as he went past, then shut it behind them, closing the Myth classroom off from the world.
“Am I in trouble?” The words slipped out before Quinn even thought of them. He felt like he was ten years old again, and he had been caught slacking by his tutor. Professor Falmea wasn’t anything like his tutor, though. He had always been such a serious man, with quite the grim face. Quinn couldn’t imagine he had ever smiled once in his life. But Professor Falmea was warm, and while she had a sharp edge, she had a gentle side she only showed to her students. She was quite the mother, though she never had any intentions of having children of her own. She always said her students were enough as her children. Quinn tried to remember that as Falmea smiled down at him. They were walking along the path in Ravenwood. He wasn’t sure where they were going, he was just following her.
“Professor Greyrose came to me two hours ago to inform me that you were falling asleep in her classes.” Quinn winced. “She also told me that today hadn’t been the first time; she had let the other times go because she felt sorry for you.”
“I…” Quinn’s cheeks flushed. He felt so ashamed. He was able to keep everything together during Professor Falmea’s classes. He respected her so much—and he respected the other teachers too!—that he never wanted to disappoint her. Even with something as simple as falling asleep in her classes.
“She’s afraid you’re losing interest in her element.” Quinn shook his head so quickly he was afraid he was going to get a headache.
“No, no! That’s, that’s not it at all!” Professor Falmea raised a perfectly styled red eyebrow.
“Then what is it?” Her tone was soft and gentle. She was worried, and that made Quinn feel worse. She had better things to do than worry about him and the wreck that he was making of his life.
“I’m…” What could he say? That he was so pathetic that he couldn’t even stand to sleep in his dorm, because of the memories he had made in there with two people that were long gone? “I’m tired.”
“Are you having difficulty sleeping?” Quinn shuffled his feet. He stopped and Falmea blinked before she paused, turning towards him to keep him in her view. He stared up at her and debated on telling her. If anyone would listen, if anyone would never judge him, it’d be her. She knew him, knew him better than all of the other Professors in Ravenwood. He doubted even Professor Cyrus would understand him as well as Falmea did. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her so bad.
“The dorm, it's…”
But he couldn’t.
“It’s really loud.” Falmea blinked and Quinn gripped his bag tighter. He still had it slung over his shoulder, mainly just to spite Professor Cyrus for his comment earlier. What he had said wasn’t wrong, per se. It was loud. The memories that rang in that room and bounced off the four walls could get so loud. “The— The dorms as a whole. The other students, they’re up and talking to friends, or studying. Upperclassmen are constantly coming and going at all hours of the night. The walls are really thin, and…” He looked down at his feet and kicked at a rock. It bounced away from them, into the grass. They had stopped outside the Storm school. “It’s just really loud. It’s hard to sleep. I haven’t made a noise complaint because I don’t wanna be that guy, you know? Everyone’s just having fun or trying to get better. I don’t… I don’t wanna be a jerk.” He didn’t see because his eyes were still on his feet, but Professor Falmea pursed her lips in thought as she stared down at him. She towered over him, but she towered over most.
“Well… Why don’t you move?” Quinn blinked and looked up at her.
“Huh?”
“You’re twenty-two. You don’t have to live in the dorms anymore. In fact, you could have bought a home after you turned eighteen!”
Quinn… Hadn’t thought of that. Honestly. He had never bought a house before because he just didn’t see the point. He wanted to experience the campus life, and have his classes at his doorstep in case he was ever running late. But he was much better with teleportation than he used to be when he first started here, and he was quite done with campus life. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stand sleeping on benches and in taverns. Spring wasn’t going to be around forever, and he hated being cold. Having a place to himself could be nice, too. But there was one problem.
“I don’t have the money.” Professor Falmea raised her eyebrows.
“Really! With how much you quested, well, I assumed…” Quinn felt something in him shrivel up and die. Yeah, she was right. Questing used to bring him a lot of money. But he was draining his bank account with his habit of Fireball. It never came cheap. But he couldn’t tell her that. He— He couldn’t. He could only imagine the disappointment that would well in her eyes, and, and he didn’t even want to imagine that. He stared up at her before he swallowed and looked away. He didn’t have a lie to wiggle himself out of that. So he opted for silence, and he hoped she wouldn’t push.
She didn’t, but what she said next made him wish she had.
“Well, you could always ask your parents. I know you’re a very proud man and you don’t like asking for help, but you can always pay them back.” He looked up at her with wide eyes. He knew she was right. But he hadn’t spoken to his family in nearly three months. Not since… He died. He couldn’t. He had gotten a few letters, but he had stuffed them into his desk and never opened that drawer again. They stopped coming after a month. They had given up on him too, and he couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t just ask them for money. Especially for so much. Most houses ran at nearly one hundred thousand coins…
“I can’t... I can’t do that.” He muttered. “That’s too much, it’s…” He shook his head. “I can’t, Professor. I’m sorry. It’s a good idea, but I just…” He sighed. “I can’t afford it.” Professor Falmea hummed.
“Well, then, I will lend you the money.”
Professor Falmea was really going to give Quinn a heart attack. He stared up at her with wide eyes. “W… What?” He whispered, then shook his head. “No. N— No, I can’t. You’re— I’ll never be able to pay you back!”
“You will go on many quests, my dear. If you truly feel the need to pay me back, then you can certainly do it in time. But I don’t want you to fail. I know you’re capable of it.” He stared at her. He felt like he was going to cry. Her face softened and he rubbed at his eyes angrily before he turned his head away.
“I-I…”
“Here. You may try to pay it back. But even if you don’t, that’s fine. I will give you the money to buy the house, but I will leave you to furnish it.”
He stared at the cobblestone walkway under their feet. He wanted to melt into the floor and never return. He was so tired, and so, so ashamed. A year ago, he’d be able to buy his own place and furnish it all on the same trip. He was pathetic. He was a shell of the once great prince, and he had never wanted the ground to swallow him up as badly as he did now. A warm hand clasped his shoulder and jolted him from his thoughts. He didn’t have to look up to know it was his Professor.
“Please, Quinn. Allow me to help you.”
He swallowed. He knew if he said no, she’d back off and never speak of this again. But he couldn’t stay in that dorm anymore. The memories, the scents dulled by time, it was just too much. Every time he slept there without being utterly wasted or exhausted, which both were always great feats, his sleep was racked by horrible nightmares and dreams that damned him. He couldn’t keep going like this. His grades were going to suffer, his spellcasting would be much more sloppy, sloppier than Professor Cyrus already said it was. He swallowed and his mouth felt dry.
“Okay.”
*
It didn’t take longer than one day for Quinn to decide on the house.
“This is called the Fire Tower! I know the landscaping is a bit of an eyesore, but the ground got burnt pretty quickly after the tower was set on fire! There are four floors, not including the attic. The attic has a fire core suspended from the ceiling, it keeps the flames around the tower going! The only way to go to it is through a teleporter down in the attic. The basement would be a very good study area, as the outer walls are made of glass and you get a great view of the lava that surrounds the tower. There is plumbing in the side room on the second floor, so you could always turn that into the bathroom. There are two entrances; the door that's in front of us, and then if you head to the lower level, there’s a door that that leads into the third floor, right above the basement—”
“I’ll take it.”
“P- Pardon?”
“I’ll take it.”
Handing the real estate agent the bag of coins didn’t feel nice. His heart was heavy, as none of the coins inside were his own. He wondered if he would be ashamed for the rest of his life.
*
After Quinn had the bathroom installed on the second-floor side room, just as the agent had mentioned, he didn’t have room for any furniture afterward. He enlisted the help of his neighbors, who seemed sad to see him go, to get all of the furniture he had now into the house. That didn’t consist of much. He had his Fire School banner, the Ravenwood banner, his desk and chair, the desk pad, all of his books, some scrolls he had picked up in Krok, a carpet runner, his crafting bench, and a few vials, jars, and burners that he needed for that. As he carried the crafting table with one of the neighbors, he realized how long it had been since he had crafted something.
It made him sad.
They took a trip to what the school called their ‘attic.’ It was essentially a storage space for all of the students in the dorms. They each got their own limited area so they could store things that they couldn’t fit in their dorms. Quinn hadn’t been up there in a while, but he knew he had some things in there. He had been right, of course. A wooden skeleton key, some gardening pots, and a large object hidden by a sheet. He was confused about what that was until he tugged it down, and as dust flew up and made his eyes water and his nose itch, the blanket fluttered to the ground and revealed a huge tablet. It reached the ceiling, and it was old and weathered down from time. There were symbols painted on it, symbols he didn’t understand.
“What’s that?” One of the neighbors, a storm wizard whose name escaped him at the moment, asked as her friend sneezed from the dust. Quinn stared up at the tablet, eyebrows furrowed downwards as he racked his brain.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Looks like it’s been here a while, but…”
“Well… Do you wanna just sell it off?” She asked. Quinn opened his mouth, then closed it. He furrowed his eyebrows further before he sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“No. Let’s take it.”
The two glanced at each other before they just shrugged and moved forward to help him move it.
*
His now ex-neighbors bid him farewell after the last object had been placed down, a couch in his living room. A few of them commented on how empty it looked, but he waved off their concerns by saying he was going to go shopping tomorrow. But for tonight, he was beat, and he needed to sleep. But after they had left, he didn’t sleep. Instead, he wandered through his new house. On the top floor, he had made it into a living room and a kitchen. The living room had the one carpet runner he had going from the door to the middle of the room. Right across from the door was a couch he had gotten as thanks for defeating some boss. It hadn’t been the weirdest reward he had gotten so far. The kitchen wasn’t much either. It was just a bowl of tomatoes and two pumpkins, one tall and thin and the other quite stout. He had nothing in the room below that, the second floor, but the bathroom was set up in its side room. All there was was a sink, a toilet, and a bathtub, which was in the very center of the small room. The bathtub was wooden and fireproof. It was where most of his money for the bathroom had gone, but he was from Dragonspyre. He knew how important it was for the bathtub to be fireproof.
On the floor below that, with the second door, he had made it into his bedroom. He didn’t have much money after installing the bathroom, and he obviously couldn’t take the dorm bed. But he wanted to move out as soon as possible, so he sold off some old wands of his to afford a cheap, twin bed that he pushed into the corner. He hung up the wands he didn’t sell along the wall across from the door, and put his Fire School plague—it looked a lot like a shield, the edges were lined in iron and made of wood with a red flame painted in the middle—the very center of the wall. And below that was the basement, which he had made into the study. His desk was near the center of the room, so he was surrounded by the glass walls holding the lava back. It was a bit unnerving, but he was already beginning to get used to it. The study was already a mess, but he quite liked the charm of it. There were scrolls from Krok, piles of books from his three classes, and his crafting table was beside his desk, facing left so he could move back and forth rather easily with his chair. He had his quills and bottles of ink. He had also put that tablet down here too, because while the rooms were very open and wide—which had been a big reason for his purchase—the basement had the tallest ceiling. He put it in front of his study, so he could look at it easily. He didn’t know what it was, but he had a feeling it was from Krokotopia. He had some jars of… Things. He couldn’t quite remember what they were, honestly. He really needed to get back into crafting, he used to love it so much…
The silence in the rooms was deafening. It was the first time he had ever had a quiet house. He grew up in a household with one younger brother and younger triplet sisters, and even after that, he had moved into the dorms where there was always someone in the hallways, always friends visiting and laughing. Most of the time, he was one of those visiting or being visited. But here in this tower, where he was separated by the school by his very own World Door, it was so quiet. It was so… isolated. He had his pets, sure, but they didn’t talk back to him. He felt a bit uncomfortable talking to them now. He was afraid he’d start to feel like he was crazy, and that feeling would become a reality. He was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake, and he decided it was time for bed. He had another day of Fire, Ice, and Myth classes, and he knew it was going to be exhausting. He knew Professor Falmea would want to hear all about his new place too, and even if he didn’t like it, he’d have to put on a front for her. That was going to take a lot of energy.
As he walked to his new bed, he passed by a calendar he had hung up on the wall. He paused and then backed up and turned, picking up a quill from a crate he was using as a temporary nightstand. One of the neighbors had given to him after carrying all of the smaller things inside of it. He dipped it into the bottle of ink and marked off another day. He had gotten into a habit of doing that lately. If he didn’t, the days would become a blur and he’d lose track of time. He hated that feeling. As he crossed out the square, his eyes fell on the date. His breath caught in his throat and he dropped the quill. Drops of ink stained the wooden floors under his feet but he barely noticed. He stumbled away from the calendar as if it had burned him. He suddenly wished he hadn’t looked at the date. He wished he had just gone to bed, and dealt with this tomorrow. Or maybe just never. But he had looked at the date, and now he was about to scream.
It was the fifth.
He died on the fifth. Four months ago. Tonight was the horrible anniversary of the night that had ruined his entire life.
Quinn retched, feeling physically sick at the thought. His eyes were watering as he turned and sprinted out the door in his bedroom, and he stumbled outside. He fought the urge to vomit as he moved right to the World Door, with one destination in mind. He was not going to be able to sleep now. Not while he was sober. He needed some alcohol, Fireball or not, and he needed it yesterday.
*
He had three hundred coins left in his bank account. When he woke up the next morning, he had zero. The next morning, he had a pounding headache and puffy eyes from all of the crying he had done. The next morning, he wished he hadn’t woken up.
