In a weird way, the love of those quiet times were part of what made their friendship as strong as it was now--part of Aidan always held on to a healthy respect for home and Josh shared that in a way that only someone who had essentially lost home really could. If he were more philosophically inclined he may have drawn parallel in both losing their humanity against their will, in both losing friends, family, and love as a result, in both holding on to that intangible feeling of home even when their circumstances turned dire. Aidan had lost sight of that desire many times--occasionally as a result if self-preservation, but other times from a far less flattering desire for revenge or petty almost-adolescent anger (being a vampire could be weirdly like going through puberty again, with everything overwhelming you with sharper, harder, brighter sensation, with new urges you couldn't parse or even being to understand, with new weird jealousies that settled like stone in the darkest part of your heart--he had theories and opinions about it, thankfully all undiscussed)--but he never had with Josh. Maybe that was part of why Josh was so important to him. Or maybe that was just a side-effect. No relationship was ever simple, no interaction between any two people could be summed up in a single sentence--not if it was significant. Aidan came back to the conversation without too much pause, laughing lightly. "Well--we were so accustomed to a quiet life." He let his head drop to look at his hands--his arms had shifted so he was leaning on his knees, but it was softer. "Did you know the girl that got turned?"