Chapter Text
When Hugo returns home, Ernest is up and about and going as far out of his way as possible to avoid making eye contact with Hugo.
Hugo can’t blame him. After that whole ordeal, Ernest’s pride must certainly be damaged. Really, the poor kid needs his space, and Hugo’s more than happy to give it to him.
A week goes by, then two.
Ernest keeps his head down during class, and Hugo doesn’t have the heart to call on him. He sits alone during lunch, though Lucien’s group of friends do occasionally catch him in the hallway. Lucien gives him a ride home almost every day. If Hugo weren’t a teacher, he’d never see Ernest.
The kid doesn’t come home until six or seven, and even then, he usually mumbles out something about already having eaten before disappearing into his room.
It’s all very concerning.
Damien, poor Damien, ends up bearing the brunt of Hugo’s anxieties. They’ve started doing afternoon tea on Saturdays and Sundays, since that’s the only afternoon time Hugo has free. However, whenever Hugo tries to bring any of his concerns up, Damien simply waves him off. “He’s having a hard time and needs his space. I recommend waiting until he comes to you.”
And Hugo knows that’s the right answer, but it doesn’t feel that way.
He’s a dad; he’s supposed to have the answers to universe and fixes to everyone’s problems. Not having that makes it feel like he’s let Ernest down.
God, parenting is hard.
Hugo sets aside his book with a sigh. It’s so hard to focus. On anything, really, aside from worrying. What a time to be caught up on grading.
Duchess whines. It’s become clear just how much she misses her person. She climbs up onto the couch, curling up in Ernest’s empty spot.
Not having the heart to scold her for getting up on the couch, Hugo sighs and leans forward to run a hand down her back. “Me too, girl.”
The more days wear on, the harder it is for Hugo to get a grip. It’s bad enough that Ernest is sad, but him feeling like he has to isolate himself and deal with everything alone?
It’s halfway into the second week when Hugo starts to seriously consider prompting Ernest to talk about whatever is bothering him.
Then he gets the text.
“Hey u wanna go with me to a horror movie this Friday? I’ll pay for gas and tickets.”
Hugo jumps at the chance. He gladly would’ve covered the cost of either himself just to have quality time with his son, but it made him proud of Ernest to be so responsible.
Of course, in the week leading up to that Friday, absolutely nothing changes. If anything, he’s seeing Ernest even less than he was before. Ernest doesn’t get back until at least eight, and then he’s so tired that he ends up going straight to bed.
Hugo furrows his brow at Duchess, who probably would’ve followed her human to bed if Hugo wasn’t holding a burger.
“What’s going on with him, Duchess?” Hugo mutters.
Duchess responds by poking her nose against his plate.
“Nice try.” He polishes off the rest of his dinner, which has Duchess huffing and trudging away to Ernest’s room in a matter of seconds.
By the time that Friday rolls around, Hugo’s nearly made himself sick with worry. He’s gone through just about every terrible reason Ernest has been withdrawing—slipping grades? drugs?—and he could really use the reminder that things are okay.
Let’s ignore that Ernest is being just as quiet as he had been the past two weeks.
Hugo glances over. Ernest keeps fiddling with the tickets, pulling them out of his pocket to see if they’re still there, holding them in his hoodie pocket. While Hugo doesn’t understand it, he won’t ask about it. It’s clear that this must mean a lot to Ernest.
“So where’s the theater again?” Hugo asks.
Ernest lets go of the tickets long enough to check his phone. “Around this corner.”
The roads are absolutely bustling tonight, alive with activity. Most people aren’t driving well at all. In fact, if Hugo had the power, he’d revoke two-thirds of the licenses out here tonight. But since he doesn’t have that power, the most he can do is aggressively honk while observing proper use of his brakes and turn signals.
Hugo slams on the brakes as a car who has no idea what a turn signal is whizzes by. “Geez. Is it opening night?” He’s silently praying Ernest didn’t drag him to a midnight premiere. He can only imagine the kind of chaos created by a bunch of teenagers excited to see a movie. “Is this it?” From what little he can see of the parking lot, it’s totally packed.
“Yup.” Ernest hops out. His hands are back in his pockets, holding onto the tickets.
Man, this theater’s huge. It must not be local, then. And that would explain why they had to drive all the way out here. But man, is that theater big. It almost looks like a stadium… wait.
Holy shit.
“Sweet manchego…”
He knows this stadium. Not from recent memory, but he’s seen it on TV enough times to know exactly where he is. Ernest’s sheepish stare at the ground only confirms his suspicions.
Hugo grins so wide, his face already hurts. “Ernest, these tickets cost so much! How did you get the money to pay for them?”
“I’ve been working.” Ernest mumbles.
“You got a job?” So that’s where he’d been.
“Kinda.” Ernest scratches at his hands. “Damien’s been paying me to help him take care of his garden, and a couple of Lucien’s friends hooked me up with other side jobs.” Ernest shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been an asshole to you. About everything. And I guess I wanted to say I was sorry or something. I thought this would be good since I always make fun of you for it.” He lowers his head, hiding his face in his shoulder. “It was shitty of me to take Dad’s spot as the family shit-starter.”
“Ernest…” Tears prick the corners of Hugo’s eyes.
“Dad, we’re in public.”
“I LOVE MY SON!” Hugo announces to passersby and he grabs Ernest in a gigantic bear hug.
Ernest says something, probably along the lines of “Dad, you’re crushing me,” but all that comes out is “Dad” followed by a string of noises to strangled to really discern.
When Hugo finally drops Ernest, he’s gasping for breath. Hugo’s smile is miles wide. “Ernest, thank you so much. This is such a wonderful gift.” He pulls Ernest in for another, much gentler hug.
Ernest doesn’t pull away. “It’s no big deal or anything…”
“Oh, Ernest, it is a big deal. This is such an amazing gift; I barely even know what to say. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Dad.” When Hugo lets go, he ducks his head and stuffs his hands back in his pockets. “We should get inside.”
The place is flooded. Small children chase each other around the floor, their parents either trying to catch them or watching from afar. Teenagers cloister together and chat over cell phones. A pair of old women are chuckling with one another, each sporting a Corporate Shill t-shirt. Hugo’s never felt happier.
He and Ernest are in the nosebleeds, but at least they’re not in the absolute back row. Hugo remembers his dad getting beaned on the head on the low-hanging poles back there more than once.
This is so perfect.
Hugo can’t stop beaming, even as they take their seats. There are so many people here. It’s such a full experience, so much fuller than watching from his living room.
Hugo’s heart leaps when the lights dim and the announcer’s voice tears through the arena. There’s an awesome roster tonight, but the Eastern Dragon isn’t going on until later. That doesn’t mean he isn’t excited as hell for everything.
The announcer repeats himself. “I SAID ‘ARE YOU READY?’”
The crowd erupts, bolting to their collective feet.
“Are you kidding me?” Ernest grumbles.
Hugo glances down to see Ernest stuck behind a wall of people too tall for their own good. Granted, Ernest hasn’t exactly hit his growth spurt yet, but most of those guys are at least six feet tall.
The Corporate Shill is already setting up charts to better demonstrate the exponential increase of the Orchestrator’s lameness over time, so he acts on his first instinct. “Come here, mijo!”
Ernest lets out a noise of surprise as his father effortlessly scoops him up by his armpits and plops Ernest on his massive shoulders. He can already hear some grumbles from behind them, but it only serves to make Ernest laugh. He folds his arms and rests his chin on top of Hugo’s head.
“Ah, there you are!”
Hugo turns. “Damien?”
Damien grins. He’s sporting his casual look—his hair pulled back into a ponytail and his glasses on, but the shirt is new. He’s wearing a Generation Y2K shirt, with a meme that Hugo can only guess is a minimum of three months out of date. Lucien stands behind him, more interested in his phone that whatever is going on around him.
“What are you doing here?”
Damien takes his seat beside Hugo, and Lucien takes Ernest’s spot. There’s barely a moment’s pause before the two of them start bickering. Hugo tries his best to block them out. “Well, Ernest made the whole affair seem so lovely, and I do so love hearing of other’s passions.”
Hugo nods. “I like your shirt.” While Generation Y2K isn’t his favorite competitor, he can appreciate the value of having such a character, especially as a foil to someone like Old Timer or the Corporate Shill, in the wrestling narrative.
“And I yours.” Damien chuckles. “Lucien looked like he was in pain the entire time I was purchasing it, but I quite like it!”
“Blue suits you.” Hugo smiles, but the screams of the crowd tear his attention back to the ring.
The Conductor cut the announcer off mid-intro by hitting both him and the Corporate Shill with sheet music, and now he’s proceeding to beat the Corporate Shill in the face with his conductor’s wand.
Hugo loses himself in the match, but occasionally, the sounds of Lucien and Ernest bickering comes to his ears.
“Who let you out, gremlin?”
“You wanna fight?”
“Why don’t you get down from your dad’s shoulders first?”
“Yeah? Well, my dad could beat up your dad. Think about that.” He sucks in a breath, like he’s about to say something more, but then Corporate Shill smacks the Conductor in the face with his briefcase and suddenly nothing else matters.
The Conductor ends up winning and taking his bows on the ropes, where the majority of the crowd boos him. Hugo cheers, if only because the Corporate Shill is symbolic of a broken capitalist society and he may or may not be extremely stressed about bills right now. The lights briefly come up, and Ernest and Lucien continue to bicker, even as Ernest crawls down from Hugo’s shoulders and the two of them saunter off to get snacks.
A hand touches Hugo’s arm. Damien grins. “How are you enjoying your night?”
Hugo eyes him. “You knew about this the entire time, didn’t you?”
Even Damien’s charming smile couldn’t distract from the guilty blush going all the way up to his ears. “I never lied. I was merely concealing all the information I was privy to. And Ernest asked me to keep it as a surprise.”
“Well, I’m definitely surprised.” Hugo admits.
“I’ll admit that I may have overpaid him a tad, but he really is a joy to have working in my garden.” A smile comes to his face, the kind so bright that it lights up his eyes. “And if he’s out back, it’s practically guaranteed Lucien will come out of his room and join us. It’s been… a lovely change.”
“And this was all his idea?”
“All his.” Damien confirms.
The two of them turn. Lucien and Ernest are back with a serving of nachos, which Lucien is currently holding above Ernest’s head and laughing when he can’t reach it. Ernest then responds by driving his shin. Lucien dodges, and Ernest takes the chance to swipe the nachos and run.
“They’re good for each other.”
Damien’s hand touches his arm. His long, slender fingers come to rest on Hugo’s bicep, and he bites his lip as he speaks. “I rather think the same thing of us.”
Hugo’s face blazes. “Oh.” Alright, so taking that into account, intimate touch was not just a Victorian thing. Good to know. It also makes the next words out of his mouth a lot easier. “Well, forgive my forwardness, but would you like join me for wine and cheese at trivia night next week?”
Damien takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’d very much like that.”