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Summary
Will it always be the same as we recall? Does it touch you when the rain begins to fall? -- Falling of the Rain, Billy Joel
Hughie knew that he didn’t mean shit to Butcher. He was just a convenient hole—a means to an end. But fuck if he hadn’t let himself believe that maybe, someday, they could be more. That the fucking test that he’d snagged at the corner store the last time they’d had more than a collective five seconds to breathe might actually mean something.
He hadn’t actually had a chance to take the test yet, had hidden the box away under his pillow at the bunker until he had the chance to take a piss in relative privacy. But there was some part of Hughie that’d already decided that the test was going to come back positive—that wanted the test to come back positive.
It was the same part of him that’d instinctively shielded his stomach when he’d tumbled to the ground.
…And the same part of him that was fucking terrified of being in such a confined space with Butcher after—