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"What are you doing out here by yourself, little one? It's getting far too cold to be outside."
When his father's voice cuts through the still night air, Hugo Verlaine doesn't turn to face him, instead opting to continue staring straight ahead towards the inky blackness beyond the balcony of their home, his single golden eye narrowed slightly as the wind bites at his lashes and reddened skin.
About a minute passes with no answer from Hugo. Paul moves in closer to the side where Hugo can still see him, wraps his own jacket around Hugo's shoulders, and stands at his son's side, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "What's the matter, chéri? You know you can tell me anything."
Hugo shivers, though not from the cold, and presses his lips together for a moment before murmuring: "I wanted to be the one."
Paul lowers his head a bit, gently taps his fingers against Hugo's shoulder to urge him to say more.
"I wanted to be the one to kill them, Father."
"The ones who took your eye?"
Hugo nods. Paul hums. "I can understand that. There is no better gift to oneself than revenge, after all. However…"
His tone softens, and grows more serious, heavier; "As much as I and your father would have loved to give you that opportunity, little one, we had no choice. Had we not destroyed all of them right then and there, there was a chance that you may have been harmed further, and that is a chance we could never take. As your fathers, it is our life's purpose to take care of you, and keep you from harm's way as best we can."
He feels he's already failed his son by not being able to keep him from getting kidnapped and hurt in the first place, after all. No need to make it worse.
Hugo says nothing in response to that, only shivers again and pulls his father's coat tighter around himself as he does. Then, finally, he speaks again, "Next time, then."
Paul wraps his arm fully around Hugo's shoulders, gently turning both of them so they can walk back inside as he answers "Let us hope there won't be a next time, chéri."