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“Bravo, my friend! You're getting better at this, aren't you?”
Hugo sat comfortably atop a polished wooden desk, his legs crossed with effortless grace, clapping his hands together joyfully. The full moon bathed him in its ethereal glow, casting a silvery light that framed him in a halo-like aura, making him look almost otherworldly. It was a stunning sight, truly—a moment so heavenly, yet Lycaon would never admit how mesmerizing it was.
Lycaon's expression darkened as he shook his head, frustration evident in the downward curve of his lips. “I've already told you before; I hate reciting them... They're just too cringey!” he snapped, his voice rising in pitch. The warmth creeping up his spine could either be from the embarrassment of the situation or the sight of Hugo so beautiful in front of him, exuding such charm.
“Oh, but you do it anyway! Practice makes perfect, after all,” Hugo replied, a familiar smug grin spreading across his handsome face. Lycaon rolled his eyes dramatically, baring his teeth in a half-hearted snarl, as if he meant to do harm. As if he meant to harm Hugo.
In mock indignation, the blond man feigned a pout, but it was fleeting. With a soft sigh, he pushed himself off the desk and sauntered over to where Lycaon stood, a mere few feet apart.
Before him stood a strikingly lovely man, someone Lycaon often found difficult to tolerate. Their relationship was far too complicated to comprehend. Hugo's mesmerizing gray and red eyes looked down at Lycaon, lighting a spark of something deep within him—a spark he would never dare unearth. In moments like this, Lycaon felt like crawling out of his own skin and fur just to devour and destroy Hugo whole, so that his heart would never beat the way it does with him again.
It's quite a scandalous scene: a wolf Thiren, kneeling before the man who stirred his feelings that he could barely understand, let alone voice.
Hugo's hands, slender and graceful, reached up to cup his face, fingers brushing back fur with a gentleness that was starkly different from his usual bravado. It felt like a careful caress, almost reverent.
“What are you trying to do?” Lycaon asked, caution lacing his tone, with irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. The change in Hugo's expression was inscrutable—dark and contemplative, so different from the glee an instant before.
With unbroken eye contact, Hugo continued to trace Lycaon's features with his thumbs. “You're sort of terrifying when you're quiet…” Lycaon observed, his voice low.
“Yet you continue to like me all the same?” Hugo asked him; such a question that made Lycaon's heart race. He instinctively dropped his gaze, unable to confront the intensity of Hugo's stare.
Hugo's thumbs halted their motion, resting gently on his fur as he leaned in closer. “Stand up,” he commanded, already knowing that Lycaon would do as he said despite the pretense of reluctance. “Dance with me, will you? It’s a full moon, after all.”
Carefully, Lycaon complied, rising to his full height. As he did, Hugo’s hands fell away from his face, creating a brief distance between them, before stepping back to give him room.
With an air of determined possessiveness, Lycaon placed his fluffy hands on Hugo's hips, allowing himself to be a little selfish. Just maybe, he thought, they could have each other in this brief moment together, free of pretense. Hugo’s arms encircled Lycaon’s neck, their bodies drawing closer in a silent agreement.
They began to sway gently, their movement an unspoken crafted rhythm from the stillness of the night. For a moment, everything felt right, as though the world outside had faded away.
What might an onlooker think if they were to see this intimate moment? Two criminals temporarily escaping the weight of everything they've ever done, melting into one another beneath the glow of the moonlight—they do not deserve anything, let alone each other, and yet here they were. Lycaon couldn't shake the thought out of him; he didn’t believe he deserved Hugo, nor did he think that Hugo was truly deserving of him.
But in this moment, he resolved to be selfish. He would claim this small piece of him—of them—if only for tonight.
Clearing his throat, with a rush of heat that coursed through him, amplifying his nerves. “You said we were going to dance,” he murmured, glancing down at Hugo, whose presence now filled every inch of his vision. “Why are we only swaying?”
Hugo’s laugh was soft, somewhat hollow, as he avoided Lycaon’s gaze, lost in his own thoughts. “This attic isn’t the biggest, you should know that… Either way, I assume you’re enjoying this regardless,” he replied, a wry smile touching his lips.
And he was right, much to Lycaon's dismay.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Hugo said, his grip on Lycaon’s shoulders tightening just slightly. They continued to sway to a rhythm drawn from nothing that drew them closer.
Lycaon doesn't even know how long they've been doing this now; he's been much too consumed in his own thoughts to keep track.
Much too consumed with the fact that he has Hugo here.
“Be sure to remember this,” Hugo said softly, pulling Lycaon out of his head, his voice steady. “I doubt I’ll ever do this again for you.”
‘Of course, I will,’ Lycaon thought, a pang of longing moving through him. This was Hugo—the man who was sewn into his life in too many ways, more than he liked. His first love that refused to untangle, no matter how flawed and complicated it was.
“...I’ll remember it forever,” Lycaon whispered without much of a second thought, halting their sway, resting his head on top of Hugo's.
Hugo's laughter filled the space between them. “‘Forever?’ Will you truly be in love with me for that long?” he asked, playful sarcasm lacing his tone, his eyes sparkling with mischief and disbelief.
“Of course,” Lycaon says, the words slipping from his lips without a moment's hesitation. “It's you, Hugo.”
He can feel a subtle tremor from Hugo's body as he grips him tightly.
“Stop talking.”
And Lycaon does.
With that, Hugo begins to sway them once more, their bodies moving softly in unison, side to side. This dance session of theirs is entirely half-assed but Lycaon is content with it.
Hugo is an enigma that captivates Lycaon in a way he can't quite articulate. He is everything and nothing at the same time, it's mind-boggling. But he expects nothing more and nothing less from him.