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There were no words to describe how much Hugo felt all the time.
Not enough to exactly tell someone how he could still feel the pain, the burn, of some days when he was still an orphan on the street–his memories consist of the white of snow and the blurred faces of people who could have helped but decided against it.
When he finds himself back at Ingvarr, he can't help but be flooded with clarity. And he hates it.
At the top of the four clock towers in the kingdom, he supposes maybe he'd have a bit more privacy. But, no, that's his mind playing tricks on him once again; Ingvarr is much more populated now. He used to have personal space watching over the city because people didn't care. Now they act like they did the whole time.
The new Ingvarr off put Hugo in a way he couldn't describe. It made him uncomfortable, like an itch under his skin he just couldn't get no matter how hard he tried.
It felt warmer. Crowded. And arguably softer. This wasn't where he grew up.
“Hey, Hugo.” Varian says, sitting next to him. Invading his space once again (he can't even be truly mad. If anyone's going to understand, it'd be one of his travel companions).
Hugo kicked his feet from between the bars of the railings as Varian slotted his between them too. “Hey.” He says quietly.
“Don't like the snow?” Varian asks.
“No. Not one bit.”
“Me neither,” He laughs. Varian laughs, like this couldn't be life changing weather. Like he hadn't felt the cold burn of it before. It made Hugo's skin itch again.
Hugo scoffs, “Right. What would you even have to not like about the snow?”
Varian’s laugh is cut off almost unnaturally by that. Hugo spares a glance, and the boy is staring off absently into the distance like he had been reminded of something he didn't want to be.
“A lot. You really shouldn't assume, Hugo.” Varian sighs.
“Whatever. I spent the majority of my life here, I think I have the right to be pissy about it.”
Varian looks at him with an inquisitive look. “Really? Do you have any stories you could tell me?”
“They’re all bad. Nothing good comes out of Ingvarr.”
Silence. Hugo had made it awkward, as usual. That's what he hated about this place–it always brought out the worst in him.
“I'm willing to share mine, if you tell me one of yours. I want to listen.” Varian insists. He scoots just a bit closer to Hugo.
Hugo notices and scoots a bit further away. He feels the frustration bubble up in his chest as if he's going to explode any minute. But at the same time, his face feels hot, and he can see the red tip of his nose. Everything felt overwhelming.
“I… It's too much. Being here is too much. Before–” Before Donella, “Before my adoptive mom took me in, I had nothing. Nothing except a few spare machine parts and a few other kids who looked out for each other. I was the youngest so they catered toward me. What a joke,” Hugo laughs dryly.
Varian's eyes don't leave him for a second. They burn holes through the side of Hugo's face, trying to dig for more information that he's not entirely willing to give.
“What were those kids like? If you remember.”
Hugo stared up at the sky. The slight ticking from the clock behind them made it easy to get lost in his thoughts.
“Kind. They were kind,” He settles for, before folding back into himself. He pulls his legs up and hugs them to his chest, and looks down at the city. “I don't remember much. Just that they gave up a lot for me. One boy even– He– He gave up… Everything. He gave up everything for me.”
“I remember, we were trying to find some food in the trash behind one of the good inns. There would always be some people that gave us leftover food that hadn't been eaten. Those were good days. But it'd always be so cold, and we barely had clothes good enough to make it there without collapsing in the snow. Or without getting hypothermia. The oldest boy… He had taken a liking to me. I hadn't eaten in… I don't even know how many days.
“He took it upon himself to go there by himself. He had given me all the best clothes he could find. He went out by himself and… And he never came back. The guy was maybe twelve? I don't remember. I never saw him again. But the next time I went for the leftovers, I got extra. I just wish I could've known what happened to him.
“He had dark hair and pale skin like Yong. Yong reminds me so much of him. Acts a lot like him too, always trying to make me laugh and lift my spirits. Such as the way of living in Ingvarr, I guess.”
Hugo finally stopped his tangent and wiped his eyes. It had barely registered that he had begun to cry. Varian stared at him wide eyed for a few moments before chewing on his lip and gazing at the snow-covered city.
“I'm sorry that happened, Hugo.
“...Don't be. There was nothing anyone could've done.” Hugo said simply.
Varian blinked slowly. He then closed his eyes and leaned forward between the railings.
“I guess. Corona was pretty bad a few years back. The nation of the sun and we still had a severe snowstorm. For me, everything that happened was by my own volition. I did a lot of bad things and ended up hurting my dad. I guess… I guess we both have a pretty bad history in the snow, huh?” Varian said.
It was Hugo's turn to give Varian a questioning look. He was intrigued as he was sympathetic. Maybe he had been a bit too quick to undermine Varian's experience.
“Yeah. I remember shortly after my mom adopted me, I grabbed a bunch of snow off the ground and put it all over her tools… She's a mechanic. She was pretty mad.” Hugo laughed softly.
“I can only imagine,” Varian giggled. “My dad's a farmer. When I wanted his attention, I would hide his farm equipment…”
This went on for the next few hours. They shared tales of two nations completely different from one another and experiences from both that proved, maybe they weren't that different.
And if Hugo learned that the snow wasn't completely bad like he had grown up thinking it was, it was an added bonus. He had always found it quite beautiful.