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The car was scorching hot. Hugo checked the broken GPS, which claimed they were in Port Elpis. His eyes flickered to the window, showing an endless golden sea of wheat that blew gently in the wind. No sign of the sea was in sight. He closed his eyes, manifesting the gold to transform into cerulean. He opened them to disappointment—still gold.
Port Elpis wasn’t the destination. Far from it. But imagining the sea breeze helped to cool him down. He couldn’t turn the car on since someone had taken the keys when he went to pump the gas.
Hugo’s legs ached, cramped into the uncomfortable seat for hours. The door beckoned him, trying to lure him outside. They were stopped at a gas station that was close to abandoned. Only one pump worked, with an older gentleman running the till in the half-stocked convenience store. The sign of the establishment had long since fallen off the building, now placed off to the side near the road. His driving partner was inside, scanning the shelves for something to munch on.
Hugo decided to take advantage of the open driver’s seat, stretching his legs out as he cranked down the window. Leaning his head out the window he stared down the open stretch of highway they had come from. It looked the same as the direction they were heading.
The same. The same. The same.
Nothing had changed.
Pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the glove compartment, he lit his first cigarette of the trip. The sunglasses on his forehead slipped down over his eyes as he took in a deep inhale of the acidic smoke. The car had long been filled with gas, and Hugo wasn’t suicidal enough to light up if he saw a pile of gasoline on the ground. He closed his eyes, letting the smoke slowly escape past his lips.
“We made a deal,” a deep voice said, interrupting his slow drag.
Hugo opened an eye, seeing Lycaon staring down at him. He was dressed casually, shedding his butler get-up for once. A white button-up with a pair of jeans. It was similar enough to what he wore during his Mockingbird days to make Hugo’s heart stir. Though the shirt was fully buttoned, whereas before he would leave the top two opened, which Hugo preferred.
“No smoking inside the car,” Hugo said, waving his hand in a lazy dismissal. “The cigarette is outside the car and so is my face.”
Lycaon scrunched his nose in disgust. He turned around leaning against the aluminum exterior with his arms crossed.
Hugo smiled, reaching a hand through the window to poke at the other man’s tail. He watched, entranced as his fingers slowly disappeared into a mess of white fur. Lycaon looked down at him with a pinched face, words on his tongue he was clearly holding back. His tail started to move, wagging in excitement.
Hugo’s smile widened. He bit down on the end of the cigarette as he continued to pet Lycaon’s tail.
“Stop that,” Lycaon said.
“You enjoy it.”
Lycaon huffed out a breath in annoyance, giving into Hugo’s whims. He didn’t like others touching his tail. Hugo was the only exception. It should mean something. Maybe it once did. Both would say it meant nothing. Secretly, it meant everything.
Silence fell between them as Lycaon waited for Hugo to finish his cigarette. As he hit the end, he let out a final breath of smoke before the butt fell to the ground. His other hand left Lycaon’s tail. The other man moved, stepping on the glowing embers of the remaining filter to snub out the flame.
The driver’s door opened. A clear plastic bag was tossed onto the backseat. It landed on top of the crumpled map and Hugo’s long discarded sweater.
“Move your legs,” Lycaon commanded.
Hugo looked at him, dramatically lifting his sunglasses as he stared.
Knowing he would lose the fight, Lycaon lifted Hugo’s legs before getting in, letting them rest on his lap. The engine revved to life as they pulled out of the gas station. Hugo kept the window down, the breeze refreshing. The midday sun was hot, and their AC struggling to do its job.
“The owner was odd,” Lycaon said, filling the silence.
“How so?”
“He wanted a piece of my fur. Said it was the nicest coat he’d ever seen.”
From this angle, Hugo could see Lycaon perfectly. His ears were perked, his eye focused on the stretch of road that billowed on for miles in front of him. Both hands were on the wheel, perfectly placed in the ten and two positions. He refused to slouch, all prim and proper. It still irked Hugo that his shirt was fully buttoned.
His fur was brushed to perfection. Not a single strand was out of place. White as snow. Bright enough Hugo almost needed sunglasses to look at it without squinting. He’d never seen another wolf with a coat quite as beautiful. None compared to Lycaon’s.
“He’s right, it’s a nice coat,” Hugo agreed.
Lycaon would never admit to the hours he put into maintaining his fur. The never-ending research for the best products, the constant brushing, refusing others to touch his fur. For the last one, he claimed oils from fingers would ruin the texture. They both knew the real reason was that he was uncomfortable with the attention that tail petting brought.
But Hugo was the exception. His oils, his fingers, none of it mattered to Lycaon. He was allowed to break the rules.
It should mean something.
“Did you give him a bit? I know you’re shedding your winter coat still,” Hugo said, his eyes travelling to the back seat covered with white fur. He tried using a lint roller before they left, but heavy hands and hot breath over his skin had distracted him from finishing.
It meant nothing.
“He seemed like the type to sniff it or put it in a locket.”
“I had a locket once,” Hugo said. He was lying; it was pressed against his chest. They both knew he never removed it. It was the only bit of Lycaon he kept for himself from their past—he never was good at letting go.
Lycaon risked turning his head, giving Hugo a levelled stare. “You’re not a stranger.”
Secretly, it meant everything.
Hugo looked away, his cheeks warming. “I could use your fur to clone you or something. Make a nicer version of you.”
Lycaon laughed, causing the heat dancing across Hugo’s face to surge. It was a deep laugh, but also quiet as if he were afraid to let the emotion show. The sound was felt deep in Hugo’s stomach as it tingled. He leaned his head out the window again, praying the wind would blow away his thoughts.
Once refreshed, he returned his head inside the car, leaning forward to adjust his position only to be met with Lycaon’s hand grabbing his chin. “I think I’m being plenty nice, don’t you agree?” he mused. His eye remained on the road but his grip was firm.
“You volunteered to drive.”
“Last time you crashed the car.”
Hugo shrugged. The car was fine. The bumper was able to be kicked back into place. “And here we are, still alive. We were also years younger. I am a much better driver.”
“Which is why you still take the metro.”
“Perhaps I'm a bit rusty…”
“My point exactly.”
Lycaon’s hand disappeared, leaving a burning scorch on Hugo’s skin. He wanted it back. He reached out, grabbing Lycaon’s hand before it returned to the wheel, entwining their fingers together.
“Relax,” Lycaon soothed, which irritated Hugo. He pulled his hand from Lycaon’s, folding it over his chest as he leaned back with an angry pout.
Lycaon smiled, his hand dropping to Hugo’s thighs, warmth spreading over them instantly. His fingers curled against the fabric of Hugo’s pants as he rubbed small circles into Hugo’s skin.
With his hand once again free, Hugo reached for the radio, the one feature that still worked in the piece of junk that was considered a car, and turned it on. Astra Yao’s voice came blasting through the speakers. It was one of her popular songs. Hugo had learned the lyrics through Vivian who kept singing it during missions. The tune was catchy enough that it eventually weaved its way into his head.
The gold fields continued to blur past them as they continued down the empty road. In the distance, the bubble of a Hollow appeared. It was a unanimous decision to take the backroads. Neither enjoyed the crowdedness of the main highway. They grew up in the shadows, it was what they were used to.
The gentle rubs turned into taps as Lycaon hummed along to the music. It reminded Hugo of their younger days when he would sing on the roof at night. They would steal Jack’s radio, playing it on low volume to not wake the older man. Lycaon would sing along, his gaze fixated on the stars and moon as Hugo’s was fixated on him.
Nothing had changed.
“I met her once,” Lycaon said. “I regret not asking for an autograph.”
“Who? Astra Yao?” Hugo asked. “So have I.”
“Does it count if you approached her to steal from her?”
Hugo froze. He knew Victoria Housekeeping was at the Bangboo event. Yet he was certain Lycaon hadn’t seen him. “How did you know…”
“It seems like we both kept tabs on one another over the years.”
It was getting too personal. Too close to a conversation neither wanted to have. They broached the subject once in Port Elpis and ever since, danced around it, the steps becoming second nature. Hugo bounced away from the topic, back to something safer. “What did you think of her?”
Lycaon thought for a moment. “She was born for the spotlight. Reminds me of someone else who enjoys it.”
“I enjoy the theatrics,” Hugo corrected. He paused, chewing his lip as he fought the urge to ask a hypothetical. Dreaming was for people who weren’t like Hugo. It wasn’t for people who were already broken beyond repair. Dreaming for him meant expectations which led to heartbreak and disappointment.
But Lycaon brought out those expectations. Hugo’s forever partner. The one person who made living a little less miserable. He dulled the ache in Hugo’s heart and eased the pain in his mind. Even with the betrayal between them, Lycaon slipped back into his life with ease. Hugo had always left a spot in his heart open—waiting for the day he would return. There was only one person who he’d willingly be a fool for.
He swallowed a shallow breath and asked as casually as possible, “In another life if I was on stage, would you watch me?”
It was a risk. There was an answer he wanted to hear, an answer he expected to hear, and an answer that would break him to hear. He prayed for the first.
“I would be your biggest fan.”
Hugo sucked in a breath. It meant nothing. It meant nothing. Lycaon was being nice. Actually, this was the clone Hugo made, the one who said what he wanted to hear.
The car jerked as it veered off to the side throwing Hugo into the door. Before he had a chance to recover, large hands were cradling his face as Lycaon closed the distance between them.
Sometimes Hugo wondered if it would be easier if they actually hated one another. The reserved sign on his heart would never have been hung. They wouldn’t be trying to make it work even if they couldn’t bring themselves to be fully honest with one another. They wouldn’t be in this state of illicit affairs.
“Your breath stinks of cigarettes,” Lycaon growled against Hugo’s lips, his breath hot.
Hugo used the break to roll himself onto Lycaon’s lap, straddling him as his arms wrapped around Lycaon’s neck. “Suck it up,” he said before capturing his lips to kiss him again.
He loved the way Lycaon’s hands were big enough to hold his waist. Lycaon’s claws dug into the thin fabric of his tank top. There were already holes from previous times when Lycaon’s claws ripped the fabric during his eagerness.
Lycaon’s tongue swiped at Hugo’s lips, beckoning him to open and allow him to deepen the kiss. Hugo accepted, a moan slipping through his lips that Lycaon happily swallowed. His fingers trailed up Hugo’s back, twirling in the loose strands of his hair.
The kiss broke as Lycaon took an interest in Hugo’s neck, licking and sucking his way down the pale stretch of skin. Hugo busied his hands by unbuttoning the top few buttons of Lycaon’s shirt to press them against his firm, soft chest. His head tilted back as sharp teeth scraped across the front of his neck.
How many times have they done this? Pressed together in darkness, in the silence of the day, wherever no prying eyes could see. Their lips always found one another. Never able to let go, clinging to the other as their memories swirled around them.
Lycaon leaned away from his neck, his hand circling Hugo’s head, pulling his back for another, gentler kiss. It was soft and sweet, romantic even. Something Vivian would squeal over in one of her romance novels.
“We’ll be driving into the night if we don’t get back on the road,” Lycaon said, finally breaking from Hugo. He always had more self-restraint. Better at closing up and pretending. Hugo was only good at redirection.
“Right,” Hugo said slowly, rolling off Lycaon and back onto his seat.
His ears rang as the car started moving, the radio becoming louder as Lycaon turned it up. They weren’t going to talk about it. Not about the way both their hearts were beating ravenously in their chests or the way their lips were swollen. It would be left in the dust. Forgotten on a road nobody but them seemed to know existed. Maybe that’s where it always belonged.
Hugo returned to looking out the window. The Hollow had gotten bigger as they neared it. It wasn’t their destination. Their destination didn’t matter because when they arrived nothing would have changed.
Neither would call it what it was. It should mean something. Maybe it once did. Both would say it meant nothing.
Secretly, it meant everything.