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Some time after Vincent’s stabbing by Sandra and the subsequent hassle, the dust settles and you finally make good on your offer to see Hugo’s model trains. It’s fascinating, watching him come alive when he’s playing with his toys with an enthusiasm you’ve never once seen him display. Well. Play might not necessarily be the most accurate description. As he is in every other aspect of his life you’ve observed thus far (work, drinking, guilt), he is meticulous and thorough and precise (Hugo has never been a sloppy drunk, but you’re keen to see if you can change that sooner rather than later). Those words all mean more or less the same thing. You may or may not have thrown back a few Eastern Rubies before leaving your apartment some hours ago (what? You deserve a drink once in a while too).
Hugo, criminally astute as always, appears to notice your slight inebriation, raising an eyebrow as you stumble on your way to the bathroom. The water here is crisp and cool, stinging a little as you splash it on your face. Much nicer than your own, though that is to be expected on a Bukovie PD salary. It’s certainly fancier than yours, but lacks much personality. A stark contrast to Hugo’s living room, where the walls are lined with model trains and the drawers are filled with tiny paint pots and dried out clay and other model making bits and pieces. Here in the bathroom, you could be anywhere in Bukovie, though as you frantically wipe the water from your face using a towel hanging from the wall you freeze. Even if the bathroom may not visibly look like it belongs to Hugo, you are suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne.
Your attempt at pulling yourself together having failed miserably, you take a deep breath and steel yourself before allowing the door to swing open. He looks at you, clearly concerned. Perhaps you are more inebriated than you had previously considered. You will not let it impact you, however.
“Those trains are looking wonderful, Hugo,” you say, staggering only a little bit. “Very… rail-esque. You lubricate them with peanut oil, yes?”
“I… can’t believe you remember that. Yes. But are you sure you’re alright? You’re not your usual self.”
“I am very much fine, thank you Hugo. I have only had four and five sevenths of Eastern Rubies.”
“That doesn’t make much sense.”
“Words are weird when fractions are involved.”
“Why not just drink the full five?”
“I realised I don’t like the taste halfway through the second. I’m very fond of Vincent, but his liquor preferences are abysmal.”
“Yes, but he’s clearly a much more experienced drinker than you are. Almost five Eastern Rubies in one sitting? What were you thinking?”
“I wanted-” you hiccup, much to your embarrassment, “to be fun and excitable for our evening.”
“You’re infinitely more interesting than I am. I’ve dragged you over to look at model trains, of all things.”
“I’m still curious, when did your mother send them over from Belgia? I thought they were still with her,”
“Oh, it was… well. It was after Laura left me. My mother thought it was a good time to rid her house of my train nonsense, but enough about that. If you were halfway through your second Eastern Ruby when you decided you didn’t like them, why did you drink another three?”
“I didn’t like you very much when we met, did I? I just had to give you a chance. Like you did for me. But the Eastern Ruby and I will not be formalising an engagement, let me tell you that much.” you insist emphatically. As you gesticulate, you lose your balance on the almost comically high heels you’re sporting. You’re already humiliated enough, but you continue to wobble and trip over your own feet, collapsing into Hugo’s arms as your ankle crunches audibly.
You wince as Hugo attempts to half-carry you to the sofa in his living room. The coffee table has train tracks set up, and as he goes to fetch you something to compress your ankle, you idly drag your fingers through the grooves in the tracks. It’s soothing, the repetitive motions, and you wonder if Hugo has done the exact same thing you have just done, a thousand times over very long ago.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Olivia, but I will not be accepting a makeover from her ever again,” you grumble as Hugo returns. There’s a bandage in one hand and ice in the other.
“So Ms. Carmine is the one responsible for this sudden change in your appearance, then? That would make sense. I’ve never seen you wear anything this colourful.”
“Hey, you’ve only seen me in uniform. How do you know I don’t have fancy clothes at home?”
“...you have a point, but if this was normal for you, you wouldn’t seem so flustered.”
“Her shoes are a size too small for me, I think. I’m terrified I’m going to stretch them out and she’ll be upset,” you confess.
“It’s very clear Ms. Carmine absolutely adores you, you know.”
“Really?”
“Even I can see it. And you know how… lacking… my people skills are.”
“Oh, you’re not totally hopeless,” you wince as Hugo presses the ice to your ankle. He looks at you with concern, but you motion towards your ankle and he seems to understand.
“I’m impressed, frankly. I know you’ve an excellent memory, I’ve seen you in action, but the stuff about my trains isn’t anything important at all. How on Earth do you remember it?”
“You told me to get a notebook, yes? I’ve been writing everything down. It’s in my purse, actually.”
“And you brought it here because…?”
“I learned my lesson with the clue board by the window, Hugo. I keep my notebook with me at all times.”
“Ah, yes. To keep track of your criminal dealings, no doubt.”
“Hugo Mertens. Favourite drink: Wake-Up Call. Has a deep fondness for model trains. His fiancée Laura left him some months ago. Lubricates his model trains with peanut oil. The list goes on. How about this? Lucas Crown. Will drink anything that includes coffee. In a committed relationship with Bjorn Johannson. Eagerly informed me that Hugo has a passion for model trains, information I had already acquired. Ilya Reis-Karenina. Favourite drinks: Ambush, Poison Drop. Rusalkan mother, Ottolian father. I pay attention to everything and I write it down.”
“Every single detail? Whether or not it’s relevant to a case?” Hugo asks, as he begins wrapping the bandage around your ankle.
“Mm hm. Cases come and go, of course, but friendship and business are seemingly forever. I was actually inspired by Ms. Bai and her own journal. She’s got a philosophy of ‘silly business’, where you take note of all the mundane happenings around you. I liked it. All those random useless details are important to me, especially if they’re important to somebody else I care about.”
“Oh,” Hugo murmurs. He’s long since tied off the ends of the bandage, and you’re conscious of the fact that your legs are practically in his lap. You swing them back down and shuffle to the far end of the sofa from Hugo. He exhales, before pulling out a notebook of his own from his pocket and saying your name.
“Highly competent bartender, even more skilled conversationalist. It’s no wonder everybody opens up to her. She has a way of making you feel at ease as you’re spilling your deepest secret over a well-mixed cocktail. Tsaran citizen, albeit originally from the colonies. Orphaned, lost a sister in a factory accident. Formerly indebted to Karla. Ridiculously intelligent, unnecessarily talented and inexplicably beautiful-” his voice hitches as he reads off his notes, “but altogether far too undeserving of all of my misery and the baggage that I carry with me.”
Your face stings as he repeats the praise he’s written down. You stare firmly straight ahead of you, not wanting to make eye contact with the detective. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him mimicking your behaviour. Neither of you seem to be very good at this, really. So you take initiative.
Slowly, your left hand inches across the sofa towards Hugo. You drag your fingers along the leather, before stopping barely a few centimetres from him.
Hugo unfolds the hands in his lap, shakily removing his gloves. His right hand falls to meet yours, little fingers brushing for a fraction of a second. A moment passes between the two of you before he bravely laces your fingers together. Still not making eye contact with anything except the train mounted on the wall, you inch closer to him on the sofa.
He’s holding my hand, you think to yourself. It’s such a wild and bizarre concept to you. That somebody could actually want you. You turn to look at him, and he nervously meets your gaze.
The dam that had stretched out between the two of you suddenly bursts as your lips meet frantically. His hands are in your hair and yours are gripping the front of his weird little jacket, pulling him closer to you. The intensity deepens, somehow, and before you know it you’ve yanked him down on top of you. You’re sort of lying diagonally on the leather two-seater that really wasn’t designed with your long legs in mind. Hugo’s barely managing to keep some space between the two of you as he hovers above you, knees bracketing you in as you make sure to keep your ankle elevated.
Perhaps these aren’t the normal thoughts people have during their first kiss, but they’re the thoughts that you have. It’s why you get along so well with people like Hugo, Ilya, Maria - detail-oriented until the very end. Olivia had told you that a kiss had the power to shut your brain off entirely, but right now you’re more switched on than you’ve ever been before. When it feels as though you’re about to suffocate (oh, but what a way to go) Hugo pulls away from you.
“I’m moving back to Belgia,” he says breathlessly. What? You wriggle out from underneath him, a flash of ice spreading through you as though you’d been thrown into the Bukovie River.
“You’re… leaving?”
“I didn’t mean to tell you like that. I don’t know why I said that.” Hugo hides his face in his hands as you’re sprawled on the floor of his apartment trying to elevate your ankle.
“You kissed me, but then you remembered you were leaving? Are you being serious?”
“I didn’t mean to just spring that on you. What I was trying to say was that I wanted to ask if you’d consider moving to Belgia with me.”
“I…”
“I didn’t mean to say that already, I’m sorry. I’ve spent most of my life planning every minute little detail out, and then you touch me and it’s like you’ve set me on fire. I turned in my badge this morning, I didn’t think there was any possibility that you’d reciprocate even a modicum of the feelings I have for you, so I acted rashly and now I’m moving away.”
“When do you have to go?” you ask, your heart beating so loud you can barely hear yourself speak.
“My lease ends in May,” Hugo admits. Four months until he’s gone.
“Let’s just think about this practically. Your last relationship ended with you neglecting your partner in a foreign country. How can you assure me that it won’t happen again if I move with you?”
“I can’t guarantee anything except for the fact that I care deeply for you. You know as well as I do that I’m not the easiest person to be around, but I’d do anything for the people I care about. I would say I’ve at least learned from my past mistakes.”
“That does make sense. I’ve never really been involved with anybody before, Hugo. But I’d certainly be… interested in trying to make things work with you.”
“We could take things very slowly, one day at a time.”
“Maybe try writing to one another once you’re back in Belgia.”
“And if things work out, perhaps you can consider moving to join me after some time. There’s no prohibition there, for one.”
“It’s a deal,” you say, extending your hand out for him to take. He reaches out and shakes it firmly, before bursting into laughter. You’re still lying on the floor with your ankle propped up on the coffee table after that entire discussion. Hands still clasped together, he drags you upwards so you’re sitting on the sofa again.
“So about those model trains…” you trail off. Hugo laughs, resting a hand on your shoulder briefly before standing to retrieve an unpainted train from a cabinet on the other side of the room.
“This one was supposed to be a Kingsland Model Q, used in the Southern colonies, but I couldn’t get the shape of the smokestack right. I thought maybe if you wanted to, you could paint it however you’d like to?” Hugo offers shyly. You beam at him and take the train from his hand, twisting it to examine it thoroughly.
“I would love to do that,” you say, and he grins too. He pulls on a drawer from underneath the coffee table and takes out some paints and two brushes, before taking out another blank train from his pocket. You hum one of the songs from ‘Dalliance’ as you paint together, and before you know it, you’re leaning against Hugo and fighting to stay awake.
The sun has long since sunk beyond the window, and the dim light of the stars illuminates the street. Outside, two young children are out late as they delight in the wintry chill of January, and you can faintly hear their shrieks of joy as they hurl snowballs at one another. The Eastern Rubies you’d downed earlier remind you of their existence, and you begrudgingly stand to inform Hugo that it’s time for you to go.
He walks you to the door and kisses your hand farewell. You blush profusely, and he’s doing the same. Maybe it’s not the way you’d expected the evening to play out, but it’s the dawn of something even more wonderful.