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Hugo doesn't deserve many things, but one thing he's entitled to is his privacy.
He revels in comforts of his secluded mind, away from the antagonizing reality he's living in - one that paints him as the perpetrator, no matter if he's the abuser, the victim, or that little boy who was forced to navigate the world alone.
Hugo isn't worthy of many things, but he's worthy of his secrets, his right to withhold information, to manipulate, and to control. They give him that sense of power, that feeling of superiority that may as well be his blood, considering that it makes up his whole being. For too long, in a world that snatched every opportunity from him, that killed him, and burned him over, and over, Hugo felt that the confines of his puzzling head was the one thing that could make up for his lacking life - that could give him value.
But recently, he's been driven into a corner, for brilliant blue eyes have been questioning his motives.
Never has he ever felt the need to justify or explain himself, but recently, he can't help the guilt that keeps blossoming in his chest, growing into his lungs in beautiful patterns that he can't cough up.
Now, every time he's met with that soft, freckled face, he can feel his airways close up, his trachea tangling into knots that he can't straighten out.
Today was one of those days: those days where he especially felt suffocated by the sky above him, simply because it was that same shade of blue.
As he sat by the fire in the dead of the night, the flames twitching and curling around the wood below it, he felt himself unravelling, unwinding like a spool of thread.
How much longer could he keep this up? How much longer could he lie, deceive, trick Varian, run circles around him? He doesn't know if he can take it anymore, feeling pressure on his heart like the Earth gravitated toward it, overbearing, and dizzying.
Hugo felt his mind shift, as his heartrate started to quicken. He can't do this anymore, he's an evil, evil person, someone undeserving of kindness, undeserving of love. He's mean-spirited, a sinner, he doesn't deserve to live-
"Hey! Hugo, Hugo, breathe."
He suddenly felt someone drawing circles on his back, sitting next to him. He looked up, and was met with blue eyes. He quickly averted his gaze.
"Varian," he spoke, needy and desperate. "Varian, I've been lying to you."
In an instant, the younger boy froze.
"What do you mean?"
Hugo couldn't determine if he felt better or not, brain rapidly moving from feeling guilty about his secret, to feeling guilty about his actions. His head began to spin.
"I work for Donella. But I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."
He suddenly felt tears prick his eyes, head throbbing so much, he could hardly keep it up.
He felt the weight beside him shift.
Varian got up, and left.
He felt delirious, curling into himself, as his body racked with sobs.
I don't deserve you.
He thought.
I don't deserve this life we live together.