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It was weird to look into the mirror and see green eyes stare back.
To stare into the glass and emeralds instead of sapphires was a feeling that Hudson wasn’t used to. He doubts he’ll ever get used to it.
But he’ll have to, won't he?
Because the alternative, to never see that shade of green again would mean that he was dead.
Or at least admit he was.
___
“Wake up Huddy.”
Hudson blinked his hazy eyes open, squinting at the brightness of the room.
It was late afternoon, the sun low at that soft golden haze.
But illuminated in front of him was a mess of platinum blonde waves and tan skin, shaking his shoulders.
“What time is it?” God, Hudson’s head hurt. He supposes that's what he gets from spending one too many nights up too late.
“Four pm. You were asleep for a long time.”
Hudson tilted his head upwards, blinking rapidly as the cafe around came into focus, warm wood walls and plants registering.
“Hey Huddy.” Hudson rested his head back onto the table.
“What’s your favourite season?” The question was so random that it finally woke Hudson up.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Just curious. Humour me won’t you?” He turned to look at Hudson, his messy blonde waves falling into his eyes, covering those gorgeous emerald eyes.
And since he could never resist answering him, Hudson responded.
“Autumn.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Yeah that makes sense.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Hudson stared at the blonde, voice twinged with annoyance.
“Nothing.” And he flashed another one of those soft smiles, stood up, and pulled Hudson up by the arm.
His arm tingled from where he touched him.
“Common, let’s go Huddy,” and so they walked out, leaving the smell of coffee for the crisp autumn air.
___
“Honestly, it ended too quickly.”
“What?” came Hudson’s mumbled reply, his mind drifting among spells and blood and so many more things that he shouldn’t think about.
He really shouldn’t, especially while being able to be with him.
“Summer. I mean, I know you love autumn and all, but really I wish it could’ve stayed just a bit longer.”
His voice was melancholy, which was strange, especially with how he usually was.
“I mean, there's always next year.” And there was Hudson’s halfhearted reply.
“Are you sure? With everything going on with the mafia do you really think we’re making it to next year?” There was that familiar playful tone to the statement, but the words were so unmistakingly sharp that it made Hudson look up to him.
And maybe noticing how nervous Hudson was, the blonde flashed another soft smile.
“Hey, don’t worry alright? It was just a joke. And besides, I doubt the mafia will get us of all people.”
But that statement didn’t fix anything. Because he shouldn’t have to be scared. He should be happy, soft, playful. Someone had to be that way for Hudson.
He probably would go insane if it wasn’t for ██████.
___
The air reeked with the sharp metallic scent of blood.
Hudson stared down at the pavement beneath him, stained with that filthy red liquid that was dripping from that motionless “lump.”
He could see the slash at the abdomen, the glisten of the fresh blood. The faint outline of his exposed organs, grisly and bloody and so beautifully human.
It was no more than the handiwork of the mafia.
And Hudson was here, not as the killer but rather the witch, binding voices and snuffing lights. Perhaps it wasn't that glorious of a job, but what glory would such a failure as him expect?
He listlessly walked down the alleyway, slightly behind the rest of the mafia, the end of another job well done.
But before he could reach the end of the alleyway a bang rang through the alley.
And from there he watched as Lila, a member of his mafia collapsed upon the ground, that filthy liquid dripping from a hole in her head.
The work of a vigilante.
Just who this vigilante was though, he was going to find out. Cloaked in a redacted spell he walked down the alley, chasing the origin of the sound.
Sprinting away into the night, hair flowing, he was unmistakable.
██████.
___
Autumn was passing by far too fast for Hudson’s liking.
Instead of being spent with ██████ in cafes and parks it was spent within casinos and hotels with the mafia.
A whirlwind of guns and knives, blood and bodies.
Far too many of which were from the mafia themselves. This was courtesy of a new vigilante.
██████.
Charming, good at reading faces, and slightly trigger-happy, this new vigilante was hunting down mafia, eliminating them at an alarming rate.
And Hudson hated it.
He was failing once again. He really just couldn’t build anything without it being torn down, could he?
Not with the seven wonders. Not with the mafia. Not with ██████.
“Hudson.”
Hudson turned around to face the voice. Diego was leaning upon the casino wall, his usual smirk gone and replaced by a grimace.
“We really need to slime this new vigilante. They’re getting too good, and it's ruining my groove.”
His… groove? What was that even supposed to mean?
But nevertheless, Hudson continued to listen. And as more mafia members began to gather, the bounty on this vigilante would only grow.
And so would the pit in Hudson’s stomach.
But a plan was formed, and ignoring this plan would only make things worse wouldn’t it?
Because Hudson was nothing. He was nothing but a stupid pathetic loser who can’t do anything but follow orders. And maybe that was why he failed. Because he kept following these rules and orders, not because he believed in them, but because he believed that it would benefit him in the end.
Not that it ever did.
But who was he to question that now?
___
Callum:
>Hey
>Huddy
>R u free next weekend?
>ik weve been busy but maybe we could go to that new cafe?
>ik u like pumpkin spice
>Huddy?
sure<
The phone screen was bright. Too bright. Far too bright for his liking.Hudson turned it off and tossed it onto his bed.
Yet it switched back on, its pale glow illuminating the darkened room.
The messages were still embedded into Hudson’s mind, promises of a next weekend and new cafe. He knows that that weekend isn’t coming.
It doesn't mean he can’t wish for it though.
He's alone in his room. He doesn't need to lie to himself anymore.
How much of this is a lie though? Because he doesn’t feel panic. He doesn’t feel sad or dreadful or angry.
He feels excited.
Or at least so for the lack of a better term. Because this puts an end to it, doesn’t it?
Hudson is pathetic and weak, but he knows he can be so much more. He knows that he is holding him back. Or he thinks that at least.
He's wrong, he probably is.
Once ██████ is dead he’ll be able to forget him.
That’s what he wants, right? He doesn’t need love. He doesn’t need to feel love. He just needs to be feared. To be admired.
Right?
Well sooner or later he's going to find out.
___
And like an executioner walking to the guillotine, Hudson steps out of the car.
His phone was open, the location tracking app he shared with C█████ open. According to it, he was at his location.
The old theater was abandoned several years ago for issues with debt, so Hudson seldom knew why Ca████ was here. Nevertheless, he stepped inside.
The doors creaked when he pushed them open, the wood dusty and grimy beneath his gloved hands.
Hudson didn’t understand why his palms were sweating.
After all, he agreed to this plan, didn't he? To come here, to end it once and for all. To protect the mafia, his mafia. He never cared about the deaths before, so why was it any different?
It wasn’t personal. Cal███ saw too much. He knew too much, and he was getting too good.
Hudson just wished he could’ve gone to that cafe with him.
It didn’t matter now. It will all be over soon.
He walked forward, the stained carpet below his feet a deep red, almost similar to blood. He wondered that if blood splattered upon it would a stain even be left.
And maybe the faint flutter in his chest was normal. He always felt like this around Call██ anyways.
After all, who wouldn’t? To be able to stare at his messy tousled hair, his sharp jawline, his smooth tan skin.
To stare into Callu█’s beautiful green eyes is a gift from heaven if there ever is one.
So when he looked up to the stage, Hudson didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel dread. He felt elated.
“Callum.”
The vigilante turned around to face Hudson, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“Hudson.”
His voice contained neither surprise nor shock, sealing the fact that he expected the warlock to arrive.
Hudson felt he should say something. He felt that he should smile, to chat, to wait for the mafia to arrive and finish the job.
He didn’t.
Because one moment the knife was sheathed and hilted, and the next it was in Callum’s chest.
And it was so beautiful. It was dripping down, down staining the carpet and the wooden floors. Ruby droplets glistening on the ground, shining and red like gemstones.
Hudson expected nothing less beautiful from such a pretty man.
His fall was beautiful, like a marionette with its strings cut, folding in and falling forwards. Yet even as he fell there was neither shock nor fright in his eyes.
Because even as he bled out, Callum wasn’t the one sad. Hudson was. Composed Hudson, who promised himself that he wouldn’t cry, who said that it was for the better, was the one with tears in his eyes.
“Hudson, crying over me? Never thought this day would come.” Yet the statement lacked his usual playfulness. He sounded rough, angry. Accusatory even.
And who could blame him? Hudson could fall to his knees and weep like he was right now, but what would that change?
So maybe that's why when Callum reached into his pockets and pulled out the gun had Hudson not knocked it from his hands.
So maybe that's why he didn’t pull away from the cold metal pressing to his forehead, even after flinching.
Hudson closed his eyes, waiting for the shot, to be able to fall and collapse once again into Callum’s arms.
Maybe then he would be able to be forgiven.
But the shot never came.
“Really Hudson? You think I’m going to let you off so easily?” Callum’s voice was barely a whisper, yet he managed to force the words out.
He was tired, so tired.
“Callum.. I’m sorry. I love you-”
“You call this love Hudson? You call-”
Callum’s next words never came.
Because Hudson stole them. He was evil, he was wicked, and he would rather steal the last words of his “lover” than bear having to listen to them.
So as Callum soundlessly bled out would only one set of weeping be heard.
And as the pulse left his heart would Hudson finally take one last thing.
___
Traditionally, identity theft spells would result in stealing a corpse's skin, as to graft it upon the witch.
But Hudson needed not his skin to become him.
Hudson already knew what Callum’s blood looked like. He already heard his dying words, his favourite season. What he wanted to do in life, and his regrets.
So taking his face really wasn’t that difficult, especially after taking his life and voice.
___
Spring was arriving soon.
The flowers would soon bloom, and the grass would grow anew.
Spring was Callum’s favorite season.
Too bad he wasn’t here to see it. Maybe in another life he would. Maybe in their next life would he still be here, weaving flower crowns and running through the meadows with him.
The flowers outside won’t be woven this life, neither will the meadows be run through.
But they will decorate Callum’s grave.
He looked into the mirror, his reflection staring back.
Tousled blonde hair and emerald eyes.
This reflection wasn’t his by a long shot, but it was too late to turn back now.
Hudson died last autumn. His body was never found.
The detectives are still investigating, but he doubts that they will find him. Nor will they find Callum.
He looks into the mirror once more, at the ghost of his lover.
Callum isn’t here, not by a long shot.
But he’ll hold the only piece he has of him, for now.
Forever.