That was all? Here's your things, I'll leave you to it? That couldn't be how it ended, could it? Don Juan had asked Hudson home to meet his family; he was supposed to meet Hudson's sister when their schedules all aligned. They had been through so many nights together — lovely nights, cozy nights, hard nights. Nights that seemed to stretch on forever. Hudson had come to pull him out of an opium den. He'd sat through every minute of the past twelve hours, while Don Juan was high and then in all the various stages of withdrawal. And it was over so quickly, just like that?

But it wasn't that surprising, really; it had been over hours ago. Don Juan just hadn't been there for it yet.

I'm sorry, he thought wildly, looking at Hudson and blinking to prevent his eyes from watering. It was a mistake, I didn't mean to. It won't happen again. I can do better. But all of these were poisoned phrases; things he'd said before, and might say a dozen times again. Hudson had no reason to believe that he was sincere this time. No reason to believe anything would change.

But you love me, he could have said. Hudson had admitted as much once before. The reciprocal, never yet voiced but equally true: I love you. It didn't matter; it didn't change anything. And he had embarrassed himself enough already today, hadn't he? There was no sense in begging for something he knew he couldn't have.

"Alright," he said, voice small. "Thanks."

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