There was never a time Hudson kissed him and Don Juan didn't want to lean into it with everything he had, but this time there was something even sweeter about it. This wasn't the conversation that Don Juan had been hoping to have this morning, and he still didn't like the way Hudson had looked, wrung out as he was — but there was something precious there, too, newly unearthed in the light of the morning (er — noon). No one had ever cared enough about Don Juan to look at him like that, to plead with him like that. He might not have have thought Hudson's fears were well founded, but there was still something deeply moving about the ferocity and desperation with which Hudson wanted to save him from them. It was — loved. He felt loved. There wasn't another word for it.

There was fire in him as he returned Hudson's kiss. It may have already been noon, but Don Juan had already lost the day for anything productive and he assumed Hudson had, too. If he wasn't, he would soon enough — Don Juan had no intention of letting him get away.

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