Don Juan frowned, not only at the rejection. Hudson had never turned him down before — it had never even been a question of how the night was going to end, when Don Juan showed up to his flat. He had come here tonight craving and expecting sex. So he was surprised, and disappointed, but also concerned — he had not yet conceptualized the idea that Hudson wouldn't want to sleep with him while he was high, so he presumed his answer had more to do with the second thing he'd said.

"You're feeling shitty?" he asked. He hadn't noticed anything, but now he shifted back into his own space on the couch and let his eyes sweep over Hudson with keen concern, as though the source of his malaise would be written somewhere on his bare chest for Don Juan to read. "Can I help?"

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