Hudson said he was scared, and Don Juan's first thought was that this was probably hyperbolic, melodramatic. Whatever had happened the night before couldn't have been frightening; it was the same sort of thing he did all the time. But he didn't say anything, and he let Hudson catch his eyes before continuing.

Don Juan, was it, then? Having Hudson address him by his first name in such an earnest way was oddly thrilling. He brushed his shoulders back, ignoring the soreness spreading between them. He felt almost cocky, bolstered by this the way he was when he came back to the club and it was obvious to everyone he was still disheveled from a romp in the hay. A sort of unspecified victory.

He sipped his coffee to hide his smile while Hudson continued. Hate seeing you like that, and Don Juan knew better than to ask like what? He frowned thoughtfully at Hudson, but not like he was disappointed; rather, the way someone frowned when an unfamiliar and difficult riddle lay before them. He didn't know the right answer yet, but was confident there was one, and that figuring it out wouldn't take too long.

"I'm fine," he pointed out, deflecting. "It looks worse than it is, honestly. There's nothing to be scared of."

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