Hudson wasn't waiting for him in the parlor, arms crossed and brow furrowed in disappointment, so that was something. Don Juan stayed where he was for a long moment, quiet, and didn't hear him elsewhere in the house. Already asleep? That was good news for him if so; the more time elapsed between now and the conversation the longer he had to sober up. Maybe he could even be a little vague about what time he'd come in, earn himself some credit there. Of course, for that to work he had to get upstairs and into the bed next to Hudson without waking him, which was quite the challenge. He could have collapsed on the couch or somewhere else with less ado, but if he slept anywhere other than Hudson's bed he'd have to explain why the next morning, and there was no possible reason except the truth.
He stooped and carefully collected the fireplace instruments, hanging them back on their stand as gently as possible and cringing at every clink. His hands were sooty when he was done — should he wash them? The sink would make noise, but he couldn't crawl into Hudson's sheets leaving dirty hand prints as he went. He decided to risk it, heading towards the kitchen since it was closer than the lavatory. On his way in his foot caught one of the chairs, which clattered — he froze again, wincing, then restarted when the house remained quiet. Two near-misses and luck still seemed to be on his side; Don Juan felt bolstered by this small victory, less illicit somehow than when he'd arrived. The universe was looking out for him, maybe, rewarding him for having followed through and come back like he'd said he would instead of slinking off to the embrace of more drugs. I'm fine, I'm doing fine.
He washed his hands. He took his shoes off before he went up the stairs, still trying to be silent, but misremembered which stair it was that creaked and hit it heavily on the way up. Oh well — still quiet, he was fine, he was doing fine. Finally he made it to Hudson's bedroom door and twisted the knob with no small degree of relief... but on stumbling into the room he saw Hudson look at him, and it was clear that luck hadn't been on his side after all.
"Oh," he said, eyebrows raised in surprise. He looked as caught as he felt. "You're still up."
He stooped and carefully collected the fireplace instruments, hanging them back on their stand as gently as possible and cringing at every clink. His hands were sooty when he was done — should he wash them? The sink would make noise, but he couldn't crawl into Hudson's sheets leaving dirty hand prints as he went. He decided to risk it, heading towards the kitchen since it was closer than the lavatory. On his way in his foot caught one of the chairs, which clattered — he froze again, wincing, then restarted when the house remained quiet. Two near-misses and luck still seemed to be on his side; Don Juan felt bolstered by this small victory, less illicit somehow than when he'd arrived. The universe was looking out for him, maybe, rewarding him for having followed through and come back like he'd said he would instead of slinking off to the embrace of more drugs. I'm fine, I'm doing fine.
He washed his hands. He took his shoes off before he went up the stairs, still trying to be silent, but misremembered which stair it was that creaked and hit it heavily on the way up. Oh well — still quiet, he was fine, he was doing fine. Finally he made it to Hudson's bedroom door and twisted the knob with no small degree of relief... but on stumbling into the room he saw Hudson look at him, and it was clear that luck hadn't been on his side after all.
"Oh," he said, eyebrows raised in surprise. He looked as caught as he felt. "You're still up."
![[Image: 0hYxCaj.png]](https://i.imgur.com/0hYxCaj.png)
MJ made this <3