Twice now Don Juan had pushed towards an argument anticipating that Hudson would cave and back down, like they both usually did, and twice Hudson had called his bluff. Yes, he was cross, and frustrated and humiliated (an adjective Don Juan remembered from their first attempt at a relationship, and not a good sign). Yes, he meant he didn't want to deal with Don Juan tonight. Don Juan was starting to feel panicky — this wasn't how things were supposed to go. Hudson was supposed to sigh and say of course not, it's just... and then Don Juan could cover up whatever followed with kisses, or love notes, or impromptu gifts.

"You're drunk," he pointed out. "And being mean." He'd aimed for a mollifying tone (you're drunk; I won't take this personally) but there were nerves running through his voice. They were getting into uncharted waters here and he'd rather steer back towards the familiar as soon as possible. "Let's talk about it in the morning," he suggested. Let me stay; was, of course, implied.

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