Don Juan had been expecting Hudson to speak first. He'd been insistent upon following Don Juan, after all, when Don Juan had been ready to cut his losses and run. As they moved farther from the house it became clear that wasn't going to happen, which meant much to his chagrin that Don Juan was going to have to figure out where to start. He'd thought about this before, a little... but when he'd been thinking about it before he hadn't imagined that the climatic reveal had already been botched, a throwaway line while Hudson tried to get back to the girl upstairs. What else was even to say about it, if Hudson wasn't going to pepper him with questions? He was sober, that was it. There was only one other thing for Don Juan to say, which was to ask does that change anything?

He shuffled his feet. The cold was stinging. He could feel it more now than he had at any point in December; you never felt cold when you were high.

"I've missed you," he said, and the flush on his cheeks could maybe have passed for a reaction to the cold. "I think about you a lot."

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