bad boy blues

And suddenly, the roles are reversed.

Besides, people totally dig the whole dewy, bad boy look, anyway. It’s like you’re going to sob about your feelings on a Harley Davidson.

As quickly as Hugo had lifted up the mask, it was cast to the ground once again. Suddenly, it seemed as though the weight that’d weighted down his tongue and his conscience had moved the slightest amount to let the world tumble out of his throat, leaving whatever Dallas was ready to say in comfort die on his lips. It was all Dallas could do not to let a flicker of emotion flit within his gaze, which he kept locked on the eyes of the kid that didn’t want anyone to pity, but to listen.

Hugo had loved, and suffered it’s loss. He’d had a close friend, and had to watch them die. He’d had one life, and was forced to life in another. Slowly, slowly, it dawned upon Dallas just how alike the two of them seemed, aligned side-by-side. But, of course, this wasn’t the time to bring up such a note. Nor would it ever be. Call it a curious coincidence.

The silence that carried out was too long in Dallas’ mind, and he knew he had to speak up– But what could he say? He was sorry for the loss, for the life that Hugo had to put up with, but did Hugo want to hear someone’s sympathy? And was Dallas even one to sympathise?

No. But he was one to relate.

“So.. Basically, you’re blaming a kid for a death that happened too fast for him to stop? You’re blaming a kid for being scared, for having that moment of human fear?” Dallas’ eyes never strayed from the pair too watery to determine their color, voice never swaying. “You’re killing yourself over the fact that when bad things happen, sometimes you can’t make the choice to react in time? You know, you think you do. Have the choice, and stuff, when you look back on it. But, in a moment? When things are really out of control?” A slow shake of the head, a tight press of his lips. “You never have the choice.”

Maybe Hugo should’ve just stopped expecting people to understand that he was not willing to budge his opinion on what happened. What Dallas said was nice and all, and sure, maybe there was a morsel of truth in there, but Hugo was just too stubborn to give in and even admit to the possibility that he wasn’t a complete jackass. 

“It’s not like that, dude. I clearly had a choice. It doesn’t matter if shit was out of my control. He’s my fucking cousin. I can’t make excuses for letting him die. I’m not gonna let you make excuses for me, either.” The typical feeling of exhaustion was quickly filling Hugo’s body. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It was like he had deflated all of a sudden. Still, there was something pushing him to continue the conversation - some unconscious need to prove to Dallas that he was a piece of shit. The idea of Dallas just explaining away his mistakes made Hugo feel sick to his stomach. He wouldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let it happen. That would be the greatest form of disrespect to his cousin in his eyes.

You’ll get there, kid.

As though Dallas hadn’t seen this song and dance before. As though Dallas didn’t know how it felt to despise the thought of being pitied by the one person he wanted to meet halfway. As though Dallas didn’t know how it felt to be angry at yourself, how it felt to want everything to turn back, how it felt to be nostalgic for a future you could’ve let happen, if only that one thing had been prevented.

As though Dallas didn’t know.

His expression unchanged, eyes locked against a pair that seemed too wide, too desperate to come across as “normal,” Dallas could only wait until the facade had been spewed and the mask fixed in place before he let his own lips part.

“That you’re guilty. That everyone’s pinning the blame on you, and you’re believing it. That you can’t look me in the eye with the honesty I looked at you with, because you don’t think you deserve to. I’m sorry for that.”

Oh, fuck. Hugo was gonna fucking cry.

Being a sensitive guy really only was good when you were trying to get in a girl’s pants.

Really, though, who could blame him? He changed his entire life to avoid thinking about the party, and all of a sudden, it was being thrown back in his face. Maybe he did deserve to cry a little bit. And, speaking of deserving things, Dallas really did deserve some honesty. He’d been open with Hugo, and Hugo owed him the same in return. Fuck. Hugo took a deep breath in an attempt to make his voice less shaky, gave Dallas a watery smile, and just let all of his thoughts about the party loose.

Telepathy can only go so far, you know. It’s pretty hard to read a thought that wasn’t there to begin with. Dallas was about to take up his skateboard when he found a phone stuffed into his hand, a strikingly familiar website flashing across the screen.

Hey. He knew this blog. Wasn’t this the blog that—-

—-Oh, shit.

His eyes scanned down the wall of text that painted images across his mind in a hazy flash: The image of a party gone wrong, a kid too scared to do more than sit and wait, the loss of someone near and dear, the guilt of it all brought down on someone who played his life off just the same as the rest ..

Slowly, he raised his head up to catch the gaze of the guy who seemed to change almost within moments. The carefree, breezy attitude of a modern-day greaser, broken into the same kid that had to sit through the trauma firsthand, and lived with it each day. Fuck. What could he even say to this? What could he do?

“….I’m—…I’m so sorry, man.”

Sorry. Hugo was new to the whole telepathy thing. His skills weren’t completely refined yet.

Hugo couldn’t even look in Dallas’ direction while he read the exposure. He kept his eyes on the ground, furiously blinking away any tears that threatened to let loose - he would not cry in front of fucking Dallas. Dallas was one of the coolest kids he knew. Acting like a child in front of him would be like a metaphorical punch to the nuts. There was no fucking way.

And then Dallas had to fucking speak. As much as Hugo loved having people feel sorry for him, he couldn’t let fucking Dallas feel sorry for him. It was like he was watching the whole persona he had been building for the last 4 years crumble in front of the one person he had wanted to impress the most.

Oh, thank heavens.

Blink. Blink, blink. Okay, whatever had happened, whatever it was that flashed across Hugo’s phone, it’d rendered one of the smoothest guys he knew into a broken rattle. A broken rattle wasn’t going to get shit done. Jaw set tight, Dallas reached down to take hold of the taller’s wrist and yanked back, pushing all his strength in his attempt to pull Hugo to his feet. Broken questions and stutters weren’t going to get him home any faster, after all.

“Shut the fuck up.” There wasn’t any fucking way Dallas was going to leave him now– Not after spending the last ten minutes thanking the guy for helping him. Plus, by the sound of his voice, leaving Hugo to himself was something Dallas wasn’t going to think twice about. “Let’s move before they start turning the lamps out.”

Dallas wasn’t really understanding him - not that Hugo had actually managed to string together a coherent thought, yet, but still - and Hugo was getting frustrated, to say the least. Where did Dallas want him to go? He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t see his mom right now. He did his best to resist being pulled up, but Dallas was apparently hiding an impressive amount of strength in his extremely small body, and Hugo found himself on his feet.

                           —————————–   Well, that took an unexpected turn all of the sudden. A moment ago, they’d been speaking smoother than butter on toast, even passing the banter back and forth like they’d been friends for years. And now, Hugo looked like he was about twenty seconds away from a breakdown.

Did— Did something happen with the lasagna?

Was his mother okay?

Without another word, Dallas immediately got to his feet and dusted his jeans off, reaching down to offer Hugo his hand. Whatever had happened, that look in Hugo’s eye made it clear that it wasn’t a joke. And whatever had happened, Dallas wasn’t going to be the one to keep him out any longer than he had to.

And whatever had happened, Dallas just hoped Hugo would get home in time.

The lasagna was safe, thankfully.

Hugo made an honest attempt to grab Dallas’ hand, he really did, but his hands were currently shaking so badly that he could barely even hold onto his phone. “Wh... What am I supposed to do?” What a stupid question. Dallas couldn’t help him. Dallas probably didn’t even want to help him at this point.

That was probably the nicest thing Hugo had come up with the entire night. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the telepathy, it’d have been a shame if Dallas didn’t hear it to nudge the taller’s shoulder. Who was this and what’d they done to the hulk that’d come acquainted with Dallas’ head against its nuts?

Dallas shrugged in response. Sure, it felt good to rant to someone who wasn’t about to ask after every word he spoke, but buying some pretzels from a roller rink in exchange for a heart-to-heart just didn’t— Sit right with him. And it wasn’t going to, either. “Look, how about you stew on it or something? Like, fuck it, I’ll get your pretzels, but I’m not going to feel much better if that’s all I’m handin’ back to you.” He glanced up into the other’s eyes for the briefest of moments, lips tugging down. “..Please.”

God bless telepathy. And lasagna. And Dallas. Wait. I should invite Dallas over for lasagna. He was totally asking Dallas to come over for some lasagna and chill after they were done with their heart to heart. Wait, did Dallas like lasagna? ... Of course he did. Everyone liked lasagna.

Oh. Dallas was talking again. Fuck. Hugo really needed to stop thinking about lasagna.

Jeez, this kid was too much. Hugo was a simple guy. He really didn’t need anything in return. He stayed silent, though, trying to think of something he could offer that would let Dallas feel like they were even. While he was thinking, he made the mistake of finally checking his phone.

The texts weren’t about lasagna.