BURY YOUR TEARS WITH THE PAST

In the safety of your shared home, Hugo can let loose, unwind. He unravels with each glass he drinks, face becoming flushed, his usual teasing personality slipping into something more honest (not that he isn’t when he’s around you, but you can tell it’s usually still with some restraint). 

He’s got his cheek smushed against the palm of his hand, propped up by an elbow on the table as he stares at you with dreamy eyes. He says your name, but it’s slurred with how much alcohol is in his system. It makes you chuckle with fondness at how adorable he is right now. 

“I think that’s enough alcohol for you now, my love,” you say, reaching over to pluck the empty glass out of his hand. “You’re slurring your words now.”

Hugo looks at you with big shiny eyes when you take his glass away from him, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Like you just took away his favourite toy. 

“But darlingggggg,” he whines, almost nearly slumping over onto the table. “I want more…”

“No, Hugo,” you gently decline his request. “We can’t have you destroying your liver. How will Mockingbird continue to operate if its leader is suffering from alcohol poisoning?”

Hugo’s pout seems to intensify, reminding you of a cute little bat. You can't help but chuckle at the mental imagery. 

“Then I’ll just have you then.”

Ha?

Hugo’s drunk words make you blink in surprise, and you can’t help but watch as he clumsily gets to his feet, nearly tipping over. You immediately stand to steady him over the table, and he uses you as support to round the furniture, so he can practically fall limp on top of you.

“Hugo—!”

His arms immediately wrap around you, keeping you close to him as he buries his face into your neck. Despite how drunk he is, his strength is still there—you know he won’t let you go so easily if you tried to pull away. So you try your best to settle back down in your chair with a long noodle of a man clinging onto you, collapsing into your lap. 

“You feel warm…” he mumbles into your neck, tightening his hold on you just a bit. “Can you touch me please, darling?”

You feel him place his lips on your neck in a kiss right after, sending a spark of need through your body. He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s placing another kiss, and then another, and then another. You feel him shift his hips, something warm and hard nudging against you. 

It eats at your self-control, stirs your own need. Rationality starts to crumble when Hugo’s hips start to buck against you more.

“Darling, please,” he whines, his fangs grazing against your neck. You feel several threads of your self-control snap at that, barely holding on with just one left. You have no doubt he can taste your racing pulse underneath his teeth right now. 

“Hugo…”

“Darling please touch me. I need you please.”

His hips buck even more against yours and you whimper at the ripple of pleasure that goes through you from it. He takes your hands and places them onto his body.

“Please, please my love. Please touch me. I need you so bad.”

The way he’s begging, rutting his hips against yours, so absolutely needy for you and your touch... 

You feel that last thread snap and you give in.

Of course. Nothing is ever that easy, even in a dream.

No, not just a dream. A nightmare.

Dread and all its sickly sensations do not exist in an ordinary dream. The feeling of being watched—eyes boring into your back—do not exist in an ordinary dream.

You feel your feet stick to the floor, the awareness of a presence in the room with you becoming all too clear. You can hear your own breath racing, fear’s firm grip on you tightening with every breath and second that passes. You don’t know what will greet you if you turn around. You don’t dare.

“So afraid to see your lover? I’m wounded, darling.”

Huh? Hugo?!

The undeniable voice of your lover makes your heart skip a beat, yet the distorted reverberations that accompany it stop you from immediately turning around. You stay rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the starless night sky outside.

“My dear, why won’t you turn around?”

Hugo’s voice should not sound like that. You’re not him—

You feel warm breath on your nape, a body too close to yours.

“Why won’t you turn around?”

You can hear your heart beating in your ears, pounding against your ribcage that seems to shrink and squeeze like the fear that’s gripping you so crushingly tight. You scream inside your mind and will yourself to wake up, wake up, wake up—

Your eyes fly open and the sight of Hugo sleeping peacefully next to you greets you. A breath of relief leaves you, your racing heart starting to slow its frantic pace, and you close your eyes, focusing on calming down.

But your heartbeat spikes when you open your eyes again, fear returning and paralysing you.

Glowing vivid blood red eyes stare back at you, a fanged grin on the face of your lover who should still be sleeping peacefully.

But that’s not your lover.

“Hello, darling~”

You want to scream, but your mouth doesn’t open and your vocal chords don’t make any sound. You want to turn away but your body refuses to move—to listen to the commands you’re mentally screaming. You can only lay there, watching as your ‘lover’ inches closer to you, a cold touch from ‘his’ hand touching your cheek, stroking it lovingly.

“You look so beautiful. Such a shame he’s been keeping me away for so long... It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, my love.”

Move, move, please move, MOVE—

‘Hugo’ continues to trace your features with a loving gentleness that only serves to exacerbate your fear, your panic. You shut your eyes, trying your best to ignore the cold, cold touch on your skin, the sickeningly sweet words spoken in your lover’s voice.

MOVE, MOVE, MOVE—

You feel your finger twitch and you grab hold of that sliver of movement, pouring all your willpower into breaking free of the paralysis imprisoning your body.

MOVE, MOVE, M O V E—

You feel the paralysis break and shatter, your body jolting as you open your eyes with a gasp.

The red eyes and fanged grin are gone. Hugo stirs from his peaceful sleep, concern appearing on his beautiful face as he takes in your wide eyes and heaving chest.

“Darling, are you alright?” he asks, sitting up and reaching out to brush away the strands of hair clinging to your face.

Your heart is slowing down its frantic pace once more as you stare at his face, making sure that what you see before you are his heterochromatic eyes and lips concealing his fangs. You wonder if you should tell him what you dreamt, what you saw.

Hugo seems to pick up on your hesitation. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” he reassures you, voice soft and soothing. His hand reaches out to lovingly stroke your cheek and your breath immediately hitches against your will. It doesn't escape your lover’s notice and his lips pull down into a frown.

“It’s… I had a nightmare…” you start slowly, hand reaching up to cup over his on your cheek. The coldness of his skin seeps into the clammy warmth of yours. “I had a nightmare… that I was alone in our apartment… I called out to you but you didn’t answer.”

Hugo doesn’t say anything in response, just listens and waits patiently for you to continue.

“But then I heard your voice but it was all distorted… It was questioning if I was afraid to see my lover and that it was wounded by that. And then it kept asking why I wouldn't turn around.”

You stare into Hugo’s eyes, holding onto that confirmation that the lover before you is really him and not something wearing his face, using his voice.

“I felt something behind me, something breathe down my neck. And then I forced myself awake. I saw you sleeping next to me and started to calm down… So I closed my eyes to focus on that, but when I opened my eyes, I saw you awake but you had two red eyes and you were grinning.”

The hand on your cheek stills, the comforting expression on your lover’s face vanishing.

Few things make Hugo tense like this. You find out this is one of those things.

“You… saw?” he questions in a serious tone.

You nod. “I saw but I also felt paralysed in that moment—I couldn’t move,” you continue to explain. “‘You’ came closer and said hello to me, said I looked beautiful and then said something about how it’s a shame that he kept ‘you’ away for so long…”

Few things make Hugo look like you’ve just told him the worst thing he could possibly hear. You find out this is one of those things.

“‘You’ also asked if I’ll accept ‘you’.”

Hugo visibly swallows and slowly withdraws his hand from your cheek, a slight tremor in it.

“Hugo… are you alright?” you ask, concern coating your voice. You rarely see him show such a distraught expression.

“I’m fine,” he immediately responds, and it’s your turn to frown.

“But you’re not,” you refute.

“I’m fine,” he insists, giving you a smile that seems strained at the edges. "Everything is fine. Go back to sleep now. I’ll make sure to keep the nightmares away.”

You want to argue but you know it won’t go anywhere, not when it feels like he’s put up his walls again—keeping you out and keeping in a secret he won’t tell. You could stubbornly argue with him all night and he would just as stubbornly refuse to tell you anything.

So you reluctantly relent with a quiet “okay”, watching as he settles down next to you again. He gives you a reassuring smile before looking away and closing his eyes.

You close your eyes too.

Unbeknownst to you, that’s the first time you meet Hugo’s inner demon.