Sean Something (buckeen) wrote in fourteenshades, @ 2014-08-01 21:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | hugo weasley, x-guy avery |
WHO: Guy Avery & Hugo Weasley
WHAT: A punch to the face
WHEN: August 1st, midmorning
WHERE: Around the houses
RATING: Swearing abounds, fisticuffs; completed in gdocs
The streets seemed wide and beautiful to Guy as he took a deep breath of the fresh air and stretched his arms out on either side of his body. It felt good. He had updated his wardrobe only in that the clothing he wore was not his suit. Instead he had gray slacks and a white button up on, the matching jacket resting over one arm as he left his home, and began down the walkway towards the shops. The air was cool thanks to the morning hours and the light breeze, and Guy was actually smiling for once- not his hidden, careful smile but the wide one of someone who was genuinely happy in that moment.
And he was happy. Oh, of course he still missed his family and his life. He missed his daughter most of all, she was still young enough that her father was her entire world and her eyes lit up when he entered the room. She cried until he, and only he, rocked her back to sleep. But this world had Grindelwald, and magic with a system yet to be understood. And Merlin knew that Guy Avery liked to understand things fully.
He was looking where he was going that day. His steps were sure as he approached the home of Hugo, not knowing it was Hugo’s or that the man might very well be out early to deal with his precious pets at the zoo. The very pets that Guy had taunted him over.
--
Tired, sweaty, and hungry. In no particular order, Hugo could have been described in those three words as he made his way home from work. Normally, he would have been on his way to work at this hour. Normally, the animals didn’t give birth. He had put in more than a double-shift to see that a gazelle safely delivered her baby and that the baby was healthy.
The miracle of life and all that rubbish took a lot of time.
Hugo was debating the order in which he should sleep, eat, and shower when he saw someone else walking along the road. It was first a glance, then a double-take, followed by a glower. Why did this tosser keep turning up and getting in his way? And why was he smiling that shit eating grin so wide?
A familiar anger began to churn. Hugo hadn’t forgotten about their last conversation. He never let go of a fight unfinished.
He could have easily turned into his house and left it at that, but something compelled him to say, “Good morning, Prick.”
--
It took Guy a moment to realize that this man was, in fact, speaking to him. His first assumption had been that someone else was walking behind him that he had not noticed, but when he realized this was Hugo Weasley, well… they hadn’t exactly left off on the best of terms, now had they? He had poked the bear, he was aware of that, but he was also aware that the other man was acting like a child. He’d lost an argument and now as going to attempt and bait Guy into fighting him.
How very child like.
“I will not respond to the insult you have dealt me twice sir, if you will be on your way.” It was as calm and close to polite as he was going to get right then, in particular when it looked as if Hugo wanted to fight. Hugo had that dangerous glint to him that said that he’d like to punch something or someone. It was the same look that Avery knew his own family got. Somehow, he’d missed out on the anger management issues gene. Thank Merlin.
He stop walking and put a hand into his pocket casually, the other down by his side as he considered how long it would take him to get his wand, and to subdue Hugo if the man simply ran at him. Because actually apologizing was not an option. He wasn’t wrong: pillow forts were for children. Hugo should have been more concerned for his animals.
-
“No?” Rather than walk away, and heed his exhaustion (or any lick of common sense for that matter), Hugo moved closer to Avery. It was a slow but purposeful approach that stopped only a few feet away from the other man. Close enough for him to notice the man was wearing new clothes. It would be a shame for those nice new fancy clothes to get as filthy as his own were.
“Will you respond to this?” he asked before giving Avery a good, hard shove against his shoulders.
--
Every inch of Guy knew not to fight back. To take his wand out, stun him, and move on. Or, he could do something smarter, much smarter: allow the man to punch him while Guy still had clean knuckles and Hugo hadn’t a single mark on him. It was so easy, and it would make it so appeasing to the Governing Board and the people: Hugo Weasley attached Guy Avery after Avery offered to put argument behind them.
The issue was that no matter how much that would work in his favor, he’d been insulted. He’d been shoved. And he wanted to hit back badly. But the plan… the new plan might even help Grindelwald…
“As I am not a child who believes in an eye for an eye, I suppose I won’t, Mr. Weasley.” he said after regaining his balance. He’d almost fallen- he’d almost ruined his nice clothes. He liked the gray suit, it cut a very nice figure on him. This had been, moments ago, a nice day after all. “Or will you insist on shoving me until you get a reaction?”
-
“Know this,” Hugo said, stepping closer and grabbing Avery by the collar of his nice white shirt. “I’m not a child, and I won’t have anyone, especially not some pompous prick, question my commitment to those bloody animals. All right?”
It was tempting, incredibly tempting, to drive those words home with a punch. Instead, he let go of Avery and let his fists clench until his knuckles turned white. It had taken no small amount of self-control, but Hugo was still on an edge that could fall either way at the drop of a hat.
“I hope we’re clear about that,” he added in a coarse mutter.
--
The tug, the forcibly moving of his body by the shirt he had not only bought but then ironed at home, was enough to spark that anger in him. His brow twitched, his fists closed, and for a moment he thought about the plan, but as the other man informed him about how they needed to be clear on the matter, his eye sight seemed to darken for a split second. And then he was yanking himself back, and one hand closed as it swung out. He didn’t punch the way it was expected: closed first colliding with what was before it. Rather he swung his hand like a bat, and the side of his closed hand collided with the first part of Hugo it could find. Hard.
So much for the plan.
“Do not touch me, you scissorbill simpleton,” he said, his voice rising in volume. And not just that- his voice sounded… well.
Almost Irish.
The accent was starting to slip as he adjusted his collar, his brow knit furiously.
-
Hugo didn’t have time to dodge. He took the hooked punch right above the kisser and reeled back, nose bleeding. He didn’t feel the pain immediately, just the warm ooze that dribbled down his chin. After that, he didn’t think - he couldn’t have, even if he had wanted.
All he could see was red as he surged forward, tackling Avery to the ground and pinning him there underneath the full weight of his body. Hugo was bulky, and not with the soft kind of bulk. “Cheap fucking shot you got in there, Prick,” he growled before taking a hold of Avery’s arm and bending it in a way that would hurt. A lot.
--
He cried out, his arm moving in a way that it was very much not meant to move in. His body squirmed, his own form much thinner and taller than Hugo’s as he tried to pull away. Having spent more time with books than a pitch or working out, he didn’t have what it would take to beat Hugo in pure physicality. But he wasn’t below fighting dirty, because fighting dirty had been just fighting in the Irish slums. There was no difference, no divider between the two. He rammed his head as hard as he could into Hugo’s chin, hoping to stun or cause the man enough pain to push him off of him, or at least roll them. And he got that far, he got to the point of being almost able to get Hugo off of him… but he couldn’t. Hugo weighed too much for him, and so he was left with yanking his arm away and aiming another hit to the throat.
His head hurt. His back ached. He was pretty sure he’d beaten his head pretty hard- actually. Oh- the world was spinning. Had Avery really hit his head that hard when he’d been knocked down to the ground? His vision was blurring, and he put his hand to the back of his skull and pulled his hand away to show brown-red much that he knew was mud mixed with dust.
Guy couldn't assume that Hugo would stop just because of that. So he kept pushing, he kept trying to get up, his head spinning and his stomach churning.
-
The first time Avery rammed his head into his chin, Hugo hissed in pain, but it wasn’t enough to stun him. The second time the man tried to hit him again, Hugo managed to turn away and evade before grabbing a hold of both arms. He trapped both of Avery’s wrists against the ground. He had the upper-hand here and he knew it.
“I should break your bloody bones,” Hugo growled, pushing down harder. He turned his head and spat. His mouth was filling up with blood. His own head was getting that light, swimmy sensation that told him he wouldn’t have his strength for much longer. Fury could only be a fuel for so long.
“But I’ll offer a truce if it ends here.”
It was the only way out of this that Hugo could see. The only way before one of them went too far.
--
Guy didn’t want to say yes. He didn’t want to give up, to let this man think that he’d won, that he’d given in before the fight was really even underway. But he couldn’t deny that right now, Hugo had him pinned. He’d never been this totally unable to move away from another man, even in bed. Especially in bed. He looked up at the man, and finally spoke.
“Get off me and I don’t punch you in the gut,” he said. It was as close as Guy could get to being polite with the back of his head bleeding, and the fear of a concussion growing on his mind. He waited for the first second he could get out from under Hugo, and stood up- quickly. Too quickly, actually. His head swam, and he lost his balance, his legs buckling for a moment. Before they hit the ground, he was able to take a step, but it wobbled and Guy was unable to move well.
It was like a deer in headlights. His pupils were not the right size, his body was loose and out of his control. He looked concerned, too concern for a simple bump on the head.
-
Hugo took his time. He started with one knee bent on the ground, then slowly pushed himself up. A lot of different things hurt (especially his bloody nose), but he managed to stand without feeling like he was about to topple over.
Avery looked different. Part of him was satisfied to see it, but that callous murmur was immediately overtaken by a wash of guilt and shock at his own spiteful thoughts. The man’s head was bleeding and his eyes had a look in them that didn’t seem right. Hugo may have a hothead, but he wasn’t cruel.
“C’mon, you probably need to sit down, drink something,” he mumbled, throwing an arm around Avery’s back in an attempt to help him by steering him towards his house.
--
Guy’s first instinct was to pull away, growl something, and wander to the shop and find first aid care thre. However, he was stuck with the reality of his situation: he was dependent upon the person nearest to him for aid. He had lost his temper, something that didn’t happen very often. Perhaps being cooped up for too long had done it, or perhaps the helplessness he had felt in arriving to this place. If he was truly honest, he’d admit that it had been fun to rile Hugo up.
It had been fun. It had been easy, and it was bullying and he was fully aware and disgusted with himself about that, but he couldn’t deny that the shear ease had made it impossible not to go after. But he had also been pushed, literally. And insulted. He too had been pushed.
“I told you not to touch me, knuckle dragger,” he said, but the insult sounded as weak as his legs as he turned, and promptly vomited on the side of the road.
-
Hugo winced and tried to ignore his own gag reflex. The sight, and smell, of vomit did little to help his light head. Somehow, he managed to stand there, arm still on the man, and wait for Avery to get it all out.
“I don’t care what you told me, you prick,” Hugo tossed back without much feeling. “Are you done now?”
--
Guy held onto his knees, bent over as the last bit of breakfast (toast with jam and tea) came out. He looked paler, but he nodded after a moment and stood up as straight as he could. “Look, my house is just a little ways down- if you get me there, I can deal with this on my own. I don’t have a housemate, you don’t have to worry about anyone bothering you,” he said. He said this as if it were a good idea to let the man be alone, with a possible concussion, blurred vision, and the inability to walk in a straight line.
His logic was astounding poor at that moment. He was contemplating taking a hot shower and then simply lying down with a book until he felt better and then go off to work. Which of course were all things (save the shower) he should not have thought about at all at that moment.
“Stop calling me that- I’m a father of three. I’m not you… quidditch rival or whatever.” It was impossible to hide now- he wasn’t even trying to hide it- the Irish brogue was thick and not at all upper class.
--
Hugo didn’t know if he would be leaving the man alone with a head wound (even if it was one he had inflicted), but he nodded. Although he was supposed to have a housemate, he had yet to see the bloke, and did not want to risk this debacle being his first impression. Once they were at Avery’s house, he could assess the damage done and make a Floo call for help if necessary.
“C’mon then,” he said, guiding the man down the road. It would have been easier to pick him up, or even lift him with a levitation charm, but Hugo couldn’t think straight. His head was pounding, and his nose was still bleeding, albeit more slowly.
“I’ll stop calling you prick when you stop being a prick,” Hugo stated matter-of-factly. “Did I knock the Irish back into you or something? Your voice is different.” The change hadn’t escaped his notice.
--
There was a glare when Hugo brought up the Irish that would have made a cat feel uncomfortable. His brows knitted furiously, his nose scrunched up, and his lips went into such a deep frown that it looked as if he were trying not to break his teeth from the hard clench he’d gone into. He coughed, his sucked air back in through his teeth, and when he spoke there was a stiff, concentrated effort to sound British and posh. It didn’t go well. He wasn’t doing stunningly at that moment, not as he ended up slumped against the other man. At least he was light.
“You… smell like death,” he said, squinting his eyes at the other man and noticing for the first time the grime and the way that he was disheveled. Usually another insult would have followed, but instead he merely wrinkled his nose and kept trying to get one foot before the other. “Shame you’ll be going back to your wife like this. Poor woman. Well, I suppose not- unless you were lucky enough to have yours follow you.” He was almost being friendly- almost. The accent slipped in and out, and he seemed to be unsure of his own movements and his mouth and everything else.
Perhaps it was fear. An understanding that for the next twenty yards, he needed this man to not kill or abandon him.
-
Touchy subject, eh? Hugo decided against asking more. He let it go. He didn’t care what accent the man used or why he was faking one. He just cared about getting Avery home and not being responsible for something horrible. The rage that had once consumed him now disgusted him.
“One of the gazelles gave birth earlier this morning,” Hugo told him. “You’re smelling life, not death.” And if his own sweat and blood was heavily mingled in with that scent, so be it.
“What makes you think I’m a married man?” Hugo glanced over, brow furrowed in curiousity. He had never had a girlfriend, let alone a wife.
--
“Despite acting like a child, you are of age. Then again, I married late, I was already 26,” he said with a shrug. He had put off marriage as long as he could. Not because he hadn’t wanted or marry or hadn’t wanted to have children and a wife, but because he’d needed a rich wife. Wilhelmina had filled that ticket perfectly with her pure, blue blood standards and an elderly father who had only fathered one child before getting sick and unable to give the world more.
The house was in view. Guy was already thinking of getting in there, showering, and taking a rest on the couch in the living room. He seemed to quicken his steps, but that only caused him to lose more ground, slumping a little more and squinting his eyes as put a hand on Hugo’s shoulder for support in a sudden lurch of fear over falling once more.
-
“You’re older than I thought,” Hugo admitted,voice gruff. Avery did not look like a married father of three who fought dirty and hid his Irish accent. The fact that he was a father did not help his conscience rest at ease.
“I’m not married, and I probably won’t be married for a long while,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why. Why were they talking like this when they were just at each other’s throats? The question was dispelled when Avery had to clutch him for support.
This bloke was in bad shape.
“Bugger this. Just. Hang on.” Without more warning that that, Hugo lifted the man up and carried him the rest of the way, holding him like an infant. It wasn’t that far. When he managed to get past the door, he laid Avery down on the couch and then slumped to floor, panting softly to catch his breath.
It was, he noticed, a lot cleaner than his own living room. And there were photographs of the kids. Brilliant.
--
“I’m 33,” Guy informed him, opening his mouth to inform the other man that being married was something to take pride in and work towards, but he only started to feel like dry heaving, so he closed it quickly and moved on. Being lifted was not dignified. Being laid down like a baby into a crib was not any better. The rage behind his eyes was giving him a massive headache, and he couldn’t help but moan a little as Hugo slumped next to him and he opened his eye just enough to watch him.
It was a little shameful to admit, but Hugo was handsome. He liked the scruff, the auburn red hair. Hell, he even liked the roughness of it all. He breathed a little more evenly as his body sense he was no longer in danger, and he tried to sit up and he managed it, allowing his hand to reached the back of his head. He wasn’t bleeding too badly, but he did need to clean it up.
“I’m going to the kitchen,” he told Hugo, using the couch to help him up. He seemed determined to make it to the kitchen sink, to wash his wounds and then get a pack of ice, and he didn’t seem overly concerned if Hugo helped or not. Sure, he’d rather if Hugo, didn’t, but… well.
He left slowly, the water turned on in the kitchen, and then turned off a few moments later. He came back just as slowly, tossing Hugo a gelled ice pack that landed on his leg for Hugo to use on his face. He pressed a second one against the back of his own head, before looking at the other man.
“Thank you. For bringing me here. You don’t need to stay, you owe me nothing.” Behind him, the larger picture moved: black and white, Guy pointing to the cameraman while bouncing and kissing the cheek of a one year old who hid her face into Daddy’s neck after a moment.
-
Hugo had been delicately tapping his nose, trying to see if it was broken, when the ice pack landed on his leg. “Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. With a wince, he pressed it first against his jaw, where Avery had headbutted him, then alternated to the bridge of his nose. The bleeding had finally stopped.
“I owe you an apology. I..” Hugo had to drag the admission out, “lost my temper.”
It wasn’t easy to think about how easily he could snap. How quickly he had lost control to his fists. Hugo closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch arm. He probably should have called a Healer and left, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to muster the willpower to stand up.
“Your kid’s cute,” he murmured. “At least somewhere in time you’re still there with her.”
--
Guy looked over his shoulder at the picture, and he smiled. It was only for a moment, but he slipped looking at her and then turned back and had his usually stiff and statue like face on. “Her name is Edith,” he said after a moment, sitting on the couch with one arm resting on his leg, his other hand holding the back up to his head. He didn’t comment on the apology for a while, knowing he owed one as well, but… he was an Avery. This oaf was some common loute who had lost control.
“You did lose control. I was worried that you might not stop, Mr. Weasley. But I also should have left your matters of business alone,” he said, referring to the animals offhandedly, as if they were merely business to Hugo. He didn’t understand being so involved in animals. Or muggleborns, really.
He slid to the ground slowly, sitting next to Hugo and looking at him. With his face dead straight he looked at the chin and the nose and gave a little nod of approval. “While I’m not implying that any scenario other than you beating me to death was the outcome of that fight, it is good to know I’m capable of at least a little damage. And I did not… fight dirty. I fought the war I was taught.”
His accent was, magically, British again.
-
Hugo had known when to stop, thankfully, but that thought was of little comfort. He shouldn’t have started in the first place. Even if deep down, he still thought Avery was a prick, Hugo knew he needed help to reign in his short fuse.
Hugo did not expect the man to sit down next to him. Opening his eyes, a side-glance was tossed over at Avery. This close, he still couldn’t believe that the man was thirty-three years old. Even with his hair matted in mud and blood, Avery looked… Hugo couldn’t place his thumb on it. Or maybe he didn’t want to put words to it. He turned away. “Which war is that?” he asked.
Hugo could only gingerly press the icepack to his nose. Something was broken. Or at least fractured. Maybe he was inflating the damage, but it bloody hurt.
--
A veil seemed to wrap around Avery’s face. The slight smile, the openness of a moment dissipated as he realized that he’d given a bit of himself away. The war in question was not one that he could explain easily. How his father had been so obsessed with Grindelwald that he’d taught his children to expect the man to return, somehow. That the war at home had been him against his brother, and him against the other children in his town. That to explain any of this, he would need to admit that he’d grown up rough and outside of England. No, that was not going to happen. Not that day, not to that man.
“I won’t bore you with the details,” he said simply, thinking that he ought to stand up, walk away, and go back to his own duties and work. His mind was always thinking forward, or so he told himself that. Not even told: commanded. He could simply pretend not to look back, that none of it had affected him and he was his own man now. Instead he just went quiet, looking at his hands.
“Perhaps it would be best if you left,” he suggested, that creeping tightness returning to the jaw. “I am sure you have things to do other than sit on my floor.”
-
Hugo didn’t need more of a hint. He could see the question had made Avery’s defenses resurrect. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he might have pressed. The pain and exhaustion won over curiousity. Hugo dragged himself up and said, “I’m leaving, but I’m going to make sure a Healer has a look at you.”
He found the Floo powder in a bag by the hearth. “You’ve got a head wound. I can’t leave you alone in good conscience,” Hugo said, but he waited for the man’s consent. Even if he was going to ignore it.
--
“Fine, if it lessens your guilt,” Guy accepted, rolling his eyes a little bit and watching the redhead get ready to leave. He cut a fine figure, even with the muck and blood on him. Guy could appreciate it, but he couldn't’ appreciate the man’s hard headed anger and inability to simply take a breath and walk away from a fight. Perhaps Guy had deserved it, he supposed. But then again, Guy had given the man multiple outs in his own mind. He got back to the couch, holding the ice pack against his bump and lying back, his longs legs crossing at the ankle on one arm as he pretended that Hugo simply wasn’t there. Because moving like this wasn’t in Guy’s nature if he was in public. No, robotic movements and quickness were far more useful.
It was hard for him to accept the idea that he would only be so fluid or open with his own body language with another person because he was trusting them not to hurt him. Which was absurd, given that Hugo had literally hurt him only half an hour ago. Maybe it was the concussion.
It had to be the concussion. It wasn’t that he wanted Hugo to stay, if only to look at him.
-
Hugo tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the hearth, stuck his head in, and called on the Hospital. When someone answered the Floo call, he briefly explained that Avery needed a Healer to make a house call because he wasn’t in any condition to get there himself or Apparate. He didn’t go into the specifics, such as how or why the man had a head wound. If Avery wanted to pursue charges or make a fuss about it, he could, but technically Hugo hadn’t thrown the first punch. At least he had that.
After it was done, he walked back over to Avery on the couch, stopping just a few feet away. “Someone should be here soon,” he told him, and hesitated before offering, “I can stay until they arrive.”
--
He could ask the other man to leave. He could tell the other man to please go on home, allow him was peace and quiet before the healer arrived. Instead Guy looked at the ceiling and spoke, almost rambling, as if they’d never stopped talking about family and fatherhood previously. “It isn’t bad, to be married. I mean, as long as you somewhat get along with your wife, you can live. You can find others. It’s the children that matter. They matter so much.” He was quiet after a few moments, the concussion playing tricks on his minds as his loose lips paused. Not out of fear or a need to keep himself separate, but out of a pang of pain in his forehead.
“Is the healer here?”
-
“Err.. yeah,” Hugo replied, not sure what else to say. He didn’t know why Avery was going on about marriage and family. If the man was trying to persuade him that marriage was worth it, he wasn’t doing a good job of it.
Maybe one day he would marry. Maybe one day he would adopt children. Both of those days were too far down the road for Hugo to see and no one from his future had told him about a husband or adopted children… not yet.
Since Avery hadn’t told him to bugger off, Hugo perched on the arm of the sofa and shook his head. “Probably be another fifteen minutes, at least. You need to stay awake until they get here.”
--
Fifteen minutes. Could he keep his mouth shut for fifteen minutes? His brain was in overload, his eyes were blurry, and he needed badly to get up and do something. Well, that last one a lie: he needed to be exactly where he was, not talking, and waiting for a healer to come and fix his head rather than walking around and getting himself hurt even worse. He turned his head towards the other man, watching him with a long, hard look. He was not so concussed that he would tell the man that he cut a fine figure, or that he wondered what Hugo would have looked like in his own time in a good suit.
Guy didn’t like this mix of times. The future seemed full of women with no morals and men who were unwilling to guide them.
He missed his home, his normality. His own girls, his morally upright wife and the growing Edith. And of course his sons, who showed vigor and strength in everything they did. He was sad for a moment, thinking of what would happen if he never came home. If he died in this place, would he have died there as well? Wilhelmina would surely remarry, and then his sons and daughter would be raised by another man. The additional three children he’d never met would be unborn forever.
“Do you know your future here?” he asked.
-
Hugo was looking down at his fingernails. They were dirty - a mixture of blood and dirt and who knew what else. “No,” he answered, shaking his head and glancing over at Avery. He might have left it at that, but he knew that the man was trying to hang in there until the Healer arrived.
“There are a few people who are from my future, but they haven’t bothered to tell me and I haven’t bothered to ask.” Hugo shrugged. “What difference does it make? S’not like we’re going to remember any of this when we go back. We won’t be able to change what happens if it doesn’t suit our fancy.”
--
“Things could change. We could find a way to make us remember, maybe,” Avery said, his voice soft. “A few things I would have liked to know about my future when I was younger. More I wish my parents had known, mistakes with alliances before I was born,” he said, moving the ice pack to another spot on his head. The area it had been resting on almost hurt with cold now, and Guy was trying not to think about whether not he’d lost hair from this all, or if he’d end up with a giant bump.
“I’d like to know if my kids grow up well. Even if I don’t remember in the future. It would be nice to know they are good people, proud,” Guy said. They had an encyclopedia of information before them on the future… why not use it? Why avoid it? It seemed foolish to him. It seemed almost stupid.
-
Hugo doubted that they could find a way to remember… in fact, he preferred that they wouldn’t remember. If the wrong sort of person found out how to bring back that knowledge, they could change everything about the past and present that Hugo knew. “You seemed to turn out all right despite whatever mistakes they made. Married with children. Who could ask for more?” Hugo asked, tone only slightly sarcastic.
“Well, you have plenty of people to ask and books to read if you want to find out about your kids.” Hugo had to wonder what kind of father Avery was -- he seemed to care a lot about his children despite the prick that he could be. Hugo respected that.
Belatedly, a thought occurred to Hugo. “Here,” he said, easing Avery’s head up and sliding a cushion underneath it with care not to hurt him. “It should be elevated to help the circulation.”
--
It was almost nice of Hugo to do that. Alright, fine, it was nice of Hugo to do that. Guy could appreciate that. Had this been back at home, had Avery had time to get to know Hugo properly, he might have liked the man as a lover. He might have liked Hugo as a friend, someone he would allow in his home.
But this was not his home, and being alone was far safer than making alliances with red headed animal lovers who happened to be both hot heads and nice all at the same time. If anything, Hugo could be a major problem: now that Guy had a roommate, Sirius Black of all people, he could be watched and found out and his chances in that world dashed. The temptation had been put into his mind however, and it would not let go for many days.
“Thank you,” he managed.
--
“Yeah,” Hugo mumbled back, withdrawing his hand. Avery’s hair had felt nice despite the matted state that it was in. He needed to forget that. He needed to forget this whole bloody day.
As if timed, there was a knock at the door. “That should be your healer,” he said, standing up but not yet walking away.
“Let me know how much I owe you for the shirt.” Hugo was referring to the bloodied and torn one that Avery was wearing. With that said, the redhead turned to let the Healer in and left before his own injury would hold him there any longer.
A fitful sleep awaited him.