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“You said we were going to dance,” he murmured, glancing down at Hugo, whose presence now filled every inch of his vision. “Why are we only swaying?”
Hugo’s laugh was soft, somewhat hollow, as he avoided Lycaon’s gaze, lost in his own thoughts. “This attic isn’t the biggest, you should know that… Either way, I assume you’re enjoying this regardless,” he replied, a wry smile touching his lips.
And he was right, much to Lycaon's dismay.
Perhaps fate will never be kind to Lycaon—but it's better this way, he knows that.
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