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Hugo tried his best not to nag his husband, it was unhelpful and could easily lead to contempt. The last thing he wanted was Hazel refusing to tell him what was going on out of fear that he'd get reprimanded. Hugo couldn't always help himself though, maybe that was just the latent traces of trauma from losing Leá.
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Granted though, his baby sister had been far softer and sweeter than Hazel. She hadn't seemed to fight at all, there was sort of a cheerful acceptance of it like she was afraid to upset others. Meanwhile, Hazel held onto his vulnerability like a dragon hoarding treasure. Hugo tried to imagine how he'd be and the truth was that he'd be a hundred times worse so he probably had no right to be upset with any of that.
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For a moment, he rested against Hazel, letting his hands slip around his waist before they split apart. At least Hazel seemed to be doing better. That was at least a relief. The doctor said they didn't believe it was cause for worry so Hugo wouldn't worry. Or at least, he would try not to for Hazel's sake.
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Hugo turned away to spoon the mug of hot water until the color spilled out of the bag like watercolor. The thought dawned on him that Hazel had been cooped up too much and that couldn't be good for him either. "You know, we could probably afford to do something fun, for once.. I—" His attention split away, almost like a sixth sense that something was terribly wrong. He spun around at the crashing sound of ceramic on tile.
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"Hazel?" The realization wasn't immediate. He felt petrified as his eyes zeroed in on the motionless form of his husband laying on the ground. Then, time snapped back with the fierceness of a rubber band. "Hazel!" He crashed down to the ground beside him, hands immediately moving to cup his head. The knot on the back was noticeable, but not as terrifying as the blood that spilled out of the cut on his head. "Shit, shit..." Focus. The voice cracked in his head. He was supposed to be the one in control, always. There was no time to slack on that, especially not then. No time to be emotional or stupid.
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"Phone," He shouted. Mr. White was watching with that sort placid expression that Hugo usually regarded with dark humor. Right then, if he could kill the clown, he almost might have. The phone was chucked towards him with haphazard telekinesis. His fingers slipped across the smooth surface, smearing it with blood.
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Before he could speak again, a towel was tossed over shortly after as he pressed it to the side of Hazel's head as the operator answered. "I need an ambulance, please." His voice shook, this was not the time. He hunkered over Hazel, keeping the line on as he fed the address. "I'm so sorry, please be okay. I don't know what to do. Don't do this to me."

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Hugo was trying so hard to be both supporting and protective, but it wasn't easy. It felt like a balancing act and he was prone to leaning towards one side or the other. When Hazel's health was in question, well sometimes he could throw support aside and be a bit over-protective. Admittedly, he was a little exhausted by the effort of remaining balanced. He wanted to be good for Hazel, especially after knowing what little real support the other had received throughout his life.
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He wanted to be different, but sometimes he worried that he was a failure. That he was nothing but a source of frustration for the other man. So, despite his want to remain balanced, he couldn't help himself but react at that. "Again?" He paused before sharply nodding, "Peppermint it is then."
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It wasn't like he nagged Hazel or went out of his way to be annoying like that. Sometimes, it just sort of happened. It wasn't a great source of friction, but it could spark a fair share of arguments. Hugo couldn't help but think about his sister and imagining how she didn't make it in the end. The strange empty flightless sort of feeling that followed, imagining Hazel in her place. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It hurt too much. He forced himself back into the present, back into the world where that wouldn't happen. It wouldn't.
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Hugo paused at that little offered suggestion. His husband was practically beating at the walls, ready to be let loose so that he can be productive again. It was sentiment that Hugo understood, but it felt too early. "Are you sure?" Another brief pause, "I mean... if you think you are ready, alright. I don't know though." Supportive Hugo, the good husband. He sighed, not knowing what he felt anymore.

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Hugo wasn't prone to anxiety.
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He liked to think himself adequately resilient to such reactive emotions. If anything, he was probably too composed and unaffected on the daily. However, the past few weeks felt exhausting, filled to the brim with anxious feelings that he didn't really know how to handle. Who would have thought? That he'd wind up falling in love and expose himself to all the bitterest of vulnerable emotions. He had given himself a glaring weakness and he didn't regret it for a single second.
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Still, he couldn't help but think for a moment of mock-irony, that he had always talked himself above the concept of love. A non-romantic such as him? Psh as if. Yet, here he was, feeling every nerve grinding every time he heard so much as a cough from his husband. Maybe he was being overbearing, he tried his best. Hazel might have preferred if he'd simply gone to work, rather than fretted over the phone with idiotic delivery men and assistants. One did not control an illegal smuggling ring without involvement, especially not a control freak like him. Granted, he had a greater degree of nonchalance for working than his husband did. He knew that Hazel was desperate to return to full-time work.
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The world would keep turning, regardless of their involvement. Maybe that was the terrifying concept that neither of them were willing to accept. Yet, it mattered to him. All of this, the little life they'd crafted together, it was important. Far more than for their work.
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"What kind of tea are we feeling today?" He wouldn't want to presume, after all some days were chamomile and others were black or maybe even green.

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"Yeah well you sound pretty terrible," He said, sighing. In hindsight, probably not the thing to call his eager and stubborn husband who was clearly trying to push himself past the point of no longer being sick. It wasn't like Hazel was alone in that, Hugo probably would have done the same thing. Hell, he'd probably be worse, not that he was going to admit as much when he was trying to make a point.
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He continued to press the hand towel to stave off the nose bleed. A little smile curled at his lips after he realized how far he'd gone for a stupid mythical cure. If anything, it was probably bogus and, at worse, a waste of time.
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"Yeah well... you got to talking and..." He sighed, rolling his eyes, "It was stupid, I know. A massive waste of time and I should have been here." He could help but feel guilty, considering what a stupid thing it was to go through all the trouble when Hazel was clearly in need. Hugo was used to feeling like he was failure at times, no matter how much he worked to make up for past mistakes.

His lips hooked into a playful, crooked smile as he helped the other with the last of his buttons, tossing his shirt aside. It was moving fast, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. In truth, he didn't really know what this meant. If it was just a good time or something more, but that was something for future-Hugo to find out. Though, he had to admit that already he would be somewhat disappointed if it turned out to be just a good time, but make that was a bit premature and clingy considering they only just met.
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"Distracting?" He scoffed at that with mock-offense, "Mr. Albrecht, I intend to be your one and only focus right now. No room for  distractions." As he said that, his mouth descended now the narrow line of the man's throat, nipping as he went. His tongue laved at a narrow collar bone and then down the center line of his body before peppering kisses across his stomach and abdominal.
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A distraction, maybe that was all this was, but he wasn't about to object on that account. Maybe he was getting a little clingy after all. Or possessive, that sounded like a far more daunting word. What was this man doing to him?
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His fingers unbuttoned the other's trousers before sliding them down. For a moment, his mouth rested over the other man's stomach, looking up at him with a wicked smile before descending once more.



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[attr="class","ooc"] @albrecht | m: sleepless in slateport | outfit[break]