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He nods in turn, a breath of light laughter escaping him. “I imagine it is. I can’t think of any place that might be as stuffy as Hammerlocke is. I would not mind visiting Ecruteak—Johto is one of the few places I’ve unfortunately not been able to visit yet.” It’s sounds like a culturally rich city, and from his sparse readings—full of history and local legends and traditions. Right up his alley. “How interesting,” he answers, genuinely so. “I wonder if there are any historical accounts written down.” Oral tradition was not something to dismiss, though, of course.[break][break]
“Ah, yes. That should be completely alright. We’ll touch on that later in the semester as well, if you’ve happened to see that on your syllabus.” Once they turn through the doors to the proper lecture hall, it doesn’t take long to navigate their way to his office. Producing his keys from his pockets, Hazel sifts until he finds the correct one and twists the knob. The door swings open, and he waits politely—allowing her to step through the threshold first. “Hm…let’s see…” The professor trails off, swiveling on his heels to scan through his books shelves. Of which there are many, they cover many of the walls in the modestly-sized office, in fact.[break][break]
He only pauses to glance at her shortly, eyes drifting between her and some softer seats placed in front of his desk. “Please, feel free to make yourself comfortable while I find these.” A small smile tugs at his mouth, “Or feel free to peruse. I do not mind.”

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cw: don’t read this if u don’t like hospital imagery?[break][break]

There were no thoughts that drifted through his unconscious mind in the time that stretched after his vision cut to black. No dreams carried him through to denote some passage of time. All he could remember was coming to–just for a moment. His lashes fluttered, eyes confused and unfocused as he registered the blurry outline of Hugo above him.[break][break]

Pressure in his head, the ache of his head from both the migraine and the fall. All amplified. Wet heat stuck to his hair, his skin. Was he bleeding? He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was going on. Just that a moment ago, he’d been standing in the kitchen, holding a teacup.[break][break]

What had they been talking about? Was it important?[break][break]

Only dimly did he register what it was that his husband was saying. The pleas that tumbled from his mouth. Somewhere inside of him, there was a tremor of guilt. His mouth might’ve opened, but he couldn’t speak. Sorry. That was all he wanted to say. And I don’t want to go. Not to the hospital.[break][break]

But then it all felt too heavy, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. Nor could he lift his hand to hold Hugo’s face. Even just to let him know it was alright. His fingers twitched in the effort, but he soon gave up. And he sunk into unconsciousness again.[break][break]

The next time he came too was far more jarring.[break][break]

Pale eyes snapped open, body jolting as if waking from a nightmare. Hazel’s breathing hitched and he registered the press of something against his face, pushing and pulling air into his lungs. The stretcher cot was stiff and uncomfortable under his back, straps keeping him in place and from bolting upright. His head snapped to the side, eyes blown wide in panic as they searched for one familiar face. The only one that would keep him ground, that would calm him down.[break][break]

“Hugo?” He bleated out his husband’s name, but it was garbled by the mask on his face. “Where’s Hugo?” Any properness or social conduct he might’ve had was gone in the wake of his disorientation. Reduced to no more than something terrified and erratic. If Hugo was there, he couldn’t see him among the uniformed paramedics.[break][break]

They must’ve still been in the ambulance. He registered the jostle of the vehicle's wheels under the animal fear that tried to get him up and moving. “Hugo!” he wailed over the sudden ear splitting blare of the heart rate monitor he was attached to as it spiked and accelerated. The cry was childish and pathetic and everything he hated in himself.[break][break]

His hands clawed at the IV tube connected to his arm, at the mask on his face, the clip on his finger. One medic scrambled to keep him still as he twisted stubbornly and tried to sit up. That’s all he wanted to do. The shrill beeping was making his head worse.[break][break]

And then, there was another poke. The prick of something injected into his system, and the struggle ebbed. The monitor evened out, and he succumbed to the dark again.

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He doesn’t know what his uncle is doing to him—how he is picking and plying the parts of Hazel that are insecure and desperate for positive attention intentionally. He has gone so long without a shred of approval that he clamors for it, and falls for the guise hook, line, and sinker.[break][break]
In fact, it will be years into adulthood before Hazel realizes the manipulation for what it is.[break][break]
Right then, though, he smiles back at Dmitri—albeit more tentatively than the one he is met with.[break][break]
“It feels cheaper that way. Unearned.” Hazel’s shoulders rise and fall, because it is simply a matter of fact thing. He wants what he wants, and he wants the merit of having obtained it himself.[break][break]
The hand on his shoulder feels like praise in and of itself. Does his uncle see how he practically breathes life into brittle bones and weak lungs with something so simple as a squeeze on the shoulder?[break][break]
Simple, but it means everything to Hazel. It means kinship.[break][break]
He nods in agreement, brows knitting together as the somber nature that he has carried all of his life sinks back into his expression. Deserve it. He does deserve it. He works so hard and it has always been for nothing. The seeds of resistance had already been planted, but now they feel nurtured under his uncle’s supervision. Pushing back against parents who want little to do with him feels pleasing, and possible.[break][break]
Still, there is a small flicker of confusion in wide, grey eyes as he watches Dmitri. “A plan..? What sort of plan do you mean, uncle? I had planned to go to university, though, yes. Away from here.”
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