H E L E N U S

Hugo Kim. Search fearlessly for every sin, for out of sin comes joy.

[ofhugo]

hermionediangelo​:

                   [ @ofhugo ] 07/10/13. THE CATHEDRAL.

Nervous. Harriet was nervous. Why was she nervous? The Cathedral had watched her grow from a happy child into a less happy adult, now hoping to reclaim the emotion that her younger self had wielded so freely, standing in the place that she had once considered a refuge. The building, and one of the men charged with its care, could have been considered old friends - something, and someone, to turn to in a time of need - indulging in the comfort of what was known to her each time she stepped over the threshold.

Many labels had been affixed to her over the (almost) three decades of her life, some had lost their adhesive and fallen from the wayside and others remained an identifying marker. Selfish, one she could do without, the thought of being known by that moniker sent a shiver running down the length of her spine, an ugly word that had the power to warp the perception others held of her. Harriet didn’t imagine that people thought of her much after not-so-recent events, why should they think of a disconsolate woman? She had come to the cathedral with the intent to express her appreciation, seeking out Hugo, eventually finding him free.

“I wanted to give you something,” she tells him, holding out the carefully wrapped square box in his direction, “to thank you for -” Breathe, the reminder coming as the words catch in her throat, “- for being there for me.” 

Wednesdays at the Cathedral were always relaxing. They were quiet in regard to his duties unless he was requested to help with a religion class. But even that was rare for the most part. It allowed him to spend his day admiring the stained glass as the sun filtered in, a small pleasure in the wake of so many nights spent sinning. For now, he would allow himself just this and be happy with it. 

“Harriet,” his voice catches in his throat for a moment. “You didn’t have to.” He tries to remember that last time someone brought him a gift without any strings attached and comes up empty. Even so, a smile works its way across his face as he reaches a hand for her shoulder. “Come, let’s go to my chambers before the other priests get jealous that I’m your favorite.” Privacy, even within the Cathedral, was hard to come by and he’d be damned if they didn’t get to enjoy this moment away from prying eyes. 

You always had a talent for lending your ears to others, his mother would say - and for Harriet, he would listen for hours. In a way, something about her reminded him of home, of his own mother. Hugo wasn’t stupid enough to use her as a replacement, and she him, but that didn’t prevent him from seeing Harriet in a similar light; for now, she could do no wrong. 

[ofhugo]

dukemassetti‌:

He likes the rancor that falls briefly from Hugo’s lips, as gentle as it is. He’s already read Orion’s history and come to the correct conclusions. It might bother a liar, but all it does his make him grin over his shoulder as the priest catches up. He always looks a bit taller at the pulpit; he’s only just realized that there’s almost ten centimetres difference in their heights. Looking down at Hugo through his lashes, Orion shrugs: ❝ I’m shocked it’s taken me so long. I like listening to myself speak, after all. ❞ He laughs in Hugo’s direction, putting a hand over his heart. ❝ Can’t say two words without committing some sort of sin. What would that one be ? Would you call it Pride, or maybe Vanity ? ❞

He can’t help being a touch self-satisfied. Sometimes even a confident man wonders, have I still got it? All it takes is tempting one priest into staring a little too long and he knows for sure that he has. Hugo isn’t pious after all, not really. How could he be, committing so many sins, day in and day out? What he really wants to know is how deeply that misconception lies. Is Hugo wrapped in a sweet, candy shell, easy to crack beneath his teeth? Or is he made of somethings stronger, something Orion might need to whittle down, inch by inch, until it reveals the molten center at his chest? 

They’re not far off from the confessional, and Orion slows, eventually stopping outside the strange booth-like structure of it. ❝ A bit dramatic, ❞ he remarks after looking at it, ❝ but that’s the Catholic way, isn’t it ? Did you have to take theater lessons before you could graduate ? ❞ He leans against the side of the damn thing, letting Hugo come a little closer if he dares. ❝ Tell me they taught you how to speak in tongues. It’s every depraved bastard’s fantasy, you know. ❞ Orion raises a brow. This is a game of chance, of daring the man before him to go just a little further, come a little closer. He may be Icarus, but Orion hides the sun beneath his tongue, making sure it resides within his control. He’ll only melt his wings a bit today.

Probably.

He barks out a laugh, even though the joke is stupid. How does he manage to stick himself to so many ancient fellows masquerading in normal men’s skins? ❝ Rather hope you won’t, ❞ he says, sloe-eyed and patient. ❝ Though if you’re offering, I’ll bring my sketchbook next time. ❞ He reaches out until his fingers barely brush the sharp cut of Hugo’s cheekbone, the angle of them enough to make an angel weep. Orion is certainly no angel, but he’d paint them all the same, slightly hollow underneath thanks to the stress of la mafia on his shoulders. He lingers there a moment before dropping his hand to his side again, head tilted to observe his prey. ❝ The pictures on the Cathedral website aren’t really doing you justice, you know. ❞ He looks like a kid in those, nothing like the man before him, human and raw in a way pictures will never make him.

Orion could draw it out. Given enough time, he could capture Hugo correctly, though he’s not sure the priest himself would enjoy the final product. 

He pushes off of the hard surface and pokes his head into the confessional, dipping back out with a rakish grin. ❝ Where do you put me on my knees, then ? If we don’t start soon, we might never get through my twenties, let alone up to speed with the sins of this morning. ❞

There’s something in the way the light reflects onto Orion’s skin that catches Hugo’s attention and keeps it. It’s as if the other is one of the stained angels that stare down at him each day, but instead of making his skin crawl he felt wanted. Perhaps it was pathetic to think so, but he could get used to this feeling even if it only came in fleeting moments. 

“I didn’t take you for someone so concerned with my tongue, Orion.” It’s a test, one he’s created for Orion alone. However he answers will determine how Hugo acts in front of him - it determines whether “Are you saying I come to you in fantasies? It makes me wonder how often you think of me.”

All it takes is a quick touch for a shiver to run down his spine. The smallest of compliments to send his mind reeling for a few moments. Hugo can’t remember the last time someone touched him with such purpose behind it; people touched him every day, parishioners clasped his hands, shoulders bumped into his on the street, it was something normal that he had become accustomed to. But, feeling someone touch him on purpose was new. 

“I can help you - if you’d like?” He holds an arm towards the confessional, waiting for permission as he had been taught. He thought it was sly, a smoother way of pressing his fingers into Orion’s skin than openly saying any of the thoughts that entered his mind. Hugo was, by no means, oblivious to others attraction to him - but this was something different altogether. “Or if you prefer I can just tell you what to do.”

Hugo knows better than to give in to temptation - knows better than to give in to any face that gives him enough attention for any reason other than his saintly duties. Whatever his reasons are, are enough for Hugo to deem them good enough. Regardless of his ranking within the Capulets, Orion turned his attention towards him and it made him thrive. It was as if Orion was the sun and him, a flower that turned at the first available moment. “Are you comfortable with being on your knees for that long?” Another test, this time to gauge whether the fantasies that were starting to swim around his mind were reciprocated. And if nothing else, seeing Orion on his knees would be a godly experience in and of itself.

[ofhugo]

catherinedaly‌:

Catherine, what’s wrong?

His worry is nearly palpable and, were she not so angry, so vitriolic and filled to the brim with near-hatred for a God that has proved time and time again that He no longer cares for her, she might have lowered her defenses, might have allowed the steel rod in her spine to soften. But she’s swaddled in ire and pain and she’s near-dizzy with the angry waves that continue to wash over her again and again. “No,” she tautly says, “no, not here.”

Cat cannot bear to disappoint Hugo the friend with such madness; she cannot bear to scorch him with her fire and brimstone words. But Hugo the priest, Helenus the soldier–those entities are both fair game, given their occupations in relation to her. She ducks away from his touch, opting instead to glare at him–all icy blue hues, all deep discontent.

“The confessional,” Catherine repeats, attaching a hardened, “Father” at the end, knowing that, if he won’t adhere to the name bestowed upon him by the mafia, then he’d better adhere to the one given to him by religion.  

Her words echo against his skull. Not here. As if whatever she had to say would taint the walls with blasphemy and burn the room down. What could she possibly have to tell him that would make her so tense? After all of these months spent by her side, he doubts that she could do anything wrong in his mind. 

He wonders if he’s anything more than the godly figure she’s come to see him as. The thought that he was nothing more than that to Catherine crosses his mind before he pushes it as far away from his mind as he can. 

Even though he can hear her tone, he stops pauses. “Catherine, talk to me. As your friend, not your priest.” It’s a desperate attempt to get her to tell him of what’s on her mind without the formality; his friendship with the woman is something he’s desperate to grasp for even if she’s technically his captain. But, the way she holds herself tells him everything he needs to know and as much as he’d prefer the privacy of his chambers, he places a hand on her elbow and nods. “Okay, we can talk in the confessional. Can you at least tell me what this is about though?”

[ofhugo]

tomassabello‌:

delilahsbello‌:

date: april 18 location: delilah’s apartment availability: closed to @tomassabello​ @ofhugo​

April 18th had once been a day of celebration. It felt like yesterday that she was preparing to walk down the aisle. She had remembered looking at herself in the mirror and wondering if it was all a dream. Was she truly getting married to the love of her life? Was she able to be that happy without any conditions clouding over her? She didn’t believe it at the time, but present-day Delilah knew those feelings were genuine. She had cried as he slid the ring onto her finger. They twirled around the dance floor as if they were the only two in the world. They had collapsed on their bed with satisfied smiles at the knowledge that they were husband and wife.

And now, she stared at the hand where her ring used to be. She used to have a mark from where the skin was covered up, but it had faded over time. Now, it looked like a blank slate. It was almost like she could trick herself into thinking it was truly all a dream, but then Delilah remembered the scar from her fight with Trinity and the way her old friends acted like she had a stranger and it brought her back to reality. She wasn’t a blushing bride anymore. She was a woman with clipped wings. 

Delilah didn’t even realize how tightly she was holding onto a bottle of tequila until she felt her hand start to ache. She had invited Tomas and Hugo to come around in a bid to distract her. They had been two members of her small support system, and Delilah appreciated their presence. She also wanted to hear about their lives. She had heard about the cathedral catching on fire, and she knew that was a safe place for Hugo. She also wanted to know how Toas was faring after the last event. She hadn’t been around to witness it, but she had caught glimpses of conversations surrounding his actions with the heiress.

Delilah heard the doorbell ring and slipped off of the couch. She placed the bottle of tequila on the counter, and she watched as Fantine pawed at it. Her kitten had been a bit of a handful ever since she got her, but Delilah was too fond of the company to remove her. She gently tapped the kitten’s nose before she reached out and opened the door. Her eyes scanned the people on the other end before a soft smile fell on her lips.

“I’m glad you two could make it. Please, come in.”

He’s always been bad with dates. The only reason he remembers his own anniversary is because he’s talked about his wedding so often since marrying Celeste a little over a year ago, that it’s been practically emblazoned into the grey-matter of his brain. But everything else slips through the cracks; dates of movies he’s made, times with old lovers, birthdays - the like. So it isn’t until Hugo shoots him a discreet text in private that he understands exactly why Delilah needs them today, of all days. 

It’s playing on repeat in his mind as he gets ready and tells Celeste he’s going out to meet friends (he doesn’t specify who, and blessedly, she doesn’t ask). His heart aches for Delilah; he can’t imagine a divorce so ugly - and to be dragged mercilessly for it, the way she had. Without proof, without reason… It’s cruel. As he meets up with Hugo outside her building, he has the distinct feeling that nothing they do will really mollify that pain; but either way, Tomas is determined to try. To cheer her up any way he can; make her forget, even if only for a few minutes at a time. But that intention goes out the window when Delilah opens the door and a little creature bounds after her heels excitedly, instantly capturing his fickle attention.

“Heyyy!” He crouches down instantly, momentarily forgetting his manners as he tries to peer at the little kitten who dashes nervously behind her owner’s leg. “She’s grown! She’s sooo cute.” The actor sing-songs appreciatively as he reaches out an open palm for the kitten to sniff at. She’s too nervous and after a few more seconds’ worth of a failed introduction between human an animal, Tomas stands up and reaches out to hug Delilah. Thankfully, she’s far more receptive than her adorable roommate, and the actor kisses her on both cheeks before offering her the plastic bag slung around his wrists.

“I brought tacos. I figured they pair well with margaritas and hopefully that way we’ll avoid getting drunk too quickly or any major hangovers tomorrow. Cel will kill me if I don’t make it back; poor thing’s still hobbling around on crutches.” He can’t help but steal another glance at the kitten who doesn’t seem to know what to think of her guests. “As much as I’m tempted to ask for co-parenting rights over Fantine, it’s probably a good thing we don’t have this little girl running around at home, tripping up my wife as she tries to make it through the day.”

@ofhugo​​

Knowing the intimate details of Delilah’s marriage was something that Hugo found himself dwelling on for years. He listened to her cries about the ordeal for months before the divorce even happened, attempting to console her and be a friend instead of a preacher was something he surprised himself with. Sooner rather than later, he found himself attached to her and wanting to protect her from the rest of the Capulets who sought to hurt her with taunts and rumors. Petty vendettas that never served to help anything. It was another reason on his list of things that made him rethink his standing with the gang. 

And yet, those thoughts melted away from his mind when he spent time with her. A smile slipes onto his face as he watches Tomas play with the kitten; he’d only seen it from photos she sent to them and had to admit, it was much cuter in person. “I’d watch her if I were you. She might make her way to Catherine’s when you’re not paying attention.” It was an empty threat, but one paired with a smile that could fool them. He wouldn’t really steal the kitten while staying at someone else's home - he’d get permission from Catherine first, of course. 

Of all the souls in Verona, he wonders how the ones he holds dear have fallen victim to the violence of the city. Delilah, a light in the dark that was almost stamped out for good by Odin. She was a soul that thrived on beauty and light, not the ugliness that surrounded her. It made his stomach turn each night he prayed for her. And Tomas, a shooting star through the night sky. Hugo was positive that he burned too bright to burn out. But now his hand is wrapped and Dio knows what other injuries he’s been suffering with since the Montagues attacked him. If only his prayers could protect them both, but it seemed as if God stopped listening for them. 

“I had to head over to the Cathedral to get the good mixer, but it’s worth it for you two.” He slides by Tomas, leaning towards Delilah to wrap an arm around her. Between the mixer in his other hand and his attempt to keep it from slamming into her, the hug was awkward at best. But, she shouldn’t expect much from the man. She should know him better than that by now. 

@delilahsbello​

[ofhugo]

Delilah & Hugo & Tomas → April 18th

Tomas: Of course I wanna come!! Do you know me at all Del

Tomas: I'll bring the bad puns and hopefully you guys will be too drunk to hate me for them.

Tomas: Give me a time and i'll be there

Del: We love the puns!!

Del: Does 6pm work for both of you?

Hugo: Perfect

Hugo: The Marg Squad will be there

[ofhugo]

Delilah & Hugo & Tomas → April 18th

Tomas: Ohhhhh

Tomas: oh no

Del: :(

Del: We're doing a margarita night at my place

Del: Do you want to come, Tomas?

Del: Hugo's bringing his Margaritaville mixer

Hugo: Can u bring the jokes

Hugo: We need someone to cheer us up

[ofhugo]

Delilah & Hugo & Tomas → April 18th

Tomas: Friends!

Tomas: How's the church efforts going, Hugo? Del, how's Miss Kitty? Misbehaving like her mom, I hope?

Del: It's a margarita day Tomas :((

Hugo: You know what that means :(

[ofhugo]

Delilah & Hugo & Tomas → April 18th

Del: Ur love 4 jimmy buffett knows no bounds

Del: Come over? U haven't met Fantine yet.

Del: She's cute but she scratched up my curtains yesterday :(

Hugo: I'm just a burger in paradise

Hugo: Hold on, let me invite Tomas

Hugo: Hugo has added Tomas to the chat!

[ofhugo]

Delilah & Hugo → April 18th

Del: It's a margarita day :((

Hugo: I'll break out the Margaritaville mixer

Hugo: Special for u

[lamrien]

HUGO KIM  /  JOSÉ SARAMAGO, CAIN  /  @ofhugo

[deadagainmaevepetre]

send me 🔆 + an au, and i’ll write it for our chars

[drlelandsoffice]

The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme

[tigersniper-deactivated20150224]

Send me some numbers, and I will tell you:

What does their bedroom look like?

Do they have any daily rituals?

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Eating habits and sample daily menu

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Makeup?

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Intellectual pursuits?

Favorite book genre?

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Favorite beverage?

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

What is their biggest regret?

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Most prized possession?

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

Concept of home and family?

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

What makes them feel guilty?

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

How misanthropic are they?

Hobbies?

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Religion?

Superstitions or views on the occult?

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

How do they express love?

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

[derangedrhythms]

Charles Simic, Selected Poems 1963-2003; from ‘My Shoes’

[sunsounds]

[text ID:

“And the strange church I am building With you as the altar.”]

[realitytvshow]

[ofhugo]

dukemassetti‌:

It’s not that Orion has never stepped foot in a church, because he has. They’re almost always glorious works of art, and Italy is full of them. Even his parents went to mass on the big holidays, though always with slight smirks suggesting they found the whole idea of scripture laughable at best. Since he graduated, however, he hasn’t quite been over the threshold. He might worry about being burned to a crisp if he hadn’t already done half the sins in the book before he’d entered university, let alone by the time he’d graduated.

Now he climbs the steps with the surety of a pious man, though nothing in his mind is pious. He was scouting a client when he happened across Hugo preaching, only this past weekend. Orion didn’t give a shit about the words, but the man saying them caught his interest, wound like a screw about to peel strips from the wood it’s been shoved inside. He spoke with his client and came back again for Sunday mass, surprised that he’d been fascinated by someone he saw so often, nearly every few days in the times this cathedral served as HQ. He was so… bound, so much more closely chained than Orion would’ve expected, considering his side gig.

It’s almost like Hugo Kim believes the shit he spouts all the time. For a Capulet soldier, that’s Everett Craven levels of stupidity. 

So Orion went again, Wednesday this time. So he watched and admired the way Hugo’s hands tightened on the pulpit when someone annoyed him. So he wondered, with intent, how many people in this church knew how lithe he was beneath the ugly robes, or had ever seen him reluctantly put together a gun. So he wondered, and wondered, and found himself bounding up those steps in his you know you want to fuck me jeans and that one green henley he’d stretched in the wash, so it showed more collar bones than it aught to. He almost wonders if Hugo will miss him entirely, if he’ll have to coax him back inside, but he hears his voice just as he’s reached the doors. 

Orion pokes his head back out, looking Hugo up and down. Confess. Ah, well, what he was looking for was an opening, and from what he can remember, confession involves kneeling and admitting your sins. He’s never actually done it, but it sounds sexy enough. A smile spreads across his face, and he catches Hugo’s eye. ❝ Oh, yes Father. ❞ 

The words are right, but his mouth curls around the word father as another’s might around the word lover, and there’s an air of mockery that can’t quite be hidden. Orion doesn’t hide after all, not really. What you see is what you get, and what you hear is, too. ❝ Come along and show me, will you ? ❞ He ducks back inside, his voice echoing as he calls out the door, already on his way toward the confessional: ❝ You seem like just the type to get me through my first time. ❞

As soon as he hears Orion’s voice, Hugo wishes he never opened his mouth. He knows him as a Capulet, another higher up that he never bothered to learn about. But lately, he recognizes his face from the back of his sermons. It was an odd sight for him to lock eyes while speaking, leaving him to wonder if he was actually listening to words leaving his mouth or just there to remind Hugo that the Capulet’s were always watching. Seeing him so often in the last week was making him question how comfortable they were with him as such a public figure. 

It was a thought that kept him up more nights than not. 

Was this some sort of test Cosimo is giving him? Sending Orion to watch over him and find out whether he’s loyal to them even when the sun sets and darkness fills the streets. Not that he’s given much time to think about it with the other walking into the Cathedral as if he owned it. Hugo takes one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it on his shoe and throwing it onto the stairs. How is he the one chasing after Orion? This was his cathedral and he was there to see him, not the other way around. 

At this hour, the pews were empty and the only sound was the dull hum of Radiohead playing from the speakers to keep him awake. By the time he catches up with Orion, his voice is bouncing off of the stained glass as if it was a passage from the Bible itself. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” He hears the familiar tone in Orion’s voice and can’t help his own sarcasm from seeping into his words. 

His eyes linger on the exposed skin for a moment before moving to his face. He knows better than this. He knows that any glance will be recorded and used against him by the other. And yet, he keeps glancing at it as if it’s whispering temptations to him. He never was one who ignored such things; not when presented to him on a silver platter for his taking.

“Should I teach you like the kids during Sunday school?” The joke falls from his lips before he can stop it, cringing as soon as it hung between the two of them. He tries to come up with something quick enough to rescue his reputation. “Maybe I’ll pull out a coloring book so you can see what to do.” He should pass Orion off to one of the other priests at this point and hide in his chambers for the lame jokes he’s incapable of not saying. By now he doesn’t doubt that Orion realized he’s nothing more than another priest with dad jokes. 

[ofhugo]

catherinedaly‌:

date: march 18, 2019 location: the cathedral | hugo’s chambers (and, eventually, the confessional) status: closed to @ofhugo

Hell hath no fury like a fallen saint scorned. 

The woman stalks through the familiar hallways of the Cathedral after unhappily finding the confessional devoid of Hugo’s presence. Ire rolls from Catherine in waves, the anger keeping the worst of her physical pain at bay. This is it, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; God has used her for target practice one too many times and she intends to air her grievances in the same way He’s treated her as of late–unforgivingly, harshly, mercilessly. She knocks twice against the door to Hugo’s chambers before pushing the already-ajar door open, blue eyes narrowing as they land on the priest.

“Confessional, Helenus.” It’s not a request, but a command; the aversion she had in regards to using her new title as capodecina to demand rather than ask has all but whittled away, thoughts of the gala running rampantly through her mind: a comatose Theodora, a botched rescue attempt, Juliana being held ruthlessly by her hair, her fight with Ramona, and more. In an attempt to keep her hands from shaking, she balls them into tight fists at her side. All the while, her steely gaze never leaves Hugo.

“Now.”

“Cheeseburger in paradise. Heaven on Earth with an onion slice.” Regardless of how beautiful he thinks he sounds singing with the choir, Hugo’s grateful that no one can hear him singing to himself. He’s already been told by various nuns and visitors that walked by his chambers not to sing. But, there were few things he enjoyed in left and singing along to his number one Spotify artist in the spare moments he was alone. 

“Not too particular not too precise. I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise-” He hears the knock before he sees her, but that doesn’t stop the shock from crossing his face as she enters. His feet lead him from behind the desk towards her before he can realize that he’s moved. From up close he can read the emotion in every line of her face, hiding behind her eyes like a forest fire. “Catherine, what’s wrong?” His hands hover above her shoulders, questioning himself on whether she’d allow him such a small peace of mind. “Please tell me.” 

From his years spent listening to her, this anger is something new, something he’d never seen from her before. It terrifies him in a way that reminds him of himself; an anger that simmers for too long and when released it burns anyone within an immediate radius. 

[ofhugo]

catherinedaly‌:

date: march 28, 2019 location: catherine’s (+ hugo, temporarily) apartment status: closed to @ofhugo​

She knows better than to ask if he’s okay. Less than forty-eight hours ago, his home–both spiritually and physically–fell victim to yet another man-made attack, leaving hundreds of souls without a house of their own. And though she’s unsure of exactly how she feels about the desecration of the house of God, she’s not unsure about what she should do next. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she extended herself and her apartment to Hugo Kim–no questions asked. In less than twenty-four hours ago, the spare room in her apartment becomes his. And now, with Apollo nestled next to their new guest, there’s a bit of solace in which they can both bask.

“Can I get you anything, amico mio?” she asks, expression soft as she looks Hugo over. At this moment, they’re not captain and soldier; they’re not separated by a partition as Cat confesses to dozens of sins as Hugo absolves her of them all. No, at this moment, they’re merely Catherine and Hugo–bound together by strained religion and tumultuous professions, yes–but, that’s not what affords them such vulnerable moments. 

No, such gentleness is reserved for two ordinary–and ultimately human–beings.

Hugo wonders how much the Capulets will take before they’re satisfied. How much blood would be spilled before the masters who hold their leashes decide that they’re happy? He wonders how little they care about the lives they destroy, the innocent citizens who sit by and weep over their lost family. Their suffering pouring into his mind each hour of each day after any destruction they put in motion. 

He wonders if he can truly make a home in this city when everything he loves is slowly being taken from him and destroyed. 

Hugo wonders about the woman in front of him, what kind of life she’ll be able to live, nonetheless enjoy while their boss continues to reign fire from above. He asks himself why God has decided to torture her in such a way that makes him say an extra prayer for her each night, whispering about how she deserves better, deserves more than the path he’s set her on. 

For now, that thought is pushed aside to make room for Catherine’s charity. As much as he wanted to refuse, to claim she had others to think of first, he found himself following her to the home without protesting. She welcomed him into her home and for the first time in months he managed to sleep; even surrounded by four walls he’s never seen and underneath a blanket, she’s given him, the calmness of sleep creeps around him and lulls him to sleep. 

His eyes move from the window to Catherine, a smile cutting across his face at the name she calls him. Were they not, after all these years, friends? “You’ve given me enough already.” He runs a hand over Apollo, smiling even more when the dog looks at him in return. “What can I get for you, Catherine? Let me do something as a thank you for letting me stay.”