„He is an idiot."
„You too."
_-_-_-_-_
Haydée and Arthur.
DeeDee and Artie.
You can say it how you want but it still has same meaning. It's always these two, brunette girl and brunette boy.
Since her birth they know each other. They were their first...
"All I ever wanted was for you to look at met he way you look at Arthur."
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~•~
When they returned from Austria to Nice, the atmosphere between Haydée and Hugo was heavy and tense. The journey home was silent, without the usual attempts at conversation or shared laughter. Hugo sat the entire time with his gaze fixed out the window, while Haydée replayed the events of the past few days in her mind, especially that kiss with Arthur. She knew something was wrong, that this journey back was more than just physical—it was a journey to an inevitable conversation that had to happen. Hugo couldn't see it; he was far from them when they returned. But the Frenchwoman knew she had to talk and finally resolve her feelings.
When they arrived home, Hugo stopped in the living room before Haydée could even take off her shoes. He stood there, running his hands over his face, and then turned to her. His eyes were serious, filled with something that immediately seemed heavy and sad to her.
"We need to talk," he said in a quiet but resolute voice.
Haydée felt her heart clench. She knew this moment had to come, but it didn't ease her nervousness. She stood on the threshold of the living room and nodded silently. She sat down on the couch while Hugo remained standing.
"We've been together for three years," he began slowly, as if he needed to carefully consider each word, "but I feel like we've only really been together for one year. And the rest of the time, we've just been living together. Maybe it could be said that we've just been surviving."
Haydée sat still, unable to respond immediately. Hugo had never said anything like this before, but she knew he was right. It was that silent agreement that had hung between them all this time but had never been voiced until now.
"I still care about you, Hugo," she whispered after a moment, as it was the only sentence she could bring herself to say.
Hugo smiled sadly, as if he had expected exactly this answer. "And that's the problem, Hy," he continued softly. "You only care about me. But I'm not the one you truly love. There's someone you love more. And that someone had your love before I ever came along."
His words were direct, painful, but utterly true. Haydée didn't know how to react. Arthur was the one Hugo was talking about, even though he had never spoken his name aloud. He knew it. He saw it. And she couldn't escape it.
"I—"
Hugo interrupted her, his voice gentle but filled with resignation. "Sometimes I wish you looked at me the way you look at Arthur."
That was what crushed Haydée. Hearing this from Hugo, seeing the sadness and pain in his eyes that had been there all along, broke her heart. She knew Hugo was right, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him everything that was on her mind.
"I'm sorry," she whispered finally, but the words felt weak and insufficient. She didn't know what more she could say because the truth was sometimes unbearable.
