kissing cousins
She can't stop seeing him as the same curly-haired little boy, the adoring tilt of his head at three and a half, the satisfied curve of his dimpled smile.
There was a time when he sought her out with an ecstatic screech, when he flung his tiny, grasping hands around her with a wild, frantic joy, and blubbered at her with cheery abandon.
Hugo loved her, once.
But Hugo's all grown up, now, and watching him blink nervously and shy away from her touch stings in a way she never expected.
