He didn't think his heart rate had calmed in the hours spent driving to La Armonía, their time there, and back. There was more than one occasion where he had to check his pulse, steady his breathing, blink himself back to the present. And upon finding that there was no issue, Hunter would simply grit his teeth and bare it.
Is this what the next year of my life is going to be like? He asked himself, pulling down the dark road to the Charles' estate. Elliot hadn't said a word their entire ride back to the house, his head tipped against the window, eyes staring out into the night passing them by. Hunter would look over every few minutes, to check he was still awake, still breathing. His fingers clutched the wheel anxiously.
He pulled up to the house, parking the car. Elliot rolled his head to the side before huffing and reaching to open his door.
"Go pack a bag."
The brunet paused. "Excuse me?" He turned to blink over at Hunter.
"Pack a bag and meet me back here."
Elliot shook his head, curls falling over his forehead. "I don't think so."
Hunter raised a brow. "You're going to be living with me from now on."
"I never agreed to that."
"It's part of the ruse we have to uphold." Hunter paused, tipping his head forward to better see Elliot's face in the shadows. "Or do you want people to learn of this facade before we even start?"
Elliot didn't say anything. Barely took a breath.
"Are you having second thoughts?" The question was softer this time. Hunter's fingers gripped tight to the wheel.
"No!" Elliot burst, blinking oddly. "I mean...this is all happening really fast. And." He swallowed hard, hand coming up to brush through his hair, almost missing his head entirely. "I think I had too much to drink."
Hunter watched him open the door. "Can you walk?"
"I'm fine," Elliot mumbled. He tried to get out of the car, one foot at a time, but he still stumbled into a standing position, grip tight on the doorframe. An arm slid around his waist and Hunter was immediately there with a dark look in his eyes.
"You are not fine."
"I am," Elliot huffed, "now get off me."
Something close to a snort escaped Hunter. "You're the one hanging onto me."
And he was, hand latched onto Hunter's shoulder, he had let go of the door, gripping Hunter's forearm with the other. He barely even knew what he was doing, that much was apparent. The dazed look in his eyes, Hunter wondered if he would even remember this by morning. The blond huffed, shifting the weight at his side and made their way into the house. He considered just throwing the shorter over his shoulder, rather than half dragging him up the stairs to confront whoever would answer the door for them. But considering Elliot's slight muttering beneath his breath, completely incoherent, Hunter didn't want to risk infuriating the man in this state.
Thankfully someone must have seen them stumbling up the front steps since the door swung open and an older man greeted them with a bow of his head. Hunter returned the gesture.
"Can you point me in the direction of his room?" Hunter asked softly. Elliot's head swung up, but he didn't seem to acknowledge anything going on.
The man nodded and gave him clear instructions up the main staircase. Hunter followed dutily, about to drag Elliot up the stairs when he decided otherwise.
Screw infuriating the drunk man.
He suddenly bent and hauled Elliot over his shoulder, his body like a rag doll, and much lighter than he had first anticipated. This would be easier, navigating through the quiet house without the possibility of Elliot falling over every five steps. God forbid he fell down the stairs on Hunter's watch. The man let out a dragging breath, counting the doors on the second floor until he got to Elliot's. Half ajar, and already Hunter was hit with the smell of the brunet. It had dulled in the last few hours, masked over by the alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. But this, the smell of his bedroom, of him, was suddenly so overwhelming.
Hunter rocked on his feet.
Elliot muttered something against his back.
Hunter grunted and pushed his way into the dark bedroom. He silently searched for the light switch on the wall, and once finding it, has to blink against the blinding lights flooding the room. He gently lowered Elliot to his feet, waiting several long seconds to make sure the man wasn't going to tip over. Elliot stayed sturdy, even lifting his head and blinking his eyes in some kind of blurry recognition.
"Find a bag and just throw in some essentials for the night. We'll come back for more tomorrow or something," Hunter said, taking a look around the bedroom in peak interest. He was only met with silence as an answer. "Elliot?" He turned and found the brunet had thrown himself onto his bed, face first in the rumpled covers with a loud groan. Hunter resisted the urge to smile. Instead he sighs, walking over and carefully helping the limp man out of his coat, his shoes, peeling his sweater and pants off until he was just in his briefs. He easily maneuvered Elliot under the covers, watching the brunet wiggle and snuggle deeper into the bedding, burying his face in his pillows.
Hunter tilted his head, fingers just barely caressing the ends of brown curls.
He turned away and took in the rest of Elliot's room. It was spacious, definitely bigger than Hunter's bedroom. Two doors he could assume led to the bathroom and the closet respectively. A desk in the corner which laid pretty bare besides a few books and picture frames. And besides a few pieces of art on the walls, a few childhood photos, the room was pretty bare. Just like Hunter's. He frowned. He would have assumed Elliot's space would be lively, every corner conveying his presence. But this room looked barely lived in.
One photo on the desk caught Hunter's eye and he makes his way towards it, picking up the picture of a small boy pressed between a man and a woman. The woman was a younger Marsha Charles, the same dark hair and bright eyes as all her children. The boy was definitely Elliot as a kid, the wild mass of curls was the dead giveaway, but also that carefree smile, even with a missing front tooth. But the man Hunter had never seen before. But Elliot looked similar to him, the same face shape, same mouth and nose. Even the same wide grin. His father. Must be. Hunter had never known the story behind Elliot's father, but neither did anyone. The one thing the entire Charles family could keep from the preying eyes of the press was the mystery revolving around their father. He gave them kudos for that, knowing just how hard it was to keep something personal from the public.
Hunter draped Elliot's clothes over his desk chair, situating his shoes on the floor beside it as well. Besides the butler, he wasn't sure if anyone else was home, and looking back at the man buried in his bed, Hunter didn't quite want to leave him alone. Just in case he rolls over and throws up all over himself—nobody would know to clean him up.
He turned to look out the crack of the bedroom door.
Maybe he should just go tell someone Elliot was home and might need watching after.
With that thought in mind, Hunter creeped out of the room, not quite knowing how to move about in a house he's never been in before that seemed entirely empty. Not just of people, but of possessions, of life in general. Similar to Elliot's bedroom, Hunter hadn't noticed before but the hallway walls were devoid of pictures or even paintings. At the most there were a few plants here and there, some bright flowers in intricate vases on old side tables. Nothing remotely personal decorated this house, noting that a happy family lived here. Hunter had always assumed families decorated their walls with pictures and art and memories. At least, that's how it was when he was younger. That's how it was always portrayed in movies.
He made his way down the hallway to the grand staircase leading back downstairs. All the doors he passed were closed, and he didn't plan to go snooping through them. He was just fascinated, is all. Being in the house of the rival the people claimed for him, seeing the life he would never have. It was all fascinating.
His company was still a child in comparison to the rest of the world of companies, but in that time he had made friends and he made foes. And one of his most notorious foes was Elliot Charles, the Charles family, and Marsha Charles' company. In those last five years since his company started and to this day, there was a surface base of what he knew about the Charles family, about Elliot himself. He gleaned tidbits of facts from the tabloids, scandal stories plastered on the news. And each became nothing but ammunition against Elliot.
He tried to silently recall how they even came to be enemies, how they even were stood across from each other on a thin line of rivalry. It's not like they were even remotely the same, or fell in any similar category but for being eligible young men. Elliot was flamboyant, a complete playboy and wild animal. He was known more in the people's world of society than he was in the business world where Hunter resided as a powerhouse to the new age of entertainment. Silent, but deadly, was a common phrase used in reference to him.
Elliot and him couldn't be more different, couldn't live more separate lives. And yet, they always found themselves of peak interest from the people.
And now they were engaged.
Hunter let out a deep sigh, rolling his head from side to side and letting go of any creaks in his neck as he descended the stairs. Eyes raised up, and he stopped in his tracks like a deer caught in headlights.
"Hunter," Luna Charles mused, slight confusion flashing across her face before she bestowed him a kind smile. She looked weary, older than she was, with deep circles beneath her eyes, a slight smudge to her makeup, and an empty wine glass in her hand. Was this what a newly made widower looked like? He suddenly wondered if this is what his father looked like after losing the love of his life.
"Luna," Hunter cleared his throat, continuing his descent much slower this time. He felt out of place in this house, a dark spot on all the whites and beiges surrounding him. Even compared to the flowers decorating some areas, he suddenly wanted to hold his breath, afraid of causing them to decay with just a sigh. His shoulders tightened as he stood in front of the older woman.
"I didn't know you were here..." she trailed off, eyes raising behind him, as if waiting for Elliot to pop out and explain themselves. Hunter tried for a smile, something comforting, but all he could manage was a half grimace.
"I was just dropping Elliot off. He had too much to drink tonight."
Luna looked unphased. "Typical." She twirled the wine glass between her fingers, a dark drop of red rolling around the bottom. She lifted her dark eyes again. "Are you–"
The front door behind them swung up with a suddenness that they both jumped at the interruption. Luna immediately pressed her hand to her chest to steady her breathing.
"Dammit, Ethan!" She hissed at the newcomer. The boy just shrugged and muttered his apology under his breath. He hiked a backpack higher up his shoulder, familiar silvering blue eyes meeting Hunter's own.
"So, you're him," Ethan suddenly said. "You're different in person."
"Ethan, this is Hunter," Luna said slowly, gesturing to the blond. "You're brother's fiancé."
The word was alien. Hearing it in reference to himself. Hunter tried not to shift uncomfortably, but he gave Ethan a nod. So this was the youngest of the Charles family. He recognized him from past pictures of course, but he had never met him before. He always saw very little of the youngest two Charles children.
"So," Ethan mused, rocking on his heels. Light eyes flashed as they took him in. Ethan must have been a little taller than his brother, maybe even still growing. But besides the same shade of blue eyes, they didn't resemble each other very much. Elliot was all sharp angles and untameable hair, while Ethan appeared to be a soft and boyish face with very easy looking hair. "Are you going to be, like, my new brother or something?"
Hunter paused, almost choking on his spit. The last person he was a brother to, he failed and abandoned them. Did nothing to lighten their struggles, and lost them in the process. Something heavy descended on his chest, and he suddenly thought he was going to be sick. "I...I suppose I am."
Ethan snorted. "Word of advice?" Hunter didn't move a muscle, but Luna tensed beside him. "Leave us alone, and we'll leave you alone."
Hunter barely managed to mutter a noted before Ethan bounded up the stairs and disappeared around the corner.
"I apologize for him," Luna winced, giving a saddened look after the boy. "Teenagers, and all."
Hunter shook his head, feeling a familiar pang tickle at his chest. "It's understandable. I was that age once too."
Luna turned dark eyes on him. "How was it?"
"What?"
"Your childhood," Luna clarified.
Hunter hesitated, hands shoving into the pockets of his pants. "Let's just say, I can sympathize with him."
Luna nodded, eyes glazing over in deep thought. He couldn't begin to understand what she could possibly be going through. After losing her wife, now the only guardian to these kids. Hunter wondered how she was faring. By the tapping of chipped nails against her wine glass in subdued anxious rhythm, he could confidently say she was bottling a decent amount inside. He suddenly felt the urge to throw down his condolences, if only to fill the piercing silence on his shoulders.
"I expect you are spending the night?" Luna suddenly asked, shifting on her feet.
"Huh?" Hunter asked dumbly, caught off guard.
"You are staying the night, right?" Luna lifted a brow, hand wrapping around her hip as she leaned. "I've never seen you around here before, but you know it's normal for couples to spend their nights at each other's homes."
Hunter had no idea what to say to that, could barely begin to process the statement. His chest felt tight, and he didn't know if he was breathing or not. "I–"
Luna hummed, eyes squinting up to the ceiling, as if she could see right through it. "I'm sure Elliot would appreciate it."
He highly doubted that. But he somehow felt his head nodding. With that piercing look in Luna's dark eyes, suddenly clearer than when they first began talking, he didn't think he would be able to sneak his way out of this house.
"I assume you'll be fine in Elliot's room with him," Luna asked, both brows raised now. A challenging dare. He wondered if this was how the woman always acted—suspicious of all things—or if she truly doubted his intentions. He was reminded yet again of the suddenness of this entire thing, of his engagement with Elliot. It had only been a few hours since that afternoon when their declaration was made. Before today, Hunter and Elliot were known to hate each other. Now, they were suddenly lovers. It was a miracle Luna hadn't come right out and accused him of foul play.
"Since you're engaged after all," Luna was continuing to say, "None of the guest rooms are ready at this time. So..."
"It's fine," Hunter forced out, waving a hand. "We can make do."
"Perfect." Luna smiled with a nod. "Well." She shifted on her feet again. "Sleep well."
She left him standing there in the large and silent entryway, suddenly feeling extraordinarily smaller in comparison. His heart thundered like war drums against his ribs, and his mind struggled to stay on one thought before wrenching itself to the next. He grit his teeth, tipping his head back, and let out a shaky groan into the quiet.