the twink in black tights - hank x connor

Unfortunate Recollections

SUMMARY: Both Hank and Connor are stressed to no end. Connor gets advice from Simon, and Hank reflects.

What the fuck?

Hank was driving home and his head was swimming. He had his car radio blaring Knights of the Black Death as he made his way back to his place, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

He knew he wasn't amazing at communicating with Connor. Communication wasn't his strong suit by any means, and anything that could be defined as a tough talk was something Hank avoided with his entire life. But as hypocritical as it was, it frustrated Hank to no end when Connor was vague like that. What couldn't Connor tell him? Why had Connor just left? It was all so confusing. Hank was so caught up in his own head that he almost got into a wre-

The truck skidding on ice, hitting my car, knocking it over.

Cole, screaming, screaming so loud. And I was sitting there, unmoving, and he was screaming and then he wasn't, and he was already dead, and I didn't even-

He heard a honk. The light he was waiting for had just turned green. He drove, grateful to turn the corner onto his street and get home. He felt like he was going to be sick by the time he stumbled inside.

_____________________

Connor had just arrived in his own apartment, hitting the couch with a thud. He thought it'd be good to invite Hank to his classes- and it was - but it just made his own feelings much harder to manage, and if he was honest, more confusing. He pulled out his phone, hoping that Simon could help him.

"Call please?" Connor sent Simon, but he didn't give a chance to answer and called his friend. Simon took a nice minute, but he picked up. Connor felt relief when he heard his voice.

"Hang on, Markus." Connor heard Simon say, some distance away from the phone. "I'm sorry, babe, it's important." He said, still away from his phone. Then his voice was clearer. "You good?" Was the first thing he asked. Connor sighed.

"If I'm honest with you, Simon, I don't know. I've never felt anything like this about anyone and- Hank- I- He's so... It's so frustrating, so confusing-"

"Connor," Simon interrupted Connor's venting. Connor let out a huff of breath. "Chill."

"I'm sorry." Connor apologized, trying to gather himself. His nails had been digging into his palms and they had started bleeding. He hadn't even noticed. "It's just... I really like him, Simon."

"No shit," Simon scoffed, and Connor could practically hear Simon's eye roll.

"I don't know how to get him to let me in," Connor began. But before he could continue, Simon interrupted again.

"Let you in?" He questioned.

"Yeah, he has... baggage. That's how he worded it. I want to help him, but I don't know how." Connor doesn't even know what baggage he is talking about, just recalling what Hank said this morning. It felt like it'd been days ago, somehow.

"Patience, Connor. He might take a while," Simon admonished. "I don't know what he's gone through, and neither do you, but some shit never heals all the way. He'll open up about it when he's ready."

"Yeah, I know..." Connor sighed. He wanted... It was all so confusing. Connor wasn't naturally a flirt; he hadn't even had his first kiss before. But ever since he met Hank, he's been tempted to do things he had never even imagined before. It only confused him more. "Thanks, Simon. I think I'm gonna sleep early." Connor lied. He knew he wouldn't- couldn't- sleep.

"Alright, see ya, Conman," Simon said disbelievingly.

"Have fun with Markus," Connor teased and hung up, plopping his phone back down. He picked it back up less than a minute later, though. He opened his messages with Hank (which just contained the addresses and Hank asking for the room number) and stared. He began typing without really knowing what he was going to say.

"I have something to say. Since I me-" No. Connor backspaced it all.

"I know you may not feel the s-" Still no.

An hour passed and Connor had said nothing. He had typed 80 different attempts, sure, but he did not send a thing. He put his phone down on the coffee table and lay across the couch. He just stared at the ceiling, mind still racing.

And he wasn't the only one, either.

_____________________

Hank, who had poured all of his alcohol in the sink to avoid falling into old habits (he left one bottle, saying it was for a "special occasion"), was also sitting on the couch. His gun was where he usually kept it in his bedside drawer.

He was not taking it out tonight.

He was trying to think of what was wrong with Connor. What he could have done to upset Connor. His mind was racing and it was all Connor Connor Connor. He'd only known Connor for a month, maybe two, now. It felt like years. He tapped his fingers on the couch. Sumo, who was sitting in front of it, licked his hand. "Yeah, hi, Sumo." Hank gave a half-hearted laugh and scratched behind the dog's ears. Sumo leaned into his hand. Hank had a surge of appreciation for the dog; he always seemed to know when Hank was stressed, and it honestly was grounding to be able to pet the dog and calm his mind a bit. He gave the dog some head scratches fondly.

Hank recalled Connor, who he swore had leaned into his hand when he ruffled his hair. Connor, who always beamed at him every morning. Connor, who seemed so invested in knowing more about Hank. Hank felt his heart physically hurt the more he thought about it, and he blamed it on the amount of physical activity he had for the day.

Hank didn't know how he'd speak to Connor tomorrow. He had absolutely no idea. He opened his phone to his messages with Connor. He actually saw that Connor was typing. He got his hopes up immediately, staring into the screen, transfixed.

Connor stopped typing.

Hank just stared for a moment longer, thinking maybe Connor had just dropped his phone or tapped a notification by accident. But there was no more typing.

Idiot.

And Hank felt like one, too, getting his hopes up.

What couldn't Connor tell him?