Hank shouldn't have come here. Fucking hell, this was the last place he should be. But he couldn't look for Connor and he couldn't stand being home in that far too empty house, so why not be here?
Why not have his heart broken along with the rest of him?
His hand shook as he pulled open the bookshop door. The little bell jingling, announcing his entrance, did nothing to alleviate the feeling that this was a bad decision.
But fond memories of how things once were clouded Hank's judgment. The long nights spent talking about everything and nothing, the way he managed to fit into the smaller man's arms perfectly…
He shook the thoughts from his head as he stepped inside. None of that mattered anymore. It had been over a decade since they were together. He had changed, he was sure Shaun had too. He was going to see a practical stranger.
This was a bad idea.
The door fell shut behind him. A sense of foreboding flooding through him as though an unseen force was locking him into his bad decision.
"Sorry," an all too familiar voice called from behind a nearby shelf. Evidently the door alerted him to his arrival. "We're just about to close."
Hank was silent, not sure if he even could speak at this point. He felt dizzy. Disoriented.
Shaun stepped into view, several books clutched in his arms. "We open tomm…" he trailed off as he finally looked up and saw who was on his doorstep.
"I… can go," Hank said, finding his voice. He should go. He shouldn't be here.
"No!" Shaun insisted sharply. "No, it's… that's ok." He set his armload of books on the shelf beside him. Hank was certain none of them belonged there. "Hank. What's wrong?"
"God, how can you still do that?" He asked. It had always been like that. He could take one look at him and be able to tell immediately that he wasn't ok. He'd never been able to hide how he was feeling from the man. It was one of the things that had always frustrated him in that endearing way. And fuck if he hadn't missed it.
Shaun smiled fondly, those kind eyes of his seeing right through any of the walls he had built. "You're an open book, Hank. You always have been."
His heart was in his throat. This was why he had always gone to him. Shaun knew pain. He knew trauma. Even if there was nothing he could actually do to help, he made him feel seen. "Maybe to you," he acknowledged somberly.
Shaun smiled softly, then gestured for him to follow. "Come on, we can talk upstairs."
Hank did as he was asked, walking after him as though no time had passed since the last time he had chased after him. Before his heart had been broken. Before he had lost not one, but two sons. Before he had been damaged beyond recognition.
But that illusion shattered as quickly as it formed.
Once they were in Shaun's little apartment, locked away from the outside world, he let his fortresses fall. He told him everything. Not just about Connor being ripped from him, but about Cole, about how far he fell, about the hole he had buried himself in until that damn android pulled him out, kicking and screaming.
He let Shaun know just how hopeless he was.
And Shaun just listened. He listened, and held him, and let him cry bitterly onto his shoulder. At some point, he had pressed a warm mug into his hands, but he couldn't recall when. It was cold now. He hadn't drunk a sip.
Hank picked at a chip in the ceramic. He'd said everything there was to say. Hot tears still ran down his face, but he ignored them.
Shaun ran his fingers through his hair. It was methodical and hypnotic. "I can't even begin to say how sorry I am," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "You've… god, you've been through so much."
He wanted to deny it. Insist that he was fine and maybe it would become the truth. He couldn't lie though. Not to Shaun. Not to himself. Certainly not after he had poured his heart out in between devastated sobs. So he just sighed, deeply and painfully, and nodded against his shoulder.
"You know," Shaun went on. His fingers traced along his hairline before going back to carding through his tangled mop. "My dad still runs his support group. It could help."
A support group. One for grieving parents who have lost children. His heart clenched painfully. "I…I don't know, Shaun."
"You don't know." He repeated. His caressing fingers stilled for a moment. Hank immediately missed the motion. "Is that because you don't think it will help, or because you're afraid it might?"
Hank was silent, once again choking on his own pain. Pain that he fully intended to let grow and fester until it was the only thing left to define him.
"Stop that," he scolded without any weight to his words. How the fuck Shaun could still do that, see through him, even after all these years. It was maddening.
The fingers on his scalp started their massage again. "You deserve to heal, Hank," Shaun insisted, ignoring his demand. "I know you don't think you do. I know you're finding some bullshit reason to blame yourself. But you deserve to heal."
"Fuck you," Hank retorted, but there was no malice to it, just a dejected weariness.
"Promise?" Shaun teased back, trying to lighten the mood.
It worked, provoking a smile to form despite his tears. "Still a horny bastard then, huh?"
Shaun laughed, a warm, blissful sound that filled Hank with nostalgia. He had always loved that laugh. "Only for you. You know you've always been my weakness," he said, still grinning.
Hank's chest constricted. He stared for a long moment, drinking in the features of the man he never quite stopped loving. "Is that still the case?"
He wanted to know, he needed to know. But he was terrified of the answer. With Shaun here, holding him like he did so many years ago, it brought back emotions he had long believed had shriveled up and died. For the first time since losing Connor, he wanted to feel something, anything, other than pain.
"Hank…" Shaun said hesitantly, looking away. The arms around him tensed and he knew that was his answer.
"Forget it," Hank said, shoving down his disappointment. He pulled away from Shaun, renewed in his former belief that this had been a bad idea.
"No, Hank, wait!"
Shaun reached for him as he stood but he brushed him off. He shouldn't be here. "It's fine. I said forget it."
"No," he grabbed Hank's hand, stopping him from leaving. He could have pulled free, it would have been easy, but he stopped, masochistically curious about whatever Shaun had left to say. "Hank, I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be," he insisted. He kept his voice even, monotone. He had already cried for Shaun, he wasn't going to let himself do that again.
Shaun sighed, his grip on his wrist tightening just a little. "I… What… What about your wife?"
Hank was pretty sure he heard the gears in his head grind to a halt at that question. "My… what?"
He let his grip on his wrist fall, but Hank didn't move away, baffled by the direction the conversation had taken. "Your wife. I…" he sighed, looking away, evidently embarrassed. "I did the 'crazy ex' thing and internet stalked you, alright? I know you got married."
"Well you did a piss poor job of it apparently," Hank blurted out, almost laughing at the statement. God, he hadn't even thought about his ex wife in ages. "Shoulda kept looking. I haven't been married for years."
It was Shaun's turn for a look of absolute confusion. His expression resembled a deer about to have a bad day on the highway. "You're… divorced?"
He nodded, moving a fraction of a step closer to the other man. "What, you thought I'd be the type of person to cheat?"
"No!" he insisted immediately. "I… no, of course not. I just… didn't know what to think."
Hank shrugged with a small, somewhat forced, smile. It hurt more than he wanted to admit that Shaun could possibly think he was capable of something like that. "Well good. I may be an asshole, but I'm sure as hell not that kind of asshole."
"I know," Shaun came closer again. The intensity of the look he was giving him sent shivers through him. "I know. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry," he told him. "We haven't seen each other in years. No way for you to know what I'm like now. Hell, I'm sure you weren't expecting me to be this much of a fuckin' mess."
Shaun shook his head, but there was a smile on his face now. "You aren't a mess, Hank. You're grieving."
"What's the difference?"
He paused for a moment, evidently unable to formulate a proper answer. "Fine then, you're a beautiful disaster."
It felt good to laugh. It didn't lessen the pain eating at him, but at least here was another emotion on top of it. "Well, at least I'm beautiful."
He was close to him again, more sincerity in his expression than he was warranted to be on the receiving end of. He brushed at a strand of hair that had fallen into his face, fingers just barely touching his skin in the process. "You've always been beautiful," he whispered.
Hearing something like that from Shaun, literally the most attractive man Hank had ever seen, made him weak at the knees. "So, does that mean I can kiss you?" he asked.
Shaun paused for a moment, as though debating his answer. He came closer, almost leaning in before backing away. "No," he said at last.
Hank's heart skipped. After everything, it was the answer he should have expected, but with how tender he had been towards him… he swallowed hard. "No?"
His eyes looked like he was the one whose heart had been ripped out instead of Hank's. "No," he repeated. "Hank. You're vulnerable right now. You can't possibly be ready for a healthy relationship, not while you still need to heal."
He hated that he was right. He knew damn well that he was just looking to bury his pain in something, anything else. Fuck Shaun and his ability to read him, to know him so well that he knew how he thought. How he felt.
Still, he wasn't about to give up so easily. "Didn't your dad and step mom hook up while you were-"
"Yes, ok yeah," he interrupted before he could relay too many details. "But that doesn't mean that it was healthy either. The two of them working out, they are an exception, not the rule." He shook his head, shuttering. "God I wish I didn't even know about that. I don't think my therapist would have suggested reading that damn book if he knew Mr. Jayden had put in such a… graphic account."
"Surprised your parents even talked about it in the interview," Hank couldn't help but muse.
Shaun shook his head like he was clearing his brain like an etch-a-sketch. "That… that isn't what's important right now." He stepped closer again, close enough to touch him, but he didn't. "Hank, I'll be here for you, if you want me to be. But as a friend. That's what you need right now. If, once you've healed, that changes… Well, we can go from there."
It wasn't a promise. Not even a maybe, but it was just enough to give Hank something to hold onto. A reason to try.
He leaned his head forward to press his forehead to Shaun's shoulder. He responded by wrapping his arms around him, pulling him into a tight, warm hug. He was right, Hank realized, returning the embrace. This was the kind of love he needed right now.
