Hi! So I'm early! I felt bad about being so late last time, so I figured I'd post a day early. Plus, last chapter was a cliffhanger. So, yeah.

Trigger warnings: Alcohol abuse, and mentions of suicide. I put two asterisks (**) next to the paragraph that had a direct reference to the attempt, and a single asterisk (*) where it ended.

Also, I feel like it's obvious, but I've never been drunk. I'm only 20 (though I turn 21 February 10th), and have only been out of the U.S. once, where I only drank a couple things that I despised. So I probably messed up the depiction of someone being drunk. So. Sorry about that.

Enjoy!

All thought flew out of his mind the second his lips touched the warm, soft, pliant lips of his roommate. All he could think was Holy fucking shit balls, I'm fucking kissing Connor fucking Stern, what the ever-loving FUCK?!, before pushing the thought aside, mind hyper focusing on every single sensation that he felt on his lips, the lips in front of him moving slightly to get a better angle, causing butterflies to ignite in his stomach. He hadn't kissed anyone in such a fucking long time. God was it nice.

He hadn't meant to kiss Connor. It had been impulse, his tired mind seeing the booze and becoming overwhelmed. He hadn't expected to see it, not after his angst filled thoughts from earlier. Nor had he expected to waken from his nightmare about the crash to face the warm eyes of his roommate, whom he was quickly losing his mind over. Everything altogether had led Hank's sleep-addled mind into the wonderful thought of 'I must kiss the angel who brought me such a heavenly gift.' If he was being honest, he'd have probably kissed Fowler himself had the man been the one who had brought it instead of Conner.

Not that he regretted that Connor's was the mouth his was pressed to. He had to admit, while the kid was obviously frozen with the same shock Hank felt, his lips felt so nice against Hank's rough, chapped ones. They felt velvet smooth, like they were made of warm, pliant plastic. And when Connor moved his lips, just slightly, Hank felt an intense heat wash over his belly, making him want to grab the boy and have his wild way with him, fucking him until all he knew was Hank, Hank, Hank. Hank had always known that he'd swung both ways, but something about the thought felt wrong to him.

That was when his brain finally kicked in and he realized that he was kissing Connor. His fucking roommate. A kid he had fucking traumatized not even a day past. What. The ever-loving. Fuck?

Pulling back as hastily as he'd rushed in, Hank stared at Connor with the widest eyes, noticing Connor had the same look. Only, the kid looked mildly nauseous. Oh, Fuck.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck. Fucking shit, fuck shit," Hank cursed eloquently, cursing his stupidity, his sleep addled mind, and his mother, for birthing such a fucking moron.

Connor just looked dazed, hand absentmindedly raising to touch his lips, in what Hank would call wonder if he hadn't known better. The nauseated look was still on Connor's face, letting Hank know what he truly felt. Of course he hadn't wanted a kiss from Hank. Hank was an old, run down ex-cop, whose personality could only be called a dumpster fire, while his looks left a lot to be desired. He'd probably throw up if someone like him had dared try to kiss him. Likely deck the fucker, too. Connor looked too dazed to do either thing, but it didn't mean he had wanted it. Fuck. Hank just assaulted his roommate, in his own bed. Shit. Fucking fuck, fuck, shit balls. Fuck.

"Shit. Kid. I'm so, so fucking sorry, I shouldn't have- I wasn't thinking- I hadn't meant to- I- fucking… SHIT!" Hank exclaimed, rubbing his hand viciously through his hair, enjoying the twinge his scar gave in return. His word were failing him. God damn it. He took a deep breath and tried to make it right. Connor was looking at him now, eyes less dazed than before, but the nauseated look remained. Fuck.

"Look, kid. I hadn't meant to fucking kiss you. Hell, had you been literally anyone else, even a fucker like Reed, I'd probably have kissed you. Shit, that makes it worse. Uh, just. It wasn't. Personal, you know? I was still half asleep, and my mind saw booze, and had the thought of, 'I must kiss whatever angel brought me that shit,' or something like that. You get me?" Hank rambled, not remembering a time he had felt so awkward before. Not even the first time he'd kissed a girl and gotten their braces stuck together, eventually having to ask her very conservative, very Catholic father for help, tears leaking from her eyes as the furious man had attempted to free them. Now THAT had been awkward. This? This took the cake. Easy. At least that was funny in retrospect. He felt that this would never be funny.

He watched, anxiety mounting, as Connor blinked slowly, mind processing the information. Hank could almost see a red buffering symbol at the side of Connor's head, spinning furiously as he tried to understand what had happened. Hank was about to throw up when Connor nodded slowly, eyes rising to meet Hank's.

"I. Yes. Of course. I completely understand. It's. Fine. Don't, don't worry about it. It's. Fine," Connor bit out haltingly, eyes blinking rapidly. Hank had to be imagining it, but for a second, he could have sworn he saw disappointment flash across Connor's face. But it was gone as quick as it was there, Connor's face quickly turning blank, all signs of emotion or turmoil leaving the face. Hank felt a stab of displeasure, hating seeing the kid grow so cold, hating more that he had put that expression on the kid's face. A beyond fake smile filled Connor's face, eyes still blank. Shit.

"Really, Lieutenant-" and man did that hurt, for some reason, hearing the informal title come from Connor's lips- "it's fine. I don't mind. It was an honest mistake, and I'll be sure to forget about it immediately. Now, did you want some of the whiskey I brought for you?"

Connor sounded so detached that for a second, Hank couldn't comprehend his words. Then, he felt his stomach fucking drop, at the thought of Connor forgetting the kiss that Hank would never forget. Though, the kid's last suggestion sure would come in handy in helping him try. With a grin that didn't reach his eyes, Hank held out his hand, beckoning for the sweet, sweet booze.

As soon as his hand wrapped around that familiar bottle, the entire world fell away until it was just him and the bottle. Even Connor, an eager expression slowly creeping onto his closed off face, couldn't distract Hank now.

Finally. Fucking finally. He'd been waiting for this for the past month, after the last time he'd drank. Hastily pulling the cap off with ease, Hank pressed his lips to the mouth of the bottle and drank heavily, not coming up for air until he could feel the alcohol numb his mind, his head rushing with the thrill of booze. When he finally put the bottle down, over half the bottle was gone, but Hank didn't care. He wasn't able to feel anything, now. Nothing but that weightless feeling he always had when he drank, mind delightfully fuzzy, worries miles away.

He distantly saw Connor frown, before feeling a hand touch his gently. Electricity ran through his hand, making him giggle uncontrollably. Fuck, how had he gotten drunk so fast? It usually took more than this. He must have lost some of his tolerance over the last year, the bourbon Ben had gotten him the previous month not doing much to retain it. If he remembered correctly, he'd gotten drunk pretty fast then, too. Shit. Drunk Hank was never a fun Hank to be around. Heh, he giggled. Like any Hank was fun to be around.

He looked back at Connor when the kid's hand moved, stroking the larger, more calloused digits. Connor had nice hands, Hank noted absently, staring at them as they drew electricity across his body, breath stuttering at the sight of the deft fingers. Man, what else could those fingers do, he wondered, imaging them trailing his body, teasing his nipples, jamming themselves repeatedly up his assho- Hank abruptly cut off his thoughts, remembering where he was, and who he was with, and how utterly wrong those thoughts were while sitting on a bed across from the object of his fantasy, who he'd just assaulted a minute ago.

Oh. Yeah. He'd forgotten that. Oops.

"I'm drunk," Hank claimed helpfully, eyes meeting Connor's with a smile as he said the words, glad to help Connor out. He had looked so confused. So cute. God, he wanted to take that face and shove his tongue down that throat, watch those cheeks flush bright red, saliva dripping down his cheek as he stared with blown pupils, hair a mess, breathing Hank, Hank, Hank-

"Hank! Are you okay? I hadn't realized the alcohol would have such an effect on you, I'm so sorry! Is it bad? I, I should throw the rest away, to be safe-"

Hank snarled at that, yanking the bottle away when Connor made to grab it, shoving the kid firmly away, and accidentally off the bed, to keep the booze safe.

"Hey, fuck off! Don'u, don'u touch my booze, ya 'ear me?! Fuckin', fuckin' mine. Mine." Hank snarled, taking a quick sip of the glorious liquid. Sweet, sweet alcohol. How he had missed you.

Hank thought the kid looked fucking adorable looking up at him with wide eyes, shocked at finding himself on the ground. Hank snickered meanly, taking another sip. No one ever said Hank was a nice drunk. Or even an okay drunk. Or even a shitty drunk. Nooo, Hank Fucking Anderson (and he was about 90% sure that was his full name, certainly sounded like something his piece of shit father would do) was an absolutely, fucking awful, no good, really bad drunk. No one liked being around him when he got going. That's why he'd been kicked out of and banned from so many bars, Jimmy's one of the few who tolerated him. Sure, he'd be fine enough when he'd drink while depressed. But drinking to drink? Fuck no. Like his father, piece of shit he was, he got mean while blitzed.

He felt his heart clench at the comparison between him and his old man, causing him to drink some more. The bottle was almost empty. Shit. Not good. He had to save this, so he'd have some for later. Finding the cap, he did his best to close the bottle, but only succeeded in nearly spilling it all over his sheets, almost wasting precious booze. He was about to growl in frustration when he felt gentle hands take the cap from him, deftly sealing the bottle tight. The hands didn't try and take it, though, which was a smart move on the hands part. Wait. Hands couldn't move on their own. Who…?

Hank then remembered that Connor was still in the room. Ohhh, yeah. He'd pushed the kid off the bed. Oops. He probably should apologize for that.

Before he could, though, he looked up and found Connor's eyes, which were reluctantly filled with amusement at Hank's actions. Hank felt all the words leave his head as his mouth turned dry. God you're beautiful, Hank thought, not realizing he had said it aloud until Connor blushed a deep crimson, such an enchanting look that Hank couldn't look away. Instead, he doubled down on the thought.

"Mean it. You're so, so fuckin' beauti- beautiful. Like the goddamn sun. Like lookin' into the sun. Or the moon. Fuckin'. Gorgeous."

He didn't know what he was saying, but it sounded right. Because Connor was. Beautiful. He'd known it all along. From the first goddamn second he laid eyes on the man he's known how fucking gorgeous he was. And he told Connor so, how he'd been struck by how beautiful the man was when they'd met, loving how Connor's flush grew darker, his whole face scarlet. God. So fucking hot. Hank wanted to grab that face and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Hank didn't say that, though. Part of him remembered that nauseated look and didn't want a repeat of it now. He still had some self-preservation left, after all.

"O-okay Hank. I, I believe you-" Hank distantly realized he had asked Connor repeatedly if the man believed him when he said how beautiful he was. Whoops- "but maybe it's time to go to bed. I don't, I don't think you'd appreciate you saying this to me when you wake up in the morning."

It was then that Hank's stomach growled, letting its emptiness be made known. Oh yeah. He hadn't had breakfast or lunch, too excited to see Sumo to have the former, and too busy sleeping to have the latter. Maybe that's why he was so drunk, he told Connor. Connor frowned at that, before standing up. Hank was upset, wondering why the man was going. He asked, but Connor just smiled tightly at him.

Oh. He'd made him mad. Shit. Well, guess he was right. He was a piece of shit who would die alone, everyone hating him. His stomach soured at the thought, his good mood suddenly taking a nose dive as he remembered his thoughts before he'd fallen asleep. His breath caught at the thought, and he quickly tried to open the bottle, wanting to be more drunk before he had anymore feelings. Before he could open the fucking thing, he felt those soft, immaculate hands touch his again, gently prying the bottle from his fingers. He wanted to fight it, but found he couldn't, with how depressed he'd become.

God, he was such a piece of shit. No one had ever loved him, not even his wife of ten years, who had never wanted to be a mother and resented him for begging to keep the baby. Not his mother, definitely not his father; not Connor. Cole, Cole only loved him because he had to. His friends hated him. He was a piece of shit that would die alone, unloved, unmourned, in a falling apart piece of shit mental health facility, the outside world passing him by and forgetting about him, like he. Fucking. Deserved. He was worthless, pathetic, nothing, a waste of space, a piece of sh-

Hank didn't realize he'd started crying again until gentle hands touched his cheeks, angling his face upwards to look into doleful, brown eyes. Hank abruptly shut his mouth, realizing he'd been saying the words aloud. Oh well. Who cared? They were true.

"No, Hank, they're not true. You are loved, Hank, I promise you that," Connor whispered, leaning closer to the man, letting his forehead lean against Hank's. Hank felt his breath catch, wondering what Connor meant, only for his stupid hopes to be dashed a second later when Connor continued to speak. "Your friends love you, Hank. Sumo loves you. And people would mourn you if you died. I would. Your friends would. Even Markus would. You two are friends, right? Markus cares about you, Hank. And, and so do I. So very, very much. So please, don't say things like that. You have no idea how precious you are."

Connor sounded so sincere, so honest, but Hank had a hard time believing the words. But the look on his face… God, he wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to kiss him.

So he did.

The lips were just as soft the second time, maybe even softer to his whiskey-addled mind. So soft. So plaint. So warm. So… Connor. He loved Connor, he realized blankly, as their lips pressed so sweetly together, Connor leading as Hank was too drunk to do anything. He felt Connor carefully move his lips against his, clearly inexperienced, but it didn't matter. It felt so good. So nice. So sweet. More tears fell, unbidden, as he couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed him so gently. Had held him like he was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe never. The thought made more tears fall.

God, would he ever stop crying?! He felt like a preteen girl, crying at the drop of a fucking hat. He hated it but didn't think any more on it as Connor pressed closer to him, lips pressed firmly against his, fiercer than the gentle kisses they'd been sharing. It made heat flare in his stomach, his dick making itself known, growing hard in his jeans (why was he still wearing jeans…? Oh yeah, he hadn't bothered to change after walking Sumo and falling apart in his room, like a fucking child. Right), but before he could press further, to press Connor deep into the mattress and show the kid just how much he got under his skin, Connor pulled back, causing Hank to let out a high-pitched whine. He felt Connor smile, lips still centimeters from his own, before a gentle, barely-there kiss was pressed to his lips. And then Connor was gone, his hands and lips abruptly absent from his face. He missed them instantly. He looked at Connor in askance, noting that he likely had a 'kicked puppy' expression on. Connor just smiled sadly.

"You don't want this, Hank. Even I can see how unstable you are right now. You'd probably be kissing anyone right now. Even a fucker like Reed," Connor recited listlessly, sad smile on his lips, eyes so doleful it almost hurt to look at. Hank wanted to deny it, say he wanted to kiss Connor, had wanted it since the moment they had met, which was why he had been so pissed, so goddamned angry at what was so tantalizingly close but so fucking far. Before he could, Connor continued, what looked like tears filling his eyes. Shit. He'd made the kid cry.

"But I need you to know that I'm here. I, I may not be the best at emotions, but I want to help you, Hank. So please. Let me. Let me help you. Please."

God, Connor was incredible. So kind. So hot. So amazing. Hank loved him. He knew that, more than anything his drunk mind agreed on that. But he didn't say it. He couldn't stand to see Connor's eyes spill any tears.

How the fuck had they gotten here, Hank wondered blithely, staring into Connor's eyes. Why did he had to be such a nasty drunk? Shit. He never should have drunk the whiskey. That had been a bad idea.

Shit. What had Connor said to him? He couldn't remember. Shit. Shit. Something about help…?

"Hank. Please. Let me help you. Please."

That was it. Help. Hank blinked, looking dully at Connor. And, slowly, he began.

**"I had a son. His name was Cole. Fuckin', fuckin' ace kid. Better than me. So much better. Loved him, so much I loved him. He was my everythin'. And then, then I lost 'im. Gone. Just, vanished into nothin'. Poof. Gone. And I, I couldn' take it. Tried to kill m'self so many times. Never went through with it. 'Til his birthday. He'd have turned 8. Almost two years since I'd lost him. And I… I couldn't deal. Got piss drunk and tried to blow my brains out. Woulda succeeded had the gun been an inch to the right. Or had that lady not been walkin' around. Not sure if I'm glad she was or not. Sure woulda missed meetin' you, though, had I died. Yeah. Sure woulda missed that."

*He stopped talking, eyes landing on his hands, so twisted and old. Not like Connor's young, beautiful hands. Not fit to even touch those hands. Who was he kidding? Connor would never love him.

But maybe, he thought, when he saw Connor smile at him so sweetly, usually emotionless eyes filled with such sorrow, tears filling them on Hank's behalf… maybe he could have him as a friend. He'd like that.

"Hey Connor," he mumbled, before he could talk himself out of it. He heard a distant 'yes, Hank,' (heart jolting at hearing his name come from those lips) and continued. "Are we friends? I'd like to be friends, if that's alright with you."

Connor's eyes filled with joy at the words, the corners crinkling as he smiled. The tears were still plain in his eyes, but Hank knew he was happy. He thought. Maybe.

He watched as Connor nodded quickly, smile so sweet. So beautiful.

"Yes, Hank. I'd like that very much. So much."

Hank's grin started slowly, before taking up his whole face, finally reaching his eyes. God, he loved this kid. Hank's stomach growled at that, making him frown down at it.

"Fucking fantastic. Now, can we get some food? My stomach feels like it's eating itself," Hank grunted, reality coming back a little. He was still drunk, but he was starting to sober. Something about talking about Cole made him stone cold sober. Go figure.

Connor only nodded, scrubbing his eyes to get rid of the unfallen tears, before getting up. Hank was about to follow, before Connor pushed him gently down, making Hank bounce on the shitty bed.

"Stay here. I'll be right back, I promise. You're in no shape to be wandering outside right now."

With that, Connor turned to the door, exiting without a goodbye. Hank tried not to feel regret at that. Oh well. He hadn't needed a fucking goodbye. He wasn't a fucking kid.

Shaking his head to try and clear it, Hank shifted in the bed, scrubbing his face to get rid of the tears. God, he had to stop crying so much. It was becoming unmanly. He declined into a half sitting, half leaning pose, closing his eyes to the light. He tried to forget the last hour had ever happened. Tried to forget ever kissing Connor. He knew it wouldn't work, knew those beyond sweet kisses were seared into his brain, but a man could hope, yeah?

Just as he was about to drift to sleep, he heard the door open, before a warm body slotted itself behind his, between his back and the headboard. He blinked his eyes open when he felt gentle hands comb deft fingers through his tangled hair. He looked up, meeting Connor's too soft gaze. God. What had he done to earn such a soft look? God. Jesus fucking Christ. This kid would kill him, he knew it. He knew it.

He felt so comfortable like that, that he didn't even bother to question it. Friends did this for one another, right? After learning your friend had tried to kill himself to forget losing his only son, friends sat behind other friends and gently combed their fingers through their friends' hair, looking at their friends like they had hung the moon, the stars, and the sun, for good measure. Right? Right. Of course.

He would have fallen asleep like that had it not been for the knock on the door, causing Connor to get up to answer it. Hank missed the heat immediately. But Connor was soon back, after saying soft words to the orderly outside, bringing a tray with two covered plates on them. Connor uncovered them to show a turkey burger with tomatoes, lettuce, and onions. And, he noted with a wry grin, some cheese. He sat up long enough to eat the meal, wolfing down the entire thing along with the water that came with, before settling down in the bed. He watched as Connor moved to turn out the light, returning to his own bed shortly after. Hank couldn't help but watch the kid move, so much grace in his movement.

Hank knew he'd regret not taking off his pants in the morning if he didn't remove them now, so he wiggled around, attempting to undo his pants with fumbling fingers. Part of him wondered if Connor would come over to help, if he asked. Probably, which is why he didn't. Instead, he struggled to get them off, grinning when they were finally gone, and he could feel his legs again. Settling back down with a sigh, Hank closed his eyes. He didn't think about Connor, who he could feel watching him. He didn't think about how hungover he'd be in the morning. He didn't even think about Cole and how much relief he'd felt at talking about his son at last.

No.

All he thought about was the warmth that filled him.

That was all he needed.

~XoXoXoXoXoXoXo~

When Hank woke the next morning, mouth foul, head pounding an angry tattoo, Hank wondered why in the Fuck he thought drinking that much alcohol so quickly was a good idea. Even him as his worst would have taken that wrong. Him at his worst had taken that wrong, on many occasions, in fact. So why, oh why, had he thought it would be wise?

Oh. Yeah. 'Cause he was a piece of shit. Who'd assaulted Connor, a man who had done nothing but try and help Hank. Shit.

Hank let out a groan when he remembered the kiss (both of them, sadly, though the second one was much fuzzier. Most of his memories from the last night were. Had he really talked about Cole? Shit. He'd never done that before). God, what a mess.

Before he could let his thoughts follow the path they were winding, self-hatred rising, Hank saw something move in his periphery. His eyes were attracted to the movement, and quickly found the hunched form of Connor, eyebrows furrowed, talking softly into the phone. Hank watched for a few seconds as the kid looked out the window, eyes filled with sadness, before looking at Hank. He saw Connor freeze when he noticed the man was awake.

However, before the pit in Hank's stomach could get any deeper, he saw Connor smile so wide it almost hurt to look at, eyes illuminated. Connor quietly said something into the receiver, waited a few seconds, then bid whoever it was he was talking to goodbye, putting the receiver back. Connor then stood up and quickly reached the bed, sitting on the side. From that close, Hank could see the dark circles that hung deep below the kid's eyes. Shit. Had he gotten any sleep last night?

Before he could think on that anymore, he felt soft fingers enter his hair, causing Hank to tense completely, eyes wide as he looked at Connor. Connor's eyes widened as well, almost like he hadn't meant to do that. Like it had been reflex.

But you know what? Fuck it. Hank forced himself to relax then, eyes closing as he hummed in approval. His head hurt. His heart hurt. Connor's fingers felt so fucking good (what else could those fingers do, Hank wondered?), and he might as well just. Enjoy it. While it lasted. You know that point in your life where you figure, things are already so fucking weird, so why the fuck not? Hank had reached that point.

After a few seconds, Connor's fingers started to move again, causing a deep groan to release from Hank's mouth. Connor's fingers paused momentarily at the sound, before moving again, more forceful. He was careful of the scar, though, which Hank appreciated.

"Does this help your headache? I remember the one and only time I had a hangover. It… wasn't pleasant," Connor murmured, softly. "My older brother, Nines, did this to help me the next morning. We've never been particularly close, but it was one of the nicest things he has done for me. I was hoping it would help you, too."

Hank's eyes opened at that, looking at Connor weirdly.

"The only time you had a hangover? And what the fuck, I didn't know you had siblings. Who the fuck names a kid 'Nines,' though? The fuck?" Seriously. What a dumb fucking name.

Connor chuckled softly at that, nails lightly scrapping against Hank's scalp in a sinful manner. Fuck that felt good. Hank suppressed the groan that time, not wanting to pervert such a nice gesture on Connor's part. The kid didn't get human emotion. Probably didn't see this act as something remotely sexual. He sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up.

"Technically speaking I have dozens of siblings. Amanda likes to take unwanted children and train them. She adopted me when I was 3, after my parents were killed in a protest. She had adopted many before me, and many after. Nines was just the one I was closest to, since he is only a few years my elder. And the name is a nickname. He hates his real name and refuses to be called by anything else. Amanda agreed to it. As for the hangover, I've only gotten drunk once, on my 21st birthday. I… hated it. Immensely. It made me feel all disoriented and out of control. Since then I've vowed to never drink anything with alcohol in it."

God this kid was precious. Hank chuckled softly, and started to shake his head, but had to stop quickly, unless he wanted to puke all over his bed. Which, no thanks. He didn't think about the other info Connor had given, about his parents. If the kid wanted to talk about it, he would. Hank wouldn't push.

"That's the whole point of alcohol, kid. To feel out of control. To forget, for a few hours. It's, you know. Freeing."

A brief silence followed his statement, before Connor softly spoke.

"Is that why you drink, Lieutenant?"

Hank froze at the return to the formal title. Fuck. He barely remembered the kid using his first name last night, but something about it had felt so right. But, to be Lieutenant now… it reminded Hank why he had to stop this. Right now.

Stiffening, Hank carefully sat up, ignoring the regret at being torn from Connor's deft fingers. But he knew it was the right thing. Connor didn't need him to be all creepy. Fuck, he had so much to apologize for, and the kid was trying to make him feel good. Sighing, Hank ran a hand through his hair, harshly, not like Connor's hands. He resolutely looked anywhere but at Connor. He didn't want to see confusion fill his beautiful face. Couldn't.

"Yeah. It is. But I think I owe you an apology. Like, a big one." Taking a deep breath, he looked at Connor, who looked back at him carefully. At least he didn't have the guarded look on his face. He looked like… like he had expected this.

"What happened last night… it was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it, any of it. You were being nice, and I acted like a huge asshole. Getting drunk. Assaulting you. It was just… a big mistake. So, let's forget the entire thing. Okay?"

He watched Connor for several long moments, the kid looking down at the bed, hands folded carefully on his lap. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly.

"Okay, Lieutenant. If that's what you want. I don't think I can forget what you told me, about… him, but I will not bring it up if you don't want me to. But I do want to thank you, for telling me. Even if you had been drunk. And please, Hank. I do wish to help you. You… you deserve to be happy. You deserve to get better. And I… I want to help you, if I can. As a wise person said to me recently, friends make other people happy. So, Hank, I'd like to be your friend. If you wouldn't mind. Please?"

Connor looked at Hank, eyes wide. So fucking innocent. What could Hank do but nod, mouth dry? Part of him distantly remembered asking the kid the same thing the previous night.

"Yeah, kid. I'd like that too."

So that was that. They were friends. Connor grinned down at him, ducking his head down bashfully.

"Good, Hank. I'm very glad. Now, you should probably take a shower before heading down to breakfast this morning. No offense, but you smell very strongly of booze."

Hank blinked, before sniffing himself carefully, jerking back when he got a whiff of his foul scent. He almost threw up due to the scent alone.

"Jesus fucking Christ. How the hell were you able to sit beside me at all?! Shit," he grumbled, standing up. He had a case of vertigo as he reached his full height, body swaying as everything tilted slightly, but quick as a flash Connor was by his side, holding out a steadying hand. Hank gave the kid a half-hearted grin, nodding his thanks.

With care, he walked to the bathroom, Connor hovering beside him, making sure he wouldn't fall. Hank appreciated the gesture, even though it annoyed him a little. Shit, he wasn't a fucking invalid.

Once inside the bathroom, a change of clothes that Connor had kindly gotten him in hand, he headed straight for the toilet, sighing with relief as his bladder emptied. He then turned the shower on, waited the minute it took before lukewarm water sprayed out, and stepped in. He couldn't help the groan he let out as the water hit his aching head, the gentle tattoo helping with the vicious pounding in his head. He'd dealt with hangovers before, though. He'd ask an orderly for some aspirin later, to help the aching stop. For now, the water gently cascading down his back would be enough.

He stayed in the shower for the next half hour, washing his hair and body. Mostly he just stood there, eyes closed as the water hit his back.

Things were looking up, he felt. Yeah, last night had epically sucked, but at least he and Connor were friends now. The thought somehow didn't scare him, like it would have even a week ago. Yeah, Connor would probably realize how shitty Hank was, that he was a bad friend, but Hank didn't care at the moment. He just wanted to enjoy his time with Connor. Even if it would end. And it would. End. Everything did, for Hank. His childhood had ended before it had even begun, thanks to his shit father. His marriage had ended long before the two had decided to divorce. All of his friendships were on their dying legs, everyone sick of his shit. He had to face it. Everything ended for him.

But… maybe he could enjoy what he had with Connor, regardless. What was that phrase, better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, or some shit? Yeah, he wasn't in love with Connor (he didn't care what his drunk mind had thought, he'd known the kid three fucking days, two and a half technically, and that was way too soon to fall in love. Especially given how their relationship had started), but he felt the sentiment was the same.

So he'd give this a try. This friendship. Maybe it would make things better. Maybe Connor was right. Maybe he did deserve happiness.

Maybe, maybe he should try and talk about this with Rose. He hadn't spoken to her about anything in months. Maybe she'd be able to help him sort his head out. And then maybe he could leave the facility, see Sumo, be happy. And maybe Connor, when he left, could come live with him. They could help each other learn to live on the outside, supporting each other, caring about one another.

Hank snorted at the thought, knowing it wouldn't be that fucking easy. But he could try. Talk to Rose. Do his best to get better.

It was nice to dream.