There's Something Wrong With Me

by skeevy nyx

Connor was content with his self-admitted boring life—he watched his shows, saw his friends sometimes—but the second he stepped through those precinct doors, the job was his only focus. Connor knew his life wasn't typical, or enviable—but he had systems in place, which mostly worked. AU crime drama with personal conflict and introspection, maybe some domestic terrorism... and love?

8. Chapter 8- Emotional Self-(harm)healing

There's Something Wrong With Me - Chapter 8

Emotional Self-[else if (user == harm || user == healing)]

Connor was lying on his back in bed, still warm and a little dizzy from his long shower. He had thrown out his bloody shirt, not even wanting to bother getting the stain out—after double-wrapping it in trash bags, of course. He realized that he'd gotten home "automatically"—his thoughts had been swirling the whole time he was driving, and the next thing he knew he was in his apartment's parking lot. He could barely remember saying goodbye to Hank—he had grabbed his coat from his desk, and he made sure to tuck Emma's photo strip into his wallet—Jason actually hadn't taken it with him. Connor wasn't sure what to say to Hank... emotions had run so high that day, and he was feeling so drained, he just said, "Thank you for today," to which Hank said, "Hey, no problem," and Connor walked a little quickly out the back door to his car. Then all the thoughts and images from the balcony came back, and he couldn't get them to stop.

He was sick of feeling this way... maybe it was time to "pop the bubble."

Connor had a secret habit, which he kept even from North. The only person he really told about it was Jayden, because he thought he might be able to relate. Connor had asked him, "Do you ever make yourself feel worse on purpose, so you can feel better?" Jayden's response had been, "Eh, not really. I don't really have high highs and low lows, Connor." After that Connor just changed the subject and didn't elaborate. But this was something he found himself doing in high school, and it had helped him through college... when Connor was already feeling bad, like really bad—it sometimes helped him to inundate his brain with negative thoughts, and make himself feel even worse and cry it all out, and think through all the things in his life that upset him all at once, punishing himself mentally for not being able to deal with his problems properly, and telling himself that he deserved to feel this bad because he wasn't willing to make the effort to change, hopefully shaming himself into actually doing something about it—and in the end, he felt so numb to it all that he almost felt better. Like, after he physically couldn't cry anymore he would "pop the bubble", and he could settle back down to neutral. [Author's note: Don't do this, please. Be kind to yourselves, y'all 3]

Connor started scrolling through his private "feel-bad" playlist on his phone. Connor liked listening to sad music, normally—like he had told Hank, he liked that downer version of "You Were Meant for Me". Even when he was a kid, he sometimes found himself drawn to dramatic or emotional music, like that Goo Goo Dolls song where he's like, "And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand!" Or more downbeat songs from the eighties—he liked both versions of "How Soon is Now?", but he probably preferred The Smiths' original—that song did accurately describe his social life. But he didn't feel sad while listening to those—it was more relatable, like "Yeah, sometimes it really do be that way." But there was certain music—or movies, or shows—which Connor considered truly "feel-bad". Connor didn't have the mental energy to follow a narrative right now, so music would have to do. He didn't normally want to listen to overtly negative stuff like Tool, or KoЯn, or Nine Inch Nails, or the twelve-minute songs from The Mars Volta or "Homesick" by The Cure, or "Nutshell" and "Wake Up" by Alice in Chains and Mad Season, or that one Mogwai song his Schpotify recommended that put Connor in a despondent mood—but sometimes they just did it for him. Sometimes he felt like, "Yeah, give me your worst—I really want it to hurt." For some reason listening to those guys—and it was mostly guys, now that Connor was thinking about it—just blatantly and honestly singing about their emotional turmoil, or struggles with addiction, or just feeling like shit just put it all into perspective for Connor. Connor didn't consider "flooding his brain with bad thoughts" to be that big of a deal—because it's not like he physically self-harmed, or took hard drugs or drank in excess, or anything that was actually destructive. Right? This wasn't considered self-harm, right?

Connor closed his eyes, laying his phone on his chest. It was self-harm, wasn't it? Just—emotional self-harm. It's true that it helped him through college, after that whole mess with Elijah Kamski, and the further emotional turmoil of realizing that if he was actually asexual, dating would be even more difficult and he was afraid he'd never be able to fall in love, or find someone who had the patience to be with him, and he'd never feel physical intimacy with anyone at all, which he still wanted—at that time, flooding his brain did help him to settle back down to neutral, and get through it. But now... now was different. Now Connor felt like he had some semblance of self-awareness, so he knew that doing this to himself wouldn't actually help.

'Mrrow.'

Connor turned to the side, and Diana jumped up on the bed with her little trilling meow. Connor was almost shocked to see her. "Hey, sweet girl!" He reached out and rubbed her cheek, her ear, the top of her head—she pushed against his hand happily, her eyes closed. "Aww, good girl." He was so relieved—it seemed like she was getting back to her old self. She almost had perfect timing... maybe she sensed her dad was really going through it.

She actually flopped over on her side, stretching her back. "Aww, happy girl." He smoothed down her fur along her side, scratching the spot under her arms that she liked. Geez—Connor couldn't help but imagine if Hank would make fun of him for talking to his cat like this... Well, so what, Hank talked to his dog, too. Even a more "masc" guy like Markus would call Diana "sweetie girl" if she jumped up next to him on the couch. Though that was probably more North's influence.

Connor shifted a bit, so he could pet Diana while lying on his side. That's right... he had friends who cared about him, and probably really wouldn't like hearing it, if Connor told them he sometimes coped by making himself feel worse like that. No... he didn't need to do that. He owed it to Daniel, and Emma, and everyone else affected by this case to not punish himself for the way he was feeling. Oh, yeah... that was another thing.

Connor had always been afraid to know, but after this whole mess, and getting the feeling like Daniel had been misdiagnosed and improperly prescribed... Connor felt like he wasn't doing right by himself by "raw-dogging this mental illness the way God intended", like that one post he felt personally-called out by. It would probably be difficult to find a therapist or psychiatrist without a huge waiting list—luckily all Michigan state employees had the same provider, but if no one was available within the network, he'd just have to bite the bullet with a co-pay… [Author's note: For those outside the US, our healthcare system is indeed fucked.]

Connor hovered his phone above his face, almost apprehensive to even type it out, to put it out into the universe:

'is it more difficult to diagnose autism in adults'

His eyes poured over the search results page, reading snippets from articles and .edu websites, even Shreddit posts... his eyes caught terms like "masking" and "coping mechanisms" and "systems"—fuck, Connor had "systems"—ugh that's enough, there was no point self-analyzing. Connor needed to talk to a professional who knew what the hell they were talking about.

He gently reached out to pet Diana between the ears again. Her purring was always really quiet, but he could see her nails poking and retracting into the comforter, so she was feeling happy. Connor wanted to talk to somebody right now—he really wanted to see North and Markus.

He typed a text to North with one hand: 'Hey, are you guys free right now? :) I wanted to order some food'

He set his phone down on his mattress, rubbing Diana's cheek with his index finger. He probably shouldn't mention that he had another rough case—they would inevitably want to know what happened, or at least how Connor was feeling about it—and for Daniel's sake he just didn't even want to get into it. Although Connor could vaguely recall Hank pushing him past a camera crew barking, "No comment!" Oh shit—he hoped he wouldn't end up on the news.

Connor twisted into himself, feeling suddenly anxious. His phone buzzed—

'Yeah we're just chillin :) Simon's here too'

Oh. Connor had forgotten… Well, now it was too late to say "nevermind, goodnight." Maybe if he didn't say anything, she would just figure he got food on his own…

His phone buzzed again. 'Come over! 33 What kind of food do you want' [Author's note: I'm typing this on my computer, so just assume most emoticons are emojis. Except when it's Hank lol]

Uggghhh. Why was she such a good friend? Connor thought of what he wanted to say carefully…

'Oh sorry, I forgot. You guys have a good time :)' He hoped that would be enough. His phone buzzed again almost instantly.

'Connor.' She actually used a period.

Buzz. 'We're just watching a show, not having a threeway' Connor actually laughed.

Buzz. 'Just come over'

Ugh… what was he supposed to say? He really didn't want to go over… he just faded into the background when anyone else was there, and he really didn't feel like stewing in an emotional state around Simon—or anyone else who wasn't the two of them specifically. Maybe he should just be honest… no, that would just make them worry.

'It's fine, I can be patient until Friday :) Are you guys free then?'

'I'll be home, Markus will be at his dad's'

'Okay, I can come over Friday then :)'

He let his head fall back against his pillow. Well, now what was he supposed to do?

His phone buzzed again. 'Markus is annoyed you don't want to come over cuz Simon's here :('

"Haahh…" Connor couldn't even deny it, they could see right through him. He couldn't think of anything to say in response, it would have just been an excuse. Even saying "sorry" would validate that he didn't have a good reason for being so stand-offish towards Simon. For some reason Connor felt "the call of the void", and part of him wondered what would happen if he just responded with, "You guys replaced me with Simon" with an eye-roll emoji. Heugh… the thought of it made him shudder. "Hrrrrmmm…" Connor rolled over on his stomach, squashing his nose into his pillow. He was being a crappy friend. He deserved to feel lonely right now because he refused to spend time with them on their terms, only when it was most convenient for him. Shit—there he went with the self-punishing thoughts. It would be a hard habit to break.

He rolled back onto his side, since his nose started to hurt. He just really wanted someone to talk to… maybe he should just apologize, suck it up, and go watch shows with them…

His phone buzzed, again. 'Come over on Friday'

Then another. 'Markus will get back late so we can order food'

… It was hard to tell if she was still mad. It sounded a bit short. Connor couldn't help but wonder if they talked it over more, maybe Markus said something else. He hoped they weren't talking in whispered tones about him in front of Simon… thinking about it made him feel so needy, like his friends had to treat him with kid gloves and bend over backwards to accommodate him. Connor wished he hadn't sent that text at all.

"Geez." He tossed his phone to the far side of his mattress—Diana jumped, scrambling off the bed. "—whoops, sorry girl!" Damnit… what was wrong with him lately?

He pushed himself up off the bed, but stood up too fast—he stood there for a second while his vision went fuzzy, his hand ready to catch him on the mattress—the dizziness passed. He was probably still chronically iron-deficient… Connor made a mental note to pick up more spinach and mushrooms when he went to the store.

He walked through his small living room to the kitchen. He didn't have anything else to drink currently besides water… that would have to do. He moved to take his phone out of his pocket, but he didn't have it—he had thrown it indignantly and scared his cat.

He poured himself a glass of cold water from the filter, gulping it down. He realized he hadn't eaten anything since lunch—no wonder he felt so dizzy towards the end of his shower.

OOO

Connor's eyes kept darting to his phone. He would pick it up, unlock it, hoping there would be a text he missed—but there wasn't. He probably was just going to spend the rest of the night alone. He might as well just go to bed early, then…

He stared absently at his text history… and sandwiched between North from today and Markus from last week was "Lt. Hank Anderson": 'Lieutenant, are you awake?'

Connor let his phone fall against his chin. Should he call Hank? He did say he could call him if he wanted to talk… at least Connor thought he remembered him saying that, that was when he felt like he was going to nod off in the car. Did he actually mean "Call me if you want to talk", or was he just saying it so he didn't look callous? That was awfully cynical of Connor to think… but he did have a hard time believing that people were genuinely invested in him.

A laborious breath escaped his nose, and he noticed he was tapping the side of his phone. Before he even thought about asking Hank if they could talk… he just had to address it. He didn't want to make assumptions and get ahead of himself, and look like a fool later. He wasn't sure before, but… in the aftermath of what happened on the balcony, when Connor felt like he could pass out at any second, and Hank was rubbing his back like that, and his gravelly voice whispered "I gotcha" practically right into his ear… it just felt too intimate to be platonic. Let's say it had been Detective Collins up there with him instead—there was just no way. No way Ben would have held Connor in his arms and purred right into his ear—that was the only word Connor had for it, Hank's voice had this throaty rumble to it when he was being serious, and it was—was—ah, geez. Oh, no…

Connor was pressing his palms into his eyes. He should have known—he should have trusted his gut at the "Damn, that's too bad"—but he just booked it out of there, almost tripping on poor Sumo. Damnit… since when did it happen, why? Hank was his work partner—his superior, although he didn't act like it. Connor wasn't particularly into older guys, at least he never had been before—and Hank was noticeably older. Like if they were walking together outside of work, people would either think Connor was his son or his sugar baby—and both of those thoughts made Connor's skin crawl.

Connor stared at his phone, lying abandoned face-up on the couch. But… if he ruled out all other external factors, and just examined his own thoughts and feelings—the fact was, he was really comfortable around Hank. He could talk with him easily, and he found his stupid jokes funny. He just found the way he said things funny, even if there was no punchline. "Feeling comfortable" was a luxury Connor didn't often find. But he was also comfortable around his friend York and laughed at his weird sense of humor, too—so how was it different? Well… it was a little hard for Connor to pinpoint. Maybe there was some instinct left over in his monkey brain—some chemical reaction that he couldn't rationalize. He just knew that on the rooftop… he really liked having Hank's hand running up and down his back, and he wanted to be even closer. He just kind of… looked at Hank's face when he pulled back, like he was seeing him for the first time. His eyes were so kind, and he was looking just at Connor and no one else, and he just wanted to be encircled—ah geez, he was getting embarrassed just thinking about it. His brain kept conjuring up Hank's arms from that photo of him drumming and being like, "But what if those arms were around my back?" Gah… Now that he was of sound mind, he could recognize that it wasn't just a trauma response, or "lizard brain". Even when Hank let go of his hand, his body moved automatically to grab it again, like a stupid little kid crush. God—for some reason it reminded him of that scene towards the end of Titanic, when Rose was being lowered in the lifeboat and she's looking up at Leo, and flares go off behind his head like freaking fireworks—when Hank let go of Connor's hand, he wanted to leap off the lifeboat and back onto the deck like a fool. It wasn't like him at all. Well… to be fair, Connor had no way of knowing if this was like him. The last time he was in a "relationship", he was hesitant to call it—he was so young, and naïve, and eager to please, and too scared of rejection to actually advocate for himself, and he didn't know what he wanted anyway—and now he had ten years to carve out his identity as an adult, and to understand himself better. It could be argued that Connor still didn't know what he wanted… but he definitely knew what he didn't want.

Connor's face was getting a little warm. But the question was—what did Hank want? That was still a mystery to Connor… he was starting to sift through that folder in his mind, and some things Hank did could just be read as friendly… but other things could only be read as flirtatious. And if Connor was getting a flirtatious vibe, it had to be really obvious, right? Ugh… he wished he could just record his observations and show them to North and Markus, and ask them, "Is this guy flirting with me? What do I do?"

But then a little voice whispered in his head—"Why do you need to ask them? Why don't you just go find out for yourself?" No way—find out how? Was he just supposed to go to Hank's house and offer himself up? Ridiculous—what an insane suggestion.

But… no, Connor had no intention of doing some "test" like that… but the more he thought about Hank, the more he wanted to see him. He just wanted to talk to him, maybe sit on the couch and listen to some music… just normal stuff. Maybe pet Sumo, if he would let him. Yeah… that sounded really nice, actually. Connor liked the idea of that… he and Hank liked some of the same music, they could take turns putting on different tracks they thought the other would like. It'd be just like a sleepover—but Connor would be going home at the end of the night, that much was for sure.

But… is that how it would go? Connor had to admit to himself that in some capacity, he unexpectedly found himself attracted to Hank. Whether that was in a romantic or physical way, well… he just knew he liked being around him, and he especially liked the idea of being around him right now, chilling out and just having a good time. But what would that be like for Hank? Was he also attracted to Connor? It was beginning to look that way—but what was Hank's deal? Was he secretly gay, is that why his wife left him? Was he bi, or a little curious, or was he that much of a stoner hippie dude that he didn't really care about such labels? Well, Hank wasn't old enough to be a real hippie—but he did have a loosey-goosey "Eh, let people do whatever they want, long as they're not hurtin' anyone" mentality. Maybe that was the modern equivalent of "free love"…

… maybe Connor should just ask Hank, or find a way to segue the conversation. Hank was uncommonly accepting of Connor for a Midwestern older dude… and what did he say, he was raised Baptist, or Methodist? Connor couldn't remember—his family and all their yuppie friends at Mass just lumped all Christian sects together as "non-Catholics". But after seeing that photo… Connor felt like he had a window into the big picture of Hank as a person. No wonder Hank saw himself as a "grumpy old fuck"—because he looked like he used to be pretty cool. Or at least, more confident, more carefree—he could see it in the way he was smiling. That open mouth smile almost reminded him of Steve-O, weirdly—but Hank seemed like he was more likely to tell guys like that to quit fuckin' around than join them. But who knows… he could have been a rascal when he was younger. Maybe that was why he had such a shockingly "live and let live" and "I didn't see anything" attitude as a police Lieutenant. Connor was glad he saw that photo of Hank, it helped him understand him better… he just wished his brain would stop flipping to it like an eye candy slideshow. Connor wasn't even particularly into beefy guys… but those arms though, damn. Gah—

Connor was covering his face in embarrassment. "Hoo boy…" He found himself mimicking one of Hank's goofy phrases… "Ah, shit." It made him laugh—sometimes Connor got stuck in a feedback loop of repeating something dumb he heard—like when Hank said, "You ever heard of 'dabs', Connor?" Especially if it was from a video North sent him, like that British kid getting punched and going, "I can't believe you've done this." They would both start parroting it back and forth, giggling like dorks. It started when they were watching her older brother play one of the Resident Evil games in junior high—the voice acting was really bad, and there was this one particular guy who was a gold mine of bad line reads—Connor just remembered he said something like, "I can't believe—what the hell is this?!" He cut himself off so abruptly, it almost sounded like they poorly spliced the lines together—and he and North both lost it, and whenever there was another jumpscare one or both of them would say, "I can't believe!" or "What the hell is this?!" Even Starr was starting to get annoyed, and told them to quit distracting him. It was so dumb, he couldn't explain why it was funny… but Hank cursing under his breath and going, "Ah, shit" and "Goddamnit—" made him laugh in the same way—though he usually controlled it better when he was at work. He had lost it at "You ever heard of 'dabs', Connor?" though—he might have to edit that into the Steve Buscemi meme.

"Haah…" Connor was feeling a little better after laughing. That morning had definitely been unusual… Hank had asked him if he said anything "weird"… but what was he referring to? When he said, "Damn, that's too bad" in like the sexiest voice ever, or when he said, "Hey baby, relax" and pulled Connor's hand to his chest? Gah—how could Connor be so dumb, it was so obvious looking back on it. He had just made the excuse at the time that Hank was just really high. But Connor had been really high before, on accident—and he just sat there curled up at the edge of the couch, listening but not talking, unless it was to giggle and repeat something stupidly funny someone said—just an extreme exaggeration of his normal behavior, not something completely out of left field. But, well… even Connor surprised himself by running his hands through Hank's hair like that, looking back on it he couldn't believe his own boldness—and he didn't have any excuse, he was stone-cold sober. But Hank never mentioned that at all. Maybe he was too embarrassed to… or maybe he took it seriously when Connor said, "I'm not really here".

Connor realized he was still covering his nose and mouth with his hands, hiding his face from no one. There was one other thing about that morning… Connor had been so annoyed and irritated that Hank had rolled in over two hours late, not to mention the hour of anxious worrying when he hadn't even seen Connor's texts, and missed his call… but when Hank did show up, and practically prostrated and flogged himself apologizing to Connor so sincerely… he did kind of enjoy it.

"Haah…" Connor pressed his palms over his eyes... The whole thing made him feel weird, it made him feel guilty for thinking such things, like he was getting ahead of himself on his own. It had been so long since Connor was even in the mindset for dating, and trying to parse whether someone else was interested in him—he almost felt like he was having a stupid high school crush. Connor wasn't exactly a virgin, but his experience with stupid Elijah Kamski had been so bad, he didn't consider it as having experience at all. He had experience with a weird tech savant with a huge ego and a "gigachad" chin who just did whatever he wanted, and didn't seem to particularly care or be able to tell if Connor was actually enjoying it. When he tried describing it to North, without being too graphic, she nodded slowly in solidarity and said, "It felt like they were just using your body to masturbate, right?" It made Connor feel sick—that's exactly what it felt like. He felt so violated that someone would treat him that way, like he wasn't a real person with thoughts and feelings, and a willing participant in sex—just a means to get off. And he hated how North had felt that way too—ugh, why were men such scum?!

Then an inky-black, ugly thought slithered through Connor's mind—what if Hank was scum, too? His wife divorced him—if his stony outburst was to be believed, it was at least in part because he was "so fucking selfish." That could mean anything—it could be something as garden-variety as Hank was just too busy all the time and married to his job—or it could be something worse. No—no, Connor didn't even want to entertain that possibility. Hank couldn't be scum… right? He was gruff on the outside, but Connor caught glimpses that he was just a big softie on the inside… right?

Connor squeezed his eyes shut. The sudden thought was making him sick. What if he did go over to Hank's house tonight, and Hank made a move on him? What would Connor do? Probably freeze up, honestly—or have a panic attack and start shrieking, "Don't touch me!" The thought was paralyzing… No, Connor had no reason to think that would happen. He couldn't help but conjure up the "worst-case scenario" in his head—everyone thought Elijah Kamski was a charming eccentric, too. But then, if Connor wanted to believe in Hank, that he wasn't scum… what would be acceptable? Apparently rubbing his back was acceptable, and rubbing his shoulder kinda hard in the car was acceptable… uggghhh it was making Connor nervous thinking about it—those had both been in very specific situations… But then there was the whole hand thing, and laying his head on Connor's leg when he was high off his tits. Connor could make excuses for that… but it was hard to say if that was a "sober thoughts, drunk desires" situation, and Hank was trying to push his luck—or if it didn't seem like a big deal to him at the time since he was high off his gourd, but he felt bad about it later, and that's what he was apologizing for at the station. Both things had shocked Connor at the time… but were they violating or just unexpected? It was really hard to say, honestly. Connor didn't get any nefarious vibes from Hank… but he had to consider this from all possible angles. Especially if he was considering going back to the guy's house again. He couldn't afford to be anything less than cautious.

… Maybe a lot of the ambiguity could have been avoided if Connor had just said, "Well, I'm gay, but I'm asexual." Not that Hank would have known what that meant—but that was the thing. Connor wasn't even sure if he was asexual, or something else. His first experience had been so bad... and afterwards he found himself thinking, "Surely all guys can't be like that. Elijah Kamski was probably just really selfish and a bad lover"—but when North suggested that Connor might be asexual after he told her how he felt, and he went on a deep dive looking it up when he got home—he thought that he just might be. Apparently there was another thing called "demisexual", where you don't feel sexual attraction towards people in general, until you've already formed a strong emotional connection with them—basically you don't want to have sex until you fall in love, from what Connor could glean. Maybe he was that... he had honestly just been too scared to find out. And there hadn't been anyone Connor had developed strong feelings for, anyway... but he had to acknowledge that he hadn't actually tried. There was one time, after North told him about an app that was less about hookups than Timbre, and Connor worked up the courage to write himself a profile and post a few photos of himself that he liked, including his awkward pink shirt photo at Pride... he even got a few messages, but he was too shy to respond to them in time, and apparently this app unmatched you if you waited too long. So he felt bad about that, and didn't want to miss out on anyone that he could have been compatible with—so he just deleted it with the intention of making a new profile... but he never did.

Connor realized he had been bouncing his leg. He was thinking too much about it… he was just over-thinking, like always. He could drive himself crazy with "what ifs"—all Connor knew right now, was that he just wanted to relax and listen to music, maybe watch a movie, and get out of his own head. He wanted to trust Hank… he had to trust Hank, or else he might as well just go up to Captain Fowler tomorrow and demand his partnership be dissolved. And he didn't want that… he didn't want to be so fearful, and doubt people's intentions, and psych himself out of actually living his own life… he wanted to be more like Daniel when he posted that photo. That was probably a really bad example—but that was what it meant to take a risk. Connor had to be willing to take the steps to live his own life the way he wanted to. He had to be willing to put himself out there, and trust other people. He wanted to trust Hank. And who knows—in the cynical part of Connor's mind, he could view this as a "test" of sorts, to find out what Hank was actually feeling, and what his intentions were. And if Hank actually got handsy with him, he'd just flip him over his shoulder like Jayden showed him a million times from his Aikido training. But Connor seriously doubted he had anything to worry about—his paranoid intrusive thoughts aside, Hank had shown him nothing but patience and kindness. He even apologized for the times he was snippy, and apologized profusely for the brownie incident. A lot of guys, especially Hank's age, don't have that kind of self-awareness, and aren't able to admit when they've done something wrong—let alone change their behavior afterwards. Even something simple like showing Connor that he was going to set an alarm on his phone and be on time, showed he was trying to change.

"Haaahhh..." Connor sighed loudly, getting his nervous energy all out. He took a deep breath, psyching himself up again. "I trust Hank. I just want to relax and listen to music, that's all." It didn't hurt to put it out there into the universe. Maybe he'd start believing again if an all-powerful entity could just do this one thing for him. He pressed "Lt. Hank Anderson" in his history, and started typing…

'Hank, are you still awake? I wanted to ask if you want to sit around and listen to music, I could use the distraction. Haha'

Connor wondered if that was too casual. That's more or less how he texted his friends, although the last time he texted Hank he was purposefully more formal… oh shit, Hank was calling him—gah, he wasn't ready to actually talk to him.

He fumbled to swipe Accept. "… Hello?"

"Hey Connor, I'm not too good at the texting thing." He could hear something in the background, maybe the TV. "You wanna listen to music? Shit, I got a lot of it." A shuffling noise. "I got records, CDs—I even got cassette tapes. Do you wanna come over?"

Connor smiled, remembering that study that said people can hear your facial expression through the phone. "That sounds good, I saw a bit of your collection. I'm curious to see what all you have."

"You got anything you wanna bring? Or do you have all your music on your phone?"

"Umm…" Connor's only CDs were from when he was a kid, Limelife and whatnot made them pretty obsolete since he discovered pirating mp3s. "I'll be good with your music, I can look up my stuff on my phone."

"All right, sounds like a party—oh hey, are you hungry? I can order pizza or something." Hank was being so… receptive, and so casual, it made Connor feel doubly guilty for spinning his wheels so much about the whole thing. Listening to music with Hank sounded really fun, and relaxing—it was kind of exciting to think about going through his playlists, picking out tracks he thought Hank would like.

"Actually, I am hungry." He didn't have the energy to cook, so he just spread some ricotta on bread with honey earlier. "I'm fine with pizza. I like anything on it, except meat."

"Anything you like in particular?"

"Hmm… I guess mushrooms, and olives." He almost said "pineapple", but Hank struck him as the kinda guy who'd rail against pineapple on pizza. "I like jalapenos and banana peppers too, if you like it spicy."

"Hoo, not for me. That shit gives me heartburn." That gives him heartburn, and not that slop from the Chicken Feed? It sounded like Hank was walking around his house, the background noise was less noticeable. "Tell you what—I'll order two pizzas, you can have whatever you want on yours. Then you can take home the leftovers."

"Oh, thank you, Hank. Tell me how much it is, I'll split the—"

"Nah, my treat." He expected Hank to say that, but he still wanted to offer. And he also caught the implication that Connor would be taking his pizza home at the end of the night, thereby not staying over. "So what do you want on yours? Oh hey—it's not gonna hurt your feelings if I'm eating meat right next to ya, right?"

Connor laughed. "No. It'd already be too late for that, anyway."

"All righty, well—actually, why don't you take your time getting over here. I wanna clean the place up a bit." The thought made Connor smile. "Let me know before you leave, and I'll order the pizza."

OOO

Hoo boy… Connor was getting a little nervous. Not for any of the weird reasons he was thinking earlier… but because it was starting to feel more like an at-home date. Hank wanted to pay for dinner, and clean his place before Connor came over—he wanted to clean his place, what straight guy did that?

Connor had laid out a few outfits on his bed, trying to decide which one was best—he didn't want to show up in sweats or pajamas, both because that was tacky, but he also didn't want to give off the impression that he wanted to spend the night. He wasn't going to wear slacks or something too dressy, either—and his Eminem outfit was out of the question. In the end, he decided on something simple—a dark blue short-sleeved shirt which he really liked, which was a soft and had a subtle sheen to it, and black jeans. The jeans were also this softer, thicker material than traditional denim—he wasn't sure what they were, but he got them when he and Markus were in the men's section of one of those business-casual clothing stores, when they went with North to the mall for fun. Sometimes the inner stitching and creases of jeans irritated his legs if he sat in them for too long, but that wasn't an issue with these. He also grabbed a simple stretchy jacket he wore for walking or hiking—"athleisure" is what they called it. It was also black, but not as dark as his jeans—more like a deep charcoal grey. Connor thought he looked casual but well-put together, if he did say so himself. This was one of his favorite shirts, he really liked the deep indigo color. He even remembered to check the name of his cologne—"Aqua Margin", and the brand was called Atmosphæra.

… Connor found himself thinking that if Hank didn't give him a compliment or acknowledge that he looked nice, he would be annoyed. Gah—since when was Connor so high-maintenance and needy? Just calm down… he was getting ahead of himself. Just relax—this isn't a date, Connor was the one who put forth that he just wanted to sit around listening to music.

His GPS could be finnicky about saving private addresses as destinations, so he just saved the Jimmy Hoser's nearby. He could remember the few turns it took to get to Hank's house from there. Connor parked in the same spot as last time, and he noticed while driving that there was a slight flurry of crystals landing on his windshield—that slush prediction was right on. It would probably end up melting on the roads and not pile up—but Connor was used to driving in snow if it came to that, even with just his standard tires.

He approached Hank's house, which had the porch light on this time. He could hear music from inside again as he walked up to the door, but much quieter than last time. He should probably just put "last time" out of his mind, and stop drawing comparisons. This would be a do-over—for both of them.

Connor knocked on the door, wondering if he should have texted or called to let Hank know he was here. He hadn't even thought about it. He heard Sumo make a low 'boof', then Hank's voice—"Be right there." Suddenly Connor was starting to feel something akin to butterflies.

He turned to look at the neighbors' houses on both sides, wondering which were the ones who watched Hank's son. This street was surprisingly quiet, for being so close to a commercial area.

He heard the door unlock, then Hank appeared in the doorway. "Hey. Come on in." He moved to the side, gesturing into his house with a little flourish.

Connor smiled a bit shyly, stepping across the threshold. "Thank you… I know I kind of asked you out of nowhere."

"Not at all—I said you could call me, didn't I?" Hank had an almost playful tone to his voice. Connor finally got a good look at him, and two things stood out—his hair looked damp and was combed back, so he had probably taken a shower—and he was wearing this crazy shirt. It was a few really loud clashing patterns—one that looked like almost like a Wheel of Karma, and one that looked like orange flowers on a blue background. Hank caught him staring, and looked down at his own chest. "Caught your eye, huh?" He laughed. "I like funky stuff like this."

"It is quite funky." The house was warm, so Connor decided to just take his jacket off. There was a coat rack by the door overloaded with stuff, but he found an empty hook. Wait—he recognized this song, or at least the singer. "You put The Cranberries on?"

"Yeah, why not?" Hank walked past the couch, bending down to pet Sumo, who was peering out lazily from a giant dog bed in the corner. "Know you at least like them." Connor got that fuzzy feeling again, just a bit.

"Oh—how is Sumo around guests?" Connor hung back by the couch. "He sniffed me last time, but that was about it."

"He's a friendly boy!" Hank crouched down, jostling Sumo around bodily. "He's a lil sleepy right now, though. Come on over, Connor."

Connor put on his best smile, projecting positive energy. "Hey, buddy." He held out his hand limply, letting Sumo sniff him first. "What's his favorite spot?"

"Oh, he likes it anywhere." Connor laughed despite himself.

"Is that so? Good boy…" Connor scratched by Sumo's ear, rubbing his whole palm on the back of his massive head. This dog was freaking huge—he could probably eat Diana in one bite. Sumo stood up, standing next to Connor's legs. "Aw, good Sumo." Connor scratched behind both of the dog's big velvety ears with both hands, smoothing his thumbs back over his forehead.

Hank's eyebrows raised. "Well, look at that! He actually stood up for ya." Hank roughly palmed down Sumo's long back. "Is that it, boy? You got a spring in your step 'cause there's a new person here?" Sumo's mouth hung open, his tongue lolling out. With both of them standing there, petting an obviously happy dog… it was hard to describe, it just gave Connor a fuzzy feeling. "All right—" He heavily pat Sumo's flank, leaving for the kitchen. "Check it out, pizza got here a couple minutes before you did."

Connor turned over his shoulder, still giving Sumo scratches. "Oh, perfect timing—" A huge wet tongue slobbed his whole palm. "Ah!"

"Whoops—should've warned ya, he's a licker." Hank was grinning, opening the top of the first pizza box. "Look at 'im—you must got the magic touch, Connor." Connor smiled down at Sumo a little sheepishly. Thank God for that—Connor would have been devastated if Sumo didn't like him. He did need to wash his hands, though.

He gave Sumo one last pat. "What a good boy." He circled around Hank to the kitchen sink… it was full of dirty dishes. "Where's your bathroom?"

"Oh, down by the entrance." That's right—Connor remembered now. He went back down the short hallway, flicking on the light. There was a sticky note on the mirror that had numbers, and names… '5 – Donald Sutherland, 3 – Thor, 2 or 1 – Don Johnson'. What the heck did that mean?

Connor washed his hands thoroughly, trying to get under his fingernails. Even if the dishes were eventually going to be washed, he didn't like the idea of washing dog slobber and hair out onto them in the kitchen sink.

He glanced up at himself in the mirror. Oh—his hair was how it was normally, of course—parted on one side and flopped over. This might be the first time Hank had seen him without his hair slicked back—unless it fell all out of place on the balcony. Connor raked a wet hand back through his hair, hoping to give it more of a swept-back shape, then washed his hands one more time.

When he got back to the kitchen, both pizza boxes were open—one with mushrooms and olives, and one with… Canadian bacon and pineapple? "You like pineapple on pizza?"

Hank leaned his hand on the table, other hand on his hip. "Yeah, so what?"

Connor laughed. "No—I do, too. I just didn't want to say so because so many people hate it."

"Ha, I see." Hank stroked his beard, sounding amused. "Well, it woulda been all for you, anyway. Just order whatever you want, next time." "Next time"… Connor picked up one of the plates Hank had set out, tugging on a slice of mushroom and olives until it came loose. "Oh, hey…" Hank was trying to finagle how to fit both pizza boxes on the table while still giving them enough room to sit. The kitchen table was rather small. "You wanna just sit on the couch instead? That's where I usually sit."

"That's fine by me." Connor took another skinnier slice, then went to go sit down on the couch. Sumo padded over to him, staring at Connor while he brought the plate to his lap.

"Hey." Hank made a sharp noise like "ftt"—"No begging." Sumo sat on his back legs, gazing up pleadingly at Hank. "No. You know better, go on." It seemed to Connor like Sumo was hamming up sadly walking back to his dog bed, like Eeyore or something. "Geez—he thinks he can get away with it with you here! What a scamp." For some reason hearing Hank say a word like "scamp" made Connor laugh to himself. Sumo's big black eyes peered up forlornly at Hank from his bed, his head sunken heavily on his paws. "Sumo, geez! You act like you've never eaten a day in your life." Hank shook his head, rounding the other side of the couch. "What a ham. He's totally playing it up since there's company—Sumo, you're a bigger ham than this fuckin' pizza." Hearing Hank talk to his dog was—well, "cute" wasn't the right word, but it was charmingly amusing. Hank set his plate on the coffee table, making that "I'm watching you" gesture Wanda made at him this morning. This morning—it was wild to think that was still the same day. "All right—I'll give you a little somethin' if it means you'll quit beggin'." He heard what sounded like a can opener, and Hank shook out some chunky wet food into a bowl. "There ya go—that's the good stuff." Hank heavily pat Sumo's body again, almost like a light slap, then went back to the couch. Connor realized he hadn't even taken a bite of his pizza yet—he was absorbed in watching Hank interacting with Sumo. "All right." Hank sank heavily into the other side of the couch. Connor couldn't help but notice that he hadn't washed his hands.

Connor focused on his own plate, trying to will himself into not blurting out, "Are you going to wash your hands?" It didn't matter—that was Hank's plate and Hank's pizza. It wasn't Connor's place to say anything, like a nagging mom.

Connor folded one leg up under him, balancing his plate on his thigh. The springs in this couch were pretty worn—Hank probably spent a lot of time sitting here. Connor realized he wasn't familiar with most of the songs on this CD, just the one so far. Oh—"Thanks for getting the pizza."

Hank took a bite. "My pleasure." He talked with his mouth full. Well… even Connor did that, sometimes. Although he usually put his hand in front of his mouth and chewed quickly, making it clear he had something to say when he was done. Hank nodded towards his glass case of records. "Why don't you pick something out next?"

"Oh—do you mind if I look now?"

"Knock yourself out." [Author's note: Connor and Hank are just gonna nerd out over old man music, feel free to skim this part if you're not interested lol. I still think it's cute tho :3]

Connor put his plate on the coffee table, practically jumping to his feet. He was really curious what kind of collection Hank had. He started lightly thumbing through the CDs, since he'd be more likely to recognize something from there—The Beatles, Cat Stevens, Moody Blues, Alan Parsons Project, Bread—these weren't in alphabetical order. It seemed like all stuff from the seventies, maybe it was organized by year, or genre—Connor was pretty out of his element here. He knew exactly one Bread song, and that was "Diary", because his mom liked it. He couldn't tell you any Moody Blues or Alan Parsons Project—he mainly knew that second one from that bit in Austin Powers when Dr. Evil was renaming his laser. "Anything catch your eye?"

"Well, I know some Cat Stevens. And The Beatles, of course." Maybe Connor would have better luck if he skipped straight to the eighties…

"Oh yeah, what's your favorite Cat Stevens song?" Connor could tell that Hank's tone was different than when he grilled him about metal the other day—he sounded genuinely curious, maybe slightly impressed?

"Hmm… I guess 'If You Want to Sing Out'." Connor turned over his shoulder. "But when Sheryl Crow had that song 'The First Cut is the Deepest', and I found out it was a cover of his, I went back and listened to it and liked it better."

"Ha! Hey, don't knock my future wife Sheryl Crow." Connor rolled his eyes heavily, turning back to the CDs. Okay, this stuff he was more familiar with—Iron Maiden, Motley Crüe, Def Leppard, Whitesnake —"Billy Idol?" He was kind of surprised by that one—but then again, maybe not.

"Oh! Pull that one out! Yeah—I wanna put on a track from that next."

Connor laughed. "You want me to just put it on now? I'm still looking."

Hank rubbed his beard, his lips parted slightly. "Yeah, go ahead. It'll take the pressure off if you listen to it while we're talking." Connor laughed again.

"I know what you mean." He delicately pulled out the red CD case—Rebel Yell. "When you're playing music you like for someone else, it always sounds different, doesn't it?" Connor counted his blessings—he almost fumbled that sentence and said "someone you like".

Hank laughed from the couch. "Put on, uhh—shit, I wanna say track five?" Connor turned the case over. "Don't look!"

Connor laughed softly. "Okay." He pressed Stop on the giant contraption, which had a disc tray and indeed a cassette player. Connor delicately placed the CD for No Need to Argue back in the case sitting on top of the shelf, popping in the CD for Rebel Yell. "Do you have the album of some of these as well?"

"Some of 'em, yeah. That one I got later." Connor skipped to track five, turning back over his shoulder for a sign of approval from Hank. Hank listened for a second, then nodded enthusiastically with this big grin. "Yeah! That's the one." It reminded Connor of that photo of him at drumming.

'There's a change in pace, offantasy and taste...'

It was a slower song, with guitar picking and what sounded like a snare drum, to Connor's uninitiated ears—for some reason he was expecting a high-energy song. He sat back down on the couch, picking up his plate. He was just touching CD cases, he probably didn't need to wash his hands again... although they might have been dusty, or had years of fingerprints and hand oils built up, who would think to clean CD cases that were all packed together?

"I'm going to reheat my pizza."

"Go for it." Hank took another bite of his huge slice. "—you were onto something with the thin crust, glad I went with that too." Connor had asked for that if it was an option, after that doughey lemon Danish had disappointed him. Connor slid his plate in the microwave, which he noticed was dirty on the inside, and quickly washed his hands again. He couldn't help but wonder what "cleaning" Hank had actually done—ugh, why was Connor being like this? It was almost like he was looking for reasons to be disappointed...

The microwave dinged, and Connor went back to the couch with his plate, sitting at the opposite side. "I don't think I've ever heard this song before." It had this minimalistic, almost jazz-y or blues-y feel to it. Connor didn't use "sexy" as a descriptor too often, but it had a sexier sound than his other songs that Connor was familiar with. He found Billy Idol to be a little cheesy, to be honest—then an intrusive little voice in Connor's head said, "You don't think things are 'sexy'too often, but not 'never'", and suddenly he was feeling self-conscious.

"Yeah, probably not. It's my favorite though." Hank folded his huge slice in half, almost eating it at an angle. Connor was trying to parse some of the lyrics.

"What is he saying, 'rage'?"

"'Flesh!'" Hank made the cheesy fist motion Mr. Idol did in all his videos. "The track's called 'Flesh for Fantasy'-a bit weird, I know." Connor laughed softly. He finally took a first bite of his pizza—it was all right for cheap pizza, he might have reheated it for a bit too long. "'It's after midnight, should be feelin' all right...'" Hank was singing along quietly, almost self-consciously, if Connor didn't know better. "'All right...'"

"You know which song by him I like the best?"

"—lemme guess." Hank talked with his mouth full. He pressed his fist to his lips, this odd smirk while he chewed quickly so he could speak. "—'Eyes Without a Face'?" He pointed at Connor like a game show host.

Connor laughed at himself. "Yeah." That was the one "pretty" song, even slower than this one.

"Ha! I knew it!" Hank shifted up on the couch, laying his arm along the back. "It's the 'pretty one'." Hank knew him so well...

"You know, that song always reminded me of Sinead O'Connor's 'Nothing Compares to You'." Connor took another bite. The pizza wasn't so bad, now that he knew what to expect. Hank looked up nothing, considering Connor's last statement. He made this exaggerated "uh huh" facial expression, eyebrows raised, lips almost pursed.

"I can see that." He rubbed his chin through his beard. "Never thought of it before. That track's on this album, too." Connor realized he didn't have a napkin, or even a paper towel. The pizza was a little greasy, especially after he reheated it and the oils came to the surface. "Oh shit—Connor you want somethin' to drink?" Hank pushed himself up off the couch.

"Oh sure, thank you. Can I get a paper towel, too?"

"Shit—yeah, I'll get you one." Hank sounded a bit self-admonishing. He didn't want to make Hank feel bad... obviously he wasn't used to hosting other people at his place. But then, what did he do when his son came over? "You want pop?" What? Oh—he meant soda.

"I'll just take a glass of water, thanks." Connor remembered that Hank didn't have a filter of any kind, and he'd be drinking straight pool water-tasting tap water. The thought made him swallow dryly. He tried to focus on the song, which he did find himself liking—it had all the funny Billy Idol-isms the longer it went on—the short, nigh-unintelligible growly shouts before the chorus, which sounded like "Sing it!" and "We want—" and of course the "Ow!"s.

Hank placed a glass of tap water in front of Connor on the table, which Connor swore he could see particles swirling around inside. He also set out a folded paper towel, which Connor used to wipe his fingers. Hank got a glass of dark soda for himself. An extremely presumptuous, impulsive thought punched its way through Connor's brain like Billy Idol—"If we start dating, I'm definitely going to have to get him to eat better, and take better care of himself." GAH—why would Connor think that, who was thinking that far ahead?! They were just sitting around listening to music... uggghhhh...

"You all right there, Connor? The pizza too hot?" Connor realized he had subconsciously twisted up into himself, tucking both his feet under him on the couch.

"—I'm fine. Sorry, I was thinking." He decided to just leave it at that. He reached for his glass and gulped it down—it indeed tasted like room-temperature pool water. Maybe this was a bad idea... Connor knew he was too sensitive and averse to weird things, he should have expected that he'd be too distracted by all this shit...

Hank was just sitting on the couch, not eating or drinking. "Why don't you pick out the next couple songs." And now Connor felt bad... Hank probably assumed he was thinking about "that". "Although—well, I'm sure you'll be able to find somethin' you like. You can always play your stuff, too." That was true... But he kind of wanted Hank to know that he was familiar with older music... Connor acknowledged, with some embarrassment, that he just wanted Hank to think he was cool. Which he wasn't, and never had been. But he watched a lot of VH2 growing up, with shows like "I Remember the '80s". He just wanted to show off a little...

The song had changed now, and it wasn't doing much for Connor. The melody was a bit cheesy, it kind of reminded him of The Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated". He scrambled up off the sunken-in couch, going back to the CD rack. He skipped ahead to what looked like the nineties section—Hank had to be in his early twenties during the height of the grunge era, these wound be his jams. "I know a lot of these—" Connor thumbed through Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Stone Temple Pilots, Metallica—he had quite the spread.

"What you looking at, Connor?"

"All the grunge—well I guess it's just early-to-mid-nineties." He pulled out a Soundgarden CD with the familiar orange screaming blur. "I'm going to put one on, okay? Don't look."

Hank laughed behind him. "I won't."

Connor checked the tracklist on the back, skipping to number two. He realized that he just cobbled together playlists of random tracks that he liked, so he wasn't totally sure which tracks came off which album—unless his almost twenty-year-old mp3s had it listed. This album was actually released the year he was born—the thought highlighted the massive age gap between Hank and himself, so he pushed the thought away.

The familiar strumming with light cymbal crashes started up. Connor had never found himself paying much attention to the drums in songs, unless they were really noticeable—but for some reason, he was hearing them more.

"Good choice, Connor." Hank grinned, looking relaxed on the couch, his arm still gripping the backrest. "Hey, you like Audioslave, too?"

"I do." Connor smiled, sitting back down. "I think their whole first album is really good. I remember hearing 'Like a Stone' on the radio and thinking, 'Wow, this song is really good'. That was actually my introduction to them—well, I knew 'Black Hole Sun', but that kind of put them back in context for me, if that makes sense." Hank was nodding along, regarding Connor with a look he couldn't quite place. "Although... this is another 'You Were Meant for Me' situation, because I have this really old mp3 I downloaded in like, freshman year of high school of 'Like a Stone' that's different than what they usually play on the radio. I'm so used to that version, it throws me off a little when I hear the one from the album."

"Interesting." Hank was holding his plate. He had already eaten one whole slice, while Connor hadn't even eaten half of one. "Why don't you play it on your phone next?"

"Sure, can I cast it?" Hank gave him a blank look. "On the TV?"

"Uhh..." Hank rubbed his beard, looking at his modest setup. "I don't have one of those fancy TVs. I got a cable box I can record stuff on, but that's about it." Oh. "Sorry Connor—you can just play it on your phone though, right?"

"I can... It just might not sound that good."

"It's fine." He shoved another slice into his mouth. "—you heard my car stereo, it sounds like shit." Connor laughed.

"I don't know about that." He actually hadn't noticed. He realized he hadn't been paying attention to most of 'Fell on Black Days', and it had already gotten to the louder part towards the middle. "I think of all the guys from that era, Chris Cornell is my favorite." He took another drink of water, which wasn't as foul since he was expecting it to taste worse.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah—I think he's the best singer. And—" Connor stopped himself. Then he laughed, "You want to hear something funny? I almost blurted out, 'And he's really handsome' but then stopped myself—but then I thought, 'Oh wait, Hank already knows I'm gay.'" It was Hank's turn to laugh. "It's kind of refreshing, actually—I don't need to police myself all the time." Connor picked up his pizza, folding the slice so it wouldn't hang limply.

"... So, do not a lot of people know you're gay?" Connor's eyes met Hank's. "If you don't mind me asking."

Connor held his hand in front of his mouth, trying to chew and swallow quickly. "—my friends know. Obviously. But other than that... I mean, I don't go around talking about myself. It's really no one's business." He might as well lay it all out there. "I haven't dated anyone in a while. I figured I'd deal with telling my parents if I got into a serious relationship... it never just happened, though." Connor wondered if that was a good idea to say. Well, it was the truth.

"I see." Connor wasn't looking at Hank, he was focused on the little holes in the cheese on top of his pizza. The mushrooms were all dried out and shrunken. "So your parents don't even know? That's what you were getting at at the station?"

"Yeah." Connor found himself wanting to change the subject.

"Well... no offense there Connor, but are you sure they don't know?" Hank was speaking evenly, almost gently. "You'd think they have some idea by now, right?"

"Why, do I come across that gay?" Connor hadn't meant for that to sound so defensive.

"Well..." Hank paused. "It's just that you're a good-looking young guy, and you don't have a girlfriend. So you're either gay, or a serial killer." Connor actually laughed. "You know what I mean?"

"I guess I do." Connor picked up an olive that fell off his pizza, sticking it on a blank spot near the crust. "They might have some inkling, I don't know. My mom, more likely." He licked the side of his thumb before he could stop himself, then wiped his fingers on his paper towel. "I don't really care, to be honest. I've kept in contact less and less with my parents since I graduated, and like I said, I don't really update them on what's going on in my life. We just don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, so I'd rather not hear their opinions on what I'm doing all the time." He realized he was blurting it all out. Might as well go all the way so they could drop the subject. "If I tell them I'm gay, that's probably just going to burn the bridge forever. I'd rather wait until my grandparents die, if it's going to come to that."

Hank looked pained hearing that, his wrinkled brow was all furrowed. "Man. I'm sorry to hear that, Connor." He turned to his plate, his expression unchanging. "I can't imagine—rejecting your kid like that. Cole would have to do somethin' pretty fuckin' bad for me to feel that way." He took a bite of pizza, his gaze unfocused. Then his eyes looked up at some corner of the room. "—well, if he was shackin' up with some meth-head trailer park mom with six kids, I'd probably have something to say about that." Connor laughed at that absurd example.

"—but see, that would be a personal choice." He set down his pizza. "You wouldn't be rejecting something fundamental about him as a person." The sentence hung in the air.

"... You're right, that would be different." Hank set down his pizza, and sighed audibly. "Connor—your parents are even older than I am, and it sounds like they're old Catholic fuddy-duddies. But... look, I'm not excusin' them or anything, but you gotta know that when I was growin' up, that's just how people talked about bein' gay. It was either a choice, or it was the fuckin' devil or somethin'." Connor knew where he was going, and he really did not want to hear it. He couldn't even look at him while he talked. "So—what I'm sayin' is, if you're prepared to burn the bridge anyway, it might be worth just sitting down and talking to them about it, and seein' if they'll even understand." He could see Hank shrug out of the corner of his eye. "And if they don't, then fuck 'em. But at least you tried."

Connor hated that the conversation even went in this direction. "I don't need that advice." That was more or less what Markus had said to him—but it was easy for him to say, he got lucky with Carl. Carl loved Markus unconditionally, no matter what. Connor's parents' love was very conditional. They couldn't even be bothered to make a dish without meat for him when he came home for his first family St. Patrick's party in a while, they didn't care about him as a person. They just tried desperately to spin that their son was still successful, even if he hadn't become a lawyer. Connor had always just been a pawn in their invisible game of competition with the rest of the family, and all their yuppie friends. He wished he could tell Hank all that—but he just wanted to stop talking about it.

"You probably don't... that's just my perspective as a parent, that's all." Hank's voice was quiet, resigned.

"—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so defensive. It's a lot more complicated than that."

"I'm sure." Hank reached for his soda. "You don't have to apologize to me. I—" He cut himself off, licking his lips, but didn't follow it up with anything. If Connor didn't know any better, Hank almost looked a bit antsy. What was he going to say? Connor watched Hank a bit longer, seeing if he could glean anything... Hank grinned at his soda. "So, guys like Chris Cornell are your type, huh?" He thumbed the side of the glass. "Well, he does have those piercing blue eyes."

"What? Hey." Connor laughed a bit awkwardly. He was caught-off guard by that subject change. "I don't have a type..." Hank regarded him with a "that's bullshit" look. "I don't!" Connor hid his mouth with his hand. "I just think in those older videos where he has that crazy long, curly hair, he's pretty good-looking, is all." Oh... Connor just remembered. It was a few years back now, but Chris Cornell was one of those guys who checked out early... along with Chester from Linkin Park. The thought made him really sad.

"Long hair, huh?" Hank's tone was very smug. "Interesting..." He could see Hank rake his hand back through his hair. "You know—totally unrelated—but I'm tryin' to grow my hair out again."

"'Totally unrelated', huh?" Connor blurted it out before he could stop himself. Uh oh—Connor and Hank locked eyes, but just for a second. It was like he had broken a code, or said something unspoken out loud.

Hank grinned at his plate. "Yeah." Well... that confirmed it, didn't it? He had that same "I've been caught" look as when Connor asked him if he only showed him that picture because he wanted Connor to say he was handsome. Hank wanted his attention, in some capacity—but what capacity remained to be seen. But Connor could push him a little...

"Hank, you seem really invested. You really want to know what my type is?" He watched Hank practically squirm.

"Hah? Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout." Got him. Hank was writing and wriggling like a worm on a hook, as drag icon Ursula would say. Connor almost felt a little bad. That was all he needed to know, so he could let him off for now.

Connor pressed his fist to his mouth, laughing a bit at the memory. "—I'll tell you a story. It'll probably destroy my music cred, but I'll tell you." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "So in high school, I kind of had a crush on this guy in my computer class—he was the only, like, normal guy there. You know what I mean?" Connor wasn't trying to be mean—the other guys in that class almost formed a nerd clique, and didn't invite Connor in because he didn't have a WoW subscription or whatever. "But, he had really long, straight hair, that he always wore over both his shoulders." Connor could remember it clearly—his hair was a light chestnut brown, and it was pin-straight and a little shiny, even though it looked pretty dry—cascading down both sides of his face, almost like he was trying to hide. He did have a bit of cystic acne, his cheeks always had red on them—but Connor still thought he was cute. "Anyway—he always wore this Pink Floyd shirt, I remember seeing him in it a lot—it was the prism from Dark Side of the Moon."

"Uh-huh." Hank was rubbing his chin, his eyebrow raised in interest.

Connor was getting a little embarrassed. "So I went home, and started looking up Pink Floyd. I really ended up enjoying Dark Side of the Moon, especially "Time"—but that's why I got into them, because I thought this guy was cute, and I wanted to know why he liked them." Connor was practically hiding his face behind his hand. He would probably do the same if he had long hair.

"Ha! I see—hey, nothing wrong with that." Hank set down his plate. "Well? Did you ever talk to him about Pink Floyd?"

"—no." Connor had folded himself up again, propping his elbow on his leg, his hand pressed to his chin. "I was too shy. Plus, it's not like I had any reason to think he was gay."

"'Too shy'? Connor, what's there to be so shy about?" The CD had kept playing without Connor paying attention, and they were on 'Black Hole Sun' now. Connor wanted to know what Hank meant by that...

"What do you mean?" He tried to ask with an innocent tone.

Hank rolled his eyes. "Come on. You're cute, you're smart—what's there to be shy about?" "Cute", huh? Hank had called him "good-looking", and now "cute"... So, this was definitely a thing, right? Connor suddenly started getting a bit nervous... his heart was beating just a little faster.

"Well... anyway." Connor had all but abandoned his pizza, he'd have to heat it up again. "Since you asked... I don't really have a type, but I guess I've always had a soft spot for... grungy guys like that. Like—he had acne, and wore band t-shirts... he just seemed like a real person, you know? He wasn't trying to be anyone but himself, if that makes sense." Connor was rubbing his neck. "I guess there's something comforting in that."

"I think I see what you mean." Hank's tone was... it was hard to describe, almost a friendlier version of smug? Like he was saying, "I'm picking up what you're putting down." Well... Connor was putting it down, at this point. It was true, Connor had a soft spot for guys who weren't like he was at work—hair all slicked back, overdressed, distant, cold. He liked guys like Markus, who were down-to-earth and didn't care what people thought of him—except Markus was way out of his league, even now. He wouldn't have even gone for him in the first place, even if he and North never started dating... although Connor had never "gone for" anyone seriously anyway—he even got set up with Elijah Kamski.

Connor got up to microwave his pizza. Hank was a stoner-y, down-to-earth kinda guy... although he was self-conscious in some ways, and he definitely cared what Connor thought of him. But Connor found himself thinking that was... kinda cute. He got this odd feeling of—"power" wasn't really the word, but this morning at the station when Hank had scrunched his eyes closed, apologizing for being stupid and fucking up, and making Connor take care of his sorry ass when he should have known better—it gave Connor this feeling of, "Yeah, you fucked up—now make it up to me." Ah geez—he didn't know what it meant. Maybe he had this secret domineering side he didn't know about, like North—no, no that definitely wasn't it. Probably...

Connor was glad he was in the kitchen by himself, and Hank couldn't see his expression.

"Hey, Connor—" Hank's voice from the living room almost surprised him. "I got an idea, when you get back."

"Sure thing." Connor stuck his pizza in the microwave, shaking his head as if that would clear the ridiculous thoughts. You're getting way, way, way too far ahead of yourself, Connor... but Connor had to admit that by being so afraid of getting into another relationship, he actually didn't understand himself very well, or what he wanted. The thought made him embarrassed—not in a cute way, he could only admonish himself for having so little life experience. What had he been doing these last ten years?

Connor made his way back around the couch, noticing that Sumo had fallen asleep again. Or, he was at least relaxing with his eyes closed. Connor had almost forgotten he was there.

"Oh, what was your idea?"

Hank was rubbing his chin. "Well, I don't really listen to the radio anymore—just my CDs, or the classic rock station. Do you still listen to the radio, Connor?"

"Well... not so much, anymore. I just plug my phone in when I drive."

"Ah, you got one of those fancy stereos." Connor got a small, embarrassed smile, even though he didn't actually do anything. "Well not me—I still have a fuckin' tape deck, if you can believe that."

"I remember, I saw it."

"Well, anyway—" Hank sat up, putting his plate on the table. "What's some modern music that's actually good? You had to have heard some, right?"

"Me?" Connor rubbed his chin. "Well..." He laughed. "I might not be the best person to ask—my friends make fun of me for being out of touch."

"Well, you'll never be as out of touch as me." Connor laughed. "Come on—I'm curious. There's gotta be some good music out there these days, right?" Connor considered his options carefully... what would Hank like? Entire genres were out of the question—even Connor just listened to the same music he had since junior high, and anything "new" that he discovered was actually older. The "newest" music he kept up with were one-off songs that people used in their MeTube videos, or that North sent him—he really liked that live performance of Willow Smith's "Meet Me At Our Spot", but he didn't know if Hank would like that. He might, though, it sounded like a mellow track from 1995, that's why Connor liked it... ugh, this was a lot of pressure! Connor felt like he had his entire generation on his back, and he needed to prove that they were still making great music, and grumpy old fucks like Hank had no right to complain that the world was changing or getting worse... Just relax, Connor. It's just a song... Actually, he had an easy out—Hank would probably like throwback-sounding stuff like Bruno Mars, or even The Weeknd. It was modern—and Connor did like it. No... Connor should just go with his first instinct, follow his heart, so to speak.

"Well... this song's really short, it was a live performance." He didn't want to give any more context than that. Connor noticed his fingers were a little clammy while he was typing—he felt like Hank was going to put him under a microscope with this choice. "I don't know if you'll like it... but I do." He felt so self-conscious.

"Hey, don't worry if I'll like it—I just want to know what's out there." Connor made sure he had the live version, and pressed the play button. It started off with drums—what felt like a minute of drums. Connor's heart was beating in his ears.

'When I wake up, I can't even stay up—I slept through the day, fuck—'

Hank was tapping his palm on the back of the couch. Connor would probably notice it more, now that Hank mentioned it. "She has an interesting voice, kinda reminds me of that chick from Four Non Blondes."

"Oh, yeah?" Literally the only song Connor knew by them was "What's Up?", and mostly because of the He-Man meme.

Hank's gaze was soft towards the wall, and he closed his eyes, his hand still gently thumping on beat on the back of the couch. Connor decided to close his eyes, too—he just wanted to hear the song the way he liked it, and not anxiously imagine how Hank was hearing it. He liked both of their unique voices, especially together—even with the Gen Z slang, Connor knew exactly what vibe they were talking about. He didn't have fond cutesy memories with Elijah Kamski, but he felt something like that, a few times—North had gone on a trip with her parents and Starr to Canada, and Markus invited him over to hang out, just the two of them—he convinced Connor to smoke just a little weed, and he actually had a good time, just chilling out kind of like this. They laughed a lot and watched this MeTube channel called "Primm's Hood Cinema", or something—and he was hilarious, he talked about the original Candyman and kept using the clip, "I heard you're looking for Candyman, bitch" and Connor and Markus kept saying it in a stony feedback loop—and Connor got really hungry so Markus drove them to get the least gross-looking late night burrito, and it was a warm summer night so they drove with their windows down, and then Markus drove to this spot that had a good view of downtown while they ate in the car, and it was just a nice night. That was probably his favorite time he ever spent with Markus just one-on-one. North seemed happy that they had a good time without her, and she was pleasantly surprised Markus got Connor to smoke, she said something like, "You boys are so silly—you're still laughing about, 'I heard you're looking for Candyman, bitch.'" Obviously it wasn't a romantic vibe, like in the song... well... maybe it was, just a tiny little bit. Connor got the impression, even with stony brain, that Markus was trying to show him a good time. He knew Connor hadn't gone on many dates in his life... ah, shit. He didn't want to think about this right now. The intrusive thoughts were flooding in—"That's why you didn't like it when they told you they were poly, because you thought, 'If you guys were open this whole time, how come Markus never tried to date me?'" Just go away—that wasn't what Connor was thinking at all, just fuck off, stupid brain—

'Man, this must be the life...'

—damn, the song was already over. It really was short.

Connor snapped back to reality, anxiously waiting for Hank to give some kind of feedback. Hank opened his eyes, lightly rubbing his beard. "You're right, that was short." He turned to Connor with a warm smile. "Hey, play it again. Wanna hear it one more time." Connor smiled at his phone. "Hey, you got other stuff like that? I feel like I've been missin' out."

"I can think of a few more things, I'll play some more after this."

OOO

"—oh wow, it's after ten." Connor checked his phone when "Out of Time" was almost over, stopping it before the weird Jim Carrey outro. He and Hank had been vibing to Connor's carefully-curated playlist of modern music he thought Hank would like, and a few hours had gone by. Connor was right—Hank seemed to gravitate to the throwback stuff, he said Bruno Mars sounded a bit like Michael Jackson, which Connor supposed was a compliment from someone Hank's age. By the time Connor was aware of who MJ was, he was already "Whacko Jacko" and had been taken to court. But Hank had also been honest when he didn't really care for something Connor put on, which he appreciated. They had stopped using the CD player entirely, and Hank had asked Connor to just look up his suggestions on his phone. Hank had recommended "Love My Way" by the Psychedelic Furs, which prompted Connor to play their cover of "How Soon is Now?"—which is how he discovered it was actually credited to Love Spit Love, which was a side project of Tim Butler's, apparently. Hank had made fun of him a bit, asking, "Is this how you feel at parties, Connor?" Which it was. But Hank had given Connor some ammo of his own—he recognized the cover as "the song from 'Charmed'"—then when Connor raised an eyebrow, Hank said that Andrea loved "Charmed" and "Buffy" and "all that shit", and forced him to watch it with her—which Connor suspected was a half-truth. North liked "Buffy"—maybe if she and Hank ever met, they could nerd out about it. The thought made Connor a little giddy... but then it gave him equal measures of anxiety, because if he was ever at the point where he wanted to introduce them to Hank, he would have to explain a lot before they met him. Chief of which being trying to convince them that he didn't have a thing for older men, or some kind of weird "daddy issue". The thought made him shudder. He was sure they'd believe him, but...

... Connor was getting ahead of himself again. The night had been really chill, and he had fun chatting over their recommendations—Hank hadn't brought up any serious topics since Connor's parents, which he appreciated. Actually, he asked him what food he liked, and what his favorite spots in the city were—things like that.

"Haah." Hank took his feet off the table. "Well, every night has its dawn, just like every rose has its thorn." Connor rolled his eyes. That was the only song he knew by them, he felt like he had been getting softballs all night—although Hank had recommended a few things he was less familiar with, like Peter Gabriel. This was an odd deep cut—Connor knew his song "In Your Eyes" from a weird mashup he stumbled upon with The Cure's "Lullaby", which he really liked. Apparently it was also the song playing on the guy's stereo in "that one scene from that movie, where he's standing outside under her window", according to Hank. Overall, it was a really fun time—and just the distraction Connor needed, even if things had steered into heavy territory here and there. But that was mostly in Connor's head, it's not like that was Hank's fault. And just think—Connor could have been a miserable pile at home, mentally beating himself up and making himself upset on purpose—and instead he was here enjoying himself, reminding himself that he could do normal things like a normal person, sometimes. And that was another thing—Hank just stuck to his side of the couch, putting his feet up and draping his arm over the back—but he was content to stay in that spot, and Connor stayed in his. It made him feel guilty all over again—of course he never had anything to worry about. "Hey, you wanna just take the whole box?"

"That'll be fine, thanks." Connor hadn't ended up eating that much pizza. He could probably just take it for lunch tomorrow.

"I feel like such an old man, going to bed at ten..." Hank pulled Connor's box out of the fridge. "But I set my alarm for six-thirty, so that's just the way it has to be."

"You're really serious about coming in on time, huh?"

"Hell yeah I am." Hank held the box out for Connor. "My pride as a man's on the line." Connor rolled his eyes.

"Well, then—I'll have a coffee waiting for you, so if you're not on time, it's gonna get cold."

"Not even a concern." Hank smirked while Connor took the box from him. Connor hadn't actually meant to call it a night so soon, he was just remarking on the time... but he supposed he should head home and try to get a full night's sleep, too. If he was in bed by eleven, he could get seven hours of sleep and be up by six, then it would take him half an hour to shower and use those creams North got him, then—"Hey, Connor." Hank clapped him on the arm. "Thanks for comin' over." He sighed loudly. "Guess my place was still kind of a mess, sorry... thought I could do more in the time I had."

"Oh..." Connor was about to say, "Don't worry about it", but the fact was, it had bothered him. And Hank seemed self-aware about it, too.

"No, I'm glad you saw it—it kicks my ass to make sure I'm gonna have the place cleaned up before Cole comes over this weekend."

"Oh—well, that's good, I guess." Connor laughed a bit awkwardly. He did feel a little bad—Hank probably just didn't even notice these things the way Connor did. And Cole was a little kid—boys could be messy, so he probably never noticed or cared, either. Connor couldn't help but wonder if maybe his ex-wife said something to him about it.

"Hey, you just parked out front?"

"Yeah." Hank opened the door, standing aside so Connor could pass him. "Oh, look." There was frost on the grass, but nothing on the roads, like Connor had predicted.

"Yeah, it might snow this weekend." Hank rubbed his beard. "Hope it's not that much."

Connor felt like he was leaving so abruptly... he felt like he had to say something. "Um, Hank?" He shifted the pizza box to his left arm. "Thank you... I feel like I asked you so suddenly out of nowhere." Connor laughed awkwardly.

"Hey, no problem." He clapped Connor's shoulder. "Glad you came over." Connor briefly wondered if he'd get another hard-thumbed shoulder rub, but Hank's hand slid away. Connor was getting a little nervous... he had to do something. Hank had been a gentleman all night—so now the ball's in Connor's court. He was the one with the weird boundaries and hangups, so he needed to be the one to set the pace... hoo, Connor felt so out of his element. He felt like his mouth was getting dry, and he swallowed heavily, he could hear it in his ear bones. He had to be bold—there was no more room for "plausible deniability". Connor had "caught the vibe"—for all he knew Hank was waiting for him to give the OK, and that's why they were still kind of dancing around each other, talking in code like they were at the station. No—Connor had to make his intentions clear. Be brave—hoo, just do it—

Connor leaned forward, wrapping his free arm around Hank, letting his body weight fall into him a bit. His heart was beating fast, he hoped Hank couldn't feel it. "Hank... thanks. I liked hanging out with you." Please read between the lines, please don't make Connor have to say anything more direct, he was nervous enough as it is...

Hank's arms wrapped around Connor's back, one hand rubbing up and down. "Hey, me too." His voice rumbled right into Connor's ear—that was it, goosebumps shot all the way up Connor's body. Connor slid his hand across Hank's back, his face in the crook of his shoulder. His heart was beating like crazy, he was sure Hank could feel it now. "Come over anytime." Stupid pizza box—Connor just wanted to chuck it on the ground. Hank squeezed his back for a second, then clapped his arm. "Hey, drive safe, okay?" When they parted, Hank's smile and eyes were warm, just like on the balcony. The flares were going off behind his head, and Connor had leapt off the safety of the lifeboat like an absolute fool. He was almost overcome with an urge he hadn't felt in literal years—part of him wanted to fly forward and give Hank a kiss... but he chickened out.

"I will. Good night."

"See ya tomorrow. I'll be on time, promise."

Connor was feeling almost light-headed, he didn't know if he'd be able to drive right away, he'd have to sit and compose himself for a minute. He licked his lips, which suddenly felt so dry. "Bye." He tried to walk normally, heading for his car without looking back. He placed the pizza box on top of his car, which was wet with melted snow—and Hank was still standing in the open doorway, shadowed by the light in the living room. He waved, and Connor gave a small wave back, smiling. He got in his car before his legs gave way, then turned on the engine. At least he had the excuse of letting it warm up a bit. Hank finally closed his door, but the porch light was still on. Hoo... Connor collapsed into his steering wheel, careful not to accidentally press the horn. His heart was going crazy—Connor chastised himself a bit for being so innocent that he was losing it over a hug—but it was one he initiated. Connor had done it—he was honest about his own feelings, and got that across to someone else. He hoped to whatever God was listening that it got across to Hank, and he was on the same wavelength... He must have been, why else would he purr so sexily into his ear... hoo boy, I can't believe... how was Connor supposed to sleep now?

OOO

OOO

OOO

Me hiding my face writing the most chaste hugging scene ever: tee hee (灬 ω 灬)

Sorry to everyone who wanted a kiss, but that's just moving too fast for shy Connor XD I'm proud of my boy, personally haha

So I'm sure y'all have noticed by now that I change the name of brands and copyrighted shit, but if it's music or a game, something that I'd actually recommend, I never change the name.

See y'all next time~