[Hank relaxes a little when the receptionist hands Connor his package, but he doesn’t have it in him to say “thank you.” Sure, they’re thanking Connor for not breaking down the desk, but still. Should be thanking Connor for dealing with all this bullshit, regardless of whether it’s their fault. Because it’s shitty. Hank’s sorry. Real damn sorry.
His lips curl in a soft smile when Connor thanks them for their “excellent customer service.” It eases his own ire, just a bit, hearing the bite of Connor’s sarcasm. How couldn’t Hank love him?
He holds the door open for Connor, hopefully making up for not doing so before. Wondering if he should offer to carry the package, but Hank figures Connor might want this moment. It’s his. It’s important.]
Don’t gotta thank me. [Although it’s sweet that he does, regardless.] Just wanna be here for you. And you didn’t do anything wrong. Weren’t impatient at all. You were amazing, Connor. Lotta people — [like Hank] — would’ve been cussing up a goddamn storm. And worse.
[Also Hank. And if Connor hadn’t been with him, he would’ve been a lot less kind. Would’ve slung at least a couple dozen “fuck you”s and “fuck CyberLife”s.]
Whatever you’re feeling is okay. Even if you’re not sure what that is. There’s no “supposed to” about it, I think. No right or wrong.
[Now that they’re outside, Hank pats Connor’s shoulder. Admittedly still jittery, but he hopes it doesn’t show. He presses his lips against Connor’s hair before he’s unlocking the car, passenger side first, before slipping into the driver’s seat. Wrapping his hands around the steering wheel: squeezing too hard as he stares out the windshield in front of him.]
no subject
[Hank relaxes a little when the receptionist hands Connor his package, but he doesn’t have it in him to say “thank you.” Sure, they’re thanking Connor for not breaking down the desk, but still. Should be thanking Connor for dealing with all this bullshit, regardless of whether it’s their fault. Because it’s shitty. Hank’s sorry. Real damn sorry.
His lips curl in a soft smile when Connor thanks them for their “excellent customer service.” It eases his own ire, just a bit, hearing the bite of Connor’s sarcasm. How couldn’t Hank love him?
He holds the door open for Connor, hopefully making up for not doing so before. Wondering if he should offer to carry the package, but Hank figures Connor might want this moment. It’s his. It’s important.]
Don’t gotta thank me. [Although it’s sweet that he does, regardless.] Just wanna be here for you. And you didn’t do anything wrong. Weren’t impatient at all. You were amazing, Connor. Lotta people — [like Hank] — would’ve been cussing up a goddamn storm. And worse.
[Also Hank. And if Connor hadn’t been with him, he would’ve been a lot less kind. Would’ve slung at least a couple dozen “fuck you”s and “fuck CyberLife”s.]
Whatever you’re feeling is okay. Even if you’re not sure what that is. There’s no “supposed to” about it, I think. No right or wrong.
[Now that they’re outside, Hank pats Connor’s shoulder. Admittedly still jittery, but he hopes it doesn’t show. He presses his lips against Connor’s hair before he’s unlocking the car, passenger side first, before slipping into the driver’s seat. Wrapping his hands around the steering wheel: squeezing too hard as he stares out the windshield in front of him.]