[And that, Hank thinks as he heads in for his shower, is that.
Which doesn’t make him feel any less shitty about it. Standing beneath the showerhead now, Hank’s thoughts go back to the way Connor’s smile wilted. It was harmless chatting, and yet he had to go and be an asshole.
But that’s what he wanted, after all. To get in, shower, and get out. Back on the road, with Sumo snoring on the bed behind him. The monotony of his everyday.
Connor, he thinks as he washes his hair.
Connor, with the soft smile. The dark eyes. The thoughts aren’t really going anywhere, but that’s the problem: he should be thinking about anything else. Like grabbing dinner before he hits the road, or...]
Fucking hell. [Hank sighs in annoyance once he realizes he’s rubbed the truck stop provided conditioner in his hair. Even though he brought his own because he knows other shampoos usually get his hair all fried and wiry. Looking like Sumo after he’s been blow-dried.
Now, once Hank is out of the shower, he tries not to meet his reflection in the mirror as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. Letting himself idly think of Connor as he does so, one last time.
The guy who got Hank so distracted he’s ended up in a ponytail. The guy he’ll probably never see again.
And that, he thinks again as he slips out of the room, is that. Heading toward the bar-lounge now; he might as well treat himself. It’s happy hour...!]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
me being slow at tags makes me rambly -does a little dance-
Date: 2025-02-07 09:55 am (UTC)[And that, Hank thinks as he heads in for his shower, is that.
Which doesn’t make him feel any less shitty about it. Standing beneath the showerhead now, Hank’s thoughts go back to the way Connor’s smile wilted. It was harmless chatting, and yet he had to go and be an asshole.
But that’s what he wanted, after all. To get in, shower, and get out. Back on the road, with Sumo snoring on the bed behind him. The monotony of his everyday.
Connor, he thinks as he washes his hair.
Connor, with the soft smile. The dark eyes. The thoughts aren’t really going anywhere, but that’s the problem: he should be thinking about anything else. Like grabbing dinner before he hits the road, or...]
Fucking hell. [Hank sighs in annoyance once he realizes he’s rubbed the truck stop provided conditioner in his hair. Even though he brought his own because he knows other shampoos usually get his hair all fried and wiry. Looking like Sumo after he’s been blow-dried.
Now, once Hank is out of the shower, he tries not to meet his reflection in the mirror as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. Letting himself idly think of Connor as he does so, one last time.
The guy who got Hank so distracted he’s ended up in a ponytail. The guy he’ll probably never see again.
And that, he thinks again as he slips out of the room, is that. Heading toward the bar-lounge now; he might as well treat himself. It’s happy hour...!]