[Connor smiles and nods before ducking back into his room. In a few minutes, he emerges in a plain blue sweatshirt, a pair of lightly-colored jeans, and a pair of sneakers. He would fit in well in any college dorm.]
[Hank has to sit down on the couch when Connor goes to change. Or — he doesn’t have to, but god is it easier on his nerves. Connor seems happy to show his clothes off, but...? Hank can’t help but feel a little greedy.
Whatever. Connor’s coming back out so Hank stands up, hand on his chin. Appraising.]
Well, look at you, Con. I like the — [everything? How does he say that without sounding weird?] — the whole ensemble you’ve got going there.
[The wild thing is that Connor is really happy, which is something he never even contemplated before deviating. It wasn't something that crossed his mind as a possibility. Now that he is deeply happy? He never wants to let this feeling go.
At the question of bedsheets, Connor nods, albeit sheepishly.] I did. But I had to study your bed to see how they fit.
[The thought of Connor going all Investigation Mode on his bed is both hilarious and a little horrifying, considering — well. Hank hasn’t had time to really fuck up this new apartment, nor the last, but still. He puts the fitted sheets on, sure, but the blankets are always a tangled mess. And socks: socks get lost in those blankets. Devoured. There are maybe half a dozen empty beer bottles stashed beneath the bed, too. Not that he’s trying to hide them, exactly.]
Shit, I hope you didn’t take too much inspiration from my room.
walk walk fashion
Can’t just say that, Connor. [A little grumbly: mostly joking.] Are you gonna show me, or what?
fashion show at lunch!
What do you think?
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[Hank has to sit down on the couch when Connor goes to change. Or — he doesn’t have to, but god is it easier on his nerves. Connor seems happy to show his clothes off, but...? Hank can’t help but feel a little greedy.
Whatever. Connor’s coming back out so Hank stands up, hand on his chin. Appraising.]
Well, look at you, Con. I like the — [everything? How does he say that without sounding weird?] — the whole ensemble you’ve got going there.
[Yeah, that works.]
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I like the sneakers most.
[Very different from his 'work' shoes.]
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They look nice on you.
[Hank steps back to get a good look. Arms crossed as he nods.]
They comfortable, and all that?
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[Connor bobs on his feet, smiling over at Hank.]
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Seem pretty happy there, Con.
[Which is what Hank has wanted: Connor safe and happy and thriving. As much as he can here, anyway.
Hank wonders about the whole friendship angle — has he been making friends? Getting along with people? — but Connor seems goddamn elated.
And Hank doesn’t want to fuck that up.]
Glad to see you’re working through that list of yours.
[What else was on it? Something about sheets?]
You pick up any bedsheets while you were out getting new clothes?
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At the question of bedsheets, Connor nods, albeit sheepishly.] I did. But I had to study your bed to see how they fit.
[Connor went into your room, big guy.]
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You had to study my bed?
[The thought of Connor going all Investigation Mode on his bed is both hilarious and a little horrifying, considering — well. Hank hasn’t had time to really fuck up this new apartment, nor the last, but still. He puts the fitted sheets on, sure, but the blankets are always a tangled mess. And socks: socks get lost in those blankets. Devoured. There are maybe half a dozen empty beer bottles stashed beneath the bed, too. Not that he’s trying to hide them, exactly.]
Shit, I hope you didn’t take too much inspiration from my room.
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[He's not sure how that helps with sleep, but Connor also... doesn't sleep. He's just trying to at least look the part of human.]
I didn't think the beer bottles were required.
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The socks aren’t... aren’t necessary, Connor. Unless you like socks, I guess.
[A little weird, but no shame!!]
Sometimes I just lay down in bed and I’ll get all wrapped up in my blankets, and the socks just come off.
[It would help if Hank made his bed, but he doesn’t. Won’t.
Hank isn’t surprised that Connor found the beer bottles, but it’s still a little embarrassing. He rubs the tip of his nose, looking away.
Focusing back on the socks:] You use your socks or mine for your little project?
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I can return them if you want.
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My socks.
[Hank has to blink at that.]
They were at least clean, right?
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