[He'll be real - with himself, anyway: he hadn't expected weird shit. The scene switching, sure, maybe, but after the- the weird thing that zapped clothes onto him- it's stupid, being weirded out by that, it's just a stupid little thing, but stupid little things add up and now they're somewhere that's probably never even heard of Earth, and Cayde is right fucking here, and Hank is fine. They're in- in the middle of a dream, or whatever the fuck, Hank's seen nightmare-fuel robot zombies, he's seen Canada, Cayde himself tried to dream-murder him earlier, Hank's seen his ex smile at him and not with that slow and wounded pity but with actual honest happiness - nothing that happens here is real. It shouldn't hit him so hard by now. By now Hank should be used to it.
His jaw is tight and he has to take two or three deep breaths through his nose, very aware of Cayde standing right there and potentially - for a split second, anyway - touching him, but this is about as repressed as Hank's shit's going to get right now so he's probably doing good. Okay.
He looks down, trying to focus on looking at himself and not up and around them just yet, and on twisting his tight expression into a grimace, because whining is like comfort food for the brain and Hank never actually agreed not to do it.]
I look like a moron.
[He tries to pluck at the leather at his waist, shifting a chip of that unmoored, unsettled feeling in him at everything in general over to just focus on that leather, and on the way it's clinging over his middle.]
Was this all part of your plan? Make yourself look cooler by showin me how stupid normal people look in combat catsuits?
no subject
[And then they're somewhere else. Okay.]
-the fuck?
[He'll be real - with himself, anyway: he hadn't expected weird shit. The scene switching, sure, maybe, but after the- the weird thing that zapped clothes onto him- it's stupid, being weirded out by that, it's just a stupid little thing, but stupid little things add up and now they're somewhere that's probably never even heard of Earth, and Cayde is right fucking here, and Hank is fine. They're in- in the middle of a dream, or whatever the fuck, Hank's seen nightmare-fuel robot zombies, he's seen Canada, Cayde himself tried to dream-murder him earlier, Hank's seen his ex smile at him and not with that slow and wounded pity but with actual honest happiness - nothing that happens here is real. It shouldn't hit him so hard by now. By now Hank should be used to it.
His jaw is tight and he has to take two or three deep breaths through his nose, very aware of Cayde standing right there and potentially - for a split second, anyway - touching him, but this is about as repressed as Hank's shit's going to get right now so he's probably doing good. Okay.
He looks down, trying to focus on looking at himself and not up and around them just yet, and on twisting his tight expression into a grimace, because whining is like comfort food for the brain and Hank never actually agreed not to do it.]
I look like a moron.
[He tries to pluck at the leather at his waist, shifting a chip of that unmoored, unsettled feeling in him at everything in general over to just focus on that leather, and on the way it's clinging over his middle.]
Was this all part of your plan? Make yourself look cooler by showin me how stupid normal people look in combat catsuits?