[Hank thinks about that hand. On one hand, bounty hunting’s... better than regular hunting. Right? He almost wants it to be.
Fuck it. It’s not real anyway, it’s just like target practice. None of this is real except him and Cayde, and whatever the fuck kind of impression Cayde has of him by the time this is over.
An impression he’s not helping, Hank realizes, by hesitating over a goddamn hand up like an asshole. He tries to cover the pause by talking, raising his eyebrows with the first thing that comes to mind.]
Somethin tells me you don’t need me to tell you that.
[He tries to hold the look for a moment, pointedly not looking around at any scenery except what’s right in front of him. That moment lets him push that warm affection to the front of his mind, though the tight, acrid feeling of self-consciousness and heavy, resigned doubt are still sitting in the back row, laughing at his sorry try at pushing them out.
Well, fuck it. Hank tries to focus on Cayde, not on his own stupid bullshit, and reaches out to grab Cayde’s hand.]
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Fuck it. It’s not real anyway, it’s just like target practice. None of this is real except him and Cayde, and whatever the fuck kind of impression Cayde has of him by the time this is over.
An impression he’s not helping, Hank realizes, by hesitating over a goddamn hand up like an asshole. He tries to cover the pause by talking, raising his eyebrows with the first thing that comes to mind.]
Somethin tells me you don’t need me to tell you that.
[He tries to hold the look for a moment, pointedly not looking around at any scenery except what’s right in front of him. That moment lets him push that warm affection to the front of his mind, though the tight, acrid feeling of self-consciousness and heavy, resigned doubt are still sitting in the back row, laughing at his sorry try at pushing them out.
Well, fuck it. Hank tries to focus on Cayde, not on his own stupid bullshit, and reaches out to grab Cayde’s hand.]