Work Text:
Sometimes the intensity of Connor’s affection is like quicksand. It swallows Hank whole. It’s all-encompassing, beautiful and overwhelmingly painful all at once. Those big, brown eyes gaze at Hank with so much longing, like he’s something to be treasured. It makes Hank’s chest ache.
He’s spent years at the bottom of a bottle, grinding down his self-esteem until it’s been reduced to dust, whipping away with each passing day. It’s all too easy to slip underneath the surface and let dark, jagged thoughts take hold. The kind of thoughts that hook their blackened claws in and never let go. The deafening hiss of ‘you don’t deserve it’ rattles in his head.
He meets those warm brown eyes again, fingers twitching to caress a freckled cheek— but his gaze falters, he’s paralyzed, caught in an endless pit of quicksand.