Chapter Text
The sounds of Frank Sinatra drifting through the ceiling from the floor above is what ultimately pulls Hook from a restless sleep.
I would sacrifice anything, come what might
For the sake of having you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night …
I've Got You Under My Skin- of course. That song's fucking haunting him.
Maybe his dad won't notice if it conveniently disappears off his playlist?
Hook is sorely tempted.
He hadn't wanted to move back in, but with that weird thing he'd had with D falling apart, he hadn't had much of a choice.
Still- maybe sharing a 600 square foot studio with your ex-something is better than being tortured by Frank Sinatra.
There are some questions in life that just don't have answers.
As much as he blames Sinatra for waking him up, he knows it's a lie.
Hook had had the dream again.
You wanted my attention? Well, you got it .
Hook had sworn off love when D had somehow managed to worm his way in. They were the exact opposites in every way. His dad had even sworn they wouldn't last, but he applauded Hook for giving it a shot.
Ultimately, self doubt had killed them dead.
From the moment they met, D had been ready to accept Hook for every flaw that made no sense to the rest of the world. He didn't make eye contact. People couldn’t touch him. A bag of Lay's plain potato chips counted as a perfectly balanced meal.
These were things that people spent many years and thousands of dollars to attempt to fix . They didn't seem to understand that it was just who he was!
D did, and that proved to be the scariest thing about him.
For as eccentric as Hook felt at times, D quite frankly made him look normal.
Donovan Danhausen was a complete enigma. He didn’t have a traditional job- a fact that always drove Hook’s dad crazy. He made his money selling vintage toys on eBay, choosing to focus on the rare shit that Hook never quite got. He sometimes liked to cosplay as a member of the band, Kiss- not because he particularly liked their music. He mostly did it because he wanted to.
The weirdest thing about him was that he accepted Hook as he was.
Why do you listen to your dad?
You’re just mad that he told you to get a job.
What job? Working at the bank?
Well, he did say he could get you a job in his department.
Fuck no.
Hook couldn’t blame him for turning down his dad’s offer. He’d tried working at the bank once- it had been miserable.
He’d taken the job at his dad’s behest. The pay had been shit- his freelance photography paid way more, and worst of all, they’d made him wear a tie.
He quit before they could fire him.
The song stops, granting him a moment’s respite.
Those fingers in my hair
That sly ‘come-hither’ grin
It’s witchcraft
And I’ve got no defense for it
Why is everything reminding him of D? Will he ever find peace from Frank Sinatra? Why had he run, just as it was getting good?
So many questions, so few answers.
Unable to deal with Sinatra anymore, he shoves out of bed, and puts on the first thing he sees. It’s a pair of old gray sweats that he thinks he washed last week. A quick sniff tells him they’re clean enough.
Better than going to a laundromat.
That just might be worse than Sinatra.
He wanders into the ensuite bath, and splashes cold water on his face. He could shower, but a quick glance at the time tells him it’ll have to wait.
Plus showering means putting up with Frank.
No thanks.
He’ll just make due before he has to go to that shoot.
At least his mom’s funneling extra work his way.
There’d been a freak office baby boom, and suddenly, everyone wanted pictures of their bumps, babies and boobs. All the good photographers were booked out, but his mom certainly knew someone- her gay son who most decidedly didn’t think it was weird that one wanted such special memories.
Privately, he thought the boob thing was very weird, but if it got him out of the basement, he’d practically photograph anything.
Finally, he brushes his teeth as quickly as he can, tugs on a gray hoodie and rushes for his camera bag.
He’s got 20 minutes to make it across town and there’s undoubtedly traffic.
“You’re late.” His dad greets him at the top of the stairs, half an untoasted bagel smeared with obscenely blue cream cheese and a red tin thermos of coffee in hand. “I know you hate being babied but…”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Hook accepts the food, knowing he’ll never eat the bagel. Blueberry or not, cream cheese should never be that color. The coffee on the other hand is exactly what he needs to get through the day.
He’d been up half the night, plagued by dreams he can’t quite understand.
His dad follows him to the door, shouting instructions for his Dodge Durango. He rarely used the car, but now with Hook’s Kia in the shop, he’d suddenly remembered it existed.
Life sucked.
“Go.” His dad practically shoves him out the door, and Hook’s left wondering how it had all gone so wrong.
Hook adjusts the seat and puts the key in the ignition. Turning it on, he’s startled when the radio snaps to life.
Of course, it’s more fucking Sinatra.
The night is bitter
The stars have lost their glitter
The winds grow colder
And suddenly you’re older
And all because of the gal that got away
Unwilling to learn how to work the fancy car stereo, he does the next best thing.
He turns it off and drives in total silence.
This proves to be a catastrophic idea, as his mind naturally starts to go back to the dreams.
There’d been a wrestling ring- a large crowd chanting his name, pleading with him to take someone’s hand- it might have been D, but Hook wasn’t sure. The guy looked fuzzy.
Then, the scene shifted. They’re in a dark hallway, crushed chips everywhere. He’d had the same fuzzy guy by the lapels, pressing his back into the wall.
You wanted my attention? Well, you got it.
These dreams made no sense. He’d never been in a wrestling ring, and that wasn’t likely to change.
Hell, he hadn't even watched wrestling in years.
The day passes in a blur before Hook gets the chance to process anymore of the dream. The first lady has her pet cockatoo, and it's a struggle to make sure the bird doesn't fly away in the open wheat field she'd insisted on shooting in. The second lady has colicky newborn triplets and the shoot ends up taking hours longer than it has any real right to. He's forced to delay his third session, and cancel his fourth.
And every time he gets in the damn car, he's tortured by Sinatra.
It's got to be a short.
A smart guy would tell his dad about it, recommend he put it in the shop. Hook doesn't have that luxury. It'll take god knows how long to fix his Kia and he wouldn't be caught dead in his mom's Mini-Cooper.
Within my heart
I know I will never start
To smile again
Until I smile at you
Fucking Frank.
On the way home, he stops at the gas station and buys a pack of Smokes and a scratcher. Maybe he'll win ten grand and get out of the basement. He's got nothing to lose.
Also, he doesn't smoke but a few more days like this, and he knows he'll be considering it.
His phone buzzes, momentarily distracting him from the 5 dollar lottery win and the big band music he's finally decided to stop fighting.
D: Hey, have a question.
Hook can't decide if D actually has a question or if he's just using that as an excuse to talk to him. It's hard to say, but then again, D's always been honest to a fault, so it probably is something.
“Can I help you?”
“Hook sounds so excited to hear from me.” Then, D laughs, a sound that still somehow manages to make Hook's heart skip a beat.
He'd forgotten D periodically lapsed into third person.
“You try spending the morning worrying that Mr Feathers is going to fly away, or try to comfort Dolly, Holly and Polly so Mom and Dad have perfect memories.” The words fall out like acid.
Hook hopes D doesn't take it personally.
“The super is asking about our intent to sell.” D clears his throat. “I stopped in to grab the mail, and Chris Judas apparently has a cousin-brother needing a place. Doesn't necessarily want to rent.”
To his surprise, Hook feels his stomach sinking at the thought.
While it's usually ill-advised to purchase real estate with the boyfriend you'd accidentally acquired, Hook had somehow been one of the lucky ones. The rental market had been shit. They'd wanted to live together. The studio was cute.
It had been a perfect storm.
No one had ever prepared him for what to do if it all went to shit.
“No selling. If Brother Cousin wants to sublet....”
“Agree.” D sighs. “I'll tell him.”
Hook had never particularly liked Chris Judas Jericho, the building super. Maybe he'd been somebody once, but those days were long gone and he carried a massive chip on his shoulder. Interacting with him had been a necessary evil, but now he was trying to buy their apartment.
Nope.
“How's Taz?”
“Torturing me.” Hook doesn't mention the frequent conversations about which bank departments were hiring, or the fact his dad told him several times that he needed a damn haircut. He doesn't even mention the Sinatra.
Taz is Taz and that's all there is to it.
“Business going well?”
“Two words: Mr. Feathers.”
“You hate birds.”
“And you love them.” Hook pauses. “You remembered.”
“Danhausen always remembers.” D laughs- a sound that somehow makes Hook wonder if he's holding onto some glorious secret.
“Hate to do this, but I have to get home before Dad needs the Durango. Didn't even use the damn thing until the Kia took a shit.” Hook sighs. “Also, need to get these photos edited.”
“You can always come home.”
You can always come home.
It's such a tempting thought. They could easily move back in together- roommates, nothing more. Tiny apartment or not- it could absolutely work.
No.
That would never work.
If he moved back in, he'd be tempted to reconcile. D probably wouldn't hate that, but Hook had walked away for a reason.
He had an unfortunate habit of destroying everything he loved.
“Thanks.” Hook clears his throat.
“I love you.”
Hook lets the sentence linger in the air before he hangs up.
It's better this way.
---------------------------------------------------
The dreams only get worse.
There's a time where he wins a championship wrestling belt from a guy who looks suspiciously like Ricky, his childhood best friend.
Then, he gets involved with a guy that looks a whole ton like Jack, the wealth manager his dad keeps trying to fix him up with. That Jack is a perfectly nice guy, albeit boring.
Wrestling Jack is apparently the same way.
His Kia's delayed another month. The mechanic swears it's fixable, but the part's backordered everywhere they try.
Hook's still stuck with the possessed Durango.
He's tried to recommend his dad get the fuses checked out. Every time he does, his dad laughs and swears it's fine. He doesn't have any trouble with it.
Hook really wants to believe that, but he's unwillingly well versed in the entire catalog of old Frankie Blue Eyes- all because the stereo refuses to work for him.
Ever since that night we've been together
Lovers at first sight, in love forever
It turned out so right for strangers in the night
“Hello.” Hook struggles to turn down the car's latest selection, but it refuses to lower. “Can I help you?”
“Happy anniversary.” D laughs. “Didn't think Hook would like me forgetting.”
A lump forms deep in Hook's throat. Of course D would remember their anniversary.
Part of him had hoped he wouldn't.
Part of him had hoped he would.
It's complicated.
“Ditto.” Hook blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Remember the night we met?”
How could Hook forget?
His dad had dragged him somewhere- a charity dinner or possibly an awards banquet. He hadn't wanted to go, but his mom had been out of town and his dad hadn't wanted to go alone. They'd gone to a hotel that had clearly seen better days, and eaten overcooked chicken, while a bunch of people made speeches. By the time Fonzie took the stage for his lifetime achievement award, Hook had discovered the party in the adjacent room, and since it looked far better, he snuck in.
That was where he'd met D, sitting in a corner, his eyes focused on a deceptively large man, who was telling a raucous story about the time he and his best friend accidentally (accidentally) stole an ambulance.
Hook had been smitten from that very moment.
“Chuck going to make us pay royalties this year?”
“One large pepperoni pizza and the keys to your dad's timeshare.”
“Taz will hate that.”
“We know.” Then, D laughs and it's like music to Hook's tired ears.
Hook loves the fact that D's made it his mission to torture his dad every chance he gets.
It's stupidly endearing.
“Tell him I'll make it happen.”
As they sink into familiar conversation, Hook finds his mind beginning to wander. He wishes he could tell D it had never been him. Hook had loved him from that first night.
It could have been great, if he hadn't been a chickenshit.
Now, Hook's doing penance in his parents' basement as he photographs the many pregnant women of the DMV, and prays for an out.
Some life.
“What else?” Hook chews on his lip, as he fiddles with the volume dial. This time, the music lowers, but just barely.
Why Frank Sinatra? Couldn't the universe have decided to torture him with something good?
“What is that?”
Baby, won't you please come home
'Cause your daddy's all alone
I have tried in vain
Never no more to call your name
“It's Frank Sinatra. Dad's car is possessed.” Hook tries not to focus on the lyrics, but that proves difficult. It's appropriately sappy.
Is the Durango suggesting he call D 'Daddy'?
Why does this get weirder and weirder?
Daddy needs baby.
Baby won't you please come home
“Think the car wants me to call you Daddy.” Hook blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Not doing that.”
“You did once.”
“I was drunk. Blame fucking Chuck.”
“You have a possessed car?”
“Did I not tell you about that?” Hook can't remember what he's told D about. The possessed car should have been on top of his list.
“Think I would have remembered that.” D laughs again. “And remember...”
“Danhausen always remembers.” Hook can't resist finishing the sentence he
knows oh so well.
“So- possessed car?”
Hook easily slips into the insane story. The car's stereo literally works for everyone who isn't him. It only glitches when he's alone- so no one believes him either. The Durango has a bigger obsession with Frank Sinatra than his dad ever had. It- no- she prefers the sappiest big band love songs he's ever heard.
“Hook's tried changing the station?”
Like he's never considered that.
It never worked.
“Well, I think she wants me to call you Daddy.”
“Of course, Taz's car loves me. Taz-on the other hand- debatable.”
This actually doesn't sound too far from the truth, but Hook doesn't say anything else.
That night, the dreams recycle themselves.
The wrestling ring. The dark hallway strewn with crushed chips. That one sentence.
You wanted my attention. Well, you got it.
That's the morning his dad corners him, as he's rushing to do a maternity shoot for a very pregnant Pekingese named Hamilton. Considering Taz is blocking the door, Hook's got no choice but to stop and listen.
“That wealth manager asked about you again.”
“Jack?”
“Yes. Told him you'd be happy to meet him for dinner tonight.” His dad sighs, his gaze falling to the pristine white carpet. “It'll do you good to get out of the basement.”
It's the last thing Hook wants to do, but maybe his dad has a point. It's been months since he'd split with D. He could try getting back into the pool. It didn't have to be anything serious.
The date goes about as well as expected.
It's the night of the Home School Prom- an off season anomaly. That means it's extra hard to get a table anywhere even remotely decent. For a second, Hook even contemplates taking Jack to McDonalds, but stops himself before he can suggest it.
That reeks of desperation.
Instead, they end up at Olive Garden- the only place Hook can get on a waiting list for. It's the last place he wants to go, but he'd agreed to give Jack a chance.
It's probably not a good sign for their budding relationship though.
It takes them nearly 2 hours to get a table. By the time they fall into the corner booth, Hook swears he's about to waste away. They hadn't done much talking during the wait- Jack had had a banking emergency and Hook just stared mindlessly at the calendar while he tries to reschedule for a client who'd gone into early labor.
Over an appetizer of overly salty fried ravioli, Jack tells him all about his ex- some dude he only calls 'Luchasaurus'- a throwback to his college days where the man only loved dinosaurs and Mexican wrestling.
Lu had started as his best friend- they met in Psych 101. Then, they rushed the same fraternity- where the infamous nickname had come from. They'd then morphed into 'more'. What that means is never made entirely clear to Hook, but whoever the guy is- he'd clearly been important to Jack.
Over the watery Fettuccine Alfredo, Hook finds himself commiserating with Jack. He doesn't tell him about D. Those memories are far too private, definitely not something to be shared on a first date. Instead, he tells a watered down version of the truth. He'd had someone too. It was great, until he (Hook) panicked. Luckily, they were still friends.
With a sad smile, Jack shook his head and told Hook he wished he could say the same, but his story wasn't quite like that. Instead, Lu had run off with his college advisor- a man Jack considered a second father. Last he'd heard, they were somewhere in the Bahamas, planning their happily-ever-after.
As far as Hook's concerned, this date's turning into an unmitigated disaster.
Over the too-sweet Tuxedo Mousse Cake, Jack gives him a weak smile, and tells him it's been fun, but he's apparently not as ready as he thought for someone new.
Hook reluctantly agrees.
They part with a handshake which leads into a side hug and a promise to stay in touch.
As Hook settles back into the Durango, he turns the car on, and stares up at the liner. He turns the ignition on, and the stereo comes to life.
Don't be ashamed to let me know you love me
That's such a silly thing to do
'Cause anytime you call me, Baby
I'll come runnin' straight to you
Pressing his forehead to the steering wheel, Hook wills the moment to pass.
Clearly, it's a sign he should call D.
Hook gives into temptation.
“What's wrong?”
“Why does something have to be wrong?”
“You're calling me at 9:17 on a Wednesday night.”
Chewing on his lip, Hook considers this. He should have known that D would think something was wrong, but he hadn't cared. He'd just known he'd needed to hear his voice.
Wherever D is- there's a lot of background noise. Hook can't even begin to imagine what he's interrupting.
Maybe it had been a bad idea to call unannounced.
“Just needed to hear your voice.” Part of Hook wants to tell D about the date. How bad it had been. The chaos still churning deep inside.
The other part of him wants to avoid the topic at all cost. For one thing, there's no easy way to tell your ex you'd attempted to date again, and it had been a huge fucking mistake.
D covers the phone and talks to someone behind him. Hook can't imagine what he's saying, but after a second, the background noise is gone, replaced by dead quiet.
“Just had to get outside. Egon's got me at a preview sale- someone's uncle died and he had a giant collection of 1970s Mego toys- the good ones.”
Hook pretends he knows what that means.
“Taz set me up- that wealth manager.” Hook vaguely remembers mentioning Jack in passing. “We went to Olive Garden.”
"Hook- Danhausen thinks he can hear Taz from here. An Italian at...”
“Desperate times, D.” For the first time all night, Hook laughs and it feels genuine. “I missed you.”
“Know the feeling.” For a split second, Hook swears D sounds bitter- a sharp contrast to his usually jovial nature. “So, does Danhausen need to worry about Jumping Jack stealing you away from me?”
“Of all the things you have to worry about, that's probably the last thing.”
“Good.”
D sounds jealous- a fact that startles Hook. He's never known D to be like that, and especially in this case. It isn't serious, and they're clearly not over their exes.
Life is weird.
After a few more minutes of mindless banter, D has to get back into the sale. He sounds like he doesn't really want to, but Hook swears it's fine. The only thing he wants is one random cool thing from the sale.
D agrees.
Hook doesn't think anything of the conversation, until the next morning when his dad finds the brown bag on the porch.
Hook takes the bag from his dad, and reaches in. Laughing softly, he pulls out a mint in box Cher doll.
"You're not going on a second date with him, are you?"
Hook shrugs.
Letting out a sad sigh, Taz warily shakes his head.