Work Text
Hank has gone through heartbreak.
The type of heartbreak no man wishes on another, no matter how much he may dislike them. Hank actually built himself a pretty little life back in Austin, a pretty wife, a son that looked up to him, and a daughter he was fiercely protective of. A job as an unspecified business man with a briefcase, where he travelled around the world for various meetings and conferences as a Junior Associate.
It was a regular Thursday when Hank grabbed his bags for another trip. He kissed his wife goodbye, hugged his son… But when he leaned down to kiss his daughter, Betsy Sue, on the forehead, he looked into her eyes. I mean, really looked, for what might’ve been the first time. Looking back at him were eyes that were unfamiliar. They didn’t remind him of his wife, or.. Himself, by any means. No, Hank knew then and there that his daughter, his beloved Betsy Sue, was not his.
Hank had risen from his squat, gave his wife a look of unsureness, and walked out without another word.
He never returned to Austin.
By the time the conference was over, his new reality had seeped in. Hank paced aimlessly through his hotel room, hands on his head and tears pricking his eyes. That day, he extended his stay at the hotel and cancelled his flight back to Texas. Now practically stranded in this Scottish town, he texted his wife. A simple instruction; ‘I know what you did. I saw it in Betsy Sue’s eyes. I’m not coming back home yet, but when I do, divorce papers will be waiting for you. Do not contact me, I will not reply.’
Penelope had responded with a simple: ‘Okay.’ Her lack of a reaction, her not denying his accusations and just admitting it confirmed his worst fear.
Only a few days after that, he quit his job and found a new one. A bartending job at a tiny pub called
Mystic Glass Lounge.
Hank thought he could never love again. Not after what he’s been through. He thought he would never be able to enjoy another woman’s warmth again without being paranoid about her faithfulness and honesty.
And… he was right. He didn’t love another woman ever again.
Because, as if his life is a cosmic joke, Hank fell in love with
Mystic Glass Lounge
’s owner.
Gareth was short, had blonde hair and a bit of stubble. Initially, Hank wasn’t sure if he was just always trimming his facial hair, or if Gareth just couldn’t grow any more than that. A night together, just the two of them, having a drink after the pub closed, confirmed the latter.
This one-time accidental after-work hang out became two times. Then three. After six, he stopped counting, but it was almost every day that Hank and Gareth stayed behind after the pub closed, had a beer and just talked. They learned things about each other. Hank told him about his wife, and how he found out his daughter wasn’t his. Gareth told him about his catholic upbringing, how horrible his parents were in that regard.
Those hang outs branched out into meetings outside of work. Specifically, at bowling alleys. Hank would tease Gareth about how shit he is at bowling, but neither of them minded.
One day, one drink at the bowling alley became two. Those became three, and three became…
I’m not sure, but around midnight that fateful day, the alcohol loosened their lips in more ways than just one, because Hank found himself pressing Gareth up against his hotel room’s door as he tried to unlock the door without pulling away from the frankly messy kiss they were sharing. It was all teeth and tongue.
I’m sure you know the rest.
The next morning, Hank woke with the hangover of a lifetime. He sat up, blinking at the condom wrapper on the floor by the bed and his clothes scattered around the room, trailing to his living room. He frowned; He was with Gareth all night! How could this happen?
Hank’s face drops when the memories seep in. That’s the problem; This is the aftermath of Hank + Gareth + way too much alcohol. You do the maths.
Hank sat up in his bed for an hour before he moved to shower, his head full of thoughts that are now.
‘I had sex with a man.’
, followed up with,
‘I had sex with a man and
enjoyed
it.’
when he found the used condom in the bin by the bed.
‘Does Gareth remember?’
He thought, looked to his side but found the bed empty. Looked around the flat, but Gareth was long gone.
‘He has to remember, or at least
know
. He woke up here and left.’
That thought echoed in his head.
He left.
A crippling anxiety rattled his bones. Fuck.
That day, Hank was uneasy walking into work. Who wouldn’t be? Does he even have a job anymore? He just fucked his boss, for Heaven’s sake! His boss, who got up and ran without leaving a note in the morning.
The door creaked open. Gareth stood behind the bar, polishing a pint glass. There is a huge hickey on his neck, peeking out from under his collar, and it intensifies Hank’s anxiety further; The confirmation that this actually happened.
“Good morning?” Hank said, his words sounding more like a question of
‘Is this a good morning?’
than a greeting. Gareth didn’t look up, didn’t look at Hank as he replied with a weak: “Good morning.” While Hank couldn’t place his tone fully, there are a few things he did gather from it. For one, Gareth definitely knew, and for another, he absolutely didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Fine, two people can play that game. He can pretend not to remember.
“I had way too much to drink last night. I barely remember anything.” He said as he slid behind the bar with faux confidence. Gareth looked up, but still not into Hank’s eyes. They both knew that they remembered, but Gareth was relieved to not have to talk about it.
“Yeah.” He had replied, “Me neither.”
They played this game for weeks. Tip toeing around the elephant in the room, a conversation they desperately needed to have, in a desperate attempt to return back to the dynamic they had before. It wasn’t the same; Both of them knew nothing would be the same again unless they
talked
, but Heavenly Father, if catholic guilt wasn’t one hell of a motivator to
not
have a conversation.
The tension grew thicker with each day, to a point where Hank dreaded going to work. Gareth started becoming hostile toward him in a piss poor attempt to convince himself that these feelings he has aren’t what he thinks they are. Gareth wanted to hate Hank for it, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
It was a Saturday evening when Hank couldn’t take it anymore.
As Gareth moved at high speeds to leave the bar as quickly as humanly possible after closing, Hank blocked his way by standing in front of the door.
“Move.” Gareth murmured.
“No.”
“..What?”
“I said, No.”
Gareth stared blankly at Hank, the sudden confrontation making his brain slow.
“We have to talk about it.”
“There is
nothing
to talk about.”
“There is
everything
to talk about, and you know it.”
Gareth clenched his jaw as the heavy silence hung between them.
“I…” He inhaled sharply, “I can’t.”
Hank looked absolutely pathetic with desperation. “We have to, Gareth, we
have to
.”
Gareth still couldn’t bare to look at Hank even as he was guided to sit down at the bar. Hank slid behind the counter and poured them a glass of scotch each. Gareth chuckled weakly.
“I feel like I couldn’t consume any alcohol around you again.” He joked. A startled laugh escaped Hank.
“Yeah, well, it might help us relax. I’ll stay behind the bar.”
Gareth got about three words in before he broke down crying. He told Hank everything; Growing up gay with orthodox catholic parents, the screaming, the hitting, the endless confessionals and Priests telling him to repent. He told Hank how he left at 5am on the day they hooked up and put his brain on autopilot, his feet carrying him to the nearest church. How he cried on the bench until 7am before pulling himself together and going to work.
Hank kept his promise of staying behind the bar until Gareth asked him to sit on a barstool beside him. Hank wrapped his arm around Gareth and let him sob into his shoulder.
After that, a boulder weight lifted off the both of them. Though they didn’t establish what they were exactly at this point, their affection for each other grew. Casually compliments turned to flirting in private, turned to flirting at the bar, turned to telling people “I’m seeing someone”.
One Sunday evening, watching a movie on Gareth’s couch, Hank dropped the question.
“Are we… dating?” He’d asked. Gareth pondered this for a moment.
“Do you.. Want to be? Dating me?” Hank smiled softly at this.
“Yes, I do.” Gareth mirrored his expression.
“Then yes,” He whispered, “We are.”
When Hank returned to Austin, Gareth was with him.
Gareth was with him when he filled out the divorce papers.
Gareth was with him when his wife had an epic meltdown upon seeing him with another man.
Gareth was with him when he got full custody of his children. Even if he wasn’t Betsy’s father, he was her Dad.
Gareth was with him when he applied for citizenship in Scotland.
Gather was with him.
Hank and his children moved into Gareth’s flat. Thaddeus and Betsy Sue took a little to adjust to the fact that they had two fathers now, but once they did, they were delighted. Betsy Sue would paint Gareth’s nails while Hank would help Thaddeus in trying to bake whatever new recipe he’d found on his iPad. The little girl would proudly show off her work and make Gareth swear up and down that he’d never go to another nail tech ever again.
Betsy Sue grew up to become a beauty specialist, making girls and boys alike feel absolutely beautiful within their skin.
Thaddeus grows up to own a bakery. His employees know Gareth and Hank on a first-name basis.
And how their story ends, if for you to decide, my dearest reader.
Though I think we can all agree that it’s a happy one.