"Why do you always get sad at the happy parts?"
Hanson blinked. He hadn't expected Putter to say anything, let alone ask a question--he hadn't been sure he was even still awake. It was late, sometime past midnight, and the rest of the house had already trundled off to their rooms. Despite the cold (or maybe because of it), Putter had instead stayed on Hanson's lap with a blanket draped over them both, watching some bad late night movie on one of the crappier movie channels.
"...What do you mean?" Hanson asked quietly after a long pause.
"You just get sad whenever the nice things happen," Putter replied, his legs swinging under the blanket and making tiny thuds as they hit the sofa lightly. "Like when there's happy endings."
Brows furrowing, Hanson turned his attention away from the dull road trip on the screen to stare at the lightly bobbing white-haired head under his nose, adjusting his grip on Putter's middle slightly. It would've been easy to just stick with his default answer to questions of "no I don't" and carry on with his life, but something about being asked by Putter made him not want to. It was probably the knowledge that every other time he'd done that, Putter had only argued with him about how he did.
Sighing a little, he leant back further against the cushions of the sofa. "I don't get what you mean," he said. "Get sadder how?"
"Like how all people get sad, silly!" Putter tutted. "You hug Putter tighter... sometimes you bite your lip cause it's trembly... sometimes you get teary too." There was a pause during which the rhythmic thudding of his legs stopped. "Putter doesn't like it."
Hanson's expression tightened slightly and he squeezed Putter's middle, dragging him further back into his lap.
"You're doing it now!" Putter whined, a distinctively canine noise coming from his throat as he fidgeted in protest at the change of position.
"Yeah, well..." Hanson muttered. "That's cause you sounded upset."
Putter pouted, settling back against Hanson's torso, wiggling again for good measure. "You didn't answer my question," he said, whining again as he drew out his last syllable.
"I dunno how," Hanson admitted.
"Then find out," Putter said, whining noises continuing.
"Maybe I'd find out if you gave me an example."
There was another movement in Putter's position as he adjusted himself in the aim of careful thought, bringing his mind back to a film they'd seen recently. It didn't take him long until he settled on one.
"You cried at Edward Scissorhands."
Hanson went red at that, shifting in his seat. He'd been hoping that Putter hadn't noticed.
"N-No, I didn't," he managed to get out at last.
"Yes you did!" Putter protested.
Silently admitting defeat, Hanson and his red face settled down as he moved to adjust their blanket instead. It was a better task than the alternative.
"Well?" came the impatient voice of the man perched on his lap. "Putter gave you an example!"
Hanson frowned, putting his arms around Putter again with a sigh. "They just... remind me of things, I guess," he settled on.
"Like..." he struggled for words, the blush on his cheeks flaring up again. "Y'know, things."
Putter frowned, turning to look at Hanson and ignoring the movie they were watching entirely. "No, Putter doesn't know," he said firmly, staring up into Hanson's eyes. "What things?"
Hanson looked away, glancing back once to check if Putter was still staring at him before sighing and giving in. "...Love things," he mumbled.
Gasping, Putter sat up excitedly. "Does Hanson love someone?"
Pausing at the question, Hanson furrowed his brows, thinking for a while before answering. "No."
"...Did Hanson love someone?"
His red cheeks fading back to their pale starting point, he gave a quick nod, moving his gaze back to the TV screen. "Yeah," he confirmed quietly.
Putter tilted his head, excited smile drifting. "And that makes Hanson sad?"
Snuggling up closer to him, Putter wrapped his arms around as much of Hanson as he could before asking, "What happened?"
"She didn't love me back," came the mumbled reply. "It's not the most exciting story."
Hanson moved his hand into the pocket of his jeans, rooting around for his wallet before yanking it out into the open. Prying it apart, he slipped a picture out of its innards and handed it to Putter, looking neither at it nor the reaction.
It was only a small photo, its age presented clearly in its off colour appearance. It had evidently been crushed in a fist at least once before, although somebody had carefully tried to smooth it out again, leaving white papery creases between the two people in the picture. Putter recognised Hanson easily. He hadn't aged a day, his cropped hair and bright blue eyes standing out as if it had been only yesterday. Next to him, however, was a woman Putter didn't recognise at all. She seemed small next to Hanson but couldn't have been much shorter than Putter--not much older, either. Despite most of her features being lost to time and misuse, Putter lifted his head with something to say.
"Yeah," Hanson nodded with a small smile. "She is."
"But Hanson," Putter said, his eyes still on the picture as Hanson turned his head to look at him. "If you don't love her, why is she in your wallet?"
Reaching out, he snatched the picture back with a small frown. "Because."
Putter frowned back, watching Hanson stuff the picture back into the confines of his wallet. "Because why?"
"Because I don't fucking know!" he snapped. "Ok, Putter? I don't know why I have a fucking picture in my wallet or why I cried at a stupid fucking movie or why you keep asking me these stupid fucking questions about shit I'm trying not to fucking care about but I evidently do!"
Putter blinked up at him in the aftermath of being unexpectedly shouted at, his bottom lip slowly getting dangerously wobbly as he sniffed with a slight shake of his vocal chords.
Regretting it immediately, Hanson wrapped his arms around him with a frown.
“Sorry.” he mumbled, stroking Putter’s hair a little roughly in his attempt to be comforting. “I...” He sighed. “Shen’s just a sore subject. That’s all.”
“Is that her name?” came a muffled voice from near Hanson’s chest.
“Hmm...” Putter lifted his head. “Putter guesses he can forgive Hanson, then. But where is the Shen lady now? Besides in your wallet.” He paused before giving a sharp gasp. “She’s not...” Putter leant in, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “Dead, is she?”
Hanson furrowed his brows slightly, pulling a face. “What? No, she’s not fucking dead; she’s more alive than I am.”
Putter pouted. “It’d make sense if she was dead, having her in your wallet. Putter didn’t ask a stupid question. There’s no need to pull faces!”
"I wasn’t pulling faces.”
“Yes, you were!” the dog man insisted as he waddled up onto his knees, pouting harder in protest and fumbling his way over Hanson’s lap in an attempt to get back into his original position. He’d kneed the zombie at least twice in the process, though whether it was on purpose was up for debate.
Putter sat in silence for a while, pretending to pay attention to the movie, before deciding it was just too dull to give his attention to. “You never told me where the Shen lady was either.”
Hanson sighed. “I dunno, like... ten minutes’ walk away? She lives with her boyfriend and their dog.”
Now it was Putter pulling a face. “The Shen lady has a boyfriend? And you still keep her picture in your wallet?” He looked back at Hanson, brows furrowed slightly. “That’s pretty weird.”
Hanson scowled. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” Putter insisted. “It definitely is! Putter’s not even a lovey dovey expert and Putter knows that’s weird!”
The zombie was practically glaring at him now but Putter just glared back, refusing to be defeated.
“It’s not weird,” Hanson said at last.
“Yes, it is! Think about if the Shen lady saw it, she’d agree with Putter!”
“There’s--” Hanson had opened his mouth to shout at first, his volume significantly higher, before he cut himself off and managed to start again without snapping. “There’s no fucking... It’s... She’s never gonna fucking see it, Putter, it doesn’t matter!”
“Just because she’s never going to see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter!”
“Yes, it does!” Hanson insisted, scrunching the wallet he was still holding up in his hand inadvertently. “She already hates me anyway.”
Putter tilted his head, frowning slightly. “That makes even less sense. Putter doesn’t get why Hanson would want the photo of someone that hates him in his wallet.”
Hanson grumbled his original answer. “Because.”
“But Hanson, ‘because’ isn’t a real answer! Putter’s not good with speaking but Putter knows that! ‘Because’ is just what Hanson says when he doesn’t want to say the real reasons.”
Hanson looked a little taken aback, blinking at the back of Putter’s head for a while before settling on a different response. “Whatever,” he mumbled. “I'd rather watch the movie anyway.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Putter said, shaking his head. “Hanson isn’t watching the movie and Hanson knows it.”
Hanson stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. “Fine,” he said, gripping Putter under his arms and lifting him off of his lap, placing the dog man onto the sofa before getting up.
“Where are you going?” Putter pouted.
“Then Putter’s coming too!”
Flinging off his blanket, he bounded to his feet and followed after the zombie, only stopping when Hanson turned to glower at him.
“No,” he stated firmly. “It’s... not a Putter sort of out.”
Putter’s earlier pout returned, growing this time. “But then Putter will be alone.”
Part of Hanson wanted to stay mad, but he found himself sighing and ruffling Putter’s hair instead. It was pretty impossible to ever really be mad at Putter. “Fine. I just... don’t wanna talk about any of that shit, ok? It’s...”
“OK,” Putter interrupted. “But Putter still thinks Hanson shouldn’t have that picture in his wallet.”
Hanson averted his eyes, moving his hand to pat Putter on the shoulder as he walked past. He hated when people were right about these things.
“Putter sorta gets it though,” the younger of the two continued as he trundled after the zombie. “It’s hard when you get reminded of things, especially when they happened recently.”
“Recently?” Hanson asked, raising a brow. “What makes you think it happened recently?”
“Because Hanson wouldn’t be this sad if it wasn’t recently, of course!”
Sitting back on the sofa, Hanson frowned as he pulled Putter back onto his lap. “But it didn’t happen recently. It was like... thirty years ago.”
Putter’s head snapped round, blinking in surprise. “Thirty years? Putter wasn’t even alive thirty years ago! That’d mean Hanson’s been sad since before Putter even existed!”
“Well... yeah,” Hanson said.
“But that’s not good!” Putter cried. “That’s the worstest! Hanson’s not allowed to be sad! Putter has to make Hanson happy now!”
Putter tried to leap to his feet, Hanson tugging him back. “Shh, don’t worry about it,” he said, wrapping an arm firmly around the dog man’s middle.
He offered Putter a small smile that was returned tenfold. Content with his answer, Putter settled onto Hanson’s lap and fell asleep relatively quickly, worn out by the brief argument.
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