HANS HADN'T PURPOSEFULLY PRIED INTO HENRY'S PAST. Hans had been interested, but it was through Zizka Hans had become privy to Henry's past, to the circumstances of Henry's parents' deaths. It was in the news, Zizka'd said, but Hans had been in England then, at university. The fact that he hadn't known is mortifying, and the fact that he knows now not by Henry but by Zizka is even more mortifying. He's looking at Henry differently, now, at Henry's eyes exhausted and red from, Christ, possibly crying but possibly from exhaustion, too. Likely both.
"My parents are here, too, actually." He's aware, though, of what Henry almost asked: Did you follow me? He hadn't, although he had stopped by Henry's shop earlier, so to say he hadn't followed Henry before would be a lie. But Henry doesn't need to know how desperate he is. How desperate he is, too, to hold Henry, head against his shoulder, and to tell Henry that it's all right, that all of it is all right, and that he's here. His eyes, blinking back tears, burn with sympathy.
Murdered in a robbery. Fuck. "Could I —" It's strange to ask. "— hug you?" And it's strange to not wait for an answer, gathering Henry into his arms, grimacing at an aching heart, at how strange it truly is, at how right it truly is.