Just Friends [Hank X Reader]
Anon: Can you do another hank x reader fic? I love how you portray him in your fics. Please and thank you!
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A/N: Thank you! :D It took me a while to plan and write this out so I hope you like it!
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Tags:
@lucacangettathisass @kotonei-molyneux @qtmeryr @heartsarecompatible
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Acquaintance.
Those were all the words Hank had used to describe you to his family, friends and colleagues despite the fact that you spent almost every night in his bed by his side; or that you had always been there for him during bad nights when he sought comfort in only alcohol; or that the both of you knew everything there was to know about each other.
You were more than just acquaintances, neighbours or friends but for some reason, it seemed as though Hank wanted everyone else to think otherwise.
It bothered you for quite some time, felt like a pit in your stomach that only dug itself deeper every time he let go of your hand in public when a colleague stopped to say hi. You wondered if you were the problem, if you’d done something wrong or if you were simply too embarrassing for him to introduce to others as his significant other.
While you were always good at masking your emotions, it was clear that your facade had begun to break when Hank asked you what was wrong from across his dining table. Your head shot up from where it previously hung low as you stared at your half-eaten dinner. You stared at him for a good moment while you fingers continued to idly play with your fork, using it to mindlessly poke at the pasta you’d cooked just half an hour ago.
“Somethin’ bothering you?” He asked, a worried expression slowly forming on his face.
“No, it’s nothing—“ you replied, dropping your fork onto the table, causing some red sauce to splatter on the wooden surface. “— I’m just not very hungry.”
Comically on cue, your stomach grumbled loudly. You closed your eyes for a second and sighed. Traitor.
The detective raised an eyebrow, silently willing you to share what was on your mind. The expression on his face was gentle and kind, very unlike the usual scowl or frown he maintained throughout most of the day. It was a look he reserved just for you. The longer his blue eyes stared at you, the more you felt yourself struggle to keep the feelings you’d suppressed within you any longer.
The words slipped past your lips before you could help yourself and, along with them, the weight that had been pressing down on your shoulders for so long disappeared. But when you saw how his face fell, how his shoulders tensed up and how his eyes flickered away from yours, you felt a completely new and much heavier pressure fall on your tired shoulders.
Did he not love you as much as you loved him?
No, that was impossible. You knew he loved you, you could feel it in the very depths of your soul. You felt it whenever you caught him staring at you from afar, felt it every time he touched you so tenderly. You felt it every time he chose not to drink whenever you were around even when both of you knew how much he ached to have even just a sip of alcohol.
So why, why, was he not saying anything?
“Hank?” Your soft voice brought his attention back to you, his eyes met yours once more. For the first time, you couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. Was he afraid? Tired? Confused? Regardless, the pit in your stomach transformed into an endless abyss. You felt like puking all of a sudden.
The older man’s lips parted for a split second before he pressed them together again, at a loss for words.
“Hank… what are we?” You repeated, your voice, while not loud, came out harsher than you intended but at that moment the flurry of long-suppressed emotions whirling within you overwhelmed any sense of guilt you could possibly feel for the man who sat speechless in front of you.
“We’re—” He started and just for a moment, a terribly short moment, you felt a spark of hope within you. “—friends.”
You only realised you’d stood up abruptly when the cringe-worthy sound of your chair’s legs scraping against the floor violated your ears. You wanted so bad to be angry, to release all of your pent-up frustration by shouting in his face but you were just… sad and disappointed, not at all angry.
“We’ve been like this—“ you gestured between yourself and him “— for almost two years, Hank… And I’m just your friend? Really?”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, huh?” Your sharp words cut off whatever excuse he wanted to give in that moment. Your heart felt too heavy, you wanted to be selfish. “I would’ve moved on and stopped loving you long ago if you told me we’re just friends.”
You felt a sting in your chest. You didn’t want the first time you used the L word with him to be in a fight. Especially not one that you started and could potentially end your relationship with him. You smiled to yourself bitterly when you remembered it wasn’t a relationship, not really. It was a friendship, as he’d been so kind to tell you just a minute ago.
Hank seemed to be as stunned as you were upset at your confession. The man stood up slowly from his seat and reached his arm out to grab yours but you backed away. You couldn’t help but notice the hurt that flickered in his eyes.
Effectively rendered speechless, Hank could only stare at you in dismay before you turned away and rushed out of his home. You could hear the sound of Sumo’s nails clicking against the floor as he tried to follow behind you, whining when you closed the front door too quickly for him to leave. The gentle giant turned to look at the only person left in the house and Hank swore he saw disappointment in his dog’s eyes.
Sighing deeply, the police lieutenant shuffled over to his couch before plopping down on it clumsily. He stared blankly at the black screen of his TV in front of him—
”Hey, sleepyhead,” you cooed, running your fingers through his tangled hair, “looks like you fell asleep on your couch again.”
Hank groaned, refusing to open his eyes, too tired from an exhausting day at work to even bother making his way to his bed. The feeling of your fingers rubbing against his scalp only managed to make him feel even sleepier.
“C’mon, Hank, it’s not good to sleep on the couch overnight—“ you squealed as the man yanked you down on top of him before trapping you in his arms. “Noooo, let me go!” You laughed, the sound was heavenly to his ears.
“Sleep with me…” he mumbled almost incoherently, shifting his body so that you were trapped between his body and the backrest of the couch. Hank felt you nuzzle against his chest as you simply hummed in response and relaxed in his embrace.
—Hank felt a pang of regret in his chest as he recalled that fond memory, his calloused hand touching the empty spot beside him as if you’d suddenly appear there if he wanted it hard enough. But he knew, obviously, that the world didn’t work that way. If he wanted you back, he would have to do it himself.
And just mere moments later, Hank found himself standing by his front door, his eyes locked on the extra coat hanging on his coat hanger. You’d forgotten to wear it before leaving—
You sneezed for the millionth time and let out a loud groan of frustration before flinging your snot-filled tissue into the bin you’d placed beside you. While you were sick and looked pissy as hell, Hank couldn’t help but think you looked absolutely adorable. You were wrapped up in a thick blanket as you snuggled against him, your head rested nicely in the crook of his neck.
When you caught him staring at you, you squinted your eyes at him, a silent warning as to not incur your wrath by making fun of your plight. As much as you tried to look threatening, you knew it was a complete failure seeing as your glare only made Hank let out a snort.
“I’m suffering,” you said matter-of-factly.
“I know,” he replied, his body rumbling as he spoke, “but that’s what you get for forgetting your coat when it’s winter.”
—Hank grabbed the coat a little too quickly. As it whipped past his face, he felt his heart skip a beat. It smelled just like you.
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You rubbed your arms furiously as you tried your best to walk as fast as you could home. Your tears had already dried up due to the low temperature, leaving behind two faint streaks of white on your cheeks which you sure were already red as hell.
The winter air nipped at your skin harshly but as much as you wanted to turn back to get your coat, your pride stopped you. No way were you about to face him so soon again after you’d just stormed out of his home.
While you listened to the sound of snow crunching underneath your boots as you walked, you began to feel regret slowly creeping into your heart.
Had you been too unfair to him?
Maybe all this while you two really were just friends and you’d been delusional the entire time?
Did Hank hate you now? Did he despise you for being so… petty?
Oh god did you just ruin your entire relationship with him?
Why were you so fucking stupid?
You stopped walking and clenched your teeth together hard, trying to stop yourself from just screaming in the middle of the night, in the middle of the street. You squatted down and rested your forehead against your knees as you attempted to calm yourself down. And though the winter air was painful to inhale, you breathed deeply anyways, ignoring the way your nose protested.
You opened your eyes and looked at the snowy pavement between your feet, now just a short distance away from your face—
”You little—!” Hank tried his best to sound angry but his grin betrayed him, as did the two massive snowballs in his gloved hands. No one could ever look truly angry while holding comically huge snowballs.
You shrieked as he flung one of the balls at you, falling to the ground when it hit right in the middle of your chest. Deciding that the soft, snowy blanket beneath you was rather comfortable, you stayed on the ground, only moving to wipe snowball remnants off of your chest.
Soon after, you were accompanied by none other than the man who’d shot you down himself. Hank placed the remaining snowball on your stomach, ignoring your cries of protest, before laying down beside you.
“This is nice,” he said. You could feel his fingers brush against yours. A warmth spread across your cheeks.
“It is,” you replied softly, reaching your hand so that your fingers could intertwine with his.
—You felt your eyes burn once again as more tears started to pour down your cheeks. You just felt so frustrated and upset, more at yourself than at Hank by that point.
Why did you have to be so reckless and just lash out him that way
Maybe if you’d been calmer, you could’ve just talked things out?
Fuck, you definitely ruined whatever you had with Hank now—
Your body tensed up at the feeling of something warm over your shoulders. It felt like your coat… the one you’d left behind at Hank’s place.
“Hey,” said the voice you’d grown to love so much but now dreaded to hear.
When you remained silent and still, he continued to speak.
“Look, (Y/N), I’m sorry for the answer I gave you back there…” Hank paused as if looking for the right words. “I know we’re more than friends. I just couldn’t say that to other people, not because of you but because of me.”
Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as you continued to stare down at the pavement in your squatting position. Your legs were beginning to feel numb but you didn’t want to stand up, you didn’t want to look him in the eye.
“I-I’m old, (Y/N),” he sighed, “and you’re still young, y’know? I mean, you ain’t a kid, obviously, but I hate what people would think of you if they knew we were… more than friends. Especially since I’m sucha bitter old bastard—“
“I don’t care what other people think,” you cut him off before you stood back up clumsily, your eyes meeting his blue ones straight away. “I’ve only ever cared about what you think, which was why I reacted the way I did,” you admitted with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Hank.”
His previously sorrowful eyes turned into those of disbelief, “what the hell do you have to be sorry for? I was the one who fucking broke your heart. I should the sorry one.”
“Well,” a genuine smile crawled on your face, “all is forgiven because I love you.”
A content smile of his own grew slowly on Hank’s face as he pulled you gently into his arms. You relished in the warmth he emitted and how soft and nice he felt to lean against. You felt him press his lips against the crown of your head before he whispered, “and I love you.”
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