hiiiiii absolutely love the sandbox as a concept, it's now the primary framework I can engage with hudcon under lolol
when do you think connor got closest to completely giving up and ridding himself of this whole ~situation~? Like there was definitely the first big heartbreak when they separated and hudson went back to being a doting partner.
But do you think there have been other times where even though connor knows, or maybe thinks he knows, that what he and hudson have is more deep than anything else, there have been public or private gestures made by hudson to k that left him feeling like all his love will eventually be fruitless?
thank you anon the sandbox is always open for some yes-and rpf improv and imaginings and indeed some tasty subjects you bring up here!
obviously a beloved toy set in the sandbox is Professional Hopeless Romantic Connor Storrie and I think both vancouver trips are ripe for this kind of headcanon...if we imagine both times hudson invited him up a boy hopelessly in love might be thinking well. he wants me to come stay with him for a whole week and just 'hang out'? that's not nothing right? but of course he turns up and has a very romantic week of being shown around all of hudson's favourite places, meeting his friends, but she's still around of course, forever leaving her mark on his skin from the tattoo. ok, so, not exactly a Define The Friendship trip he was hoping for, it's fine! he is Not crying on the plane home it's just the change in pressure or something. well anyway he's got his movie to work on, he's busy. it's fine, he won't need to see him until the show premieres anyway.
but then all the promo starts and everything goes crazy and suddenly it's just the two of them in a glass box, like animals at a zoo, and all they can do is cling to each other, right? hudson is ALWAYS there, always touching his arm or pulling him into his lap or hugging him so close, lips against his neck. connor always was kind of prepared for his moment in the sun but it takes hudson entirely by surprise and he's so lost he needs connor, needs that soothing hand rubbing up and down his back, needs to crawl into this bed after the third straight night of industry parties. and when he invites him back to vancouver for new years what is connor going to say? no? maybe this is the time, he thinks cautiously. maybe he can build up the courage to say it, drunk on new year's eve. but of course, when midnight comes hudson kisses her, and he just gets a hug, a mumbled I love you so much into his shoulder.
but it's fine. it's always fucking Fine. he must be allergic to the air on these goddamn planes or something. but he's busier than ever and their agency wants them to have separate brands so it's good, better even. sure hudson calls him every day and whenever he's spiralling, sometimes two or three times in one day if it's bad, and he always answers. in italy he trails them like a tricycle wheel but one night hudson knocks on his hotel room at midnight and says do you want to walk? and so they do, through the empty narrow streets of San Marco, watching the low lights glimmer on the canals, connor holding his breath when hudson slips his hand in his, when they hug goodnight and he murmurs I am so luck to have you. but in the morning connor comes down to find him feeding her pastries and kissing her cheek and a lump gets stuck in his throat that doesn't come out until he leaves them, heaving sobs in another hotel room.
he makes a deal with himself. maximum one call answered a day. never pick up on the first ring. and to be honest he is very busy so they don't talk as much, long streams of grey in their text chat, a joking baby don't you love me anymore? are you busy again? I miss you so much, please call me when you're free, I don't care what time it is. sleeping with other people doesn't help, just reminds him what a commodity his body has become, when everyone asks him to 'do the Russian', when he closes his eyes and imagines hudson's smooth skin and soft hair instead. but hudson just won't disappear. he knocks on his new york hotel room the night before SNL, exhausted but there. connor has no self-control then, lets him lay on his chest, accepts his little kisses than turn into big ones, panting and grinding against each other until hudson is the one shakily breathing, wait, no, stop, we can't. we shouldn't, lips all wet and swollen. two days later he's scrubbing blood from his jeans, throat raw from crying after re-reading the text hudson had sent him afterwards. I wrote you a letter, packed it in your bag. I love you so much, Connor. he doesn't read the letter until months later, when they're both too busy to trade more than texts, when it already feels like an artefact from another life. miss you, love you, it's complicated. never ever felt like this in my life, give me time, I don't want to ruin things. I do love her, so much. do you understand? I really need you to understand.
he has to stop crying on planes.
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