Take a minute, doll

Two men sit at a bar, both of them laughing. About what is a little unclear, but the wide smiles on both of their faces are contagious.

"Aww man, I've missed you, dude." Says one of the men, giving the other a hardy pay on the back. He looks older, with some grey patches showing up in his reddish brown beard.

"Missed you too." Says the younger looking of the two. His bleach blonde hair differs from the other, but he still has that same reddish brown beard as him. "So, how's the comedy thing going?"

"Aha, uh... about that..."

"Uh oh."

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

He realizes he's been quiet a beat too long, ditching the trash in the dumpster before ducking back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. "Bullshit, you're gonna crash at my place. Got a nice couch, or you can have the bed." His voice is wobbly from nerves and excitement as he rattles off the address and apartment number.

Hank isn't sure when or why he started calling him that, but it does something funny to his insides. It's like something you'd call a...

Shaking his head, he lets out a soft sigh as he stands next to his fish tank and stares out the window. "I'll be here, Harley. Just... please be careful," he says softly before adding, "New York drivers are dicks."

Also, he hasn't really seen him in person since his sister... nope, not going there.

Hearing his intercom buzz snaps him out of his thoughts, and he rushes to the panel on the wall to buzz him in. "Hey, come on in," he says quickly, but he's already racing out of the apartment to the stairs. Luckily, he only lives on the second floor, since the damn elevator hasn't worked since he's lived here.

Yet even as exhaustion spreads to the rest of his body, he can't help but smile when Hank looks at him, jogging up the last couple of steps to meet him. "Hank!"

Now he's realizing just how long it is.

Hank lets out a chuckle, nearly sounding giddy as he wraps his arms around Harlen in a firm embrace. It's... healing in a way that catches him off guard. A balm on a stubborn ache.

"I missed you too, Harley," he responds, his voice raspy with the emotion trapped in his throat. It's a few minutes before he leans back just enough to grasp his shoulders and giving him a once over. "Look atcha... you look good." His brows furrowed at just how exhausted he looks, reaching down to grab his bag.

The only reason Harlen isn't upset when Hank pulls away is because it's the first time he's been able to get a proper look at him in years. "You look even better, Puddin'," he says in response, smiling warmly at Hank. He's so fucking pretty, moreso than Harlen remembers.

Walking down the hall, he turns his head to level a curious gaze on Harlen when he mentions bringing him something. "What? Oh, now you got me all kinds of curious." Opening the door, he steps aside to let Harlen enter.

"Jus' food... Oh, Mamma made you an- a pie," Harlen says as he follows Hank down the hall, the word 'apple' slipping his mind momentarily. Words are already difficult enough for him without sleep deprivation.

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

He realizes he's been quiet a beat too long, ditching the trash in the dumpster before ducking back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. "Bullshit, you're gonna crash at my place. Got a nice couch, or you can have the bed." His voice is wobbly from nerves and excitement as he rattles off the address and apartment number.

Hank isn't sure when or why he started calling him that, but it does something funny to his insides. It's like something you'd call a...

Shaking his head, he lets out a soft sigh as he stands next to his fish tank and stares out the window. "I'll be here, Harley. Just... please be careful," he says softly before adding, "New York drivers are dicks."

Also, he hasn't really seen him in person since his sister... nope, not going there.

Hearing his intercom buzz snaps him out of his thoughts, and he rushes to the panel on the wall to buzz him in. "Hey, come on in," he says quickly, but he's already racing out of the apartment to the stairs. Luckily, he only lives on the second floor, since the damn elevator hasn't worked since he's lived here.

Yet even as exhaustion spreads to the rest of his body, he can't help but smile when Hank looks at him, jogging up the last couple of steps to meet him. "Hank!"

Now he's realizing just how long it is.

Hank lets out a chuckle, nearly sounding giddy as he wraps his arms around Harlen in a firm embrace. It's... healing in a way that catches him off guard. A balm on a stubborn ache.

"I missed you too, Harley," he responds, his voice raspy with the emotion trapped in his throat. It's a few minutes before he leans back just enough to grasp his shoulders and giving him a once over. "Look atcha... you look good." His brows furrowed at just how exhausted he looks, reaching down to grab his bag.

The only reason Harlen isn't upset when Hank pulls away is because it's the first time he's been able to get a proper look at him in years. "You look even better, Puddin'," he says in response, smiling warmly at Hank. He's so fucking pretty, moreso than Harlen remembers.

Walking down the hall, he turns his head to level a curious gaze on Harlen when he mentions bringing him something. "What? Oh, now you got me all kinds of curious." Opening the door, he steps aside to let Harlen enter.

"Jus' food... Oh, Mamma made you an- a pie," Harlen says as he follows Hank down the hall, the word 'apple' slipping his mind momentarily. Words are already difficult enough for him without sleep deprivation.

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

He realizes he's been quiet a beat too long, ditching the trash in the dumpster before ducking back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. "Bullshit, you're gonna crash at my place. Got a nice couch, or you can have the bed." His voice is wobbly from nerves and excitement as he rattles off the address and apartment number.

Hank isn't sure when or why he started calling him that, but it does something funny to his insides. It's like something you'd call a...

Shaking his head, he lets out a soft sigh as he stands next to his fish tank and stares out the window. "I'll be here, Harley. Just... please be careful," he says softly before adding, "New York drivers are dicks."

Also, he hasn't really seen him in person since his sister... nope, not going there.

Hearing his intercom buzz snaps him out of his thoughts, and he rushes to the panel on the wall to buzz him in. "Hey, come on in," he says quickly, but he's already racing out of the apartment to the stairs. Luckily, he only lives on the second floor, since the damn elevator hasn't worked since he's lived here.

Yet even as exhaustion spreads to the rest of his body, he can't help but smile when Hank looks at him, jogging up the last couple of steps to meet him. "Hank!"

Now he's realizing just how long it is.

Hank lets out a chuckle, nearly sounding giddy as he wraps his arms around Harlen in a firm embrace. It's... healing in a way that catches him off guard. A balm on a stubborn ache.

"I missed you too, Harley," he responds, his voice raspy with the emotion trapped in his throat. It's a few minutes before he leans back just enough to grasp his shoulders and giving him a once over. "Look atcha... you look good." His brows furrowed at just how exhausted he looks, reaching down to grab his bag.

The only reason Harlen isn't upset when Hank pulls away is because it's the first time he's been able to get a proper look at him in years. "You look even better, Puddin'," he says in response, smiling warmly at Hank. He's so fucking pretty, moreso than Harlen remembers.

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

He realizes he's been quiet a beat too long, ditching the trash in the dumpster before ducking back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. "Bullshit, you're gonna crash at my place. Got a nice couch, or you can have the bed." His voice is wobbly from nerves and excitement as he rattles off the address and apartment number.

Hank isn't sure when or why he started calling him that, but it does something funny to his insides. It's like something you'd call a...

Shaking his head, he lets out a soft sigh as he stands next to his fish tank and stares out the window. "I'll be here, Harley. Just... please be careful," he says softly before adding, "New York drivers are dicks."

Also, he hasn't really seen him in person since his sister... nope, not going there.

Hearing his intercom buzz snaps him out of his thoughts, and he rushes to the panel on the wall to buzz him in. "Hey, come on in," he says quickly, but he's already racing out of the apartment to the stairs. Luckily, he only lives on the second floor, since the damn elevator hasn't worked since he's lived here.

Yet even as exhaustion spreads to the rest of his body, he can't help but smile when Hank looks at him, jogging up the last couple of steps to meet him. "Hank!"

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

He realizes he's been quiet a beat too long, ditching the trash in the dumpster before ducking back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. "Bullshit, you're gonna crash at my place. Got a nice couch, or you can have the bed." His voice is wobbly from nerves and excitement as he rattles off the address and apartment number.

Hank isn't sure when or why he started calling him that, but it does something funny to his insides. It's like something you'd call a...

Shaking his head, he lets out a soft sigh as he stands next to his fish tank and stares out the window. "I'll be here, Harley. Just... please be careful," he says softly before adding, "New York drivers are dicks."

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

He realizes he's been quiet a beat too long, ditching the trash in the dumpster before ducking back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. "Bullshit, you're gonna crash at my place. Got a nice couch, or you can have the bed." His voice is wobbly from nerves and excitement as he rattles off the address and apartment number.

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

He realizes he's been quiet a beat too long, ditching the trash in the dumpster before ducking back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. "Bullshit, you're gonna crash at my place. Got a nice couch, or you can have the bed." His voice is wobbly from nerves and excitement as he rattles off the address and apartment number.

But this one comes with the familiar sounds of being on the road. Harlen's driving somewhere.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, voice holding an air of distraction as he's focused on the road.

"Hi, Puddin', just wanted to ask," he begins, pausing briefly to make a turn. "What's your address?" It would be an odd question if Harlen hadn't just driven into New York.

He did say he'd visit soon.

@save-the-horse

When Hank first hears the voice note, he assumes that maybe Harlen just wants to send him something. But the fact that he's asking while driving and the exhaustion in his tone is enough to convince Hank otherwise.

He didn't... did he? Shit.

It's a double-edged sword right in the gut. He's fucking ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Harlen in person. His mood has improved significantly since they've started talking again. But there's so much he doesn't know... so much Hank can't let him know.

He can do this. Focus on the positives. Don't fuck this up.

At least his apartment is clean, but he definitely needs to take out the trash. A shower wouldn't hurt, either. And he's not too hungover, at least. He's carrying bags down the stairs while calling Harlen. "Whatcha up to, Harley?" He asks with a chuckle. "You in town or somethin'?"

He answers the phone with a smile, his phone on speaker.

Laughing obnoxiously at his own inner monolog, he stumbles inside and has to lean against the wall to close the door. The room spins, and fuck, maybe it's a good thing his friend took his motorcycle keys away from him at the bar. Fucker better not ride it, though.

Once his shoes are slipped off and his jacket is tossed who knows where, he's collapsing onto his couch with a sigh. He can already feel the shift, though. Being drunk with friends is one thing, but being left alone with your inner thoughts and... other shit...

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he scrambles to get it out, anything for a distraction. It's a voice message from an unknown number... possible work. He hits play and listens.

He'd recently gotten Hank's number from a very reliable source (thank you Ms. Dorothy), but he couldn't bring himself to message him for a while — what if Hank didn't want to talk to him? It's not like he's kept in contact.

But he's worried about him and so, with a bit of liquid courage in his system, he sends a voicenote.

"Hank? 'S Harlen.. Yer mama gave me this number. Uhmm.... How've ya been? Heard yer travellin' nowadays." There's a long pause, then a sniffle.

He sounds so fucking sad... over him? Hank isn't worth it, not to someone as sweet and... and good as Harlen is. It takes everything he has not to flip the coffee table over or break something.

Once he's sure his stomach will behave, he lays back down, but on the cold hardwood floor this time. Phone still to his ear, even after the voice note ends. Should he... call him? He sounded drunk, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that if he doesn't do it now, he will chicken out when he's sober.

Oh God, what if he does respond? He hasn't thought this all the way through.

Harlen manages to fall off his bed when he sees that Hank has decided to call him, though he quickly scrambles up to sit against the side of the bed, staring at his phone for a few seconds to compose himself before pressing answer.

It's one word, and his world shifts. After his sister died... after Hank killed that fuck and left his life and dreams behind, he thought he could only stand to keep in contact with his mama. Hearing Harlen now, not on a recording, makes him realize he was wrong.

As pestilent as Hank is to everything around him, he fucking misses him.

How's it going? Harlen's has half the mind to cuss Hank out because it's been a few years and that's the first thing he says? But joy overrides annoyance in that moment and he can only laugh tearfully.

"You always did worry too much," he says over a chuckle that doesn't quite have enough humor in it. "'M fine. Traveled for a while, but now I'm settled on the East Coast..." It's mostly the truth. Plus, he doesn't currently owe anyone money, so that's good in his book.

"That's good to hear... East coast? Like.. like New York?" Harlen chuckles, though it's a slightly worried sound. "Don't go joinin' a gang or somethin' now, will you?" He's only partly joking — he's heard some wild things about the East coast and he'd meant it when he said that he didn't want the next time he sees Hank to be on the news.

He pushes that aside in a hurry. "Now there's a funny thought," he chuckles, not worried but a little flat sounding. He needs to focus on Harlen. "Yeah? They better be treatin' you right... best damn mechanic in Texas."

He's too drunk for this.

Laughing obnoxiously at his own inner monolog, he stumbles inside and has to lean against the wall to close the door. The room spins, and fuck, maybe it's a good thing his friend took his motorcycle keys away from him at the bar. Fucker better not ride it, though.

Once his shoes are slipped off and his jacket is tossed who knows where, he's collapsing onto his couch with a sigh. He can already feel the shift, though. Being drunk with friends is one thing, but being left alone with your inner thoughts and... other shit...

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he scrambles to get it out, anything for a distraction. It's a voice message from an unknown number... possible work. He hits play and listens.

He'd recently gotten Hank's number from a very reliable source (thank you Ms. Dorothy), but he couldn't bring himself to message him for a while — what if Hank didn't want to talk to him? It's not like he's kept in contact.

But he's worried about him and so, with a bit of liquid courage in his system, he sends a voicenote.

"Hank? 'S Harlen.. Yer mama gave me this number. Uhmm.... How've ya been? Heard yer travellin' nowadays." There's a long pause, then a sniffle.

He sounds so fucking sad... over him? Hank isn't worth it, not to someone as sweet and... and good as Harlen is. It takes everything he has not to flip the coffee table over or break something.

Once he's sure his stomach will behave, he lays back down, but on the cold hardwood floor this time. Phone still to his ear, even after the voice note ends. Should he... call him? He sounded drunk, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that if he doesn't do it now, he will chicken out when he's sober.

Oh God, what if he does respond? He hasn't thought this all the way through.

Harlen manages to fall off his bed when he sees that Hank has decided to call him, though he quickly scrambles up to sit against the side of the bed, staring at his phone for a few seconds to compose himself before pressing answer.

It's one word, and his world shifts. After his sister died... after Hank killed that fuck and left his life and dreams behind, he thought he could only stand to keep in contact with his mama. Hearing Harlen now, not on a recording, makes him realize he was wrong.

As pestilent as Hank is to everything around him, he fucking misses him.

How's it going? Harlen's has half the mind to cuss Hank out because it's been a few years and that's the first thing he says? But joy overrides annoyance in that moment and he can only laugh tearfully.

"You always did worry too much," he says over a chuckle that doesn't quite have enough humor in it. "'M fine. Traveled for a while, but now I'm settled on the East Coast..." It's mostly the truth. Plus, he doesn't currently owe anyone money, so that's good in his book.

"That's good to hear... East coast? Like.. like New York?" Harlen chuckles, though it's a slightly worried sound. "Don't go joinin' a gang or somethin' now, will you?" He's only partly joking — he's heard some wild things about the East coast and he'd meant it when he said that he didn't want the next time he sees Hank to be on the news.

He pushes that aside in a hurry. "Now there's a funny thought," he chuckles, not worried but a little flat sounding. He needs to focus on Harlen. "Yeah? They better be treatin' you right... best damn mechanic in Texas."

He's too drunk for this.

Laughing obnoxiously at his own inner monolog, he stumbles inside and has to lean against the wall to close the door. The room spins, and fuck, maybe it's a good thing his friend took his motorcycle keys away from him at the bar. Fucker better not ride it, though.

Once his shoes are slipped off and his jacket is tossed who knows where, he's collapsing onto his couch with a sigh. He can already feel the shift, though. Being drunk with friends is one thing, but being left alone with your inner thoughts and... other shit...

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he scrambles to get it out, anything for a distraction. It's a voice message from an unknown number... possible work. He hits play and listens.

He'd recently gotten Hank's number from a very reliable source (thank you Ms. Dorothy), but he couldn't bring himself to message him for a while — what if Hank didn't want to talk to him? It's not like he's kept in contact.

But he's worried about him and so, with a bit of liquid courage in his system, he sends a voicenote.

"Hank? 'S Harlen.. Yer mama gave me this number. Uhmm.... How've ya been? Heard yer travellin' nowadays." There's a long pause, then a sniffle.

He sounds so fucking sad... over him? Hank isn't worth it, not to someone as sweet and... and good as Harlen is. It takes everything he has not to flip the coffee table over or break something.

Once he's sure his stomach will behave, he lays back down, but on the cold hardwood floor this time. Phone still to his ear, even after the voice note ends. Should he... call him? He sounded drunk, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that if he doesn't do it now, he will chicken out when he's sober.

Oh God, what if he does respond? He hasn't thought this all the way through.

Harlen manages to fall off his bed when he sees that Hank has decided to call him, though he quickly scrambles up to sit against the side of the bed, staring at his phone for a few seconds to compose himself before pressing answer.

It's one word, and his world shifts. After his sister died... after Hank killed that fuck and left his life and dreams behind, he thought he could only stand to keep in contact with his mama. Hearing Harlen now, not on a recording, makes him realize he was wrong.

As pestilent as Hank is to everything around him, he fucking misses him.

How's it going? Harlen's has half the mind to cuss Hank out because it's been a few years and that's the first thing he says? But joy overrides annoyance in that moment and he can only laugh tearfully.

"You always did worry too much," he says over a chuckle that doesn't quite have enough humor in it. "'M fine. Traveled for a while, but now I'm settled on the East Coast..." It's mostly the truth. Plus, he doesn't currently owe anyone money, so that's good in his book.

"That's good to hear... East coast? Like.. like New York?" Harlen chuckles, though it's a slightly worried sound. "Don't go joinin' a gang or somethin' now, will you?" He's only partly joking — he's heard some wild things about the East coast and he'd meant it when he said that he didn't want the next time he sees Hank to be on the news.

He pushes that aside in a hurry. "Now there's a funny thought," he chuckles, not worried but a little flat sounding. He needs to focus on Harlen. "Yeah? They better be treatin' you right... best damn mechanic in Texas."

He's too drunk for this.