𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨...

Dan listens, eyes on Henry with interest and intrigue. He doesn't know the end of this musical, but he wishes to know the end of what holds Henry in such a way. He knows it can't be too good based on tone already and what had been said moments prior. Still he holds his tongue and keeps as neutral of an expression as he can as Henry speaks. He doesn't know what to expect, but he finds his poker face failing him as the story unfolds. His eyes widen a little and his brows raise, lips parting some with a small suck of air at the mention of lightning striking as it had. Dan feels his stomach twist with a horrified feeling as he comes to understand just what happened to those boys. Henry's boys.

His eyes drop away to the pages in front of him, looking at what's written there in near nostalgic sadness. Henry had done well to capture the voices of his friends it seemed, but that's all he'll have ever done from the sounds of it. They were an echo, a memory. Dan would never meet any of them and it seemed the closest he'd get is through these pages that Henry had poured his heart into. It makes him a bit sad. A sense of grief washing over him.

He lifts his dark eyes back to Henry, frown gentle on his face out of empathy, "I'm sorry to hear that happened, Henry. It's truly a tragic thing to have occurred." He pauses, thinking on it a moment then asks carefully, "Did they all pass?" He wants to assume yes based on how he spoke, but he wants to remain hopeful to some degree.

It's a lot, he thinks, to hear something like that in the middle of the day. Henry doesn't make a habit of revealing his past to people that ask, despite how close they may or may not be. Some things are better left unsaid, better kept away. Tucked safely into a drawer, or a cabinet, or -- the pages of a manuscript that's yet to see the bright lights of production.

He shakes himself back into the moment at Dan's words, and Henry offers him a solemn nod. "Thank you," he breathes, eyes dropping to his glass. He doesn't hesitate to bring it to his lips, quickly downing the rest of the contents with a slight hiss. Once the whiskey has been consumed, he turns, sets the glass on an end table, and lets himself sink into the moment.

With a simple nod, he confirms Dan's words. "Yes," he states. "Chad did not -- he... survived, and fled town. I haven't heard from him since." It's said wistfully, like Henry still holds onto hope that he'll come back, that he'll run through the front door and everything will be as it was. Or, as it's supposed to. Sighing, his head shakes, and Henry brings himself back into the moment. "Apologies for bringing the mood down, Dan," he prompts, quick to plaster a smile on his face. "Anyways -- the play," he gestures to the book, "does not end in such a way. You'll find it's much lighter."

The box is a shock, to say the least. Though an unlikely friend, it turns out that John MacNamara and Henry Hidgens have truly more in common than the general public would assume. And, so, often times they'll find each other at The Birdhouse, enjoying drinks in moderate silence. It's nice, he thinks, to have someone that gets it. Hatchetfield is a large town, yes, but to feel so alone in a town bustling with people is a unique situation. Henry's glad he doesn't have to suffer through these feelings alone.

With a nod, he slides the box in front of him, carefully unwrapping it. The watch comes into view as John explains what it is, what it does, and his eyes are wide with curiosity. "Astonishing," he breathes, already beginning to dislodge it from the velvet holder. "Thank you, John," he adds on, voice genuine and sincere. "I -- I didn't bring anything with me," he trails off, though he knows the other man will wave him off. It's about the message, moreso than the reciprocation. As he begins to fasten it around his wrist, he turns. "If you don't mind -- what recent events have you distracted?"

He scoffs a little, light and humorous. He shakes his head as he reaches out, gently plucking the card from Henry's hand before settling back into his seat. He points with his index of his opposite hand at the name on the card, "I'm a professional, Mr. Hidgens, ain't nothing I don't do without making sure I have facts before sharin' 'em." He shifts his finger to point at the full name, "Chad Middleton. Now I know that isn't the name you gave me, but I can guarantee that it's the same guy. I was able to track down business records that dated back to the late nineties where this guy suddenly came to exist. No prior records of him existing before this. Bit sketchy, yeah?"

He turns the card to look at it, squinting as he reads some of the finer print. He probably needs glasses, but that's not the point right now, "This guy suddenly popped up in databases around then, but there's no medical records indicating his birth. Just this or that claiming he's real, but as real as he is-- his name isn't outside the obvious first name." He holds the card back out to Henry, "I haven't called yet, but I don't need to. I have further proof this is your guy."

Middleton. What a ruse. Henry scoffs at the name offered, knowing it's fake. (Is that why he couldn't find him? Did he really have to go that far to avoid being caught? The thought makes his stomach turn, but he can't focus on it.) Swallowing, he listens, takes in the information offered to him. The timing does line up -- it was the late eighties when tragedy struck, and it was less than eight hours after the incident that Chad was gone. Missing. Henry assumed him dead, for crying out loud. (Was he truly so unimportant that he wasn't worth a letter? A phone call?)

He clears his throat, turns the card over in his hand once more. "Cunningham," he offers, the word silent as it falls from his lips. "His real name. His actual last name. It's Cunningham." Eyes stare into the table below him, and Henry barely notices when someone comes over to take their order. It's a younger girl, angry looking, and he waves her off with little concern. No part of him is hungry right now. "Is there a website for this restaurant?" He asks, eager to see some kind of photographic evidence. Just to see. Just to make sure.

"Me neither," he murmured at the mention of the term usually used for just expression. Prior to that moment he'd never actually thought it was a real thing. Sure, yes, he's fucked and been fucked... but not like that. Not in the way Emma had dragged him into that room and made him feel. She had done something to him that wasn't like any of his other situationships. Charlotte... Linda... the few others that came and went when they felt like it. None of them had ever done whatever happened to him in that room and the night that followed... or the day. Emma had given Ted time and attention he was starved for.

i'm glad you enjoyed yourself.

Ted let out a small laugh and thank you at the words joined by the hand on his shoulder. He knew that was as close to being told good for him that he was going to get. He was always sharing his life openly with Hidgens and Ted was aware it wasn't always what the older man wanted to hear, but who else did Ted have? No one else was as willing to listen to him or offer an ear... or advice. And though Ted acted like he didn't want that advice? He enjoyed getting it. Meant someone cared.

The question that follows makes him pause, eyes falling to the whiskey placed in front of him by a bartender who knew him too well. He smiles somewhat to himself and answers almost quietly as if he's afraid to speak it into the universe, "I think it could be a bit more than just that," he brings his eyes up, looking to Henry, "I don't wanna speak too much on it and jinx the situation, but... she, uh, she spent the night with me and the whole next day." A small laugh as he sighs, "She was unbelievable and quite the surprise."

Henry is quiet as Ted reveals the details of his New Years. Or, well -- as much as he knew Henry would listen to, of course. Not that he truly cared about the somewhat unsavory parts of Ted's personal life -- he knew that Ted's list of friends was much shorter than his list of lovers. However, Henry couldn't often offer actual advice. As a man out of play for quite some time, Henry's instincts were somewhat failing, despite his best efforts. (He has yet to lead Ted astray so far, at the very least. He'll take the win.)

The words are... surprising, honestly. People don't usually stay when Ted recalls his nights on the town. He's sure it shows on his face, too -- brows raise high on his forehead, and Henry turns, leans back to face his friend head on. "Two days?" He offers, the corner of his mouth tugging into a slight smirk. "I'd say that's an improvement from a bored housewife," he tacks on. (No ill will meant, of course. Ted just needed better taste in partners. And more self worth.)

Tapping the countertop, he tilts his head in thought. "Perhaps this is a new chance for you, Theodore. Maybe this is something to look forward to in the future." Pausing, he takes a swig from his drink. "Do you have plans to see her again?"

closed: @workinboystm where: pasqualli's

Malone sat at a back booth within Pasqualli's, folder sat on the table next to him and a plate of spaghetti in front of him. The basket of breadsticks halved and on their way to needing a refill on their all you can eat rule. He's barely a few bites into the pasta dish when he spots Henry Hidgens entering the building. He lifts a hand as a way to get his attention and flashes a grin as he waits for the man to walk over; fork poking and twisting into the spaghetti to get another bite. He pops it into his mouth and hums a greeting as Hidgens slides into the opposite side of the booth. He doesn't say anything as he chews-- his ma had taught him better than that, but he does slide the folder over before setting his fork down.

He grabs at the cloth napkin folded on the table and lifts it up to dab at his mouth. He lowers it back down and waits a beat for Hidgens to open the folder-- no pictures inside, not yet at least. Instead there's a business card, that's it. A single one business card. All that build up for something so simple. He speaks though, his bite of food now dropped to his stomach, "I found him." He gives a small shrug and leans forward slightly, hand raising to come over and tap against the business card, "Now, that there is what I believe to be his place of business in Vermont. It's a brewery and bar." He quirks a brow, "Classy, right?" On the card itself is the name of the place, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗟, and Chad's name in wonderfully picked font-- if you asked him.

It's hard to not feel ridiculous. Years ago, Henry promised he'd put it to rest. That, if Chad wanted him to know where he was, he would've said something by now. He knows he's not responsible for what happened that day -- how could he be -- and he doesn't fault the other man for wanting to get away from this town after the dust settled. Still, it doesn't take the sting away.

As he pushes the door to Pasqualli's open, Henry looks around, only needing a moment before his eyes settle on the man known as Malone. It's not like Henry to hire a private investigator. It's not like him to actively seek someone out who doesn't want anything to do with him. Perhaps it was the time of year -- the winter made him feel particularly lonely, and while he could normally push that feeling down, this year felt a little worse than others.

He's silent, the folder in front of him startling empty save for a business card. His eyes are wide -- that is Chad -- and his fingers move to pick it up. He's delicate with it, afraid to stain or bend it. "How do you know?" He asks, voice uncharacteristically soft. "H-how do you know that this is... the Chad?" His eyes flit across the small piece of paper, looking for some sort of website address. "Did you -- have you called them?"

Ted didn't actually have a lot of friends. Or really any-- except one, there was one he knew he could call friend. Sure, yes, he would refer to Paul or even Bill (rarely) as his friend, but as delusional as he was... he knew that beyond seeing them at work there was never a reason they seemed to care to see him. He liked Paul and wanted to be the guy's best friend, but... there was a disconnect and he was a dumbass, through and through, but he knew better. He knew if he really wanted to try that he just had to ask Paul to hangout... but he was afraid of the rejection, so he lived in his delusion that they were friends who saw each other enough through work. And well, after a strange conversation this morning with the guy and a weirder latter half of the day... Ted was almost certain Paul knew his Holiday Party date had left with Ted. So much for being even work friends, right?

Still, Ted doesn't regret his time. He doesn't regret following Emma into the copier room or onto the elevator, and he certainly didn't regret the entire next day spent just getting lost in her. It had bled into today and Ted was trying to run off of that rather than think about the implications of it with Paul. Hell, he'd been trying to decide if he should try going to Beanie's again tomorrow morning and seeing if Emma was working. He wanted to see her again, wanted to get her number, wanted to confirm that her flirty see you around truly meant she'd see him again.

you look happier than usual.

The words smack Ted upside the back of his head and he nearly jumps remembering Hidgens is sat beside him. He turns his head to look at the man, blinking a moment as if to catch up. i take it your new year's was plenty enjoyable. The comment makes Ted's lips twitch into a smile, chuckling a little and giving a nonchalant shrug as if it were nothing... but Ted wasn't a very nonchalant kind of guy. In fact... "Oh, it was very enjoyable," he shines his grin at Hidgens, "I, uh, took this very sexy and perky number back to my place after she grabbed me by the dick and made me her new year's to do list in the copier room."

Ah. There it is. Ted's words are not surprising to Henry -- being friends with someone like Ted Spankoffski means being subjected to his perverted, often times too detailed, stories. He'd been here for the highs and lows of Ted's sex life -- from Charlotte, the woman at CCRP, to Linda Monroe of all people. Truly, Ted's little black book was a Hatchetfield marvel.

He smiles with amusement from behind the rim of his glass, and Henry's head shakes softly with something akin to relief. "Quite the adventure for 2026," he teases, legs crossing beneath the bar top. "I don't think I've yet heard the term grabbed by the dick in a literal sense," he adds, only slightly impressed.

Henry's quiet for a moment before he nods, turns towards his friends. A hand comes up to clap Ted on the shoulder, as if to say I'm proud of you. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he admits, smile a little sincere. It seems odd to congratulate someone on the simple act of having sex, but after years of friendship, Henry has learned that Ted thrives on positive affirmations. Brow raised, he can't help but press further. "And what does the future hold, hmm? Is this another... holiday tryst for you, Theodore?"

Dan looks at Henry as he speaks, expression calm as he lets the words rotate around in his head. He expected there was a good ending in all of this, reminiscing and nostalgia always deserves to end with that. However, he doesn't expect what he hears from Henry. He maybe expected something small and possibly not as perfect, but... the tone suggests there's something there. Something very wrong and, more or less, upsetting. It causes Dan's brow to furrow a little, shifting in the chair he's sat in order to sit back some. He draws his whiskey glass to his lips and takes a small sip before asking what he's sure Henry knows he's going to.

"What happened in the end?" Dan, by nature, is curious. It's the reporter in him. He can't help, but ask for clarity and maybe part of him hopes it'll help him understand this story more. Appreciate the script laid out in front of him to read. He was already enjoying it, but he was sure hearing what goodbyes came in the true end would help him grasp at it more. Henry deserved to have Dan's full thoughts on this musical of his, but he wanted to be sure the picture being painted was filled with the proper coloring.

The question is expected, of course, but it doesn't make it easy. Henry often tells the fabricated tale -- the happy ending that he and his friends deserve. Only one other person knows the truth, and Henry can't even remember telling him. (A night at The Birdhouse will do that to you, he thinks.) Shifting on the edge of the pool table, Henry sets his drink down, lets his hands come to rest in his lap.

"It's complicated," he starts, voice oddly forlorn. "My friends and I -- the boys -- we often spent time together just horsing around. None of us were athletes by any stretch of the imagination -- save for Steve, I suppose, but that's neither here nor there." Pausing, his head shakes with memories. "One afternoon... it was particularly overcast. Not cold, of course, and no sign of rain, but... the clouds were thick. It happened so suddenly that none of us thought anything of it -- just another side effect of living in Hatchetfield, right?" His chuckles fade off, Henry's expression falling into something serious. Into something reflective.

Sniffling, his gaze remains on his hands. "We didn't expect the lightning. And, truthfully, who would predict such an occurrence? The amount of people that die from being struck by lightning are astronomically low -- for an entire group of people to suffer the same fate? It seems nearly impossible. It seems improbable!" His head shakes. "Alas -- that day, the impossible became possible."

closed: @workinboystm where: hidgens' mansion

In Henry's lounge area that could be considered a billiards or smoke room, Dan was seated in a velvet cushioned chair with his arms resting on the sides. In one hand is a glass tumblr with some whiskey poured into it and in the other is a page he's turning from a binder, the binder resting on a small circle table between him and where Hidgens is sitting. It's Henry's pride and joy, what lies in the binder, and he's entrusted Dan to read through it. It's an honor, really. He's heard the pitch countless times in various forms, both sober and not so sober-- not that Henry is one to get that drunk. This was, however, the first time Dan was privy to the actual script of it all.

He knew Henry was waiting to hear his thoughts and Dan had plenty to say, but he was going to be kind and polite about it. The truth was: it was a good story, moving and profound. He liked the storytelling Henry had and the way it showed his love for those boys out on the ol' stomping ground. It was clear they'd meant the world to Henry, which is why rather than speak on the script directly... he asks a different question, eyes pulling from the page he's just turned, "I don't think you've ever told me what happened to your friends," he lets the page fall open and looks at the first written line, continuing his ask, "Do I find out at at the end and have to continue to learn or...?"

It's nerve wracking, sharing your life's work with someone you consider so dear to your heart. Dan Reynolds, local Hatchetfield celebrity, had become an odd but comforting presence in Henry's life. To think there'd be a time where he'd be able to experience friendship -- camaraderie, comfort, happiness. For him, it seemed impossible. Too far fetched to believe. But, as it stands, he sits, hands steepled as he watches Dan read with raptured interest.

The question throws him off -- maybe he wasn't expecting it. Eyes blink, and Henry leans up, letting out a small puff of laughter. "The script has a happier ending than the truth of the source material," he says, leg bending. He crosses it atop his knee, leans back to grab his glass of whiskey slowly and carefully. "The play gives them the happy ending they deserved," he declares, resolute in his tone. "In all actuality, however, things weren't as... cut and paste."

who: emma & hidgens ( @workinboystm ) where: hidgens' mansion

there had been a special connection emma had made with her biology professor. she started college in august and had somehow become a star pupil in professor hidgens' eyes. emma had never been that to an adult . . . which was weird to say as an adult herself, but still. for some reason, hidgens believed in her, though emma figured it was just because she was enough of a schmuck to pick up his grocery orders and deliver them to his house.

it was after the new year and emma had her coat on over her beanie's uniform. as she ascended the long stone stairs that led to the front door, her arms were starting to burn as the plastic handles dug into her forearms, and her tired frame from a day's work was shivering from the cold. she shuffled to be able to press the doorbell with three quick buzzes before calling out to the security system, " hidgens! it's me! emma! i've got your shit -- i mean, your groceries! i have your groceries! "

something about emma perkins was special. henry couldn't put a finger on the exact reason why -- perhaps it was because she was one of the only people who paid attention in his class. he's used to the people that don't take it seriously, that try to treat him like a joke. however, he recognizes a work ethic in emma that speaks to him. reminds him a younger version of himself.

the buzz of the security system echoes through the halls of his house, and henry is quick to descend the stairs. with a flick, he undoes the dead bolt, and fingers are quick to disarm the system so he can tug the door open, usher emma inside. "emma -- thank you," he starts, immediately helping to take some of the bags off her arms. "i appreciate you helping me -- despite all efforts, the weather seems to have frozen my car completely." sighing, he begins to move towards the kitchen, turning to ensure emma's safely inside. "it wasn't too much of a burden for you, was it?"