...Wanna Hug?

Maybe Hank has a tendency to  slightly overreact

In his defence, though, he’s been tired from nights spent in overdrive in the lab, from trial and error (that mostly ended in error), and so, yeah, Hank kind of goes off on Logan when he makes a not-so-friendly remark about how tired Hank looks five seconds into him pretending to be a person in the kitchen. 

“Well, nice a’ Big Blue to finally join us,” Logan says with a smug look in Hank’s direction. He’s sitting at the table with a coffee in hand, in the same stained white tank top and jeans he always wears. Maybe he has a bunch of awful white tank tops, all the same. Does he buy them pre-stained just to look cool? Hank can picture opening his closet to whole rows of stained white tank-tops, jeans, and tight flannels like he was a cartoon character. Which means he needs coffee. Hank dumps his sugar into the mug first. 

Marie scoffs first, barely acknowledging Logan’s words, and not looking up from her book. Scott just rolls his eyes, sipping his own drink, which is probably some weird herbal tea to ‘detox’ and look down on everyone who needs caffeine in the system. Hank, who was pouring a cup of coffee for himself after pulling his second all nighter, huffs a sound of disapproval. He’s being absent minded, still thinking about Logan as a Disney channel character, but he can feel that Logan hadn’t taken his eyes off of him grinning in that smug, teasing way.

“C’mon, kid, don’t be too pressed, I‘m kiddin’,” Logan snorts, taking another sip of his coffee. 

“A knee-slapper,” Hank grumbles.

Logan scoffs. “Alright.” 

So maybe this is where Hank is in the wrong. 

He sees red. He is completely done with this bullshit, this was not the right day to have Logan fucking with him. He’s tired and stressed, and he doesn’t want to deal with some cocky, smug dick. And yeah, maybe it wasn’t a huge deal, and it’s just little jabs, but- His head hurts. And his hands hurt. And every- Oh my god, in this fucking school, full of munchkins and assholes, every single surface that can be sticky, issticky. 

Hank slams down his stupid, sticky coffee cup, and turns around. 

“If you’re done now, I’ll be going back to the lab, where I have spent the past- what? Seventy-two hours? Trying to make up some shit for you, you ungrateful fucking prick. So, I’m gonna be on my way now. Is that alright with you? I’m only asking since you are acting like someone’s dad.” 

His head hurts more after yelling now. This is miserable. There’s a shocked silence from everyone in the room while Hank waits patronisingly. Logan is frozen staring at Hank with a nervous twitch in his suddenly tapping pinky on the table. Marie is pretending to read, but her eyes are wide as she stares unseeing at the page, fighting a smile. Scott is frozen, mug halfway to his mouth.

“Yeah, ok. I’ll be going now, let me know when you feel like dropping the fucking attitude,” Hank snaps. The headache is right behind his eyes, and somehow the floor looks like a delightful place to sleep, but he has a point to make. 

Hank snatches up his coffee, and stomps his way out down to the lab. Once he arrives at his destination, he slams down his mug, and promptly breaks down, collapsing into his chair with a sob.

He hasn’t cried in a bit, it’s a nice release.

His fur is matted and tangled everywhere, his glasses are lost in one of the messes of papers on one of his lab benches, and he hasn’t changed since he spilled some chemical on himself about thirty seven hours ago. He is sweaty and smelly and stressed, and fuck,why did he have to work? Can’t he just be full of whimsy and make $500,000 a year? That might be more in-line with his career interests. 

But- Hank has shit to do. He has to finish a million and a half suits (it is a little less than four), and at the same time try to find another reverse serum, since the other one had left him with disproportionately human teeth and nails that he was trying to fix. He presses his face into his large blue hands, and tries to breathe while all that escaped him were dry sobs. 

Yeah, maybe he was being a dick back there. But also, he has a reason. An understandable explanation; mental illness that makes you want to work with yellow spandex for three straight days. 

Logan is just a dick because he can be. There is a goddamndifference.

Someone knocks on the metal frame of the door. Hank snaps himself out of it, and looks up with a glare. 

Logan, goddammit. Evidently, the universe hates Hank right now. Logan looks shaky, and- much more normal- like he’s been run over by an eighteen wheeler. 

“What?” Hank spits, or at least attempts to. It doesn’t sound as angry as he would’ve liked because of the way his voice falls flat and tired. 

Dammit. 

Logan clears his throat, hands shoved in his pockets as he meanders his way into the lab. He looks up at some of the bigger projects, the jets and generators. Hank needs to figure out how to call him an asshole for it. He stops in front of Hank’s chair. Close enough that Hank can pick out every stain on his white tank top. He wonders again if Logan bought his tank tops like that, or if he strategically spilled stuff on himself somehow. Hank thinks about this longer than he should. What would Logan look like in that stupid Johnny Test show the kids watched?

Logan finally looks Hank in the eye. 

“I uh- Just, uh, wanted to uh- apologise. Didn’t uh- Mean t’make you upset. Didn’t realise how- ahem, how much you were workin’. So. ‘m sorry.”

His voice is gruff, but sincere.

Oh my god, this is miserable. 

Hank can’t control it, and starts brushing fast-falling tears away from his eyes. His throat feels clogged, and eyes burn a bit. This isn’t improving his headache. 

“Yeah. Alright,” his voice cracks so hard he winces. He sounds fifteen. 

“Do uh-” Logan looks away. “Do y’need a hug?” he asks in a gruff voice, looking up at the ceiling. His hands are still firmly in his pockets.

Hank closes his eyes and takes a long shaky breath. Collects himself. 

He wants a hug so fucking bad, but there is just a little part that makes him want to kick Logan out with his proverbial tail between his legs, and a failed mission. 

Logan sniffs awkwardly. 

Hank gives in way, way too easily. 

“Yeah. That would be nice,” Hank answers quietly, opening his eyes, and blinking away more tears as he stands up. 

Logan looks up at him, and awkwardly holds out his arms, glancing up at his face back to the wall behind him a few times. Alright, asshole. Hank has no fucking clue what he’s talking about. He should go to bed. 

Hank walks into his arms, pressing his face immediately into Loga’s shoulder as he does. Logan’s arms close around his ribs, a pleasant pressure. Hank wraps his arms around Logan, breathing deeply. He smells like cigars and black coffee, but is warm as all hell. Hank’s headache is still pounding, and when he closes his eyes, he almost falls asleep right there. 

Logan’s shirt doesn’t smell bad. Hank is convinced he was buying them stained now.

After a moment, Hank thinks it’s safe to cry a bit there, letting himself do so silently into Logan’s shoulder while normally rough fingers comb gently through his fur. It is gross and it is intimate, and Hank needs water and sleep, but this is close enough, right?. 

They stay like that for a while, a nice while where Logan hums lowly, and Hank feels the vibrations against him from his chest, who can’t tell what he’s humming, it’s too quiet. Then Logan clears his throat. 

“Y’need a shower. You smell like shit,” Logan mumbles, but he seems like he needs the hug as much as Hank did. Take that, dickface.  

“Mhm. Did Marie put you up to this?” Hank asks quietly, muffled by his friend’s shoulder. Thanks to wonderful mutated hearing, Hank doesn’t have to repeat himself, and Logan shakes his head.

“Nah. Just- I felt bad,” Logan responds gruffly, squeezing him slightly. The increased pressure lets Hank relax a little more. 

He calls bullshit on that answer. Kind of. Probably because he holds a grudge and probably because this is- Too intimate and too much, and too lovely. 

Hank really doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn't, and he closes his eyes again. After another moment, Logan steps back gently, still with one hand on Hank’s lower back. It’s nice. Hank hates it. 

“Get offa me, Puffball, you gotta shower,” Logan mutters, brushing something off Hank’s shoulder so they don’t have to make eye contact while he pulls both his hands back. Hank takes an awkward step backward, tucking his hands behind his back. The awkward vulnerability is setting in. 

“Alright. Yeah- yes.” 

“Then get some sleep. You’re gonna burn y’self out,” Logan clears his throat, shoving his hands back in his pockets as he starts to shuffle backwards towards the doorway.

“See you,” Hank says quietly, awkwardly, like he doesn’t want Logan to leave, which is fucking stupid, because like, five minutes ago, Hank wanted to a little bit beat the shit out of him. 

“Yup. See you, Blue,” Logan mumbles, turning around and walking away. He only looks back once, because he’s a fucking dumbass, then flushes a bit, and goes when he realises Hank is still watching him, because Hank is also a fucking dumbass. 

When Logan is fully gone, Hank brushes away the few tears left, and takes a long deep breath, psyching himself up for that shower. 

Shit, that was nice.