save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

If Harlen's entirely honest, having Hank almost full-name him puts the absolute fear of god in him for a split second, though it's almost immediately softened by the genuine concern in Hank's voice. "Yeah, I shoulda stopped at some point; sorry."

Stuck in traffic once again, Harlen rests his forehead on the wheel. He should've flown out here instead. "Alright, Puddin'... I'll be there soon, okay?" The love you is silent but it's heavily implied in every word.

Hank receives a voicenote. It's been a common occurrence since Harlen got his number, especially since Harlen's hands are usually busy when he wants to talk to 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'?"

There's no hiding his excitement. Not when it comes to Harlen.

[save-the-horse]

Harlen doesn't quite notice the silence until Hank starts talking again, and by then he's caught off-guard by Hank's correction, evidenced by the confused hum. "No no, 's fine, Puddin', ya don't have t' do that," he reassures him, typing the address into his GPS.

He goes quiet for a second too long when Hank asks him how long he's driving, a grimace on his face as he dreads the telling-off he's going to get. "About 26 hours?"

Hank receives a voicenote. It's been a common occurrence since Harlen got his number, especially since Harlen's hands are usually busy when he wants to talk to 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'?"

There's no hiding his excitement. Not when it comes to Harlen.

[save-the-horse]

No matter how many times it happens, a call from Hank always brightens Harlen's mood. Even after over a full day of driving, getting stuck in traffic every couple hours — he supposes that's what love will do to a guy.

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

"Mhm, been in New York about an hour," he responds, a smile evident in his voice, even though he's nearly falling asleep at the wheel at this point. "Was gonna swing by your place then find somewhere to stay while I'm here.",

Hank receives a voicenote. It's been a common occurrence since Harlen got his number, especially since Harlen's hands are usually busy when he wants to talk to 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'?"

There's no hiding his excitement. Not when it comes to Harlen.

[save-the-horse]

27/10/1998, 21:22

"'Cenzo?" Isobel is rightly confused when her usually jovial, sweet son storms into the house, slamming the front door on his way in before marching upstairs to his room, only regarding his mother with a grumpy huff.

There's punch in his hair, all over his shirt, his nose is bloody and bruised and his ribs are probably bruised too, judging by how much they hurt.

He's annoyed. No, not just annoyed — Harlen is fucking pissed. This is blatantly evident in way he slams his bedroom door the moment he gets upstairs, locking it.

Isobel glances at her husband with an undeniably worried expression that immediately translates to 'go talk to him'. And so Vincent does, hoisting himself out of his chair and making his way upstairs.

By the time the older man is at the top of the steps, he can already hear a familiar song playing loudly from Harlen's bedroom, no doubt from his own collection. Harlen has always had a habit of borrowing his father's CDs when he's upset. Vincent sighs, walking over to the door and knocking gently.

"Figlio, can I come in?" he asks quietly, waiting patiently for his son's answer.

It's a few moments before Harlen opens the door, face settled into a scowl, as he looks at his father. "What?" he spits.

Vincent raises an eyebrow. "Easy there, principino."

Harlen's face and tone soften at the nickname, mumbling a quiet sorry before walking back into his room, leaving the door open for his father to enter, sinking into his spinny chair.

"That's alright, son. Do you want to talk about it?" he asks as he walks in, closing the door behind him and leaning against Harlen's desk.

Harlen shakes his head, turning the music up a little. Vincent hums.

"That's alright, kid."

And, for at least another hour, the pair simply enjoys the music, completely silent otherwise, until Harlen falls asleep, snoring softly.

Vincent smiles at him, putting a blanket over him and lightly ruffling his hair before turning off the CD player, then the light, and leaving the room, closing the door.

[save-the-horse]

27/04/1994, 17:03

Harlen is pissed.

Someone had made fun of him at school today and he missed the bus home, so he'd had to walk. It has not been a good day for him.

"'Cenzo," his mother calls out to him when he passes the kitchen, putting down the potato she'd been peeling.

He stops and glances at her, his lip bloody and bruised, his nose much the same, and a bruise developing on his swollen left eye.

Instantly, his mother's brow furrows in worry as she quickly walks towards him, hands raising to carefully hold his face. "Who did this?"

Harlen doesn't answer, looking away from her with a little grunt as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, no doubt to hide the cuts on his knuckles.

"Vincenzo. Was it those boys at school again?" She always fusses over him, of the firm belief that it's her duty to do so. He is all she has left, after all.

"Mamma, it's fine. 'S not as bad as before," he attempts to reassure her, knowing exactly how she can be when it comes to school matters.

She shakes her head. "No, I will pick you up tomorrow."

"Mamma–"

"Harlen."

He goes quiet, knowing that she isn't letting up — she only uses his first name when she's serious. "... Okay."

[save-the-horse]

When Hank mentions cussing him out in person, Harlen sits bolt upright, a regrettable decision as the room starts to spin and he has to close his eyes.

When he speaks again, the smile is clear in his voice. "Yer serious? I can visit soon?" There's so much hope in his voice — he wasn't kidding when he'd said he misses Hank.

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

By the time Hank pauses to breathe, Harlen is twice as worried as before for a reason he can't quite pinpoint hearing it over the phone. "Don't say that, Hank... You're a good man. I ain't better than you."

While he knows Hank can't see it, Harlen shakes his head as Hank apologises. "You had every right to leave," Harlen says, a teary but genuine reassurance. "I should be cussin' you for not reachin' but there ain't a part of me that'll let me stay mad at you for that long."

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

If Harlen were sober, maybe he wouldn't be crying. He isn't particularly emotional when drunk but he is worse at suppressing his emotions.

So when Hank says he misses him too, it's impossible to stop the tears from falling, sniffling quietly, as he curls up on the floor. "I- It ain't a problem, you know that, I love Ms. Dorothy," he reassures him as he wipes his eyes. "Why're you sorry?"

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

23/08/2024, 15:21

Harlen's memory is, admittedly, terrible. He remembers faces and events but he always pulls a blank when it comes to names.

So when an oddly familiar face pushes her car into his shop, he just gets to work, though not without spending the entire time silently wracking his brain to try to figure out where he recognises this lady from.

Once he's done fixing her car, he notices that she's been staring at him for God knows how long. "Oh my God, Harlen?"

Well now he's even more confused. "...Yes?"

"Oh my– Harlen, it's me, Katie! Wow, I haven't seen you since my daddy chased you outta the house, how've ya been?"

Oh no. Hell no.

"Katie? I haven't thought about you since physiotherapy!" he responds and while he knows he's being mean, his ankle still hasn't healed yet and physio was super expensive. And she never came to visit him in hospital, nor even attempted to check in. If he had to pick an enemy, he'd pick her.

Katie chuckles awkwardly. "Ya went to physio for it? That bad, huh?"

Harlen smiles stiffly, not a hint of warmth in it. "Uh-huh. Still ain't healed. Had to get stitches and everythin'. What're you doin' East?"

"I'm gettin' married! Remember Tim?"

"Tim Waters from high school?"

"Uh-huh!"

Harlen hums quietly, continuing work on her car. "Great."

At least she doesn't try to invite him.

"I was actually plannin' to send you an invite on Facebook," she blurts out, as if she'd read his mind.

"Oh." Shit.

[save-the-horse]

Harlen tries to ignore the flatness of Hank's chuckle, if only because he doesn't have the energy to stress out over the idea — that's a problem for 100% sober Harlen.

"They're treatin' me fine, Hank, don't worry. I'm just glad you ain't gettin' bled dry out there; city mechanics get real trigger happy when someone ain't from their parts. Yer probably better than most of 'em anyhow. Smarter too."

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

Harlen shifts to lay down on his side on the floor, putting the phone on speaker and placing it in front of him. His head is spinning from all the emotions but he refuses to stop listening.

"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.

"There ain't anythin' interestin' goin' on with me, as always. I've started workin' in the autoshop down the road, though."

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

When he hears Hank's voice, Harlen nearly bursts into tears. It's actually him, despite everything, it's his best friend and he's okay.

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.

"It's goin', that's for sure. How've ya been? Yer okay, right? Ain't in any trouble?"

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

In the short wait for a response, doubt starts to settle in the pit of Harlen's stomach. Why does he feel guilty all of a sudden? It's not like Hank ever explicitly said not to talk to him and, realistically, he's being pretty nice. What if Hank doesn't respond though? What happens then?

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.

"Hello?"

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

Harlen isn't entirely sober.

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.

"I know we ain't talked in a while and I'd get it if you didn't wanna speak t' me again but please be alright. Take care a' yerself. I don't wanna see you on the news before I get to see you in person again. I really miss you." Is he crying? It certainly sounds like he is. He doesn't like being uncertain about the safety of his loved ones and Hank makes it pretty high on that list.

Hank bursts through his apartment door like he doesn't have the key. He does, of course, but it took him a minute to find the hole... he usually doesn't have that problem.

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.

@save-the-horse

[save-the-horse]

17/06/2000, 21:24

Shit, shit, shit–

That's the main thought on Harlen's mind as he sprints down the relatively deserted street, trying to pull his trousers back on without actually slowing down.

Who thought he'd be spending his prom night running from his soon-to-be-ex girlfriend's father, who is possibly shooting at him from his porch? He sure as hell didn't.

Harlen's car is parked at the end of the street, he should be there in a few seconds, just run a little faster–

Suddenly, his ankle buckles and he hears a snap from it. The pain is blinding, eliciting a yelled curse as he falls to the ground.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees that the man he'd been running from is hastily walking towards him.

Shit.

The man stops just above him, looking down at him with disgust before landing a harsh kick to his stomach, forcing Harlen to curl up in pain.

The man continues to beat the shit out of him for a solid 7 minutes, spewing curses at him that all slur together in Harlen's head, probably due to the concussion he most definitely has from being continuously hit over the head with the end of the shotgun.

The older man suddenly stops hitting him and it takes Harlen a second to realise why — an ambulance? Who called an ambulance?

Harlen can't even focus on it for very long, his consciousness fleeting. He does manage to catch a short glimpse of the older man being apprehended by one of the paramedics before he passes out though.

He's pretty sure his right foot is facing the wrong way, given the pain he's in.

Fuck Katie Lansworth.

[save-the-horse]

Send ‘✌️’ for my muse’s reaction to yours slipping two fingers into their mouth.

Send 👉 for your muse to pull two of my muse’s fingers into their mouth instead.

Bonus points for context!

[save-the-horse]

20/07/2024, 21:32

Harlen has had a very long day.

Saturdays in the summer are always sort of busy, with how many people decide to go on road trips with no knowledge of their cars, and Harlen's shop just happens to be the first and only autoshop they see this side of town.

It's mainly just little things that really could've been solved with $30 and a quick Google search but after 13 hours of doing that, Harlen is exhausted. Add in the unbearable weather and it's no surprise that he'd fallen asleep the moment he got home.

The room is quiet and dimly lit, the only sounds and light coming from the TV, which is playing some old jewelry infomercial on loop.

There's also Harlen's soft snores, which are only disrupted by the random points where he wakes himself up a little to turn over on the couch — he'd insisted that Alby take the bed but the arrangement has not been easy on his back. He's started to consider the possibility that the floor would be more comfortable.

But he still manages to look peaceful curled up on the small couch, cuddling a folded blanket.

How sweet.