[ it's in this moment, tim can see exactly why professor fuller constantly warns him against his idealism, against his bright-eyed, bushy-eyed view of the world. how had he taken months of explicit texts on a screen and turned them into an image of someone shaped like the man before him? how had he created a world in which the man he met here would touch his cheek, brush his hair back, tug him into a warm chest and welcome him instead of use his body dry? how he let the lines blur, let the story turn over and over into something so far from reality, he can't guess.
maybe a life in politics isn't for him.
suddenly, he feels the uncomfortable itch that he should go to confession.
even though he knows hawk has removed his glasses, he can't quite make himself look up. he keeps his eyes on his cold fingers, one hand still gripped tightly around the lapel of his coat to keep it seated properly on his shoulders. the other still gripping his phone at his side. he huffs, gives a shrug of one shoulder, and tries to brush it all off. ]
Ah, yeah, it was nothing. Just - tinder, you know? Crazy world we live in. Got stood up, I guess. No surprise there.
[ the playful nudge rocks him on his feet and he glances up then, seeing the softening of the man's eyes and he feels so incredibly small. so incredibly stupid, and it takes all his energy to even offer the barest quirk of his lips.
worn out. tired. stressed. embarrassed. defeated.
confused. still so confused. he was sure. ]
Oh, right. You as well. Happy Holidays.
[ he stays rooted in his place at first, letting the cold settle into his bones and watch as hawk walks away.
be safe, okay?
and he almost turns then to walk away. almost concedes and folds, laying his cards face down on the table. but his phone burns hot in his hand, feels impossibly heavy. he turns it in his palm and looks at the messages, the money sent.
he's not sure why this whole thing sits wrong with him, why he feels both ashamed and guilty, but also... what? disappointed? surprised? angry?
wait.
angry. betrayed. the numbers don't add, no matter how he tries to make them work. the equations fail every time and it's why his thumb presses the little phone icon again on the app, but this time? he lets it ring. it takes a few seconds, and hawk is further up the sidewalk now, but he won't give him the satisfaction of running after him if he hears it.
one second. two.
the ring. the phone ringing loud and clear, and where tim felt icy shame and disgust at himself there's now warmth. ]
Professor Fuller!
[ a shout, loud enough the man can hear and so that it will draw attention, if need be. remember, hawk, tim can be clever, maybe a little stupid. maybe a little naive. maybe a little idealistic. but he's sharp. and he stands on the pavement where he'd been left shivering and confused, now with his jaw set, brow furrowed in a triumphant recognition. ]
Did you remember to fill up your tank? To, what? Two-hundred or so?
no subject
maybe a life in politics isn't for him.
suddenly, he feels the uncomfortable itch that he should go to confession.
even though he knows hawk has removed his glasses, he can't quite make himself look up. he keeps his eyes on his cold fingers, one hand still gripped tightly around the lapel of his coat to keep it seated properly on his shoulders. the other still gripping his phone at his side. he huffs, gives a shrug of one shoulder, and tries to brush it all off. ]
Ah, yeah, it was nothing. Just - tinder, you know? Crazy world we live in. Got stood up, I guess. No surprise there.
[ the playful nudge rocks him on his feet and he glances up then, seeing the softening of the man's eyes and he feels so incredibly small. so incredibly stupid, and it takes all his energy to even offer the barest quirk of his lips.
worn out. tired. stressed. embarrassed. defeated.
confused. still so confused. he was sure. ]
Oh, right. You as well. Happy Holidays.
[ he stays rooted in his place at first, letting the cold settle into his bones and watch as hawk walks away.
be safe, okay?
and he almost turns then to walk away. almost concedes and folds, laying his cards face down on the table. but his phone burns hot in his hand, feels impossibly heavy. he turns it in his palm and looks at the messages, the money sent.
he's not sure why this whole thing sits wrong with him, why he feels both ashamed and guilty, but also... what? disappointed? surprised? angry?
wait.
angry. betrayed. the numbers don't add, no matter how he tries to make them work. the equations fail every time and it's why his thumb presses the little phone icon again on the app, but this time? he lets it ring. it takes a few seconds, and hawk is further up the sidewalk now, but he won't give him the satisfaction of running after him if he hears it.
one second. two.
the ring. the phone ringing loud and clear, and where tim felt icy shame and disgust at himself there's now warmth. ]
Professor Fuller!
[ a shout, loud enough the man can hear and so that it will draw attention, if need be. remember, hawk, tim can be clever, maybe a little stupid. maybe a little naive. maybe a little idealistic. but he's sharp. and he stands on the pavement where he'd been left shivering and confused, now with his jaw set, brow furrowed in a triumphant recognition. ]
Did you remember to fill up your tank? To, what? Two-hundred or so?