[gaslight. he's heard that word from more of his students in the last few years than he ever did when people like his parents or the actual generations who relied on it as a distinct tool ever wielded it. it makes his eyes roll in frustration as he takes another long pull, the orange embers flickering at the end and drawing closer to his fingertips. he exhales to the side once more before stubbing it out against the edge of one of the planters and flicking it into a trashcan.]
Yeah, I'm sure I could have done a lot of things differently. Like never taking a meetup this close to campus and logging this morning.
There are things about me you don't understand -
[things about me you don't understand, skippy - is what he almost says, before vehemently shaking his head as if to clear the compulsion away by physical force.]
And things I don't ever want anyone within ten feet of Georgetown to ever know. And I realize it's 2023 and there's nothing wrong with anything that may have been discussed between us before all this, but it's not exactly the kind of thing I want plastered in the school bulletin, you get me?
[not that he's accusing tim or suspecting he'd do that, but considering how badly he's apparently already fucked up communicating to him in the way his student jumps to explain his schedule and almost....justify? what it is he's been doing? hawk knows this is all going south faster the nosedive of a plane without landing gear. he runs across his mouth before putting both hands on his hips and leaning in again, voice low with a little more sympathy interjected. this is hard on them both, not just him. if it was anyone else he'd have long since hardened up and shuttered any chance of empathy or any further opportunity for them to make this worse, and he definitely wouldn't have allowed himself to stick his foot in his mouth.]
I'm not judging you, Tim. This doesn't change anything between me and you when it comes to my classroom or my office hours, okay?
Whatever you think you wanted - trust me, it's better this way.
[it doesn't fully register that tim is taking this to mean his actual face is the problem, that hawk is turning him down out of some sense of preference other than what should be a very clear boundary of ethics and professionalism. there's a part of hawk too that can't fathom why tim would be relieved to fuck him either, money or not. it wouldn't be a crime for a 33 year old bachelor and a 20-something to get together in another context, sure. and like he said - if he'd been any other face, hawk would probably have him in his car on the way to get bent in half by now.
but he's not. so this is what has to happen.
even if hearing i understand, sir makes a ripple of heat all the way from the back of his neck shiver down his spine. it makes him straighten up slightly to his full height, taking a step closer, biting back a good boy.]
Then it's settled. You're keeping the money and we're pretending this conversation never happened.
[but there's something so utterly disappointed in tim's voice and the way he looks somehow smaller and trying to pull in on himself that makes hawk hesitate and do yet another foolish thing. add it to a long fucking tally of fuck-ups from today, he supposes. his hand extends, cupping tim's cheek gently and tipping it up to look at him. it's invasive, inappropriate, and he's going to regret knowing precisely what the feel of the soft skin on his pinked cheek feels like under his fingertips.]
no subject
Yeah, I'm sure I could have done a lot of things differently. Like never taking a meetup this close to campus and logging this morning.
There are things about me you don't understand -
[things about me you don't understand, skippy - is what he almost says, before vehemently shaking his head as if to clear the compulsion away by physical force.]
And things I don't ever want anyone within ten feet of Georgetown to ever know. And I realize it's 2023 and there's nothing wrong with anything that may have been discussed between us before all this, but it's not exactly the kind of thing I want plastered in the school bulletin, you get me?
[not that he's accusing tim or suspecting he'd do that, but considering how badly he's apparently already fucked up communicating to him in the way his student jumps to explain his schedule and almost....justify? what it is he's been doing? hawk knows this is all going south faster the nosedive of a plane without landing gear. he runs across his mouth before putting both hands on his hips and leaning in again, voice low with a little more sympathy interjected. this is hard on them both, not just him. if it was anyone else he'd have long since hardened up and shuttered any chance of empathy or any further opportunity for them to make this worse, and he definitely wouldn't have allowed himself to stick his foot in his mouth.]
I'm not judging you, Tim. This doesn't change anything between me and you when it comes to my classroom or my office hours, okay?
Whatever you think you wanted - trust me, it's better this way.
[it doesn't fully register that tim is taking this to mean his actual face is the problem, that hawk is turning him down out of some sense of preference other than what should be a very clear boundary of ethics and professionalism. there's a part of hawk too that can't fathom why tim would be relieved to fuck him either, money or not. it wouldn't be a crime for a 33 year old bachelor and a 20-something to get together in another context, sure. and like he said - if he'd been any other face, hawk would probably have him in his car on the way to get bent in half by now.
but he's not. so this is what has to happen.
even if hearing i understand, sir makes a ripple of heat all the way from the back of his neck shiver down his spine. it makes him straighten up slightly to his full height, taking a step closer, biting back a good boy.]
Then it's settled. You're keeping the money and we're pretending this conversation never happened.
[but there's something so utterly disappointed in tim's voice and the way he looks somehow smaller and trying to pull in on himself that makes hawk hesitate and do yet another foolish thing. add it to a long fucking tally of fuck-ups from today, he supposes. his hand extends, cupping tim's cheek gently and tipping it up to look at him. it's invasive, inappropriate, and he's going to regret knowing precisely what the feel of the soft skin on his pinked cheek feels like under his fingertips.]
Skippy...I'm sorry. It's nothing personal.