[the answer is no, he wouldn't. that's a line no face could make him cross, a risk that can't be taken back once it's been completed. the part tim doesn't understand (and hopefully never will), is that this...relationship that was developed without his face? is the longest thing he's had going since he was in high school. and he absolutely shouldn't know that tim is the living embodiment of his physical preferences - sweet-faced, dark hair, big brown eyes, and a body he'd have no qualms committing many, many sins with, regardless of his earnest catholicism. and that's the part that he won't let himself think more about either: that at this point, it's not just tim's body and the raunchy shit he gets up to outside of class for a few bucks to feed himself and stay enrolled here. hawkins fuller noticed him because of his mind, his headstrong nature in between the easy teases and obedience, the desire to do something good both behind and in front of a camera in the world.
his pulse has quickened, inexplicably, while tim's answer hangs in the balance and he's confronted up close by dark lashes against pretty pale skin. god, what he wouldn't give to touch him again, to give himself a reminder of just how soft and supple it was beneath his fingertips even when it was ravaged by the unforgiving cold. somehow it kicks up another notch as he watches tim wordlessly obey every single command, drinking in those three little words: i trust you. he nods, silently, and feels the tension in the room pop as if stabbed by a needle, slowly hissing into something more manageably comfortable. they're going to be alright.]
Good.
[he watches as tim wipes away his tears, putting as much approval as he can muster into the expression along with the softest of smiles - only if someone knows what to look for on the contours of his face, the slight differences in his mouth.
(there is a resolution that he will absolutely not run those words through his head later tonight: i'd do whatever you told me to. surely he knows the implication...?)]
You're alright.
[he looks down at the handkerchief, considering for a few moments before pressing his hand gently over tim's and pushing it back towards him. if his thumb brushes against the back of tim's fist clutched around the woven fabric, there's enough plausible deniability to pretend it's accidental. or just a force of habit.]
Keep it. Just in case things get caught up again.
[but he has a sneaking suspicion they won't - that he's managed to salvage this enough for them both, and he tries to suppress the small swooping sensation in his stomach. a few small steps back, and hawk sits back down with a creak of leather into his high-backed desk chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrests as he watches tim shake off some of the awkwardness and considering the mismatched feast in front of him. hawk follows his gaze to the clock with a mutter of ah, shit, before shaking his head.]
Starts in five, doesn't it? Listen - I'll put in a word with Lonigan. Tell him I kept you late to discuss your thesis. Which we should set a meeting for, by the way.
[it feels almost like business as usual, and he offers one last amused smile in response to to the way tim's nose scrunches.]
You don't have to thank me for doing the decent thing. And - just remember, my door is always open.
[the implication is that it's for anything - not just schoolwork. but vocalizing the idea that tim might still have those bouts of loneliness or struggling would just be rubbing it in at this point, so he's not going to press it any further. they've crossed a bridge today, and that was the best he could hope for. his gaze slips back down to the paper that's been left behind, and then the obnoxious orange from a bag of chips on his desk draws him back before he slides it across the surface towards tim's end.]
Hey - do me a favor and take some more of this with you. Seriously, it'll never get eaten otherwise.
[that, and he knows the boy probably needs it a hell of a lot more than he does.]
no subject
his pulse has quickened, inexplicably, while tim's answer hangs in the balance and he's confronted up close by dark lashes against pretty pale skin. god, what he wouldn't give to touch him again, to give himself a reminder of just how soft and supple it was beneath his fingertips even when it was ravaged by the unforgiving cold. somehow it kicks up another notch as he watches tim wordlessly obey every single command, drinking in those three little words: i trust you. he nods, silently, and feels the tension in the room pop as if stabbed by a needle, slowly hissing into something more manageably comfortable. they're going to be alright.]
Good.
[he watches as tim wipes away his tears, putting as much approval as he can muster into the expression along with the softest of smiles - only if someone knows what to look for on the contours of his face, the slight differences in his mouth.
(there is a resolution that he will absolutely not run those words through his head later tonight: i'd do whatever you told me to. surely he knows the implication...?)]
You're alright.
[he looks down at the handkerchief, considering for a few moments before pressing his hand gently over tim's and pushing it back towards him. if his thumb brushes against the back of tim's fist clutched around the woven fabric, there's enough plausible deniability to pretend it's accidental. or just a force of habit.]
Keep it. Just in case things get caught up again.
[but he has a sneaking suspicion they won't - that he's managed to salvage this enough for them both, and he tries to suppress the small swooping sensation in his stomach. a few small steps back, and hawk sits back down with a creak of leather into his high-backed desk chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrests as he watches tim shake off some of the awkwardness and considering the mismatched feast in front of him. hawk follows his gaze to the clock with a mutter of ah, shit, before shaking his head.]
Starts in five, doesn't it? Listen - I'll put in a word with Lonigan. Tell him I kept you late to discuss your thesis. Which we should set a meeting for, by the way.
[it feels almost like business as usual, and he offers one last amused smile in response to to the way tim's nose scrunches.]
You don't have to thank me for doing the decent thing. And - just remember, my door is always open.
[the implication is that it's for anything - not just schoolwork. but vocalizing the idea that tim might still have those bouts of loneliness or struggling would just be rubbing it in at this point, so he's not going to press it any further. they've crossed a bridge today, and that was the best he could hope for. his gaze slips back down to the paper that's been left behind, and then the obnoxious orange from a bag of chips on his desk draws him back before he slides it across the surface towards tim's end.]
Hey - do me a favor and take some more of this with you. Seriously, it'll never get eaten otherwise.
[that, and he knows the boy probably needs it a hell of a lot more than he does.]