Sorry, I just - I don't know how I got here, but... I knew I needed to find you.
[ everything seems to happen in both slow motion and high speed, all at once. one instance, he's in professor fuller's doorway and the next he's being crowded and collapsed into the arm chair he spends far too many hours perched in throughout the week. the semester is nearly over, anyway, with exams beginning next week. but it's monday, he has plenty of time to finish his studying and to tidy up his essays.
it's not like he has to prepare for his summer classes now, after all.
when he looks up from the dizzying whirl of motion, he finds himself face to face with the very man he'd come to see. he blinks for a moment, hands fumbling and reaching for hawk's forearms as those hands cup his face. his hands are warm, soft, so different from the other man at the pizzeria, whose hands were meant for sticky grabs and strikes. god, the way he had grabbed his nape earlier... ]
Professor. Sorry.
[ he needs to put his thoughts together a little better and strangely, sitting and being held still does a world of good. tim feels as though he's sitting upright, as though he's got his feet on the ground and he's as put together as someone who has come from a bad, bad date can be. but instead he's instinctively leaning into the palms against his cheeks, his fingers curl into the fabric of hawk's sleeves, and one of his legs is tucked up under him, the other splayed out to one side.
he takes a second, one hand leaving hawk's sleeve to instead perch upon his chest, just at the front of his shoulder. there's nothing intimate or searching in the move - the gesture simply one made out of a desperate need to stabilize himself. hawk is still an solid, unwavering before him and it becomes so easy to focus on him. enough that he almost thinks he gains some clarity out of the blue of his eyes. ]
I went... I had a date. Pizzeria Paradiso. D'you know the place?
[ be cool, tim he tells himself, even though he knows he's not at all. instead, the press of the fingers at his throat to test his pulse only make things feel that much more immediate. he's caught between wanting to run and wanting to cry, but he can't seem to find his footing for either. ]
Sorry, I... just a sec.
[ a wave of nausea comes over him for a moment, and even though he's dazzled with sweat, there's a paleness to his brow, the rise of his cheekbones. he lets his head dip for a moment, hanging so that he can look down at the floor and breath deeply through his nose to try and tamp down the sick, swirling feeling in his gut.
it's with this he seems to come to terms with the fact that he's not well. that what he thought was just the heavy mixed drink hitting him on an empty stomach was something more. it takes a moment for him to resurface from it, nose bumping hawk's palm as he sits up a little too fast. if he could just rest like this for a moment? he might be fine. just let his eyes close and soak up the warmth of the other man across him for a fraction of a second. ]
I think he put something in my drink? Waitress kept asking me. I feel crazy right now.
[ he huffs a little, eyes fluttering shut even as he sits upright, his fingers curling against hawk's chest, trying to find purchase in the taut fabric there. ]
Met this guy. From -
[ he doesn't say it. and it shows in his expression it takes a great deal of restraint to keep that from hawk even now. ]
I think I just need... t'sleep it off. Might just be the drink. It tasted like cherries. I don't really - I never - drink.
[ there's a little huff, like he's disgusted and embarrassed all at once. ] I was nervous.
no subject
[ everything seems to happen in both slow motion and high speed, all at once. one instance, he's in professor fuller's doorway and the next he's being crowded and collapsed into the arm chair he spends far too many hours perched in throughout the week. the semester is nearly over, anyway, with exams beginning next week. but it's monday, he has plenty of time to finish his studying and to tidy up his essays.
it's not like he has to prepare for his summer classes now, after all.
when he looks up from the dizzying whirl of motion, he finds himself face to face with the very man he'd come to see. he blinks for a moment, hands fumbling and reaching for hawk's forearms as those hands cup his face. his hands are warm, soft, so different from the other man at the pizzeria, whose hands were meant for sticky grabs and strikes. god, the way he had grabbed his nape earlier... ]
Professor. Sorry.
[ he needs to put his thoughts together a little better and strangely, sitting and being held still does a world of good. tim feels as though he's sitting upright, as though he's got his feet on the ground and he's as put together as someone who has come from a bad, bad date can be. but instead he's instinctively leaning into the palms against his cheeks, his fingers curl into the fabric of hawk's sleeves, and one of his legs is tucked up under him, the other splayed out to one side.
he takes a second, one hand leaving hawk's sleeve to instead perch upon his chest, just at the front of his shoulder. there's nothing intimate or searching in the move - the gesture simply one made out of a desperate need to stabilize himself. hawk is still an solid, unwavering before him and it becomes so easy to focus on him. enough that he almost thinks he gains some clarity out of the blue of his eyes. ]
I went... I had a date. Pizzeria Paradiso. D'you know the place?
[ be cool, tim he tells himself, even though he knows he's not at all. instead, the press of the fingers at his throat to test his pulse only make things feel that much more immediate. he's caught between wanting to run and wanting to cry, but he can't seem to find his footing for either. ]
Sorry, I... just a sec.
[ a wave of nausea comes over him for a moment, and even though he's dazzled with sweat, there's a paleness to his brow, the rise of his cheekbones. he lets his head dip for a moment, hanging so that he can look down at the floor and breath deeply through his nose to try and tamp down the sick, swirling feeling in his gut.
it's with this he seems to come to terms with the fact that he's not well. that what he thought was just the heavy mixed drink hitting him on an empty stomach was something more. it takes a moment for him to resurface from it, nose bumping hawk's palm as he sits up a little too fast. if he could just rest like this for a moment? he might be fine. just let his eyes close and soak up the warmth of the other man across him for a fraction of a second. ]
I think he put something in my drink? Waitress kept asking me. I feel crazy right now.
[ he huffs a little, eyes fluttering shut even as he sits upright, his fingers curling against hawk's chest, trying to find purchase in the taut fabric there. ]
Met this guy. From -
[ he doesn't say it. and it shows in his expression it takes a great deal of restraint to keep that from hawk even now. ]
I think I just need... t'sleep it off. Might just be the drink. It tasted like cherries. I don't really - I never - drink.
[ there's a little huff, like he's disgusted and embarrassed all at once. ] I was nervous.