[whatever it is has rolled under his chair or somewhere off on the floor, but he can't be bothered to look for it when tim is the priority. he knows he shouldn't be reaching for him so freely, that there are plenty of stories of professors being fired for far less than a half naked, drugged student in their home with. light touches to their person. but tim wouldn't ever do that to him - he's spent an entire semester keeping hawk's (their) dirty little secret and never bringing it up other than when he desperately needed this help and no one else would understand. because no one else knows. but fuck if he's not wholly encouraged each time he does it - the way tim practically leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering and pretty dark lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks, that much more stark in comparison against the ruddiness on his skin he sees up close.]
Don't worry about me. I'm not leaving you in here alone, though. Especially not with a headache. Think you can keep down some ibuprofen?
[because stupidly, hawk just sees it for the physical discomfort. the pounding he's probably got in his temples, the night sweats overtaking the freezing chill on his skin, the exhaustion that even sleeping is doing little to abate right now. it's the other part that won't fade so quickly he hasn't even considered - the trauma of being taken advantage of, and god knows whatever he went through besides something resulting in that goddamn mark on his neck. not to mention the guilt and the shame he's been carrying around for god knows how long, the desperation to stay on campus? maybe it runs deeper than just the money, the fear of not being able to make it back. and the moment tim speaks again, reaches to keep his hand there for the way it must feel that much cooler on his skin - shit.
it all sinks in then, even just a fraction of what he's feeling. hawk remembers what it was like when he'd been caught that fateful day - two years of secrecy, gone in a single moment. on his knees, looking over his shoulder at one of the hall checks because they'd be too engrossed in their affection to hear the soft click of heels. the shock, appall, and eventual disgust that was repeated from adult to adult until it landed on the face of his father, summoned in from summer vacation preparations. a humiliation burning under his skin that he'd vowed never to let anyone have power over again. he wishes he could impart some of that to tim without the context - but even he knows the words would just fall flat, like useless encouragements and generic, uplifting ideas. they'd sound hollow, especially coming from him.
he's so distracted thinking of it that he misses the fingertips that rest atop his own, holding his hand there longer than he'd meant to keep it.]
Shhh. You're not crazy. You've been through an ordeal tonight, something you didn't deserve. But the important part is that you got away and you're safe now.
[he pauses when tim removes his hand and lets it drop back to his knees. he can see the rise and fall of his bare chest, counting the seconds and knowing exactly what he's doing - repeating the instructions hawk gave him earlier. because he's so desperately looking for guidance, because he needs something to cling to right now. hawk might regret this, in fact, he's the one who might be earning the headlines, but he does it anyway, fingertips gently brushing from his forehead and down his cheek, along the strong curve of his jawline and stopping when he reaches the mark from before.]
This will never happen to you again. No one will touch you like this, you understand?
[even if tim won't look at him, all he has to do is nod or just answer it with one word. what does he think he's asking for? promise that tim won't go looking for anyone else to do this with? that he'll be safer next time? that he'll save himself for -
no. not that.
his hand slips away, and he stands back up, bracing his hands against the back of the chair.]
I'll stay with you in the room, but you need to be horizontal and I know these chairs aren't as comfortable as that bed. Think you can walk? Or do you want a ride?
[he tries to keep it light, unbothered. but tim might be weak enough that he needs to be carried, and hawk won't mind if it's the case.]
no subject
[whatever it is has rolled under his chair or somewhere off on the floor, but he can't be bothered to look for it when tim is the priority. he knows he shouldn't be reaching for him so freely, that there are plenty of stories of professors being fired for far less than a half naked, drugged student in their home with. light touches to their person. but tim wouldn't ever do that to him - he's spent an entire semester keeping hawk's (their) dirty little secret and never bringing it up other than when he desperately needed this help and no one else would understand. because no one else knows. but fuck if he's not wholly encouraged each time he does it - the way tim practically leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering and pretty dark lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks, that much more stark in comparison against the ruddiness on his skin he sees up close.]
Don't worry about me. I'm not leaving you in here alone, though. Especially not with a headache. Think you can keep down some ibuprofen?
[because stupidly, hawk just sees it for the physical discomfort. the pounding he's probably got in his temples, the night sweats overtaking the freezing chill on his skin, the exhaustion that even sleeping is doing little to abate right now. it's the other part that won't fade so quickly he hasn't even considered - the trauma of being taken advantage of, and god knows whatever he went through besides something resulting in that goddamn mark on his neck. not to mention the guilt and the shame he's been carrying around for god knows how long, the desperation to stay on campus? maybe it runs deeper than just the money, the fear of not being able to make it back. and the moment tim speaks again, reaches to keep his hand there for the way it must feel that much cooler on his skin - shit.
it all sinks in then, even just a fraction of what he's feeling. hawk remembers what it was like when he'd been caught that fateful day - two years of secrecy, gone in a single moment. on his knees, looking over his shoulder at one of the hall checks because they'd be too engrossed in their affection to hear the soft click of heels. the shock, appall, and eventual disgust that was repeated from adult to adult until it landed on the face of his father, summoned in from summer vacation preparations. a humiliation burning under his skin that he'd vowed never to let anyone have power over again. he wishes he could impart some of that to tim without the context - but even he knows the words would just fall flat, like useless encouragements and generic, uplifting ideas. they'd sound hollow, especially coming from him.
he's so distracted thinking of it that he misses the fingertips that rest atop his own, holding his hand there longer than he'd meant to keep it.]
Shhh. You're not crazy. You've been through an ordeal tonight, something you didn't deserve. But the important part is that you got away and you're safe now.
[he pauses when tim removes his hand and lets it drop back to his knees. he can see the rise and fall of his bare chest, counting the seconds and knowing exactly what he's doing - repeating the instructions hawk gave him earlier. because he's so desperately looking for guidance, because he needs something to cling to right now. hawk might regret this, in fact, he's the one who might be earning the headlines, but he does it anyway, fingertips gently brushing from his forehead and down his cheek, along the strong curve of his jawline and stopping when he reaches the mark from before.]
This will never happen to you again. No one will touch you like this, you understand?
[even if tim won't look at him, all he has to do is nod or just answer it with one word. what does he think he's asking for? promise that tim won't go looking for anyone else to do this with? that he'll be safer next time? that he'll save himself for -
no. not that.
his hand slips away, and he stands back up, bracing his hands against the back of the chair.]
I'll stay with you in the room, but you need to be horizontal and I know these chairs aren't as comfortable as that bed. Think you can walk? Or do you want a ride?
[he tries to keep it light, unbothered. but tim might be weak enough that he needs to be carried, and hawk won't mind if it's the case.]