[it's impossible to sleep the whole way through the rest of the night. the chair being better for decor than actual comfort is somehow the least of it, but even if he had to pick the one in his office would stand a better chance of leaving him without a crick in his neck in a few hours when the sun came up to shine. it's the sudden insistence of tim's presence that does him in - the overwhelming sight, sound, and smell of him. even if he probably feels like he's rolled onto death's door, it doesn't stop hawk from stealing a few glances at how peaceful he looks when sleep finally manages to pull him into its sweet embrace. it doesn't stop him from glancing at the last vestiges of a fine sheen of sweat on his bare chest, something he'd temporarily forgotten in the presence of tim's distress - had he left it in the bed somewhere? or is it on the floor and he missed it? he can't say he's too sorry for it to be gone, even if that probably puts a tally on the long list of sins that are going to send him straight to hell, if he believed in that sort of thing.

tim believes in that sort of thing, and it's going to be a hard pill to swallow come morning. that'll be the hardest of it - continuing to convince him this wasn't his fault and he didn't deserve it, all while hawk himself has the emotional availability of a brick wall and little shame. that, and trying to coax out of tim what he needed the money for in the first place. three grand isn't an insignificant amount, but maybe he was trying to prepare for senior year and decided one fell swoop was better than trying to work himself ragged burning both ends of the candle for a few weekly one-on-ones or less lucrative texts. those are the things running through his mind as he tips his head back and tries closing his eyes, tries to ignore the sound of sheets rustling and tim shifting around trying to find the right position.

he must doze at some point, because when his neck twinges with enough soreness that it has him stretching his arms up and yawning, catching a glimpse of sun just starting to peek through the curtains, he realizes it's almost six now, and it's fucking freezing in here. but tim -

tim has somehow curled himself into a small bundle, sheets half kicked off, pillow forgone as if he were crawling on hands and knees atop the mattress just to be near hawk and his warmth and the closest part he could access. it twinges something in him, even in his once again interrupted sleep that he doesn't resent in the slightest. at least the boy is out cold, which means he theoretically won't feel the hand that cards through his hair gently so as not to disturb him. the way he's nearly bent in half can't be comfortable, and for a moment he thinks about just gently lifting him by his shoulders to press him back against the bed into something more resembling a recognizable sleeping position...but he thinks twice and tries shifting his neck into something else so he can catch a few more hours of sleep.

which apparently is a success, because it's not until he hears loud stumbling and the sound of pained dry-heaving that he wakes up for the fourth time in as many hours. it takes him a few moments, thumb and forefinger swiping at his eyes as he shakes his head and rises with a bit of dread to see how bad tim is. the door is open, but he still knocks, resting both arms on the doorframe without fully entering at first to assess the situation. he's stopped attempting to vomit - probably because there isn't anything in his stomach to get out anyway, but he looks wrecked all the same leaning against the countertop and probably feeling twenty times more miserable than he looks.]

Tim? It's Professor Fuller. You might not remember it all from yesterday.

[the consideration that tim might block all of it out hadn't occurred to him, so all he can hope is that the wrong idea of being half-naked in his professor's house and sick as a dog doesn't worm its way into his head. doubtful, considering the amount of blind trust he seems to constantly offer hawk, but still. apparently he can be too careful and that hawkins fuller has thrown caution to the wind.

he takes a tentative step in, reflection visible on the mirror as he gets closer and holds both his hands out like he's about to try and soothe wounded prey more likely to startle and run. does he even remember anything from last night? christ.]

You're safe, but there's a lot for us to catch up on.

[carefully his hand reaches to press against tim's shoulder and back, patting lightly to try and help abate some of the awfulness that is intrinsic to nearly vomiting and probably a pounding headache to boot. this time he opens the cabinet against the wall with his free hand, pulling out the ibuprofen and setting it against the counter for later.]

I can leave, if you want to wait in here for a bit for this to pass. Or I can stay.

Up to you, just say the word.