[is any of this shaking loose? he almost asks, but realizes the more he watches tim channel all his nerves into fiddling with his thumb as the colour slowly crawls its way up his bare chest to his neck and all the way up to the tips of his ears. boy wouldn't last a day playing poker, that's for damn sure - but this situation isn't something quite so cavalier. it's through sheer willpower his eyes stay above the neck, partly because tim looks like he'd rather sink through the bed, down the floor and into the earth's dark core than answer this and partly because it's still inappropriate to be filing it away into a mental rolodex. christ, thoughts like that and he's no better than the asshole who put his boy here in the first place.
ah christ. and that - that right there is what he has to stop. tim isn't his boy. wasn't even to begin with. that's the part he left out on purpose, glossing it over with a simple promise, not a verbal command and wordless touches to communicate a demand for obedience. and tim had complied - had taken to that, skippy come to life right in front of his eyes instead of under the dim lighting of smoke and mirrors and careful camouflage of his dorm room. this is exactly the kind of thing that needs to pushed down deep, preferably never to see the light of day again, but only when this ordeal is over and tim is long gone trying to get back to some semblance of normalcy in the brief summer break he's giving himself.
because he'd seen tim's name on his roster - and despite everything, he'd been looking forward to his no doubt favorite student being the center of attention in a class full of hungry, aspiring politicos. it hadn't even registered that's what he was trying to scrape together at the ninth hour. of course someone as diligent as tim didn't need to take it along with whatever else he had planned, but he'd want to, and hawk hopes it's solely because of his dedication and passion for the content. just the content. and selfishly a part of him knew that would probably be the last he'd be seeing of laughlin - onto greener pastures, focusing on his senior year, probably trying to land an internship and dropping by for an update and a recommendation letter request for conquering washington's entry-level opportunities in no time.
in the grand scheme of things it wasn't a make-or-break course. hell, it wasn't even a requirement. but would it have been nice? yeah, it sure would have.
not nice enough to put up with almost getting date raped over three grand. hawk's expression darkens, though it's not directed in any way at tim and rather the idea of the bastard that did this to him. he's no avenging angel, but what he wouldn't do for fifteen minutes in a dark alley with the asshole that's made tim curl up into himself in as many times in the last twelve hours. his hand squeezes without even realizing it, still holding onto tim's forearm reassuringly as he lets it all out.]
For summer classes. My class?
[now he feels doubly responsible. shit. to anyone else, hawkins fuller would delay, deny, and draw doubt from even his toughest critics wanting to suspect him of some wrongdoing or scrutinize his often acerbic wit. analyze his private life, the perceived pull he has with the dean, his youth, his looks, his single status. yeah, he'd have no problem telling them fuck you without saying the words, sending them off with a smile and a firm handshake. but this isn't anyone - this is tim, and if he can't be vulnerable with the boy who's spilled his guts and wound up half dead at his proverbial doorstep, who they hell can he?]
I know that - I trust you.
It wasn't stupid of you to try. You remember what I said in the first few weeks of the semester? That you were doing your best.
[hawk pulls his hand back, leaning forward again and looking at tim with all softness in his gaze sharpened into something quite serious.]
This is on me, Tim.
[he lifts a finger, knowing the way his mind works and the outburst that's coming.]
Don't say what I think you're going to. Five-hundred a week - it adds up. And it damn sure hurts when it's gone, doesn't it?
[his own throat dries right up too, and it makes him reach for the glass at the bedside table and hand it to tim knowing his must be in even worse shape.]
I put you in this position. It's my fault you almost got hurt, and for that - I owe you an apology. All of this? Jesus, it's the least I could do.
[a nod to the glass of water, the bed, the sweatpants - his very presence here.]
But I need you to listen to me. Meeting like that? Too goddamn dangerous. Last night, I told you - you won't do it again.
Promise me right now.
[he sits up straighter, eyes bright with a conviction that only tim draws out of him in their verbal sparring these days.]
You're worth so much more than the risk, do you understand that?
no subject
ah christ. and that - that right there is what he has to stop. tim isn't his boy. wasn't even to begin with. that's the part he left out on purpose, glossing it over with a simple promise, not a verbal command and wordless touches to communicate a demand for obedience. and tim had complied - had taken to that, skippy come to life right in front of his eyes instead of under the dim lighting of smoke and mirrors and careful camouflage of his dorm room. this is exactly the kind of thing that needs to pushed down deep, preferably never to see the light of day again, but only when this ordeal is over and tim is long gone trying to get back to some semblance of normalcy in the brief summer break he's giving himself.
because he'd seen tim's name on his roster - and despite everything, he'd been looking forward to his no doubt favorite student being the center of attention in a class full of hungry, aspiring politicos. it hadn't even registered that's what he was trying to scrape together at the ninth hour. of course someone as diligent as tim didn't need to take it along with whatever else he had planned, but he'd want to, and hawk hopes it's solely because of his dedication and passion for the content. just the content. and selfishly a part of him knew that would probably be the last he'd be seeing of laughlin - onto greener pastures, focusing on his senior year, probably trying to land an internship and dropping by for an update and a recommendation letter request for conquering washington's entry-level opportunities in no time.
in the grand scheme of things it wasn't a make-or-break course. hell, it wasn't even a requirement. but would it have been nice? yeah, it sure would have.
not nice enough to put up with almost getting date raped over three grand. hawk's expression darkens, though it's not directed in any way at tim and rather the idea of the bastard that did this to him. he's no avenging angel, but what he wouldn't do for fifteen minutes in a dark alley with the asshole that's made tim curl up into himself in as many times in the last twelve hours. his hand squeezes without even realizing it, still holding onto tim's forearm reassuringly as he lets it all out.]
For summer classes. My class?
[now he feels doubly responsible. shit. to anyone else, hawkins fuller would delay, deny, and draw doubt from even his toughest critics wanting to suspect him of some wrongdoing or scrutinize his often acerbic wit. analyze his private life, the perceived pull he has with the dean, his youth, his looks, his single status. yeah, he'd have no problem telling them fuck you without saying the words, sending them off with a smile and a firm handshake. but this isn't anyone - this is tim, and if he can't be vulnerable with the boy who's spilled his guts and wound up half dead at his proverbial doorstep, who they hell can he?]
I know that - I trust you.
It wasn't stupid of you to try. You remember what I said in the first few weeks of the semester? That you were doing your best.
[hawk pulls his hand back, leaning forward again and looking at tim with all softness in his gaze sharpened into something quite serious.]
This is on me, Tim.
[he lifts a finger, knowing the way his mind works and the outburst that's coming.]
Don't say what I think you're going to. Five-hundred a week - it adds up. And it damn sure hurts when it's gone, doesn't it?
[his own throat dries right up too, and it makes him reach for the glass at the bedside table and hand it to tim knowing his must be in even worse shape.]
I put you in this position. It's my fault you almost got hurt, and for that - I owe you an apology. All of this? Jesus, it's the least I could do.
[a nod to the glass of water, the bed, the sweatpants - his very presence here.]
But I need you to listen to me. Meeting like that? Too goddamn dangerous. Last night, I told you - you won't do it again.
Promise me right now.
[he sits up straighter, eyes bright with a conviction that only tim draws out of him in their verbal sparring these days.]
You're worth so much more than the risk, do you understand that?