[ tim offers it as a wry sort of thing, mouth pulling up at one corner and eyes rolling. it's easy to do that now that he's lying down in the bed. there's truth to it, though - tim has always carefully watched his grades, maintaining an outstanding gpa just to keep himself high on the dean's list and make certain nothing slips. his meager scholarship depends on it, for one thing, but his future does in some way, too.
he's letting the warmth of the bed settle him when hawk approaches again, and he finds he wants to reach up out of the blanket and catch his hand, hold it, tell him it isn't food he needs but warm, solid company at his side. even in the chair, it was easy to chase away that haunting, lonely feeling when he'd wake, woozy in the middle of the night. but he does none of that - simply smiles, hums in understanding.
I'd say you're the goddamn miracle around here.
his face burns hot, suddenly. embarrassment, confusion, flattery. he would never describe himself as any sort of miracle or wonder. he's only had to pull himself out of situations he has single-handedly put himself in. there's nothing divine at work here where tim laughlin lies in the bed of his professor. but the sentiment isn't lost on him, the gravity of it. tim smiles in spite of himself and turns onto his side, burrowing into the blankets further.
yes, something has changed between them. and maybe that is the miracle in and of itself.
by the time hawk returns to his bedside, he's nearly nodded off. the pull of the warmth of the bed, the overwhelming scent of hawkins fuller and the exhaustion from the drug enough to coax him back into a hazy, dreamy state. his eyes flutter back open when he hears the movement, trying for a moment to remember why hawk is returning. stifling a yawn behind his hand he shifts to sit up, the blankets falling around his waist. the t-shirt has even slipped, worn and stretched out on broader shoulders than he has, which means the top of his peeks out of the fabric. ]
You didn't have to do that.
[ but he knows the man would have, regardless. he takes the plate, looking down at the offerings and he doesn't want to admit that all of it looks unappealing. his stomach feels sour and angry in his gut, but it's very possible it's from being as empty as it is. sitting the plate in his lap, he picks a piece of the toasted bread first, biting into it. ]
Unless you really just want to see me throw up. I can't imagine that was on your plan for today.
[ was any of this? was tim? no. and so he takes another healthy bite to prevent himself from saying anything more foolish and stupid. he should eat, he realizes, and leave. muster up the energy to fake his way through looking more put together than he knows he looks now. he won't be successful, but the hint of guilt at existing here in this man's space alone just won't dissipate. ]
I don't even know what The Jefferson is. I know like two pizza places and the Dining Hall. I guess there's that weird farmer's market they try to do on campus, but it's always too expensive.
[ he finishes one piece of bread, starts for another. as the food hits his stomach, though, he realizes just how hungry he truly is. it doesn't help that most of the time he's living on meager rations anyway, but right now the plate of food in front of him feels like a feast.
he eats quietly for a moment, starting in on the banana once the bread has been demolished, and its only after he takes one bite of the fruit and finishes it that he pauses. maybe it looks like he's waiting for his stomach to revolt, but actually his mind is turning. well, really? it's his heart aching, strangely enough.
sitting the banana down on the plate, he looks back up to hawk, then. ]
Why are you doing all of this for me?
[ but he knows, doesn't he? he knows. it's written all over the care taken at his office, the hospital, here. wrapped all around the low, firm good boy he's now heard twice within these four walls. tied up in the fact that hawk is letting him sleep here, shower here, feed him, and asking for reasons why and how and saying things like never again ]
no subject
[ tim offers it as a wry sort of thing, mouth pulling up at one corner and eyes rolling. it's easy to do that now that he's lying down in the bed. there's truth to it, though - tim has always carefully watched his grades, maintaining an outstanding gpa just to keep himself high on the dean's list and make certain nothing slips. his meager scholarship depends on it, for one thing, but his future does in some way, too.
he's letting the warmth of the bed settle him when hawk approaches again, and he finds he wants to reach up out of the blanket and catch his hand, hold it, tell him it isn't food he needs but warm, solid company at his side. even in the chair, it was easy to chase away that haunting, lonely feeling when he'd wake, woozy in the middle of the night. but he does none of that - simply smiles, hums in understanding.
I'd say you're the goddamn miracle around here.
his face burns hot, suddenly. embarrassment, confusion, flattery. he would never describe himself as any sort of miracle or wonder. he's only had to pull himself out of situations he has single-handedly put himself in. there's nothing divine at work here where tim laughlin lies in the bed of his professor. but the sentiment isn't lost on him, the gravity of it. tim smiles in spite of himself and turns onto his side, burrowing into the blankets further.
yes, something has changed between them. and maybe that is the miracle in and of itself.
by the time hawk returns to his bedside, he's nearly nodded off. the pull of the warmth of the bed, the overwhelming scent of hawkins fuller and the exhaustion from the drug enough to coax him back into a hazy, dreamy state. his eyes flutter back open when he hears the movement, trying for a moment to remember why hawk is returning. stifling a yawn behind his hand he shifts to sit up, the blankets falling around his waist. the t-shirt has even slipped, worn and stretched out on broader shoulders than he has, which means the top of his peeks out of the fabric. ]
You didn't have to do that.
[ but he knows the man would have, regardless. he takes the plate, looking down at the offerings and he doesn't want to admit that all of it looks unappealing. his stomach feels sour and angry in his gut, but it's very possible it's from being as empty as it is. sitting the plate in his lap, he picks a piece of the toasted bread first, biting into it. ]
Unless you really just want to see me throw up. I can't imagine that was on your plan for today.
[ was any of this? was tim? no. and so he takes another healthy bite to prevent himself from saying anything more foolish and stupid. he should eat, he realizes, and leave. muster up the energy to fake his way through looking more put together than he knows he looks now. he won't be successful, but the hint of guilt at existing here in this man's space alone just won't dissipate. ]
I don't even know what The Jefferson is. I know like two pizza places and the Dining Hall. I guess there's that weird farmer's market they try to do on campus, but it's always too expensive.
[ he finishes one piece of bread, starts for another. as the food hits his stomach, though, he realizes just how hungry he truly is. it doesn't help that most of the time he's living on meager rations anyway, but right now the plate of food in front of him feels like a feast.
he eats quietly for a moment, starting in on the banana once the bread has been demolished, and its only after he takes one bite of the fruit and finishes it that he pauses. maybe it looks like he's waiting for his stomach to revolt, but actually his mind is turning. well, really? it's his heart aching, strangely enough.
sitting the banana down on the plate, he looks back up to hawk, then. ]
Why are you doing all of this for me?
[ but he knows, doesn't he? he knows. it's written all over the care taken at his office, the hospital, here. wrapped all around the low, firm good boy he's now heard twice within these four walls. tied up in the fact that hawk is letting him sleep here, shower here, feed him, and asking for reasons why and how and saying things like never again ]
Please, tell me the truth.