a b- he's meant to try and achieve and already tim knows that while it isn't impossible, the time spent away will be excruciating. he can't help the way his mind races, trying to read between the lines of heated words and touches and glances to figure out why he would create space now.
realistically, sure - tim has gone too far. he pressed and continued and took every challenge. he's not sure how hawk thought he wouldn't rise to and beyond the challenges themselves, and yet here they are, two people who had been chest to chest moments before, and suddenly tim feels as though that some distance has been put between them. and invisible barrier. his fingers reach for the strap of his bag, hands falling there so that it looks only like a student waiting for an answer.
this next paper won't make the cut. it's too soon. the second will be in two weeks, and he'll have time to try and figure out exactly what it is craig wants out of him. silence, probably. it's very simple. to be seen and not heard. to make sure he regurgitates craig's views on paper and deem them good and whole and just. how bland. how boring. it's a challenge he'd have been willing to take, if it didn't mean cutting off everything else.
his dorm room is eerily quiet, the building quieter. there are only a handful of students who occupy this part of campus who aren't commuters. it's too expensive for those who live out of state to stay overlong here. a tiny part of him wants to rebut, to tell hawk that he has no one all over again because it's true. to tell the man that he has become one of his dearest friends on the campus, and the best way to spend his time.
but that's the problem, isn't it? ]
It isn't difficult to say prayers in repetition. How often I close my eyes and count Hail Marys and Our Fathers - I think saying the prayers for you will be easier. Less how many I can, and how many you're willing to give me. I've discovered you can find God in anything, if you look hard enough.
[ he takes a step back, intending to turn for the door but the pause - the husky words, the low rumble of hawk's voice makes him still. his skin ripples again with heat and he laughs a little, surprised that all of it didn't end there. his face flushes with the surprise, the first sign of the soft, doe-eyed boy that hides under the mask of sexual confidence. he's always wondered how both can exist in one body.
he looks up at hawk, his nose crinkling a little, mouth pulling to one side as he thinks. ]
A reward?
[ what would he want as a reward? it's pathetic that he wants to ask for his company. that he wants to ask for all this to change, to turn around, because the next few weeks are bound to be some of the most lonely tim has had in a long, long time. but he can't say that. not here. not now.
while hawk may understand to some degree, tim can't quite bring himself to admit just how pathetic all of this is.
it's easier to play it safe, to play the game, to deny that after this semester he will have no reason to be in this office, to speak to this man, to feel like he can belong somewhere - because won't. he never will. the line is drawn between them now and if he squints he can almost see it shaped the form of a b-.
when he looks back up at hawk, there's undoubtedly something a little off in his eyes. look closely enough, and it might even be a little sad. ]
I'm sure you'll think of something, sir. I should go. Class soon, and all. I'll...
[ see you tomorrow - is what he'd normally say. but he won't. their class isn't tomorrow, and being restricted to speaking to him only before during or immediately after class? well.
he huffs a little, and finally looks away. ]
I'll see you in class. Thank you, sir.
[ tim turns his back, then, starts for the door and heads out of the office. he doesn't look back, and it's for the better. this way, he can say it's the sun that has his eyes burning a little at the edges. ]
no subject
[ b-
a b- he's meant to try and achieve and already tim knows that while it isn't impossible, the time spent away will be excruciating. he can't help the way his mind races, trying to read between the lines of heated words and touches and glances to figure out why he would create space now.
realistically, sure - tim has gone too far. he pressed and continued and took every challenge. he's not sure how hawk thought he wouldn't rise to and beyond the challenges themselves, and yet here they are, two people who had been chest to chest moments before, and suddenly tim feels as though that some distance has been put between them. and invisible barrier. his fingers reach for the strap of his bag, hands falling there so that it looks only like a student waiting for an answer.
this next paper won't make the cut. it's too soon. the second will be in two weeks, and he'll have time to try and figure out exactly what it is craig wants out of him. silence, probably. it's very simple. to be seen and not heard. to make sure he regurgitates craig's views on paper and deem them good and whole and just. how bland. how boring. it's a challenge he'd have been willing to take, if it didn't mean cutting off everything else.
his dorm room is eerily quiet, the building quieter. there are only a handful of students who occupy this part of campus who aren't commuters. it's too expensive for those who live out of state to stay overlong here. a tiny part of him wants to rebut, to tell hawk that he has no one all over again because it's true. to tell the man that he has become one of his dearest friends on the campus, and the best way to spend his time.
but that's the problem, isn't it? ]
It isn't difficult to say prayers in repetition. How often I close my eyes and count Hail Marys and Our Fathers - I think saying the prayers for you will be easier. Less how many I can, and how many you're willing to give me. I've discovered you can find God in anything, if you look hard enough.
[ he takes a step back, intending to turn for the door but the pause - the husky words, the low rumble of hawk's voice makes him still. his skin ripples again with heat and he laughs a little, surprised that all of it didn't end there. his face flushes with the surprise, the first sign of the soft, doe-eyed boy that hides under the mask of sexual confidence. he's always wondered how both can exist in one body.
he looks up at hawk, his nose crinkling a little, mouth pulling to one side as he thinks. ]
A reward?
[ what would he want as a reward? it's pathetic that he wants to ask for his company. that he wants to ask for all this to change, to turn around, because the next few weeks are bound to be some of the most lonely tim has had in a long, long time. but he can't say that. not here. not now.
while hawk may understand to some degree, tim can't quite bring himself to admit just how pathetic all of this is.
it's easier to play it safe, to play the game, to deny that after this semester he will have no reason to be in this office, to speak to this man, to feel like he can belong somewhere - because won't. he never will. the line is drawn between them now and if he squints he can almost see it shaped the form of a b-.
when he looks back up at hawk, there's undoubtedly something a little off in his eyes. look closely enough, and it might even be a little sad. ]
I'm sure you'll think of something, sir. I should go. Class soon, and all. I'll...
[ see you tomorrow - is what he'd normally say. but he won't. their class isn't tomorrow, and being restricted to speaking to him only before during or immediately after class? well.
he huffs a little, and finally looks away. ]
I'll see you in class. Thank you, sir.
[ tim turns his back, then, starts for the door and heads out of the office. he doesn't look back, and it's for the better. this way, he can say it's the sun that has his eyes burning a little at the edges. ]