the comment seems so genial, so friendly, so practiced and perfect that it makes tim's skin crawl. they're not strangers, even now, with two weeks of silence and distance pressed between them. tim had followed the rules - played the game with an expert skill he's sure that hawk won't see the full color of. but it's no matter - being invited in feels a little like he can breathe again, and so he crosses the threshold into the office.
this isn't just about loneliness - that's something tim realized the first week in. it isn't just about company with measured attention and careful consideration. tim cares about the man named hawkins fuller, about the person beneath the carefully constructed mask which, he of course knows now is a very skillful ploy. where he falls in the slippery slope of the game hawk plays? tim doesn't know.
but he hands over the paper, turns to set his bag on the floor beside the chair that even the entirety of the department considers tim's chair and settles into it. he sits proper, both feet on the floor, hands in his lap, watching hawk's reaction like any student might under the scrutiny of faculty, but he's really watching the lines of the man's face. looking for the hint of fraying or dark circles, or anything.
anything to prove that maybe two and a half weeks was hard on him, too. or is tim simply in too deep with idealist dreams and fantasies?
he's bulletproof, his man. or is he? after all, hawk had found him throughout their quarantine - the library, the quad.
tim's face burns with the praise, and burns deeper at the way the man smiles, bright and dazzling, the blue of his eyes glittering. he is something out of a greek myth, out of a sparkling museum of wonders. tim doesn't stand a chance. ]
You didn't play by the rules.
[ and there it is - where the boy from two weeks ago would glow under the praise and simper and press, tim sits back easily in the chair, letting an elbow fall to one of the arms so that he may set his chin in his own hand. there's a little tilt, a set of his jaw, and a burning defiance in his eyes. nothing like the fury from months and months ago, no.
it's that simmer hawk is looking for, but changed. matured, aged. ]
And although you created the game, made the ruleset, I think it's only fair you draw clear, precise lines. I think I deserve more than just congratulations for going above and beyond on both the assignment, and managing you.
[ there's a tiny little smile, despite the intensity of his eyes. he's been lonely - adrift without the man and trying desperately to understand just what everything meant. he'll wonder, still, when he's not drawn in by the undeniable force that is hawkins fuller. he can't say no to him. he can't deny him. even if he wants to, something makes it simply impossible.
he'll address the sadness later. there's plenty of time to think about a world without this. it's his near future, and a part of him doesn't want to waste what little of all this he has left. ]
You didn't even read it. The essay.
[ the positive consequences of negative stereotyping in the academic community - and the essay goes on to detail the stereotypes of youth, homosexuality, and the interplay between that and an academic setting. it even details the pressures of the older generations, the faculty, and all those trapped and conforming to the old world that academia flaunts.
it's a blatant mockery of craig, an older, gay man with eyes for pretty things younger than him. caught up in the ego created by his degree and position in the university. all that, tied up in flowery language that craig may not otherwise catch as subtle digs and? an a- was artfully earned. ]
I would say I missed you, but I saw you just a few days ago in the library, sir.
[ he did miss him. a great deal. it shows in the way he keeps his eyes on hawk's face, watching, even though his body language hasn't changed. ]
no subject
the comment seems so genial, so friendly, so practiced and perfect that it makes tim's skin crawl. they're not strangers, even now, with two weeks of silence and distance pressed between them. tim had followed the rules - played the game with an expert skill he's sure that hawk won't see the full color of. but it's no matter - being invited in feels a little like he can breathe again, and so he crosses the threshold into the office.
this isn't just about loneliness - that's something tim realized the first week in. it isn't just about company with measured attention and careful consideration. tim cares about the man named hawkins fuller, about the person beneath the carefully constructed mask which, he of course knows now is a very skillful ploy. where he falls in the slippery slope of the game hawk plays? tim doesn't know.
but he hands over the paper, turns to set his bag on the floor beside the chair that even the entirety of the department considers tim's chair and settles into it. he sits proper, both feet on the floor, hands in his lap, watching hawk's reaction like any student might under the scrutiny of faculty, but he's really watching the lines of the man's face. looking for the hint of fraying or dark circles, or anything.
anything to prove that maybe two and a half weeks was hard on him, too. or is tim simply in too deep with idealist dreams and fantasies?
he's bulletproof, his man. or is he? after all, hawk had found him throughout their quarantine - the library, the quad.
tim's face burns with the praise, and burns deeper at the way the man smiles, bright and dazzling, the blue of his eyes glittering. he is something out of a greek myth, out of a sparkling museum of wonders. tim doesn't stand a chance. ]
You didn't play by the rules.
[ and there it is - where the boy from two weeks ago would glow under the praise and simper and press, tim sits back easily in the chair, letting an elbow fall to one of the arms so that he may set his chin in his own hand. there's a little tilt, a set of his jaw, and a burning defiance in his eyes. nothing like the fury from months and months ago, no.
it's that simmer hawk is looking for, but changed. matured, aged. ]
And although you created the game, made the ruleset, I think it's only fair you draw clear, precise lines. I think I deserve more than just congratulations for going above and beyond on both the assignment, and managing you.
[ there's a tiny little smile, despite the intensity of his eyes. he's been lonely - adrift without the man and trying desperately to understand just what everything meant. he'll wonder, still, when he's not drawn in by the undeniable force that is hawkins fuller. he can't say no to him. he can't deny him. even if he wants to, something makes it simply impossible.
he'll address the sadness later. there's plenty of time to think about a world without this. it's his near future, and a part of him doesn't want to waste what little of all this he has left. ]
You didn't even read it. The essay.
[ the positive consequences of negative stereotyping in the academic community - and the essay goes on to detail the stereotypes of youth, homosexuality, and the interplay between that and an academic setting. it even details the pressures of the older generations, the faculty, and all those trapped and conforming to the old world that academia flaunts.
it's a blatant mockery of craig, an older, gay man with eyes for pretty things younger than him. caught up in the ego created by his degree and position in the university. all that, tied up in flowery language that craig may not otherwise catch as subtle digs and? an a- was artfully earned. ]
I would say I missed you, but I saw you just a few days ago in the library, sir.
[ he did miss him. a great deal. it shows in the way he keeps his eyes on hawk's face, watching, even though his body language hasn't changed. ]