[ tim isn't sure that a more perfect date and evening could even exist after this. the little suburbs pass them by as they drive, the car humming and the lights outside flickering by. the weight of hawk's hand on his knee and in his own hand are so comforting that he could be content to sit here like this for hours if they were allowed. the only way this night could be better would be if he could go home with him, pretend that this could be their life, that this could be his future.

maybe. one day.

tim squeezes the hand there softly, his head tilting so that it's his cheek that presses against their joined hands on his knee. he smiles a little, almost boyish and sheepish in the way that he flushes. ]

You will? I mean - [ a little embarrassed huff, then: ] I'm glad. That you'll be my man. I don't think I'd want any other man, anyway.

[ but there's the name - skippy - and tim just listens to the story of hawk's parents, the show, the sound. he can imagine that it must be a fond memory indeed, if the way hawk speaks is anything to go by. he's not blind to the implication that the show was only listened to when his father wasn't around - that's something tim knows very well. they have more in common in seems than even he had realized. ]

But I'm no angel. I think I'm fine with just being your boy - that's heavenly on its own, I think. I know that maybe things will be different - that there's a lot we both have to be careful of, of course. But I know you care. I know that better than anyone, I think.

[ he shrugs a little and leans back, keeping their hands tangled atop his knee, desperate for the touch and the connection. he dips his head one final time to press his lips against hawk's knuckles before his head tips back and his eyes drift over to the man in the dark of the car.

how is it he's handsome even here? ]

It's why I forgive you for the Uncle Milty line. I like Hawk, Hawkins, my man better. This night? This night has been beyond perfect.