𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 "𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔" 𝚣. 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm[UNI AU]
CAMBOY UNI AU
tell
me and i forget, teach me and i remember.
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
no subject
though, it's a wonder how tim ever even got into his - business venture in the first place. must have happened in college without any financial support from his family, and scholarships can only get one so far. no library or cafeteria job would even come close to paying what a pound of flesh could earn, and there's few jobs a boy his age could make an honest living working for that kind of need. yet another point in favor of him staying here, keeping the momentum going and working off the inertia of everything else. so many of his suspicions click neatly into place in this moment, and it occurs to hawk that it's probably sad in some ways that this is the closest and most intimately he's known someone else in the last several years save maybe marcus. he knows more about tim laughlin than any other student, any friend or acquaintance or even his own mother. the thought should be unnerving, a blaring warning sign to cut it off and recreate that distance between them - but strangely, it's easy to tune out for a change.
there's a week to fix this. a week of tim being kept in the dark while hawk pulls strings and he thinks he's getting back on that ferry. the thought of him wasting an entire summer - unable to catch up on his finances, limited in what he can study, toiling away in the dirt - and for what?
no. that's not in hawkins fuller's plan. forget about god.
hawk watches the graceful arc of his body flopping back into his bed, cocooning himself away from the rest of the world save for the tufts of messy hair and the glint from the lenses of his glasses. it takes more effort than he wants to admit not to reach out and try to smooth it down, to run a soothing hand through his scalp and tell him it's going to be alright.]
Well, you and your exams have always gotten along like a house on fire. I wouldn't worry about those.
[there's a bit of levity there mixed in with the praise, enough to try and distract him from the laundry list of preparation he must be running through. not good on an empty or exhausted stomach, and definitely not good when he's fighting sluggishness and the lingering effects of the drugs. hawk steps back to the side of the bed, dipping down to meet tim closer at eye level as he watches him try and relax into it once more. the breathing, the sudden stillness in the way he's laying there. good, let him get some more rest. he'll need it.]
I think your feet can take a break for awhile. Mine are going to the kitchen to get you something something small to try and eat. Then you'll sleep some more, and if you can handle it by then - a shower's definitely in order.
Get comfortable.
[there's not much room for protest. hawk stands back up, heading for the door and hesitating at the threshold for a moment, one hand gripping against the white molding along the doorframe. he makes a half glance over his shoulder, somehow unable to face tim head on for this.]
You know, considering all the circumstances you've pulled yourself out of - I'd say you're the goddamn miracle around here.
[the delivery is a little gruff, but it's meant to have a lasting impact. and before tim can object or answer or be the one to expose hawk's vulnerabilities in saying so - he's off to the kitchen as promised, hoping it'll sink in and be done by the time he gets back up the hall. enough time has passed when he returns with a fresh glass of cool ice water, a few slices of toasted bread, an array of crackers, and a banana on a large plate.]
It's no brunch at The Jefferson, but here. Let's see what you can keep down.
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.
no subject
[the shirt slipped off tim's shoulder gives him another point to fix his gaze on - something to think about later the way it exposes the enticing skin around his neck. it hits hawk quite suddenly that after he leaves (whenever that is - he's in no rush) - the scent of tim is going to linger against his pillow, the shirt in the bathroom that's been discarded. there's a pulse in his jaw at the idea of it, a sudden faraway look in his eye until tim adjusts himself and reaches for the plate. as soon as he's certain the boy won't faceplant into it or have another dizzy spell, he finally takes a seat in the chair again and sets down the cool glass, pushing the room temperature one off to the side to be discarded later. he'd rather be in reaching distance of the small trash bin just in case his hunch proves wrong and he needs to push back his hair and rub reassuringly at his back or escort him to the restroom again.
but the bread at least seems to have been a safe choice, and hawk watches the realization hit tim before he digs in a little more and explains his unfortunate, limited experience with local cuisine.]
5-star hotel - up the street from the Big House. I guarantee it puts the farmer's market to shame, and it's probably better sourced than whatever noise those groups are trying to push.
[he's not totally unaware of what happens on campus, including some of the local rabble-rousers and advocate groups - he just choses to distance from himself as much as possible when it comes to separating the personal and the professional. though tim is certainly giving him a run for his money in that regard. when the bread is finished, he lets them lapse into a surprisingly comfortable silence, hands folded on top of his chest. maybe he'll try and shower while tim gets some more rest, or he can try and take a few minutes on the couch and fight off the eventual exhaustion from the hours he's missed. the idea of sending tim home so soon doesn't sit right with him, and hawk has already accepted that most of his saturday will be spent with his student here. he'll get him a cab, and tim will be tucked into his own bed none the wiser of what else is to come in the week to follow.
there's that soft, distant look in his eyes again, and it's why tim's question catches him off guard as much as the sudden attention tim has placed on him.
it's the decent thing to do. anyone in my place would do the same -
is what he should say. but the reality is...the probably wouldn't. the smarter move would have been to call an ambulance, notify a parent - and yet hawk took it upon himself to do all of this and more, to make the choices that have led to tim laughlin sitting half dressed in his bed, which is the entire thing he's been trying to avoid since christmas. christ. there's no answer right away, especially not when tim follows up with his innocent, almost plaintive need for honesty in this moment. hawk looks away, lips tightening for a moment. his fingers itch for a cigarette or a tumbler of scotch - though vodka is probably the closest thing to appropriate this early in the morning. there's still a tension in his shoulders, guard up even as he glances back to tim with something cautious in his gaze. it's all he knows, even with this seeming truce they've found between them, existing in limbo that is too intimate to be considered professional company any longer and yet still too new to break down every wall.]
You're one of the good ones, Laughlin. That's a rare thing from where I'm sitting, and I'd hate to see it get snuffed out over any asshole here or in Staten Island.
[a pause, and he can't help the way his gaze turns fond without even realizing it. tim is more special than anyone he's ever taught, and he deserves to know it. personal feelings and conflict of interest aside...it's been a genuine pleasure.]
You're gonna be just fine.
Now finish that banana so you can get some rest, got it?
no subject
instead, he's now spent the night in the man's bed, dressing his clothes, eating his food and obeying his orders. in another life, all of this might be different. is this what it is like to be cared about? to be intimately known even though their bodies have not crossed that line often enough for it to count? how is it that they are able to stand toe-to-toe like this, soaking in the warmth of the other and dancing around one another and have it come to nothing?
it's better this way, surely.
but something deep in tim's chest aches. in another life, a version of himself must be watching and mourning the loss for whatever this could have been.
he takes another bite of banana, half expecting hawk to put off his question and deflect instead to some kind of caretaking comment. he pauses, however, when hawk speaks. color rises hot into his cheeks, brushing at the tips of his ears again.
there's something in the look on the man's face and the tone of his voice in that you're gonna be just fine that takes him by surprise. he wants to memorize it much in the same way he has stamped the low sound of hawk's good boy into his mind. ]
Thank you.
[ soft, sheepish, and he keeps his eyes turned to the plate where the crackers still sit untouched and the half eaten banana. ]
For everything. Really.
[ how can he even possibly thank this man for what he's done today and for all the times before? hawkins fuller has everything he wants - can buy anything he desires - and to find a way to show his gratitude seems more impossible now than ever.
but, in the tone of all things leading up to this, professor fuller gives him a directive and he huffs softly. ]
Banana and rest. Got it. Yes, sir.
[ he smiles a little an takes the last bite of the banana, leaving the peel on the plate. he sets the plate on the bedside table and with little preamble allows himself to fall back into the bed on a sigh. he's exhausted, and the fact that he's given permission to stay and rest is yet another thing to add to the list of many items for which he owes the man thanks.
he brings the blankets high up under his chin after he deposits his glasses beside the plate, but in the dim light he looks up at the man in the chair beside his bed. he doesn't care if he sees him, doesn't mind if he can tell he's cataloguing this moment - the tired lines of the man's face, the sleepy mussed wave of his hair, the fond eyes, the tight lips that belie so much more.
he almost says something - mouth opening for a moment before he closes it again, hums in thought and shakes his head. ]
Thanks. I mean it.
[ his voice carries the low, tired note of someone just at the brink of sleeping. and when next hawk looks up he'll see just that - tim laughlin with his eyes closed, breathing evened out, lips faintly parted. unaware of the world around him all at once, and finally looking at peace as he rests. ]