[ It's a warped, awful version of what they had before. Holding each other in grief instead of joy, in Koby's room instead of his, dotted with tears instead of kisses. Either way, it's out of love, but the kind that fills him with dread, makes him fear what would happen if he weren't there to hold his head above the water. Tim holds him right there against his shoulder, noting the tiny specks of moisture against it that Hawk tries to blink away, running his hand through Hawk's hair until he settles. When he speaks again, it's with a sniff of his own, moved by Hawk's display of emotion into his own. ]

I'm sure.

[ Tim brings Hawk's hand to his mouth to press a tiny kiss onto a fingertip, and then he stands. He'll crawl in beside him soon, after flitting around for a moment to make sure Hawk is as comfortable as possible without leaving his side for more than a moment. A sweater from Tim's dresser, a trip to the bathroom to fill him a glass of water. Doting, worrying, bittersweet fondness in his eyes as he sits at the foot of the bed, untying Hawk's shoes for him and setting them down carefully by the footboard. ]

...I'm sorry, I don't know. That kind of information wasn't made public, and you and I weren't speaking. There must have been at least a letter, nobody ever suspected anyone but Smith himself.

[ Shoes off, good enough. Now he settles in beside him, one arm under his head and the other curled around Hawk's middle. ]