[they can - god, hawk hopes they will after this. if there's one thing he'd grasped more than anything after picking up tim's broken figure from that hellhole and carrying him to safety it was that he never wanted to let him go again. frankly, he'd deserve it if tim said no - but he's prepared to spend a lifetime trying anyway to get back what he'd stupidly tossed away almost three years ago.
tim doesn't know how many nights he spent alone, staring at the ceiling and reminiscing on the times when his boy was nuzzled into his side just like this. remembering the warmth of his soft breath against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the way tim's fingers would flex in his sleep cat-like on hawk's bare shoulders. sleepy morning mumbles before hawk brought him his morning tea or coffee, eyes still closed even as he nosed in for expectant kisses. god, it makes his chest ache just thinking about it now - wondering if he'll ever have the exquisite privilege of those things again. but even if he doesn't, the way tim clings to him is more than enough for now - dire circumstances aside. his body has always fit like it belonged there, curled up smaller somehow even if the rational part of his brain knows that tim is the same height as he is.
if it weren't for the adrenaline crash maybe he'd be able to stay up and just watch him for a bit - categorize all the wounds, pester the nurses tomorrow about the ones most likely to scar. but instead he knows it won't be long after tim finally dozes off that he'll be following, and that stings too because it means he doesn't get to savor the opportunity with his eyes closed and mind drifting into dreams instead of basking in every minute they're pressed together like lovers.
but the skittishness, the nerves - the way tim gets startled at the echo of someone dropping a clipboard louder than any of the mechanical beeping and background noise must sound closer to a gunshot than mere clumsiness. his hold tightens instinctively, though he manages to bite back his own tongue from doing something stupid like murmuring out a soft shhh in case he takes it dismissively when it's anything but. thank god it doesn't seem to stick, and when tim nestles in and his body sags once more, hawk finally lets his own eyes slip closed as he presses another soft kiss against his temple.]
I'm not going anywhere, Skippy. Don't you worry.
[another kiss, because he can't get enough of it, and it ends with hawk nuzzling them against his forehead and up into his hair with a soft inhale. his own voice is a hazy rumble, trying to keep his own lightness so it lifts and assures all at once. frankly, because he can't bear hearing tim even remotely close to the way it had been heartbroken so long ago.]
I'll be here in the morning. All day tomorrow. When you get out of the hospital. Back at your place - if you don't kick me out, anyway.
[there's a pause, hawk swallowing against something thick in his throat and realizing his eyes are wet again even as they're squeezed shut tighter.]
[ it's a weak argument, really, and the way he lacks any real conviction in his tone alone proves that tim laughlin is making some sad attempt at a joke. but they both have work to do, don't they? on so many, many levels. so tim nestles in, soaking up the warmth of hawk, even though every squeeze, every breath, every moment, sends pain in waves rippling through him. he'd rather be here and in pain than anywhere else, even if the thought makes him question his own sanity.
after everything hawk could do to him...
but here they are. tim wrapped up in the man, the whirring of machines, the sounds outside - the whole world feels different to him now with hawk in his bed than it had moments before, when he'd woken up disoriented and sick. hawk says he'll be there when he wakes, tomorrow, and all the times after. it sounds like a fairy tale, a promise made by someone who can't keep it. he knows hawk far, far too well for that.
life will call, they'll get busy, and they will easily re-enter the world of cold shoulders and distance. it's only a matter of time.
tim closes his eyes when he hears the watery tone of the other man's voice, deciding this time to allow him the moment in private. tim's arm loops around hawk's middle though as he settles in, palm pressing flat against the low of his back like he always used to when they slept. they fit together like this, perfectly imperfect, with their jagged edges and old wounds. ]
Hawkins Fuller, you do nothing in half measures.
[ he sounds sleepy, words starting to slur a little as he nuzzles in, nose tipping faintly against his jaw. ]
And again - I couldn't kick you out if I tried. [ it's an admission - not just about this bed, this hospital. his apartment. ] I've tried over and over again. I haven't figured it out yet, so you're in luck.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
tim doesn't know how many nights he spent alone, staring at the ceiling and reminiscing on the times when his boy was nuzzled into his side just like this. remembering the warmth of his soft breath against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the way tim's fingers would flex in his sleep cat-like on hawk's bare shoulders. sleepy morning mumbles before hawk brought him his morning tea or coffee, eyes still closed even as he nosed in for expectant kisses. god, it makes his chest ache just thinking about it now - wondering if he'll ever have the exquisite privilege of those things again. but even if he doesn't, the way tim clings to him is more than enough for now - dire circumstances aside. his body has always fit like it belonged there, curled up smaller somehow even if the rational part of his brain knows that tim is the same height as he is.
if it weren't for the adrenaline crash maybe he'd be able to stay up and just watch him for a bit - categorize all the wounds, pester the nurses tomorrow about the ones most likely to scar. but instead he knows it won't be long after tim finally dozes off that he'll be following, and that stings too because it means he doesn't get to savor the opportunity with his eyes closed and mind drifting into dreams instead of basking in every minute they're pressed together like lovers.
but the skittishness, the nerves - the way tim gets startled at the echo of someone dropping a clipboard louder than any of the mechanical beeping and background noise must sound closer to a gunshot than mere clumsiness. his hold tightens instinctively, though he manages to bite back his own tongue from doing something stupid like murmuring out a soft shhh in case he takes it dismissively when it's anything but. thank god it doesn't seem to stick, and when tim nestles in and his body sags once more, hawk finally lets his own eyes slip closed as he presses another soft kiss against his temple.]
I'm not going anywhere, Skippy. Don't you worry.
[another kiss, because he can't get enough of it, and it ends with hawk nuzzling them against his forehead and up into his hair with a soft inhale. his own voice is a hazy rumble, trying to keep his own lightness so it lifts and assures all at once. frankly, because he can't bear hearing tim even remotely close to the way it had been heartbroken so long ago.]
I'll be here in the morning. All day tomorrow. When you get out of the hospital. Back at your place - if you don't kick me out, anyway.
[there's a pause, hawk swallowing against something thick in his throat and realizing his eyes are wet again even as they're squeezed shut tighter.]
I told you. I'm in this for the long haul.
no subject
[ it's a weak argument, really, and the way he lacks any real conviction in his tone alone proves that tim laughlin is making some sad attempt at a joke. but they both have work to do, don't they? on so many, many levels. so tim nestles in, soaking up the warmth of hawk, even though every squeeze, every breath, every moment, sends pain in waves rippling through him. he'd rather be here and in pain than anywhere else, even if the thought makes him question his own sanity.
after everything hawk could do to him...
but here they are. tim wrapped up in the man, the whirring of machines, the sounds outside - the whole world feels different to him now with hawk in his bed than it had moments before, when he'd woken up disoriented and sick. hawk says he'll be there when he wakes, tomorrow, and all the times after. it sounds like a fairy tale, a promise made by someone who can't keep it. he knows hawk far, far too well for that.
life will call, they'll get busy, and they will easily re-enter the world of cold shoulders and distance. it's only a matter of time.
tim closes his eyes when he hears the watery tone of the other man's voice, deciding this time to allow him the moment in private. tim's arm loops around hawk's middle though as he settles in, palm pressing flat against the low of his back like he always used to when they slept. they fit together like this, perfectly imperfect, with their jagged edges and old wounds. ]
Hawkins Fuller, you do nothing in half measures.
[ he sounds sleepy, words starting to slur a little as he nuzzles in, nose tipping faintly against his jaw. ]
And again - I couldn't kick you out if I tried. [ it's an admission - not just about this bed, this hospital. his apartment. ] I've tried over and over again. I haven't figured it out yet, so you're in luck.