[ 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.
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[ 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.