Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A loud thunder wakes Marcus up in the middle of the night and it takes him a few seconds to sit down and blink out of his dream. He’s always been afraid of the storms, ever since he was a little kid, his only irrational fear among the many others he’s got by the efforts of the society he lives in. The lightning illuminates the room and he remembers where he is, in the tiny apartment above Cozy Corner where he fell asleep, exhausted after a day at the office surrounded by very white and extremely homophobic people. He fell asleep in Frankie’s bed, which still smelled like him, while Stormé was still singing downstairs.

The anxious whisper inside Marcus’s head tells him to go home, but the sound of the pouring rain makes him dread going outside. 

“Hey, are you okay, baby?” he hears at his left and he turns to look at Frankie right before another thunder makes him shudder. 

“Sorry. I rarely sleep well during thunderstorms.”

“Come here,” Frankie opens his arms and Marcus lets himself be wrapped by them, lets a feeling of safety slowly fill him up until everything he hears is beating of Frankie’s heart.

“My mom used to sing me when I was afraid,” he mumbles in Frankie’s neck.

“I can sing.”

The storm doesn’t sound so ominous anymore, when it is just a part of the melody that accompanies Frankie’s voice, singing a lullaby. He’s beautiful, the thought is clear as a day before Marcus is falling into the depths of his dreams again.

Chapter Text

Gasping is filling Hawk's ears when he sinks down on Tim's cock, working himself until he takes him all to the hilt. It's not the feeling of being penetrated itself but the expression on Tim's face, his mouth open in pleasure, eyes shut, chin tilted up, that makes Hawk shudder and groan in response. Tim's hands grip Hawk’s hips so hard there are going to be bruises, he's fighting the urge to give in to the action and start thrusting up hard, instead giving them both time to adjust.

Slowly, Hawk moves up and then slides back causing Tim to produce the sounds he would muffle with his hand any other day, lest nosy neighbours hear them, but tonight the rain outside is loud enough to make all Tim's noises muted, more intimate, only for Hawk's ears.

It takes no time for Tim to start snapping his hips up right when Hawk is going down, and the result is enough for Hawk to roll his eyes back in ecstasy.

His orgasm crushes on him too soon like a wave in a sea storm, fierce and unforgiving, and his cry gets lost in a particularly loud thunder, before he collapses on top of Tim, boneless.

Chapter Text

“I saw a young man storming out of your apartment,” Estelle says instead of greetings. Her son looks at her with a neutral expression. “Is he the someone ?”

Ever since she brought the child into this world, she knew it won’t be easy on him. Looking at him now, she thinks that maybe the world was harder on him than she wished.

Not answering the question verbally, Hawkins does something she rarely sees. He looks down and smiles, surrendering, defeated.

“Is he good for you?” Estelle asks.

“I’m not good for him.” her son answers bitterly and shakes his head.

Chapter Text

Hawk is a windstorm of unresolved emotions, a tempest hidden and suppressed inside of him. His love for Tim is so all consuming, it can destroy everything on its way, if he won’t keep it contained. It’s all he can do. Keep it contained.

Chapter Text

It’s a really boring day at work, not much to do, so Tim’s thoughts naturally drift to Hawk. He’s thinking about what they did last night, about the warm feeling of Hawk’s tongue teasing his rim before swirling inside…

Jean’s voice pulls Tim out of his beautiful dream.

“What?” He blinks, “I’m so sorry, I got lost in my thoughts.”

“I said, you can't fool me,” Jean says with a sly smile.

A cold shiver goes down Tim’s spine. For a second he thinks that she somehow saw everything, reflected in his eyes or literally written on his face.

“You said you weren't in love,” Jean continues. “But I can recognize this expression anywhere. What is her name?”

A wave of relief makes Tim’s heart unclench and he feels how all the blood it was holding rushes to his cheeks. All the girl's names immediately leave his head.

“C-Caroline,” he stutters, cursing himself immediately. Hawk would call it not safe.

“Caroline is lucky to have someone like you.” Jean’s smile becomes bigger.

In an attempt to calm down, Tim closes his eyes and Hawk appears instantly in his mind, again. Hawk’s fingers running through Tim’s hair, Hawk holding him close and asking to stay until dawn, a tenderness on Hawk’s face when he looks at him sometimes, a softness in his voice when he says Skippy.

Tim opens his eyes and smiles dreamily, “I’m lucky to have her.”

Chapter Text

“Craig said that according to you he is the best fuck you ever had.” It sounds even more ridiculous when Tim says it out loud.

“It is true. I said it.” Hawk shrugs nonchalantly and smirks. “Does it make you jealous?”

“You can fool Craig,” Tim puts his glass on the table and steps closer. “But you can’t fool me.”

A charged look Hawk gives him makes him shudder. He steps closer still.

“You’re right, I can’t. You know better than anyone, no one ever came close to you,” something vulnerable suddenly flashes on Hawk’s face. “No one ever will.”

Chapter Text

“Fresh meat,” a man puts his tray on the table across from Tim.

Tim opens his mouth, but doesn’t have a chance to say a word before another man almost fully covered with tattoos appears next to him.

“Easy, Bill, I heard he is here for being in a radical religious cult and holding a poor woman hostage.”

“We didn’t hold anyone hostage,” Tim finally answers. “It was a peaceful protest. And it’s not a cult. And Father Lawrence…”

“Oo-ooh, Father Lawrence. So you’re a good Catholic boy, then?” Bill teases.

“I’m in seminary,” Tim says. Or, was in seminary.

The man next to him looks at him closely, squinting.

“You can’t fool me,” he says after a pause. “You’re anyone, but a priest.”

“I’m not a…” Tim starts.

“Don’t listen to Rick. He can get you a great tattoo, but he is shit at reading people,” Bill smiles. “Let me give you some advice. People will bother you less if they think that rumors about holding hostages are true.”

“I also hit a cop,” Tim says. It was more like he pushed him accidentally while running away.

“See, how fast you learn,” Bill winks. “Eat your lunch, Priest.”

Chapter Text

"Ready?" Hawk asked before starting the car.

Tim didn't answer, just looked at him sadly. Hawk couldn't bear how much he wanted to kiss him.

There were no people around so he took his hands off the wheel.

"Hey, come here," he said and touched Tim's chin.

Tim leaned in and Hawk kissed him chastely, just a press of lips, and then he did it again, more firmly, and again. He lingered there, breathing his Skippy in through his nose, not willing to pull back right away.

"What was that for?" Tim whispered into his lips.

"I loved our little trip," Hawk said. "I hate that we have to go back too."

Chapter Text

“What have you done?” Marcus’s voice brings Tim back from his thoughts.

“What?” Tim has no idea what Marcus refers to. Has he said something to Frankie?

He was upset over his break up with Arthur that he himself initiated and the words about how relationships should burn in hell and that gay people should be free and sleep with each other whenever they want might have slipped from his mouth. Knowing the history of Marcus and Frankie’s relationship, he probably shouldn’t have said that. He didn’t even mean it. It’s just that dating wasn’t easy.

“Hawk called. He was stone cold sober, asked me how I was, told me that he patched up things with his wife and daughter. And he talked about his son.”

The mention of Hawk makes Tim’s heart flutter in his chest and he curses his own body for the betrayal.

“Good for him, I guess,” he says drily. A tiny part of him, the one he hides deep down, lets out a relieved exhale.

“What have you done to him?” Marcus repeats the question.

“I made a tough decision to get him out of my life once and for all,” Tim answers. Marcus lifts his eyebrow.

“You’ve never been a convincing liar,” he says after a pause.

Chapter Text

Hawk comes back from the sweetest dream with his arms around Tim's torso, and he moves a bit closer, pulling Tim's back to his chest. A sharp pleasure in the area of his groin, where his morning erection meets Tim's lower back, wakes him up faster than any coffee ever could. He grinds his hips into his ass, deliberately this time, and lets his hand wander under the cover, down until it wraps around Tim's cock, equally hard.

Tim stirs, not fully awake yet, and Hawk withdraws his hand only to lick his palm before getting it back where he wants it. Only after he strokes Tim a couple of times, he feels Tim tense in his arms before relaxing again. He keeps stroking his hardness, rubbing himself on Tim's back. Hawk's lips find his neck, inching closer and closer to his ear.

"Good morning, Skippy," Hawk breathes and Tim's breath hitches.

"Hawk," Tim half whispers half moans. "God, this is the best way to wake up."

"I know," Hawk says and speeds up his hand and the movement of his hips.

The molten pleasure builds in his body but his orgasm still takes him by surprise, as he comes, gasping into Tim's ear and it takes a few more tugs for Tim to follow him.

They catch their breaths for a couple of minutes before Tim turns to face him and kisses him, deep, slowly, luxuriously, like they have all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

“Why do you care? About any of this?”

Hawk almost opens his mouth and says the truth he is not even ready to accept himself.

“Is it because you blame yourself for this?” Tim asks.

Hawk looks down, but doesn’t say anything. What can he say? He does. Everything that happened to Tim for the last eleven years was a direct result of his actions. When he finds strength to look back in Tim’s eyes, they are unexpectedly soft, with the hint of sadness that Hawk can barely stand.

“Well, I don’t blame you. I used to, but…” Tim sighs and licks his lips.

Hawk’s gaze is drawn to it immediately, eyes follow the motion of his tongue and focus on the wetness it left. It takes some time for him to catch up with Tim’s words.

“I know why you did it,” Tim continues. “You thought that I could put your family in danger. You had to drive me away as far as possible. Two years in the Army did nothing for me to get over you, so you made a tough decision. You had to make it hard on me.”

“That’s… not why,” the words leave Hawk mouth before he knows what exactly he wants to say.

Tim looks surprised for a second, but the soft sadness returns too soon.

“I was so happy.” Hawk takes a breath before continuing. “You have no idea how happy I was, how I sleepwalked through my life and only felt alive at those moments with you. You were right, I had to drive you away as far as possible, but not because I thought you’d cause trouble. I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk away from you, Skippy.”

“Would it be that bad?” Tim asks, quietly.

Hawk doesn’t know anymore.

Chapter Text

Hawk turns off the engine and gets out of the car. A wave of cold fresh air makes him shiver, but he still lights a cigarette, looking at the dark house, where his family is sleeping peacefully. He doesn’t want to go inside, he can barely stand the need to drive back to the cabin, fall on his knees and beg Tim to stay here. He can’t though, and after a couple of last drags he opens the passenger door with already freezing fingers. He hesitates, choosing between waking Jackson up and trying to carry him into his room like that.

In the moonlight, his son looks so much like Lucy, back when she was a young girl. The thought of Lucy brings the memories from a few hours ago. You are a beautiful woman. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Hawk picks Jackson up and manages to take him to his room without interrupting his sleep, or so he thinks. When he pulls off his jacket and boots and wraps him into the blanket, his son opens his eyes.

“Hey, you’re home,” Hawk sits beside him and strokes his hair.

“Are you mad at me?” Jackson croaks.

Hawk shakes his head.

“Are you gonna tell mom?”

“No,” Hawk says, and his heart is bleeding when he says the next words. “If you won’t tell her about my friend.”

“Is he gonna stay?”

“I hope so,” Hawk answers, too late realizing he said too much, but Jackson smiles, suddenly.

“You didn’t lie,” his son says, “for the first time this weekend.”

Chapter Text

“Ugh, fuck!” Hawk's voice fills the room as Tim does that particular thing with his tongue, pushing at the base of Hawk's cock with it while sucking him deep into his mouth. 

Hawk doesn’t touch him, keeping his hands to himself, because he loves giving Tim control of his pleasure, more than he’s willing to admit out loud. He loves being brought to the precipice and, instead of pushing Tim's head down faster, urging him to finish him off, Hawk plays the game of guessing if Tim decides to make him come. 

It's always the combination of how impatient Tim is tonight, how much he wants to come himself, how long it's been since their last time together and of course, how desperate Hawk is. 

Right now, he is desperate enough to start begging, all thoughts are gone, there is only the heat of Tim's mouth, the push and swirl of his tongue, the vibrations of his moans, and his hands roaming all over Hawk's ass, thighs and stomach. 

“God, Skippy,” Hawk cries out again, signaling his desperation again. He does mental math and is pretty sure Tim will let him come in a span of thirty seconds. 

He's wrong. 

With an obscene noise, Tim pulls back completely and as the divine heat leaves Hawk's cock, the shock of it almost pushes Hawk over the edge, and he hears a whine escaping his throat – a pathetic sound he never produced during sex.

He looks down at fake innocence on Tim's face and realizes what is happening.

With another pathetic groan Hawk wraps his hand around himself and it takes exactly five strokes before his release hits Tim's face, leaving white stains on his glasses, his chin and his forehead.

Hawk pulls Tim on his feet and surges forward to kiss him, tasting himself on his lips.

“Fucking hell,” he says when he pulls back. “That was the best birthday present, Skippy.”

“We're not done,” Tim promises hoarsely as his eyes light up with delight at the praise.

Another game begins.

Chapter Text

“Where have you gone?” Hawk's voice cuts off Marcus's string of thoughts, and he reluctantly tears his eyes from Frankie, who maneuvers gracefully between the tables on the other side of Cozy Corner, swaying his hips a little more than usual, knowing exactly that it drives Marcus insane.

“Nowhere,” Marcus says, putting on his most convincing tone. “You were saying?”

Hawk squints, deciding if he believes him, but continues.

“I said, the Rehoboth trip was productive.”

“So I heard,” Marcus teases. He met Tim yesterday, blooming like a spring flower, looking so lovesick that Marcus got genuinely worried. The boy can't hide his feelings to save his life and it may become quite literal one day.

Marcus looks at Frankie again and is met with stunning eyes already staring right back at him. Frankie smirks and winks, and goes back to his work. Marcus must be the one who looks lovesick right now. One day he'll take him to the beach and it'll be their turn to spend the weekend productively. Right now their time is limited to this, to longing looks and teasing sway of hips, and a few hours at nights after Frankie's shift.

Chapter Text

A subtle hold on my forearm. A tear, blinked out too fast, before there is a risk for it to fall. “Can I kiss you one last time?” breathed out tentatively, but desperate, like a prayer said for the first time in years in the silence of the church. A relief on his face when I nodded. A soft press of his hand on my face followed by a careful, gentle press of his lips. A trembling, shaky exhale. His face, buried in my neck. Arms wrapped around me like a warm blanket in cold weather. “I will miss you, Skippy.” whispered in my shoulder, too quiet for it to mean to be heard.

Chapter Text

“Fifteen minutes, Laughlin!” The guard shouts before letting Tim into the meeting room.

“How are you?” Tim can hear a hint of worry in Maggie’s voice even though she looks absolutely calm. She hugs him before checking him out properly. “Do they feed you at all?”’

“I’m okay. How are Mom and Dad?”

“They are managing. I distract them by leaving my children with them often.” Maggie answers. “Dad still wants to find you a lawyer.”

“I said, I have a lawyer.” Tim objects. “He is the best.”

“Can you afford him though?”

“I can’t, but… It’s a favor from a friend.”

“What kind of friend is it if he pays for a first class lawyer for you?”

Tim sighs. Sometimes talking to his family is too exhausting. He leans closer to Maggie, lowering his voice.

“His name is Hawkins Fuller. We used to…” Tim cuts off, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Maggie is watching him attentively. “Hawk and I… We were…”

Tim bites his lip.

“Oh,” Maggie looks surprised only for a second before pieces of the puzzle find their places in her head.

Tim’s heart is beating fast, but not because he is afraid. He is in prison, but he feels more free than he’s ever had. Maggie holds out her hand and he takes it, squeezing it as a silent thank you.

“I always wanted to tell you,” Tim says.

“That makes sense,” Maggie laughs. Then, her gaze falls on Tim’s extended arm. “Is it… a tattoo?”

Tim smiles. “This is prison.”

“Let me see.”

“Rick, the guy from my block, is a tattoo artist. He said you have to get a tattoo unless you want to attract attention.”

“A crown of thorns. It’s very you.”

“Rick suggested it. In fact, he suggested a skull with a crown. I had to give him all my cigarettes before he agreed to change it to a cross.”

“So you got friends here?”

“I suppose you can call them that. They call me Priest here. Even guard, sometimes.”

“I always thought you’d become a priest. I’m sorry they had to expel you from seminary.”

“It seems that God has other plans for me.”

“Laughlin! Time!” The guard shouts again.

“Just. Be careful. Promise me.” Maggie whispers in his ear after kissing his cheek.

“I will be okay. I’m used to… being careful.” Tim promises.

Chapter Text

“Can I open my eyes?”

“A few more steps, Skippy,” Hawk holds his arm around Tim’s waist, helping him not fall on the floor, considering that Tim’s eyes are closed.

“More like ‘a dozen more steps, Skippy’,” Tim says, when they finally stop.

“You can open them,” Hawk says and kisses his cheek.

“Hawk? Where are we?” Tim looks scared for a moment, taking in a spacious room. Hawk chuckles.

“In our new apartment,” he murmurs into Tim’s ear. “Surprise, Skippy.”

“Our new…” Tim turns to look at Hawk’s eyes, checking if this is a joke. “Does it mean…?”

“That we’re going to live together.” Hawk says. “If you want to.”

He suddenly realizes that he assumed Tim would want to live with him without actually discussing it with him first. A drop of cold sweat slides down his neck at the possibility of Tim saying no.

“What about..? Hawk, what if someone will know?”

“It’s an expensive apartment. Easier to afford if you split with someone. It has two bedrooms and it’s big enough for two grown up men.” A couple of years ago the idea of living together was so preposterous and dangerous, Hawk couldn’t even let himself dream about it. Even now, he is still not sure if this is an insanity or a huge mistake. He winks, trying to act nonchalantly anyway. “Although we’re going to use only one.”

“Hawk, I don’t know what to say,” Tim whispers.

“Say yes.”

“Yes.” Tim doesn’t hesitate.

Warmth blooms in Hawk’s chest at the sound of it, spreading all over his body. He winks again and picks Tim up effortlessly, then kisses him softly.

“Now let me show you our bedroom.”

Chapter Text

“Hawk. Hawk!” Tim whispers loudly, trying to focus on something except Hawk’s lips on his neck and Hawk’s hand creeping inside the waistband of his trousers.

“I can’t wait anymore, Skippy,” Hawk breathes into his ear, biting his earlobe and eliciting a moan that catches in Tim’s throat at the last moment. “You look so delectable in a tuxedo.”

“Hawk, we’re in a church.”

“Technically, we’re outside the church,” Hawk moves to Tim’s collarbone and bites him there.

The thing is, when Hawk saw him dressed, he almost ended up undressing him again and they almost ended up arriving late for the wedding of Hawk’s best friend Lucy, where Hawk was supposed to be the one who walks her down the aisle, instead of her father who died a few years ago. Hawk was fucking him with his eyes during the whole ceremony and once they walked out of the church, Tim was forcibly dragged around the corner into the bushes and pressed to the church wall. Before he could make a sound, Hawk was kissing him, deep and filthy, and his hands were undoing the first two buttons of Tim’s shirt.

“Lucy will be looking for us,” Tim tries once again.

“Then we have to be quick.” Hawk’s hand finally opens Tim’s trousers and sneaks inside, cupping his traitorously half hard cock.

“If we get caught it’s your fault,” Tim manages to breathe between attempts to suppress groans that threaten to leave his mouth.

Hawk looks at his eyes for a second before dropping to his knees, and Tim’s head rolls back, hitting the cold bricks of the church behind him.

Chapter Text

Anticipation swirled in Hawk’s body, sweet like wine, electric like the air on a stormy night. When Tim’s tongue touched overheated skin between his shoulder blades, he shivered and gasped softly.

Tim moved lower, kissing along his spine, and every touch of his lips left a feeling of being hugged by a thousand petals but at the same time of being peeled like a ripped fruit. Tender. Exposed.

It’s only when Tim’s mouth reached the small of his back and his tongue darted out again to lick dangerously close to the place between his asscheeks, Hawk’s anxiety stirred inside him again. He's always preferred getting quick to the point, with barely any preparation, so his brain didn’t have time to freak out over the amount of the trust and vulnerability it takes to be that intimate with someone. Now, on his hands and knees, he was torn between wanting for Tim to fuck him and finish this sweet torture, and stay in the world of soft touches, loving, subtle touches that lit every cell in his body alive.

Then, the tongue disappeared and Tim shifted on the bed behind him. A shiver of disappointment ran through Hawk's body.

“You're tense.” Tim sighed, then bent down and kissed his shoulder. Simply. Softly. “I want to make you feel good. I'll stop if you say so.”

Tim's hands rubbed his back, and Hawk told himself to relax.

“I'm sorry. Please come back to what you've been doing,” Hawk said, surprised with how needy he sounded.

With another kiss to Hawk's back, Tim dipped down and licked a hot wet stripe from Hawk's balls to his hole.

A sound dangerously close to yelp escaped Hawk's lips as a shockwave ran through him, making him collapse on his elbows. Affected by the reaction, Tim repeated the action, with a quiet but obscene moan.

“Jesus,” Hawk whispered, mostly to himself.

Tim's hands kept his hips in an iron grip. A slick, hot tongue carefully entered a tight ring of Hawk's rim and when Hawk ordered himself to relax once again, Tim moaned louder, a muffled desperate sound that left Hawk shaking.

Every touch of Tim's lips and tongue, every graze of his teeth along Hawk's asscheek was somehow intensified by vibrations of muffled noises Tim made, an air form his exhales gently tickled Hawk's skin and the feeling, in the contrast with sharp pain caused by Tim’s nails dug into his sides, was driving Hawk close to the edge with terrifying speed, but not close enough.

“Skippy, oh fuck, Skippy,” Hawk begged.

Tim's hands squeezed him gently, a wordless I've got you, and without ceasing his efforts he sneaked one of the hands under Hawk and wrapped it around Hawk's desperately hard cock.

It took Hawk a couple of minutes — or maybe hours, he couldn’t tell — of firm strokes and wet slide of the tongue, before the heat that was pooling in his stomach became the roaring fire. When it finally had burned to embers, Hawk slowly became aware that Tim moved to kiss his back again, moving upwards, rubbing Hawk’s sides, caressing his hair, just petting him everywhere — the gesture so simple but somehow undoing.

Hawk moved to lay on his side and yanked Tim down in his arms, kissing him.

“How’d that feel?” Tim asked when they parted.

“So good,” Hawk answered, wanting to see Tim’s happy face, but mostly because he meant it.

Chapter Text

Cold fingers, burning his skin. “May I?” not a question, a request to give up everything for a promise of a moment of breathtaking excitement. The cross meets the bedpost, a biting sound of his freedom to worship something else. Someone else. He waits for the touch to return, for the lips to press to his heated flesh, for piercing blue eyes to allow him to drown in them. He wishes to be led, to be directed, to be trapped. He wishes to be free even though he knew the moment Hawkins Fuller touched him that he will never be.

Chapter Text

“Do you need help with that?” Hawk’s hands froze in the air, a couple of inches from Tim.

Tim nodded. He was trying to get rid of his suit, but his fingers wouldn’t listen. The gala protest was a huge success, but it consumed nearly all his energy. Hawk insisted that they return to the hospital, but Tim wanted to go back to his apartment to change his clothes first.

Hawk smiled, trying to hide his relief, and made quick work on the top coat of Tim’s tux. Slowly, he brought his hands up to Tim’s shoulders and pulled it off, never looking away from Tim’s eyes.

It felt strangely intimate, more intimate than everything they’ve done before. Tim suddenly felt naked despite still standing almost fully clothed. For the first time in a while he didn’t feel wrong. More than that, he felt right.

Hawk’s fingers moved to unbutton his shirt. He slowly pulled at one sleeve, then another, leaving Tim in an undershirt.

Hawk hesitated again over the button of Tim’s trousers. “May I?”

Tim nodded again, but then chuckled, not able to help himself. Hawk looked at him questioningly.

“You never were so careful. Like I might break.”

“I’m not careful,” Hawk shook his head. “I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

Hawk opened Tim’s trousers, and they easily slid down his legs. Hawk’s hands lingered on Tim’s hips. He stepped closer and put his forehead against Tim’s.

“Because of what you said today. I realized I never said it back.” Hawk whispered.

“You never needed to.” Tim cupped his face.

“I love you, Skippy.” Hawk breathed into Tim’s lips. Then he pulled back a little to meet his eyes. “I have loved you from the moment I saw you.”

Tim took a step back, sitting on the bed, missing the warmth of Hawk’s body the second later.

“You’re not making it easy, Hawk.”

“No, I’m making it right.”

Chapter Text

“Tim Laughlin speaking,” Tim says into the phone.

“Hello,” a familiar voice comes from the other side. Tim freezes. “It's Lucy. Lucy Fuller.”

A cold shiver goes down his spine. It's been two months since he left Hawk on Fire Island. Can Lucy be calling him because he...? Tim shakes the thought away. If Hawk was dead, he would be the last person she called.

“Good evening, Mrs Fuller.”

Frankie in front of him abandons his work and raises both eyebrows.

“I'm calling to say thank you.”

“What for?” Tim asks after a pause. He doesn't want to hear the answer. 

“For bringing Hawk home.” When Tim doesn't say anything, she continues. “He stopped drinking. At all.” 

It's ironic how Tim feels relieved and angry at the same time. 

“Who said it has anything to do with me?”

“Hawk did. Not directly. He told me that it's over between you two.” 

“Mrs Fuller…” He begins, intending to end this conversation. It's enough to know that Hawk is alive.

“May I ask you something?” Lucy interrupts him. “Is it? Over?” 

Tim closes his eyes and takes a breath. Hawk's begging, broken figure appears under his eyelids. And then, a tired man who lost his son. I'm free, said but not meant.

“Yes.” Tim answers and puts the phone down, wondering when he learned to lie so well.

Chapter Text

Tim’s lips on Hawk’s neck, right where it meets his shoulder, feel so good it hurts. It hurts so much to do what he has to instead of what he wants to. Tim’s had enough to drink at Cozy Corner and Hawk needs to call him a taxi, but Tim’s perfect, sweet lips are making their way up to his ear and it’s almost impossible to focus. For a second, Hawk closes his eyes and imagines taking him home, undressing him, tucking into his bed, wrapping his arms around him and never letting go.

Tim sucks Hawk’s earlobe into his mouth and Hawk thanks all the gods that they’re sitting in the very corner, cozy indeed, so nobody sees how his lips part in the silent gasp.

“May I tell you a secret?” Tim whispers, slurring from all the alcohol he consumed that night.

Hawk doesn’t want to know but instead of telling this he hears himself whispering back. “Tell me.”

“Sometimes I wish I could tie you down to my bed and never let you out of my room. So I could keep you all to myself.” Tim’s tongue swirls inside Hawk’s ear and the shocking wetness makes him gasp again, not so silently this time. Only then Tim’s words finally settle in his head.

It hurts even more now, the realization that Tim echoed his own thoughts. He should have stayed away from him, to let him go before he knew how exquisite his lips felt on his neck. Before Tim’s stupid drunk face began to make his heart flutter in his chest. Before the idea of sending him home alone in a taxi began to make him want to jump out of the window.

He pulls Tim’s face up until he looks at him, dazed, unfocused, smiling.

“I’ll think about it. The tying down part,” Hawk says and winks, trying to sound nonchalant, as if he doesn’t fight his every cell to keep his own secret under the surface.

For a moment Tim’s eyes sober up and Hawk sees gratitude for not dismissing him entirely the way Hawk used to at Tim’s confessions of his feelings in the beginning of their relationship, a wordless thank you Hawk knows he doesn’t deserve.

Chapter Text

“It’s not what you think.” Hawk can’t believe this is what his panicking brain came up to. This is exactly what Tim thinks and they both know it.

“So, it’s not a ring?” Tim teases him.

“It is, but it is not…”

Tim’s eyebrows lift up.

”You weren’t supposed to find it.” Hawk gives up.

He spent quite some time choosing this ring, a perfect engagement ring Tim deserved, and was stupid enough to put it in the safe, the safe Tim also had access to. God knows why Hawk thought Tim wouldn't need to open it until their ten year anniversary in four weeks. It’s embarrassing really, Hawk wanted to ask Tim to marry him during the dinner in their favorite restaurant, but now he is caught like a deer in the headlights, and he has nothing to do but to admit the truth.

“Hawk,” Tim says softly. “Were you going to ask me something?”

Hawk nods, not looking at him.

“May I ask you instead?”

Hawk shakes his head, but Tim goes down on his knee anyway.

“Hawk,” Tim holds his hands and all the embarrassment and anger leaves Hawk as he looks in Tim’s eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will. There is nothing I’d want more.” Hawk answers and Tim’s smile reminds him that sometimes perfect is not how. It’s who.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” a voice pulls Billy from his thoughts. “Do you have a cigarette? I forgot mine in the other coat.”

Billy blinks a few times and finally recognizes his neighbour. An old man, way above 80, lives alone in the tiny apartment on the second floor. The only visitor Billy ever noticed was a woman, probably his daughter.

“Mr Fuller.” Billy pulls out his cigarette pack. The neighbour takes one with shaking hands.

He wordlessly suggests a lighter and Mr Fuller nods.

“Should you smoke at your age?” Billy makes an attempt to joke.

“Should you lie to your mother?” The old man suddenly says.

Billy remembers the last time his mother called. When she asked if he found himself a girlfriend, he contemplated telling her the truth, just for one second. He is seeing a girl from his work, he said instead. It’s not serious yet, but he hopes it will work out. He felt sick when he hung up the phone then, a feeling that became a part of him by now.

“The walls are thin,” Mr Fuller explains. “And my hearing is still good. Unlike my sight.”

He takes a drag from his cigarette and continues. “But I still see enough to distinguish a man from a woman. I’m pretty sure I saw a man getting out of your car last night.”

Billy finally shakes out of his trance.

“It’s not your business,” he snaps. “And it surely is not my mother’s business.”

“You stupid idiot,” Mr Fulles says. “It’s 2004. You kids have a choice now, and you still choose to stay in the closet. I would kill to have this kind of choice back in the fifties.”

“You’re gay?” Billy’s anger leaves him all at once.

“I never liked that word,“ the old man snorts. “But I guess this is who I am.”

“Sometimes I want to tell her. My mother.”

“My family learned the truth the hard way.” Mr Fuller throws the cigarette butt in the trash can.

“What would you do?” Billy calls him when he turns to leave. “if you had a choice?”

“I would choose to be free.”

As Mr Fuller walks away, Billy contemplates calling his mother again. Not today, he decides, but maybe tomorrow. He can do it at any moment.

Chapter Text

Tim never believed in fate. The concept of fate implied that one doesn't have a free will, a choice.

And in that case, what's the point in changing anything? No matter what you do, your fate will always bring you where you have to be. And Tim wanted to change so many things in this world. To make a difference.

Tim always refused to think that fate existed until he met Hawkins Fuller.

That night Tim knew that he didn't have a choice but to fall in love.

Now, 35 years later his love transformed, evolved, changed, but never ceased, no matter how much Tim wished it to.

Even if nothing was left except anger, his love for Hawk was still bigger, stronger. It burned inside him, even if there was barely anything left to burn.

Fate or not, he knew that Kenny's paperweight, that he chose to keep all these years, had to get back to Hawk and not be thrown away after Tim is gone. He looked at it for the last time, feeling the weight of it in his hands, before putting it into a box.

Next week Marcus will make sure to return it in its place.

Chapter Text

“What do you think?” Marcus asks.

“What an interesting… choice.” Hawk exhales the cigarette smoke.

Marcus's face falls. He closes the cup of the red lipstick and puts it back into the box.

“Do you think he won't like it?”

“Frankie will love it,” Tim says, smiling reassuringly. “I think it's a great present for his birthday.”

Marcus smiles back, relieved, and relaxes in his chair.

“Thank you,” he says, then looks at Hawk. “At least one of you is useful.”

“Fuck you, my friend,” Hawk retorts.

“You wish.”

“What are you arguing about?” Frankie suddenly appears at their table with fresh drinks.

“Nothing,” Marcus says and quickly puts the tiny box in his pocket. Tim could swear Marcus's cheeks change their usual color.

“Okay then,” Frankie winks. “See you later, honey?”

“Sure,” Marcus nods.

Tim could swear the fires of anticipation in his eyes can light up the whole room.

Chapter Text

“So, you’re my new cellmate,” comes the voice from the top bunk bed, as soon as the guard closes the door.

Tim looks up and forgets his own name, because the most beautiful, stunning, dark haired guy with ice blue eyes is looking down at him with interest.

When Tim opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, the guy smirks, and jumps down from the bed gracefully, then gives Tim a once-over.

“I’m Hawk,” the guy introduces himself.

“Tim,” Tim finally regains his ability to speak. “Which one is my bed?”

“You can take this one,” Hawk points out to the bottom bed. Then, he lowers his voice. “I prefer to be on top.”

Tim's breath hitches. Hawk, delighted at his reaction, chuckles.

“Thanks,” Tim manages, before putting his stuff on the bed, relieved at the distraction from Hawk's biceps, looking especially gorgeous in the white tank top.

“What did you do to get here?” Hawk asks.

“Participated in anti-war protests,” Tim answers. “And you?”

“I did some dirty work for one Senator, you know, blackmailing his enemies, bribing police so they destroy his son's record of a drunken fight, things like that.” Hawk sits on Tim's bed next to him.

Their arms touch and Tim has to put work into focusing on his cellmate's words.

“One of his opponents had his own fixer. The guy found dirt on me while I was searching for dirt on his boss. Basically I'm here for bribery.”

“At least you're not a killer or something,” Tim jokes.

“Who said I'm not?” Hawk winks. “Bribery is all they could prove.”

Tim can't tell if he's joking, but laughs just in case anyway. He can feel the heat radiating from Hawk's body next to him, and when he looks at his companion, he finds his face even closer than it was before.

Suddenly, Hawk brings his hand to Tim's neck. Tim gasps when his fingers gently brush his skin only to pull at his necklace, until his cross is out of his shirt.

“Religious type, aren't you?” Hawk smirks.

“I've been recently excluded from seminary.”

“A priest, huh.” Hawk's grin becomes bigger. He shamelessly looks at Tim's lips. “I’ve never fucked a priest.”

Tim gasps. The desire to kiss this man he knows almost nothing about would knock him down if he wasn't already sitting.

Before he does something stupid, the guard opens the door and announces dinner time.

“Later.” Hawk gets up and winks again.

Tim shivers. The prison is going to be a bigger trial than he imagined.

Chapter Text

It's unusually dark outside. Tim is making his way home from the little friend gathering Mary invited him to. Tim smiles thinking of the nice guy he danced with just a couple of hours ago.

There are no people on the street, that's why a sound immediately catches Tim’s attention. He slows down his pace and looks at the direction of a dark alley between two buildings. When he comes closer, he sees two men, one pressing another to the wall, his face buried in the other's neck.

A loud moan comes from the man's mouth, Tim can't tell which one's, and only then he finally puts two and two together.

Before he is noticed, he takes a couple of steps back, but something snaps under his feet and the man pulls away from the other's neck and turns to look at Tim. For a second Tim thinks he is going to die from embarrassment, but at this moment the moon comes out from the clouds and suddenly he can see the guy's face clearly.

There is blood dripping down his mouth and his chin. Tim freezes in his place, not able to move under the vampire's gaze.

The man he's been feeding from lets out another moan, closes his eyes, and passes out. The vampire carefully puts his body on the ground and wipes his mouth.

“Don't worry about him,” he says to Tim. “He'll wake up in a couple of hours thinking he's got too much to drink.”

Tim stares at the vampire's cold blue eyes, processing his words.

“You smell like milk,” the vampire says, his eyes open wide in surprise. He comes closer to Tim, and takes a deep breath. “Milk, church, and the fresh smell of another male.”

“I danced with someone,” Tim answers for some reason, mesmerized by the proximity to the man. In moonlight he can see how unearthly attractive he is.

“I can hear your heart beating,” the vampire whispers. Only now Tim notices how it pounds in his ribcage, but not because of fear at all. “You’re lucky I already had my dinner, because your neck is too pretty.”

With that, the stranger disappears, leaving Tim in an alley, finally able to move. He checks that the man on the ground is alive and resumes his way home, wondering what the hell was that.

Chapter Text

“Have you ever considered yourself to be in love with another male?”

Has Hawk considered it? Of course he has.

A long time ago he thought what he had with Kenny was what people called “being in love”. The kind of love people wrote books about. But Kenny was gone and the memories of him turned into distant whispers, more and more becoming an image, a story Hawk told himself. He could barely remember what color Kenny's eyes were, what his voice sounded like. Now, fifteen years later he couldn't remember if he was ever truly in love. It was almost easy to say he wasn't.

Has Hawk considered himself to be in love with Tim? The range of emotions Tim caused in him made him question himself—if he once thought he was in love with Kenny, then what his feelings for Tim were? The word “love” alone wasn't right. Wasn’t enough.

“Answer the question.”

The image came to mind: Tim on a hotel bed, looking up at him, slowly taking off his cross, ready to worship Hawk instead of his God. 

Tim was in love with Hawk. What Hawk felt for him was not it. It was more, so much more.

He was fascinated by Tim. He needed him. He desired him, with every cell of his body. He was obsessed with him. He wanted to be a part of him. He wanted to claim him, to hold him and never let go. Sometimes, in the darkness of his own room, holding Tim close to his chest and listening to him snore quietly, just for several honest seconds he wanted to be him.

But was he in love with him?

“No,” Hawk answered. Technically, it wasn't a lie.

Chapter Text

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“How is he?” Lucy asked him instead of greetings.

Hawk thought about the last twenty four hours and a cold, unpleasant shiver went down his spine. It's a matter of months, Tim said.

“Not good,” he answered. “Luce, I… I'm not going to be home by Friday.”

“Okay.”

“His sister looks after him, but she is exhausted. She needs a break,” he started an explanation.

“I said okay, Hawk.” Lucy cut him off.

“Are you sure?” He expected questions or sigh of disappointment, or even a reproach, but not just “okay”.

“Whatever the reason is, you already decided you're staying,” Lucy said calmly, emotionlessly. He couldn’t tell whether she skilfully contained herself or really felt nothing at the news. “How many days?”

He remembered Tim's face, so different after all these years, yet so painfully familiar. How long are you staying?

As long as you allow me, he wanted to say.

“Maggie will be back in a week,” he said instead.

“Are you going to stay at the hotel or…?”

“I don't think it would be practical. I need to be close to him.” He hadn't realized how true his words were until he said them aloud. “In case something happens,” he added.

“Of course you are,” Lucy said.

“Tim’s number and address is on my desk, under the books.” Hawk wrote it on some random paper but later it was carefully rewritten into his notebook.

“Hawk.” Lucy hesitated before continuing. “I told Kimberly where you are. She asked questions.”

“I'll talk to her when I'm back,” Hawk promised. Seven years ago, when he returned home from Fire Island, Kim asked who Tim Laughlin was. It doesn't matter anymore, Hawk said. It was another lie. Tim always mattered, more than Hawk wished him to. Always silently present in Hawk's life, always sitting at the table during breakfast between him and Lucy, always lying on the motel bed between him and a guy whose name Hawk didn't bother to learn.

“I love you,” Hawk said to Lucy before putting the phone down, quickly, as if she could somehow figure out it wasn't her face he imagined when he said the words.

He counted to ten before taking the receiver again and calling Tim, just to check how he was.

Chapter Text

“Jax?” Kimberly finds him in the backyard, sitting on a swing. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to wipe his tears, because boys don’t cry. Boys shouldn’t cry, especially in the presence of their little sisters.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, sitting down next to him.

Jackson thinks of their father, coming home a couple hours ago. “I missed you so much,” he said to him and Kimberly and kissed their mother. A perfect acting game, like Jaskson hasn’t seen him kissing a man in his car a few days ago.

“Talk to me,” Kimberly nudges him with her shoulder.

He looks at her. She is too little, too innocent to know how disappointing the world could be. It’s right to let her live in an illusion that their family is happy as long as possible. Jackson wished someone would do that for him. He would lie to her like their parents do in order to protect her.

“Promise you won’t tell mom and dad,” he winks conspiratorially and takes out a butt of the cigarette he smoked yesterday but forgot to throw away from his pocket.

Kim’s eyes widen in shock and something resembling respect. “I won’t tell,” she whispers.

Swallowing another wave of tears, he wonders if life ever gets easier.

Chapter Text

The doctor’s words kept running in Jerome’s head since he learned the results of his test. He hasn’t noticed when exactly Frankie came home.

“Talk to me,” Frankie puts two beers on the kitchen table, making him jump.

He shouldn’t have come home today. Jerome opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. No matter what he says, it won’t change anything. It won’t make him feel less lost, less angry, less guilty.

Instead he takes the paper from the hospital out of his pocket and gives them to Frankie, counting seconds. Disappointment in one, two…

“Oh, baby,” Frankie says. Not disappointment. Pain. “Come here.”

Suddenly he is wrapped by Frankie’s strong arms and the comforting scent of his perfume. His body shudders in an uncontrolled sob.

“I should h.. have gotten used to this helpless feeling by now,” he weeps into Frankies’ shoulder. “I went through this before. When I lived on the st..street.”

“Look at me,” Frankie takes his face in his hands. Jerome is almost glad that everything is blurry from the tears, so he can’t see clearly the expression of pity he must be wearing. “ You shouldn't have. Nobody should get used to this. You are not alone, darling. You have me. You have Marcus. You have the community. We will fight for you, you hear me?”

He nods, grateful. Frankie’s hands wrap around him once again and hold him until he feels less lost, less angry, less guilty.

Chapter Text

Hawk's hand freezes a few inches above the handset. It's stupid. It's utterly, undeniably stupid.

It's been a year since he got that call from Tim's sister. That day, he went out to buy a bottle of vodka, but instead took the train to his daughter's. 

“I need to talk to someone,” he’d said when Kimberly opened the door. He'd told her everything he could allow himself to say out loud. He'd told her his friend died, a friend he cared about a lot. He'd told her as much as Tim's name. “He was decent”, he'd said, “perhaps the most decent man in this indecent world.”

Now, a year later Hawk still goes out and doesn't buy a bottle he wants so much to drown his pain in. He goes to the nearest phone booth and calls Marcus, or Kimberly, or, once, Lucy, because the comfort of her restrained voice is still something that gives him stability, something to hold on to.

Today, though, it's a different number his fingers itch to dial. He doesn't know why—Tim won't answer. 

With a deep breath he takes the phone and puts the quarter down the coin acceptor. The answer is almost immediate. A soft man's voice says “Hello?” and for a second, just for a second, Hawk can imagine this voice to belong to the person he misses so much. One second is enough.

“Tim?” The name is out of his mouth faster than he can catch it. Hawk knows, of course he knows this is not him, but his old, traitorous heart jumps in anticipation anyway.

“I think you dialed the wrong number,” the man on the other side says, and now Hawk can hear it clearly. He has a subtle southern accent, and his voice is higher than Tim's. He is probably way younger, too. “There is no Tim.”

“Sorry,” Hawk says. “My friend used to live there.”

“Is he really your friend if you didn't know he moved away?” The man asks. “I have lived in this flat for almost a year.”

“He didn't move,” Hawk corrects. “He died of AIDS.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man apologizes after a pause. It sounds genuine, so Hawk takes it.

“Sometimes I feel like this is all a dream and he is still there, you know?” Hawk tells the man. “I just needed to make sure he was not there.”

“I understand,” the man says. “Tim was his name?”

“Timothy Laughlin.” There is something… different in talking about Tim with a stranger. So far he only touched on this topic with the same three people he could trust. This, now, feels weird, but liberating. The man on the other side is renting the flat in Castro, so he probably does understand him, one way or another. So it’s easy to say the sacred words, the confession. “He was the man I loved for 35 years. Half of my life.”  

“My friend is a counselor,” the man says. “If you ever want to talk with a specialist about it.” 

“I don't think I'm ready,” Hawk laughs. 

“Call me if you ever are,” the man says.

Will he ever be? 

“Thank you,” Hawk says—not for the advice—and puts the phone down.  

Chapter Text

“And on Sunday we need to get a Christmas gift for everyone before it’s too late and… Earth to Oliver,” Jenny ruffled her son’s hair, noticing he doesn’t listen to her.

“Sorry, I’m just thinking about this project,” Oliver sighs. Jenny smiles brightly. When did her son grow up into a person with his own projects?

He is one of the managers in LGBTQA+ clubs in his college. Jenny was a little bit nervous for his safety when he started to organize events for queer youth on campus, but still she couldn’t be more proud of him.

“Tell me about the project,” she asks.

“It’s a… kind of exhibition dedicated to the queer history. We’re going to launch it in January and read a few lectures and open discussions. And I need to choose a topic I want to talk about, but I’m stuck, because there are so many.”

“Hmm.” Jenny taps her fingers on the sofa as she thinks. “Did you know my grandfather was gay?”

“Yes, you told me,” Oliver laughs. “That was the first thing you told me when I came out.”

“I don’t remember that much, but your grandmother Kimberly was actually pretty close with him. He lived through both the Lavender scare and AIDS crisis, and everything in between. I bet she can tell you a lot about him. Maybe she still has letters, or pictures.”

“What do you remember?” Oliver sounds interested.

Jenny thinks about the times she was a little girl. “I remember Mom often left us with Grandma and Grandpa. They had a big house, probably too big for two of them. Then Grandpa got a job somewhere in Europe and they were going to move there. I remember the big party they threw to celebrate the occasion. But a couple of weeks later they canceled it and Grandma moved to live with us.”

“Took him pretty long enough to come out, then,” Oliver says.

“I think it was ‘86 or ‘87.” Jenny does mental math, “he should have been in his late sixties. But that's not really the point there.”

“What is the point, then?”

“I don’t think he had an opportunity to come out back then, Ollie,” Jenny says softly. “Not like you did, anyway. And my Grandma Lucy, she always knew who he was.”

“So she knew she was the cover but still started a family with him?”

“I think that’s why you should talk to my Mom, even if you’ll end up choosing another topic,” Jenny shakes her head. “You’re looking at his story through the 21th century glasses. Besides that, she might tell you about his love story, as a bonus.” Jenny winks. “They loved each other for thirty five years. I think he was an LGBT activist, the man he loved. Like you.”

“Okay,” Oliver says after a pause. “I guess you’re right.”

“Hey, Ollie. I think what you do in your club—educating people—is beautiful.” She doesn’t remember if she ever told him that. “Your grand-grandpa would be proud of you. I’m proud of you.”

Chapter Text

Usually, Tim is in control of this. He doesn’t allow himself to think of sinful things when he touches himself. He usually doesn’t touch himself at all. Doesn’t allow himself to do that, really. To act on his desires. A couple of minutes of pleasure it brings isn't worth the feeling of guilt and dread that always follows.

But tonight he can’t help himself. Ever since he learned the name of the blindly attractive stranger he met on the Election night party, a month and half ago, Tim couldn't stop thinking about him. He’s been coming to him in his dreams. ‘Learned’ is a wrong word, too. It’s more like Tim obsessively went through the Biographic register of the Department of State, and found only one man that could be him. There weren’t really a lot of men, born in the late 10s or early 20s in New York, as the stranger’s subtle accent suggested. Since that moment, the name Hawkins Fuller burned into Tim’s brain, and wouldn't let him live.

The thought of Mr. Fuller makes him squirm. Tim blinks a few times and puts away the book he’s been trying to read for the last ten minutes, unsuccessfully, and looks down. He’s hard. He’s so hard he could use his erection to hammer nails. Groaning in frustration, he closes his eyes and tries to think about something else, but all he can see is Mr. Fuller’s brilliant smile, his perfectly straight jawline, his eyes, blue and sparkling like the sea on a sunny day. He can see Mr. Fuller’s big, male hands, wrapped around the glass of golden whiskey. Oh, how Tim wishes to be that glass. Just to feel Mr. Fuller’s lips touching him.

He doesn’t really notice the moment his hand drifts down his body, but he moans softly in relief as he wraps his fingers around himself. Behind his closed eyes, in his head, Mr. Fuller sets the glass on the bar and comes closer, so close they almost touch.

No. Too many people around. Tim tries again.

They are here, in his room. Mr. Fuller unbuttons his shirt slowly. He touches Tim’s face. It’s gentle, so gentle, but it makes Tim shudder anyway. He imagines Mr. Fuller’s hand go past his neck, his chest and stomach, all the way down, sneaking inside his trousers and stroking him, fast. Faster than Tim actually is able to handle, because a few moments later he shudders again and explodes. The pleasure is so intense, he is not sure he’s ever felt like this before.

It takes him a minute before he can breathe normally again. Tim opens his eyes, waiting for guilt and dread to replace the warm feeling in his chest and all of his body, but it doesn't come. He pictures Mr. Fuller’s smile again and naturally, ironically enough, he feels immediate guilt for not feeling guilty.

Tim tries to imagine what Mr. Fuller is doing right now. Is he sitting on the sofa, writing down a list of Christmas gifts for his family and friends? Does he even celebrate Christmas? Does he have a family? What are they like? So many questions Tim knows he shouldn’t but can’t help asking. He wants to know everything about him.

Has he been thinking about Tim after the party? Has he been thinking about him in the way Tim keeps thinking about him? The idea makes him twitch in his pants and he hisses, still oversensitive.

In the end Tim wants to scream, because he knows, it’s one thing to act on his physical desires, and another thing to feel what he is feeling. It’s not that he is obsessed with Hawkins Fuller.

With horror, Tim realises he is in love.