Chapter Text
Here’s the truth about research: theories can only take you so far. Experience is critical to developing knowledge and understanding. Tim knows this. Tim knows this, and it’s the reason he’s hiding around the corner of 97th and Banbridge in Crime Alley, stalking a group of prost-ti-tutes and trying to work up the courage to approach.
It’s just, his skin is crawling again. There’s a black hole in his chest that seems like it’s swallowing his ability to feel anything , and jitters that keep him constantly on edge. And Tim wasn’t even able to find information online about the details–it must be super secret, but Tim knows that professionalism and confidentiality is a big thing for prost-ti-tutes. He’s come out a few times, and he always ends up chickening out.
Well, not this time.
That boy is there again, the one who looks only a little older than him, and he’s not there every time, so. So Tim should take advantage of that. There’s always the women, but Tim doesn’t quite know how he feels about the idea of a woman hugging him. Every time he thinks about it, the smell of his mother’s perfume seems to waft around him, the cloying, sticky sweet scent of it making him feel sick. He remembers crying into his pillow after mother slapped him and the feel of her bare hand on the naked skin of cheek and how the slap had felt scandalous somehow; daring, addicting. Like lightning and adrenaline. How he’d lain with his eyes open in bed that night, thinking about it. Whether it might be worth another slap to feel her hand against his cheek again, her skin smooth silk and iron. Something is probably wrong with him.
So.
The boy it is.
He fingers the bills in his pockets. Hopefully he brought enough. Tim takes a breath and squares his shoulders. He can’t. He can’t do this anymore. He can’t face his empty house and the unbearable loneliness of another evening in it, all by himself. He needs–he needs. He pulls his coat around him tighter, and braces, he doesn’t know for what. He tries for a business stride, like his father always does, the one that says i’m busy and important, pay attention to me , but he ends up stumbling on one of his long coat tails and he’s pretty sure that ruined the image. He grips the money and pushes himself forward, blushing only a little. He stops when he gets closer, but the boy’s eyes catch on him, and he reaches a hand out toward Tim.
Oh, that's nice! Tim imagines the feel of fingers closing around his, and eagerly reaches his hand out for a shake. Because this is a business transaction. A very important one. And Tim doesn’t want to mess this up and he doesn’t know what to do because Google has failed him–the boy responds to Tim’s light hold, clutching and pulling, guiding Tim back into the alley. Tim’s breath stutters. Oh, right. He’s totally doing this. He licks his lips and draws his other hand out of his pocket. He offers it up, even though he was going to start lower and then offer more if the older boy looked insulted, and they could–bargain. Tim knows how. He’s seen his father do business deals like this. But now that Tim is–he’s so close , he can feel the other boy’s surprised draw of breath, and he doesn’t want to bargain, to haggle, doesn’t want to do anything that’s going to keep him from getting that hug as soon as possible. But he has to be careful. The other boy is looking weirdly spooked at the moment, and Tim suddenly second guesses himself.
“Is it–um, is it enough?”
“What are you–” the other boy starts, sounding startled. His voice is deeper than Tim thought it would be, and rougher. “You’re paying me.”
Tim blinks, biting his lip. “Is it enough? Because I didn’t know how much I should pay and I didn’t know who to ask, but I can get some more if you want!” Tim assures him, the words rushing out in a flood. He winces. That was too much. He knows it was too much. It’s just–that’s all he brought, and he can get more but he’d have to come back another time, and. He doesn’t want to wait.
“Kid,” the older boy coughs. “ Why are you paying me?”
Ah. Right. This is the awkward part, so Tim better get it over with. It’s pretty embarrassing that Tim has to come to a complete stranger for this. “I,” Tim licks his lips. It feels like admitting something he shouldn’t. He doesn’t know what else to do. “Iwantahug.”
There’s a silence, almost unbearable, before the boy says, tone wooden. “You want a hug. Like a ‘wrap your arms around me’ kind of hug.”
Tim hesitates. “I don’t–are there different types of hugs?”
He knows he’s coming off as horribly naive, but he wants to make sure the boy knows what he’s asking for. Oh no, he definitely should have tried to Google this harder. He can feel his face burning as his mind reels. It’s just–it’s so hard to think . His palms are sweaty. “I’m sorry–I don’t know–I just–a standard hug?” He guesses.
He’s still–he’s still not getting a hug, he thought he’d be getting a hug by now, and maybe the older boy thinks he’s stupid now and won’t ever give him a hug! Tears start to gather at the back of his eyes. “However much this will buy me,” Tim avoids the other boy’s face and thrusts the money forward again. The boy takes it, looks down, his eyes widen a bit, and he looks back at Tim, calculating. Tim’s heart thumps. Say yes. Say yes. Please. Please.
“You want a hug?” He says suddenly. “Nothing else?”
Tim nods, quickly, hope prickling under his skin. “A hug.” He confirms eagerly. Probably too eagerly, but–
The boy shrugs. “Okay.”
And then he tucks the bills into his back pocket and opens his arms wide.
This is it. This is Tim’s moment, and. He can’t. Move.
He knows the theory of a hug. He’s seen pictures. He's even seen other people give and get hugs! He’s not stupid. But–now that someone is here, waiting for one, Tim…what if he does it wrong? He doesn’t want to mess this up. He doesn’t–he doesn’t know how. And what if the other boy changes his mind? What’s to keep him from taking Tim’s money and running now? And that would be–that would be worse. If he started the hug but then changed his mind. It would be. Bad. Tim feels like he's burning.
But it all doesn’t matter because the next minute the taller boy steps forward, and wraps his arms around Tim’s shoulders. There’s pressure. There’s skin. They’re touching . Something heady and warm explodes through Tim’s skin, and he can feel his pulse rabbiting so fast he’s a little worried he might pass out, but his thoughts are suddenly just floaty enough he doesn’t care. Tim can feel the boy’s clammy skin pressed against him, and then he squeezes . Tim hears a high pitched, breathy squeak–oh, wait. That’s him. Tim made that sound. The boy pulls away, and it makes Tim want to wail, but the other boy just says, “Everything okay?”
Tim feels dazed, the sudden contact, and then a lack of it, and his skin is erupting with goosebumps even though he’s not cold.
“Is that…a hug?” He says. He can barely hear his own voice over the roar in his ears.
“Yup,” the other boy pops the ‘p’ at the end, and then an uncertain look steals over his face. “Do you–do you not want it, I can give the money back–”
Oh no– ”No, please! I want a hug!” Tim widens his eyes as much as he can to convey earnestness (he read that’s how you do it), because he needs to get as much mileage out of this as he can, and he obviously has mistakenly conveyed that he didn’t like that hug, but he did, he did like it, he–
“Okay.” The older boy reaches for him again, and suddenly he’s being pressed into a chest. The boy smells nothing like Tim’s parents, or his house, or–well, anything Tim’s familiar with, really. A faint smoky smell Tim thinks must be cigarettes, and something a bit musty smelling, and rain. Tim doesn’t know how long he sits there, wanting to run away, wanting to press closer - it’s not enough - but it must be a long time because the next thing Tim knows the other boy is speaking. Tim’s afraid he’s going to sneer - it must be blindingly obvious at this point what an ignorant amateur he is - but all he says, in a light tone, is “You know, you can wrap your arms around me, too.” He pauses. “If you want.”
That…does sound nice. The boy is being so nice . Tim doesn’t deserve this. He starts to lift his arms anyway, tentative, but with a pathetic desperation that he must see through. But he doesn’t pull away as Tim fits his fingers against the thin, thready fabric of the boy’s back. Tim closes his eyes, and is surprised to feel wetness tumbling down his cheeks. It’s such a stupid thing to be crying over, and Tim buries his face back into the boy’s chest so that - maybe - he won’t notice how much Tim is overreacting or how weird he is. Tim cries for much longer than is appropriate, and he feels headachy and dehydrated when he’s done, but also… really good. The touch is still there, the arms around him, the sound of a heart beating against his ear. Tim needs to reign this back in to the professional realm, and he manages a reluctant, “How long does a hug last?”
The boy shrugs minutely. “As long as you want, boss,” he says cheerily.
Okay, well. Tim had asked.
He squeezes the other boy tighter, and he doesn’t let go for a long, long time.