Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  Tim is allowing himself a moment to bask in the accomplishment of finally having cleared out his email inbox when there’s a knock on his office door. He looks up from his computer, furrowing his brows. He’s almost certain he doesn’t have a meeting scheduled anytime soon, and very rarely do teachers let students come talk to him without an appointment. 

  “Come in,” he says, praying his confusion isn’t clear in his voice. The door opens, revealing his boss, Mary, with a disgruntled kid. The boy is short— maybe 7th grade? His bangs fall into his eyes, and he keeps his gaze on the floor. His outfit is decently plain, just jeans and a green sweatshirt, but the pins on his backpack give Tim some quick indication of his interests. It’s mostly logos for bands (a few Tim has heard of, several he hasn’t), interspersed with a few inspired by famous paintings and a handful of superheroes. 

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Laughlin,” Mary says. “This is Jackson; he’s been in my office a lot recently, and I thought it might do him some good to talk to you.”

  “Okay, thank you, Ms. Johnson,” Tim smiles at both of them, “Come on in and have a seat, Jackson.”

  Jackson stalks into the office, scanning the various seating options before silently collapsing onto a beanbag chair. Mary gives Tim a good luck look, then leaves, closing the door behind herself.  

  “Why have you been in the principal’s office?” Tim asks gently.

  “Fighting,” Jackson mumbles. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “That’s fine. We can talk about something else. Or if you need some space, we can just sit here and do our own things for a while.” Tim offers. Jackson doesn’t reply, but he pulls a binder out of his backpack and starts writing on what looks like a math worksheet, so Tim figures they’re going with the second option. He turns back to his computer to start putting together information about next year’s class selections. 

  About ten minutes pass before Jackson apparently decides that talking about his feelings is more interesting than doing his math homework and says, “I punched this guy at my lunch table because he was being an asshole.”

  “What was he doing?” Tim asks, turning away from his computer to give Jackson his full attention. The boy looks a bit shocked that he’s not being told off for the language.

  “He was saying some really mean stuff about gay people.” Tim hums in acknowledgment. “And I guess I took it kinda personally.”

  Tim hesitates. He knows asking might set Jackson off, but he also wants him to know that this is a safe space.

  “Are you–” he starts to ask.

  “I’m not gay,” Jackson cuts him off reflexively. For just a moment, the room fills with a slightly uncomfortable silence. Jackson’s nose scrunches guiltily before he continues, “My dad is, though. I guess it’s been on my mind recently. ‘Cause him and my mom are getting divorced and they, like, just told us, so it’s just been a lot.”

  Tim knows he’s hit the sweet spot. At this age, it’s always a little bit hard to get kids to open up initially, but once they’ve started talking, it flows out of them like running water. 

  “Yeah, divorce can really affect people. Can you tell me what you’re thinking about it? How it’s making you feel?” he suggests.

  “I mean, I wasn’t surprised. My mom and I have both known for a little while, but my sister didn’t. He talked with my mom first and then they sat both of us down to talk about it. I’m happy he can be himself now, but I’m kinda upset.” Tim wonders if those are Jackson’s words, or if they were given to him when his parents talked to him about it. “I wish there was a way for him to be himself and still have all of us together. And she’s trying not to make it obvious but I know my mom is sad about it.”

  “Do you know what will happen after the divorce is finalized?” Tim asks.

  “Not sure yet. I’ll still get to see both of them, but we don’t have a schedule worked out yet or anything. But my parents have also been best friends since they were kids, so I’m really hoping we’ll still get to do some stuff all together. Like holidays and maybe vacations and things.” Jackson smiles. He’s noticeably better than he was when he came in, lighter and less brooding. He certainly seems cooled off of the urge to punch anyone.

  Tim glances at the clock, then gives Jackson a bittersweet smile. “Lunchtime is almost over. You can stay in here and we can keep talking if you want, but I don’t want you to miss class if you don’t have to. What do you think?”

  “I should probably go back. I have a test next period,” Jackson says, starting to gather his things.

  “Well, it was very nice to meet you and talk to you today, Jackson. If you want to talk again, there’s QR codes all around the school to make an appointment, or if you need to see me sooner, ask your teacher to call me and I’ll have them send you down if I’m not already in another meeting. I hope everything works out well for you; you’re a good kid.” 

  Jackson smiles wider at that, and Tim wonders how long it’s been since he’s been told that he’s good. 

~

  Tim loves his job, but it can certainly be overwhelming sometimes. After his first semester at Silver Spring Middle School, his best friend, Frankie, had noticed how stressed he was and pulled him out of his home to bring him to LGBTQ+ night at a local hole-in-the-wall bar he’d found, and it quickly became a tradition; on the 3rd Friday of every month, Tim, Frankie, and occasionally his partner, Marcus, go out for drinks at The Cozy Corner to decompress. This month, it’s just Tim and Frankie tucked into their usual booth, each nursing drinks as they discuss everything and nothing.

  “I can’t believe Marcus didn’t come with us tonight,” Frankie whines. “Our first friend night out since we got married and he’s staying home. It’s because he hates me.”

  “We both know that’s not true,” Tim laughs. “Why is he actually staying home?”

  “He got really behind on some work stuff with the honeymoon and everything, so he’s still catching up,” Frankie explains. “I miss him, though. This place is a little less fun when I don’t have someone to drag onto the dance floor.”

  “By the time I’m done with this drink, I’ll probably be willing,” Tim teases a chuckle out of him.

  “I found this book club I think you might like,” Frankie jumps to the new subject easily. “They’re doing a brunch thing Sunday at noon. You should come with me.”

  “Maybe next time,” Tim shrugs. “I have mass.”

  “What’d you do?” Frankie jokes, taking a sip of his cosmopolitan.

  “I can only go to church if I’ve done something?” Tim deflects.

  “Not in general, but you only go to the 11 o’clock if you’re staying for confession after. Your usual is the 9:30.” And maybe Tim regrets being so predictable. 

  Before he can come up with an appropriate response, he sees a man walking towards their table. He’s all sharp lines and effortless coolness, like he knows how gorgeous he is but won’t acknowledge it. Tim lets his gaze trace the man’s face before landing on the piercing blue eyes that he knew last time would stay with him forever. 

  “Hey,” the man says casually as he pauses next to their table. He rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder as if it’s something they do all the time. 

  “Hi,” Tim responds, praying his excitement at running into the man again isn’t too obvious. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “Me neither. I didn’t even know you lived around here.”

  “Yeah, I’m only a few minutes away. We come here all the time,” he gestures across the table to Frankie, who is casually fidgeting with his wedding ring.

  “Well, sorry for interrupting your night,” the man says coolly, although something like confusion flashes over his face for a moment. “I was just on my way to the bathroom and noticed you, so I wanted to stop by and say hi.”

  The man squeezes Tim’s shoulder in a way he can only interpret as an invitation, then he’s gone, leaving only the ghost of his handprint on Tim’s shoulder, the extra pressure from the band around his ring finger weighing down noticeably.

  “So I guess that solves the ‘what did Tim do?’ mystery,” Frankie quips. “Or maybe, ‘ who did Tim do?’”

  Tim groans.

  “What’s wrong, though? I thought we were past the point of you feeling guilty for having sex?” Frankie asks gently, not pushing but listening.

  “He’s married,” Tim says. 

  “Oh, that does make it a bit more complicated. Is it-“

  “I don’t know. We didn’t talk much, honestly.”

  “When did you even meet this guy? I’ve never seen him in here before.”

  “We met in the airport when I was coming back from your wedding. Hooked up in the bathroom and expected to never see each other again. I don’t even think I got his name.”

  Frankie nods in acknowledgment. Tim only sees it in his peripheral, more focused on watching the man walk into the bathroom. 

  “If I’m going to confession anyway, do you think I can-“

  “Just go,” Frankie laughs as Tim stands to go after the man.

  The moment Tim enters the bathroom, he’s pulled into a stall. The door locks behind them, and the man backs Tim against the wall like prey. Their eyes meet again, and it takes more effort than anything he’s ever done before for Tim to keep his mind clear enough to speak.

  “Is this really a good idea?” he asks. “I mean, you’re married.”

  “So are you,” the man says lowly, and maybe Tim’s mind isn’t as clear as he thought.

  “What? No, I’m not.”

  “Then who were you with out there? The pretty guy with the shiny new diamond ring?”

  “Oh, Frankie’s just a friend. Actually, that’s why I was in California a couple weeks ago, for his wedding.”

  The man smiles at Tim’s explanation. 

  “Good. Didn’t like the idea of sharing you,” the man growls and dives in, planting kisses down Tim’s neck. Tim tilts his head up to grant the man easier access, then remembers how they landed on that conversation topic in the first place.

  “Wait, but you’re still–” 

  The man pulls away just enough to respond, his breath still ghosting against Tim’s throat. “Not for much longer. My wife and I are separating. Had our first call with the divorce lawyer this afternoon. That’s why I came out tonight, to celebrate.”

  And Tim decides he can’t deny this gorgeous man his celebration.  

  The first time it happened, Tim accepted that it would be a one-time thing. He would never cross paths again with the random man he met at SFO. But once it’s over for the second time, he knows that this may have been able to be a one-time thing, but now that it’s happened twice, they’re past the point of no return, so while they’re catching their breath after, he can’t stop himself from asking, “Can I get your number? In case we wanna do this again sometime?” 

  “Yeah,” the man pants, holding a hand out so Tim can hand him his phone. He creates a contact then hands it back.

  “This was good, Skippy. But I really have to get going,” he presses a last, almost unnervingly sweet, kiss to Tim’s lips, and then he’s gone before Tim can ask who Skippy is.

  Tim stays there in stunned silence for a moment, still processing. Eventually, he realizes that the man had made himself a contact in Tim’s phone, meaning he might finally have a name to pair with the flawless face. 

  He opens to the new page, and something inside him stirs at the name paired with the number. Just a first name, and even that seems slightly unreal, but it somehow matches the man perfectly.

   Hawk. 

Chapter Text

  Tim spends almost an entire week crafting his first text to Hawk. He works through several iterations that he deems too desperate or too wordy or too short, before he lands on his masterpiece:

  Hey, it’s Tim. From the airport and the bar.

  Hawk replies about an hour later, with a, “Hey, Skippy. I was starting to think you weren’t going to reach out.”

  Tim is about to start drafting his response when there’s a knock on his office door, and he remembers that he should definitely not be doing this at work. 

  “Come in,” he calls, and the door opens to reveal Jackson. “Hey, what’s going on? How have you been feeling?” 

  Jackson walks in and shuts the door behind himself before collapsing into one of the chairs across the desk from Tim. 

  “I’m fine, I guess,” he mumbles. Tim’s pretty sure he’s not fine. “I haven’t gotten into any fights since last week, so that’s good.” Tim offers him a reassuring smile, but he can sense the ‘but’ coming. “My dad has started looking at new apartments, though.”

  “Yeah? How do you feel about that?” 

  “I don’t really know.” Jackson says. Often, kids say they don’t know how they feel to deflect, but Tim can tell that isn’t what this is; this is something he knows deeply, a confession. “I think it’ll be good for him and Mom to be able to start moving on.” 

  “It’s very mature of you to think of how he and your mom will feel about it, but how do you feel?”

  “Well, honestly, I don’t always like being around him, but I think I’m actually gonna miss having him at home with us every night.” Jackson trails off for a moment, then sighs and continues, “But he’s really trying to find a place he likes that’s close to where we already live, so hopefully it won’t be too bad. He said he wants to stay connected to us and it’s important to him that we know he’s close enough for us to just go to his apartment without it being a big deal and stuff.”

  “It’s good that he’ll still be close by. It might even be beneficial to your relationship with him to have him close but not always there.”

  “Yeah, that might be good.” Jackson smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Him and my mom have started talking about custody arrangements too. They wanna try just switching off every week, since they’re both gonna live close to school and stuff still. So my sister and I will get equal time with both of them, and holidays together, which is nice.”

  “You keep saying it’s ‘nice’ and ‘good,’ but you still seem kind of upset about it.” Tim points out. “Do you really think it’ll be good, or are you saying that because you think that’s what you should say?” 

  “I do think it’ll be better. I’m just– I don’t know. It’s a lot happening and I don’t really know how to feel about it,” Jackson admits.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out,” Tim smiles. “If you want, before you leave today I can give you a list of things you can use to help you get your feelings out and process them, like journaling and art.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” 

~

  Tim manages to text Hawk much faster this time, and they agree to meet up again at the Cozy Corner at 9:30 the next night. 

  It’s 9:28, and Tim is already sitting on a barstool and sipping a drink, hoping his nerves aren’t too noticeable. At 9:29, Hawk is sliding into the stool next to him. 

  “You okay, Skippy?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” It’s mostly the truth, “why?” 

  “You’re nervous. I saw you check your watch 3 times in the few seconds it took me to get from the door to here,” Hawk smirks, and Tim feels his face heat up.

  “Who’s Skippy?” he deflects.

  “That’s what I’m gonna call you,” Hawk gives him a once-over. “It suits you.”

  Tim is about to ask what that means when Hawk changes the subject breezily.

  “So, what’s our plan for tonight? Are we just doing drinks or are we going to disappear into the bathroom again?”

  And Tim wonders if he’s making things up, or if there was some sort of gentle hope in Hawk’s question, like he wants this, wants Tim, as much as Tim wants him. So, he decides if Hawk can be hopeful, he can be brave.

  “Well, I was thinking that maybe tonight we could go somewhere other than the bathroom. Back to one of our places, maybe?” he offers. 

  “I’m still living with my ex, actually. But if you’re offering to take me home to yours, I won’t fight you on that.” If Tim wasn’t so attracted to Hawk, he might be jealous of how confidently he talks; how he’s practically inviting himself to Tim’s apartment, calling it home like it belongs to them both. But he is very attracted to him, and if the fact that his pants suddenly feel a bit too tight is anything to go off of, the confidence especially does something to him, so rather than be jealous, he simply calls the bartender over to close out his tab and chugs the remainder of his drink. 

  Hawk chuckles. “Easy, boy,” he teases. 

  If they hadn’t already made an alternate plan, Tim may have pulled him into the bathroom right then. Instead, he grabs his hand to drag him towards the door. 

  The walk to Tim’s apartment isn’t long, but it’s about doubled in length with the number of times they stop to press each other to the sides of buildings before remembering that being charged with public indecency probably isn’t a good idea. 

  Eventually, they manage to make it to Tim’s place, and Hawk has him up against the door the moment it’s shut behind them. Tim whimpers into his mouth, then manages to get ahold of himself for just long enough to get them to the bedroom. He lets Hawk push him onto the bed and gives in to the sensations filling his mind, everything just a swirl of Hawk’s scent and his hands and the rough noises that escape him and just Hawk.

  Tim’s still floating in bliss when Hawk slides out of bed afterwards. He whines at the loss of warmth, but Hawk just holds up one finger as if telling him to wait, and disappears into the bathroom. He returns only a moment later with a warm, damp washcloth, and Tim lets out a soft sigh when Hawk sits on the edge of the bed beside him and starts gently cleaning him up. He vanishes into the bathroom again for just a moment and returns with a glass of water, which he sets on Tim’s nightstand. He presses a soft kiss to Tim’s forehead and starts to slip away towards the door.

  “Wait,” Tim calls after him, voice quiet. He’s not even sure what he’s about to ask for. “Stay and cuddle?”

  Hawk pauses in the doorway, considering for a moment. He glances back at Tim, his face torn between want and resolution. He turns to face away from Tim when he replies, like he can’t say it to his face.

  “Maybe next time, Skippy.” 

  And then he’s gone.

Chapter Text

  That becomes their routine. About twice a week, they meet at the Cozy Corner (or on one particularly noteworthy occasion, Hawk had shown up at Tim’s front door unannounced, clearly upset about something that Tim knew better than to press him on), and end up in Tim’s bed within an hour. The sex is always fast and rough, but it’s still somehow the most caring experience Tim has ever had in bed. 

  The first several times, Hawk leaves the apartment as quickly as he’d entered it, grabbing his wedding ring from where he’d placed it on Tim’s nightstand and slipping through the door, leaving behind hardly any trace that he’d actually been there instead of just being the best recurring wet dream Tim could ever conjure up. Tim always invites him to stay after, to curl up together between the sheets and forget about the outside world for a while, but Hawk doesn’t accept the offer.

  Until he does. After a couple months, when Tim had just started thinking about dropping his hope that eventually Hawk might climb back into bed after cleaning them up, he accepts. Wordlessly, he slides in behind Tim, pressing his chest to Tim’s back. Tim sighs softly.

  “Was starting to think you weren’t ever going to take me up on this,” he confesses. Hawk wraps an arm around Tim’s waist, pulling him closer and burying his face in the hair at the base of Tim’s neck. 

  Hawk is quiet. They don’t normally talk much, but he’s so silent that it seems off. Tim really doesn’t want to scare him away when this is the first time they’ve gotten this close to something real, but he also doesn’t know if he can leave this alone without at least asking.

  “Is everything okay?” he tries. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want but you don’t usually want to stay after and you’re really quiet tonight so I just-“

  “Skippy, it’s alright,” Hawk cuts him off gently. “Everything’s okay. Good, actually, for the most part.”

  He takes a breath, hot air tickling the back of Tim’s neck as he exhales. He’s thinking so intensely that Tim can almost hear the thoughts.

  “Our court date was today. There’s still a 30 day waiting period, but other than that, my divorce is official,” Hawk says finally. 

  “Oh,” Tim breathes, suddenly realizing that hadn’t seen Hawk’s ring tonight. He can’t stop himself from turning over so he’s facing Hawk when he says, “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Hawk smiles, something tender and just on the good side of bittersweet. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Tim’s lips. As they pull away, he murmurs a soft “I’m all yours now, Skip.”

  “You’re being awfully sweet,” Tim hums.

  “Your Honor, I stand before you accused of being sweet.”

  They lean in again.

~

  From then on, they start building a new routine. They still meet at the Cozy Corner most of the time, and they’re still in Tim’s bed soon enough. But once they’re done, Hawk stays. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm, wet washcloth and a glass of water. He cleans Tim up then climbs back into bed. They curl up together and pull up Netflix on Tim’s laptop or just talk for a while. Tim intertwines their fingers, always noticing that the dip in Hawk’s finger from years of wearing a wedding ring is slowly disappearing.

  They talk and talk, but rarely say anything important. Tim talks about his family, but Hawk never mentions his in return. They don’t define what they’re doing, what they are to each other. Tim can’t bring himself to care, honestly. He’s too happy with their ridiculous debates about which type of peanut butter is best and if dogs are better than cats to be upset that he really doesn’t know much about Hawk’s life. He just prays it all works out and they find the time to discuss more important things when they need to.

  Hours go by and they consider making something to eat, but inevitably end up placing a Doordash order instead. Each time, without fail, Hawk groans when the doorbell rings and he has to drag himself away from the warmth of Tim’s arms to pull on pants— whichever pair he can find first, often Tim’s, which are just a bit too tight on him, much to Tim’s enjoyment— and answer the door for their food, as if he might have somehow managed to get the food at the door without getting up this time. They eat in bed, staying as curled around each other as possible. 

  Still, though, Hawk doesn’t let himself spend the night. He always has to leave eventually. Once the early hours of the morning approach, he remembers that he has work the next day, and he needs to be at home to get ready for the day. One night, Tim casually suggests that Hawk could start bringing an overnight bag so he could stay, but Hawk brushes it off, saying it wouldn’t work. Something about it feels off, but Tim decides it isn’t worth arguing over. So he walks Hawk to the door and kisses him goodbye, telling him to get home safe and have a good day at work. It’s oddly domestic, considering it generally happens around 1:30 in the morning. It’s almost enough to make Tim forget that all they really have are midnight trysts. 

~

  Work is good at keeping his mind occupied. Without the routine of meetings and emails, he’d easily fall into a hole of just constantly thinking of Hawk, obsessing over all the ways whatever they have is nearly perfect and worrying a little about the small ways it isn’t. He counts having a job he loves that is completely separate from his personal life as one of his biggest blessings.

  Jackson doesn’t even knock anymore. They’ve started eating lunch together every Tuesday, so he just shows up and sinks into one of the seats near Tim’s desk.

  “Big news, Mr. Laughlin: my parents had their court hearing,” he says casually as he sits down. “So basically they’re fully divorced now.”

  “That’s big. How have you been feeling about it?” Tim asks.

  “Not terrible, actually. It’s a little weird, knowing that it’s actually ending, for real. But it’s still not really done. He’s still looking for somewhere to move to, but I think he’s almost done with that. And there’s still like a waiting period thing before they’re officially divorced, so we’re in like a middle stage right now. It’s realer than it has been, but still not real real, I guess. I’ve been dealing with it, though. Pretty well, I think. I’ve been trying some of the things on that list you gave me and,” Jackson hesitates, finally taking a breath after his rambling, then reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small journal. “I started writing poems, and they’ve been kinda helping me process things and get my thoughts out of my brain. I think I’m actually starting to accept the divorce and everything. It’s easier when I can put it all somewhere that’s not just my mind.”

  “That’s good,” Tim smiles. “I’m proud of you.”

  Jackson tries to hide how he glows at the praise; Tim pretends not to notice. 

  “Do you want to read some of them?” Jackson asks cautiously, gaze flicking down to the journal.

  “If you’d like me to, then I would be happy to, but you don’t have to share them if you don’t want to. It’s entirely up to you.”

  “I want you to,” Jackson says resolutely, like he’s already considered it. “Just let me pick a good one.”

  Jackson flips through the journal for a bit, eventually settling on one page. He hands it over to Tim, letting him read:

Team

why is it so different?

yet somehow still the same

but it all falls apart 

when i remember he’s not really there

when i remember he won’t be there

in the same way

almost 13 years ago, we became a team

almost 13 years, i’ve been part of something

i’ve been whole

but it had to come to an end

we felt perfect once

but now we’re not

we were a team

but now we’re individuals

  “Jackson, this is beautiful,” Tim breathes. 

  “You really think so?” Jackson meets his gaze excitedly. The grin on his face only lasts a moment before he’s feigning nonchalance that Tim is almost certain comes more from habit carefully built over years of being around other tweens than anything else.

  “I really do. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  “It was actually kinda fun to write, too,” Jackson admits, like it’s a deep, life-altering secret. In a way, it reminds Tim of how he speaks in a confessional. 

  “I’m glad they’re helping you and you like them. You should keep writing them; even if you just keep them for yourself, they’re works of art.”

  Jackson smiles softly.

  “You know, sometimes I wish my dad was as cool as you.”

  And Tim isn’t sure how to react to that. He doesn’t know how Jackson got there, or the best way to respond, or—

  Jackson cuts his thoughts off, handing him the journal again, this time opened to a different page. 

Chapter Text

  Do you have dinner plans tomorrow?

  It’s maybe the most exciting text Tim has ever received, and he’s honestly not sure why. They’ve eaten together before. They eat together all the time. This feels different, though. Good different. Great different, even. This isn’t Wendy’s in bed at 1AM, it’s making a plan to go somewhere together. It’s a date. He thinks. 

  No, I’m free

 You have plans now. I’ll pick you up at 6:15.

 Ok, see you then :-)

  “Tim!” Frankie says, pulling his gaze away from his phone.

  “Huh?” Tim asks.

  “What’s got you so distracted over there? Who are you texting?” 

    “Sorry, it’s just Hawk.” Tim knows he’s blushing, but he doesn’t think he can help it.

  “The married guy?” Frankie asks incredulously. Marcus raises an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between them like it’s the first time he’s heard about this. Tim assumed Frankie had told him, but maybe not. “Are you still going out with him?”

  “He’s not married anymore,” Tim corrects. “And yeah, we're still seeing each other. I wouldn’t really call it ‘going out,’ though. We’re really just sleeping together.”

 Marcus narrows his eyes. “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay with it.” He’s not. The afterglow moments when he gets to have all of Hawk— not just his body, but his mind—  are quickly becoming one of Tim’s favorite things in the world, and he wants, maybe even needs, to have that all the time. “Anyway, why are we here tonight? It’s not a Friday.”

  “Marcus felt bad about missing last time. Don’t change the subject.” Frankie says curtly. He really does know Tim too well. 

  “Ugh, fine,” Tim groans and lets the floodgates open. “I want more. I have feelings for him, and I think he feels the same, but I can’t really tell. And even if he does, I don’t think he wants anything serious. He’s in the middle of a divorce, and—“

  “Honey,” Frankie reaches across the table to take Tim’s hand, “you need to talk to him about this. I know you. It’ll absolutely destroy you to keep seeing him without at least having a conversation.”

  “I know. I’m just worried that it’s gonna be too much and I’ll scare him off,” Tim confesses quietly.

  Marcus fixes his gaze on Tim as if he’s about to say something mildly life-altering. Knowing him, Tim figures he probably is. “If just having the conversation is too much, then he probably wasn’t right for you in the first place.”

  ~

  There’s a knock on Tim’s office door at 12:30 on Tuesday, which is odd. Jackson usually just walks in without knocking, and he knows he marks 12:30-1:15 on Tuesdays as busy on the shared Google calendar, so other teachers shouldn’t be sending any students to talk to him.

  “Come in,” he says, trying to mask the confusion in his voice. The door opens to reveal Jackson, and beside him, a girl with long brown hair and a blank expression. She’s a bit taller than him, but Tim still gets the sense that she’s younger. 

  “Hi, Mr. Laughlin,” Jackson walks in, grabbing the girl’s hand to bring her with him when she seems to hesitate in the doorway. “This is my little sister, Kimberly.”

  At first glance, Tim wouldn’t have guessed they were related, but now that he knows, he can see the resemblance in small ways; their hair is identical shades of hazelnut and their noses turn up at the tips. They match. 

  “It’s nice to meet you, Kimberly. I’m Mr. Laughlin,” Tim extends his hand and she stares at it for a moment before she shakes it. “What brings you into my office today?”

  Kimberly looks at her brother, like she’s uncertain. Jackson nods gently, taking a seat in one of the chairs pulled up to Tim’s desk. Hesitantly, she sits down in another chair, beside him. 

  “I’m upset,” she says eventually. “About Mom and Dad.” She’s still not looking at Tim, keeping her gaze mostly on the ground. “So Jax said I should talk to you.”

  “Okay. Can you tell me more about what you’re feeling? What kind of upset are you?” Tim prompts, and Kimberly only shrugs. Maybe he needs to start somewhere else. “I know this has been happening for a little bit now. Why are you coming in now? Did something change about how you’re feeling?”

  “Umm, well, Dad is actually moving out now, so that’s making it feel more real, I think. He picked a place and signed the contract and he’s boxing up all his stuff to move over there. And I knew they were getting divorced, but it didn’t feel as serious when he was still staying in the guest room, but now it does.” 

  “Yeah, that must be hard for you,” Tim soothes. She finally looks up at him, nodding in agreement, and he notices that her eyes are glassy. His heart aches. “It’s totally normal to not be upset about something happening until you’re really in the middle of it. We all process things at different speeds.”  

  Kimberly nods again, tears beginning to slip from her eyes. Tim reaches for a box of tissues, offering it to her. 

  “I don’t really wanna talk more right now, if that’s okay,” she whispers, taking the box. 

  “Of course that’s okay.”

  Tim lets the quiet hang for a moment, but he’s had this job long enough to know that a lot of kids get really self conscious about crying in silence when other people are around, so eventually, he turns to Jackson.

  “Do you have anything you want to talk about with me today?” he offers. Jackson blinks. He seems a bit surprised that Tim is asking, like he’d been fully prepared to forgo working through his own thoughts to make sure Kimberly got what she needed. 

  “Dad took us to see his new place,” he shrugs. “It’s kind of weird that he doesn’t live with us anymore but it’s not all bad, I think. He’s getting a house that’s only a few streets away from our mom’s, so he’s super close, and he said that as long as they both know about it, him and our mom don’t mind if we ride our bikes back and forth and stuff like that to see both of them even when it’s not technically their week. And he’s letting us do whatever we want with our rooms, so that’s cool.”

  “Yeah? Do you know what you want to do with yours?” 

  “Sorta. I’ve been saving some ideas I like,” Jackson pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, scrolling through his saved posts, occasionally showing one to Tim. It’s a lot of dark walls covered in posters, but it seems cozy. 

  “I like it,” Tim says. 

  “Wait, lemme see. I haven’t gotten to yet,” Kimberly adds quietly, demanding in the way only a younger sibling can be. Her tears are just beginning to fade away. Jackson rolls his eyes but turns the phone, letting his sister see the post he had been showing Tim.

  “Ooooh, that’s cool,” she nods. “I think I’m going to keep my walls white but do one wall that’s like pink checkered, and try to find a bedspread to match.” Kimberly’s eyes widen like she’s realizing something, and Tim sees her smile for the first time. “Do you think he’ll let us get big beds?”

  “We can ask,” Jackson smiles back, clearly happy that she’s happy. Tim’s just a little reminded of himself and his own sister.

~

  Tim doesn’t trust his own fashion sense, so after skimming through his entire closet once, he FaceTimes Frankie for his opinion on what he should wear to this hopefully-date with Hawk. 

  “Am I trying to get you laid or trying to get you a conversation about labels?” Frankie asks as soon as he picks up.

  “I didn’t even tell you that we were going out tonight!” Tim blushes.

  “I can always tell.” Frankie smirks. “So which is it?”

  “Both? I’m not really sure, to be honest.” He knows the conversation is necessary, but he’s not sure if he’s ready yet. Frankie seems to consider the response, but decides it isn’t worth pushing.

  “Okay…” Frankie thinks for a moment. “Let me see your black pants, white v-neck, and that green quarter zip sweater.”

  Tim grabs the items and disappears from the frame for a moment to put them on. Frankie looks him over when he returns.

  “Pull your necklace out so it’s between the shirt and the sweater and unzip the sweater as far as it goes.” Tim adjusts. “Perfect.”

  “Should I stick with the glasses or put in contacts?” Tim asks, inspecting his image in the corner of his screen. 

  “Always the glasses,”  Frankie responds as if it shouldn’t even be a question, “They look really good on you. Just a little slutty, too” 

  “Really?” Tim’s a little scandalized at the thought that anything about himself could be taken that way.

  “In a good way, Darling,” Frankie reassures him. “Do you need a pep talk? You seem jittery.” 

  “I’m fine, only a little nervous. I just need a second to get over it.” 

  “Okay. Have fun, let me know if you need anything. I love you.”

  “Love you too,” Tim smiles and hangs up. He takes a moment to just breathe. Whatever happens tonight happens. They might talk or they might not. It might go really well or it might not. But it will all work out. He sits on the edge of his bed and shuts his eyes, whispering a quiet Hail Mary. He’s not sure if he’ll have the labels discussion tonight, but if he does, he needs all the support he can get, and even if he doesn’t, the first real date deserves some reverence anyways. 

  He’s not sure how long he sits on the edge of his bed with his eyes closed, but eventually his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a knock on his front door. He stands up and goes to answer it, revealing Hawk in dark slacks and a navy button-up, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. Tim wants to drown in him.

  “Hi,” he breathes. “You look good.”

  Hawk smiles. “So do you.” They stand there for a moment, just taking each other in, “Ready to go?”

  Tim nods and follows Hawk outside to his car. They both climb in, Hawk in the driver’s seat and Tim beside him. When Hawk starts the car, the radio starts playing in the middle of some Doris Day song from the 60s. 

  “Sorry, we can change the music if you want,” Hawk offers, reaching toward the sound system.

  “No, it’s okay. I like it,” Tim replies. “So, where are we going tonight?”

  “Actually, I have a couple options for you. There’s this cute little Mediterranean place we can go to, or,” Hawk takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to quell his nerves. “I finally moved into my own place, and I was thinking, maybe, you could come over and I could make us something.”

  “Oh, I’d love to see your place. Let’s do that,” Tim smiles. He’s really hoping that was the right choice; Hawk had seemed a bit hesitant to bring it up. 

  “Are you sure? I really just moved in, so I don’t have a lot of furniture or anything. It’ll have to be kind of picnic-style.”

  Maybe it was the wrong choice.

  “We don’t have to if you don’t want—” Tim backtracks.

  “No, I do want to have you over,” Hawk interrupts. “I really do. I just—”

  “Then let’s do it. It sounds,” It sounds devastatingly romantic, but that probably isn’t the right thing to say if he’s trying not to scare Hawk off, “fun.”

  “Okay, yeah,” Hawk agrees. “Fun.” For the rest of the ride, they fall into a comfortable quiet, the only real noise being the soft music coming from the radio. 

  Before long, Hawk pulls up to the entrance of a gated neighborhood and types in the code with surprising speed for somebody who just moved in. Only another minute or so goes by before Hawk is parking in the garage of a one-story house. They walk up to the door together and Hawk opens it, welcoming Tim inside. 

  The house is mostly barren— which he expected, after what Hawk had said— but he can see the vision, can see the bits of Hawk’s personality in what there already is. It’s a somewhat open floor plan, with the kitchen and living room entirely visible from where they entered. Along the opposite wall is a pair of glass doors leading into a decently sized and well-cared-for backyard. The kitchen is gorgeous and modern, all sleek marble countertops with an electric stove and a double oven. A stainless steel fridge stands opposite an apparently sizable pantry. The living room is entirely bare save for a big TV perched atop an entertainment center. Beyond it is a hallway with five doors; one must be Hawk’s bedroom, and he wonders what the others might be— maybe an office, a guest room, laundry, and a bathroom? The whole place is dotted with moving boxes labeled in sharpie. 

  “I like it,” Tim says after taking it in for a moment.

  “Thanks,” Hawk says, walking into the kitchen. “I’m going to get some food started.”

  “Do you want any help?” Tim offers, trailing after him.

  “No, thanks. Just make yourself comfortable.” 

  Tim hops up on the counter and watches Hawk cook. He does end up helping just a little bit by being a taste tester as Hawk perfects the basil-to-garlic ratio in the pesto he’s working on. Tim’s always found it impressive when people can cook by following their instincts instead of a recipe, but Hawk somehow manages to make it outright sexy. 

  Eventually, they take their food to the living room. Hawk produces a quilt from one of the boxes and sets it on the floor. They sit together, eating their pasta and splitting a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

  “So, any special reason for dinner tonight?” Tim asks. Curiosity has been eating at him since he first received the text.

  “Just wanted to celebrate getting my own place,” Hawk says. He pauses, then smirks. “And finally being able to have you over.” 

  “Definitely worth a celebration,” Tim agrees, taking another bite of his pasta. “You’re a really good cook.” 

  “Thanks,” Hawk flushes the tiniest bit. “I picked it up mostly out of necessity when I got my first apartment in college and it’s turned into sort of a hobby.”

  Tim knows he should ask to talk about what they are. His brain loves putting labels on things; it craves structure in a way he can’t always explain. Frankie is right; not knowing how Hawk views all of this is going to make it worse for him down the line, but he can’t make himself care right now. In this moment, all he cares about is that he feels good. Hawk makes him happy, and he’s here right now, making him happy, even when they aren’t in bed. So maybe that’s enough. Maybe they don’t need to label everything right now. 

  But he still wants to label some things, so he can’t stop himself from blurting out, “Is this a date?”

  “I’ve been thinking it is,” Hawk confesses. “Is that alright with you?”

  “Yeah. I like that. It sounds good.”

  But all good things must come to an end. After a few hours, their food is gone, and the movie they had turned on is over. At some point, they had laid down, cuddling on Hawk’s living room floor, but now Tim is craning his neck to look up at Hawk and say, “I should leave before too long. I have work tomorrow.”

   “Okay, I’ll drive you home whenever you’re ready.” Hawk hums and leans down to press his lips to Tim’s forehead. Tim really wishes he didn’t have to go home. 

  “A few more minutes like this first,” Tim whispers. He buries his face into the crook of Hawk’s neck, breathing him in. He’s not sure when he’ll next have Hawk in such a purely romantic state like this, and he wants to commit every detail of it to memory. 

  He only lets himself stay there for a moment before he sits up and says, “Okay, let’s go before I end up falling asleep here.”

  They don’t talk much on the drive, but once they reach Tim’s apartment building, Hawk parks and gets out of the car, walking around to meet Tim at the passenger side door. He walks him all the way up to his door. 

  “I had fun tonight,” Hawk says. 

  “Me too.” Tim’s gaze flicks down to Hawk’s lips, and honestly, he’s a little embarrassed. He knows he’s allowed to kiss Hawk; he’s done it plenty of times before. Standing here longing for it is just silly. But Hawk gets the hint and leans in, pressing his lips to Tim’s. Tim wraps his arms around Hawk’s neck, pulling him closer. When they pull away, Tim is a little dizzy and seriously contemplating inviting Hawk inside. He really wants to, and he can tell Hawk wants it too, but he also knows that if he does, they’ll end up wrapped up in each other, and he won’t want Hawk to leave, and they’ll somehow both end up late to work tomorrow. 

  That’s a lot to say, so he decides to have a little fun instead.

  “I’d invite you in, but it’s only our first real date.” He presses his lips to Hawk’s again, giving just enough to leave him wanting more. “And I’m a good, Catholic boy. I don’t put out on the first date.” 

  Tim pulls away and winks. Hawk looks more wrecked just from that than he does after actually taking Tim apart in bed. He regains his composure quickly, though. 

  “I guess I’ll go home and picture you on your knees in prayer, then,” Hawk smirks, pressing a final kiss to Tim’s lips and disappearing back down the hall. Tim is almost too surprised to realize that despite how in control he thought he was, Hawk somehow managed to get the last word.

Chapter Text

 Tim’s office phone doesn’t ring super often. Really, it’s only purpose is so teachers can let him know if they’re sending a student to talk to him, but most students who come talk to him either schedule an appointment online or he calls their teacher to send them down, rendering the phone’s ringer mostly useless. But it’s ringing now. It’s out of the ordinary, but not quite unnervingly so. 

  “Hello, this is the counseling office,” he answers.

  “Hi, Mr. Laughlin. This is Miss Addison. Are you busy right now?” 

  “Not right now. Why?” He lowers his voice. “Are you calling just to gossip?” Because she really did do that once. Gotten news that she decided he absolutely needed to hear as soon as possible, and her class was working on a group assignment, so she called. To be perfectly honest, Tim didn’t think he needed to know at all, and felt a little bit guilty that he had let her tell him.

  “Not this time.” He can hear her stifle a laugh, but she holds in it and her tone turns a bit more serious. “One of my students says she needs to talk to you. Is it alright if I send her down?” 

  “Yeah, of course.” Any semblance of his moderate dislike for her is gone; if a student is coming to talk to him without an appointment, it’s probably pretty serious— or they might just be a bit irresponsible and forgot to schedule one, which is valid, given that they’re middle schoolers. Miss Addison thanks him and hangs up. A few moments later, there’s a knock on his door. 

  “Come on in,” he says. The door opens to reveal a familiar face: Kimberly Fuller, just barely more confident than she seemed last time she walked into his office. “Hi, Kimberly. What’s going on?”

 “Umm, before I say anything, can you remind me what the rules are where if a student tells you certain things you have to tell parents or police and stuff?” she asks. Oh. Tim figured this must be serious, but he didn’t realize it would be this serious.

  “Of course,” he hopes she can’t tell how nervous he is about whatever she’s about to tell him— or worse, what might happen if she decides not to. He talks her through the mandated reporter guidelines, explains that if somebody’s in danger, he’s legally required to reach out to parents or guardians, and depending on the situation, he might have to get authorities involved. She nods along in understanding, taking in everything he says and hanging on each word. When he reaches the end of his spiel, they sit in silence. Tim watches carefully as Kimberly’s gaze darts back and forth across the room, as if she’s weighing her options and sorting through pros and cons in her head.

  “Okay,” she whispers, finally breaking the silence. She meets his eyes gravely as her hands fidget nervously in her lap. “I think Jackson is doing drugs.”

  Tim inhales deeply. He hates seeing such good kids get wrapped up in things like this. He takes just a second to collect his thoughts before he responds.

  “First of all, thank you for coming to me and telling me. That was very brave of you, and it was the right thing to do. Would you be okay answering a few questions for me?” 

  “Is he gonna be in trouble?” Kimberly asks, her eyes widening in concern.

  “Probably not, and even if he is, it won’t be a lot.” He knows how important it is to be honest in these situations, but it always breaks his heart to tell a kid that someone they care about might be in trouble because of them. “I just need to understand what’s going on so I know the best way to make sure he’s safe.”

  “Okay…” She nods resolutely, as if trying to convince herself this is the right thing to do. “Ask me your questions.”

  Tim slides open one of the drawers of the filing cabinet behind his desk and digs through it for the form he’s looking for.  He skims the form, trying to decide which question will be the least intimidating starting point for the girl who seems already out of her depth. “Can you tell me what makes you think that he’s doing drugs?” 

  “I noticed that sometimes, when he comes home after being with his friends, he smells bad, but not like normal stinky boy bad, like weird dirt, but I thought he was just hanging out in the woods or something. But then a few days ago, I overheard him FaceTiming one of his friends, and I think they were talking about what they’re doing next weekend, and I heard Jackson say something about getting high,” Kimberly explains, her voice shaky. “And I don’t really know how to explain it, but he just seems off.”

  Tim nods and makes some notes on the paper. “Do you know what drugs he’s doing?” 

  “No,” she shakes her head. “That’s really all I know.”

  “Do you know which friend he was on the phone with when you overheard him?” he asks, and she shakes her head again.

  “That’s okay.” He scans the form again to make sure there’s not anything else she might know the answer to. “Do you want me to tell you what will happen next?” 

  “Yes, please,” she nods. 

  “After you leave, I’m going to call Jackson in here, and talk with him about it a little bit to get some more information–” 

  “Are you going to tell him I told you?” she cuts him off, panicked.

  “Not unless you want me to,” he assures her.

  “Please don’t,” she looks into his eyes, almost pleading.

  “I won’t,” he promises. “And after I talk to him, I’m going to call your parents, and I’ll have them come in, and together, we’ll make a plan for the best way to keep him safe. Depending on what he’s doing, and how long he’s been doing it, and what your parents want, we might reach out to the police for extra help, or we might not. The bottom line is that nobody is mad at him, we just want to make sure he doesn’t get hurt or sick. And you were right to come tell me so that I can make sure that happens.” 

  “Okay,” she hesitates, then walks around the desk to hug him gently. “Thank you for helping him, Mr. Laughlin.”

  “Thank you for helping me help him,” he replies. 

~

  He looks up Jackson’s schedule and calls his teacher, and before long, Jackson is appearing in Tim’s doorway, looking a bit uncertain as to why he’s there. 

  “Why did you want to talk to me?” he asks.

  “Come in and take a seat,” Tim says, and Jackson does, brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve the mystery for himself. “I want to start this off by saying that you aren’t in trouble–”

  “Oh no,” Jackson groans. “What did I do?”

  “One of your friends came in and told me that they’re worried about you because they think you might be doing drugs,” Tim explains evenly, meeting Jackson’s gaze and holding it. “Do you have anything to say about that?”

  Jackson looks away. “No, I don’t have anything to say.”

  Tim sighs. 

  “Look, no matter what you tell me, I have to go through the same procedure; I have to fill out the same paperwork, and I have to talk to your parents either way. So you might as well be honest with me so that the whole process goes smoothly and we can get through it on the same team.” 

  The office goes quiet for a while. Watching Jackson weigh his options, Tim once again notices the little similarities between the Fuller siblings, the way their mannerisms match. His eyes flick across the room just like his sister’s, almost like they’re sorting an actual list of advantages and disadvantages that only he can see.

  “It’s nothing serious,” Jackson admits eventually. “I’ve just smoked weed a few times. It helps me forget about everything that’s going wrong in my life.”

  “Okay, thank you for being honest with me. Can you tell me how long this has been going on and how often you do it?” Tim asks gently. 

  “I don’t know, maybe once a week for the past month or so,” Jackson shrugs. They go through the rest of the form like that; Tim offers questions and Jackson gives reluctant half-answers. It doesn’t take long for them to reach the end of it.

  “Okay. That’s all the information I need,” Tim says, “But, now I need to call your parents and set up a time for them to come in here so I can talk with them about this. You don’t have to be here for that meeting, but if you are, then you’ll have some say in the next steps. It’s completely up to you. Do you want to be there?”

  Jackson chews his bottom lip, thinking it over. “Yeah, I guess I’ll go.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Tim nods. “I want you to know I’m not mad at you over this.”

  “Okay,” Jackson deadpans. 

  “That’s all I need. You can go back to class if you want.”

  Jackson stands up and leaves without saying another word.

  Tim still has Jackson’s student profile open on his computer, so it’s easy for him to find his mom’s phone number. He hesitates for a moment, staring at the screen. She’s listed as Lucy Fuller. He always tends to address students’ parents by a title and last name— so she should be Mrs. Fuller— but this is a very recently divorced woman; he has absolutely no idea if she’d feel comfortable being referred to with her ex-husband’s last name, but he also doesn’t know what her maiden name is, or even if that’s what she’d prefer. Maybe he should have asked one of the kids if they know what she’s most comfortable with…

  He’s procrastinating. He hates making calls home. He knows that he’s really only having this argument with himself to put it off. He groans and picks up his office phone, dialing the number on the screen.

  It rings for a little while before a slightly fuzzy response comes.

  “Hello, this is Lucy Smith.” Well, there’s the answer to Tim’s debate. 

  “Hi, Ms. Smith. This is Tim Laughlin; I’m the guidance counselor at Silver Spring Middle School. I’m calling to schedule a meeting with you to discuss some things regarding your son, Jackson,” he explains.

  “Okay. An in-person meeting?” she asks.

  “If possible, yes. It’s a little sensitive in nature, so I’d prefer to do in person here at the school, but if you need, we can definitely set something up over Zoom-“ 

  “No, in person is fine,” she interrupts, not unkindly. “I just wanted to confirm. And do you need both parents?”

  “I’ll need to talk with both of you, but I also know that you’re recently divorced, so if those need to be two separate meetings, they can be. It’s easier to talk with everyone at once, but the last thing I’d want is to put either of you in an uncomfortable position.” He’s a bit surprised she hasn’t asked what the meeting is about yet. He prefers to not tell parents things like this over the phone, so he’s grateful, but that’s usually the first question he gets.

  “We’ll be alright in the same room for a while for the good of our children. We did it for 13 years, after all,” she chuckles softly. “I’ll just need to get his availability… Would it be okay if I talk to him and then call you back?”

  “Yes, we can do that,” he nods, even though he knows she can’t see him.

  “Okay, I’ll give you a call back in a bit.” She hangs up.

  Maybe twenty minutes later, the phone rings again. Twice in one day might be a new record. Tim answers and talks with Lucy for a moment, setting their meeting for 11:00 the next morning. After they hang up, Tim groans, takes off his glasses, and runs a hand down his face. Things like this are the absolute worst part of his job. Before he can overthink it, he picks up his cell and types out a text to Hawk.

   Are you free tonight? Can I come over, if you are?

   Hawk replies quickly, like he knows Tim needs him to.

   Yeah, you can come over. 

  Thanks. See you tonight.

   Tim almost includes a heart emoji, but stops himself at the last moment. Hawk sends his address, and Tim lets himself smile just a little bit.

~

  That evening, he goes straight to Hawk’s house from work. He rings the doorbell and Hawk answers, dressed in jeans and a sweater. It looks so soft that Tim considers burrowing into his chest right then, still in the doorway. Hawk invites him in, looking him up and down.

  “What’s wrong, Skippy?” he asks immediately, as he reaches out a hand

  “Is it that obvious?” Tim asks, taking Hawk’s hand and allowing him to guide him to the living room

  “Not to most people, probably.” Hawk sits in a comfy chair— he has some actual furniture now, Tim notices— and pulls Tim into his lap. “But I know you. I can tell.”

  “Just… hard day at work,” Tim sighs, finally letting himself curl up against Hawk’s chest. The sweater really is as soft as it looks. He realizes, distantly, that he doesn’t think Hawk even knows what his job is, and he doesn’t know what Hawk does either. That doesn’t really matter, though. He doesn’t want to talk about it, he just wants comfort and warmth. He just wants Hawk.

  “I’m sorry,” Hawk hums, pressing a gentle kiss to Tim’s hair.

  “Not your fault,” Tim mumbles into his chest. 

  “I know,” Hawk assures him. “Still sorry that it happened, though.” 

  Tim nods, and that’s when it hits him. He loves Hawk. He’s in love with him. And on some level, he already knew that, but he didn’t quite recognize it, like it was in the shadows of his mind in silhouette, too far away to realize the details. It’s so clear now, though. Almost glaringly obvious. He’s in love with this man who cooks for him and reduces him to putty in bed and takes care of him when he has a bad day. 

  “Skip?” Hawk calls, pulling him out of his thoughts. Tim looks at him, tilting his head questioningly. Hawk laughs. “I asked what you wanted to do. We can keep snuggling, or eat something, or,” his voice drops, low and quiet. “We still haven’t broken in my new bed.”

  Tim suppresses a whine

  “Can we do all three?”

  Hawk laughs again, deep and confident, but still comforting. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

  The next morning, sunlight sneaks in through the cracks in the blinds, casting an orange glow over the whole room. Tim wakes up slowly, Hawk’s scent surrounding him and lulling him into comfort. Tim burrows deeper towards the scent, and that’s when it hits him that it isn’t coming from nowhere. He’s actually here, waking up in Hawk’s bed, snuggling close to his chest. He could get used to this. He loves the idea of pulling away from sleep to find himself held tight in Hawk’s arms. He just lays there and watches Hawk sleep for a bit; he looks so peaceful like this, all his worries gone in his dreams. He’s beautiful. Tim’s heart aches. Eventually, he leans up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Hawk stirs a bit, letting out a soft groan.

  “Morning, Skippy,” he says, his voice thick with sleep. His eyes blink open leisurely. 

  “Morning,” Tim whispers back, peppering the edges of his face with more kisses.

  “What time’s it?” Hawk asks, running a hand through Tim’s hair.

  “Dunno,” Tim hums. Time doesn’t matter. His alarm isn’t going off yet— but even if it was, he’s willing to ignore it and spend all day with Hawk like this anyway. Work can’t be that important. Not when he’s in love. 

  Hawk smiles at him, but rolls over to check the time anyway. 

  “It’s 7:02,” he says casually, turning back to Tim and leaning in for a kiss. Tim dodges it, practically jumping out of bed.

  “What?!”

  “What?” Hawk looks genuinely lost. His brow furrows like he’s trying to figure out why Tim is freaking out, and if he wasn’t freaking out, Tim might find it cute. 

  “Did you just say it’s 7:02?”

  “Yes? Tim, what’s wrong? It’s still early, we have time.” Hawk reaches out for him a little helplessly.

  “Shit, I’m gonna be so late.” School starts at 8:30, which means students can enter the building at 8, and faculty has to be there before then, which means, “I need to be at work in half an hour, and my place is ten minutes in the wrong direction, so I need to leave right now, or—“

  “Why do you need to go home? You came straight here from work last night; isn’t all your stuff in your car? Just get ready here.” 

  Tim blinks slowly. How is Hawk not getting this? “I need clothes.”

  “Borrow some of mine.” Hawk gets out of bed, taking his hand and steadying him. Tim hadn't even realized he had been pacing. “You hop in the shower, and I’ll get out a spare toothbrush for you and pick out some clothes. Does that work?”

  Tim nods dully. He’s almost dizzy from the whiplash of being panicked over the situation to suddenly being taken care of by Hawk so domestically. 

  “Okay.” Hawk kisses him gently, and now he’s definitely dizzy. “Now go shower.”

  Tim nods again, walking off in the direction of the en suite. Hawk trails after him, presumably to look through the cabinet under the sink for an unused toothbrush. 

  A couple minutes into Tim’s shower, there's a knock on the glass door. 

  “Skip, how do you take your coffee?” Hawk asks.

  “Umm, a little bit of sugar and a lot of milk.”

  Hawk laughs brightly. “Okay, milk with a splash of coffee coming right up.”

  Tim smiles. 

  When he gets out of the shower, there’s a toothbrush still in the plastic sitting on the counter beside his glasses, and a carefully folded blue button up and pair of brown slacks on top of the toilet, along with a pair of boxers Tim distinctly remembers pulling off of Hawk a few weeks ago. 

  He gets dressed and brushes his teeth quickly, pointedly not thinking about how much these clothes smell like Hawk. Once he’s ready, he pads through the bedroom out to the main living area, where Hawk is in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Tim just stands there for a moment, watching him pour coffee into a travel mug, before he remembers that even though not going home bought him some time, he’s still running late. He pats down each of his pockets, making sure he has everything he should: phone, check; wallet, check; keys, check; his badge lanyard is in his car. He reaches to his chest and—

  “Oh, I don’t have my—“ he really says it to himself, but Hawk must overhear.

  “Right here.” He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thin chain with a cross pendant. Tim walks towards him and, almost instinctively, bows his head. Time slows to a stop as Hawk loops the necklace over his head, then presses a kiss to his hairline. 

  When Hawk pulls away, time resumes and Tim is running late again. 

  “Grab whatever you want from the fridge. I don’t want you not eating breakfast,” Hawk says. Tim obeys, opening the fridge and scanning its contents, pulling out a yogurt. “I’ll go put this coffee in your car.” 

  Tim reaches into his pocket, tossing Hawk his keys. He guesses which drawer the spoons are in on his first try. Hawk returns a moment later, just as Tim is finishing the yogurt. 

  “Okay, I really need to get going, but thank you for all of this.” He presses another soft kiss to Hawk’s lips before he leaves. “See you soon.”

  He wants to tell him he loves him. He doesn’t say anything.

  He heads out the door, and as soon as he gets in his car, he sees the travel mug placed in his cupholder, along with a little sticky note.

  ‘ Have a good day at work. And remember I’m here to cheer you up if you don’t. ;)  -Hawk’

   Tim wants this for the rest of his life.

~ 

  By some miracle, Tim makes it to work on time. The first few hours of the day are uneventful, but each tick of the clock bringing him closer to 11:00 adds to the dread building within him. He always hates having to meet with guardians; there’s never any telling if they’ll be supportive in getting help for their kid or if the whole situation will turn into a mess of yelling and Tim trying to mediate while people who should care just threaten punishments that won’t help. Somehow, though, he feels even more anxious than he usually does leading up to these meetings. Something is going to go wrong. He doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know how he knows. But something will. He can just feel it.

  At 10:50, he pulls up Jackson’s class schedule and calls his teacher to send him to Tim’s office. A couple minutes later, there’s a soft knock on Tim’s door. 

  “Come in,” Tim says, and the door cracks open to reveal a nervous looking Jackson Fuller, his gaze pointed towards the floor. “Hi, Jax. Have a seat.” 

  Jackson follows Tim’s instructions, still not looking up from the ground.

  “I want to tell you what will happen at this meeting, okay?” Tim asks gently, and Jackson nods. “Okay, so in a few minutes, your mom and dad will come in, and we’re all going to talk. I’m going to tell them you’ve been smoking weed, unless you’d rather tell them yourself.”

  “No, you can tell them,” Jackson says quietly, almost a whisper.

  “Okay. I’ll tell them, and then together, we’re going to decide what to do next. I know you might not realize it, or you might not care, but with how young you are, this kind of thing can really hurt you, so we want to do what we can to prevent that. I have information on lots of different things we can do to handle the situation here at school, things they can do at their homes, and other options for addiction counseling at facilities in the area if we decide that’s what will help the most.” From what Jackson’s told him about his smoking habits, Tim would be surprised if they decide the situation is intense enough to put him in a rehab program, but he wants Jackson to be at least aware of the possibility. “Because you’re here, you can give your thoughts on every option we bring up, and we’re going to really try to not force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. But if you’re rejecting everything, that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook; something still has to happen. And I want you to remember that you aren’t in trouble. Everything we might do is to help you so you don’t get hurt down the line, and I have a lot of training for this kind of thing, so if your parents bring up things that I know won’t help, I’ll tell them that those aren’t good ideas. Sound good?”

  “I guess.” 

  “Any questions?” Tim’s unbelievably nervous, and he’s really hoping Jackson can’t tell. He’s probably already anxious about what’s going to happen, and knowing that the responsible adult in the situation is too can’t be helpful.

  “No.” Jackson still isn’t looking up. Tim chews anxiously on his bottom lip. The clock keeps ticking.

  At 11:03, there’s another knock on Tim’s door. 

  “Mr. Laughlin, I have Jackson Fuller’s parents here to see you,” the secretary— Tim makes a mental note to get his name at some point, he’s new and Tim still hasn’t gotten around to it— says.

  “Great, send them in.” Tim stands as the door opens. First, a woman— Jackson’s mother, presumably— steps in. She’s tall, barely shorter than Tim, though the heels she’s wearing are certainly helping, and her smile somehow conveys both an air of friendliness and the sense that you shouldn’t cross her. Tim extends his hand, and she shakes it firmly. “I’m Tim Laughlin, nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Lucy Smith, we spoke on the phone. Nice to put a face to the name.” She looks at him like she can see his soul. Then, she gestures to the man who followed her in. “And this is my ex-husband—“

  Tim looks at him, and suddenly tunes out Lucy’s voice. Oh no. He doesn’t need her to introduce him to her ex-husband. He knows the man very, very well. In fact, he’s actively wearing Lucy’s ex-husband’s clothes. 

  Tim takes a sharp breath, extending his hand to Jackson’s father (because apparently, the man whose bed he woke up in this morning is his students’ dad). He can do this. He can be professional right now. “Mr. Fuller.”

  “Please, call me Hawk.” 

  Hawk is going to make it very hard to be professional, apparently.

  Tim goes on autopilot for most of the meeting, praying that the notes he’s taking are intelligible enough for him to read afterwards and actually understand what they talked about. Everything anyone says is just going in one ear and out the other; he’s too focused on trying to figure out how this happened. He’s always been so careful to keep work separate from his personal life. He never goes on dates anywhere within the zoning for his school. He brings up family early on to see if his dates mention any kids. He’s so deliberate about it. How did Hawk slip through the cracks? How did the one man to slip through the cracks become the one he fell— no. Tim doesn’t love Hawk. Apparently, he barely even knows him. 

  “Obviously, we hear a lot about peer pressure, but that’s rarely the only thing, especially if a student is going back to a substance more than once,” He’s vaguely aware that he’s explaining potential causes of drug use. He knows the words are leaving his mouth, but he’s not consciously saying them. “Often, they’re seeking relief from stressors in their lives.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Tim sees Jackson nod in agreement, like the statement resonates with him. Hawk must spot it too, because he shifts a little, and no. Absolutely not. There’s no way this is happening.

   He can’t believe Hawk is sitting in his office, and when he moved, the collar of his shirt moved too, exposing his collarbone to reveal a bruise. Honestly, the mark is a bit impressive. In any number of other situations, Tim might be kind of proud that he left it there, that he’s the one who nipped at the crook of Hawk’s neck until it turned deep purple. In this situation, though, he’s mortified.

  And then he realizes that he is the stressor he’s talking about. Jackson has been having a rough time because his parents are separating. They’re separating because Hawk is gay. Tim had just met Hawk when Jackson and Kimberly were told about the divorce. It’s not hard to put the dots together.

  This is all Tim’s fault. 

Chapter Text

  Somehow, Tim makes it through the meeting without losing it in any noticeable way. Once the family he destroyed is gone, though, he lets go, letting his head fall into his hands. He thinks he might be crying, but he’s not even sure. 

  He has no clue what anybody said in the meeting, but knows he took notes. He looks at them, but the words swim across the page, not forming anything comprehensible. Because, of course, as if things couldn't get worse, now he can’t even do his job. He finds himself knocking on Mary’s door, apologetically explaining that he’s going home for the rest of the day because he’s nauseous. It’s not entirely a lie. 

   When he gets to his apartment, he just flops onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He just doesn’t understand how this even happened. How did the man he met on the other side of the country end up being the father of two of his students? How did he not realize it sooner?

  Nothing makes sense right now. All he knows is that he has to put Jackson and Kimberly’s feelings ahead of his own right now. And that he needs a drink. He grabs his phone, vaguely registering that he has notifications, but ignores them to type out a quick text to Frankie, letting him know that they need to talk when he’s free, then drags himself off of his bed, heading in the direction of the liquor cabinet. 

  He finds himself drawn to a bottle of Johnnie Walker. He’s never been a big fan of whiskey, but Hawk likes it, so he bought the bottle when he saw it on sale. He pours himself a glass— neat, which he’s sure he’ll regret— and heads back to bed to drink it there. 

  He’s not entirely sure how much time passes before Frankie is letting himself into the apartment (and Tim doesn’t remember ever giving him a key, but that thought just barely rings in the back of his mind). He comes in and sits on the edge of the bed, just studying Tim for a moment. Tim stares back.

  “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or am I just supposed to guess?” Frankie asks eventually. 

  “I’m not really supposed to say, I think.” Tim loves a lot of things, but his job might be number one. He can’t do anything that might risk it.

  “Well then… I don’t think I can do much to help, babe,” Frankie frowns. “Do you want a hug?” 

  Tim falls into Frankie’s arms, burying himself in his chest. He stays there, curling impossibly close, breathing in Frankie’s vaguely floral scent for as long as he can manage, until he decides he has to talk, at least a little. There has to be a way to say the important stuff without giving away anything he shouldn’t.

  “I can’t see Hawk anymore,” he whispers against Frankie’s chest. He feels him inhale sharply.

  “That’s terrible, I’m sorry,” Frankie pulls him closer. “You wanna tell me why?”

  “I really shouldn’t. It’s a whole thing.”

  “Okay. I’m always here if you need to tell someone.” 

  They put on a movie (La La Land, which maybe isn’t the cheeriest choice when Tim is mourning something that had been on the line between a fling and a relationship, but it’s always been one of his favorites, and in a way, it’s cathartic) and Frankie makes sure Tim eats something. By the time Frankie leaves and Tim is starting to get ready to go to bed, he’s almost convinced that it’ll all be okay.

~

  The next few workdays are weird. Eventually, Tim brings himself to read his notes from the meeting, and luckily, they’re intelligible enough for him to piece together what they had discussed. No police involvement, Tim had apparently said he would send them information about some good teen therapists in the area for Jackson, and they would talk to Kimberly about if she would be interested in going too, Lucy and Hawk would keep a close eye on Jackson to make sure he stays away from smoking. Then, towards the bottom of the notes, underlined: “identify + eliminate stressors.”

  Tim pulls out his phone and takes a deep breath. Hawk has texted him a handful of times, the messages alternating between asking if they can talk and pictures of things he saw that made him think of Tim (a baby deer he spotted on his run, a sale on milk at Safeway, a really soft looking sweater that Tim really wants to ask where he saw because he actually might buy it). Tim hasn’t replied to a single one.

  He can’t keep seeing Hawk. It wouldn’t be right. But he also can’t make himself just ghost him. So, finally, he types something out.

  I’m sorry, Hawk. We can’t keep doing this. I can’t hurt your family over a fling. 

  He definitely shouldn’t be doing this on the clock. He sends the message. Almost immediately, there's a quiet knock on his office door and he jumps.

  “Come in,” he says. The door opens, and Kimberly walks in with much more confidence than he’s seen from her before, sitting casually in one of the chairs across from Tim. Vaguely, he thinks that she shouldn’t be in here during class, and wonders if it’s somehow lunchtime already. He glances at the clock, and apparently, it is. “Hey, Kimberly. What's going on? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to come thank you again for helping Jackson. I know it’s only been a few days but I already think things are gonna get better,” she smiles softly, and Tim’s heart bursts at the seams. This is what makes his job worth it. 

  “Yeah? He’s doing better?”

  “Well, he’s grumpy, actually. But, like, I can just feel that we’re on the right path,” she shrugs. “I can’t explain it.”

  “No, I know what you mean,” he grins. “How are you?”

  “I’m not bad. I was really worried about Jax, so I’m happy that he’s better. But also my dad’s been a little weird the past few days. Like, I think he’s been sad the same way Mom was when they were really really early in the divorce. And that’s just a little weird because I feel like I never see him upset.”

  Tim doesn’t read into that. It could mean a lot of things. Or maybe Kimberly could even be imagining it. 

  “But I think he’ll be fine. And I’m doing good in all my classes and my friend group just figured out how to deal with some stupid drama, so I’m actually pretty good, I think.”

  So things are weird, but the world isn’t ending. Cutting it off with Hawk is the right choice. Tim just has to keep reminding himself until he can actually make himself believe that it’s true.