that's the only thing sustaining hawk through this objectively ludicrous endeavor and following up on something that should have stayed an anonymous hookup. he's not even sure what's really driving this when he's at least back on speaking terms with tim - or maybe that's it in a nutshell. those words are echoing in his mind - coward, emotions, you run when it's too much, you pick the easy choice. as if any of this is fucking easy: still watching everything over one shoulder at all times, still living like there's someone watching him for the slightest crack to throw him in jail or present evidence of his deviancy to cohn and mccarthy on a silver platter. it's not like there's any shortage of it here, if anything, the cup runneth significantly over after a stop to the overworld and then some.
didn't stop him on christmas after the polygraph. didn't stop him from curling into tim at five in the morning after bailing leonard out of jail on a public indecency charge like previews of coming attractions if he didn't reign it in. and now here he is: out in public again, soliciting something meaningless because it feels like the walls are still closing in even if he's theoretically miles from dc and the farcical controlling force in the justice department right now.
there's whiskey on his breath and he's carrying a cigarette loosely between his fingers, walking the maze aimlessly with half the idea of turning around if he gets just lost enough, depending on how seriously their oh-so gracious hosts have taken the twists and turns of this. probably just some neat party trick to say they've got one on their grounds - a pissing contest between two wealthy fucks instead of investing in anything worthwhile. credit where it's due though - bathed in the moonlight it looks like some fairytale getaway, exactly where a prince might find his princess, or in this case, another prince. part of him thinks about what tim might look like out here, peeking innocently behind the hedges and waiting for hawk to find him in his solitude, to have his way with him here while the parties rage on inside and no one is the wiser about hawkins fuller and the heart he pretends he doesn't have.
well, he'll just have to settle for someone else.
he stops when he manages to reach the center, a giant statue looking like a bull? no, the minotaur, with a sigh and another deep inhale. it's only then that he notices something glinting off to the side - a bottle. hawk lets his footsteps fall heavier, still confident in their slowness as he takes his time making his way around the curve until he sees a figure sitting next to it. dark hair - a promising start. hawk lets his voice ring out clear, low and a little teasing from behind as he presses a hand against the statue and leans over.]
Well I guess that's as good a glass slipper as any.
➤ 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏
that's the only thing sustaining hawk through this objectively ludicrous endeavor and following up on something that should have stayed an anonymous hookup. he's not even sure what's really driving this when he's at least back on speaking terms with tim - or maybe that's it in a nutshell. those words are echoing in his mind - coward, emotions, you run when it's too much, you pick the easy choice. as if any of this is fucking easy: still watching everything over one shoulder at all times, still living like there's someone watching him for the slightest crack to throw him in jail or present evidence of his deviancy to cohn and mccarthy on a silver platter. it's not like there's any shortage of it here, if anything, the cup runneth significantly over after a stop to the overworld and then some.
didn't stop him on christmas after the polygraph. didn't stop him from curling into tim at five in the morning after bailing leonard out of jail on a public indecency charge like previews of coming attractions if he didn't reign it in. and now here he is: out in public again, soliciting something meaningless because it feels like the walls are still closing in even if he's theoretically miles from dc and the farcical controlling force in the justice department right now.
there's whiskey on his breath and he's carrying a cigarette loosely between his fingers, walking the maze aimlessly with half the idea of turning around if he gets just lost enough, depending on how seriously their oh-so gracious hosts have taken the twists and turns of this. probably just some neat party trick to say they've got one on their grounds - a pissing contest between two wealthy fucks instead of investing in anything worthwhile. credit where it's due though - bathed in the moonlight it looks like some fairytale getaway, exactly where a prince might find his princess, or in this case, another prince. part of him thinks about what tim might look like out here, peeking innocently behind the hedges and waiting for hawk to find him in his solitude, to have his way with him here while the parties rage on inside and no one is the wiser about hawkins fuller and the heart he pretends he doesn't have.
well, he'll just have to settle for someone else.
he stops when he manages to reach the center, a giant statue looking like a bull? no, the minotaur, with a sigh and another deep inhale. it's only then that he notices something glinting off to the side - a bottle. hawk lets his footsteps fall heavier, still confident in their slowness as he takes his time making his way around the curve until he sees a figure sitting next to it. dark hair - a promising start. hawk lets his voice ring out clear, low and a little teasing from behind as he presses a hand against the statue and leans over.]
Well I guess that's as good a glass slipper as any.