[ It isn’t optimism that makes him so sure he could have prevented this attack, it’s tried and tested fact. He doesn’t know how or why, but the beast didn’t just neglect to attack him – it avoided him. It’s optimism to believe this is important, that he might have some greater purpose here than taking useful information back home, assuming he’s not here to purify his soul and failing catastrophically at every turn.
Case in point, the right thing to do would be to shrug the hand off his shoulder, apologize for the misunderstanding and dire lapse in judgment, and ask this impossibly kind man to leave. If he weren’t in such a frazzled state of mind, he probably could, but the comfort of the warm, heavy hand on him seems worth that extra little bit of decay in his soul right about now. Tim leans gently into it, and turns to regard Quentin with sad, tired eyes, hoping some of that summery brightness will rub off on him. ]
...I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it seem like it was...
[ A mistake? No, it certainly was, and the evidence of that is laying on the other side of the wall, stitched up, drugged up, and hooked to a machine that beeps as his heart beats. Not every mistake must be a disaster in every way, though. He’s glad to have met Quentin, and despite himself, he’s glad that he’s here now. A supportive voice is what he needs, because he’s right. This is exhausting. ]
You were wonderful. You did everything right. It’s just complicated, for me. I told you, I don’t do that often.
[ Hookups. And when he does, Tim either never sees them again, or it evolves into a monumental, life-changing thing that he completely loses control of. Even with a full stomach and a good night’s sleep, this would be confusing. ]
And when I do, he doesn’t bring me breakfast in the hospital the next day.
no subject
Case in point, the right thing to do would be to shrug the hand off his shoulder, apologize for the misunderstanding and dire lapse in judgment, and ask this impossibly kind man to leave. If he weren’t in such a frazzled state of mind, he probably could, but the comfort of the warm, heavy hand on him seems worth that extra little bit of decay in his soul right about now. Tim leans gently into it, and turns to regard Quentin with sad, tired eyes, hoping some of that summery brightness will rub off on him. ]
...I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it seem like it was...
[ A mistake? No, it certainly was, and the evidence of that is laying on the other side of the wall, stitched up, drugged up, and hooked to a machine that beeps as his heart beats. Not every mistake must be a disaster in every way, though. He’s glad to have met Quentin, and despite himself, he’s glad that he’s here now. A supportive voice is what he needs, because he’s right. This is exhausting. ]
You were wonderful. You did everything right. It’s just complicated, for me. I told you, I don’t do that often.
[ Hookups. And when he does, Tim either never sees them again, or it evolves into a monumental, life-changing thing that he completely loses control of. Even with a full stomach and a good night’s sleep, this would be confusing. ]
And when I do, he doesn’t bring me breakfast in the hospital the next day.