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[ Insert room number i forgot ok ]

Thank you. It's very kind of you.

[ he's never been to the hospital on the grounds but it takes little time for him to navigate, carefully minding the over-filled plate he has covered with another, walking through the halls with the confidence and ease of a man who should be carrying a hot plate of food into a medical ward.

he's astounded, first, by all the noises - whirring machines and beeps, but he comes to the door of room where tim sits inside, looking quite different from their run-in at the baths. quentin is dressed a little more casually as well, stuck with what the house has provided him, but oddly enough? his hair is braided back along his skull in what some might call a french braid. he's a little bruised up, but he doesn't make note of it. instead, moving to set he food down on the bedside table like he owns the room the injured companion of tim laughlin rests in. he keeps his voice cown. ]

I don't know the names of some of these items, but I've been assured they're all delicious. [ eggs, toast, pastries, fruits... you name it. in fact, he swipes a little cinnamon roll and with little restraint, presses it to tim's lips softly. ]

And I insist you eat in my presence, else I will have to return every morning and make a fool of myself juggling eggs in the dining room. I think the maid took pity on me when I spilled the milk. Go on - eat.

[ It’s not the casual bedroom clothes that makes him blush when Quentin arrives, though they do make his tired eyes linger a second too long. It’s not knowing what’s underneath them, or the memories of last night, or the way he confidently saunters as if he does not know or care that it’s completely inappropriate. It’s the damn cinnamon roll, still warm and soft and slathered in sticky-sweet icing when Quentin presses it to his lips.

Wildly inappropriate.

He takes the miniature pastry from Quentin, their fingers brushing together as he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, licking the bit of frosting from his lip. ]

Okay, I’m eating. [ Putting it in his mouth. See? He’s a very good boy. He follows directions. ] We can talk in the hallway.

[ Head gesturing towards Hawk, thankfully still asleep. Let’s keep it that way. ]

[ all quentin knows is that he tried the little confection at the maid's insistence and he'd enjoyed it, so naturally he filled his plate with a handful for both of them, among other food items. he smiles, pleased, when tim takes the little pastry. he doesn't hesitate to grab another and pop it into his mouth. which means he's quietly talking around it for a few moments. ]

I see that you are eating - I had no idea that's what it looked like to eat. I so appreciate you informing me.

[ teasing again, and he shrugs, grabbing a napkin full of bread and cheese, walking out into the hallway with a glance back at hawk - all bruised and exhausted. only when they've left the quiet of hawk's room does he turn back to tim, pressing the little bundle of food to his chest. and then, as though it's nothing, he reaches to push the hair from tim's forehead with a familiarity he hasn't earned. ]

You don't have to eat all of it, but at least one.

[ He appreciates Quentin’s attempt to keep the mood light, he really does, but he can’t muster more than a soft hum at the teasing. This Tim is different from the sweet, bright-eyed boy from the baths last night. He looks withered and exhausted, he’s gone without sleep even longer than food, dutifully locked to his lover’s bedside, cycling between tears and prayers, if not mixing them together into holy gibberish. His face is puffy and dull, only finding color now because of Quentin’s bold behavior.

You can’t touch me like that, this is a hospital, he means to say, but the words die in the back of his tongue. It’s completely wrong, completely crazy, to let him do this where anyone could see them, not least of which is Hawk, just a wall away. But he does. His body craves the small sliver of comfort even with his mind screaming at him to reject it. Tim takes a deep breath, accepting the fingers smoothing out his fringe, and in so doing, smells the plate of food. It makes his stomach rumble. ]

I will. [ He plucks piece of sausage off the plate and bites it in half. ] Thank you. This is really sweet, you didn’t have to do any of it.

[ tim looks worn out - and from the sounds of the happenings over the last day alone he can imagine why. the man in the bed just inside of the room looked worse for wear, and he can see in tim's eyes the level of care he's gone to. he's pleased, though, when he eats at least a little bite of something. ]

Mm. On my ship, we always take care of those who walk aboard, whether they are strangers or family. If I'm to be stuck in this place I don't see why it should be any different here.

[ there's an easy sort of smile, quentin happy to hold the plate for him. he hears that stomach rumble, though and knows he made the right choice. hindsight - he's not sure he told tim where he hails from, but he doesn't seem to mind either way. ]

And you're right, I didn't have to do it, nor did I feel obligated. I may be a sea-faring brigand but I do have a heart, mind you. What have they said about his recovery? I heard all the noises and all the... things in there. I'm not familiar, but I hope they're helping him.

[ He shuts down Tim’s fretting with ease. He has a way of making everything seem easy, Tim’s already gathered, whether that’s debasing himself publicly or accepting his help in what should be the most awkward possible context in which he could ever need it. Quentin explains it away as if it’s as natural as the wind, letting him get swept away on it. This is fine. Maybe it’s even good, to have something to distract him from worrying, praying, and tears for a few minutes.

Tim gives him a tight smile and takes the plate, taking another sausage from it once he’s sitting down in one of the waiting chairs next to the door to Hawk’s room. ]

They think he’s past the worst of it. He was conscious and awake for a little while, but they have him on a lot of medication for the pain, so he’s out again. He’ll be okay, as long as there’s no infection and he keeps resting. It’s just... [ a pause, to calm down. To chew. ] I should have been there. We had an argument about something stupid, so I ran off, and...

[ Hawk almost got eaten over it. Thinking too much about it is making him lose his appetite, but he knows, logically, that he does need to eat. He nibbles at the end of a boiled egg with no enthusiasm whatsoever. ]

Tell me about being sailor.

[ Distract him. ]

You can't be everywhere you'd like to be, or you feel you need to be - at once. That's something I learned very easily as a sailor.

[ he follows tim, settling in one of the chairs beside him, expertly balancing the plate of food on one thigh so that tim can reach the plate with ease. quentin goes for one of the cinnamon rolls again, almost boyishly pleased at how sweet it is on his tongue. ]

My father was the Captain - a Naval ship. So I might as well admit my blood is half seawater anyway. But we'd miss things - birthdays and parties and big political things because we were traveling. I became his navigator, so as you can imagine I was very busy.

[ he grins, shrugging one shoulder. ] You can only give as much as you're able to - and that's enough. I like to think of it this way - if you're out on the waters and there's a storm that takes your crew for a spin, maybe you think later - if only we'd stayed in port longer. But the storm actually gave us the wind to make time to a new port, where I met a very good friend of mine. I was meant to be in the storm to find the moment after. The wolf attack may still have happened, and if you were there, who would be there to care for him?

[ another cinnamon roll, and this time he chews and speaks around it. ] You can't let guilt lead you astray.

If I were there, he wouldn't have been attacked. It wouldn't touch me.

[ If he hadn't walked away when he got his feelings hurt, if he had fought harder for what he wanted instead of turning on his heel and running away, again, he wouldn't be where he is right now. Hawk wouldn't have been injured, and Quentin wouldn't be sitting next to him and placating him into eating smiles and sweet words. They wouldn't even know each other. That would be...no, not better, but he would be focused. What kind of person thinks about another man's beard scratching against his neck when someone he actually loves is in the hospital?

Tim was overwhelmed before Quentin got here, and he's not making it better, despite his trying. It's good, physically, to be eating, but emotionally, it exposes more cracks than it patches. ]

Guilt isn't always a bad thing. It reminds you what's important.

[ Being pedantic, helpful. He sighs, tired, and takes another bite of his egg. With bacon. Getting there. ]

Some things happen for a reason. I think we're all here for a reason, for instance, and it's got to be deeper than the Balfours messing with us for fun. But fooling around with you in the baths while he was getting torn to shreds was a choice I made. Not God's plan.

[ tim has an optimism and belief in good that quentin lost some time ago. not completely, but that light has dimmed and sitting here even in tim's insistance and indignance, he finds himself refreshed by it. he steals some of the little pastries from the plate himself, letting tim talk, letting him get it out.

but at the end, he shrugs a little bit. the choice sounds like maybe tim thinks their bath meeting was a bad thing, but he doesn't comment. it wasn't bad at all, actually. instead, he sighs and reaches across to squeeze tim's shoulder. ]

You wouldn't have made the choice had you known, but you didn't. I know not being there for him must have been quite difficult - but for what it's worth, I think our meeting was quite serindipitous.

[ he raises his brows a little then picks a piece of fruit from the plate. he shouldn't talk around a mouthful but he's a sailor - and he does. ]

I don't know what gods your world worships, but we're all put here on these lands for something, yes. Some reason. But I think we ran into one another at the perfect time. You shouldn't be tending to his sick bed alone all the time. It's exhausting. So maybe I will annoy you in the future, but for the moment here we are. You'll simply have to continue looking at me, whether you like it or not.

[ 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.

Edited 2024-07-23 18:34 (UTC)

[ he squeezes tim's shoulder again and laughs softly - not mockingly, but more endeared and amused. this sweet man's heart is bigger than the room they're sitting in, and even his body was not mad a container to fit such a thing. it's hopeful, to see good people in the world after so long of seeing nothing but darkness and pain. ]

Tim. You greatly over-estimate how easily upset I am, but I think you do that for many people, by the look of you.

[ he smiles easily, letting his hand slide a little further, so he can brush his thumb against where his neck meets his shoulder. he dips his head to find the soft brown of tim's eyes, smiling. ]

And I'm terribly, regrettably sorry that I brought you breakfast when it is quite obvious you need to eat. Perhaps we had a little fun in the pool on a night that terrible things happened, but you have to understand my expectations are as simple as this - breakfast, among friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

[ he sits back, swipes another little pastry from the plate, chewing thoughtfully. ]

And how you need to try these chocolate ones next, get some good food in your belly, and return yourself to a man you love very much. But if you don't like these expectations, you'll have to do a great deal to change my mind.

[ The apologies aren’t solely for Quentin’s sake. He doesn’t seem to let anything phase him, but Tim is very different. He feels guilty, and not just because of what happened to Hawk in the meantime. He approached Quentin last night under false pretenses, having mistaken him initially for someone else entirely, prowling the bath out of anger and hurt that this man had nothing to do with and doesn’t deserve to be involved in, gave him parts of himself that he reserves for lovers. Serious connections, not tawdry hookups. If the roles were reversed, Tim would be hurt. He would expect something, if only some assurance that there weren’t a long-time partner, of sorts, waiting in the wings. That ought to be the bare minimum. Quentin’s carefree attitude about the whole thing doesn’t actually assuage his guilt. ]

I’ve never been friends with someone after. [ Quieter, hushed, as if it’s a scandal, because it is: ] After sex.

[ He takes the little chocolate one, as instructed, obedient despite his little protests here and there. He’ll have one, to please Quentin, and then return to the healthier bits on the plate. He’ll need the nutrients to take care of Hawk. Science, not appetite, forcing him to eat, but most of the work is being done by his new friend. The idea of which still sounds so strange. ]

Don’t say that so loud.

No one can hear, but I won't say it quite so loud.

[ he gives an easy little smile, shrugging one shoulder as he swipes a piece of fruit from the plate. he had his breakfast, but a sailor will always eat when they can. he can't help it when it's laid out in front of him. it's subconsciously why he grabbed enough for both of them. ]

Love is a terrible thing - it hurts even though it's one of the most magical things in all the land. Or so I'm told.

[ he doesn't know a romantic love, per se, but he can't help but think of his father and the way he'd have dried up every sea in the land to keep him safe, to protect him. and in tim's guilt he can see his own - he knows what it's like to not be there when someone needs you most. when what happened is, at the core of it all, one's own fault. ]

And if you don't want to be friends, it's a simple as that. I brought you breakfast to thank you for the evening, and we are two men on our merry way. But I'm sorry you've never left someone's bed feeling like more than a piece of convenient meat. That, too, is a terrible feeling on its own.

[ Tim nods solemnly, wondering to himself a little more than is appropriate, whether Quentin is speaking from his own experience and just being coy about it. He feels, like all lovers lost so deeply in the sauce that they’ll never swim out, that this is too profound and painful to possibly be universal. People wouldn’t be able to function. The economy would grind to a halt. In this moment, with Hawk laying injured, the heartache feels catastrophic. If everyone felt like this, it would be entirely up to kind souls like Quentin and their help, to avoid complete societal collapse. There can’t possibly be enough people like him, seemingly unphased by anything. ]

I didn’t mean I don’t want to. [ With a tiny smile. It doesn’t come naturally; he must force it with all the strength he can muster, but putting forth that effort is proof that he’s being honest. ] Just that I feel very...awkward, about it. Forgive me.

[ He busies himself looking down at his hands as he peels a boiled egg. Awkward indeed. Without looking back, ]

You didn’t make me feel that way.

[ Neither did Hawk, but that should be obvious enough, the way he’s leashed himself to his bedside. It’s far beyond what he would call friendship, either way. ]

[ quentin sits back in his seat, watching tim pull the egg apart, eyes focused in a way that reeks of someone tired, strewn out, anxious, awkward. it's endearing really, to see the small pull of a smile on tim's lips and he shakes his head. ]

I wasn't saying that. Simply giving you the option - I get the feeling you don't get to choose very often.

[ can you stay a few more minutes - had been heartbreaking in a way, stuck with him. ]

So, we'll be friends. It's settled - I'd say we could shake on it, but at the risk of ruining your boiled egg, we'll forgo that for now. So if you need me, you know how to contact me now on these little things they gave us. Awkward friendships are still friendships, mind you, and seeing what I've seen now -

[ a gesture to the hospital ward. ] A friend who is simply around but needs nothing is what might be best.

[ he plucks up a piece of fruit for himself before he sighs a little, rising to his feet. he's never been one for subtlety, and at least here, the injured what is surely lover of tim cannot see. he offers his hand to tim, insisting he rise. ]

Come here a moment.

[ I get the feeling you don't get to choose very often. It cuts deep, exposing a raw nerve within him that he'd rather keep hidden. He tries, keeping his focus on his egg and the plate of food in his lap, but he's never been a good liar, and so it's written on his face. It's uncomfortable because it's true, not just of his unsatisfying history of hookups until now, but his whole life for the last few months. Told that Hawk made his choice without so much as a conversation, brought here against his will, the choice he'd made to run off and enlist taken away from him. Things have been happening to him, and all he can do is react.

Last night, he chose this, and he's grateful that the choice is still his to make, lovers or friends or something in between. Everything is too overwhelming to know for sure right now, but Quentin is so inhumanly patient that he doesn't feel any pressure to. ]

Thank you, Quentin. You're a saint, honestly.

[ Tim raises an eyebrow up at him, but complies, wiping his hand on his pants before taking Quentin's, letting him pull him to his feet. ]

Oh careful now, I'm the farthest sailor from sainthood, actually. You'll change your mind come morning.

[ but he's not ignorant to the cut of darkness washing over tim's soft features. he's an attractive man, of course, but something there beneath the glasses and flop of downy hair shifts and he doesn't like the look of it. quentin toma is far, far too good at finding things, and not knowing when it's better to keep them a mystery.

but tim takes his hand, as confused as he is, and that is delightful enough. he gives a tug, closing the space between them and wrapping his arms around tim's shoulders, tugging him close. there are no whispers, no little kisses, no wandering hands - just the strong flex of his arms and crushing their chests together, so that tim may see it's not just his own heart beating by itself. ]

As your friend, I strongly advise you take care of yourself. Life's rough on the seas, and you're in a storm just now. It'll pass - but it's a storm all the same.

[ he draws back just enough to meet tim's eyes, quentin's smile turning a little soft at the corners. ]

Finish your breakfast, yes?

[ What time is it? Tim’s certain that it’s already come morning, at least from the time they met in the baths. The breakfast food still on the plate confirms it. He must have been sitting in that room for eight, ten hours? With no end in sight. He’s far too tired to resist the hug, which he might have otherwise out of a sense of propriety that would forbid it even if he didn’t have a lover laying injured on the other side of the wall. Now that it’s happening, warm, strong arms wrapping around him, it’s only a fraction of a second before Tim admits to himself that he needs this. He clings back, holding tight like some small, drowning creature climbing back to the surface, tears welling again at the corner of his eyes at the first true physical comfort after the longest, scariest night of his life.

He races to wipe his eyes before Quentin can see them, and loses. It’s uncomfortably vulnerable, but it’s a vestige of the past that’s making him feel that way, old scoldings about which feelings boys are allowed to have in public, old accusations that were true before Tim even knew what they meant. Old judgements. He doesn’t feel judged by Quentin in the least, even if he feels like he should be. ]

I will. I promise.

[ Quentin will get a picture of an empty plate in a couple hours. ]

I should get back, though. I need to be there when he wakes up. Thank you, for this, again.

[ oh, quentin can't stand the tears, and not out of anything nefarious - only that pretty-faced boys like tim laughlin shouldn't be sad like this. but he can understand what it's like to nearly lose someone you love, and feel like it's your fault. his father died because of him. he'll never forget it.

so he squeezes tim one last time before releasing him, and reaches up with one thumb to gently swipe away a rogue tear. ]

Good.

[ a small smile and his hand drops to tim's shoulder, giving a squeeze. ]

Yes, you should be there when he wakes. And no need to thank me - eat your breakfast or I'll have to come back and scold you.

[ he gives his arm a final, firm pat, swipes one more pastry off tim's plate with a little amusing waggle of his brows, and starts away from him, hands in his pockets, walking back down the hallway he'd come from. ]

Edited 2024-07-30 22:39 (UTC)

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