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"Don't you need me, Skippy?"
Tim considers answering honestly. No, he doesn't need Hawk. Does he want him? Yes. Does he long for him? Definitely. Does he wish to be there for him? God, he does. Does he love him? More than anything. But does Tim need him? Not in a way he used to.
"I have you," he answers instead, hoping Hawk will understand. I have you in my heart. I have you in my memories. I have you right now, I have your attention and your drunk calls and your love.
Hawk's blue, tired eyes flash with fondness and a shy smile appears on his lips. He looks so small and Tim's hit by sudden wish to hold him in his arms.
"Come here," Tim says and opens his arms suggestively. Hawk scoots closer on the edge of the pool and tucks his face into Tim's neck. Tim closes his arms around him, one is on Hawk's waist, another is over his shoulder, hand lightly caressing his hair on the nape of his neck.
A familiar feeling of being home washes over Tim and he can't help but kiss Hawk's head.
"I will sign your papers," Tim says quietly into his hair, "on one condition."
"Hmm?" Hawk doesn't get his head up from where it rests under Tim's chin.
"Get your life together, Hawk. And then we'll talk about what to do with this house."
Tim feels Hawk shiver. Suddenly he is very aware of Hawk's lips dangerously close to his pulse, of Hawk's breath ghosting his neck, of Hawk's hand gripping his thigh. The drugs have already wore off and Tim's consciousness came back, and he knows it is unfair to Arthur, but if Tim is being honest, it will always be unfair to Arthur and all the Arthurs that will come after that, because they can have his body, but his heart will always belong to somebody else. Somebody he is holding right now, somebody he missed all these years, somebody he's loved for the most of his life.
In the end of the day, Tim is only a man. He moves his hand from Hawk's hair to his chin and lifts it up. Hawk goes willingly until they're face to face, glancing at each other's lips. Hawk makes a move to kiss him but Tim stops him, hand still on his chin, just couple of inches from his mouth.
"Promise me, Hawk," Tim says. Desire to kiss him is unbearable but he doesn't, testing his own will.
"I promise," Hawks says and Tim believes him.
He closes the space between them, and then he is kissing him. It is nothing comparing to the drunk, desperate kisses Hawk initiated earlier. The kiss is slow and sweet, like they have all the time in the world, like they've been doing it their whole life.
Tim doesn't pull away when it ends, just presses his forehead to Hawk's and stays there for a minute.
"Let's go for a walk," Tim suggests.
He leads Hawk to the beach. It's dark and the waves are barely visible but sounds of the ocean are loud and clear. They stand in the dark, shoulders pressed, holding hands.
"Jackson loved the sea," Hawk says, "one summer we went to Florida to surf and he was so happy."
"I imagine," Tim laughs, "there were a few poems about the ocean in his notebook. I read it back when I stayed in your cabin."
"I feel like I fucked it up, Skippy. As parent, as husband. I fucked it up with you too."
"You didn't," Tim turns to face Hawk. He can barely see him, even though he stands very close, mere inches between them. "You hear me, Hawk? You didn't fuck it up. You can't blame yourself alone for everything that happened with Jackson. And with me."
They walk along the beach, holding hands. They kiss some more. Eventually they head back to the house.
"Stay with me?" Hawk echoes his question from the earlier but this time he asks for something different.
Tim stays with him, holding him on his bed until Hawk is asleep. Tim doesn't know where are they going from here, but he is happy to have Hawk in his life again. Maybe, meeting a few times a year here on Fire Island is not that bad idea, Tim thinks as he drifts to sleep too. He will consider this in the morning.