𝚃𝚒𝚖 𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚒𝚗

It was too early, Tim thought, he looked at the clock and got a little nervous. He looked again to see if he had thought of everything. Hawk and he would go to a Cottage. Christmas there, and he had one wish: he wanted to see the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. And later Hawk was supposed to get his Christmas present. It was a wish he had entrusted to him privately some years ago, and he hoped that Hawk would still remember it.

His heart had longed for something normal, too long they had both hidden. It was time for both of them to stand by who they were to each other.

He glanced at his watch again, he was too excited. He was no longer in his early 20s, and yet he felt damn young again. Perhaps it was also due to the apartment that his family had bought him, and which brought back all the old memories. The walls told a story, and Tim felt it. Losing in thought to the past days, some time has passed, and finally it was time.

With a smile, he took his small suitcases, which he had packed for the stay at the Cottage, locked behind him, and then went downstairs to wait for Hawk.

Every red light felt like it lasted forever. Hawk tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, though not impatiently—he was too excited for that. Today wasn’t just another Christmas. It was something different. A chance to finally bring to life a dream Tim had mentioned years ago, one Hawk had never forgotten. The Rockettes. Radio City. But more than any of that, it was the quiet, unspoken joy of just being together, in a space where they didn’t have to hide or rush or pretend.

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and exhaled. Perfect timing. Just a little early, enough to soak in the moment before it truly began. Hawk imagined Tim’s face when he saw him pull up, that mix of nerves and excitement that always made Hawk’s chest tighten. He smiled, shaking his head slightly at himself. “Relax,” he muttered under his breath.

The city whizzed past as he turned the corner, the familiar sights blurring slightly in the rush of his thoughts. Snowflakes drifted lazily down, catching in the windshield wipers, making him chuckle quietly. This—this was the kind of morning he’d remember forever. The mundane act of driving somewhere was suddenly electric, filled with anticipation. Hawk’s hand brushed over the small, neatly wrapped present tucked on the passenger seat beside him. Tim had trusted him with a wish long ago, and Hawk had kept it close, waiting for this moment to make it real.

His head had already alluded to many scenarios of what this Christmas would look like in this cottage. And everything felt like a dream and he was sure reality would look different. Like a thousand times better. He felt a little chill and with that he pulled his scarf around his neck a little tighter. What he couldn't use was catching a cold.

And then he saw his car, with each approach his heart beat faster and he swore that his cheeks even got a little more color. Then the car stopped exactly where he was standing and for a moment Skippy couldn't move but then he took his suitcase and went to the trunk without thinking to stash his luggage there. 

He couldn't wait to take him in his arm, to feel his breath on his cheek. Saying his gentle Hello Hawk to him.

with @hawkinsfuller

"I am in town. I... I had hoped we could see us. I rent a apartment which I use for travels here and there." His family had given it so he could visit them. With a another pause he shared the address.

Dear Tim,

I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hit me harder than I expected. It’s 2 a.m., and I’ve had a little too much, so I thought I’d write instead. I need to see you, Skippy. I keep thinking of the nights we spent talking and laughing, and it feels like someone cut a piece out of me when I can’t hear from you. Do you miss me at all, or am I just chasing ghosts?

I don’t care how or when, Tim. I’ll come to you if I have to, or you can come here. I just need to see your face, to hear your voice. There's a quiet kind of ache gnawing at me, and it’s all for you. I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking about the roads we could still take, the nights we could still steal from the world. Life feels too heavy, too fast, and you’re the only thing that makes it feel like it could slow down, even for a little while.

So write me back, Tim. Even if it’s just a line, even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive. I can’t keep sitting here wondering if you’re out there thinking of me too. I need to know. I need to see you. Please.

With a sigh that reflected what he felt, he dialed the number of Hawkins Fuller. At his end was a long silence. It seemed like an eternity to him. Nervously, he played with the cord of the phone. It was cold outside and autumn was noticeable. The wind blew and the tree in front of his apartment beat its branches wildly back and forth. Was Hawk even awake? He had no idea what his way of life was at the moment. This one question that Hawk had asked slowly spread in his innermost part.

(„I cant keep sitting here wondering if you’re out there thinking of me too. I need to know.“)

He stroked the bridge of his nose with his index finger and pushed his glasses higher. He thought of him and that was more than he wanted. Everyone who knew him and was close to him knew that he missed Hawk. Everyone had tried in vain to couple him with someone else. No one had gotten his attention like Hawk got it. His heart was with him and now he was sitting here waiting for him to hear his voice. Would talk to him. Would hope that this letter was the truth and how Hawk really felt.

He’d written that letter a week ago, in a fit of longing and bourbon-fuelled honesty he’d sworn he was past. A letter he never should’ve written, maybe. But the silence afterwards had gnawed at him. No call. No reply. Just the same empty nights, filled with the echo of his own words—Do you miss me at all, or am I just chasing ghosts? He couldn’t stop hearing them, couldn’t stop seeing Tim’s face in his mind, the softness in his eyes when he used to look at him like Hawk was something worth believing in.

He’d tried to fill the space with routine—work, smiles, the practiced ease of a man who’d convinced himself he could live two lives and keep them both from bleeding into each other. But there were cracks now. Every night he sat in this same chair, staring at the phone like it was some kind of confessional. Sometimes he picked it up, thumbed the receiver, even dialled the first few numbers of Tim’s line before hanging up. Cowardice, he’d tell himself. Or maybe mercy. It was hard to tell the difference anymore.

He took another swallow of bourbon, let it burn its way down. His reflection in the darkened window stared back—tired eyes, a loosened tie, the ghost of a man who’d once thought he could keep feeling and duty separate. “You’re a damn fool,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “He’s probably forgotten you. Moved on. Found someone who doesn’t make him hide.”

Still, the ache didn’t go away. It never did.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the phone. Maybe just one more try, he thought. Just to hear his voice. Just to know if he was still out there, breathing the same night air, remembering the same stolen hours that haunted them both. His hand hovered over the receiver, and he almost reached for it—almost—when the sudden ring shattered the quiet.

Hawk froze. The sound sliced through the stillness, sharp and startling, and for a second he thought he’d imagined it. But it came again, insistent, echoing through the room. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. At this hour, it could only be one person.

He wiped his palm on his thigh, trying to steady the tremor in his fingers, then snatched up the receiver.

“Hello?” His voice was low, cautious, roughened by the drink. Nothing came at first—just a long silence, the faint hiss of the line. And then, under it, he heard it: a breath, quiet, uncertain. “Tim?” he said, his throat tightening around the name. “Skippy, that you?”

No answer, just another soft exhale, and Hawk could almost see him—glasses slipping down his nose, the way he’d worry the phone cord when he was nervous. A shaky smile tugged at Hawk’s mouth, unbidden.

„It’s me, Hawk. I didn’t think I would have the courage to call you or write a letter back. Your letter, it has torn old wounds and while I hoped that every word corresponds to the truth I wondered if it was only a moment where you drank alcohol and then just would not remember. I wish very much that all that was in this letter is our truth. Tell me Hawk, am I enough this time? Or do you just want to hear my voice and then hang up again and continue your life? Because I’m calling because I was hoping I’d have a chance this time. An honest chance to get what I wanted from you since the 50s. So much later and I’m sitting here still chasing it. Us and what we could be if we finally did it and took this step. I didn’t burn this letter, I didn’t bring it over my heart.”

His eyes now had tears and while he had dared to open his heart and share with Hawk what he felt, he hoped it would reach him. Because he was sure that Hawk could destroy everything with just one sentence. He was the naive one at least everyone said that to him, but did not find it bad to communicate his feelings openly honestly or to hold on to what one felt as the one true love. It hurt him and yet he stayed and didn’t give up. Of course he knew that Hawk was guaranteed to have other men, often he had tried to suppress it and tried to keep his jealousy under control. Marcus had warned him at the time that Hawk was not made to have only one man. And yet he also hoped here that he might eventually be enough for Hawk Fuller. Outside you could hear the life on the streets of San Francisco. He almost wanted to apologize for the noise that was in the background but decided not to say anything yet. The silence spread and Skippy sighed a little.

“Hawk, I missed you.” He said softly and it was as if his heart was threatening to burst into a thousand pieces. He felt vulnerable and the feeling overwhelmed him.

“Skippy…” Hawk whispered, voice low and trembling, almost lost in the thick quiet of his own apartment. His eyes closed, and he pressed his forehead against the back of his hand, as though the simple act of grounding himself could steady the storm inside. “You don’t know what this means to me. All this time, I kept thinking I’d lost you… that maybe I’d imagined everything, that maybe you had moved on and I was just chasing a ghost.” His voice cracked, heavy with the weight of every missed call, every unanswered letter, every night spent staring at the phone as if it were a lifeline he couldn’t reach. The bourbon beside him seemed suddenly irrelevant, just a pale imitation of the courage he felt now surging through him.

There was a pause on the line, long enough to stretch the silence into something almost tangible. Hawk could hear the faintest catch of breath from Tim, the kind of sound that revealed fear, longing, and hope all at once. He leaned back in his chair, eyes still closed, letting the noise of the city outside fade until there was only Tim. “I’m here,” Hawk said finally, voice low but deliberate, every syllable carrying the weight of decades of hesitation and longing. “I’m still here. I need you, Skippy. I need to see you. I need the real thing. If you’ll let me.”

Hawk’s heart hammered so hard it felt like it might break through his ribs. He could hear the faint rasp of Tim’s breath, hear the subtle tremor in his voice as Tim admitted the same truth Hawk had buried for years. The sound was both a balm and a dagger—proof that Tim had felt the same way, that his longing had never faded, yet also proof of how long they had waited, how much time they had lost. Hawk leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone clutched as though it were a lifeline rather than a simple device.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat catching on the words he wanted so desperately to say. His eyes moved to the half-empty bourbon glass on the table, the amber liquid catching the lamplight, and for a moment he thought about pouring it out, letting the alcohol fade as if he could wash away the years of doubt and fear. But it didn’t matter anymore; he didn’t need it. Tim’s voice was enough, more than enough, and he realized with a pang that he’d been chasing a feeling all these years that had been sitting right in front of him the whole time. “I’ve missed you, Skippy,” he murmured, almost inaudibly, voice catching, lips trembling. “I’ve missed you more than I can even say.”

His mind tried to process everything Hawk said to him and that was not easy, because at the same time he tried to process the feelings that threatened to devour him. Hawk sounded honest, he had already told him many things and before he had believed everything. But he had changed and perhaps most of his naive and carefree self had been lost. But here he felt how hope in him rise. The feeling was almost palpable and yet Skippy took it and tried to feel at home in the feeling.. because he was once here at home with Hawk. Maybe there was a future for both of them, even if it had been years since they saw each other. Because Skippy still felt so much for Hawk. And just the thought of having something real with him felt too good. But he didn’t want to miss the chance, because it could be that both wouldn’t get such a chance again.

„I want to believe you, Hawk. Having something real with you was what I always wanted. I always wanted only you. For years I tried to find what we had but it was in vain. We had painful moments, so often it tore my heart that I stopped counting. And even though it was painful, this relationship was the only one that made me completely alive. I don’t regret a single moment to this day. Everything made me grow and made me who I am. Maybe not everyone sees it that way, but I do. If you really want something real then I’m ready. I can’t let this chance go, my heart couldn’t stand it. Still, I have to ask, how did you imagine it? I’m in San Francisco and I have my job here. My life is here, work and friends. You have your family and everything.”

It was the one reality or none. Both had to find a way to make it possible. Because it was one to want it eagerly and the other to really do it. Skippy was ready to do everything and he hoped Hawk had the same wish. He didn’t want it to fail here. Just the thought tore him apart and now he took a sip of milk, that had not changed in all these years. His spirit tried to remember the last meeting and he was happy there. He really thought that both could have been anything. But his heart was broken that he didn’t think he would ever see Hawk again. And now they were both coming together again so close that Skippy wished Hawk wasn’t so far away from him now.

„I wish you were here, Hawk.“ He then said softly, it was the truth and Skippy pulled a pillow to him. „Do that we can have it. That... that we can be a couple. I don’t think my heart can bear any more pain. So either we can do it this time or we don’t. But I can’t go on like this.”

“Skippy…” he whispered again, the nickname unraveling something tight in his chest. He had used that name so many times in the early days, when the world still felt wide open and the two of them had believed in a future that didn’t come to pass. Saying it now felt like stepping back into a lost version of himself, one he had spent years trying to forget but never could. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at his own hands as if the truth might be written there. “You’ve always had this way of cutting right to the heart of things. And I’ve always had this way of running from it.” He laughed softly, but the sound held more pain than humor. “You’re asking me how I imagined this working. The truth is—I didn’t. Not really. I didn’t let myself. I told myself you were better off without me, that your life in San Francisco was something I had no right to touch. But every time I tried to let you go, I kept finding you in everything. In every quiet moment. In every damn breath.”

He looked up the staircase again, the dark hallway stretching into the soft noises of a sleeping house. It should have grounded him. It should have reminded him of the man he was supposed to be, the life he had pledged himself to. Instead, it only made the ache sharper. He felt the weight of choices he had made decades ago, choices built on fear, duty, pressure—choices that had carved a distance between him and the one person who had ever truly seen him. “I won’t lie to you,” he said, voice dropping to a low, steady rumble. “There’s no easy version of this. Not for either of us. I have a family here, a whole life constructed around a version of myself that doesn’t tell the whole story. And you… you have roots there, real ones. A job, friends, routines, a life you built without me because I didn’t give you anything solid to hold onto.” He paused, letting the confession settle. “But I can’t keep living with this split down the middle of me. I can’t keep pretending that what you and I had was some… mistake. Or some stupid youthful fever. You’re not a ghost I keep chasing. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”

He drew in a long, uneven breath, and when he spoke again, the words were heavier, almost fragile in their honesty. “If we do this… it can’t be halfway anymore. I won’t drag you back into the shadows. I won’t make you feel like you’re something I have to hide. You deserve a man who stands with you in the daylight. If I’m going to be that man, I need to show up. Not in letters, not in late-night phone calls, not in stolen hours we pretend are enough. I need to show up in front of you.” His voice cracked, quietly but unmistakably, and he let the emotion bleed through for once instead of choking it down. “I’ve missed you every damn day, Skippy. Even when I tried not to. Even when I convinced myself it was better for you if I stayed on the other side of the country.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. “You said you wished I were there,” he murmured, the softness of Tim’s earlier words echoing in his mind like a prayer. “God, I wish that too. I wish I could walk into your apartment right now and see you the way you sound—tired, hurting, hopeful. I wish I could take that pillow out of your hands, touch your face, remind you what it felt like when I held you. Because I remember. I remember everything. And I’m done pretending I don’t.”

He gave a short sound and cleared his throat and then he tried to answer him which was not easy because he had so many feelings at that moment that overwhelmed him. „I want you.“ He said and broke the silence that had arisen after Hawk was done talking. Another tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it away again. „Honestly, I didn’t expect to ever hear that from you. That you want it all. I know we have a long way to go. But I want to walk this path with you. I want a life with you and for that I want us to start somewhere together. Maybe if you can set it up you will come to me? Be mine and come to San Francisco. And Hawk, I need you to remind me how good it felt to be in your arms. Because I missed it. No one understood me like you, no one saw me like you. If you want when... find a way to get here as soon as possible.”

That was the most honest thing he could say to him. How much he would have wanted him here now, his complete being demanded him, it distorted after something he had to burry for a long time. His love for Hawkins Fuller had always been too much. It had fulfilled his whole being. Had made him burn for the one man he loved, it made him alive like he had never been before. No one had triggered such feelings in him. He tried to get rid of him but it didn’t work. His heart wanted Hawk and no other. No matter how much he tried to give someone else a chance, it didn’t work. Now he got up and went with the pillow in his arm towards the kitchen and made tea water on the stove. While walking there, he told Hawk about Frankie and Marcus and that both had really tried to make life better for him.

„I think Marcus and Frankie would be happy to see you too. And when you’re here, we can talk about how to proceed. I want to spend Christmas with you. Our first not in the shadow of the night. I wish it could be our first.”

with @hawkinsfuller

"I am in town. I... I had hoped we could see us. I rent a apartment which I use for travels here and there." His family had given it so he could visit them. With a another pause he shared the address.

Dear Tim,

I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hit me harder than I expected. It’s 2 a.m., and I’ve had a little too much, so I thought I’d write instead. I need to see you, Skippy. I keep thinking of the nights we spent talking and laughing, and it feels like someone cut a piece out of me when I can’t hear from you. Do you miss me at all, or am I just chasing ghosts?

I don’t care how or when, Tim. I’ll come to you if I have to, or you can come here. I just need to see your face, to hear your voice. There's a quiet kind of ache gnawing at me, and it’s all for you. I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking about the roads we could still take, the nights we could still steal from the world. Life feels too heavy, too fast, and you’re the only thing that makes it feel like it could slow down, even for a little while.

So write me back, Tim. Even if it’s just a line, even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive. I can’t keep sitting here wondering if you’re out there thinking of me too. I need to know. I need to see you. Please.

With a sigh that reflected what he felt, he dialed the number of Hawkins Fuller. At his end was a long silence. It seemed like an eternity to him. Nervously, he played with the cord of the phone. It was cold outside and autumn was noticeable. The wind blew and the tree in front of his apartment beat its branches wildly back and forth. Was Hawk even awake? He had no idea what his way of life was at the moment. This one question that Hawk had asked slowly spread in his innermost part.

(„I cant keep sitting here wondering if you’re out there thinking of me too. I need to know.“)

He stroked the bridge of his nose with his index finger and pushed his glasses higher. He thought of him and that was more than he wanted. Everyone who knew him and was close to him knew that he missed Hawk. Everyone had tried in vain to couple him with someone else. No one had gotten his attention like Hawk got it. His heart was with him and now he was sitting here waiting for him to hear his voice. Would talk to him. Would hope that this letter was the truth and how Hawk really felt.

He’d written that letter a week ago, in a fit of longing and bourbon-fuelled honesty he’d sworn he was past. A letter he never should’ve written, maybe. But the silence afterwards had gnawed at him. No call. No reply. Just the same empty nights, filled with the echo of his own words—Do you miss me at all, or am I just chasing ghosts? He couldn’t stop hearing them, couldn’t stop seeing Tim’s face in his mind, the softness in his eyes when he used to look at him like Hawk was something worth believing in.

He’d tried to fill the space with routine—work, smiles, the practiced ease of a man who’d convinced himself he could live two lives and keep them both from bleeding into each other. But there were cracks now. Every night he sat in this same chair, staring at the phone like it was some kind of confessional. Sometimes he picked it up, thumbed the receiver, even dialled the first few numbers of Tim’s line before hanging up. Cowardice, he’d tell himself. Or maybe mercy. It was hard to tell the difference anymore.

He took another swallow of bourbon, let it burn its way down. His reflection in the darkened window stared back—tired eyes, a loosened tie, the ghost of a man who’d once thought he could keep feeling and duty separate. “You’re a damn fool,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “He’s probably forgotten you. Moved on. Found someone who doesn’t make him hide.”

Still, the ache didn’t go away. It never did.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the phone. Maybe just one more try, he thought. Just to hear his voice. Just to know if he was still out there, breathing the same night air, remembering the same stolen hours that haunted them both. His hand hovered over the receiver, and he almost reached for it—almost—when the sudden ring shattered the quiet.

Hawk froze. The sound sliced through the stillness, sharp and startling, and for a second he thought he’d imagined it. But it came again, insistent, echoing through the room. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. At this hour, it could only be one person.

He wiped his palm on his thigh, trying to steady the tremor in his fingers, then snatched up the receiver.

“Hello?” His voice was low, cautious, roughened by the drink. Nothing came at first—just a long silence, the faint hiss of the line. And then, under it, he heard it: a breath, quiet, uncertain. “Tim?” he said, his throat tightening around the name. “Skippy, that you?”

No answer, just another soft exhale, and Hawk could almost see him—glasses slipping down his nose, the way he’d worry the phone cord when he was nervous. A shaky smile tugged at Hawk’s mouth, unbidden.

„It’s me, Hawk. I didn’t think I would have the courage to call you or write a letter back. Your letter, it has torn old wounds and while I hoped that every word corresponds to the truth I wondered if it was only a moment where you drank alcohol and then just would not remember. I wish very much that all that was in this letter is our truth. Tell me Hawk, am I enough this time? Or do you just want to hear my voice and then hang up again and continue your life? Because I’m calling because I was hoping I’d have a chance this time. An honest chance to get what I wanted from you since the 50s. So much later and I’m sitting here still chasing it. Us and what we could be if we finally did it and took this step. I didn’t burn this letter, I didn’t bring it over my heart.”

His eyes now had tears and while he had dared to open his heart and share with Hawk what he felt, he hoped it would reach him. Because he was sure that Hawk could destroy everything with just one sentence. He was the naive one at least everyone said that to him, but did not find it bad to communicate his feelings openly honestly or to hold on to what one felt as the one true love. It hurt him and yet he stayed and didn’t give up. Of course he knew that Hawk was guaranteed to have other men, often he had tried to suppress it and tried to keep his jealousy under control. Marcus had warned him at the time that Hawk was not made to have only one man. And yet he also hoped here that he might eventually be enough for Hawk Fuller. Outside you could hear the life on the streets of San Francisco. He almost wanted to apologize for the noise that was in the background but decided not to say anything yet. The silence spread and Skippy sighed a little.

“Hawk, I missed you.” He said softly and it was as if his heart was threatening to burst into a thousand pieces. He felt vulnerable and the feeling overwhelmed him.

“Skippy…” Hawk whispered, voice low and trembling, almost lost in the thick quiet of his own apartment. His eyes closed, and he pressed his forehead against the back of his hand, as though the simple act of grounding himself could steady the storm inside. “You don’t know what this means to me. All this time, I kept thinking I’d lost you… that maybe I’d imagined everything, that maybe you had moved on and I was just chasing a ghost.” His voice cracked, heavy with the weight of every missed call, every unanswered letter, every night spent staring at the phone as if it were a lifeline he couldn’t reach. The bourbon beside him seemed suddenly irrelevant, just a pale imitation of the courage he felt now surging through him.

There was a pause on the line, long enough to stretch the silence into something almost tangible. Hawk could hear the faintest catch of breath from Tim, the kind of sound that revealed fear, longing, and hope all at once. He leaned back in his chair, eyes still closed, letting the noise of the city outside fade until there was only Tim. “I’m here,” Hawk said finally, voice low but deliberate, every syllable carrying the weight of decades of hesitation and longing. “I’m still here. I need you, Skippy. I need to see you. I need the real thing. If you’ll let me.”

Hawk’s heart hammered so hard it felt like it might break through his ribs. He could hear the faint rasp of Tim’s breath, hear the subtle tremor in his voice as Tim admitted the same truth Hawk had buried for years. The sound was both a balm and a dagger—proof that Tim had felt the same way, that his longing had never faded, yet also proof of how long they had waited, how much time they had lost. Hawk leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone clutched as though it were a lifeline rather than a simple device.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat catching on the words he wanted so desperately to say. His eyes moved to the half-empty bourbon glass on the table, the amber liquid catching the lamplight, and for a moment he thought about pouring it out, letting the alcohol fade as if he could wash away the years of doubt and fear. But it didn’t matter anymore; he didn’t need it. Tim’s voice was enough, more than enough, and he realized with a pang that he’d been chasing a feeling all these years that had been sitting right in front of him the whole time. “I’ve missed you, Skippy,” he murmured, almost inaudibly, voice catching, lips trembling. “I’ve missed you more than I can even say.”

His mind tried to process everything Hawk said to him and that was not easy, because at the same time he tried to process the feelings that threatened to devour him. Hawk sounded honest, he had already told him many things and before he had believed everything. But he had changed and perhaps most of his naive and carefree self had been lost. But here he felt how hope in him rise. The feeling was almost palpable and yet Skippy took it and tried to feel at home in the feeling.. because he was once here at home with Hawk. Maybe there was a future for both of them, even if it had been years since they saw each other. Because Skippy still felt so much for Hawk. And just the thought of having something real with him felt too good. But he didn’t want to miss the chance, because it could be that both wouldn’t get such a chance again.

„I want to believe you, Hawk. Having something real with you was what I always wanted. I always wanted only you. For years I tried to find what we had but it was in vain. We had painful moments, so often it tore my heart that I stopped counting. And even though it was painful, this relationship was the only one that made me completely alive. I don’t regret a single moment to this day. Everything made me grow and made me who I am. Maybe not everyone sees it that way, but I do. If you really want something real then I’m ready. I can’t let this chance go, my heart couldn’t stand it. Still, I have to ask, how did you imagine it? I’m in San Francisco and I have my job here. My life is here, work and friends. You have your family and everything.”

It was the one reality or none. Both had to find a way to make it possible. Because it was one to want it eagerly and the other to really do it. Skippy was ready to do everything and he hoped Hawk had the same wish. He didn’t want it to fail here. Just the thought tore him apart and now he took a sip of milk, that had not changed in all these years. His spirit tried to remember the last meeting and he was happy there. He really thought that both could have been anything. But his heart was broken that he didn’t think he would ever see Hawk again. And now they were both coming together again so close that Skippy wished Hawk wasn’t so far away from him now.

„I wish you were here, Hawk.“ He then said softly, it was the truth and Skippy pulled a pillow to him. „Do that we can have it. That... that we can be a couple. I don’t think my heart can bear any more pain. So either we can do it this time or we don’t. But I can’t go on like this.”

with @hawkinsfuller

"I am in town. I... I had hoped we could see us. I rent a apartment which I use for travels here and there." His family had given it so he could visit them. With a another pause he shared the address.

with @hawkinsfuller

"I am in town. I... I had hoped we could see us. I rent a apartment which I use for travels here and there." His family had given it so he could visit them. With a another pause he shared the address.

with @hawkinsfuller

"I am in town. I... I had hoped we could see us. I rent a apartment which I use for travels here and there." His family had given it so he could visit them. With a another pause he shared the address.

with @hawkinsfuller

"I am in town. I... I had hoped we could see us. I rent a apartment which I use for travels here and there." His family had given it so he could visit them. With a another pause he shared the address.

with @hawkinsfuller

Dear Tim,

I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hit me harder than I expected. It’s 2 a.m., and I’ve had a little too much, so I thought I’d write instead. I need to see you, Skippy. I keep thinking of the nights we spent talking and laughing, and it feels like someone cut a piece out of me when I can’t hear from you. Do you miss me at all, or am I just chasing ghosts?

I don’t care how or when, Tim. I’ll come to you if I have to, or you can come here. I just need to see your face, to hear your voice. There's a quiet kind of ache gnawing at me, and it’s all for you. I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking about the roads we could still take, the nights we could still steal from the world. Life feels too heavy, too fast, and you’re the only thing that makes it feel like it could slow down, even for a little while.

So write me back, Tim. Even if it’s just a line, even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive. I can’t keep sitting here wondering if you’re out there thinking of me too. I need to know. I need to see you. Please.

With a sigh that reflected what he felt, he dialed the number of Hawkins Fuller. At his end was a long silence. It seemed like an eternity to him. Nervously, he played with the cord of the phone. It was cold outside and autumn was noticeable. The wind blew and the tree in front of his apartment beat its branches wildly back and forth. Was Hawk even awake? He had no idea what his way of life was at the moment. This one question that Hawk had asked slowly spread in his innermost part.

(„I cant keep sitting here wondering if you’re out there thinking of me too. I need to know.“)

He stroked the bridge of his nose with his index finger and pushed his glasses higher. He thought of him and that was more than he wanted. Everyone who knew him and was close to him knew that he missed Hawk. Everyone had tried in vain to couple him with someone else. No one had gotten his attention like Hawk got it. His heart was with him and now he was sitting here waiting for him to hear his voice. Would talk to him. Would hope that this letter was the truth and how Hawk really felt.

He’d written that letter a week ago, in a fit of longing and bourbon-fuelled honesty he’d sworn he was past. A letter he never should’ve written, maybe. But the silence afterwards had gnawed at him. No call. No reply. Just the same empty nights, filled with the echo of his own words—Do you miss me at all, or am I just chasing ghosts? He couldn’t stop hearing them, couldn’t stop seeing Tim’s face in his mind, the softness in his eyes when he used to look at him like Hawk was something worth believing in.

He’d tried to fill the space with routine—work, smiles, the practiced ease of a man who’d convinced himself he could live two lives and keep them both from bleeding into each other. But there were cracks now. Every night he sat in this same chair, staring at the phone like it was some kind of confessional. Sometimes he picked it up, thumbed the receiver, even dialled the first few numbers of Tim’s line before hanging up. Cowardice, he’d tell himself. Or maybe mercy. It was hard to tell the difference anymore.

He took another swallow of bourbon, let it burn its way down. His reflection in the darkened window stared back—tired eyes, a loosened tie, the ghost of a man who’d once thought he could keep feeling and duty separate. “You’re a damn fool,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “He’s probably forgotten you. Moved on. Found someone who doesn’t make him hide.”

Still, the ache didn’t go away. It never did.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the phone. Maybe just one more try, he thought. Just to hear his voice. Just to know if he was still out there, breathing the same night air, remembering the same stolen hours that haunted them both. His hand hovered over the receiver, and he almost reached for it—almost—when the sudden ring shattered the quiet.

Hawk froze. The sound sliced through the stillness, sharp and startling, and for a second he thought he’d imagined it. But it came again, insistent, echoing through the room. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. At this hour, it could only be one person.

He wiped his palm on his thigh, trying to steady the tremor in his fingers, then snatched up the receiver.

“Hello?” His voice was low, cautious, roughened by the drink. Nothing came at first—just a long silence, the faint hiss of the line. And then, under it, he heard it: a breath, quiet, uncertain. “Tim?” he said, his throat tightening around the name. “Skippy, that you?”

No answer, just another soft exhale, and Hawk could almost see him—glasses slipping down his nose, the way he’d worry the phone cord when he was nervous. A shaky smile tugged at Hawk’s mouth, unbidden.

„It’s me, Hawk. I didn’t think I would have the courage to call you or write a letter back. Your letter, it has torn old wounds and while I hoped that every word corresponds to the truth I wondered if it was only a moment where you drank alcohol and then just would not remember. I wish very much that all that was in this letter is our truth. Tell me Hawk, am I enough this time? Or do you just want to hear my voice and then hang up again and continue your life? Because I’m calling because I was hoping I’d have a chance this time. An honest chance to get what I wanted from you since the 50s. So much later and I’m sitting here still chasing it. Us and what we could be if we finally did it and took this step. I didn’t burn this letter, I didn’t bring it over my heart.”

His eyes now had tears and while he had dared to open his heart and share with Hawk what he felt, he hoped it would reach him. Because he was sure that Hawk could destroy everything with just one sentence. He was the naive one at least everyone said that to him, but did not find it bad to communicate his feelings openly honestly or to hold on to what one felt as the one true love. It hurt him and yet he stayed and didn’t give up. Of course he knew that Hawk was guaranteed to have other men, often he had tried to suppress it and tried to keep his jealousy under control. Marcus had warned him at the time that Hawk was not made to have only one man. And yet he also hoped here that he might eventually be enough for Hawk Fuller. Outside you could hear the life on the streets of San Francisco. He almost wanted to apologize for the noise that was in the background but decided not to say anything yet. The silence spread and Skippy sighed a little.

“Hawk, I missed you.” He said softly and it was as if his heart was threatening to burst into a thousand pieces. He felt vulnerable and the feeling overwhelmed him.