Discover Top Posts Tagged with #six questions

Six Questions // TM!JFM

Pairing: Tim Murphy x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.7K Style: One-Shot (prompt: based on this amazing post by the lovely @love-me-a-good-prompt) Warnings: Angst (my first genuine attempt so go easy on me), fluff, mentions of intimate situations (in reference to art) Summary: Y/N works as a muralist at Tim’s museum, and he loves watching her work. After working up the courage to speak with her, they strike up a partnership neither one expected. After days and days of work, one extremely involved mural forces Y/N to stay late, and Tim offers to keep her company. A game of sorts ensues. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: I’m really on a Tim kick, huh? Who’s complaining, though, because it ain’t me.

Masterlist

~

What started as just a job to help kill some free time while finding a job that earned you money had become something you could genuinely say you looked forward to every single day. Originally, the offer from the museum included a grand total of zero dollars, but after completing two larger projects for them, they decided they wanted to keep you. Then the offer became something you would have to have been idiotic to refuse. Not to mention the money, the people you worked with were genuinely happy-go-lucky people, clearly in love with the work they do. It was also nice to see tons of people, big and small, young and old, light up when they saw an exhibit they particularly liked. You got to do this all from the sidelines, not having to deal with any anxiety from meeting people. One day, though, you could feel eyes peering into the back of your head. It almost felt familiar, to a degree, like the eyes had looked at you before. Except this was the first time you really felt it. You were up high on a scaffold, so you carefully turned around to see if what you were feeling was really the case. That’s when you saw him; the auburn-haired boy with a visible scar on his cheek who was destined to become your personal confidant, standing there, shy as a mouse.

~

You really were not sure what to do. One option was lower the scaffold down to get to the ground, but that would take a minute and the descent would be awkward. Not to mention, he could just walk away at any point, which would have been a waste of time to move halfway to the ground to just have to move back up. Another option was to simply return to your work and act like he was not staring at you. A third option would be to call out to him, see if he responds at all, or if he is simply just caught in thought. You have been there, so you did not have a reason to judge him for it. You decided on your third option, risking embarrassing him and yourself, but not wanting to feel the intense gaze on yourself any longer. You wanted to ask him ‘can I help you with something?’ but something in his gaze made you pity him. It was not a sad expression, but one filled with almost a yearning sensation. The seriousness of his expression changed what your brain allowed your mouth to say without even realizing it until the entire sentence had escaped your lips.

“Are you alright?”

Clearly taken aback by your sudden question, the boy blinked rapidly at you and his cheeks flushed with color. You felt terrible for making that happen, but it was not like you could take it back at this point.

“Oh… y-yeah! Sorry. I… I was just watching you work…” With every word he spoke, realizing how what he said might have come across as stalkerish, he got quieter and quieter. Something you would come to learn was a habit of his. He had an intense sense of doubt whenever he spoke to people, not thinking that his words were worth the time of anyone or anything but his own brain. “I’m not good at art, and it kind of… mesmerizes me when I see people paint. How it works. I’m no good at things that involve the use of my hands. So—” As he continued to talk, he realized the look on your face was one of pure shock and confusion. He assumed that it completely stemmed from the fact that he was rambling on and on about himself, something that you clearly have no reason to care about. Your eyes had gone wide, and your eyebrows furrowed lightly in the middle, raised up high. Your body still stiff as a board turned around, not moving once while he spoke.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I need to shut up. I’ll just go—”

“Wait, please!” You never meant to sound that desperate. “Um… it’s okay, you know.”

“What is?”

“Watching me work. Kinda makes me feel validated.” You chose your next words carefully, wanting to make sure of two things; one, you wanted to make sure you did not insinuate something that you did not mean, and two, you wanted to ensure that the boy would come back and see you again. “I wouldn’t mind having company the next time you’re free and I happen to be working. If you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, um… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Y-yeah!”

Never had someone reacted the way the boy did to your work. Not even your family. They knew you were a fantastic painter, but they were not ones to really express it. When the museum offered your part-time, paid position, it was with a slight bit of enthusiasm, but nothing more. Just business. This boy… clearly different.

~

The next day, you had come to work early, to make sure you were working when the boy showed up. It is not like the two of you set a time to meet, it was not a date or anything. Heck, you did not even know his name. You just wanted to be thoroughly engrossed in what it was you were doing so you could see the admiration on his face again. You craved that validation after not getting it for years. Then you smelled it. The smell of a burger and fries from the food truck that always liked to park at the museum. It was always so good. How did it get inside, though? Then you heard him.

“I, uh, brought you some lunch, if you want to take a break.”

You whipped around on your scaffolding, him scaring you with his words, and him clearly flustered by the whole situation.

“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you! I just figured… you’ve been here for over five hours and haven’t had anything to eat, so… I hope you like that food truck. Wait. Sorry, I only know you’ve been here that long because I walked in behind you. I just didn’t say anything. God, I’m a wreck, sorry.”

Now you were smiling sweetly, holding back a small laugh that would have made the boys eyes sparkle with joy had he gotten the chance to hear it. You started to lower your scaffolding while he walked a little bit closer, not knowing where your boundaries were. Once the scaffold was all the way down, you hopped lightly to the floor, walking the small distance over to the boy. You reached out to grab your bag of food and smiled lightly at him.

“Honestly, you’re such an angel for bringing me lunch. I completely forgot to pack one today. So, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“N-nothing. My treat.”

“I can’t possibly let you get away with that. I…” You chuckled breathily. “I don’t even know your name!”

“Tim. Tim Murphy. Doctor of paleontology.”

He spoke so fast you hardly made out what he was a doctor of. But it was endearing, to say the least. He sounded bashful, even about an accomplishment as good as his.

“Well, Dr. Murphy, I really appreciate the gesture. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m no doctor. More of a dunce, really. No degree or anything, just living my dream as an artist.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Officially.”

“Yes, it is.”

Tim could feel his heart swell. Never in his life, especially not since the incident, had he been this confident around anyone outside of his family. He never even treated the people on his dig team that way. But something about the air around you made it easier for him to breathe. Easier for him to be himself. Your presence was like an ice-cold canteen in the middle of an August day in the Sahara for him. He could not even explain why.

“Te-tell you what. I insist you don’t pay me, but how about you join me for lunch instead of eating while you work? We can go sit in my office. If you’d like, of course.”

“That’s a deal, Murphy.”

~

Ever since that second day of interacting with you, the two of you were practically inseparable when you were working at the same time. Lunches, and sometimes even dinners were spent together, just talking about nothing or simply enjoying the sounds of museum creaking away or the buzz of bugs if you ate outside. Sometimes Tim’s coworkers would see the two of you together and make some snide comments, but neither of you paid them any mind. You were too wrapped up in the way the other spoke and held themselves to really care. It was blissful, something neither of you had really experienced previously. For Tim, it was a normal day at work, so he expected the same from you. He had promised to make homemade quesadillas and bring them for the two of you to share, and he held up his end of the bargain. He made his way over to the enormous mural you had been saddled with working on and saw that you were feverously painting away as if your life depended on it.

“Lunch is served!”

He called up to you loudly, but not loud enough to disturb the museum-goers. Except that somehow, you never heard him.

“Y/N?”

Still no response, just intense painting. Tim started to almost feel like you were ignoring him, feeling his chest deflate a little bit. Afraid that after all this time, you started despising him and his ways, just like everyone else he encountered and befriended. He made his way over to where you had been propped up on the scaffolding, nowhere near as high as the first day the two of you had met. You had told him one time that you start at the top of your murals always because if paint would ever run down before you had a chance to catch it, you could always paint over it. If paint ran down onto completed work, you would have to do it all over again, and it would be an endless cycle of a waste of time and supplies. He waited until you stepped back for a breather, which took close to four minutes, and then he knocked on the metal scaffolding, as a last resort to catch your attention. When he knocked, he earned himself a startled reaction.

“Wha—! Oh, it’s just you, Tim. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been calling out to you for almost ten minutes, you know.”

“You… you have?”

“Yeah. You’ve just been really wrapped up in whatever part of the mural this is. Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah… it’s just that… I don’t think I am going to have time to take a lunch today.” Tim felt the sinking feeling in his chest again, which had gone away when he finally got to look in your eyes. “And I know that today was quesadilla day, and I was really looking forward to it. It’s just… look, I’ll never get this project done on time if I keep taking half hour lunches with you. Believe it or not, I am on a deadline. Please don’t think I’m angry at you if my tone makes it seem that way, I’m just overwhelmed with how big this one is and I’m doing it completely on my own, and having to buy my own materials is barely being covered by what they’re paying me. I want to spend as much time with you as we have been,” and you never even noticed Tim had pushed the ‘down’ button on the scaffold to bring you to his level, “I just need this job more than I need a delicious quesadilla and—”

“Y/N.” He cut you off with the sound of your name, the sternness in his voice, and a hand on your wrist. “Now you’re the one who’s rambling.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” You could feel the tears threatening to fall down your face.

“Look. You need to eat and take a break. You’re going to eat lunch with me, and then work through the night if you have to. And guess who will keep you company since they have a set of keys because they’ve stayed so late in the past that the janitors just made him a set of keys?”

“You’d do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve put up with me all this time.”

“I figured you’d be sick of watching someone paint by now. Someone who doesn’t have a bunch of cool stories from adventures they’ve been on. Sick of… me.”

Tim felt that sinking feeling return for the third time, but this time it felt different, somehow. This time it was like a pang of guilt, because he truly did not mean to give off the impression that he was sick of you. Far from it.

“I don’t understand how you could think like that. I could never get sick of seeing which part of your face is going to have the paint splatter on it each day.”

You smiled sweetly and proceeded to invite Tim onto the scaffold to eat with you, that way you could get right back to work afterwards. The two of you had lunch like it was any other day, and you could feel some of the tension leave your shoulders as you ate, Tim’s presence calming you down. Once both of you were finished, Tim lifted his hands in the air beside his head as if to say ‘okay, I did my part, you can keep working’ and you got the message. You cleaned up your plate and immediately went back to working. Once Tim had stood up and started to walk away from the scaffolding, you turned around and yelled over to him.

“Thank you for lunch! And… thanks for keeping me company. See you for dinner?”

“Of course.”

A smile was exchanged, and you moved the scaffold back up to where you had been working while Tim walked away. Despite being completely invested in your work, you could not wait for dinner to come around.

~

You completely lost yourself in your work again, failing once again to realize Tim’s presence. Heck, you did not even notice that the museum managers had locked the doors when they left, Tim informing them that the two of you would be staying late to meet some deadlines and that he could let you out when you were done. You had managed to get to a spot on the mural where you could have the scaffold at its lowest point, so anyone could take a small step upward and be on it with you. He did not want to scare you because he was afraid you would jump and then streak a color across the mural that was not intentional. So, again, he waited, this time with a bag of warm and fresh Chinese food in hand, until he knew that it would be safe to get your attention. Except that this time it took over ten minutes, and your body language gave off the indication that you were not in the mood to stop. He just stood behind you, watching the intensity on your face. It was laced with something else, though, and he could not place it right away. He moved his eyes back to the portion of the mural you were working on, and after looking at the art itself, he looked to your hand that held the brush. And he knew it was time to intervene, not just because the food was going to get cold, but because he could see the effects of exhaustion taking over. He knew them all too well. He would constantly have to be told by his dig-mates that he needed to take breaks and get some water because he would become so invested in the site he was working on that he would go hours without drinking anything. That is not something anyone should do, which is common knowledge to everyone else, but it was not easy for Tim to pry himself away. So, he knew where you were coming from in terms of loving what you do so much that you never want to stop. He quietly placed the food down next to him, and carefully took a few steps to close the space between the two of you, so as to not alert you to his presence fully. He squatted down and lightly laid his hand on your shoulder in an effort to calmly halt your movements. It worked better than he planned, so he continued his efforts to pry you away from the wall. You had not made a noise, had not turned to look at him, but you knew by the gentle nature of the movements that it was Tim behind you. You confirmed your suspicions when you saw a set of hands reach for your own, the one holding the brush. Scarred and beautiful. One of the hands reached to grab the brush, lightly squeezing the metal part situated between the bristles and the wood handle so he avoided getting paint all over his hand, and to leave room for his other hand to take hold of the one which held the brush. While placing the brush in the warm water you had laid out, his other hand gently wrapped around yours, easing the shaking. But he could still feel you trembling underneath the one hand, so he brought his other hand to clasp around yours and you could feel him start to massage the cramping muscles in your palm. Then he would take each finger one by one and work out the tension. Alternating back and forth between wide-scale massaging and focused attention on a small muscle that was clearly overworked. Eventually the shaking subsided tremendously, and Tim reverted back to wide-scale rubbing on the back of your hand and your palm. He spoke just above a whisper so as not to startle you and to let you know that it is okay to relax a bit.

“You need to take a break. You’re gonna end up breaking your hand if you keep going at this rate. Sit down with me, okay?”

Reluctantly, you let yourself start to lower to the ground, Tim not letting go of your hands once, and still massaging them. The feeling was soothing – so much so that you actually started to feel the exhaustion Tim knew you had to have been feeling. He was not trying to lull you to sleep, it was just beginning to happen naturally. He had not taken his eyes off of you, wanting to make sure that you knew he was there for you to help you through the stress and exhaustion. You were finally feeling like you could relax to the point of tears slipping down your face because you had not felt this calm in weeks. Your newly relaxed natured ushered a question out of your mouth without you even realizing it.

“Wanna play this weird game I saw on the news the other day?”

“Depends on how weird your definition of weird is.”

“Basically, I saw this thing on the news that said there is a game that can bring two people closer than a marriage of fifty years. It’s really simple… maybe, considering the state of being I am currently in, the game would not be the worst idea.”

“How do you play?”

“Well, basically, there is one rule for the game, and it’s 100% honesty. Each person gets to ask the other three questions of their choosing, and the other has to answer in their complete truth. No holding back from either party. It’s a test of someone’s willingness to be vulnerable and open with someone, even if they haven’t known them more than five minutes.”

“Would it keep you from stressing over this job?” You nodded your head slowly, making eye contact with him. “Well, then I’m game.”

The two of you move so you are sitting face to face, and still close enough together so that Tim could still massage your hand, since he can tell what effect it was having on you. The two of you both thought in silence for a moment, before you quietly spoke up, asking your first question.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you on a dig?”

“Oh… that’s easy. Hard to admit, but easy to answer.” You were still just blankly staring at him, and he was determined to get a smile on your face, even if it meant embarrassing himself in front of the most magnificent girl he had ever met. “This was… years ago. One of the first digs I ever went on as an actual PhD board-certified paleontologist, so probably about six years ago or so. I was prepared for everything, right? Like I had changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a tent. I was prepared. Then one day, in a desert that rain hardly ever touches, the sky just opened up. There were mudslides everywhere, but thankfully no equipment or things in tents were ruined. The sites were, though, and I happened to be working on one when it started pouring. And my ‘seat’ became one of those mudslides. I slid down a hill about thirty feet, completely covering my one side.”

He could see the sternness in your eyes die down a little bit, sparkling a little bit brighter than before. He knew the story was working. “So, after I managed to pull myself up from the ground when the rain finally stopped, I made my way over to the shower, honestly a little surprised that no one was using it. I stripped down behind the door, needing to feel like I wasn’t a man made of mud. I started to shower, like I normally would, and didn’t catch the noise of the door hinges moving. I had just finished getting the shampoo out of my hair when I turned around to turn the water off and then I saw her.”

The light in your eyes continued to remain, but the calmness in your face faltered a little bit at the word ‘her.’ You could not explain why, but thankfully Tim did not catch it. It was not like the two of you were dating, and this story took place years ago. You did not have anything to worry about, at least that is what you told yourself.

“One of the only girls on the dig that year had gotten herself into a pretty similar situation as me, and was so determined to wash the mud off herself that she failed to notice the water running. She swung the door open and stared just long enough so I knew who she was and she recognized me, but we both had the same idea right after; shut the door. I leaned forward, trying to grab the door, and she slammed it. Hit me right in the face, hard enough to knock me down to the ground. Had to reshower and everything. I couldn’t even bring myself to forgive her on the grounds of her looks or personality. She was not my type in the slightest.”

You were stifling back a giggle at this point at Tim’s exasperated manner of storytelling. It also had something to do with the fact that he admitted freely that she was not his type, giving you hope for something that you could not explain. He was still massaging your hand, too.

“Well, at least I got you to smile. I’d say that makes the story worth telling. Now it’s my turn. I want to know… What’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever painted and why?”

You had to think about it for a minute, because you had been painting seriously since you were about fourteen. It had been a long time since you considered yourself fully dedicated, and as commission work would come in, requests became more and more intense. Realistic. After about a minute of thinking while feeling Tim’s hands still press on yours, you realized what it was.

“It was a commission… for this guy. He had recorded himself, and he made a rather hefty request of me.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“How did you know this guy?” It almost seemed like Tim was feeling the same way about the word ‘guy’ as you did about the word ‘her,’ but you did not make much out of it.

“Personally, I didn’t. It was an online commission. Basically, he had recorded something and wanted me to watch it. The specific request basically said ‘watch this entire thing and I want you to paint us,’ referring to himself and the girl in the video, ‘in what you consider to be the most erotic moment in the video.’ I had a basic idea of what I was going to be watching, but when I saw that the video was over twenty minutes long, I really didn’t want to continue with the request. But, after I told him that I would be charging him extra because of the absurdity of the request and he didn’t decline the price, I was committed. One of the biggest commissions I have ever gotten to this day, actually more than the first check this museum gave me. But I guess I still have to tell you what it was, huh?” You swallowed, remembering the video more so than the rendition you did. “He… him and the girl… I assume they wanted a painting of them while actually having sex, but he told me to paint what I considered the most erotic. There was a part before they actually hooked up where she was… um… straddling his lap, and he was sitting up, head level with her chest. They were really in the moment, both still wearing their underwear though, if that matters. But at one point she held his face and he looked up at her like she hung the stars in the sky. It was one of those moments where, at least for now, all that mattered in the world was each other, and that was what I ended up painting. So… yeah.”

Tim was looking at you with such an intensity that you could feel it in your chest, how fast your heart was beating. You could not tell if the image of the painting in his head was doing that or what, but it was a look on the boy’s face that you took a mental image of for a sketch later down the road.

“Oh… wow. That’s, um… quite intriguing that you chose that part. I, uh… gosh, it got warm in here now that everyone’s gone, huh? That’s not it should… work…”

“If the idea of my painting is bothering you that much, how do you think I felt watching that video, huh, Murphy?”

That calmed him down, hearing you revert back to your normal self after talking so quietly. It was like you were not tired anymore, lighting up in the presence of the smartest and dorkiest paleontologist the museum could have thrown at you. He loved having this effect on you, because never in his life, or his wildest dreams, could he imagine doing that for someone like you. Someone perfect.

“I think it’s your turn to ask me question two.”

“Ah! Right… let me think. …I almost don’t want to ask this, but before I do, you should know why I’m asking. I think they’re incredible and tell a story unlike any other, and I think they’re beautiful.” As you spoke your preface, you reached up with the hand that has been free this whole time to stop Tim’s motions on your hands to place his in your own and lightly stroke them with your thumbs. Clearly grazing over the pale white lines on them. “What’s the worst thing someone has done to you or said to you regarding your scars?”

You were still holding his hands, and you could feel them tense and get a little sweaty. In fact, you could see that his posture had changed, like his whole body had stiffened. It was not out of fear or remembrance of painful memories. It was disgust, which meant that there was a particular instance that came to mind, and it almost made you want to retract your question. Tim spoke before you could, allowing you to hear the real answer.

“I was having a sleepover with people who I thought were my real friends, yet I woke up to a room that smelled like sharpie.” You shot him a confused look. “I got up to find that no one was in my living room with me, all of their belongings were gone, and I could see a note on the floor where their bodies should have been. It read ‘look in the mirror, freak.’ I went into my bathroom and noticed a couple of black lines on my face and neck. Then I noticed them on my collarbone, my arms, my hands, my legs, and even my feet. They had found a sharpie and marked every single scar that I had while I slept, pointing out every single flaw that I have. Every single one of my insecurities, and called me a freak to top it all off.”

You could see the tears starting to form, and you despised yourself for wanting to ask that question. You hated yourself for a number of reasons; you had made Tim remember something he clearly did not need to, you had almost made him cry, you had made him admit his biggest insecurity, all of it because you wanted to play a stupid game.

“Tim… I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean…”

“But you know why I’m okay? You know why I’m not going to cry?”

You just looked at him, tears threatening to slip from your eyes, now.

“Someone has recently taught me that people like that don’t matter. They taught me to ignore the snickers we heard at work because they’re just jealous. And that same person just told me that they think my scars… are beautiful.”

“…”

“You really think they’re beautiful?”

“Is that your second question, Murphy?”

“No, but I have to know that answer more.”

“I couldn’t lie to you if my life depended on it, so yeah, I do.”

He let a single tear slip from his eye, wiped it away quickly, and proceeded to ask his next question. No preface other than a serious expression painted onto his face.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you will never make it as an artist?”

“Every single day.” No hesitation. No pause. No stopping to think. It was a question that plagued you from the moment you got your first commission, shockingly enough. “Not a single day goes by when I wonder if the commissions will ever stop. Painting for myself is great, don’t get me wrong. But I have no other skills. No backup plan. That’s why I fought so hard to get this job. They have me booked to paint the whole museum at some point, and once the unchanging exhibits are complete, they will give me advance notice about the ones that do so I can come repaint the walls. But that’s the only stability I have. Another museum may come and scout the work and hate it, making sure that I get no other museum recommendations. Plus, not too many people send in personal requests. I have to hope that I get long term contracts, or… I’m just done. Penniless. Homeless.”

Tim was looking at you with a melancholy expression. He had something in his heart he wanted to say, but it was not like the two of you were together. His offer would even be weird for people who had been dating for over a year. He held back, as hard as it was.

“Is my answer okay?”

“Oh… yeah! I mean… in the sense that you told the truth. Clearly. But… can I tell you something? It might be weird.”

“I’m the one that suggested this weird game, so obviously go ahead.”

“If the museum ever lets you go, and no commissions are coming in, and your strapped in more ways than one, come… stay with me. I have enough space. I can help you. The offer will stand, even if you marry someone and have kids with him. My home will always be open to you, okay?”

If the tears were not threatening to spill earlier, they sure were now. All you could do to hold back a choked sob was grab onto his hands and squeeze. A way of saying thank you without having to actually say it. He completely understood. Then it was time to move onto the final question for each of you, and both of you had known what you were going to ask when you first agreed to the game. They were both loaded questions, but for completely different reasons. Based on his reaction to the previous one you asked, you mentally braced yourself for the worst with this third one. He was doing the same.

“Tim… I want you to tell me about Jurassic Park.”

And he did. He told you about the giant t-rex that ate a guy in a latrine. He told you about the fact that his parents were going through a divorce and that was the only reason him and Lex were there. He told you about being constantly rejected in the beginning by a man he looked up to. He told you about Lex’s screams and how they kept him up at night. He told you about being stuck in a functionless car while a t-rex was stomping around it and knocking it around. He told you about falling many feet in a metal car, to be suspended for God knows how long with no help. He told you about how he threw up. He told you about falling through the tree and almost being crushed by the car. He told you about being trapped in a kitchen with velociraptors that were four times his size and eight times his weight. He told you about being electrocuted by a fence and falling almost ten feet. He told you about the rain.

He was sobbing. Hyperventilating. You regretted it completely. You wished you could have taken it back, but there was no turning back. There was no erasing the memories for Tim. Nothing could ever take the trauma away from him. But there was one thing you could do; be there for him in this moment. You reached over and attached your hands to his face, forcing him to look at you. To make him aware that you were there and he was not back there. There were no more living dinosaurs. That he was alive and breathing. That he had you there to help him. You used your thumbs to wipe the streams of tears rolling down his now red cheeks. It was like he had opened a faucet, and he was having trouble breathing. Once he realized that you were wiping his tears, his breathing slowed, and so did the tears. You kept wiping them away, somewhat uselessly since you did not dry your hands off in between. Then your hands stilled, the two of you just watching each other. And you noticed a stray, single tear. The last one. You did not wipe it with your hand, but instead leaned over to him to kiss it away. You tasted the tang of the salt within it, but did not mind one bit because all that mattered was making Tim feel better. To take him away from the place you forced him into. You kept your face pressed against his so he could feel the warmth of your lips and face, but you could feel him pull away from you a little bit. Just enough so he could look you in the eyes. He manages to steal a glance into them, and he realizes that you are crying just as much as he is, you are just a lot better at being quiet about it. It causes more tears to slip from his own eyes, but he could not care less. All he cared about was taking care of the desperation he felt regarding the human contact and love that he had been deprived from for years. In a very unlike Tim move, he crashed his mouth into yours and kissing you with such a fervor that you started to feel lightheaded. Once the two of you pulled away from each other, he could see that he had made your lips swell lightly, making them redder than before, and he could also see the shocked expression adorning your face. He thought you hated him now. He was an emotional nightmare and felt that the right thing to do was kiss you? He could not imagine how this scenario played out well for him. He started to inch his body away from yours more, starting to relentlessly apologize for making you uncomfortable. Except that was not how you felt. Not at all. You wanted him to keep going.

“Please… don’t pull away from me.”

With the speed of a bolt of lightning, his mouth had found yours again, kissing you like there was no tomorrow and these were his last moments with you. While his kiss was passionate, it was safe. Just lips. You wanted more. With all the effort you could muster in that moment, you tried nibbling at his lower lip, wanting his lips to look just like yours by the end of it all. Pulling apart because there was no air left between you two, he pulled his head far enough back where he could look at your entire face, and tilted his head gently to the side like a curious puppy. And it was time for him to ask the final question of the game.

“Do you think you could ever fall in love with someone like me? Someone broken?”

You looked back at him, completely sure of your answer instantly. You just had to be brave and say it.

“I think I already am.”

After having let out all the pent-up emotions and putting on a show for the security guard’s cameras, you went back to working, no longer worried about the deadline, no longer trembling. You stayed seated on the scaffold, working at the bottom of the mural. Tim nestled himself into your side, resting his head in the space of your criss-crossed legs, feeling completely at ease. He leaned the back of his head against your stomach, and felt the muscles in your torso move with your arm as you painted. Eventually, you saw the warm, yellow glow of the sun through the high-up window to your right, and you looked down to see that Tim had fallen asleep, head now facing your stomach, nose pressed right above the hem of your pants. You could feel both of his arms lazily around you, an effort to make himself comfortable since he wanted to make sure his head stayed right where it was. You had stayed up all night, not panicked at all, working on some of the smaller detailing that took longer. You placed your small brush in the water for a moment, though, to look down at the sweet boy in your lap. You did not have the heart to wake him up, considering the museum employees still were not scheduled to arrive for an hour. So, you decided to gently run your hand through his hair, but not hard enough to wake him up, earning yourself a small groan from the boy in his sleep, who then nuzzled his nose more into your stomach. A feeling you could get used to.

Permanent Taglist: n/a

Tim Murphy Taglist: @gardnerlangway @drtimmurphy

// If you want to be added to either taglist mentioned above, or the one for another character I’ve written for, send me an ask here! //

#six questions

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#six questions