#throws my mixed diaspora issues tim hc into the ring. runs off

[mamawasatesttube]

11 or 27? I love when my blorbos can hold each other tenderly

11. "Just hold on to me." 27. "I'm going to carry you, okay?"

“I dunno exactly what kind of escape attempt you were going for, when I can hear exactly where you are, y’know.” Kon alights atop the fencepost next to Tim’s perch. “C’mon. I know you hate being sick, but Ma’s got a nice, hot pot of soup with your name on it waiting.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, just turns his face up into the wind and sniffles. It’s not cute; he sounds like he’s in danger of dry drowning from mucus alone. His nose is red and runny, his cheeks flushed bright with the cold. He’s got a shawl wrapped around himself, but it’s snowing. That’s nothing.

Tutting, Kon shrugs off his own jacket and wraps it around Tim’s shoulders. “Robbie…”

Tim sniffles again and coughs hoarsely, twice. His fever still hasn’t broken, and his eyes are too bright as he drops his head onto Kon’s shoulder. “I wasn’t trying to run off.”

Kon snorts. “I should hope not. Where’d you be running to? The cows?”

Tim doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t bicker back with him. He’s just silent for a moment. He sucks in a rattling breath and blows it out, coughing again; the cold air can’t be pleasant on his sore throat. “I just… wanted to watch the snow.”

Softening, Kon wraps himself around him, his TTK enveloping the air around Tim to try and warm him up a little. “You couldn’t do that from the window seat, Robbie?”

Tim shakes his head. “Not like this.”

Kon’s quiet. Tim opens up, sometimes, but never with prodding. Prying is a method of last resort with him, because it takes a metric buttload of effort. The rare moments when Tim chooses to open up, to share tiny things from that steel trap of a head he’s got… Kon cherishes them.

Sure enough, his patience pays off. Tim turns and tucks his cold face into Kon’s neck. He seems to have realized he’s cold; he’s shivering, and Kon pulls him closer.

“My mom,” Tim starts, voice hoarse. A dull ache tolls through Kon’s chest, coupled with breathless warmth, because Tim never talks about his mother. There must be something special about the snowfall. “She was half-Chinese. Did I ever mention that?”

Kon shakes his head, though it’s unnecessary. They both know Tim never has.

“Her mom was from this tiny village just below foothills of the Himalayas, or something. I don’t even…” He breaks off to cough, and Kon winces. “I don’t even know the name. I don’t know my grandmother’s name. My mom, she… she barely told me anything about that side of the family. I don’t think—I don’t think my grandma told her much to begin with. But the one thing I did know… there was this one photo. The single photo I ever saw of my grandmother as a little girl. She was playing in the snow, out on a big field. It looked…”

He trails off, and Kon’s heart tugs in his chest. He knows a thing or two about a heritage forever out of reach, about growing up on the outside and looking in.

“It looked a little like this?” he finishes, gentle as he can, and Tim nods.

“I dunno what even reminded me of it,” Tim mumbles. His energy seems spent after the explanation, and he sighs, sagging against Kon’s chest. Kon can feel his eyelashes brush his neck as he closes his eyes. “But then I wanted to… I dunno. Sit here.”

Kon presses a kiss to the top of his head. He gets it, but Tim’s sick, and it’s cold out. And Ma’s inside, fretting because Tim slipped away the second Kon ran out to the store for her. “I’m gonna pick you up now, ‘kay?”  

“Mmhmm.” Tim sniffles again, horrible noise that it is. “Ugh. I sound gross.”

“You do,” Kon agrees, kissing his hair again. “Just hold on to me, sunshine. Soup ‘n’ tea are waiting for you. We’ll get you feeling better in a jiffy.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Tim’s fingers curl into the front of Kon’s sweater, and Kon easily scoops him into his arms. He flies back towards the farmhouse, and the snow falls gently around them.