[the first thing hawk does when he gets home is pour himself a stiff drink. the second is to delete that goddamn app off his phone. and the third - is to shake his head and swear when he sees the notifications that both his payments have been refunded. so fourth: he resends both, waiting for the payment to finalize before deactivating his account and logging out of the burner email for...probably ever. and then he reclines back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and swirling the whiskey in his glass as he tries not to think about the wounded look on tim laughlin's face - the glassy eyes, the slight tremor of his lips, and absolutely not the way for the briefest moment he'd shifted closer into hawk's palm as if he couldn't get enough of such a small gesture of contact. this whole thing was just a complete fuck-up - indicative that it was tim's likely first time doing anything in person, and certainly hawk's for getting too damn invested.
look where it got him.
there's another lie to add to his tally, because hawk doesn't end up driving out of town later that day. in fact, he mostly stays home drinking himself to sleep and catching up on lost sleep until the smith's christmas eve party, in which leonard makes a scene and lucy regales them all with her recent trip to italy. hawk invites her to dinner in that nefarious time between actual christmas and new years, then books it out of foggy bottom for one night in alexandria for a quick, empty fuck that meets his modus operandi but leaves him no more satisfied. there are plenty of times on the drive back that he thinks about starting another account, finding someone else to occupy his evenings with and get some form of human connection - but it always goes back to tim. skippy.
he can't let himself miss the routine he'd fallen into. won't.
and if he thought the semester might start off on a decent note, that's apparently a lost cause too. he expects there to be some lingering awkwardness maybe the first few days with tim - a lack of response here, an avoidance as he shuffles past hawk's desk there - but what he didn't expect was an utterly listless tim who's fallen from star pupil to occasional contributor. gone is his fiery questioning of every scenario, his dogged desire to solve each problem that arises in their discussions. there's no more debates, and hawk knows some of the other students are noticing the lack of banter flowing between them, engaging others with their vivaciousness.
but he knows it's really bad when it gets brought up at the first faculty department meeting by a well-meaning mrs. kerr, which triggers a few others to speculate if something happened during break. trouble at home? the lack of presence is noticed to a degree hawk can't remember happening with any other student, and he's put on the spot when dave lonigan, the department chair, turns to him and asks if he knows, seeing as he's had him two semesters in a row now. which makes him partly regret all the praise he'd piled on before, seeing as its left in his hands to have a gentle chat with him for the sake of checking in.
we've been anonymously sexting for months and in a frustrating twist of fate i've rejected his offer to fuck in person probably isn't going to fly.
it's his last period on thursday, and as students file out after receiving their graded first essays of the semester, hawk calls out as one particular blur of brown knitwear tries to beeline for the door.]
Laughlin - before you go, I need a minute.
[his gaze shifts around the class, to the few students still pushing through the doors to the lecture hall and packing up their laptop bags on the way out. hawk clears his throat and stands, gesturing towards the door.]
no subject
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[the first thing hawk does when he gets home is pour himself a stiff drink. the second is to delete that goddamn app off his phone. and the third - is to shake his head and swear when he sees the notifications that both his payments have been refunded. so fourth: he resends both, waiting for the payment to finalize before deactivating his account and logging out of the burner email for...probably ever. and then he reclines back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and swirling the whiskey in his glass as he tries not to think about the wounded look on tim laughlin's face - the glassy eyes, the slight tremor of his lips, and absolutely not the way for the briefest moment he'd shifted closer into hawk's palm as if he couldn't get enough of such a small gesture of contact. this whole thing was just a complete fuck-up - indicative that it was tim's likely first time doing anything in person, and certainly hawk's for getting too damn invested.
look where it got him.
there's another lie to add to his tally, because hawk doesn't end up driving out of town later that day. in fact, he mostly stays home drinking himself to sleep and catching up on lost sleep until the smith's christmas eve party, in which leonard makes a scene and lucy regales them all with her recent trip to italy. hawk invites her to dinner in that nefarious time between actual christmas and new years, then books it out of foggy bottom for one night in alexandria for a quick, empty fuck that meets his modus operandi but leaves him no more satisfied. there are plenty of times on the drive back that he thinks about starting another account, finding someone else to occupy his evenings with and get some form of human connection - but it always goes back to tim. skippy.
he can't let himself miss the routine he'd fallen into. won't.
and if he thought the semester might start off on a decent note, that's apparently a lost cause too. he expects there to be some lingering awkwardness maybe the first few days with tim - a lack of response here, an avoidance as he shuffles past hawk's desk there - but what he didn't expect was an utterly listless tim who's fallen from star pupil to occasional contributor. gone is his fiery questioning of every scenario, his dogged desire to solve each problem that arises in their discussions. there's no more debates, and hawk knows some of the other students are noticing the lack of banter flowing between them, engaging others with their vivaciousness.
but he knows it's really bad when it gets brought up at the first faculty department meeting by a well-meaning mrs. kerr, which triggers a few others to speculate if something happened during break. trouble at home? the lack of presence is noticed to a degree hawk can't remember happening with any other student, and he's put on the spot when dave lonigan, the department chair, turns to him and asks if he knows, seeing as he's had him two semesters in a row now. which makes him partly regret all the praise he'd piled on before, seeing as its left in his hands to have a gentle chat with him for the sake of checking in.
we've been anonymously sexting for months and in a frustrating twist of fate i've rejected his offer to fuck in person probably isn't going to fly.
it's his last period on thursday, and as students file out after receiving their graded first essays of the semester, hawk calls out as one particular blur of brown knitwear tries to beeline for the door.]
Laughlin - before you go, I need a minute.
[his gaze shifts around the class, to the few students still pushing through the doors to the lecture hall and packing up their laptop bags on the way out. hawk clears his throat and stands, gesturing towards the door.]
It's about your thesis. We can chat in my office.