[ walking home from the coffee shop had felt like it had taken years. he hadn't meant to walk so far, only truly intended to head up to the same bus stop from before and hitch into town but by the time he got his wits about him again, he'd made half the trek there in the cold.
returning to the dorms felt like nothing short of a prison - the halls eerily quiet, the lights off, not even a student greeter at the door. just the beep of his badged key and the squeak of the glass door shutting behind him. only a few students remained during the holiday, and most that had didn't even live in his building. so tim perched in his room, coming out only for his sparingly few meals per day, and tried his best to busy himself with reading.
even jumping on cam hadn't been on his mind, though he did it in an attempt to make up some more money to pay for his books, his meal card next semester. he'd even made a call home to wish them a merry christmas - his mother had been happy to hear from him, but his father refused to come onto the phone, as usual. there would be no help from staten island.
and so christmas dinner for tim laughlin had been a cup of ramen, a stained copy of locke's second treatise of government for his thesis, and a glass of water. he heralds in the new year much the same way. it's lonely. and maybe it was lonely before and he'd simply had the tools with which to ignore it - the fantasy. the idealistic, stupid dreams of a boy who can barely survive college, let alone the real world.
he reads the same passage of locke twenty times before he finally throws it across the room.
the isolation of break has settled into his bones, however, and even the bustle of the start of the semester does little to shake it off. arthur ribs him for being boring, mary voices quiet concern but doesn't bother to ask any real questions, and a few members of faculty give him looks. even professor fuller doesn't press him like he used to, and he does his best to keep his head down and take diligent notes for later. he answers when called on, turns assignments in on time, fills the air when his professors look for answers from a dead-eyed class, but otherwise, tim laughlin keeps to himself.
it's no different today, either. professor fuller's class is interesting, engaging, and maybe at some point in the past he'd have piped up to question his flow chart on political and manufacturing consent, but he simply doodles the notes down in his notebook, brow furrowed as he marks questions for himself in the margins. the very same questions he'd have allowed space for in the discussion. instead, he'll spend time in the library later.
he's just gotten his bag packed and started for the door when he hears his name. he pauses for a moment, turning to look at professor fuller, and he cannot help the strange tightness that rises up into his chest. it makes it a little hard to breathe, really, and he has no doubt the apprehension shows on his face.
a few students pass him, glancing back curiously of course. timothy laughlin is never asked to stay after class - not in this way. his hands flex around the strap of his bag and he lets out a little breath before approaching the man who stands, gesturing at the door. ]
I have another class in an hour, and I need to try to head back to the dorm for lunch.
[ a quiet, but polite warning. a note that he cannot stay long, whatever this is. he's out of meals for the week, having been unable to quite cover the cost of the extended meal plan on top of his text books. so ramen or a peanut butter sandwich it is for lunch. it beats nothing.
he falls into line beside professor fuller, though makes certain there is a measured distance between them still. ]
I turned my outline in late, I apologize. It got away from me - had a lot of reading frontloaded in this semester that I tried to get done. I understand if you can't accept it past the deadline.
no subject
returning to the dorms felt like nothing short of a prison - the halls eerily quiet, the lights off, not even a student greeter at the door. just the beep of his badged key and the squeak of the glass door shutting behind him. only a few students remained during the holiday, and most that had didn't even live in his building. so tim perched in his room, coming out only for his sparingly few meals per day, and tried his best to busy himself with reading.
even jumping on cam hadn't been on his mind, though he did it in an attempt to make up some more money to pay for his books, his meal card next semester. he'd even made a call home to wish them a merry christmas - his mother had been happy to hear from him, but his father refused to come onto the phone, as usual. there would be no help from staten island.
and so christmas dinner for tim laughlin had been a cup of ramen, a stained copy of locke's second treatise of government for his thesis, and a glass of water. he heralds in the new year much the same way. it's lonely. and maybe it was lonely before and he'd simply had the tools with which to ignore it - the fantasy. the idealistic, stupid dreams of a boy who can barely survive college, let alone the real world.
he reads the same passage of locke twenty times before he finally throws it across the room.
the isolation of break has settled into his bones, however, and even the bustle of the start of the semester does little to shake it off. arthur ribs him for being boring, mary voices quiet concern but doesn't bother to ask any real questions, and a few members of faculty give him looks. even professor fuller doesn't press him like he used to, and he does his best to keep his head down and take diligent notes for later. he answers when called on, turns assignments in on time, fills the air when his professors look for answers from a dead-eyed class, but otherwise, tim laughlin keeps to himself.
it's no different today, either. professor fuller's class is interesting, engaging, and maybe at some point in the past he'd have piped up to question his flow chart on political and manufacturing consent, but he simply doodles the notes down in his notebook, brow furrowed as he marks questions for himself in the margins. the very same questions he'd have allowed space for in the discussion. instead, he'll spend time in the library later.
he's just gotten his bag packed and started for the door when he hears his name. he pauses for a moment, turning to look at professor fuller, and he cannot help the strange tightness that rises up into his chest. it makes it a little hard to breathe, really, and he has no doubt the apprehension shows on his face.
a few students pass him, glancing back curiously of course. timothy laughlin is never asked to stay after class - not in this way. his hands flex around the strap of his bag and he lets out a little breath before approaching the man who stands, gesturing at the door. ]
I have another class in an hour, and I need to try to head back to the dorm for lunch.
[ a quiet, but polite warning. a note that he cannot stay long, whatever this is. he's out of meals for the week, having been unable to quite cover the cost of the extended meal plan on top of his text books. so ramen or a peanut butter sandwich it is for lunch. it beats nothing.
he falls into line beside professor fuller, though makes certain there is a measured distance between them still. ]
I turned my outline in late, I apologize. It got away from me - had a lot of reading frontloaded in this semester that I tried to get done. I understand if you can't accept it past the deadline.