["dragon lady", as the bursar's administrative frontrunner is so affectionately dubbed by students and staff alike, is all too happy to have it laid on thick when hawkins fuller sets foot into her office for a pleasantly surprising preamble to her lunch hour. listening to her rattle on about the grandchildren, her husband's awful dinner table etiquette, dancing with the stars...but a the flash of a few smiles, a dry joke here or there and she's eating out of the palm of his hand. enough that when she finally lets him slip through a gap in the conversation, he's able to sling an arm against the counter, leaning against it and nonchalantly asking - edna, would you be a doll and double check one of my students that's been dropped from the roster? now i know it wasn't you, but i think there's been a mistake. yes it's laughlin, tim laughlin. l - a - u - g - h - l - i - n. do me a favor - can you hold out until the end of the week for him? good catholic boy, just like your johnny.
that's monday after he'd shipped off tim in a cab later that evening, feeling his own stomach oddly swooping at the idea of sending him away even though there was no more immediate need for supervision. tidying the bathroom and a shower had been the first order, then papers, and pushing off the inevitable moment where his head hit the pillow in his unwashed, unmade sheets before he turned onto his side and buried his nose against them for the scent of tim. skippy. fuck. none of this made it any easier on either of them, and yet he feels strangely like they've both ended up in a better place after that weekend.
tim will be none the wiser then as he comes to class for exam prep, a few dark circles under his eyes as he's surely scrambling to study in between packing and possibly panicking at the idea of traveling back to staten island in less than a week. that's the part that almost makes him want to cave - to alleviate some of that stress by telling him don't bother, you won't need to soon enough.
because come the early hours of thursday morning that week, hawk finally opens the site he's been avoiding for months - punching in the username that's branded into his mind whether he likes it or not, and avoiding actually looking at any of the upcoming times, the promises of what a new registration will bring. he doesn't even look at the randomly assigned username that's been suggested, a number in the cog of subscribers: user962108 before plugging in a password he'll pretend not to remember and navigating straight to the tip jar. $3,000. the exact amount he'd already paid once before, that he knows after today he won't have to pay again. because tim promised him - because after this, it truly is out of his hands, and tim will be moving on to greener pastures during his senior year and eventually a new campus altogether in the form of washington's hallowed halls.
the final roster comes through a few days after hawk gives tim a completely expected "a+" on his exam, resisting the urge to write see you in a few weeks.
there's two weeks he has to blow off steam, pointedly ignoring craig's suggestion they meet for celebratory drinks at some point and taking a quick trip south for hookups that are neither memorable nor particularly satisfying before he spends the last few days reviewing his lesson plans and already imagining what tim is going to focus in on this semester. there's only sixteen classmates - which means plenty of spotlight and attention on topics he already knows will bring more passion and substance to a class that's usually already more promising than his larger lecture halls.
he doesn't say a damn word about anything else that's happened between them, just tips his head when that familiar mop of brunette hair walks through his door with his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he follows along the instructions for making it to the classroom outside their regular building. good to see you made it, laughlin, is the casual greeting when tim slides into a chair and eagerly gets out his books from a bag that finally looks like it's on its last thread, pen poised above paper and that look in his eye before he hungrily consumes everything out of hawk's mouth.
and so it goes.
the thing about summer school that hawk appreciates most is the lack of eyes on him - no risk of audits, no nosy teachers checking in on what they're doing. the students here are neither remedial nor taking his course out of a requirement, which means it's a hell of a lot more fun and a lot more lax than working out of the polisci building. it also means the weather is too damn gorgeous not to take advantage of, and hawk finds himself rolling up his sleeves, taking his class to one of the many campus greens and courtyards to soak it up and dismissing class a few minutes early when they're all talked out. and then there's office hours - not sitting in the stuffy room that's his office or even the temporary one set up specifically for this summer course only. no, he doesn't have any qualms meeting elsewhere - a park bench, an outdoor cafe, something to shake it up a little for the ones who want to put in the extra time.
tim is always one of them. lunch, coffee, sitting in the shade - it's becoming quite a constant, one that he finds dangerously enjoyable.
but everyone has their moment. which is why hawk is currently standing over the body of said student, splayed out underneath one of the large trees, bookbag askew and a notepad between slackened hands over his stomach. his glasses are crooked, hair slightly mussed - and it gives him a pang of familiarity as he'd watched this same vulnerability in his own bed mere weeks ago.
(it had taken him longer than usual to wash those sheets.)
hawk clears his throat, lacing his hands behind his back and letting a grin seep into his words.]
Is this your way of telling me you're playing hooky this afternoon, Mr. Laughlin?
➤ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔'𝑠 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦
that's monday after he'd shipped off tim in a cab later that evening, feeling his own stomach oddly swooping at the idea of sending him away even though there was no more immediate need for supervision. tidying the bathroom and a shower had been the first order, then papers, and pushing off the inevitable moment where his head hit the pillow in his unwashed, unmade sheets before he turned onto his side and buried his nose against them for the scent of tim. skippy. fuck. none of this made it any easier on either of them, and yet he feels strangely like they've both ended up in a better place after that weekend.
tim will be none the wiser then as he comes to class for exam prep, a few dark circles under his eyes as he's surely scrambling to study in between packing and possibly panicking at the idea of traveling back to staten island in less than a week. that's the part that almost makes him want to cave - to alleviate some of that stress by telling him don't bother, you won't need to soon enough.
because come the early hours of thursday morning that week, hawk finally opens the site he's been avoiding for months - punching in the username that's branded into his mind whether he likes it or not, and avoiding actually looking at any of the upcoming times, the promises of what a new registration will bring. he doesn't even look at the randomly assigned username that's been suggested, a number in the cog of subscribers: user962108 before plugging in a password he'll pretend not to remember and navigating straight to the tip jar. $3,000. the exact amount he'd already paid once before, that he knows after today he won't have to pay again. because tim promised him - because after this, it truly is out of his hands, and tim will be moving on to greener pastures during his senior year and eventually a new campus altogether in the form of washington's hallowed halls.
the final roster comes through a few days after hawk gives tim a completely expected "a+" on his exam, resisting the urge to write see you in a few weeks.
there's two weeks he has to blow off steam, pointedly ignoring craig's suggestion they meet for celebratory drinks at some point and taking a quick trip south for hookups that are neither memorable nor particularly satisfying before he spends the last few days reviewing his lesson plans and already imagining what tim is going to focus in on this semester. there's only sixteen classmates - which means plenty of spotlight and attention on topics he already knows will bring more passion and substance to a class that's usually already more promising than his larger lecture halls.
he doesn't say a damn word about anything else that's happened between them, just tips his head when that familiar mop of brunette hair walks through his door with his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he follows along the instructions for making it to the classroom outside their regular building. good to see you made it, laughlin, is the casual greeting when tim slides into a chair and eagerly gets out his books from a bag that finally looks like it's on its last thread, pen poised above paper and that look in his eye before he hungrily consumes everything out of hawk's mouth.
and so it goes.
the thing about summer school that hawk appreciates most is the lack of eyes on him - no risk of audits, no nosy teachers checking in on what they're doing. the students here are neither remedial nor taking his course out of a requirement, which means it's a hell of a lot more fun and a lot more lax than working out of the polisci building. it also means the weather is too damn gorgeous not to take advantage of, and hawk finds himself rolling up his sleeves, taking his class to one of the many campus greens and courtyards to soak it up and dismissing class a few minutes early when they're all talked out. and then there's office hours - not sitting in the stuffy room that's his office or even the temporary one set up specifically for this summer course only. no, he doesn't have any qualms meeting elsewhere - a park bench, an outdoor cafe, something to shake it up a little for the ones who want to put in the extra time.
tim is always one of them. lunch, coffee, sitting in the shade - it's becoming quite a constant, one that he finds dangerously enjoyable.
but everyone has their moment. which is why hawk is currently standing over the body of said student, splayed out underneath one of the large trees, bookbag askew and a notepad between slackened hands over his stomach. his glasses are crooked, hair slightly mussed - and it gives him a pang of familiarity as he'd watched this same vulnerability in his own bed mere weeks ago.
(it had taken him longer than usual to wash those sheets.)
hawk clears his throat, lacing his hands behind his back and letting a grin seep into his words.]
Is this your way of telling me you're playing hooky this afternoon, Mr. Laughlin?