𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 "𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔" 𝚣. 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm[UNI AU]
CAMBOY UNI AU
tell
me and i forget, teach me and i remember.
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
no subject
fuller mentions his paper and his eyes pop up at that, his brow dipping again, his lips pulling. ]
The topic was boring. I copied my notes nearly verbatim and it got me an A.
[ and the first tasks of a semester usually are simpler - a warmup for students coming back after a long stretch away. but the lack of challenge had been infuriating when he's already got so little to bump up against. his course load is no different this semester than last - he can handle the work, the stress, the pressure. but he can't handle everything else. ]
And I'm sorry if you felt I've left you hanging. I wasn't aware I had that sort of responsibility. None of the other students are expected to participate the way that I have - I just...
[ he shakes his head, taking in a slow, deep breath and trying to center himself again. professional. calm. polite. metered and measured and carefully doled out. ]
And Vietnam itself is too broad a topic to engage on in a fifty minute lecture. Why would I waste valuable time broaching that topic when I'd be the only one in the room speaking?
[ professional. calm. polite. he repeats it like a mantra as he takes another breath but something gets away from him when professor fuller insists again on getting rest. what is rest, when one's whole world depends on fundraising to make it to the next semester? every moment is a race, a dash to the finish just to try and make it, when so many of the students around him come from old money and the who-knows-who of academia. ]
And I'll admit I'm frankly surprised you didn't fail this paper as well. I made a point to be as neutral as I could be. No real creative thinking, no out of the box theorizing. Nothing that could be called naive or idealistic - Vietnam would be a bad topic. Too polarizing, especially now that we have technology to look back on our strategies and weaponization.
[ he shrugs again, shifting to the edge of his seat, his knee bouncing absently. he opens up his satchel and draws out his notebook from class, rifling through it until he peels out the essay he'd been handed back today. if hawk peeks, he can see tim's questions blotted in the margins - vietnam circled with bullet points underneath - the old tim written out in ink instead of spoken out loud.
he reaches to set the paper on professor fuller's desk. ]
Your syllabus for this was too vague. If you truly wanted my opinion, I'd have failed this assignment as well. I don't speak up in class because I don't see a need to - it isn't personal, professor. I want to talk about the world I want to see, and maybe that's not realistic. Maybe that's childish, but if this is what you want, then you should keep this.
[ he closes his notebook, his satchel, and rises. ]
I have to go. The shuttle doesn't come to my dorm after lunch, and I have to get back there and up the hill again. I can't be late.
no subject
that doesn't mean he's going soft on his teaching, or that he's going to cut tim more of a break than anyone else - even if he wants to. hawk leans forward again when tim stands, chin tipping up to draw his attention and silently indicate not to leave - not yet.]
You know how much easier my job would be if every student participated like you? Class would be a hell of a lot more engaged.
[he offers a brief, but wry smile, a twinkle in the washed blue sparkling in his eye.]
Look, it's not about Vietnam. And you don't have any responsibility or obligation to me, god no - nor am I looking for you to change any of your opinions overnight. I may have...commented on your leanings in the past, but it's only because the reality of Washington is a whole other beast I have no doubt you'll be in the mouth of someday. I'm not doing you the disservice of letting you walk in like a lamb.
[which is what he feels like he's doing, in essence, by cutting him off from an extra $500 a week he probably desperately needs. hawk rubs at his jaw absently again, watching as tim stuffs his things back into his bag and disperses some of his jittery nerves, clearly ready to leave, even if hawk isn't ready to let him go. he leaves tim's paper on the desk, already knowing he's going to go through it again with a fine-tooth comb and wonder if he was too soft and just trying not to rock the boat. and if he did, then that means he's failed on some level and he won't fucking do that again.
hawk finally stands too, taking a step towards the door to try and block him off from leaving without some kind of resolution.]
Going up the Hill and back is a pretty long way for lunch. I've got some snacks here if it'll save you the trip.
[hawk has never felt the need to explain himself to anyone, to fill awkward silences instead of letting someone else stew in them to a point, but he's stalling in a way, trying to dig deeper into the root of the issue here. the thought of letting tim walk out that door without any resolution makes him feel a steadily growing knot in his chest. he jabs a thumb back towards the door in the direction of the main lobby, where helpful maps and pamphlets and student guides and the administration staff sit.]
Got a new secretary at the front desk this year, and I think she's trying to fatten me up with all this stuff.
no subject
[ he can't help the way he's getting fired up over it, the way his shoulders hitch up, the way his hands loosen on his bag to gesture. he even backs up a half step when hawk blocks the door, and something about the closeness, the way the man cages him into his office loosens something in him. there's a fire in tim laughlin that he cannot control - a passion he has no gauge for. there's no spigot to turn it on and turn it off, and with it comes great advantages and even greater consequences. ]
I know that I world I want to see will never come to fruition. Honestly, it's better that it doesn't. Extremes on either end are bound to fail - strict dichotomies are already the heart of what's fracturing American politics. But if I go into all of this knowing that it's dark and terrible, and that I have to transmogrify the way I think to fit that mold the moment I fall into the orbit of someone with power, influence - then why am I even trying? I appreciate your concern and your watchful eye, Professor Fuller, and I am sorry that I have not engaged in your classes more this month.
[ he lets out a little breath, shakes his head, and looks back up at the man. there's a fire in tim's eyes, whether he realizes it or not. ]
I want to believe that there's good in people. Even if they don't believe that there's any good in me. Or if that good has a valuation, an expectation attached to it. Do you think that any of those faculty members would ask about me, care about me, if they knew?
[ the word knew sits heavy on the air between them, and color rises up into the high points of his cheeks. ]
I went to the chapel that day and prayed. For a solution, for something different, for anything to change. I have prayed my whole life for a path forward that's clearer, not easier. Forgive me, then, if I have been quiet. I'm doing everything I can to figure out where the ground falls beneath my feet. I've lost your respect, and no matter what either of us wanted then - I never wanted that.
[ it's almost childish to say it out loud - to look professor fuller in the eye and admit to the way he's all but idolized him in his time here. the way he has soaked up the attention and the care, the intellectual battles, the conversations had in this very same doorway.
he swallows hard and looks away then, to the old watch on his wrist. the glass face is dull and worn, the band soft, the clasp tarnished. everything about tim laughlin is well-loved items, handmedowns handled with care, and the careful curation of necessities. ]
My class is in half an hour. It's Dr. Lonigan's class - I can't be late or he won't let me in.
no subject
and it's why listening to tim even now brings him a glimpse of that raw potential once more, reminds him it's still in there and hasn't been destroyed. well thank christ, because hawk isn't sure he'd be able to live with that fuck up. so he leans back slightly, something like pride blooming in his chest and in the small quirk of his lips upward as he listens to tim practically preaching about democracy and the failed state of a two-party political system.]
I'm not looking for an apology. No one is. But that -
[he points towards tim's chest, towards the way his entire body has been energized with this new fire, the whole of what's been missing for the past few weeks.]
- that's who we've been missing in our classes.
[because the faculty loves him, really. which makes the air feel like it's been sucked out of the room when tim poignantly asks if his goodness and perspective and worth is somehow attached to a purity contest and a question of morality. it makes his face fall, jaw flexing and lips pressing together in a firm line as his brows furrow. the sigh that comes out of him is deep-seated and already seemingly exhausted by what he has to say. of course he knows what tim is getting at. and the reality is: yes. there are assholes in this building probably sitting some forty feet from them who would judge tim laughlin for selling his body on the internet to make ends meet. and hawk doesn't think he needs to hear that from him - or that he's really looking for the answer. but there's one thing he can't abide by, so he stands to his full height and lowers his voice with the kind of conviction that's rare even in his classes, instead preferring to play the neutral and encouraging guide or the sardonic cynic, bringing everyone down to reality.]
There is good in people if you know where to look. Far and few between, and believe me when I say - you're one of the few. And the kind of good you're talking about, that I and other members of this faculty see in you?
That's priceless. Don't you forget it.
[his gaze flickers down to the flush on tim's cheekbones, the way it singes up towards his ears and reminds him immediately and inconveniently of the fact that his whole body does the same under certain circumstances. it makes him think about that day outside the coffee shop again, tim shivering and looking utterly crushed. the kid is struggling with more than just his schoolwork, all these invisible expectations from a god that hawk doesn't believe exist, from the judgment and scorn he thinks he'd earn from his peers and his mentors. it's an overstep to give him the atheist playbook right now, but hawk looks up sharply when tim asks for forgiveness. what forgiveness does he need?
and why does he think hawk has lost respect for him?]
Hey, time out. You'll make it to Lonigan's just fine, but back up a minute.
[a step towards tim, and then another - one closer than he should. but he needs to meet his eyes, to make him understand. his voice is firm and insistent, with the kind of patience he's granted tim as he works through the more complex structures and concepts in their office hours before this whole mess started.]
Look at me.
[and he doesn't continue until tim complies, honeyed brown through those thick lenses so expressive and chin quivering ever so slightly from his ardent declarations moments before.]
You haven't lost my respect.
There's nothing you could do there that would ever make that happen. I don't know what God or Lonigan or anyone else thinks, but that's what you're hearing from me. Nothing has changed between us, do you understand?
Things won't be this difficult forever. That's hard to hear without the evidence - but it will change. Especially for someone like you who is constantly pushing himself to fly.
[icarus with the scalded wings.
the sudden flash of gold catches his attention, and hawk walks back to his desk to pull out some granola bars, chocolates, and some organic energy bites - whatever the fuck those are.]
These aren't winning any awards for the most balanced meal, but here. So you won't be late. I know Lonigan's a hardass about that.
no subject
he feels inexplicably tired, suddenly, even though the fight that he'd thought had run out of him is simply waiting, buzzing and jittering in his chest, making his heart pound heavy still. he opens his mouth to rebut something about goodness, something about a special something that tim supposedly has, but he closes it again. he doesn't believe whatever notion of goodness that is - no one with that kind of goodness turns his back on his family, tries to reconcile god with his life, does the kind of work that he does - but he could spend hours over that.
instead, he's drawn back out to professor fuller approaching, getting closer and closer, until he's all but forced to look up at him. it's a reflex, anyway, to obey him in this way. a command, even with the teacherly patience he's heard semester after semester. he blinks up at him, meeting his gaze, feeling strangely small now with the breadth and height of the man so close to him.
but he stares, silently up at him, shaken to the core by his words - you haven't lost my respect. ]
The way you spoke. Ah - before. [ at the park, in the cold, before christmas... ] Made it sound like you questioned... my free time. Like I was doing more than what you'd already expected to see from me. Worse, maybe.
[ especially when i don't know what they're up to outside of class.
tim shifts his weight, instinctively leaning onto one foot that creates a hint of space between them. but he can feel the heat of professor fuller from here, even smell the rich notes of his undoubtedly expensive aftershave, and he looks away from him then, down at his hands again, then back up because he knows he will be expected to speak to him face to face.
but professor fuller whisks away to this desk, drawing up snacks from somewhere, and tim at first stares for a moment at the pile of things on the lacquered top, then back up to him. tim takes a step toward the desk, closer to hawk. ]
I'm not that. I do what I have to do, and that day - before - was the only time. I know that what I have to do isn't right. That I should have just taken the scholarship I was given for SUNY and been satisfied with that - but I had to try. I want to be here, Professor Fuller. I want to do something good with all of this and I'm trying.
[ his jaw quivers, his throat swells with a hint of emotion but tim tries to suck in a deep breath, to temper the burning, dangerous, desperate little thing trying to crawl its way out from between his ribs. what would there be around his heart if not a lion, desperately clawing its way to the surface, unwilling to back down even when defeat seems imminent. ]
But I keep hearing what you said - over and over. When I saw it was you, I was glad. I trust you, probably more than I trust myself. And I get all of it - why you can't, why you don't want to - it's nothing about that. But I don't know how to reconcile the Tim Laughlin you knew before and the one who is here in front of you.
[ he huffs something like a desperate little noise, finally takes a step back, his hands coming to his hips. ]
I don't run around in my free time. I don't do anything more than what you've already seen. I don't have friends, I don't have family here, I barely survive just trying to pay my tuition every semester and just hope I get it in time to get seats in the classes I know I'll need or to get the right meal plan, or get the right books on time. I have nothing - but this school and these classes.
[ he runs a hand back through his hair, letting out a shaken breath and then furiously wipes at the corner of one eye beneath the dark rims of this glasses. how embarrassing. ]
I'm tired of pushing myself to fly when it never leads me anywhere good. I respect you a great deal, Professor Fuller. I... I want to do right by your classes and learn as much as I can from you while I'm still able to be here, but I'm just going to disappoint you. Because I am that same student, but I'm also the guy in the dark room with a camera who you can't trust.
[ his hands finally fall back to their sides.
there's no point in making lonigan's class. he won't be able to listen, to focus. he'll just have to be diligent in the future - not miss another so as not to drop his grade. ]
It's just the first time I've ever felt ashamed of it. For just trying to make it.
no subject
oh. of course.
of course timothy laughlin would worry that hawk thought him to be dishonest in some way, that he was disgusted by the idea of his outside activities. it's been a clear misunderstanding, and hawk shakes his head adamantly even as tim's voice escalates and wavers slightly between these raw, heartfelt confessions. if he felt like the air was sucked out of the room before, now it's downright suffocating. these emotions - aren't what he has ever signed up for. not to say that he hasn't offered a box of tissues to a student going through a mental breakdown, or having unexpectedly lost a family member, but this? this is a whole different ballgame, an intimacy created between them that frankly neither signed up for. something he's never navigated, and hopefully never fucking will long after tim graduates.
but for now, he's not going to let the boy just walk around thinking he's dirty because of it.]
Tim.
[he looks up from his desk, pushing the drawer shut before walking back towards him and slotting in close once more. it's almost too easy the way it feels right to be here, just shy of inappropriate. but they're long since past that now, aren't they? hawk tips his head, glancing downward at where tim's eyes are glassy behind his thick lenses.
it'd be a lie to say he didn't see something of himself in there, from once upon a time. a boy who liked pretty things, sensitive friends, grew too attached to them both and lost all of it, along with his father's respect and whatever foolishly optimistic future he thought he might have back then. instead he'd locked it all away and thrown away the key, barricading himself between easy charm and skin-deep connections. his own journey clawing to the surface was a solitary one too, lonely at times - but the difference between the two of them standing here in his office is that hawk refuses to let himself feel it. it would be much easier to tell tim he doesn't know what he's talking about, to give him a generic note of sympathy that he's struggling in matters both personal and professional, give him the snacks and send him off into that same cold and unforgiving world.
but he's not his father. he's not going to do that.]
That's not what I was implying. I needed you to know that I had no idea it was you the whole time - no reason to suspect. None of this was on purpose.
Do you get that?
[even knowing what he does now - it didn't make his mind wander or fall to the worst case scenarios. he doesn't think tim is whoring himself out, doesn't think he's running with disreputable crowds or letting himself fall down some immoral drain.]
I am sorry I made you feel that way. It wasn't the intention. And even if you can't reconcile both of those people - I can. That's why I said nothing has to change. Nothing is changed in the way I think of you.
[but then again, hawk's best skill is his ability to bifurcate the things he doesn't want to know, doesn't want to feel, and keep moving. it's why he refuses to let himself linger on the why you don't want to part, as if he hasn't already spent a few nights with his hand down his pants thinking about all the what ifs - what if he had thrown caution to the wind, what if he'd taken tim to some motel and decided to keep his boy all semester? he shakes his head slightly, partly to clear his head and mainly to refute tim's declarations yet again, leaning in without realizing.]
Eyes on me.
[another order, but this is the most important part.]
You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're doing the best you can. Surviving, the only way you know how. Nothing disappointing about a boy who wants more for himself and strives to make it happen. Quite frankly, there's nothing I respect more.
[hawk reaches up, fingers hesitating for the barest moment - wanting to swipe at the hint of a glistening tear track left behind along tim's nose. instead he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a kerchief with a navy HF monogrammed in the corner. his voice lowers, into that rich, graveled timbre of sincerity.]
I trust you - [skippy.]
Do you still trust me?
no subject
of course he didn't. just like tim had no idea the man behind the screen was hawkins fuller, professor at georgetown. he knows he should accept it for the honest confession it is, and yet tim still can't help but wonder if it had been a different, pretty-faced student - would fuller have slept with him? would they have spent the day in a fierce battle of wills? a man and his boy?
tim thinks it might have been easier to deal with all of this if they had. a fuck and go, where the hotel room door shuts behind them and closes all of this up into one dingy, dark place.
but that's not what they did, and instead tim stands in the middle of hawk's office feeling a little foolish, a little angry, a little hurt. mostly at himself, really, than anything else. that he let himself crack like this under the pressure when he's done so well for the past few years. no one would know that timothy david laughlin, work-a-holic, eager beaver, model student - was struggling. ]
I get it, yeah.
[ but professor fuller closes the distance between them again, just outside the edge of propriety and tim finds he's holding his breath against the intensity of the older man. he's half expecting a raised voice, unearned sternness, or a critique. but there's another command and it is like he was all but born to do everything this man tells him as his eyes track up almost immediately, a little surprised, no doubt that it shows in the faint flush creeping up his neck, to his jaw.
tim wants to close his eyes the moment he sees the man's hand move, imagine the touch he'd felt on his cheek that day in the cold morning air. it's stupid, how much he craves even the smallest hint of affection, and stranger so that he desires it from this man of all people.
instead, he's offered a kerchief, and at first tim doesn't quite know what to do or think of it, stunned instead by the man's words. he glances at the kerchief, but then like a boy realizing his mistake and being caught, his eyes snap back up to hawk and he swallows hard. he's quiet at first - uncomfortable and unsure at first if he truly wants to answer, to reveal one more card in his hand. and yet: ]
I trust you.
[ it's quiet, and the most calm he's sounded throughout this whole conversation. like that little crack he'd discovered in his chest has healed, and the warmth pouring from it feels less like endless despair and fury and more like hope. he reaches for the kerchief, the fabric rich and soft beneath his finger tips and though he knows he should turn away and clear the tear streaks from his face, he can't.
instead, he keeps his eyes on hawk, as he'd been so gently told to do as he removes his glasses and wipes sheepishly at his eyes, the bridge of his nose. only when he's sure the tears have been swept away does he put his glasses back on, then delicately fold the kerchief, and his eyes raise once again to meet the striking blue of fuller's.
(he will think a great deal about how the skin of his cheek bone will smell like the man's cologne - or the way the bridge of his nose will be blushed red from the press of the soft fabric, and the faint scratch of the stitching in that delicate HF. embarrassing). ]
I never stopped trusting you. I'd do whatever you told me to do. [ he offers the kerchief back between them, then, and gives a faint, sheepish smile.
something has changed between them even here, but tim's shoulders feel lighter, his chest more open, his heart slowing. he feels more embarrassed for his outburst now than furiously desperate, but to have said all of it out loud to someone who he knows will keep it as private and safe as it was meant to be in the first place is strangely freeing. no one else here knows his story. and no one ever will. he sighs a little, pinching his lips to one side, his nose wrinkling up, almost admitting to the awkwardness of it all now that they've waded through it. ]
Sorry. [ he says finally, shrugging one shoulder and tearing his eyes away, anywhere but the blue of those eyes. ] I didn't mean to unload on you - that wasn't fair. I really didn't. Break was just really lonely here, and then I guess everything else caught up to me.
[ he looks down now at the snacks from before, the smorgasbord of things he'd offered for him to take to eat on the way to lonigan's class. the clock on the wall in hawk's office tells him that he won't make it - five minutes to run across the other side of the campus isn't worth it, anyway. he shouldn't take the snacks since he's not going to class, and yet he can't help the way he knows how empty his stomach will feel later. and so he reaches for at least the package of energy bites - whatever the hell those are.
he worries the edge of the wrapper between his fingers for a moment before he looks back up at hawk, earnest and sincere, his shoulders shrugging in a way that matches the delicate crinkle of his nose. ]
But, um. Thank you. For not judging me - not unfairly, anyway. And listening. I can... I should get out of your hair.
no subject
his pulse has quickened, inexplicably, while tim's answer hangs in the balance and he's confronted up close by dark lashes against pretty pale skin. god, what he wouldn't give to touch him again, to give himself a reminder of just how soft and supple it was beneath his fingertips even when it was ravaged by the unforgiving cold. somehow it kicks up another notch as he watches tim wordlessly obey every single command, drinking in those three little words: i trust you. he nods, silently, and feels the tension in the room pop as if stabbed by a needle, slowly hissing into something more manageably comfortable. they're going to be alright.]
Good.
[he watches as tim wipes away his tears, putting as much approval as he can muster into the expression along with the softest of smiles - only if someone knows what to look for on the contours of his face, the slight differences in his mouth.
(there is a resolution that he will absolutely not run those words through his head later tonight: i'd do whatever you told me to. surely he knows the implication...?)]
You're alright.
[he looks down at the handkerchief, considering for a few moments before pressing his hand gently over tim's and pushing it back towards him. if his thumb brushes against the back of tim's fist clutched around the woven fabric, there's enough plausible deniability to pretend it's accidental. or just a force of habit.]
Keep it. Just in case things get caught up again.
[but he has a sneaking suspicion they won't - that he's managed to salvage this enough for them both, and he tries to suppress the small swooping sensation in his stomach. a few small steps back, and hawk sits back down with a creak of leather into his high-backed desk chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrests as he watches tim shake off some of the awkwardness and considering the mismatched feast in front of him. hawk follows his gaze to the clock with a mutter of ah, shit, before shaking his head.]
Starts in five, doesn't it? Listen - I'll put in a word with Lonigan. Tell him I kept you late to discuss your thesis. Which we should set a meeting for, by the way.
[it feels almost like business as usual, and he offers one last amused smile in response to to the way tim's nose scrunches.]
You don't have to thank me for doing the decent thing. And - just remember, my door is always open.
[the implication is that it's for anything - not just schoolwork. but vocalizing the idea that tim might still have those bouts of loneliness or struggling would just be rubbing it in at this point, so he's not going to press it any further. they've crossed a bridge today, and that was the best he could hope for. his gaze slips back down to the paper that's been left behind, and then the obnoxious orange from a bag of chips on his desk draws him back before he slides it across the surface towards tim's end.]
Hey - do me a favor and take some more of this with you. Seriously, it'll never get eaten otherwise.
[that, and he knows the boy probably needs it a hell of a lot more than he does.]
no subject
this close, he can also see the faintest quirk of his lips, and it only serves to make tim's smile broaden just a little more, make a little more life come back into his eyes, like a flower offered water and sunlight for the first time after days of darkness. maybe he is icarus, tired and scalded by a sun he tried to reach. the sun warned him off, but it's the little kerchief that has his wings fluttering still in flight.
tim curls his hand around the fabric, but it's the press of hawk's broad, warm hand that startles him. it makes the little hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and his eyes flit up again to watch the man as he rounds back toward his desk.
the moment is broken between them, the distance made and the armistice met. it doesn't change that the flush that had crept up his neck before now easily works its ways to his cheeks - faint and pink, drawing out the little, faded freckles sunkissed into his cheeks from a warmer than usual fall on campus. (it feels like the back of his hand is on fire itself - the wax of his wings dripping, dripping, dripping and scalding him). ]
Thank you.
[ he huffs a little, shaking his head as he carefully raises the flap of his satchel and slides the kerchief in alongside the energy bites. ]
If you don't mind? I know it's not honest, but - I don't think I could focus if I went now, anyway. [ and for once, tim will concede this to the other man - a lie to another faculty member, to protect him. he doesn't accept favors easily, and accepting this one is just an attempt to show his gratitude - to give space where he'd not allowed before. ]
I'll stop by your office hours tomorrow. For the thesis. I actually think I want to include a segment on the degradation of bipartisanship and how our inability to find neutral territory in the Senate and the House is undermining our democratic success, especially since we struggle with two-party politics when the race really is wide open.
[ the words come out with ease, and it's obvious for a moment that the gears are already turning again like they should be - the cogs greased and whirling - tim laughlin brought back to life. his brow furrows, a hand comes up so that his finger can tap idly against his bottom lip all the while he looks up in thought. ]
But I think there's more to unpack there - it's too broad. But it's all so complex it might be just as easy to get lost in the weeds, too. Oh -
[ another peace offering - the bag of chips. tim takes it with little rebuttal, and even opens it as he wanders a step backward, still thinking to himself as he pops a chip into his mouth. (it's also silly how he blinks in surprise and hums at the sharp, cheddar flavor). ]
You're missing out, you know. Maybe we give these out to Congress and all our problems will be solved. Then what would I write about?
[ he heads for the door, eating another chip, but he turns at the last moment, peering over his shoulder at hawk. ]
Thanks again. Honest.
[ a sheepish duck of his chin and he's turning, headed out and into the quad's open air. ]