#angus tully
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hi! love ur stuff and thank u for feeding the non existent dom fandom. anyways, this is my fav bedtime scenario and i’d love to see ur take on it. 🙏🏼🙏🏼
dom winning an oscar for best breakout actor and ur his date and he thanks u while ur in the audience. then going back to the hotel room and u pulling him in by his tie saying “oscar winner dominic sessa” and he’s all like hmmmm say it again
hello anon!! thank you so much🩷 i only did it cause i was absolutely STARVED of dom content so i decided to take matters into my own hands🫡
anyway this is an INSANE bedtime scenario that i will definitely use in future so i hope you like it :))
oscar winner
pairing: dominic sessa x reader
genre: fluff, smut (i made this really smutty and i really hope thats what you wanted but lmk if its not and i can do it again😭)
——————
“and the winner is… dominic sessa for the holdovers!”
dominic sat in his seat for a moment, wide eyed, as you turned to him, placing a kiss on his cheek.
“oh my god,” you cried. as though waking dominic from a daze, he started laughing, standing up and grabbing your face for another kiss.
he turned around, da’vine pulling him into a hug, as he shook hands with paul, before making his way up to the stage.
your mouth hung open with shock, da’vine pulling your hand to bring you closer to the two of them.
“um hi,” dominic laughed, accepting his award, “wow, i cannot actually believe this. um i wanna say thank you to alexander payne and susan shopmaker for seeing me and believing in me enough to give me this part, i genuinely can not believe it, every day of my life. i wanna say thank you to paul and da’vine, for being so amazing and making this film so fun every single day.”
he listed off names of behind the scenes crew and managers working with him before taking a shaky breath, “i also want to thank my family. mum, bella, and dad this is for you. and finally, my beautiful, wonderful, amazing girlfriend, y/n. i really could not continue on every day if it wasn’t for you. i love you. thank you.”
he exited off the stage as you wiped tears from your eyes, alexander handing tissues to you and the rest of the cast, weeping in pride of your boy. you couldn’t wait to get to him.
—
“wait i have the key,” dominic giggled, face flushed with drunkenness as the two of you stumbled into the hotel room.
you immediately bent down to pull off your shoes, groaning in delight to not have the heels aching your feet anymore, before turning round to face your boyfriend. he was stepping out of his own shoes, staring down at the oscar in his hand.
“dom?” you called out, walking over to him and putting your hands on his waist, leaving slight kisses on his neck, “oscar winner dominic sessa?”
he was suddenly awoken from his daze, grunting as he looked back at you.
“what?” you laughed, taking the award from his hand and placing it on the sideboard, “it’s true.”
dominic smiled, staring at you with want, “say it again.”
you laughed, walking back over to him and grabbing ahold of his tie, pulling him over to the bed, “oscar winner dominic sessa? my fantastically famous boyfriend?”
he groaned as you sat on the edge of the bed. your legs were wrapped around him as he crawled over you, both your upper bodies flush against each other as you laid on the bed.
“say it again,” he murmured, pulling your dress over your head and grazing his lips over your body.
you giggled, his hot breath tickling your skin, and his firm grip on your waist making you dizzy as you whispered, “oscar winner dominic sessa.”
his lips reached your heat, placing a kiss over the fabric of your panties before coming back up to your face, kissing you as hungrily as he could.
“you’re the one who won the oscar,” you whispered, your lips next to his ear, “should i not be rewarding you?”
he shivered as you flipped your bodies, sitting up so you could rip his tie and jacket off as quickly as possible. dominic moved further up the bed as you followed slowly, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time, placing a kiss on each new place you uncovered.
“please,” he panted, as you undid his trouser button. you slid them down his thighs, dom kicking them the rest of the way as you paid more attention to his boxers.
licking a stripe up the material, dominic shivered, his breathing becoming even more laboured.
“i thought this was supposed to be a reward,” he whined, tucking his hands under your hair.
“i’m sorry baby, you’re right,” you pouted; you moved yourself up so your lips were grazing his as you spoke, “a reward for my baby for winning his first oscar.”
dominic smirked, beginning to kiss you as you pulled his boxers down. his dick grazed your clothed pussy as it was released, making him moan.
leaving his lips, you licked a trail down his body, your tongue hanging out as you reached his dick and took it into your mouth.
dominic moaned at the sudden sensation. you moved your hands so they were working on his balls and what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.
he grunted, mumbling dirty nothings, “that’s right baby, take it. oh god. you’re so good, take it. jesus.”
he bucked his hips up as a reflex before gasping, “i’m so sorry, y/n. are you okay?!”
you pulled off his dick, continuing to stroke it as you panted, “fuck my face, dom.”
“what?!”
“that’s your treat,” you smirked, bringing his lips into another kiss, “for my oscar winning boyfriend.”
dominic moaned, as you left his lips and went back to his length. your hands gripped his hips as he started to do what you said, too horny to create any coherent thoughts of worry; too focused on the thought of how good your mouth felt on him.
“i’m gonna cum,” he moaned, his hips faltering as he got closer to his orgasm. you went back to taking control, stroking the base as you licked and sucked around the tip, “oh, god, y/n.”
he came in ropes in your mouth, until you pulled off before he could stop, letting his cum paint your chest and lips. dominic was panting, his head tilted back to look at the ceiling as his chest rose and fell.
“oscar winner dominic sessa?” you taunted, smiling as he looked down at you, covered in his cum and immediately started hardening again.
he groaned, closing his eyes before running his hand through the cum pooling on your boobs and placing his finger in your mouth just for you to lick it all off, “god, y/n, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
#i used to write kpop fanfic#i have credentials#dominic sessa smut#dominic sessa imagine#dominic sessa fanfic#dominic sessa x reader#dominic sessa#angus tully#angus tully imagines#angus tully fanfic#angus tully x reader#the holdovers#request
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A Hazy Shade of Winter (Pt. 2)
PART 1
ship: Angus Tully x fem!OC
warnings: Discussions of loss and grief, descriptions of dissociation.
summary: Carol gears up for her first night at Barton.
word count: 1767
a/n: Thanks so much for all the love on part one! I hope you enjoy this one. More to come soon.
written by @ganymede-princess
Carol’s fingers felt thick and unruly as she dug through her suitcase, scattering her belongings over one of the spare beds that she had designated as the closet. She fumbled with her hairbrush for a moment, the smooth plastic slipped through her fingers and scuttled across the floor. With a rush of loathing, she dove at it and threw it against the wall where it thumped weakly and fell onto the blankets. Underwhelmed by the result and full up with a bone deep weariness, she stooped over the bed and rested her weight on her open palms, trembling at the elbows. As she caught sight of herself in the hand mirror that laid at the bottom of her case, a stray tear slapped against the surface of her glasses, casting a wobbling splotch across her vision. Perhaps that was how the old man saw through his bad eye. Something must have gone wrong in the womb, she thought; some pressure that misshaped it. Maybe it was the same pressure that popped the connection in her brain that would have allowed her hands to work in tandem with her eyes.
She took off her glasses and set them aside, laying back on the prison mattress with her hand mirror above her. She watched herself with vision slightly blurred without her glasses, but still in focus. The face staring back was familiar, but she felt no ownership of it. Half hidden under the shag haircut she chose on her last out-day to Portland, streaked with tears, flushed at the extremities, hollow brown eyes glaring in defiance to the brokenness inside. It was the way she should look, but it wasn’t her. It was too pretty and too human. These days she was a fractionation, barely managing to act like a fully formed person in front of those boys. Grief clouded around her like moths, eating up her brain like a forgotten overcoat and tying the loose strings around the back of her tongue to stifle her speech. Jason had made her feel something like her old self for a few precious minutes, then Angus paid her the favour of shoving that part of her back into the box. Perhaps she should thank him. After all, she was closest to Elias this way.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She pushed herself up and took a shivering breath, and spoke in a voice that grated in her throat.
“I-it’s open.”
In waddled Mr Hunham, his unfocussed eyes clouded with pity. He adjusted his bowtie, then let his hands rest awkwardly by his round body, like a little brown penguin.
“Hello, Carol.” His smile was stilted, and overly toothy.
“Hi, um… Mr Hunham.”
“Please.” He hesitantly stepped toward her. “We’re in private. Just call me Paul.”
“Oh.” She paused. “U-uncle Paul?”
His eyes widened, and for a moment Carol thought he must be horrified at the suggestion, but soon he clasped his hands in front of him and smiled more genuinely than before.
“Sure. Uncle Paul.”
He just stood there for a long, awkward moment.
“Can-” She cleared her throat, willing the warble in her voice to still. “Can I help you?” She bit the inside of her cheek as punishment for stumbling on her words.
“Ah. Well, I was just seeing how you’re holding up.”
“I’m fine.” Her hand moved against her will to wipe a stray tear that tickled her cheek.
“You’re crying!” He hurried over, already wild as a bull. “If one of those reprobates said something to-”
“No!” She said, though her ribs still stung as though Angus had punched her right in the spleen. “No, nothing like that. I-I’m just… thinking about… Eli.”
“Ah.” Tentatively, he lowered himself onto the end of the bed. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through-”
“Please.” She put her hand up to absolve him, not sure if she would handle hearing any more sorries. “You don’t need to say anything.”
“Oh.”
They sat in silence for a while. Carol contemplated apologising, though she was not sure for what, so she stayed silent.
“I can’t imagine what you must be going through,” He repeated, eyeing her dubiously. “But I may know someone who can. After dinner tonight- if you want to, that is- I’d like to introduce you to Mary, our head of catering. She lost her son.”
“Oh.” She pinched her forearm, avoiding his line of sight as guilt chewed her up. “Sorry. I-I thought you were going to say… I don’t know, um-”
“I know what you meant.” Paul said gently.
“Hm.” She wiped at her face and finally met his cross-eyed gaze, darting her eyes between each of his before settling on the one that focussed on her. “Losing a child must be the hardest thing in the world.”
“I would imagine so.” He sighed. Hesitantly, he reached out to her and let his hand rest on her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Carol. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to entertain a guest, let alone family. Now, I know the circumstances are not ideal, and that we said we’d be staying in Boston, but-” He let out a frustrated huff. “I’ve been unfairly targeted by my pompous asshat of a superior, so we’ll just have to play the hand we’ve been dealt.”
“I don’t mind.” She said, minding it very much. “I’m not sure now is the right time for Boston.”
“I understand.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and stood up to leave.
“Uncle Paul?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Thank you, for-”
Paul bolted upright like a meerkat as a loud thud came from the boys’ rooms, followed by the squeaking and shuffling of rubber soles on linoleum and the unmistakable grunting of two teenage boys locked in battle. He cast a wide eyed glance at her, stuttered an apology and dashed away. Carol sighed, gathering her strength and her glasses, and followed. She kept her distance as she approached, holding her arms around her waist in the old familiar protective stance.
“They weren’t fighting!” She heard Alex exclaim unconvincingly.
Peering past the younger boys she caught sight of Angus, his back pressed to the wall like a caged animal. He met her eyes with a look of such wild desperation that it knocked her off kilter with an overwhelming wave of sympathy, untempered even by her disdain for him. Then, she saw Teddy, standing with feet apart and arms raised from his sides as if poised to pounce back into the scrap. It made her skin crawl to see such malice written bold across his face, and felt validated in her immediate suspicion of him. There had been a strange glint in his eye when he rushed to shake her hand that afternoon, like sunlight on black ice. Jason stood between them, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and hair ruffled. The eye contact between them was brief; his eyes darted between her and her uncle, she raised a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged almost imperceptibly, and then it was over.
“I see.” Her uncle deadpanned. “And who started it, the ‘not fighting?’ Mm? Mr Tully? Perhaps you could shed some light on the subject?”
Carol stepped forward, intrigued. The boys stayed quiet, as she expected. All teenagers adhered to an unspoken code: don’t fink. Fink and you’re dead. Angus and Teddy’s eyes met in a silent challenge. Teddy jutted his jaw and glared like a petulant child.
“Mr Kountze? Mr Smith? Mr Ollerman? Mr Park? Alright then, we’ll do it like the Roman Legions.” Carol picked up a tinge of delight in her uncle’s voice. “Absent a confession, one man’s sin is every man’s suffering. For every minute the truth is withheld, you will all receive a detention.”
“I thought all the Nazis were hiding in Argentina.” Angus muttered. A barely contained laugh threatened to spill from Carol’s mouth, to her horror and confusion.
“Stifle it, Tully!” Mr Hunham checked his watch. “Now, in the first of said detentions, you will…” He paused as if thinking on his feet. “...clean the library. Top to bottom. Scraping the underside of the desks, which are caked with snot and gum, and all manner of unspeakable proteins.” Jason met her eyes, pleading silently ‘do something!’ “Ahh, on your hands and knees, down in the dust.” She felt a protest bubbling up in her chest. “Breathing in the dead skin of generations of students, and dessicated cockroaches-”
“Mr Hunham!”
“It was Kountze!” Little Alex blurted out, drowning her own exclamation. As he pointed desperately at Teddy, she caught Angus throwing him a look that landed somewhere between pity and disgust.
“Bravo, Mr Ollerman. Bravo!” Mr Hunham exclaimed sardonically, eyes shimmering with malignant joy. “As it stands, you've all had two hearty meals today, so I’m sure going without supper won’t hurt Mr Kountze too badly. We’ll be meeting in the dining hall in one hour, where you-” He waggled his finger at Teddy. “Will sit aside and watch us. I suggest you all take this time as an opportunity to study, and, uh, gentlemen? Break it up.”
With that, he waddled out past Park and Ollerman, raising his eyebrows as he caught sight of Carol waiting for him.
“Ah. You caught that, I assume?” She said nothing, just nodded and fell in step beside him. “I’m sensing some disapproval?”
“Well.” She bit her lip, unsure of how bold she should be. But then again, this Christmas couldn’t get any worse, right? “As a history teacher, I’m sure you’re familiar with the Geneva Convention.”
“Yes, I am.” Paul chuckled. “And I know what you’re getting at, too.”
“Well, personally, I’d rather not be subjected to any war crimes over my Christmas break. Plus, I’d rather not be in the position to agree with Angus Tully on something.”
“You’re off to a rocky start with him?”
“You could say that.”
“He’s a bright kid, in spite of his determination to act out and destroy his own potential.”
“I believe you.” She contemplated his words for a moment. “Maybe, and don’t take this the wrong way, if you, say… cut them some slack, the morale would be higher and everyone would get along a whole lot better. It’s Christmas.”
“Trust me, Carol, the last thing those boys need is leniency. They already think they can get away with murder, and I’d hate to see what comes after that. If you’re ever in the sorry position of a teacher, you’ll understand what I mean.”
“I suppose so.” She sighed, feeling thoroughly deflated. “See you at dinner.”
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favorite Angus Tully's quotes, The Holdovers (2023) dir. Alexander Payne
#the holdovers#angus tully#dominic sessa#filmgifs#dailyflicks#moviegifs#films watched#my gifs#his line delivering is truly impressive for someone who had never done film acting before#so natural and added so much to the character#face muscles/tone/rhythm he ate everything and left no crumbs#now where are the awards and casting news guys I NEED ANSWERS#i need my client on his way real quick to end all the nepo babies in this mf industry
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DOMINIC SESSA as ANGUS TULLY
THE HOLDOVERS (2023) | Dir. Alexander Payne
#the holdovers#dominic sessa#angus tully#filmgifs#moviegifs#dailyflicks#fyeahmovies#filmedit#movieedit#userfilm#doyouevenfilm#*#SAVE ME WHITE BOYYYYY
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#posting my tweet here bc apparently it blew up (got more than 10 likes)#the holdovers#dominic sessa#angus tully
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Timothee chalamet for the working class
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just father figures staring at their surrogate sons with all of the pride and admiration and affection in the world
#can’t stop thinking about this parallel#todd defending keating to cameron vs angus defending hunham to kountze…yeah#just sad gay boys and their dads#dead poets society#the holdovers#todd anderson#john keating#mr. keating#angus tully#paul hunham#mr. hunham#found family#anderperry#neil perry
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THE HOLDOVERS
— 2023, dir. Alexander Payne
#the holdovers#filmedit#dailyflicks#userstream#cinemapix#cinematv#bblecher#doyouevenfilm#chewieblog#cinemaspam#theholdovers*#dominic sessa#angus tully
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i'm not in love
in which angus always preferred being alone. at least, he used to.
pairing is angus tully x fem!reader
word count is 3.4k
author says don't look at me <3 not proofread bc it's me
you should watch out for college-aged angus, mostly just two besties who are so in love it makes them stupid
title song is i'm not in love // 10cc
angus tully answers his mother’s biweekly calls diligently. not because either of them truly want to speak to each other—it’s more perfunctory than anything. she calls and asks about school, and he tells her it’s good. then he asks about stanley, and she tells him about stanley’s job, and then she’ll ask angus about his job. he tells her it’s fine, and she offers him money that he’ll accept only if he’s in a particularly foul mood. after three years, they almost have it down to a perfect script.
at least, he thought they did.
“how’s y/n?”
the question catches him so off-guard that his sharp intake of breath makes him choke, but judy waits patiently for an answer. he mentioned you every once in a while. mostly, he likes that you’re an entirely separate part of his life from his mother and stanley. he’ll bring you up if she asks why he isn’t coming home on a holiday, or on the off-chance she asks about his weekend plans. yours is one of the only names he’s ever given her when he talks about school, and one of the only ones that seems to stick around longer than a few months at a time. “she’s…good,” he responds tentatively.
“what are you guys doing tonight?”
he stares at his phone in bemusement. “what is this?”
she sighs, and he can almost see that displeased look on her face. he had it memorized. “when are we going to meet her?”
“why do you want to meet her?” he asks. if he really thinks about it, it makes sense. you two had lived across from one another for three years, and you had fallen together in a way that almost felt predetermined. you are the longest standing person in his life post-high school, and his mother knows this.
he had always preferred being alone. even as a child, he had no interest in playing with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street. he liked doing things by himself. he liked doing what he wanted without having to inform anyone else. when he had gone to college and found a semi-affordable apartment that he wouldn’t have to share, he had been elated. the cute girl across the hall had just been a plus.
you two had always just worked. he holds everyone at arm's length, but it had never even occurred to him to shut you out. you two end up together most nights, watching movies or doing homework. it happens so easily that he hardly recognizes how strange it is. perpetual wallflower angus tully is attached.
“well, you two have been together for a while. if things are serious, i think it’s best that we meet her.”
angus blinks, shocked, before a nervous laugh bubbles up in his chest. it starts low, but the longer she waits in her own confused silence, the louder and more unruly his laughter becomes. he’s laughing—not because the idea is ridiculous, but because it’s so plausible that it takes him by surprise. he had spent the last two years trying to bury his feelings for you, and he had been so unsuccessful that even his mother had picked up on it.
“angus,” she snaps, and he giggles, even though it isn’t funny, even though his stomach twists and rolls in a way that makes him feel sick.
“i’m sorry,” he gasps, covering his eyes. “just…we—y/n and i aren’t together.”
there’s a long moment of silence where he catches his breath before his mom says, “angus, that’s not funny.”
“well, it is, if you think about it really hard,” he offers. she sighs, exasperated, and angus rubs his eyes. he can’t possibly explain to his mother what about this situation is truly amusing, because really, it isn’t funny. it’s not funny that he’s desperately in love with his best friend, and it’s not funny that she oscillates between entirely oblivious and seemingly aware.
“you’re telling me you’ve been missing family holidays for a girl you aren’t dating?”
he can tell she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t bother reminding her that they haven’t had a real family holiday in years. long before he started university, and long before he met you. besides, answering that question honestly is dangerous, and should he not handle this delicately, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of his mother’s wrath.
“uh…”
he’s fumbling, panicking, and it only gets worse when he hears his front door open. “angus?” you call, and his whole body cringes, his head falling to rest on the wall.
“angus,” judy warns.
“yeah,” he blurts, watching you round the corner. you smile, offering only a small wave as you drop your bag onto his kitchen table. “no, mom, obviously not. that would be ridiculous.”
as he feels her anxiety cease, his own skyrockets. he’s focused entirely on you; your back is turned toward him as you open his fridge, searching through the shelves for something to eat. if it were anyone else, he’d be irritated, but he almost loves it when you do it. loves that you feel comfortable enough in his home to make yourself feel at home, that he can take care of you in the smallest way. most nights, when he lies in bed and thinks of you, he finds himself thinking of the ways he could take care of you. the ways he could give you what he never had, the things that had been ripped from him. security. unconditional affection. peace. he’s barely listening when his mother sighs again. “you know, i don’t understand your humor sometimes.”
“i know,” he says. you kick the fridge closed, enough food in your hands to feed both of you. “hey, she actually just got here. can i let you go?”
“not until you answer my question.” her voice is clipped now, and angus winces. some nights she’s a little more forgiving with his distraction, a little more responsive to the things he says that she doesn’t necessarily understand. tonight, he’s more distracted than usual and less decipherable than ever. “when can we meet her?”
angus groans, and you smile over your shoulder. you know better than anyone how much he struggles with his mother. you’ve listened in on many of their phone calls, and patiently listened to him complain about them later. “i don’t know, mom.”
“how about easter?” she asks. angus turns to lean against the wall and watch you, and you lean against the counter, waiting for him to be done. he rolls his eyes, a silent cue that things are taking longer than he’d like. “stanley and i can drive up that saturday and take you guys out for a nice dinner. on us.”
reluctantly, only because he knows that she’ll blow a gasket if they don’t nail down plans on this phone call, and because he wants this to be over, he huffs. he pulls the receiver away slightly and asks, “you want to have dinner with my mom and stanley easter weekend?”
you blink owlishly. “what? why?”
“they want to meet you.”
“why?” you insist. he glares at you impatiently; knowing angus—more, knowing what you know about his mother—an answer is needed now, and explanation must come later. the idea of meeting his mom makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, but there he stands. even with a hard glare, you feel safe with him. you feel the need to do what he asks of you, and you know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask if he thought it would be something you couldn’t handle. “uh…i guess, yeah.”
he offers a grateful smile. “easter weekend sounds great, mom.”
they quickly finalize plans before hanging up, and the second the receiver is back on hook, he groans loudly, rubbing his eyes. you wait for him to speak, but he stands with his hands over his eyes, hiding from you. “angus.”
“she thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he blurts.
you really don’t mean to start laughing. “what?”
his lips turn up in a sheepish smile. “i guess they’ve thought we were together this entire time,” he chuckles. “and i panicked! she accused me missing holidays to spend time with you and i didn’t want to get in trouble—”
you clutch your stomach, doubled over in laughter. he doesn’t want to laugh—frankly, he’s a little hurt that you find the idea so laughable, but he had laughed, too. “you caved,” you gasp. “you caved and told a lie because you didn’t want to get in trouble with your mommy.”
“okay.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. you’re part of this now, too.”
your giggles die down and you turn to take the food out of the microwave. “hey, i could back out. i could break up with you at any time.”
he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. often enough, when you’re doing exactly what you’re doing now, angus’ feelings become overwhelming. watching you move around his kitchen with the kind of natural domesticity makes him feel choked, buried under his overflowing affection.
the harder he fights his feelings, the worse they get. you’re his best friend—it’s not on purpose, either; you aren’t at all the kind of person he ever thought he would fall for. you were bitingly funny, of course, but you fought him constantly. he wouldn’t even say you were particularly nice for the first few months you two knew one another. you’re entirely out of left field, and he can’t even get a read on you half the time—not that he even really wants to. part of him thinks that knowing exactly what you think about him would be truly crushing.
“i guess a free meal could be nice,” you tease, stirring your dinner with a knowing smile.
“yeah, you’re so unused to those,” he bites, pushing himself off the wall. you beam.
it’s surprising, in a way, that you hadn’t met angus’ mom and stepfather already. he’s met your family a thousand times over; they take you both out to dinner every single time they visit you. they had sent him a birthday gift this year, for christ’s sake. but you could probably count the amount of time angus had seen his mother in the last three years on both hands. you were surprised enough that she even remembered your name.
you had spent your entire friendship with angus thinking about his mother. being angry with her. your best friend is caring, in his own stilted, modest way. he’s witty and so smart that it intimidates you, and he’s loyal. it tells you all you need to know that his relationship with his mother isn’t strong.
he bumps you out of the way, and you let him. you watch him open the cupboard for plates to evenly split the leftover pasta, and your chest nearly heaves with confused affection. you see the way he looks at you when he’s not careful. with an unrestrained reverence, with a tenderness that can’t be forced. it had made you uncomfortable, at first. made you feel like you couldn’t be around him anymore. you had tried to pull away—for a day or two.
the reality of the entire situation is that angus tully belongs in your life. you adore him too much to cut him out, and even if you didn’t, it kills you to think of him alone. he’s a lone wolf; it’s amazing enough that you two have connected the way that you have. if angus didn’t have you, he had a few friends from class. maybe two or three guys from work. but nothing as deep, nothing as serendipitous as your friendship.
discomfort with his feelings had grown into a tentative acceptance once you realized he had no plans on acting on them, and after a few months, tentative acceptance had grown into…something else entirely. you aren’t sure exactly what it is. it isn’t like those juvenile, giddy crushes you had harbored in high school. angus doesn’t keep you up at night, nor does he make you lovesick. he puts you at ease. he makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like yourself.
you don’t want to confront the strange sense of peace that angus has offered you without even knowing. without even trying. you don’t want to change your friendship, or misattribute your feelings, so you ignore them. and you ignore the way he looks at you, and how he insists on making your favorite dinners, even though he complains about you eating his leftovers, and how he uses your spare key to lock your door every single time he leaves your apartment without fail.
your knees bump together under the tiny table in his kitchen as you two eat dinner. you listen to him talk about his coworkers, lulled into relaxation by his deep voice; you always loved your dinnertime conversations. mostly, one of you just talked. you would talk about school and work and your classmates and your days; they aren’t even really conversations. it’s just an excuse to talk and an opportunity to listen. he doesn’t mind when you don’t respond, and neither of you care if the other person talks the entire time. it’s time spent together more than anything else. you think about how effortless it feels. how you could do this every night with intention, not under the guise of getting out of your apartment. you think about the dinner with his mom, and how you’ll both put on nice outfits to go out, and how you’ll come home together, and how you’ll dissect every detail of the dinner and the conversations for the entire night, if not for days afterwards.
you notice only a moment too late that you’ve zoned out, and angus kicks your shin gently. “you good?”
with a reassuring smile, you nod. “yeah. i’m just thinking about dinner with your mom.”
he’s bashful when he laughs quietly. “yeah…sorry. i know i kind of screwed you over.” you can tell that he truly does feel bad, but the longer you think about it, the less you dread it. you think you might actually like an excuse to acknowledge the way angus looks at you, for him to not have to hide it.
“i don’t know…i’m kind of excited,” you admit, pushing food around your plate. angus looks at you from under his lashes, taking pause at your tone. you refuse to look at him, and it sends his heart into overdrive; he’s panicked, certainly, and so in love with you that it makes him nauseous. he isn’t entirely sure that he’ll survive a night of you pretending. of it all feeling so real.
he can feel a confession coming, bubbling up in his chest, and he swallows in panic. “she’s—she’ll like you, i think.”
with a slight smile, you push your plate away from you. “i’m not sure i’ll like her.”
which he loves about you, naturally.
he clears his throat to bury the confession and stands; angus grabs both plates and turns his back to you to hide his flushed cheeks. shamelessly, since he can’t see you, you watch him, soothed simply by the way he moves. by how familiar he is. by how you can almost predict every move he makes. the words fall out before you’re even cognizant of them
“just so you know, i don’t mind your mom thinking i’m your girlfriend.”
the way he freezes makes your shoulders tense. you hadn’t meant to say that. it was true, but he didn’t need to know that. angus’ mind screeches to a full stop before it starts running ten times faster than before. what did that mean?
slowly—so slowly that you almost don’t notice—he sets the plates in the sink. you won’t get out of this. you know you won’t, because you know angus. once the door is open, he’ll take the opportunity to push it every single time. “why?” he asks, his voice a carefully constructed tone of ease. he plays it well; his nonchalance is almost perfectly natural. it nearly tricks you.
still kicking yourself, you shrug even though he can’t see you. instead, you start emptying your bag to distract yourself. textbooks and notebooks and pencils clatter against the table. “just…we could sell it, don’t you think?” it’s not even close to what he wants to hear, and you buckle down even though you know you won’t win this one. “we know everything about each other.”
he snorts, and it puts you at ease. not because you’re going to get out of this. you know something dangerous is going to come out of this conversation, but because it’s angus. it’s your best friend. and you know him, and you know the way he treats you is symptomatic of something much larger. it used to scare you, but it doesn’t now. not now that he washes your dishes, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. you trust him. you know that any vulnerability you share will be returned to you tenfold.
“yeah, right. that just makes it convenient,” he says knowingly, head tilting. he watches you sort through your textbooks, hiding your anxiety while you busy yourself.
part of you hopes that he’ll just drop it. not because you don’t think things will work out, but because you love how things are between the two of you. the almosts, the what-ifs, the wondering is something you so love to savor. it’s still so easy between you two; all of those what-ifs still exist only in your minds, only in the silent space between you that neither of you are willing to acknowledge. there’s plausible deniability. there’s safety.
you smile shakily, glancing up at him. “i guess i mean…that we…work?”
he smiles back, comforting but still audacious. “and by that, you mean…”
with a groan, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. you know this leap can only be beneficial, but you’re struggling to let yourself admit anything. it’s more frustrating than the denial.
angus stares at you, suddenly the emotionally constipated one, and his heart is pounding in his ears. he can feel it beating against his chest; he’s not brave enough to hope. it’s too scary for him to wonder if this is finally it, if you had been as keenly aware as he had assumed you to be.
“just…i think there’s a reason my mom thinks we’re together. just so you know.” you groan louder, unmoved by his words, and he continues, “beyond the fact that we’re constantly together.”
you peek up at him, your chin still pressed against your forearms. he watches you, big brown eyes wide open with vulnerability. he’s waiting. you figure it’s as good of a segue as he’s going to give you. with a deep breath, ignoring the turning and rolling of your stomach, you say, “i feel like…things could be like that between us.”
he breaks into a smile so wide that you have to look away from him. “oh, is that what this is about?” he asks facetiously.
you grunt, irritated. “don’t tease me.”
he laughs, uncrossing his arms. you don’t even want to look at him, humiliated. he hasn’t rejected you—in fact, you know he’s just keeping you on the line to tease you. it irritates you, but he seems giddy, even if he tries to act like he’s unaffected. he can’t keep that goofy smile off his face. it entirely gives him away. “hey,” he says, voice bright. “c’mere.”
“no,” you spit, annoyed. you know that the second you give in, everything will change. for the better, you think, but it will change. you hold on to the wondering for just a moment longer, but you can’t help yourself. he waits patiently at the counter, holding on to the ledge. you like the wondering, but you think you’re ready to find out if it’s as good as it seems it would be.
self-conscious, you cross the room to him. you stand only centimeters apart, and he grins at you, fingers gently stroking the hem of your collar. “you know, right?”
you don’t have to ask what he means. you know. maybe not the depths, but you know. the way he looks at you is enough to let you know. the way he takes care of you tells you what his words haven’t yet. they will. “you can’t hide from me, angus tully.”
he loves that about you, too. he’ll tell you all the specifics later. for now, he kisses you, a long arm around your waist, and you think that this is much better than the what-ifs.
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Dominic Sessa in The Holdovers - Behind the Scenes
#!gif#2024g#dominic sessa#the holdovers#angus tully#cinemapix#cinematv#cinematicsource#filmtvcentral#filmtvsource#filmgifs#dailyfilmtvgifs#dailyfilmsource#filmandtv#userrobin#userstream#dailyflicks#doyouevenfilm#cinemaspam#dailyfilmactors
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post-baftas
pairing: dominic sessa x reader
genre: smut, munch dom
part 1
——————
the sound of a key card at the door arose you from your lazing on the bed. a smirk came across your face as you sat up in the hotel room bed. your, or more accurately, dom’s favourite underwear was covering you, as well as one of his t-shirts he’d left in his suitcase.
“there you are,” he smiled, walking into the room and slowly taking off his jacket.
“oh my god,” you moaned, watching his every move — every single aspect of this outfit had you drunk, “dominic how do you exist like this?”
he laughed, clearly tipsy from the drinks he’d had before and after the ceremony, though it can’t have been that many - he’d left almost immediately afterwards, his mind too preoccupied with the thought of you naked on a hotel bed to care about anything that had just gone on. he nodded to the bottle resting in an ice bucket, two glasses next to it, “champagne?”
“what did i say? someone else is paying for the room,” you smirked.
dominic laughed, pouring two glasses and making his way over to the bed, “isn’t champagne reserved for winners? i didn’t win, remember?”
you pouted, undoing the button on the top of his trousers and tugging on the waistband, “poor baby. do you wanna see what losers get instead?”
dom grinned, stepping out of the trousers and undoing the buttons on his shirt, all while kissing you as passionately as he could. he really was thankful you were here for him, award or not, and as horny as he was; he wanted to show that as well.
“well, do you?” you prompted, pulling away from his lips breathlessly.
“whatever,” he laughed, pulling your t-shirt over your head before he suddenly moaned, “the red pair?”
“we’re matching,” you said, as teasingly as possible, pulling on the hem of his undone shirt to compare it to the colour of your underwear.
he began to leave a wet trail of kisses down your body, leading to your panties; he slipped a finger under the waistband, snapping them back against your thigh as you let out a gasp.
your breathing was unsteady as you felt his hot breath right over the area where you needed it most.
“i-i’m supposed to be rewarding you, aren’t i?”
“little darling, this is my reward,” he said lowly, “can i?”
“please, dom, oh my god.”
he used one hand to haphazardly pull your panties down your thighs, not even caring about the blunder as he connected his lips to you.
you moaned on impact, his tongue drawing circles around your clit, and his hand that had been busy chucking your panties across the room now entering you, one finger at a time. your hands went flying down to his hair, running your fingers through his curls and tugging whenever it felt particularly good.
“how does that feel, baby?” he prompted, stopping his mouth on your clit to look up at you.
you moaned, shoving his head back down as he laughed. the constant impact on your clit, and his skillful fingers working their way in and out of you had you climaxing quicker than ever before.
“dom! i’m gonna cum,” you panted, your boyfriend not even coming up for air as you moaned your way through your peak, hips trying to worm away from his mouth, but his mouth still never leaving you, “dom, please!”
you used your grip on his hair to pull him off, instead, sitting up and bringing his lips to your lips instead of to your cunt.
“i could stay there all day,” he chuckled, kissing down your neck, his hands going to hold your jaw; a surprisingly tender hold considering the horniness radiating from the both of you.
“yeah i can tell, baby boy,” you said, as he worked his way down to your boobs, ripping your bra off in the process. he pulled away, panting, and leaned over to the bedside table to take a swig of champagne, sitting back against the headboard in the process.
you narrowed your eyes in on him, still in his boxers and un-buttoned sheer shirt, “let me rid you of these.”
you slid you hands over his chest, following the line of his collarbones, down his arms to take the shirt off. throwing it somewhere across the room, you focused back on his body.
dom continued to sip champagne, sitting with a wide-legged stance, dick hard and straining against his boxers. you kissed down his jawline and neck, his cornicello necklace, and continuing down his hairy chest, stopping once you got to his tattoo.
“i can’t believe you were showing this off for everyone,” you tutted, licking it, “i thought i was the only one who got to see this.”
dominic shivered, putting his glass down to play with your hair. you smirked up at him, you knew what he was hinting at, but you weren’t going to give it to him that easily.
continuing your trail of kisses down his hipbone before blowing slightly on his tip though his boxers, dominic groaned.
you reached a hand inside his boxer shorts, grabbing hold of his length and running your thumb over the tip, teasingly. dominic whined, as when you pulled away, all he could feel was the tightening confines of his boxers. he didn’t want to take them off himself, that would be demeaning.
“you want these off?” you pouted.
dominic panted, “shut up.”
you laughed, rolling them down his thighs, so his dick sprung up into the cold air of the room. it rested against his stomach, and curved slightly left. his arm was flung over his eyes, a reaction of pure sensitivity.
“please, y/n,” he moaned, his hand splayed out on the bedsheets. you hadn’t seen each other for months, you could imagine he’d gotten very used to his hand.
“you want prep? or do you wanna just fuck me?” you asked, crawling up his body until you were basically sat on his lap, pussy just inches away from his, frankly, throbbing dick.
he could have cum right there, “please let me fuck you, oh my god.”
you smirked, hands on his chest to steady yourself as you lined yourself up with his dick and began to sink down. both of you were wordless and moaning with desire; once you���d got him all inside you, you slumped forward so your whole body was resting on his chest.
dominic chuckled, pulling you up and pressing his lips to yours, planting his feet on the bed and beginning to move his hips. you moaned into the kiss, now this is what you’d missed.
#hi guys i want to formally state that i am a uni student and i actively chose to write this instead of working on a presentation#hope my lecturers are proud#dominic sessa smut#dominic sessa imagine#dominic sessa fanfic#dominic sessa x reader#dominic sessa#angus tully#angus tully imagines#angus tully fanfic#angus tully x reader#the holdovers
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i NEED the marauders girlies to look at Dominic Sessa bc that's Remus Lupin right there im sorry but Andrew Garfield will never come close he's lacking the tall weirdo gene
#i love you andrew but goddamn#remus lupin#marauders#regulus black#wolfstar#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#sirius black#the marauders#all the young dudes#atyd#fancast#dominic sessa#angus tully#the holdovers#james potter#harry potter universe#severus snape#marauders fancast
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🤸 Dominic Sessa as Angus Tully 🤸 – The Holdovers (2023)
#the holdovers#dominic sessa#angus tully#films watched#filmgifs#dailyflicks#moviegifs#my gifs#need to make a specific post about how natural and fascinating the way he moves and uses his body language#imagine landing your first acting role and serving this much#SO ICONIC#the cartwheel alone deserves an oscar nom are you kidding me#and to know that it was just him improvising and payne said why tf not
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Dominic Sessa as Angus Tully in THE HOLDOVERS (2023)
#dominic sessa#angus tully#the holdovers#save me white boy#was gonna gif him but my computers fucked. so you get screenshots!
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venus pt.1 | angus tully x fem!reader
summary: after being accepted as barton academy's first female student, you didn't think it could get any worse. as the fall semester progresses, you start to form a friendship with the outcast, angus, but what happens when the holidays come and you are the last two students on campus? PART 1 OF 2
pairing: angus tully (the holdovers, 2023) x fem!reader
tags: canon compliance (this is a complete rewrite of the film, just with the added reader insert), lots of swearing, teddy is an asshole but what's new, 70s ideals about feminism (which YES is a warning), mentions of grief/loss
author’s note: oof here we go, part 1 of my long-teased angus fic! be aware that this is literally 11k words, so i apologize for the absolute brick wall of text you're about to encounter (but don't worry, i put a read more on it :) ) also, if i missed any warnings/tags, pls dm me and let me know if you think i should add something! other than that, enjoy!
There were worse fates than this, right? There had to be, you were sure of it. You felt every pair of eyes on you as you walked down the center aisle of the chapel, acutely aware of the overwhelming masculine energy that you were drowning in. After all, at Barton, it wasn’t every day that these boys saw a girl. You wondered how long some of them had gone without laying eyes on a member of the opposite sex (a real one; skin mags don’t count).
It also didn’t help that the priest at the front of the room had intentionally brought everyone’s eyes to you the moment you walked in. You had tried to slip in unnoticed, but he had said “Ah, here she is now: our very first Barton lady! Come sit up front with the headmaster!”
You anchored yourself in the frontmost pew, next to the headmaster with a hippie beard, and kept your head still and staring straight ahead. You had known very little about Barton before that school year— you were from nearby Boston, and had gone to a larger high school with, not only a more mixed gender breakdown, but a significantly different economic situation than Barton. You had been shocked, as you took the bus from town to campus, at how many Mercedes and Cadillacs you had seen near the school. You felt like a fish out of water, in more ways than one.
The priest didn’t end his taunting when you sat down, though. “Many of you probably wondered, when you got on campus for the beginning of the semester, what the new building next to the dormitory was,” he began, and you heard a few mumblings from the row behind you, confirming their confusion. “Well, gentlemen, this year… Barton has become coeducational. The new building, Blackwell Hall, named for the esteemed Elizabeth Blackwell, is the girl’s dormitory.”
The mumbling behind you increased to a dull rumble, and you slightly turned your head to get a glance at the boys sitting behind you. All high school boys, kids your age, staring at you and wondering what your deal was. You took notice of one boy in particular, the only one around you not gossiping with his friends, totally uninterested and picking at his cuticles. Before you could even think to wonder about this boy, someone from near the back of the chapel yelled “Is she gonna be in classes with us?”
“Yes, she will,” the priest said. “She is a junior, so, gentlemen, make sure you welcome her warmly to our school.”
You sat and endured chapel while burning from all the stares in your direction, and, as soon as the priest dismissed the lot of you, you shot up and made your way to the doors, clutching your handbag close to your body. The August air hit your face as you stepped out, and you started back to Blackwell Hall, where your things sat, ready to be unpacked, but someone called out to you, demanding your attention.
“Hey, girl!” You turned to see who had shouted, and you were met with the sight of a boy with caramel-colored hair, wearing a sports coat and tie. Come to think of it, all the boys were wearing coats and ties. You hadn’t been told anything about a uniform, and suddenly your jeans felt less than appropriate. The boy had a cigarette in his hand, and he beckoned you over to him, and you clenched your back teeth as you (for some reason) obeyed.
“You’re a junior, huh?” the boy asked, and you nodded. “What classes are you taking?”
You pursed your lips. “Precalc,” you began. “Ancient Civ. Home Ec. Bio.”
“Gym?” he asked, and you shook your head.
“There’s not a girls’ locker room,” you said, hoping he understood your explanation.
The boy ashed his cigarette, and he said, “What period do you have Ancient Civ?”
You tried to recall what you had written down, and you said, “Fourth period, I think. With Hunham.”
“Oh,” the boy said with a winning smile. “I’m in that period too. Maybe we could be study partners.”
You drew in a breath and cleared your throat. “Maybe,” you said softly. “What’s your name?”
“Teddy,” he replied. “Kountze.”
“Right,” you mumbled. “Well, um, I’ll see you around, Teddy.”
“Um, are you going to the cafeteria?” Teddy asked hastily, like he was looking for something to talk to you about. “I-I was about to head there, and, if you wanted someone to sit with, I have a spare seat at my table.”
“I’m not,” you told him. “Gotta get back to my dorm and finish unpacking. I only got in town today.”
“How did…” Teddy started. “How did you get in? Your folks hear that Barton was going coed and got you in?”
You shook your head. “I went to Central High School, in Boston,” you replied. “I was doing a research project and saw in a newspaper that Barton was going coed and having a lottery for the first female student. I sorta put my name in as a joke, and then, when I won, it… Wasn’t really a joke anymore. I had to take some academic placement tests, since Central isn’t exactly a highbrow school, and I got a scholarship that covered a lot of my tuition. The board of trustees waived the rest of it, so…”
“You’re going here for free?” Teddy asked incredulously. “Jesus, I didn’t even know we had scholarships.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, Kountze,” a voice said from nearby, and you turned your shoulder to see the boy from chapel who didn’t give a shit about you. He stood tall, rail thin, a mop of dark curls on top of his head. He had eyes like black holes, his pale skin so translucent around his eye sockets that he had purplish-red bags underneath. “Nobody’s going to tell the bottom scum about possible academic achievements. It’s cruel to tease people with something they’ll never have.”
“Fuck off, Tully,” Teddy snapped. “Don’t you have some porno mag waiting for you?”
The boy (you supposed his name was Tully) pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and skulked away, and you scoffed under your breath. “Charming,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from his back as he left the scene.
“Jesus, yeah,” Teddy said. “That’s Angus Tully. Biggest asshole here, thinks he’s better than everyone else. God knows why, he’s such a fuckin’ loser. He’s in Hunham’s fourth period too.”
You furrowed your eyebrows at Angus Tully’s back, and then redirected your attention to Teddy, who was presently snubbing out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” you said softly, and, without another word, departed for your dorm.
You appreciated that Barton had built a separate dorm for the female students, but, seeing as you were the sole resident of the building, you were irked by it. It was too big and empty, too lifeless and soulless. Certainly, they had built it with future generations in mind, hoping that more girls would eventually enroll and prove the building a necessity, but, for now, you found yourself aching with loneliness. You missed your mom and your sisters, in your small apartment in downtown Boston, just a few blocks from your old high school. You missed hearing Linda Ronstadt records playing from your older sister’s room (the one she shared with your mom), or the ceaseless sound of the air conditioning unit buzzing away in the window of your room (the one you shared with your other older sister). Barton just felt too… Good for you. But, it was as your mother had told you: it was an opportunity that you could not afford to pass up.
You didn’t have a lot to unpack, and you hung up your clothes as you chewed your lip. For some reason, the interaction outside the chapel was sticking with you. Not Teddy, although he certainly had made himself hard to forget. No, you were thinking about Angus Tully, apparently the head asshole of Assholedom. You would be seeing him tomorrow too, for the first day of classes, in Hunham’s Ancient Civ class. You had never taken a class like that— your old school didn’t even offer the Advanced Placement program, so obnoxiously pretentious classes like that were out of your realm of understanding— and you were almost worried that you would flunk right out.
You tossed and turned all night, dreading sunrise and morning. Breakfast was served at 7, and classes began at 8, beginning with Precalc for you, then transitioning into Biology. After third period free, you had Ancient Civ, then an hour for lunch, then Home Ec, then your last few hours of the school day were reserved for something that, on the fax paper that you had been given at the front office, was called “Secretarial Studies”. You hated to think what that meant (surely, Barton wasn’t trying to prime you for being a secretary and nothing more), but mostly, it meant that your school day basically ended earlier than for others.
You awoke early, showered and scrubbed yourself clean (the water pressure in the shower was better than the fourth floor apartment that you used to deal with), and you dressed yourself in what you hoped was becoming of a Barton girl. The dress had initially been purchased as an outfit for special chapel occasions, Christmas and Easter or whatever, but you knew that your regular jeans and wrinkled t-shirt wouldn’t be enough for your new shiny academy.
Once again, as you entered the cafeteria for breakfast, you felt all eyes on you. You scanned the room for an empty seat (you didn’t fail to spot Angus Tully, sitting at the cornermost table, not conversing with everyone else) and sighed when you saw an open chair right next to Teddy Kountze. He spotted you and waved, and you made your way over.
“Hey there,” Teddy said. “How was your first night?”
“Fine,” you shrugged noncommittally. “Kinda quiet, though.”
“Yeah, nobody else in the whole building,” Teddy sighed. “No roommates or anything; that must be nice.”
“Nah, not really,” you replied. “I got used to my mom and my sisters, and it was just too quiet. Not nearly enough chaos for me.”
“How many sisters do you have?” A boy across the table from you asked.
“Two,” you said. “Both older. And my mom lived with us too, so there was always something going on.”
“Shit, for sure,” the boy said. “Are you gonna join any clubs while you’re here? Or sports or something?”
You didn’t exactly love the way that the boy said that. “While you’re here”. Like you weren’t going to stay at Barton for very long. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ve never really been a sporty type. I might see if the yearbook needs help or something.”
“You could join chess club,” the boy laughed, and Teddy (and pretty much everyone else at the table) laughed too.
“Why? What’s so funny about chess club?” you asked.
“Nothing,” Teddy sighed as he finished laughing. “Except that Tully’s ugly mug is there.”
“Tully?” you repeated. “Angus?”
“Do you know him?” a different boy at the table asked.
“No, not at all,” you said quickly. “Just… Heard some stuff about him, that’s all. How he’s apparently a douche.”
“You’ll see,” Teddy assured you. “In class, try to challenge him on something. See how he reacts, and you’ll get why we all hate him.”
You wrinkled your nose at the thought, but decided to not let it bother you. You made your way to class, hanging close behind Teddy and not really listening to him as much as you were admiring the school building. It was so… Old. So was your old school, but Barton was beautifully old, whereas Central was just old. Dark, shiny wood everywhere, framed oil paintings of people; it was a feat. You finally separated from Teddy when you reached the classroom for Precalc, and you hesitantly stepped in. A handful of guys were there, sitting on their desks and chatting, and the room fell dead as you stepped inside. You hazarded a small smile, and quickly made your way to the back of the room, your preferred spot in any classroom, but you were stopped in your tracks.
Angus Tully. He sat in the back corner, close to the window, his tie loose and crooked around his neck. He was looking out the window, but his eyes slid over to you as you approached the desk beside him.
“Hi,” you said gently. “Can I… Um, can I sit here?”
Angus shrugged, as if he didn’t care, and you slung your bag across the back of the seat before you settled yourself down. You tapped your fingers on the desktop for a moment, wondering what the next course of action was, and you mumbled out, “I-I heard you were in chess club?”
“Yeah,” Angus grunted out. “What about it?”
“Oh, nothing,” you said, anxiously smoothing your skirt on your thigh. “Just, umm… I was wondering if there was, like… If you guys were open to new members.”
“Probably,” Angus said simply.
You nodded slowly, waiting for his next words, but they never came. “Right,” you said softly. “Okay.”
To your disappointment, Angus Tully and you shared every class together, except for your free period and Home Ec. His demeanor never changed a single bit throughout the day, sullen and curt. He didn’t speak during class, didn’t answer questions or even seem as if he was paying attention. It was odd. You were thinking about it as you settled into a desk in the back of the Ancient Civ classroom, and you yourself were hardly paying attention to the teacher, a one Mr. Hunham, until he called your name. “Miss?” he said, and you lifted your cheek out of your hand. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”
You blinked a few times, your face positively burning hot, and you cleared your throat. “I’m sure you all know my name by now,” you began. “Know that I went to a public school in Boston, got in here on a lottery and a scholarship… I guess there’s not much else to know about me.”
“Have you ever studied ancient civilizations before, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. He seemed well-meaning, if maybe a little sarcastic.
“No,” you told him.
“Any experience with Latin?” Mr. Hunham asked next.
You deflated. Shit. This was that sorta school? “No,” you said, a little quieter this time.
“Well, that’s alright,” Mr. Hunham said. “We’ll catch you up to speed. Now, gentlemen— Ah, and lady— let’s open our books to the first chapter.”
All during class, you felt hot tears pricking at your eyes. You were humiliated. All these words and names that everyone else seemed to know, and you had no fucking clue what any of it meant. It was all Greek to you— Latin, actually, but that didn't matter. As Mr. Hunham was mid-sentence about some sort of war, the bell to end the class sounded throughout the room, and you instantly closed your textbook and began to shove it into your bag. “Read the rest of the section tonight!” Mr. Hunham called over the sounds of your classmates packing up and chattering. “There will be a quiz on Friday!”
You shouldered your bag and tried to avoid eyes as you skated out of the room, but a voice saying your name held you back. You hoped your eyes weren’t red as you turned to see Angus standing limply in the hallway. He had stayed quiet during Mr. Hunham’s class too, sitting again in the back corner, and you had managed to forget about him as you wallowed in shame. “Yeah?” you asked.
Angus carefully walked closer to you, and he said, “The library has tutors sometimes. If you need help with Latin.”
“Oh,” you said softly. “Thanks. I just… Didn’t know people still spoke that.”
“Not really, it’s a dead language,” Angus said. “But it’s helpful sometimes in classes. A lot of Ivy League schools have Latin courses that are required.”
��Well, thank God I’m not going to an Ivy League school,” you chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ll be lucky if community college takes me.”
“You go to Barton, colleges will be fighting for you to go there,” Angus shrugged.
“But I’m not somebody,” you protested. “I’m not a senator’s kid, my dad isn’t a CEO, like… I just go here.”
“But the name is good enough for schools to want you,” Angus said. “They want the prestige, that’s all.”
You thought on it for a moment, and you mumbled, “Thanks, Angus. I’ll, um… See you tomorrow.”
The whole first week of classes progressed at a snail’s pace. Every day was torturous— all of your classes, except for Ancient Civ, were easy. Home Ec was a complete wash, since you already knew how to sew and cook, and Secretarial Studies was just as you had feared: teaching you to type, mostly, but nevertheless skills needed to do office work. You were a little offended; you were the only student in the class, which was helmed by the front office manager Ms. Crane. Obviously the boys didn’t have to take this class, so what was Barton trying to say?
Finally, it was Friday night. Your dorm building was quiet again, and, even though they had provided a rec room with a radio and a few bookshelves, there wasn’t too much for you to do. You curled a loose thread from your sweater around your finger as you considered your next move, and you sighed as you grabbed your keys and shuffled into your shoes.
You pushed your way into the boy’s dorm, and there was a palpable change in energy. The lights seemed brighter, the air thicker, sounds coming from all manner of places. Some doors were open, the residents standing and chatting, and you could distantly hear the sound of a television playing somewhere on the first floor. Much livelier, more lived in; you wished you could have been placed there instead. You followed the sound of the television down the hall, past the chatting boys, and you noticed how conversations paused as you passed by. You despised that.
The door to the rec room was wide open, and you peeked in nervously. The television was playing some rerun of Gilligan’s Island, and boys were scattered to all corners of the room. Some played pool, some sat on the couches, some stood by the open window and smoked, but everything seemed to stop as you crossed the threshold. You made your way to an empty section of the couch and sat down, grinding your teeth as boys young and old watched you. You sighed, and you said, “What’s going on?”
The boy next to you, some kid that you knew was in your Bio class but didn’t know his name, frowned. “Huh?” he asked.
You jerked your head towards the television. “The show,” you said. “What’s happening?”
“Oh,” the boy said, and everyone resumed their conversations. “Umm, don’t you have a TV in your dorm?”
“Just a radio,” you said with a shake of your head. “What episode is this?”
The boy shrugged. “Wasn’t really paying attention,” he said.
You bunched your mouth up and sighed again, and you stood up. You could sense the disappointment as you left the rec room, but you couldn’t stand being in there any longer. You knew that being ogled at came with the territory of being the only girl at a boys’ school, but you couldn’t imagine it would have been anything like this. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your jeans and found a few errant coins in there, leftover from some excursion from God knows how long ago, and you started up to the second floor. In your building, there was a bank of phones on the second floor, and it made sense to you that this building would be the same.
Luckily, you were right. There was just as much business on the second floor as on the first, but the little phone bank was a calm corner. You sighed and examined the phone for a moment, trying to find the slot to put your dime, and you frowned. What the fuck?
“Just dial nine, and then the number you wanna call.”
You jumped in fright. “Jesus Christ!” you seethed, whipping around to see Angus. He sat in a shadow of the phone bank, a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. He looked a little more casual than he did in class, his tie gone and shirt unbuttoned one or two to show the top of his undershirt. Still looked a little Grim Reaper in the face, though. “You scared the shit outta me.”
Angus huffed a short laugh through his nose. “Thought you saw me,” he said.
“I did not,” you mumbled. “Where’s the coin slot?”
“These aren’t payphones,” Angus told you. “Just dial nine for a non-school number, then dial away.”
You drew in a deep breath and shoved your dime back in your pocket, and you picked up the phone and started to rotate the dial, starting with nine, then going for your family’s apartment number. You felt Angus’s gaze seering on your back, and you cradled the phone to your shoulder as it rang. “Do you mind?” you asked.
“Do I mind what?” Angus asked.
“Scram, man,” you sighed. “I’m trying to call my mom, and I don’t want you listening to it.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have come to a public phone if you wanted a private conversation,” Angus said, and you tilted your head at him in annoyance. “Doesn’t Blackwell have a phone bank?”
“Yeah,” you said. “But I didn’t wanna use it.”
“So you came here instead,” Angus said. “I think you like the attention.”
You swallowed thickly, anger tepid but starting to rise. “You don’t know me at all,” you bit at him.
“Why’d you come to this building to make your call if you knew that every guy would stop to stare at your ass?” Angus asked. “You knew that. You’ve been here a week, you know by now that you attract attention. I think you like it, but you can’t admit it because you have that whole quiet mystery girl thing going on.”
“Fuck off, Tully,” you mumbled. “I’m not here to be some goddamn puzzle for you to solve. And I’m not gonna fuck you if you figure out my backstory, so just go away.”
“Who said anything about fucking?” Angus asked smugly.
You glared at him and that stupid crooked smirk on his face. “Stop staring at my ass first and we might get somewhere,” you told him lowly, just in time for the call to pick up.
“Hello?” your mother said, and you sighed in relief.
“Mom, thank God,” you laughed lightly. “You took so long to answer, I was worried nobody was there.”
“Oh, no, pumpkin, I’m here,” your mom told you. “I was just in the shower.”
“Is Rachel not home?” you asked. “Or Anna?”
“Rach is at work,” your mom told you. “She picked up extra hours at Neiman Marcus. She thinks they might promote her to manager at the end of the year.”
“Oh, wow,” you mumbled. “Good for her. And Anna?”
“Started taking night classes,” your mom said. “She started on Monday too.”
“Cool,” you chuckled. “What’re you doing tonight? I think ABC is showing some sort of movie—”
“I’m going on a date,” your mom said, and your mouth went dry.
“What do you mean?” you asked. “Like… With a guy?”
“Yes,” your mom said carefully. “He’s nice, I met him at work. He’s taking me to a movie and dinner.”
“That’s…” you started. “Cool, Mom. Good for you.”
“What about you?” your mom asked. “Surrounded by all those boys, there has to be someone who’s caught your eye.”
You sighed. Your lip trembled, and you closed your eyes. You were acutely aware that Angus was still sat behind you, and the fact that you hadn’t heard his book turn in a few minutes meant that he was absolutely listening to your phone call, the little shit. “No, not really,” you said. “Everyone here is either too rich, too smart, or too… Asshole-ish. Some are even all three.” You made a point to turn your head towards Angus, and you heard his little huffing laugh before you turned back to the phone.
“Oh, well,” your mom said. “Maybe you’ll find someone. How are classes?”
“Fine, I guess,” you said. “I’m taking a class about ancient civilizations, and apparently I missed the class where they teach Latin, so I’m sorta lost. And Home Ec sucks because I already know how to do all that. And they’re making me take something about how to be a secretary, and that’s so infuriatingly sexist that it makes me angry.”
“It’s a bunch of men, in charge of a bunch of boys,” your mom sighed. “They’re trying their best to adapt to you.”
“I can’t even take gym class because they don’t have a place for me to change clothes,” you lamented. “Not that I wanna take gym anyway, but you see why I’m upset!”
“I know, pumpkin, it’s okay,” your mom said.
“Why would they go coed if they can’t even integrate girls in properly?” you sighed. “I wish I had just stayed home and gone to Central. Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”
“You’ll be alright, you’re still just adjusting,” your mom assured you. “But… If, by Christmas, you still don’t feel like you belong there, I’ll pull you out and you can go back to Central. But I have to know by Thanksgiving, so I can start the paperwork in time for spring semester”
“Sure,” you said. “That sounds good to me.”
“Alright, baby,” your mom said. “Richard will be here any minute, and I have to finish getting ready. I’ll be at work until 4 tomorrow, but call any time after, okay? I love you so much.”
“Love you too,” you mumbled, and you held the plastic phone by your face as you listened to your mother hang up and the dial tone drone. After a moment, you hung the phone back up on the hook, and you readied yourself for Angus’s petty insults as you turned to leave the phone bank. But they never came. You eyed him, sitting there on the wooden bench, his dark eyes focused on yours, and you snapped, “What?”
“Nothing,” Angus said lightly, sliding back into the darkened corner and picking up his book. “Nothing at all.”
That was your weekly exercise. Week in and week out, all you did was classes. You wanted to avoid as many interactions with the others as possible, so you stayed quiet during class, kept to yourself, didn’t accept invites to parties or football games or to sit at lunch tables. You took to having lunch with Ms. Crane in the front office, and she seemed to commiserate with you about all the boys. “Some of these kids are real stinkers,” she told you. “But they’re teenage boys. I think it’s a law that they have to be.”
Your saving grace was the deal you had made with your mom. If you could just wait until Christmas break, you could go back to your old school, to your old friends, and you could forget about the hell that was Barton. You kept your grades up, so that Central could see that you hadn’t turned into some kind of slacker, and you consistently got B’s and A’s in your classes. Except for Ancient Civ.
The exam booklet slapped down on your desk, a red F blazoned across the front. You sighed and started to thumb through it, trying to figure out where you went wrong as the other boys also realized their grades were low, and your heart sank when you saw all of the multiple choice questions without a flaw. So it was your essay question that led you astray. On the very last page of the booklet, you found your essay, handwritten yesterday on something about ancient philosophers, and a red note in Mr. Hunham’s handwriting. See me after class.
You could hardly pay attention to the conversation between Teddy and Mr. Hunham. Your mind was racing, wondering what he wanted to talk to you about. You should have gotten a perfect score, but something held that back. Surely he didn’t think you had cheated? Or copied someone else’s work? You thought that you and Mr. Hunham got along (as well as any student can get along with their strict, hardass teacher) and your heart sank at the thought that you had definitely somehow disappointed him.
“... Offer a makeup exam” got your head out of the clouds, and you focused on Mr. Hunham at his podium. “You’ll all get a second run at this after break.” The class muttered and mumbled, only to be cut through by Mr. Hunham’s next words: “Of course, it will not be the same exam. You will now be responsible for new material as well. Your grade will be an average of the two.”
As Mr. Hunham instructed the class to open their books to a new chapter, you were shocked, along with everyone else, when Angus spoke. “No offense, sir,” he began, and you sucked in a breath. You had learned that, whenever any of the boys at Barton didn’t intend offense, that offense was certainly on its way. “But is this really the best time to be starting a new chapter? I mean, we all appreciate the, uh, makeup exam gesture… But our families are here.”
You rolled your eyes. Speak for yourself, Tully. Your mom had to work that day, as did both of your sisters, and you gotten instruction to take a Greyhound into Boston and someone would meet you at the bus station to bring you home. It wasn’t exactly the best plan, but it was what worked. Your mom had arranged with Barton to let you back on campus during break to empty your dorm room, and you sighed a thing of relief. Almost done. You were so close to leaving Barton in your dust and washing your hands of the entire school.
“Most teachers have already canceled class,” Angus continued. “We have chapel in forty minutes, then we’re out of here. I mean, our heads are elsewhere.”
“And where exactly is your head, Mr. Tully?” Mr. Hunham asked, and Angus shrugged.
“Uh, I don’t know. St. Kitts.”
Jesus. Of course Angus Tully was going to fuckin’ St. Kitts for Christmas. You would be lucky if your family could afford to have the heat turned on for Christmas.
Your annoyance turned to dire anger when Mr. Hunham decided to scrap the idea of a makeup exam and dismissed the class without another word. You hurried to shove your exam booklet in your bag, and you glared at Angus as you edged out of your row. “Thanks a lot, dick,” you mumbled, then left the room, not even waiting to see Angus’s response. Your heart raced as you tailed Mr. Hunham, and you finally called his name as he approached the door to his private office.
“Ah, Miss,” Mr. Hunham chuckled. “Yes, yes, let’s sit down and discuss your exam.”
“I-I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said hurriedly as he unlocked the office door. “I didn’t cheat or plagiarize, you didn’t even mark off any points. I don’t understand why I failed.”
Mr. Hunham said nothing as he led you into his office, and you wrinkled your nose. God, it smelled bad in there. Nevertheless, you sat down in one of the chairs across from his desk, and you waited with bated breath as he sat down in his seat. He examined you for a moment, for long enough for you to start to feel weird under his walleyed gaze, and, finally, he said, “In actuality, Miss, you didn’t fail. You got the highest score in the class.”
“B-But I got an F…” you protested. “Angus Tully got a B!”
“I wrote an F on your paper, but you actually got a 98,” Mr. Hunham told you. “Near-perfect score, I only took off in your essay question for misspelling ‘Periclean’.”
“Oh,” you mumbled. “Then, why’d you write an F on my paper?”
“Because I was disappointed in you,” Mr. Hunham said. You felt sick. Your skin was hot and your stomach roiled, and hot tears pricked at your eyes. “I heard from Ms. Crane that you were leaving Barton.”
You nodded silently.
“And why is that?” Mr. Hunham asked.
You sighed. “I miss my old school,” you admitted with a thick throat. “My old friends. Nobody likes me here, and I… Just think I’d be better off back home. I’m not a Barton person.”
“What is a Barton person to you, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. His hands were clasped at his chin, his bifocals in his fist. He seemed genuinely concerned about you.
“Someone not me,” you said. “Rich… Smart… Important. All those guys are gonna go to good colleges, and I’m gonna be stuck waiting tables my whole life.”
“You are smart, Miss,” Mr. Hunham told you. “You passed all your classes with flying colors, you made Latin look like a piece of cake. If you wanted to, you could go to any college in the country. Or the world!”
“I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for that stupid lottery,” you mumbled. “I don’t belong here, sir, we both know that.”
Mr. Hunham fixed his mouth in a thin line and sighed, and he said, “Of course. Well, I do hate to see you go. Your essay on the siege of Troy was… Very good.”
“Thanks,” you mumbled. “Umm, have a nice Christmas, I guess… See you around.”
Chapel that day felt exactly the opposite to your first chapel at Barton. The dread that had filled the air at the beginning of the semester had now changed to an excitement about going back home, and, even though you still felt like everybody was staring at you, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were done. You had made it. After you moved during break, you’d never have to lay an eye on Barton or any of those boys ever again. You had to admit that you were going to miss Ms. Crane, and maybe even Mr. Hunham too, but the positives far outweighed the negatives.
After chapel let out, you hurried back to Blackwell Hall and grabbed your suitcase and changed out of your nice dress, and you made your way to the front of campus, where a Greyhound bus sat, waiting to take kids into the city. You stepped on board, taking a seat towards the back of the bus, and you looked out the window at one last gaze at Barton Academy. Although, you couldn’t admire the architecture or the pretty way the snow glistened in the midday sun. No, you could only see the tall, lanky, dark-haired kid standing on the steps of the chapel, waiting for someone.
Even though you despised Angus Tully and didn’t really care if he lived or died, it was a sad sight to see him waiting like that. He looked so dismayed and forlorn, his suitcase at his feet, his hands in the pockets of his winter jacket. Maybe in another world, you and Angus could have been friends. Your mind wandered, thinking of meeting Angus somewhere else— your mind conjured the image of a bookstore, reaching for the same book and having a little back and forth on who should have it, before Angus acquiesced, but not before writing his phone number in the book.
The rumble of the bus nearly lulled you asleep on the two and a half hour drive to Boston, and you roused yourself as the bus pulled into the station. Gathering your things, you departed, along with a handful of other Barton boys. They quickly found their families that were waiting on them, and you wandered through the station. Your mother hadn’t indicated who would be picking you up, or where in the station to meet them, and you made your way to a payphone. You were sure she was at work, but you wondered if you could call the restaurant and ask for her. Before you could put your dime in the phone, though, you heard your name being called, and you looked to see an older man smiling at you from across the room.
Fear flashed hot in your face, but you kept your composure as the man approached you. “Hey, you look just like how your mom described you,” he laughed. “I’m Rich.”
“Who?” you asked.
“Rich,” he repeated. “I’ve been seeing your mother for a few months. She’s working the afternoon shift, and your sisters are both busy, so your mom asked me to get you.”
“Oh,” you nodded. “Right, yeah. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You seem tired,” Rich told you. “Long day?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you chuckled. “I’m just glad to be done with Barton, that place can go to hell.”
“I thought Barton was a boys’ school,” Rich mumbled.
“It’s a long story,” you sighed. “But whatever, that’s in my rearview now.”
“Alright,” Rich said. He seemed confused, but he took up your suitcase for you. “We already put fresh sheets on the pullout, so when we get back, you can take a nap if you want—”
“The pullout?” you repeated. “Am I not sleeping in my room?”
Rich winced. “Ah, well,” he began. “You see, my daughter is sleeping there, and—”
“Your—” you started. “Why is she in my room?”
“The bed was vacant,” Rich shrugged. “She’s lived there for a few months now.”
“And why is your daughter living with my mom?” you asked. “Do you… Did you move in?”
“Well, when your mother and I got married, we figured it was the logical thing to do.”
Your heart nearly stopped. Married. Your mother had gotten married, and hadn’t told you a single thing about it. No wedding invite, no pictures, not even a ‘hey, Rich and I are getting hitched!’ You felt sick and lightheaded, and you tried to take a steadying breath. It just sounded all shaky and unsure, though, and it made you feel even worse. “I, uh…” you began. “I…”
“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Rich asked, and the camel’s back broke. Nobody can call you that but your mom.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you asked. “Rolling in here, doing all this bullshit, and for what? Are you trying to prove something? Win an award or what? Let’s see how quickly we can marry the single mom, that’ll go down great with her three adult children!”
“Rachel and Anna said they were okay with it,” Rich said.
“But you didn’t ask me!” you cried. “God, this is exactly what she wanted, huh, throw me in a boarding school and forget all about me? Fuck this, I don’t need this.” You snatched your bag from Rich and turned on your heel quickly, and you didn’t even hesitate when Rich called “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here!”
You begged and pleaded with the Greyhound driver to take you back to Barton. He said that he had to stick to a schedule and was really sorry, but he changed his tune when you dug into your bag and grabbed your pocketbook, pulling out a few 20s. You didn’t have a lot of money in the first place, and watching those bills go in his pocket hurt, but, in the end, you got back to Barton just as the sun was starting to set. You knew that whoever was staying over break would be shocked to see you (maybe even elated, depending on who it was), but you didn‘t care about reactions. You just didn’t want to think at that moment.
You followed the low din of boyish muttering to the cafeteria, and you steeled your nerves for entering. You could discern only two voices, maybe a third if you listened through the thick door hard enough, and you quickly pushed on the metal handle in the middle of the door to slam the door open.
Heads whipped towards you. You didn’t recognize a lot of them— some younger kids, and a guy that was on the football team and was a senior— and your heart sank into your stomach when you saw Teddy Kountze sitting at the dinner table. So you would be spending Christmas break with Teddy. Great.
But the bad feeling got worse when you saw who was sitting one seat down from Teddy. Angus fucking Tully. He stared at you with no joy or humor in his eyes, and you huffed out a breath.
“Miss?” Your gaze went to the head of the table, and a little bit of relief washed over you as you saw the face of Mr. Hunham. Was he supervising the holdovers? “What’re you…?”
“Got room for one more?” you mumbled, approaching the table and securing the seat between Teddy and Angus. You instantly reached for the serving dishes, wanting anything to occupy your shaking hands, and you slowed to a stop as you noticed the whole table staring at you; even Angus wasn’t trying to hide it, his black eyes as big as dinner plates. “What?” you barked, and the energy resumed at the table in a snap.
Dinner was finished soon after, and Mr. Hunham pulled you into the hall as the boys were cleaning up. “I thought you were going home to Boston for the holiday?” he asked gently.
“I can’t…” you started. “It seems like I don’t even have a place in my own family.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Hunham asked.
“My mom got married without telling me,” you told him. “And the guy and his daughter moved into our apartment, which could barely fit me and my mom and sisters in the first place, and now they’re there, a-and she’s in my room! That fucking bitch is in my room, and I-I—”
“Easy, easy,” Mr. Hunham said, putting his hand out to placate you. “Calm down. Listen, I understand that this is hard, it’s awful, but resorting to that is not what’s going to help you. We’ll find a place here for you tonight, and tomorrow we can call your mother and try to get this straightened out.”
“Can I not go to my dorm?” you asked.
“The school shut off heating and plumbing everywhere except the main building,” Mr. Hunham explained. “We’re sleeping in the infirmary.”
“Jesus Christ,” you huffed. You were so angry that you could kick something. “So now I gotta bunk up with them?”
“It’s definitely not ideal,” Mr. Hunham mumbled. “But it’s just for one night. We can put up a partition, if that would make you more comfortable.”
“Fuck it, whatever,” you sighed. Your eyes hurt, and a headache was starting to throb at your skull, and you said, “I don’t care.”
The boys were split into two rooms, the youngers (and Angus) in one, and Teddy and Jason in the other. The only other empty bed was in Teddy and Jason’s room, and you were quick to settle in and start off for the bathroom. Just as you were leaving, though, a beanpole in a white shirt and flannel pajama pants stopped you in the doorway.
“Hey,” Angus said curtly. “Where’re you going?”
“Shower,” you told him. “Brush my teeth, stuff like that.”
“Why did you come back?” Angus asked. “A little birdy told me that you were quitting Barton.”
“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him everything, but you were worried about the leverage he’d have if he knew. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Nah, I think it is,” Angus said with narrowed eyes. “We know why everybody is holding over. His parents are on a mission trip, his family is in Korea, Kountze The Cunt’s having his house remodeled, and Jason’s dad is waiting for him to cut his hair. Why’re you here?”
“Why’re you here, Angus?” you asked. “I thought you were going to St. Barts or St. Kitts or something.”
“Obviously not,” Angus said quickly.
“Then, I’m obviously not quitting Barton,” you said, and instantly regretted it. “I might be… Haven’t decided yet.”
“What, don’t you like it here?” Angus asked. “Isn’t it a glorious beacon of education and brotherhood—” He stopped himself, dramatically clenching his fist in front of his face. “Oh, that’s right. Brotherhood.”
“Shut up,” you huffed.
“C’mon, man, leave her alone,” you heard Jason start from the room behind you, but Angus either didn’t hear or didn’t care.
“You left, and then came back,” Angus said. “What’s wrong? Mommy decided she didn’t want you anymore?”
You couldn’t help yourself from letting your tears spill over your lashes, and you clenched your teeth. Angus held your eye contact for longer than you thought he would, and he only averted his eyes when your tears gathered at the corner of your mouth. You drew in a shaking breath, aware that everybody was staring at you, watching you cry, and you sniffled and left the room without another word. The showers were empty, and you jerked the handle to start the water, then locked the door to the room.
Your tears flowed freely then, and you sat on the tile floor and sobbed into your hands. You hoped that Angus could hear you crying from down the hall, and you hoped that he felt bad about his words. Knowing him, though, he had forgotten about you as soon as you left his eyeline.
By the time you finished your crying and your shower, the lights were off in both the rooms, a soft snoring coming from Teddy and Jason’s (and your) room. Your pajamas didn’t feel like they were enough for the cold in the infirmary, and you edged by the snoring Teddy in his bed to get to yours. The sheets were crinkly and dry and rough, and you bundled the wool blanket up to your chin as you tried to sleep.
That was destroyed, though, when you heard a “Psst!” come from the doorway.
You sighed. “Fuck off, Angus,” you mumbled sleepily.
“Just— Can I—?” Angus huffed. “I’m trying to apologize to you.”
“I don’t want your fuckin’ apology,” you said. “Just leave me alone.”
“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” Angus whispered. “I was… Out of line. Or projecting or something, I don’t know. My mom and stepdad went to St. Kitts, but uninvited me so they could celebrate their honeymoon. I guess I’m just familiar with how it feels to not be wanted.”
You sighed and rolled over to face the doorway, and you settled yourself up on your elbows. “Can you just…” you started. “Think before you speak? I know it doesn’t really seem to matter to you, but sometimes, words hurt. Like, really hurt.”
“I know,” Angus mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“You really have to work on not being a huge asshole,” you told him. “You know, nobody here likes you. They all call you names and shit.”
“I know,” Angus said. “I don’t care. But you’ve gotta try to not be so judgmental. I think you write off everyone here because we’re from different tax brackets. Some of us don’t have it easy.”
You pressed your lips together. “Fair enough,” you said finally. “I’ll, um… Keep that in mind.”
“Alright,” Angus said. “Good night, then.”
“‘Night,” you said, and you watched Angus stalk out of the doorway and back to his room. You sat for a few moments more, thinking about how easily Angus had read your thoughts, and you wondered if the other boys could see right through you as easily. You were almost humiliated all over again at the thought that everyone could read you like that, but it didn’t matter. When the morning came, you’d call your mother and work out whatever the problem was, and you would be home in Boston by the next night.
It didn’t work out that way. You called your mother twice in the morning; the first time, she didn’t pick up the phone, and the second, she would hardly talk to you. “Mom, I just wanna know what happened,” you pleaded. “Why didn’t you tell me? I-I would’ve been supportive!”
“Would you?” your mother asked.
“Yes!” you sighed. “I wouldn’t have been happy, but I would’ve accepted it if you were happy!”
“Then, why can’t you accept it now?” she asked.
“Because you didn’t tell me!” you replied. “You didn’t ask me how I felt about it, if I wanted it to happen, if I even like the guy— I hadn’t even met him once before you did it!” You paused, chewing your lip, and you said, “Mom. Tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?”
“No, pumpkin, I’m not,” she sighed, but you could tell she was nearing her wit’s end.
“Is that why you hurried to marry him?” you asked. “I-I’m telling you, I don’t care that you got married, I’m just upset because you didn’t tell me!”
“Okay, stop,” your mom said firmly. “I thought you’d be happy for me, baby.”
Anger flared in your stomach. “Dad hasn’t even been gone for a full year yet,” you mumbled. “And you’re already replacing him.”
“We all mourn differently, pumpkin,” she said. “I’m sorry that you can’t see that Rich makes me happy. I... I don’t feel lonely with him.”
“Well,” you sighed. “If this is how you mourn Dad, I don’t think I wanna come home. I think I’ll stay at Barton.”
“Where are you gonna go after the holiday ends?” your mom asked.
“Staying here,” you said plainly. “I can personally go up to Central and withdraw my paperwork over break. If you want to erase me and my father from your life so bad, then you’ve got your fuckin’ wish.” You slammed the phone back on the receiver with shaking hands, and you turned to leave the front office, only to run straight into—
“Fuck off, Angus,” you sniffled, side-stepping him and starting down the hall, back to the infirmary.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Angus said quickly, snatching your wrist in his hand and tugging you back. “What happened? Are you going home?”
“No,” you sighed. “I’m staying here. I never wanna see any of them again.”
“You said something about your dad…” Angus mumbled. “Is that true? Your dad’s dead?”
You wiped at your eyes, and your chest went hot. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumbled.
Angus sighed, and, for once, he did something nice for you. He pulled you into an embrace, not too tight but not so loose that it felt like he didn’t care, and you pressed your cheek into his shoulder. “My dad’s dead too,” Angus whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it, but… I sorta get it.”
You sniffled again, and you finally let your arms wrap around Angus’s thin body. You sat in silence for a moment, hugging each other, and you only parted when you heard a small scuttle from down the hall, near the infirmary door. Your head turned to see the youngest kid, Alex, standing, watching you two, and you stepped away from Angus and wiped your face. “Guess I’m staying,” you mumbled.
“Guess so,” Angus echoed.
The days were monotonous. Hunham would wake you up when the sun rose with a declaration of “It’s daylight in the swamp!”, and you would go through the routine of studying, then exercise, then more studying, then a little bit of free time. In the absence of gym class for months, the exercising was a little difficult, and you were left exhausted and panting every time, and you felt awkward with the guys around. However, after that brief moment with Angus, he had started to be… Better. He was still a dick most times, but he would do little things for you now; pass you the lunch dishes instead of sliding them in your direction, offer to sharpen your pencil during study time. It seemed that finding a similarity had broken his shell for you a bit, and you appreciated it.
You had taken to helping the cook with meals. Mary Lamb was a good woman that you had minimally interacted with (she had come and given a lesson in Home Ec about cooking, which really nobody paid attention to, but you had made a point to), and you felt a special kinship with her because of her Curtis. She was the only one you told the truth about your father to, and you knew that Mary wouldn’t say anything to the others about it. She seemed as if she appreciated the help in the kitchen, especially from someone who was competent there like you were. You liked talking to Mary, hearing her stories and letting her hear yours.
Just as you were starting to think that maybe break wouldn’t be all that terrible, less than a week into it, things changed. You shivered in the cold library, despite your sweater, and you tried to focus on the textbook in front of you, but it was nearly impossible. Angus was sitting next to you, and, every so often, his hand would inch out and he would doodle a little figure in the corner of your notebook. You rolled your eyes jokingly at him, trying not to laugh so Hunham wouldn’t fuss at you, and you shifted in your seat a bit to reach Angus’s notebook. You began to crudely sketch him, big dark eyes and messy hair, and he stifled a snort. Mean, he wrote underneath your sketch.
Accurate, you countered.
Before either of you could write anything else, there came an odd sound from outside. It was quiet at first, but it grew louder and louder, and you looked upwards, as if the ceiling of the library would allow for any sort of view of what the noise was. It was a loud chopping noise, growing ever louder and louder, drawing the attention of all of you, and even Hunham closed his book and said “What the hell is that?”
But, from across the table, a smile grew on Jason’s face, a knowing grin, and, all at once, everybody stood from their seats and went to the window. You couldn’t see as well as the others, being shorter than everyone else, but Angus put a gentle hand on your side and pushed you in front of him, letting you get closer to the window. His hand, positioned just above your hip on your torso, made a shiver run down your spine, but you attributed it to the sight of a goddamn helicopter buzzing overhead, lowering itself onto the snowy, abandoned football field. “I knew it!” Jason exclaimed. “He finally caved, the big softie!”
“What the fuck is that?” you asked quickly.
“Jason’s dad owns a helicopter,” Angus explained under his breath as Jason pushed away from the window with excitement.
“Any of you guys like to ski?” Jason called as he left the library, and the younger boys gasped with excitement. You all caught onto the idea at the same time, and the boys filed out, following Jason, but you stayed still at the window, watching the helicopter’s blades slow to a stop.
“Miss?” Hunham asked, and you closed your eyes. “Aren’t you going with them?”
You shrugged, hoping to seem less hurt than you actually were. “I can’t,” you said. “I don’t have any skiing gear or whatever, I’ve never even done it before… And anyway, I’m not about to call my mom to ask for permission to do that.”
You sat in the hallway outside the office as Hunham called all of the boys’ parents, being granted permission for the excursion, listening as each boy reacted with glee. It felt like a sick joke; of course you were left all alone again. Before you could ruminate on it for too long, the beanpole came and sat himself next to you, quiet as he scratched absently at his chin.
“Want me to get you anything from up there?” Angus asked. “Fridge magnet or postcard or…?”
You shook your head. “No,” you managed with a heavy, thick throat. “Thanks, though.”
Angus sighed, his eyebrows furrowing together as his jaw tightened, and he tilted his head towards you. His dark eyes looked soft, kinder than you had ever seen from him or thought was capable, and he said, “Sorry.”
You couldn’t help yourself. Your tears spilled and you clawed your fingernails into your palm, trying to stop from sobbing and heaving, and Angus moved closer to you, until his hip touched yours. He slung a skinny arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his body, his hand gently pressing into your head and ushering you to hide in his neck. He shushed you, whispering “If Hunham sees you crying, he’ll think I did it”, which did nothing other than make you laugh a little and sniffle hard.
You quickly parted from Angus’s warmth, wiping your eyes with your hand and seeing your mascara smear on the back of your hand. “Gonna go to the bathroom…” you mumbled, and Angus nodded, keeping his seat as you stood up and hurried down the hall. The women’s bathroom next to the office was hardly used, only ever you, Ms. Crane, and the lone visitor using it, and you clutched the porcelain sink as you gasped for breath. Jesus Christ. Would anything ever go your way? Being stuck at Barton over the holidays with the other boys sucked, sure, but now you were all alone with Hunham and Mary. Alone again. You wondered if you’d always be alone.
You ripped off a paper towel and dabbed at your eyes, trying to fix your makeup, and you pressed cold water to your face to try to calm yourself down. Fuck everything about this. It was unfair. Maybe Hunham would take it easy on you, loosen the reins a little. You trashed the paper towels and adjusted your sweater, trying to seem put-together, and you stepped out of the bathroom to see Hunham and Angus standing outside the office, embroiled in an intense conversation. “... Just one more time, please,” you heard Angus say, and Hunham put his hand up.
“There’s no point,” Hunham said. “The front desk says they’re not answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”
You started closer, and you watched Angus’s face fall, his eyes narrowing. He mumbled something under his breath, and Hunham harrumphed. “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so,” he said. “I could’ve been spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.”
“Angus?” you said, and he slid his eyes over to you. “Are you… What’s happening?”
Angus shot Hunham a deathly look, and he side-stepped your teacher, brushing past you, his arm knocking your shoulder. You locked eyes with Hunham, then quickly turned and started off after Angus. His long legs had carried him down the hall quicker than you were capable of, and you sped up a bit. “Angus!” you called for him, and you finally came up on him at the door to the infirmary, taking his arm in your hand. “What’s going on?”
“I’m staying here,” he said bitingly. “Mom and Stanley aren’t answering their phone.”
On some level, you were glad Angus was staying. At least it wouldn’t be just you there. And you were glad it was Angus, as opposed to Teddy or someone else. “Oh,” you managed. “Well, umm…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Angus said flatly. He leaned up against the doorway to the infirmary, listening to the other boys packing up, and he added, “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t say anything.”
You sighed, flicking your eyebrows. “Got it,” you mumbled. Your eyes lifted from the floor to see Ye-Joon, bag in hand, and he softly bid Angus a happy holidays, giving you a curt smile as he edged out of the infirmary. Jason lightly touched Angus’s arm as he told him to take care, doing the same to you before he departed, and you made eye contact with Teddy as he shouldered his bag. He didn’t have his sights set on you, though; he spoke to Angus.
“I guess that just leaves you and the chick, huh?” Teddy asked. “Be sure to do all your homework— and no funny stuff while we’re gone.”
If you could have swung a punch at Teddy, you would have. All the boys at Barton were the exact fucking same— Secretarial Studies, sex jokes, it was never-ending and never-changing. You watched Angus’s neck go flushed, and Teddy added, “Oh, almost forgot! I found that picture you were looking for.” Quickly, he stuck a square Polaroid in Angus’s shirt pocket, and a smile crossed Teddy’s face. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Tully. You too, Miss. See you after break.” He winked at you, making your skin crawl, and he departed the room with a chuckle as Angus snatched the picture from his pocket. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see what it was, only the back that read HAPPY HOLIDAYS, but Angus’s mouth screwed up at it, and he flicked it down onto the ground. Your eyes followed it, and you saw a portrait of a family, a mom and dad and a boy, and you recognized the dark eyes and sunken features of the boy. But, in a blank space of the picture, in Teddy’s handwriting, an arrow pointed to the boy and declared “Fuckwad”.
The cold was biting, even through your coat, as you stood on the football field and watched the boys load into the Smith’s helicopter. Your hands were deep in your pockets as you stared into space, wondering if it could get any worse. As the helicopter took off, the wind blew your hair back, and you watched as it rose, up, up, and away. A heavy energy fell over you three, and your teacher let out a heavy sigh. “Well, let’s make the best of it,” Hunham said, flat but trying to put fake life into his words. The look in Angus’s eyes was harsh enough to kill, and Hunham averted his gaze from him over to you, his two little wards, the holdovers. “Shall we?”
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he was trying so hard to act like a troublemaking rebel while wearing his lil sweaters with the shirt collars peeking out.... whatever you say gorgeous
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