Hartwin, ass grab
“And…cheers to the new term!”
Eggsy grins at his mates. Jamal and Ryan didn’t end up following him to uni, but they’d managed to keep in touch, cheering Eggsy on and even postponing their nights out in order for Eggsy to buckle down and ace his exams without so much as as a groan. In return, Eggsy paid for their drinks—thanks to work study, his shifts at the tutoring center, and the full gymnastics and academic scholarship, he had a little extra for his own—and brought along Roxy, who could kick their arses at Cards Against Humanity and drink them under the table.
Now, Roxy’s tapping her glass against his. “To our last term!” she cheers, relief slumping her shoulders, though Eggsy knows she’s got internships and fucking law school lined up after this. He himself hopes to land something that pays decently, especially if he doesn’t get any aid to go to a proper graduate program, and he really, really needs it. While Roxy had been drawn to throwing hardened criminals in the slammer, he’d been drawn to the foster system, already planning his thesis on the economic and social barriers that involved academically-correct words for officials with silver spoons stuck up their arses.
But to even get there, he needed good grades—which should work out—and exam scores and letters of recommendation. He’d lined up his options with two other professors, scrapping even the idea of asking Dr. King for one and entertaining the idea for Dr. Hart. He was going to be in two of his classes this semester, and Dr. Hart seemed strict but fair and sympathetic to what Charlie—who seemed to think he was going to land a position in the House of Lords easily enough—disdainfully called the downtrodden. “Supports every bleeding heart cause out there,” Charlie had sneered when he’d spotted Eggsy looking through options for his next term. “Sob stories about single mothers from the estates and drunken deadbeat dads and chavs snorting every drug they can lay their hands on…yeah, he eats them up.”
So, yeah, maybe Dr. Hart would be less of a snob than his other professors, but Eggsy hopes he can prove his worth instead of being another statistic for someone to sigh over. But now, he laughs with his mates, trading stories and knocking back a few pints, filling up with chips so he doesn’t get too sloshed, since he’s got classes in a few days.
“…And I haven’t fucked in, like, five months,” Jamal’s groaning. “Fucking job at the fire station, love it and all, but it’s been a fucking dry spell.”
“Not a dry spell for me,” Ryan declares, and when everyone turns to him, Jamal leaning forward hopefully, he shakes his head. “A fucking drought. Try getting it on in the storeroom at Asda with those bright green shirts and smells of some fucking idiot spewing his lunch and missing the bin.”