possibly hamish

sunday six.

a teaser from a particularly fun fic that I am co-authoring with @sircolinfilth :)

“Oh, do go on,” Harry snapped after a solid minute of Hamish watching him. When he didn’t answer, Harry added on, a bit peevishly, “I was careful.”

Hamish nodded, hummed, and pushed the cup of tea further onto the desktop until it bumped against Harry’s wrist. Harry picked it up and set it down off to his right and continued scratching a list of immediate changes to be made in the logistical analysis department all while wishing to gouge out his own eyeballs from a combination of mortification and boredom, or scald them with Hamish’s tea. Possibly beg Hamish to tell him what to do about all this.

“You have to tell him,” Hamish eventually offered.

Harry made a particularly aggressive scritch of his pen across the paper. “Absolutely not.”

“You absolutely do,” Hamish replied.

“And what good would it do, Hamish? Telling a married man barely half my age that I had a sudden midlife crisis and he is the cause of it? It would leave me humiliated, Eggsy disturbed and both of us without a friendship. Dear to us both, may I remind you.”

Hamish merely blinked at Harry, his expression perfectly neutral. Dumping the tea on his dear friend’s lap was also tempting.

“He’s already showed up at my door looking like a kicked puppy. He thinks you’re mad at him.”

Harry sighed, let his head sag between his shoulders and dragged both his hands down his face.

“You have to get over this, Harry,” Hamish said in that diplomatic, commanding voice he only used with the training puppies and new recruits. “You like to fixate, latch onto things. That’s why you’ve got a stuffed dog in your loo.”

“It’s hardly the same thing,” Harry protested, but it came off sounding rather petulant, which was entirely fitting and completely disheartening.