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Angus McDonald was a very bright little boy. He was reading by two and writing by three. He could dress himself at three years old, and spoke full sentences in a clear, intelligent little voice. His brown eyes were very bright.
But sometimes, he found it hard to look people right in the eye. Asking questions was tricky, and he didn’t like talking to people he didn’t know. He couldn’t always catch someone’s tone of voice. And he didn’t like loud noises; they made his head spin and his brain fog up. Sometimes when a noise was too loud or a light was too bright or something he didn’t expect suddenly happened he would start crying. Sometimes, if he got really excited, he’d clap his hands or slap them against a wall or a table or, if he got mad, he’d hit his fists against the sides of his head or just scream and hit things until the anger went away, or his mommy--Ma’am--hit him and told him to shut up.
Angus learned very quickly to shut up when Ma’am told him to shut up.
Ma’am and Sir told him to always call grown-ups Ma’am and Sir. If he forgot, they hit him.
Sometimes when he did something bad, like talked too loud or ate when he wasn’t supposed to or played in the White Room or got his clothes dirty or called Sir ‘daddy’ or went into the parlor when Ma’am and Sir had company, he would get locked up in his room for a whole day. Sometimes, Ma’am and Sir just forgot about him. They’d go on trips without calling Nanny or even telling him. Angus got very used to being hungry and alone.
He used that time to read through the shelves and shelves of books he kept in his bedroom: Sherlock Holmes and Caleb Cleveland and Nancy Drew and Agatha Christie, The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit and The Belgariad and Harry Potter. He learned about mystery and magic and suspense and murder and fear and hope and love. He related to Harry, locked up and too skinny and too small and sometimes not loved enough. He longed for friends like Samwise Gamgee and Garion and George Fayne. He longed for a family like the Weasleys or the Bagginses. And, most of all, Angus wanted to solve mysteries.
Angus was taken away from Sir and Ma’am when he was six. He doesn’t remember a lot of what happened to him when he was in there apart from being locked in his room, and some fleeting, fuzzy half-memory of a bedroom and a belt and bleeding sores on his back.
After he was taken from Sir and Ma’am, Angus stayed with his Grandpa. Grandpa was the only person who wanted him--his aunts and uncles didn’t want to deal with him, and they told him as such as many times as possible. But Grandpa was nice, and Grandpa was safe, and Grandpa didn’t hit him when he clapped his hands or talked too loud or got excited.
And then Grandpa got very, very sick.
And then, Grandpa died.
Angus was moved to an orphanage when he was a month away from seven years old.
The children’s home wasn’t bad, just crowded. A little dirty, sure, but at least he got consistent meals and the people there didn’t hit him.
So passed six months.
And then he met Taako.
He was a tall, skinny man, with lots of freckles and bright yellow hair that definitely looked dyed. But his smile was nice, and his laugh was bright, and his fingernails were always painted nice colors, and he wasn’t afraid to wear skirts. They ran into each other at the library in the nonfiction section (for adults, Angus wasn’t about to read kids’ books for information) and Angus had immediately began profusely apologizing and crying, scrambling to pick up his books.
But instead of yelling at him, Taako just crouched down in front of him and helped him gather his things. “There you go, little man,” he said with a crooked grin, and ruffled Angus’s hair. “No harm done. Name’s Taako.”
“I--Angus,” he stammered, looking at the man’s left ear. “My name’s Angus. Sir.”
“Pff,” Taako scoffed, laughing. “No ‘sirs’ here. Just call me Taako. Or Son-of-a-bitch. That one works, too.”
Angus blushed and giggled. “I’m not allowed to say swears, sir.”
Taako winked. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Angus covered his mouth in shock. “So if I said a bad word in front of you… you wouldn’t tell Mrs Finch, sir?”
Taako’s eyes narrowed. “Mrs Finch is lady at the kids’ home. Yeah?”
Angus nodded. We do not nod. We articulate our answers. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, you tell Pamela that she can shove her pens straight up her ass. So many fuckin’ forms to sign.”
Angus laughed again. “I’ll be certain to tell her that, sir!”
Taako slapped a hand over Angus’s mouth. “Don’t actually!” he hissed. “She’ll have my ass!”
Angus stumbled back from the contact, his hands coming up to half-shield his face, dropping his books again. “Sorry!” he said, too loud, too loud, too loud. “I’m sorry, sir, I won’t, I won’t say it, I know it’s bad, sir, I know--”
What happens to awful little children who speak when they are not supposed to?
“Please don’t,” he said, and Taako’s eyes were grey, grey, grey, grey like Sir’s hair and Ma’am’s crisp blazers, and Angus cried and cried and cried and he didn’t realize he was sitting, curled in a ball, wedged in the corner between the shelf and the wall before there were hands gentle on his shoulders and his vision swam as he saw Taako’s face, creased with concern, staring at him.
“What did I do?” he was saying. “What did I do, did I hurt you?”
Angus sniffled and scrubbed at his face with his hands and then he fidgeted his hands in his lap ( Good little boys do not fidget ) and he said, “No, sir, you didn’t. I’m fine. I’m sorry, sir, I know I talked too loud.”
“Psh,” Taako replied, his voice shaky, “no such thing as too loud.” He pauses. “Except in a library.” Another pause. “But when a stranger freaks you the fuck out in a library feel free to scream. I shouldn’ta touched you.”
“No, it’s--you’re fine. Sir.” Angus took a shuddering breath. And another. He offered Taako a shaky smile.
Taako’s face was softer, then, as if he’d realized something. “Hey. Kiddo, it’s okay. Taako’s in the same boat as you.” And then he stood up. “C’mon, you look like a little nerd. I used to know a little nerd like you. She was my best friend.” He grinned. “Let’s sit down and take a look at those nerd books for a bit, huh? I’m sure there’s some pretty weird shit in that one about ther-mo-dy-namics.” The grin on his face as he offered a spindly hand to Angus was much more genuine, and Angus trusted that smile enough to grab a hold of the offered hand and stand up, joining Taako at the table.
They must have sat there at that table for an hour and a half, discussing complex sciences before Taako took a moment to check his phone, huffed out a frustrated breath, and said, “Ugh, sorry, Agnes, but Taako’s gotta scoot.”
“Okay, sir!” Angus smiled and waved at him, kicking his feet against the legs of his chair. “I had fun talking to you today!”
“Great, you’re not too bad yourself!” Taako winked at Angus and walked away. “I’m here on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he sang as he left. “Come find me if you wanna chill!”
And Angus was left clutching The Science of Thermodynamics and staring at the doors long after Taako left.
Needless to say, Angus came back nearly every single Tuesday and Thursday. And every single Tuesday and Thursday Taako was there, sitting at a table or loitering among shelves, always ready with an eye-roll and a smirk and the question of “what nerd books are you checking out today, kiddo?”
It took Angus a long time to come to terms with the fact that Sir and Ma’am did not love him. For the six years he lived with them, Angus had loved them, and their love had been unrequited--instead of nurturing him, they had hurt him and starved him and beat him into a shape he did not want to make. Instead of being warm and welcoming, they were frozen shut.
But from the moment Taako walked up to Pamela and said, “Yeah, I’m gonna adopt this kid,” Angus realized that his love for Taako was requited.
And the smile on Taako’s face as he showed the forms to Angus cemented the fact in his mind.