Chapter Text
Shane walked into JojaMart with his teeth grit, fingers numb from the cold outside, and thinking bitterly about how spring was failing them with this kind of chill. It would have been bearable had he put on a real coat, or if his hoodie didn’t have holes up and down the sleeves, but the low temperatures were as unexpected as they were unwelcome.
He headed into the back room to get changed into his uniform, shoving his ratty clothes into the blue “Joja” branded locker and not bothering to reseal the combination lock as he paced out onto the store floor. He didn’t own anything worth stealing, and it wasn’t as if Morris or the cashier would want to touch his unwashed hoodie.
The white fluorescents lining the ceiling created the sort of unwelcome corporate atmosphere that would be expected of any chain department store. It was of an unwelcome intensity, especially in the early morning thralls of a hangover, but Shane found the sensation so familiar that it was almost comforting.
His jaw creaked with the tension it held. The idea of that made him furious.
None of the other people in town really shopped at JojaMart; not if they could avoid it. Pam was their only regular, and she didn’t like to be bothered, shopping or otherwise. Normally, Shane would be more than happy to avoid socializing at any cost, but without crowds to clear the shelves there was never quite enough work to warrant a 9 to 5 shift. As the day droned on, he was forced to slow down his stocking to a mind-numbing pace in order to occupy the time.
He needed to get enough hours to pay rent.
Somewhere between noon and three, Shane’s mind began to wander.
It was spring, technically. The new farmer should have moved in a week or so ago, though he hadn’t seen them around town. A scoff rose in his throat as he thought about whether or not they were just too good for the places he frequented— too good for JojaMart, too good for the bar. Maybe they just weren’t drunk or a hack.
He looked up at the white Joja-brand shelves and took a breath of stale air. For a split second, he wished he were too good for it too.
Shane headed for the saloon immediately after work, disregarding that it was a Thursday and he would have to get up early the next morning to do this all over again.
His hoodie had a faint smell about it, something unpleasant that resulted from it being crumpled up in a locker all day. Miraculously, it had also found some way to get a little damp. The fabric clung to Shane’s arms as he approached the bar counter and it was elected that he not think about it.
Shane ordered two beers to start, knowing damn well that the second one would be lukewarm by the time he got to it. Gross. Gus slid him two steins without a second thought, used to the steady routine of self-destruction that Shane had set up for himself.
He decided to take a seat at a booth in the far corner and tossed one of his glasses back with the urgency of someone wanting to forget.
The second glass was sweating along the handle when he picked it up. After the second was gone, he ordered a third, pockets emptying quickly as he drank away the money he had made that day. By then he was feeling the warmth alcohol brought pool in his gut, and that miserable feeling of being present was fogged over into a footnote that he was happy to ignore.
Staring down to watch the foam slowly dissipate from the top of his half-empty stein, Shane missed the saloon doors swinging open, too drunk to notice that someone new had entered the scene. In fact, it wasn’t until Gus’ loud voice rang through the room that he looked up.
“Well, well!'' His voice was boisterous and warm, clearly elated. “Welcome to Stardrop Saloon! I was wondering when we’d get to see your face!”
Shane’s clouded brain took a second to puzzle together that the person Gus was talking to was in fact unfamiliar.
Standing strong and sure, the new farmer was smiling wide at the warm welcome they had just received.
It was the kind of smile that was too genuine for Shane’s taste, the kind that made his gut churn with an emotion he’d rather suppress than dissect. He took a gulp, swallowing the lump in his throat down with it. Whatever. He didn’t have to let something so simple ruin his night, even if there was some disgusting part of him that wanted to.
Sharply, he turned his head back towards the quickly depleting drink in front of him, feeling the condensation drip down his fingers as he gripped the glass like a lifeline. His insides felt like they were churning. Some sort of indescribable and inescapable self-loathing that came and went like a monster with his house key.
“Hello?”
Shane looked up again, brows creased into a drunken scowl, to see the farmer staring down at him with a nervous sort of grin. They too had a beer in their hands. Shane evaded their eyes easily, grip tightening impossibly on his glass.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?” They pointed dumbly to the booth.
Fuzzy his head may be, but Shane knew damn well that he didn’t want to waste his time talking to someone that would just come to hate his guts. It would be easier to simply skip to the end. As quickly as humanly possible, he tipped back his stein and let the rest of his drink chug down his throat. Shane slammed the empty glass down on the table and stood up.
“Yes.”
And with that, he left.
Marnie and Jas were long asleep by the time Shane stumbled back to the ranch. It was a good thing, really. He knew they worried about him and his habits, seeing it on his aunt's face when he would walk through the door with a cheap six-pack under his arm.
Feeling a little clearer and a little more miserable for it, Shane collapsed into bed and sighed the kind of sigh that made something in his ribcage ache. Already, there was that voice in his head whispering that he was too sober for this; too sober to be awake.
Grumbling to himself, Shane kicked off his shoes, hearing them land dully on the floor a couple of feet away. He didn’t have it in him to bother with anything else, burying his face into the scratchy linen of his pillowcase instead.
There, he drifted off surrounded by the bitter smells of beer and discontent.
Saturday morning, Shane was up at the crack of dawn.
He had slept like shit that night, tossing and turning through the nauseous sensation of drinking too much too quickly. His head pounded, pulsing with the beat of his heart as he rifled through his bedside table looking for something to take the edge off. Eventually, he stumbled upon a bottle of generic-brand acetaminophen that may or may not have expired.
He took three with a cup of water that was nearing a week old, mouth rancid with the taste of poor sleep and booze. It didn’t help that sickly feeling in his stomach.
He needed to get out of this godforsaken room.
It was barely five in the morning, an hour or so before he could expect his aunt to wake up, and Shane had the wits about him to be quiet when he pulled on his slightly-torn sneakers and slipped out the door.
It was still early spring, but the weather was already better than it had been last Thursday. The air was cool and crisp, but not anywhere near freezing. Thick fog coated the ground like clouds that forgot to fly, swept softly over the lake. That was where Shane headed, morning dew wetting his ankles as he made his way towards the dock.
Even then, with the land quiet and still— a tranquil world existing at that moment just for him— Shane was despondent. And he hated himself for that.
The wood of the dock was slick beneath his feet and Shane walked carefully to avoid slipping. It was only two steps in he realized that he wasn’t alone.
There, at the end of the decrepit dock, was the farmer Shane had seen only once.
Their back was turned to him, a dark silhouette between him and the blue-lit sky, bathed in the light that precedes a sunrise. He had half a mind to turn around— there was no indication they had noticed him yet— but this was his place to unwind. Alone. And that was ridiculous, because it wasn’t like he owned the dock, it wasn’t really his, but seeing someone else in the same spot he so often escaped to made him feel territorial.
His brows furrowed, lips creasing into a deep frown.
The farmer turned around.
“Oh,” they said, voice soft. It was obvious they hadn’t expected anyone else to show up. Why would they?
Shane didn’t budge.
Suddenly, he felt a little out of depth. A silent, vaguely uncomfortable moment passed before the farmer smiled a bit, patting the spot next to them. An invitation.
Normally, Shane would turn tail and flee in the direction most opposite any social interaction, but he was tired. Tired, and his head hurt. He was pissed that there was someone in his spot and pissed that he was angry about it. He was miserable and confused and maybe still a little bit drunk from his binge last night.
Shane joined the farmer where they sat.
Despite the coolness of the early morning air, the farmer wasn’t dressed particularly warm. They wore short sleeves and jeans cuffed to about mid-calf, feet grazing the lake beneath them and sending ripples across the surface. Their shoes were nowhere in sight. A slight breeze disrupted the otherwise still air— it ruffled their hair as would fingers carding through each strand— but they didn’t seem to notice.
Gruffly, pointedly turned his head as to show that he was not looking. For some reason, it was important to him that the farmer knew that.
“What brings you out here so early?” they asked after a beat of silence. Shane clenched his jaw and weighed the pros and cons of being an asshole. There was a heavy feeling in his chest. Perhaps selfishly, he wanted to answer truthfully.
“Nothing.”
He kicked himself the second the words left his mouth. He shouldn’t have sat down. When the farmer laughed, Shane wasn’t sure whether it was with him or at him; his ears burned and he set his jaw as if someone were throwing a punch his way.
“Y’know,” the laughter, soft as it was, settled quickly, “I like you.”
There was an embarrassing popping sound from his neck as Shane whipped his head around to look at the farmer, eyes wide and brows furrowed deeply. He got the distinct feeling that they weren’t serious, and what a cruel joke that would be.
The burning of his ears spread to his cheeks and Shane felt the heat stain his face as would a brand. He wanted to say something mean, something that would send the farmer running so they would never talk to him again. He wanted them to say that they weren’t serious; that he looks so stupid right now.
He wanted them to say it again.
“That’s not funny.”
The farmer shot a quizzical expression his way, smile light and playful as if they didn’t just rock his world with three simple words.
“I’m serious,” they insisted. “You’re handsome. And I like your hair.”
Shane’s hand flew up to brush his fringe off his forehead, self-consciously trying to cover up what he could. This situation was too weird. It reminded him of elementary school, when a girl asked him out as a prank. The whole class had laughed when he nervously accepted.
“Everyone in town has been so kind to me,” they carried on, now looking up at the sky. “It’s amazing right now, but I can’t help but feel like some sort of toy. Like something they’ll disregard when the next new thing comes along.”
Shane was listening, but only sort of. Hand still stupidly atop his head, he hadn’t quite recovered from someone overtly complimenting him. Someone that wasn’t his aunt, anyway.
“Do you ever feel like that? Like the world is going to run away and leave you behind?”
Yes. He did. Used to, maybe. Nowadays, it felt to him that the world had started running a long time ago— that the trail of dust it left behind kept him blind from how to move forward. He could have said that aloud, could have responded instead of fiddling dumbly with his hair. Instead, he blinked slowly and his face continued to burn.
The farmer pulled their feet out of the water.
With a glimmer in their eye that wasn’t there when Shane had sat down, they placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and used it as leverage to hoist themselves up. It was stupid, but Shane never wanted them to stop touching him. When was the last time anyone had? It was a feeling that he wanted to chase and cherish and hide from all at the same time, fully aware of how strange that was. How grossly desperate he was to be appreciated.
He wanted the farmer to leave, but when they waved goodbye and headed back to their farm barefoot, he felt helpless in watching them go.
Marnie was already up and about by the time Shane trudged in through the front door, blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside his head. He missed the first time she said good morning, and responded with an awkward sort of wave the second time. She didn’t question his off behavior, nor did she ask why he was outside at the crack of dawn.
“Are you working today?” she asked instead.
Shane looked out the window despite having just been outside. It didn’t look like rain, so there was no reason to waste the day away inside that stale prison.
“Nah.”
Marnie smiled that same genuine smile that made Shane irrationally upset. He wasn’t mad at her— never could be— just mad in general. At the world, maybe.
“In that case, would you be able to head over to that new farmer’s house later today? They’ve offered to give us some tall grass for the animals and I need someone to pick it up.”
And for the first time in a long time, the voice that screamed at Shane to say no was overpowered by the hopeless and inexplicable want to see them again.
“Sure."
And when Marnie pat his shoulder happily, it failed to erase the touch the farmer had left a mere hour ago.