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Shawn woke Cory when he let himself into their dorm at one in the morning.
Cory heard the sound of the keys jingling in the lock and the door opening, and shutting. It was pretty quiet, in Shawn's defense; he had this way of opening and closing doors, pushing it with one hand slightly into the opposite direction it was going so it wouldn't make any noise, but Cory was a light sleeper.
"Shawnie?"
"Sorry, Cor, I didn't mean to wake you." Shawn took off his leather jacket and hung it up on the door.
"Where were you?" Cory asked, sitting up as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
"Out." Shawn took off his boots, tossing them next to his bed, clearly not bothering to be quiet now that Cory was already awake.
"Out where?"
"Nowhere you'd like," Shawn said with a huffy sort of laugh, short and kinda humorless.
"You weren't doing anything illegal, right?" Cory asked, hoping he didn't sound nosy.
"Of course not," Shawn said. "Just kinda nerdy and lame. Go back to sleep."
Cory was a little confused, but too tired to dwell on it, so he figured he'd just let it be.
He watched as his best friend got ready for bed and got comfortable under the covers. Cory studied him for a minute, his eyes taking in the shine of Shawn's hair in the lamplight, the shadow of his cheekbones, the sharp edge of his jaw, his consistently furrowed brow, the round tip of his nose.
And Cory could always tell when Shawn was falling asleep, because he'd see his face seem to soften, and what was left would be that same nervous boy Cory had known since kindergarten. Shawn was falling asleep, Cory could see in the fact that his mouth had parted slightly, and his eyebrows weren't tensed and wrinkled over his dark eyes. It was in moments like this that Cory thought Shawn was most beautiful.
When Cory was certain Shawn was asleep, he whispered in his direction, "I love you."
It didn't need to be said. But Cory said it every night anyway.
×××
In the morning, before their first class of the day, Cory asked Shawn again. "So, where were you last night?"
"It's nothing, I promise," Shawn insisted, sitting down on the edge of his bed to put on his boots. "Don't worry about it."
This secretiveness was starting to get alarming. "Well, now I am worried. Are you in trouble or something?"
"No, I just…" Shawn rolled his eyes, pushing his hair out of his face. "Seriously, it's nothing. Just a weekly poetry thing."
Cory opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, not really sure what to say. Then all that came out was, "Poetry."
"Yeah, poetry. You didn't think that was a one time thing, did you?" Shawn asked, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.
"You were being all secretive over poetry?"
"You don't like poetry. I don't want you to think I'm ditching you to hang out with nerds or whatever it is you might think," Shawn said. "Goodness knows your brain likes to jump to absurd conclusions."
Cory hummed, shrugging a little. "I guess so. But maybe I'd like to go with you."
Shawn laughed, standing up. "I can only imagine," he said, before putting on his bad Cory impression. "Can you believe these pretentious weirdos? What does that even mean? Shawnie, I'm tired, let's go. Why are we drinking coffee at eleven pm?"
"Do I really sound like that?" Cory asked.
"Eh, my 'you' voice could use some work, but those are definitely the things you'd say." Shawn picked up his bookbag and slung it over his shoulder. "But okay, I'll take you to next Sunday's poetry night. You'll hate it."
Cory might, he decided, but if he could be a part of one more part of Shawn's life, he'd take it.
×××
Cory was not expecting Shawn to take him to a place that looked like it used to be an auto repair place, with giant open garage style doors so the entire place was subject to the night air and sky. Cory was glad he had decided to wear a jacket.
There were couches everywhere, a platform stage, a coffee bar, art on the walls, mismatched decor, and weird people.
Shawn was wearing a T-shirt and a flannel under his leather jacket, as well as some big ripped jeans. He didn't look like he fit in with this mix of hipsters and hippie-dippie types. But he walked over with his classic Shawn Hunter confidence and Cory followed behind nervously.
"Hey, S.P!" A girl with black curly hair and a lacy sundress waved them over to the couch she was sitting at.
Shawn pushed his hair out of his eyes and waved, approaching the girl. "Hey, January," he said, putting his hands in his pockets. "I brought Cory today."
"Oh, the infamous Cory," the girl, January apparently, said in a sing-songy voice. "S.P. talks about you nonstop."
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Not nonstop."
"S.P?" Cory asked.
"Shawn Patrick," Shawn whispered to him with a wink. "Anyway, I'll be right back, I gotta get Halfpipe to put my name on the list." And he walked away.
"Halfpipe?" Jeez, did every person here have some weird nickname?
"It's just her skater nickname. Although we don't know her real name so-" January shrugged.
"Are nicknames common here? You guys can call me, um… doctor pain," Cory joked.
"You're funny. You remind me of my girlfriend."
"What's her name? February?"
"And just full of material, aren't you? I see why S.P. likes you so much," January said, before looking over at where Shawn was talking to a girl with a clipboard and impressively baggy clothes. "Enough to bring you on a night he's actually reading, apparently."
"Doesn't he do this every Sunday?" Cory asked, confused.
"He shows up. But he only reads his work occasionally. It's always a rare treat."
"Is he good?"
"Have you never heard any of his work?" January asked.
"I have," Cory said. "Our teacher read us one of his poems without telling us who it was by, and a bunch of people assumed it was by some famous, respected poet. You can imagine my surprise when I found out it was by my slacker best friend."
"Was it good? To you, I mean."
"I think so, but poetry is kind of lost on me," he admitted. "There was another one, too, that I read at a poetry reading at our school. He started the first line but couldn't finish it, so I read it and he got mad at me."
"Was that one good?"
"It was beautiful," Cory said. "I still didn't really get it, but it was beautiful." He looked around to try and find his friend, but couldn't spot him.
"Alright, everyone, it's time to get started for tonight," the skater girl with the weird name and giant pants announced from the platform stage. "Our first poet of the evening is Evangeline Sato."
A girl in a black turtleneck and matching beret got on the stage and started reading aloud from her notebook. Shawn was walking back over to the couch with a coffee cup in each hand. He gave one to Cory, before sitting down next to him, stretching his legs over Cory's. Cory rested his hand on Shawn's knee.
"Oh, I hate you guys," January deadpanned.
Shawn laughed. "Where's your girlfriend, Jan?"
"She didn't want to come today. She has to get a headstart on an essay."
"Speaking of girlfriend," Cory said, "you should bring Angela here. I bet she'd like it. A little romanticism to win her back?"
"First of all, that's not really what romanticism means," Shawn said, "and second of all, I told you, I don't want to win her back, okay? I loved her, yeah, but I'm over her now. I love someone else, and so does she."
"A little romanticism to win her back," January mused. "Hit her over the head with a Delacroix."
Shawn apparently thought that was hilarious, but Cory didn't get it. He hated how dumb he felt in circles like this.
The skater girl with the clipboard stood on the stage again. "Okay, our next poet of the evening is none other than S.P. Hunter. Ladies and gentlemen, try to keep it in your pants," she said with a wink in Shawn's direction as the audience started to clap. Shawn rolled his eyes as he set his drink down by the couch and took a pocket sized journal out of his back pocket.
"What did she mean by that?" Cory whispered.
"Have you seen S.P?" January asked rhetorically. "He could walk out of this place with any of the single, attracted-to-guys people here if he wanted."
Cory's hands were sweating. "Has he?"
"Huh?"
He felt a lump in his throat. "Has he ever walked out of here with anyone before?"
January shook her head. "No. But he will with you tonight," she said with a smirk.
Cory didn't smile back.
"Hey, everyone, it's me," Shawn was saying on the stage. "The mic's a little low, um…" he adjusted the microphone stand, and then said, "that's better," with a little self deprecating laugh. "This is one I've been working on for a while, about someone really important to me. It's called Windows."
×
"There's a window to my soul
I tell you as you try to figure me out
You look into my eyes to decipher the truth
As if I'm not a liar at heart and in practice
I try to explain that all you'll see
Is the black of my pupils
The brown of my iris
There's a window to my soul
Not my eyes, but the tattoo I begged you to help me afford
And I look at it and think of you everytime my clothes are off
And it's just as dirty as it sounds but still not dirty enough
There's a window to my soul
Not my eyes, but the words I write in my journal
That I insist I'll show you when I'm done
But I'm still not sure at what point I'll claim them finished
There's a window to my soul
Not my eyes, but the way I hold your hand in mine
And squeeze it with just enough force to get you to squeeze back
With just enough force to remind me I'm alive and you're here
There's a window to my soul
Not my eyes, but the way I stare into yours
And commit every shade of brown to memory so even in the dark
In the middle of night I remember what I'm alive for
There's a window to my soul
Not my eyes, but my lips when I tell you I love you and still know
That you'll never love me in the same way
And that I'd rather be using those lips to kiss you
To kiss you like a dying man begging for water
Or a sinner crying for salvation
Is there salvation for my soul as I think about you alone
Hold my body and pretend it's you
In the middle of the night when you're asleep
And I feel guilty because you're an arms length away
And I'm pretending you're the one whose hands are on me
There's a window to my soul
And I want you to look through it and see me
And see the things I want
The things I want from you
The things I want to do for you
The things I want to do to you
But you stare into my eyes and see nothing but brown and black and white
You burn me with your deciphering gaze
And your mind runs a mile an hour trying to figure out
Who I am inside
And why you can't see through me."
×
Cory's eyes were wide and his hands were a little sweaty as he held his breath through the last few lines. He still wasn't entirely sure what Shawn was talking about, but it was beautiful all the same.
January leaned over. "Aren't his words breathtaking? What I wouldn't give to be whoever he wrote that one about."
"Yeah," Cory said. "Me too."
Just then, Shawn made his way over to the couch. "Hey, guys," he said, sitting on the arm of the couch, leaning against Cory slightly. "So, Cor, was that one interesting enough for you?"
Cory coughed. "Hey, I get why you guys drink the coffee so late now. Something has to keep you awake through the snooze fest," he joked.
January squinted at him, and Shawn just laughed. "Don't you just love him?" he said.
"Don't you?" January deadpanned.
"So, what was that poem about?" Cory asked.
Shawn's face fell a little, maybe only just noticed by Cory. "Were you listening?"
"Yeah, window to your soul and all that," Cory said. "Tattoos and um… salvation or something."
Shawn scoffed. "Do me a favor and get your head out of your ass next time I take you anywhere important to me," he spat, before storming off to talk to undoubtedly more interesting people.
Cory sat there dumbfounded. "What'd I say?" he asked. "He knows the word vomit stuff goes over my head."
"Were you listening to it, though?" January asked.
"I… shit, I guess not," Cory admitted as he realized. "I was too focused on him, how the light was hitting his eyes and the sound of his voice, and not the words coming out. I'm such a shit, sometimes, it's awful."
January furrowed her brow slightly. "You know how important you are to him, right?"
"Of course. We're best friends."
"Just best friends? Or something more?"
Yikes, was he that obvious? "Just best friends. Really close best friends, I'll admit. He just… means a little more to me than I do to him. Or maybe not more, but… different." Cory sighed. "I mean, what would he even see in me? I'm nothing like the type of person he deserves. Shawn- S.P. deserves someone with a sensitive and poetic soul to match his own." Cory gestured to the next guy talking on the stage. "These are his kind of people. I'm just the childhood buddy."
January clicked her tongue in thought. "I've found that listening to a poem and reading a poem are two different experiences. Neither is better than the other, but different. To hear the words and the emotions the reader intends, and to look at the words and soak them in through your own skin and experiences are two different things."
Cory squinted at her. "A quick reminder that I'm a simple man."
"Ask him if you can read the poem to understand it better."
That might work, Cory thought. He stood up and made his way over to where Shawn was talking to another guy, in a button up and blazer. Cory cleared his throat. "Hey, Shawnie?"
Shawn turned around to look at him, just as the other guy spoke in a vaguely European accent that kind of pissed Cory off. "Shawnie? Oh, is this him?"
"Shut it, Scotty," Shawn muttered. "Cor, this is Scott. Scott, Cory."
Scott had his arm draped around Shawn's shoulder, and Cory wanted to burn a laser through the hand gripping the muscle there. Cory remembered what January said about people really liking Shawn here, and how he could get with nearly anyone he wanted. Cory, of course, knew that his best friend was attractive, and he liked him, but it felt weird being told that by someone else, hearing how everyone else perceived him. And it was even weirder seeing it in front of him, the way Scott was touching his Shawn.
"Nice to meet you Cory," Scott said, offering his hand to Cory, the one that wasn't touching Shawn. "S.P. has talked about you a lot."
"Has he?" Cory asked.
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Cory, I'm sorry for blowing up at you earlier. I know this isn't really your scene, I shouldn't have expected… But I did warn you."
Cory shrugged. "It's fine."
"I'll leave you guys alone," Scott said, before giving Shawn's arm a little squeeze and walking away.
Shawn watched as his friend left, and turned back towards Cory. "So…"
"Are you two…" Cory swallowed. "Does he like you?"
"Yeah, actually," Shawn admitted, a little too casually for Cory. "He told me he likes me, wanted to go out- or at least hook up- a few months ago. I told him I love someone else and he still wanted to be friends."
"I didn't like how he was touching you."
Shawn seemed taken aback, frowning just slightly. "You're not in charge of how I let people touch me. You've been friends with me for years, you know how I show affection."
Cory looked down at his feet. "Sorry."
"Whatever." The two fell into an uncomfortable silence.
Cory chanced a glance back up at Shawn, and he saw the way the lights caught the angles of his face, and exhaled softly.
"Your poem was beautiful. I just didn't understand it," Cory said. "January suggested I just read the words written down, maybe that'll help me understand."
"You want to read my poem?"
"I want to try to understand it."
Shawn tilted Cory's face up slightly with his hand, and left it there cradling his jaw. "You really wanna understand it?" he asked, his voice low and serious, but there was a slight upturn of his mouth that Cory fixated on. There was a sort of fire in his eyes that made the butterflies in Cory's stomach go wild.
"Yeah," Cory breathed, his heart thumping when he realized how close they were.
Shawn dropped his hand and took a step back. He reached into his pocket and took out the notebook, handing it to Cory. "Wanna go somewhere a little less crowded?" he asked.
"We can just… sit in your car?" Cory suggested.
"Yeah, okay."
Shawn led Cory back to the car, and after turning it on, he got into the back seat, so Cory followed.
"Why are we in the backseat?" Cory asked.
"More room to just sit," Shawn explained, sitting criss-crossed on the cracked vinyl seat. "And nothing between us, just in case."
"In case of what?"
"In case I finally decide to stop being a coward and just kiss you."
Cory was certain he felt his heart explode with how harshly it was beating out of his chest. He was still holding Shawn's pocket journal with a shaking hand. Shawn tapped the journal with his finger.
"I've found art- poetry included- is easiest to understand when you know the context. What the poet was going through when he was penning it. Me, I was going through another intense night of yearning for someone I could never have."
Cory flipped through the book until he got to the page titled "Windows." He read through the words a few times. Then he glanced up at Shawn, whose face appeared as a conglomeration of emotions, and Cory wasn't sure whether he looked more scared or hopeful. Certainly not the confidence he put on at the beginning of the night. Cory wondered how he himself looked to Shawn.
"How do you come up with some of these lines?" Cory asked, his voice thin and nervous. "To kiss you like a dying man begging for water, or a sinner crying for salvation," he read. "You really are amazing at this." He set the journal down next to him.
"I had the right inspiration."
Cory couldn't remember how to breathe. "Is this really about…"
Shawn leaned forward and pressed his lips to Cory's, his hand resting on the back of Cory's neck, keeping him close. Cory hummed into the touch, his hand making its way into Shawn's hair, grabbing a handful and tugging lightly.
It felt more natural than anything. It wasn't one of those "everything clicked into place" moments, but more "it's as if we have been doing this for years." It honestly felt to Cory like this was something they did every day.
Shawn shrugged off his leather jacket and flannel without breaking the kiss, before his hands rested on the edge of Cory's jacket, tugging him closer.
Cory pulled away for a moment, his fingers playing with the bottom hem of Shawn's T-shirt. "That enough salvation for you?" he said, surprising himself with how rough and low his voice sounded.
Shawn pushed Cory's jacket off his shoulders, and gave his biceps a little squeeze. "Not even close."
Cory pulled his jacket off the rest of the way and pushed Shawn back against the seats, so he was laying on his back. Cory straddled the other's lap, and saw that Shawn's shirt had ridden up a bit, revealing the tattoo on his rib cage.
"I'm such an idiot," Cory whispered more to himself than Shawn, as he leaned down to kiss him again. He pulled back to kiss down his jaw and neck.
"Shit, I could've told you that." Shawn's hands were resting on the bare skin under Cory's shirt. "I feel like I spelled it out for you," he said with a breathy laugh.
"I wasn't listening," Cory said between kisses. "I was too focused on everything else about you."
Shawn hummed as Cory pulled the neckline of his shirt down slightly to leave a mark right in the crook of his neck.
"Your eyes, your hair, your voice-" he pulled back and looked down at his best friend, all pretty and blushing under him. "The way the light hit your cheekbones, your nose-" He grabbed Shawn's silver chain necklace and pulled him up. "Your lips."
Shawn smiled into the next kiss. "Who knew you were such a romantic?" he mused.
"Delacroix?"
Shawn pulled back and laughed, loud and unfiltered and so perfectly Shawn. "No, that's romanticism. God, I love you."
"I love you too." Cory brushed Shawn's hair out of his eyes lightly. "I've been scared that you… I just mean… I'm not really your people anymore."
Shawn leaned back against the car door. "What do you mean?"
Cory looked back at the building where he could still see the artsy types at their gathering. "I mean, these are your people. Poetic people with artistic minds."
"Okay," Shawn said, apparently seeing where Cory was coming from. "They may be my people, but you're my person. Always have been, always will be. You may not be a poetic person, but you're the perfect muse."
Cory smiled. "I don't know what that means."
"You're really hot, did you know that?"
"I didn't."
"Jeez, Cor, take a look in the mirror sometime," Shawn said. "Michaelangelo could've sculpted your arms." He gave Cory's arm another little squeeze.
Cory snapped his fingers. "Oh, Renaissance! I know that one."
Shawn kissed him again.
And Cory pulled back when there was a knock on the window, scrambling to get off his friend's lap.
Shawn rolled the window down to see January standing there with her arms crossed. "Hey, January."
"S.P, S.P's boyfriend-" she said, looking past Shawn at Cory. "The reading's over, by the way."
Shawn coughed. "Sorry, we got held up."
"Uh-huh. Will I see you both next Sunday?"
Shawn looked back at Cory who nodded. "Yeah, we'll both be there."
January nodded approvingly. "Good. Cory, you can meet my girlfriend. She also doesn't understand poetry."
"Looking forward to it."
January waved and walked off as Shawn rolled the window back up.
Shawn straightened his shirt and climbed into the driver's seat, and Cory opened the door and got out of the car to get into the passenger seat, before reaching back and grabbing his jacket.
Shawn put his hand on Cory's thigh. "So… wanna finish this back in our room?"
"Yeah." Cory reached over and fixed a piece of Shawn's hair that had fallen out of place. "I do."