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"And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment."
Plato, Symposium
Shawn has known for years. Twenty years, five months, and eleven days, to be exact.
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He remembers the day he found out. The first day they’d met, actually. It was the first day of kindergarten and Gus had stood out like a sore thumb. Shawn had been fully prepared to make fun of him, with his tucked in shirt (complete with pocket protector), dress shoes, and name that was practically begging you to bully him (Burton, honestly). But then Mrs. Grayson had assigned them to the same two person table. Burton said Call me Gus, and that, as they say, was that.
He’d gone home that day and told his mother that he’d found him, his soulmate. She hugged him tight, kissed him on the cheek, and baked him a cake. He took two slices to school the next day for lunch. One for him and one for Gus.
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He remembers twelve long years of being fieldtrip buddies, of saving seats at lunch, of sleepovers, of their first kisses (Shawn’s first kiss had been two days after Gus’, in what could only be referred to as retaliation), drinking for the first time, and going for drives in the middle of the night.
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He remembers calling his mom the day Gus received his acceptance letter to his top choice school.
He’ll get there, Goose, just give him time.
He’s had nothing but time, Mom.
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He remembers four endless years of Gus at college. Of course they’d kept in touch and hung out during the summers but it wasn’t the same. Gus had written him a letter when he lost his virginity (I was too embarrassed to say on the phone but I wanted you to know) and Shawn had waited a week to call him and talk it through. Shawn knew, deep down, that he was being selfish. It wasn’t like he’d foregone dating while Gus figured things out. But seeing the words like that, in Gus’ careful handwriting, hurt more than he’d expected they would.
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And then Gus came home. And they were back to normal.
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And then they started Psych. And they were better than ever. Hard not to be, spending practically every second of every day together.
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And it's today, a Monday, and Gus is mid monologue on the strangeness of watching movies with now dead actors, gesturing wildly at Heath Ledger’s face on the screen, when Shawn decides it’s about time Gus caught up.
He grabs Gus’ face, pulls him in, and kisses him. It’s quick, but he knows it’s enough. Knows Gus felt the similar warmth spread through his entire body, the same lingering burn on his left wrist.
Gus stares at him for a second, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, before looking down at his wrist. He runs the fingers of his right hand over the slightly raised full moon that’s now there. He grabs Shawn’s wrist and touches the brand new sun he finds there, sending shivers up Shawn’s spine.
He says, “Holy shit, Shawn,” drops Shawn’s wrist, and puts his face in his knees. He appears to be doing Lamaze breathing.
Shawn can’t help but laugh. “Dude, it’s okay.”
“How long have you known?” Gus’ voice is muffled in his khakis.
“Um, since the first day we met. I guess.”
“Shawn!” Gus has removed his face from his pants and his tone is sharp, not quite matching the soft look on his face.
Shawn starts to backtrack, tell him it hasn’t actually been that embarrassingly long, when Gus mashes their faces back together. Literally, mashes. Their teeth crash together and it’s urgent in a way that Shawn never expected. Gus pulls back, his hand still on the back of Shawn’s neck and Shawn leans forward, eyes still closed, missing the contact immediately.
“Shawn,” his lips find Shawn’s neck, “I’m so,” his other hand makes it way under the back of Shawn’s shirt, “I’m so sorry,” he brings their lips back together, “of course it's you.”