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You deserve a lover who wants you disheveled.
With everything and all the reasons that wake you up in a haste and the demons that won’t let you sleep.
You deserve a lover who makes you feel safe. Who can consume this world whole if he walks hand in hand with you.
Someone who believes that his embraces are a perfect match with your skin.
Who supports you when you feel shame and flies with you. Who isn't afraid to fall.
You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee and poetry.
Frida Kahlo
"Hot cocoa?"
"Cory, it's Autumn. It's like 75 degrees outside. I just saw a guy walk by in shorts carrying a pumpkin."
Leave it to his best friend to break out the Winter treats just as candy corn and ghost shaped marshmallows hit the shelves. Christmas is Cory's favorite holiday and there's a calendar on the wall to prove it. He'd forgotten to put an X on yesterday's date.
"And extra whipped cream," Cory reaches behind him and locates a mini Hershey bar. From a massive bag of Halloween candy because it's Fall and he's in denial.
"But wait, there's more!" He garnishes the top with two squares of chocolate and spreads his arms wide. "Ta-da! Cory Matthews famous hot cocoa."
Shawn gratefully takes it because it's the only thing Cory knows how to cook and he's pretty good at it. Besides, his dad would roll over in his grave if Shawn wasted perfectly good food. It may as well be a dessert.
He ignores the long sleeved sweater and scarf around Cory's neck. There are plastic bags on the kitchen counter that are no doubt filled with mini Paydays and Twizzlers. His favorites - Cory must've ran to the store when he was in the shower. Perks of living with someone who knows you inside and out. They've been coexisting in what Topanga calls domestic bliss.
Life with Cory includes a cramped New York loft, the scent of maple syrup in the morning, Shawn's scattered notebooks and pens, scraps of poetry - BIC blue on napkins. Cory's affinity for cleaning vs his sloppiness. Too much takeout they can't afford, a shared full sized bed and neighbors who seemingly never sleep.
They've set up a nice life together.
However, like most housemates, they have their share of arguments.
Mostly it's when he gets too far in his own head and shoves Cory away. Stays gone for hours without checking in. Or when Cory is feeling petty and nitpicky. The spats last less than a day before Shawn hugs his best friend fiercely and apologizes despite being told he's already forgiven. Before Cory compromises on whatever issue he'd attached himself to and makes up for it with hugs, terrible movie marathons, supermarket flowers at least twice.
Bliss?
Shawn would rather call it inevitable.
Last week, Topanga had referred to him as Mr. Cory.
Last month, Angela asked if he'd spit it out yet. You can't moon over him for the rest of your life, she'd said.
Do something about it.
He's been mulling it over since and even wrote two poems about the ebb and flow of love. The curve of it and a slow inevitability. Autumn. Metaphors. Hope and longing. Hot cocoa and Cinnabon. He'd read it aloud to Cory and rolled his eyes when his other half missed the point.
"You should put that one in your book, Shawnie. Hey, let's go to the movies. We'll get extra butter on the popcorn."
Cory pokes his shoulder, breaking through a slew of thoughts and musings. "How's the poetry coming along?"
He used to hide it away and claim it was about someone else. An old girlfriend, the pretty blonde at the bookstore, a stranger on the subway. And then he'd been ambushed by Topanga and Angela as well as the very epitome of an odd couple: Eric and Jack. What their intervention boiled down to was: tell him or we will.
Geez. Talk about your peer pressure.
"It's not," Shawn says.
"Alright, up you go. Time for a break."
Cory collects both his best friend and the hot cocoa, moving them to the living room. Away from writer's block and dull pencils.
"On one condition," he replies.
"What's that?"
"Babe, this," he unravels the cheery red scarf from Cory's neck, "has to go."
"But my neck'll get cold," Cory complains.
Shawn tosses it over the arm of their ratty couch and takes the mug from Cory's hands. Places it on the floor as they can't afford a table just yet. This...this can be his moment. It's Autumn, the loft smells of cocoa and Cory is still bumming in his sweats, sweater clashing against them. There's a poem in the kitchen that hasn't been finished and a world of possibilities.
He moves behind his best friend and tamps down his nerves the best he can. This is Cory. He'd never hurt Shawn and if it came down to rejection he'd be kind about it. Might even chase him down the street if Shawn attempted to bolt.
Back to chest now.
His hands on Cory's shoulders, a whisper against the shell of his ear that makes them both shiver.
"Then I'll keep it warm."
He massages, catching bare skin on purpose. More when Cory makes a small noise in the back of his throat and leans against him, eyes closed. Encouraged, he allows his hand to drift under the fabric and touch. Cory is anything but cold. In fact, his skin is warming with every back and forth motion. Massaging.
For someone who has always been smooth with the ladies, Shawn is out of his league here.
"Is this helping?"
Do you feel it too?
When they were sixteen, Cory hugged him in one of the worst moments of his life. Said, this is what you do when you care about someone. This - it's an unmistakable declaration of love. It's a hug and yet it's not. It's the kiss born of curiosity in the treehouse when they were twelve. Building upon that.
"Shawnie..."
"I can stop if that's what you want." Hoping for the opposite. Dread in his gut. "I'm sorry, Cor. I didn't mean to make it weird."
"No, that's not it."
Cory is laughing.
Shawn feels about as tall as an ant. Idiotic.
"-weird is who we are, Shawnie. I just wanted to see your face is all."
Oh.
He releases his best friend and feels his cheeks heat. Shawn Hunter, ladies man who never ever blushes - feels it spread from head to toe.
"Remember Veronica?" Cory asks.
"Yeah, you carried my books 'cause I had boobs."
"No," Cory corrects, "Shawnie, I did it because I could get away with it when you were wearing a dress. Plus you did look good with your hair like that."
Shawn runs a hand through his hair and smiles, suddenly feeling shy. He and Topanga had put a lot of work into that updo. He still remembers the goosebumps he'd gotten when Cory gave him a heated once over as they entered the school. The article and that Gary creep were almost worth it.
"Oh you're just saying that," says Shawn.
"I like it floppy though," Cory adds.
"You do?"
"Like this." Cory's brilliant smile as he weaves his fingers through Shawn's hair. His sweater is skewed around the neckline, Shawn notices now that Cory is cupping the back of his head. Up close.
"...like this," he repeats.
Kissing him is easier than Shawn would've thought. All he had to do was stop fighting it and let Cory pull their mouths together. Fall into him like leaves in Autumn, Christmas in October.
They're opposites in every way but this.
He licks the seam of Cory's lips and goes weak in the knees when his tongue makes contact. Dips in and takes and takes - Cory tastes like Halloween candy. Smells like their apartment and Shawn's shampoo.
They kiss until they're breathless, dizzy with it.
He has to clear his throat before he can speak. God, he can't stop smiling.
"Still need that scarf?"
Cory shakes his head no, eyes full of awe and love. He lets Shawn take his hand and lead them to the bedroom.
The hot cocoa cools on the floor next to the couch.
"You're right. It's too warm for a sweater," Cory says as he shuts the door behind them. Waggles his eyebrows as they burst into laughter.
The way it should be.
"Veronica may not have a boyfriend but I do," Shawn announces over a game of Monopoly the next day.
The small apartment fills with hoots and clapping.
Eric picks up Shawn and squeezes him hard, calls him family. Jack hugs his little brother and tells him there's something about the Matthews that's just irresistible. Or in Eric's case, annoying enough to grow on you. Like moss. Or mold. He gets a huffy, "You take that back," in return.
Meanwhile, Topanga kisses Shawn and Cory on the cheek. She swears she has a sixth sense about love and she's known since they were still kids. Cory lightheartedly mumbles about offspring with faces like horses and Topanga finds herself sandwiched between them in a group hug. Angela piles on beside of her until the six of them form a cluster and Topanga squirms away.
Cory pipes up over the crowd and cheerily asks, "Who's up for hot cocoa?"
Eric and Jack groan in unison, "Dude. Too soon."
Shawn leans across a protesting Jack and kisses Cory on the temple. "I'll take one, babe," he says with a wink.
It's Autumn and Christmas and every holiday in between - everyday.