Work Text:
shayne is sitting on the shitty little balcony of his second floor apartment
waiting for the benadryl to kick in and he’s watching the sun go down
and he’s thinking about his shirt, the white one he almost wore today
the one from jonny sun
and he’s thinking about the poetry on it
pothos
the plants that are able to thrive in pretty low light
and he’s thinking about how damien was the first to mention it
the day he gathered the courage to wear it out of the house
“that’s fuckin awesome, dude, i love it”
how he had felt so seen in a horrible way
like someone had just complimented his search history
and he’s watching the sun go down and feeling the steady drop in his blood pressure
that will eventually break over from sluggish to sleepy
and thinking about the first time he heard the word “demisexual”
how the definition with it wasn’t great
“i dunno, it’s just like—like you don’t want anyone at all, until you really want someone. like all of them all at once”
probably wasn’t correct but it still felt like a punch to the gut
same feeling he got in third grade when josh b. called him gay
same feeling he got when he saw damien take her hand
and he’s thinking about how pothos plants are able to thrive in pretty low light
but they bend toward a window every time
quite lopsidedly toward the window
leaves reaching, aching, toward the light
and he’s thinking about last sunday
the night he finally tried to use the gifted air fryer and nearly burnt down his apartment
how he had immediately pulled out his phone to tell his best friend about it
(as you do when disaster nearly strikes)
and been faced with the knowledge that he hadn’t been texted back in weeks
how he had wished the smoke would keep filling up the room but he opened a window anyway
and he’s watching the sun go down and thinking about her
how she’s gotten so much brighter since she met him
such a perfect name for her—saige, a new spelling for wise
for green, for cleansing, for mint
how her strength and passion and humor fill up every room
how they fill up damien too
stronger, firmer, calmer than he’s ever been before
and he can’t help it he’s thinking about the time before again
before anyone knew their names
back when damien’s laugh still had a hint of ugly to it
before anyone had told him it was beautiful
before he started feeling like it should be
and making sure it was
he has grown so much in all the loving sunlight
god knows he deserves it
shayne knows he deserves it
and he wishes he could say that’s all he ever wanted for him but it’s not
he’s thinking about another gut punch
the one that comes when someone says to put himself out there
how it always makes him feel like throwing up
how he downloaded grindr for five minutes once and actually did
and deleted the app and didn’t feel better
and he’s watching the sun go down and thinking about the women he’s dated
and how dating women has historically left him depressed
stolen his sleep unless the benadryl helps
but it’s still better than the one date he had with the guy with the curly hair
that one was a new breed of rejection
left him suicidal
or borderline maybe—not quite there—but close
he’s thinking about all the death of the year
of the past three years
how a virus stole lovers and parents and kids
and how it stole unimportant things too
how it took the last good years of his job
the last few minutes before his home was sold away to someone new
new boss, new set, new talent
sure to replace him soon
he’s not even funny anymore anyway
he’s thinking about how he’s never been funny alone
how he doesn’t even want to be funny alone
he’s only ever been funny with
he’s thinking about the boy with the red freckles
who sat by him on the swings in second grade
how he liked to sneak out his apple slices and always gave shayne one
shayne always wanted two and never asked
and he’s trying to imagine light
he’s feeling the warm pull of the meds in his blood and imagining it as the sun
trying to remember the shine on his cheeks
abundance purity safety
time before doubt or fear of loss
but it was too long ago now and blocked off
all he remembers is the moment of awareness
i could lose this
and the birth of the stone pit in his stomach that’s lived in him since
he’s thinking about reaching, aching, toward
always toward
even in pretty low light
and he’s watching and he knows the sun has gone down
he knows
but he’s benadryl heavy and it’s not like inside’s better
it’s just dark in there too
not like there’s another sun waiting
there’s just one of those
so he lets himself stay and he’s still watching