Work Text:
October 1998
Angela was on hour three in the library, surrounded by books and papers at her favorite spot on the second floor, when Shawn found her and pulled up a chair. “Hey.” She barely looked up from her meticulously color coded notes.
He smiled at her. “Why are you cooped up inside doing homework on a Saturday?”
“I thought this stupid history paper was due Wednesday and it’s due Monday. I’ve barely started.” She pulled her sweater sleeves into her fists and scrubbed at her nose, sniffling. “I’m trying to get my thoughts together before I type. I’m probably not making any sense, but I don’t care. I just want it to be done.” She turned a page. “I’ve got a deadline for the magazine this week, too, and the dumbass photographer kid I got paired with doesn’t know how answer his phone.”
“That’s a lot.”
She sighed. “What time are you and Cory leaving for the concert?” Third Eye Blind was headlining a sold out stadium show downtown. Shawn had talked about nothing else for days.
Shawn rolled his eyes. “He fucking forgot! Topanga’s parents invited them to their cabin for a long weekend so he’s with them instead.”
“He forgot ?” She finally put her pen down and looked up at him. “You’ve had these tickets for months.”
His face was tight. “He doesn’t listen when I talk anymore. It’s just the Cory and Topanga show.”
Angela couldn’t believe it. “What did he say when he realized he forgot?”
“Oh that’s the thing - apparently it’s my fault for not reminding him. No apology.”
“ Seriously ?”
Shawn nodded. “And he made all these bullshit excuses about having to make a good impression on his future in-laws. Like, come on! He’s known Topanga’s family since elementary school.”
“Good impressions? That ship sailed a long time ago.” She cleared her throat. “What new impressions are they gonna get?”
Shawn shook his head. “He’s hard to love right now, Ang.” Part of him wondered if Cory had always been selfish and he was just now noticing. “Am I overreacting?”
“No.” She started to say something else, but coughed roughly into her arm.
“Hey, you okay?” His expression softened. “You sound sick.”
She’d been in denial for days, blaming her scratchy throat and nagging sinus headache on a lack of sleep or the rainy weather. “Yeah,” she said. “Just a cold, I think.” She coughed again. To Shawn’s soft, concerned gaze she lied, “I sound worse than I feel.”
“Poor baby,” he whispered. He reached across her stack of books.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m okay.” A persistent, disorienting ache pushed behind her eyes and cheekbones; the medicine she’d taken early that morning was wearing off. She rubbed her eyes, retied her ponytail, and picked up her pen. “I’m listening to you, but I also gotta get some work done before the whole day gets away from me.”
“I’m gonna run to Bookmark. You hungry?” The coffee shop attached to the library had Shawn’s order memorized from his near-daily visits.
Angela shook her head and tried to find where she’d left off in her reading. Shawn peeled off his leather jacket, walked around the table, and draped it over her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” She tilted her head back to look up at him.
“Making sure you’re warm enough.” He scratched the back of his head, suddenly bashful. “You--you don’t have to wear it obviously, if you don’t want, but you’re not feelin’ good--”
She dropped her book and stuffed her arms into the sleeves. It smelled like him: warm leather and minty gum and cold fall air. “Thanks.” She smiled.
The elevator dinged. A few employees shuffled around reshelving books. Angela watched Shawn disappear down the central staircase then picked up her pink pen. She really did need to finish this outline if she was going to type tomorrow, but her head was fuzzy and her throat felt like sandpaper. She couldn’t focus.
Surely Topanga didn't know Cory had bailed on Shawn to be with her. She'd never stand for that. For such a neurotic people pleaser, Cory could come across awfully self-centered. He'd done this before, Angela knew: in trying to please everyone, he pleased no one. Who had paid for the tickets? Hopefully Shawn wasn't losing money, too.
She realized she had no idea what she'd been reading. She backed up a few paragraphs, wrote a couple words, then crossed them out.
Shawn came up the stairs with a to-go cup in each hand. “Here,” he said, putting a steaming cup down next to her books. “I got you some tea for your throat.”
Her face spread into a slow smile. “You’re the best.” She popped off the plastic lid and took a sip. It was too hot, but it was sweet. She blew on it, then took a cautious sip, then another. “This is exactly what I wanted.”
Shawn sat down next to her, propped his feet up on the bottom of her chair, and took a sip of his own coffee. “What are you writing about?”
“The salt trade,” she said flatly. “You still got your tickets? What time’s the show start?”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to lose money,” she said. “Not to make it about money, but I know those tickets weren’t cheap. Take me instead of Cory. It’ll be fun.”
Shawn raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have fun? You hate driving in the city. You’ll know, like, two songs the whole night.”
Angela coughed again, shredding her sore throat. She set her cup on the table. Shawn’s hand rested on her shoulder.
“Baby,” he whispered. “I appreciate the thought. But listen to yourself. You’re sick. You’re working yourself into the ground stressing about all this school shit.”
Angela couldn’t argue with him. Her face felt full of wet concrete. She reached for her cup. “Ugh.” The fluorescent lights caught her eye the wrong way and sent pain rippling through her whole head. She took another drink of her tea and closed her eyes, steadying herself. Actually, come to think of it, a rock concert sounded miserable right now. “I didn’t feel this bad until today. I swear…I’m sorry”
“Don’t apologize,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”
She laid her head on his soft, steady shoulder. “I’m sorry your best friend is such a selfish brat.”
“Yeah,” Shawn chuckled dryly. “We’ll fight about it when he gets back.”
Her eyes were closed. She sniffled. “I’m not finishing this paper tonight, am I?”
“Probably not.” He pushed a few stray hairs away from her face. “What about this, hmm? I’ll give you a ride home. You can take some more medicine and get some sleep. And if you’re up to it later I’ll bring over Chinese food and a movie, and we can just relax. Does that sound okay?”
“That sounds perfect.” Angela sat up and gathered her books. Shawn insisted on carrying her backpack.
“I just have a head cold, Shawn.” She reached for her bag. “I’m not dying.”
“Let me take care of you.”
They walked hand-in-hand across the quiet parking lot to his car. She sipped her tea and leaned against the cool passenger side window, just a second of relief. He turned the radio off and drove across campus to her dorm. “Thanks, baby," she said. "I’ll call you later.”
Shawn squeezed her hand again. “Take some medicine. Get some sleep. No more work until tomorrow, okay?” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Call me when you want dinner.”
Angela trudged up the stairs, kicked her shoes off, and swallowed some Sudafed with the end of her tea. It was only then she realized she was still wearing Shawn’s jacket.