Chapter Text
Shayne R Topp lived in the kinder part of a dead town, growing in the middle of illinois.
Courtney, his first and only online friend, tells him daily how sad that sounds. At least to them, because Courtney was used to billboard signs and skyscrapers and they whine constantly about the city. Shayne had no interest in moving anywhere until after he graduated. Even the thought of getting uprooted made him feel sick to his bones.
And it wasn’t all that bad, to be honest. If you walked down 4th street long enough, you’d find a man in a cowboy hat with chickens, pigs, sheeps and horses straight out of an old, tattered picture book. And the bakeries were open all week, even on Sundays and somehow, they had an Ihop a walk from the schoolyard. On exam week, you’d smell burnt coffee and teenage tears.
At least, he's been told that.
Shayne wouldn’t really know. He was happy in his tiny cottage off Kingdom Ave. with his grandma beside him. He was never one for going out. The first thing Shayne could remember was being pushed into her steady arms, and being read Gwendolyn Brooks poetry by the teaspoon.
Young Shayne had latched onto that quicker than a cop alarm.
Since the start of 8th grade, Courtney was insistant about one thing. After Shayne sat talking about Willowtown and poetry long enough to make Courtney snore, they asked him, “Anybody of interest?”
Damien passed through his thoughts like a blowdryer. Brown, tousled hair, clothes darker than sawdust and a mysterious, little smile.
“Nobody, Court.” Shayne said, plasterring something of a grin, “Nobody at all.”
---
Damien C Haas had moved into Willowtown, much to his own disgust, when Shayne was in 8th grade.
The guy was a few inches taller, and always wore big, red vans that didn't fit the leather jacket that never left his broad shoulders. For having just turned 14, he talked like velvet and figured out his place in the school on day one.
Clearly, he stood out and half the girls in first period looked at him with something Shayne wished he didn’t see. Love, at least like that, was gross for 13 year old Shayne Topp. He just kept his eyes forward and tried not to think about Damien Haas. Willowtown couldn’t hold someone like that anyway. It was a small town.
But at some point, he started fitting right in and Damien was old news to everybody but Shayne.
He had picked up a boy from class, with straw hair and bony arms and Shayne had just shrugged at Noah, his closest school friend. Damien hadn’t mentioned his sexuality and even then, they’d never spoken, so who gave a damn. But whatever feeling that Shayne had in his chest didn’t disperse and he felt gross for getting up in this guy's business.
Noah, who always sat with him during lunch no matter what mood Shayne was in, wadded up a paper and tossed it at his face. “What’s going through your head today?”
Shayne, on autopilot, tossed it back. Puberty hadn’t been very kind to him so far, and he was still a mostly shapeless teen and self-proclaimed loser. The spot Noah hit had turned a pleasant pink. Kimmy would tail it as a perfect pastel shade, if she wasn't out sick.
“Absolutely nothing.” Shayne responded.
Noah wordlessly turned in his chair to where Damien Haas was standing, out in the open and on his phone.
“Yeah, right. What star are we looking up today?” Noah asked, winking. Whatever shitty thing Shayne had to say died on his tongue.
He paused before he spoke, “Garcux. Let's do that one, a red giant.”
“Whatever you say, Shayne.”
Shayne just sighed and opened his laptop, praying to any God that could hear him that Damien C Haas wouldn't see the way he looked at him.
---
The first time they spoke, Shayne wanted to kill him.
It was hot for November and Shayne had left his sweater vest on a boulder. Willowtown had a beach, the bad kind with jaggard rocks and pill bottles. It was still really busy, full of people making the most of it and talking amongst themselves.
But when Shayne was 9, he was getting to be a little troublesome.
He’d already gone through his Grandma's full cabinet of books and playwrights and he never went to the library without her. So, with a big flashlight and an even bigger thirst for adventure, Shayne explored the beach afterdark. He was bored, sue him.
But apparently, right between a sloped cavern and a few shabby trees that had seen better days, was a small creek. The sunlight flooded in from the top, and the rocks were covered in a thick layer of dry as fuck moss.
With a pirate flag he’d copied off ‘The Goonies’ Shayne declared it his hideout. The water was always a little too cold, and Illinois liked to rain, but Shayne loved it anyway. He read out there and annotated his favorite books with a big, blue pen.
That November, Shayne sat till his ass ached and his eyes squinted hard. He had stayed for hours before that and called it after another 30 minutes. He groaned as he sat up, setting his stuff down to stretch.
Then-
“Boo!” Shayne felt a hand on his back, pushing him forward.
Shayne screeched, landing arm first into the creek. Gross lengths of green whatever clung to his back, his arms, his-who the fuck would even do that?
But there he was, Damien C Haas, laughing his ass off. His hair was darker than it was in August, and he wore a stupid fucking grin on his face. Shayne wanted to wipe it off. And Shayne frowned, realizing he wanted to do way more than that.
So, he smiled and did what losers did best: pulled him under.
Somehow, Damien landed with his knees covered first and his chin got hit with green, slimy gunk.
He was still so…well Shayne knew not to think that so all he did was laugh right back at him.
“You got me.” Damien said, reluctantly letting himself smile. His cheeks were warm, looking redder than tomatoes and Shayne shivered as a breeze hit him across his crooked nose. “Yeah, you definitely got me there, tulip man.”
Shayne looked at him weird as he pulled himself up, “Tulip man, really?”
“You’ve got tulips on your backpack, don’t you?”
And sure enough, he did. It was sitting on top of the rocks, the straps facing them, in all its flowery glory. Damien helped Shayne out, pursing his lips in consideration. Shayne felt his mouth with his tongue and tasted blood. Hmm. It felt like he chipped a tooth on his way down.
“My grandma loves tulips and she taught me how to sew. It was supposed to be a gift but…” Shayne shrugged, “She thought purple suited me more than her. Plus, she likes purses more.”
Damien nodded, “Cool. Y’know, they mean royalty, right?”
Shayne couldn’t believe they were still talking, “Didn’t know you liked flowers like that.”
“I don’t” He winked, “But Grandma Haas loves talking, especially if someones around to listen.”
Shayne carefully grabbed his bag, eyeing his own messy embroidery. It needed a check up.
“Well, my very real grandma would say that's pretty cool.” he frowned, pausing, “That sounded like a lie.”
“Well I hope it isn’t. Miss Grandma of Tulip man sounds like a swell gal to me.”
“It's not Tulip Man.” (obviously, get it together!) “It's Shayne. Shayne Topp.”
“I know.” Damien looked at him kindly. “But it's still nice to properly meet you.”
---
As Shayne got older, his body turned on him. His grandma, bless her, decided to force him out of the house with a broomstick like they were in a coming of age movie. Apparently, his new and improved mood swings were messing with her.
"Go, go. I cannot clean up another teenager's angsty tears, Shayne."
So the summer of his Sophomore year, Shayne found himself exploring the Ins and outs of Willowtown.
And really, it was for the best. His room was probably making it worse. And as much as he loved Courtney, their emotions right now were crazy due to hormones. At least that side of growing up hadn't bonked him in the head just yet.
It was interesting, seeing just how much people change.
Noah had grown like a bean sprout and seemed to get taller every day. Noah's best friend, Keith, had a jawline that could slice pennies and Kimmy, who sat at their lunch table last school year, talked about AFAB changes going on with her.
When Shayne had thought about puberty as a little kid, he thought it would be instant. Snap of your fingers and you're suddenly brand new, past mistakes disregarded.
A different person with different problems and a very different heart.
Though, whenever he looked in a mirror, Shayne still had the same blond hair, the same crooked nose and the same wilting, corny smile. Really, nothing about Shayne had changed at all.
Still stupid, still cross, and still ugly.
Damien C Haas had changed though. He'd gotten louder in class, and wore patch covered clothing and dyed his hair a bright purple just on the top. He had those hippie, circle glasses and the prettiest smile In the whole damn world.
And somehow they were friends. Best friends, if you asked Damien.
And wasn't that bizarre, because Shayne still has bullies that find him alone in the hallways and still has assholes that steal his lunch tray. Daily.
And they call him names. Bigotry on the tongue faster than a camera flash.
Damien, whenever he's there, punches them in there fucking nose. He looks like a real hero when he does things like that. The sentiment wears off when Shayne sees him do that for other kids like him. Targets. Losers. Fa-
"You doin' good Shayne?"
Keith was sitting across him, waving his red toned glasses like a dagger around his fingers. He looked extra cool today, wearing beige like he owned the color.
"Fine." Was as good of a response as he could manage. His thoughts wandered…
Really, most of the bullies wanted to see a rise out of Shayne. They wanted to see how much of a douchebag he could get. Damien took to sweeping them out like dust bunnies. Shayne just hoped they would disappear.
When Shayne glanced up from his German textbook, a bright spoltch of red ink growing from where his hand was gripping the pen, Keith was staring right through him.
"Perfectly fine, Keith." Keith hummed and shook his head. Don’t let it be said that he was clueless. (Though Noah has had his eyes on him for a while…)
"I hear that and police sirens sound in my head. That's all anyone wants to say."
He pulled out a copy of Pride & Prejudice, a testament that Keith listened to him and knew what his favorite book was.
"Tell me if you wanna talk, because I'm always around.”
He stalled and Shaynes head lowered further down till he could barely see over his bookbag. Keith was a trickster and Shayne could have mouthed along with what Keith was gonna say next.
“But I have detention afterschool, so…"
"I get it, Keith, thank you."
He put his hand through Shayne's hair as he left and the feeling might have just followed him home. The library felt eery without Keith in it.
The bell went off, marking the end of studyhall, and Shayne was dismissed.
---
When fall of Junior year came around, Shayne took to sitting outside on his porch.
He pretended he was fascinated by birds passing haphazardly on the horizon, thinking of dreams that died a little too quick. His hair was shubby and long and getting in his eyes as he marveled over a copy of Emily Dickinson’s best works. He pressed his fingertips against his forehead and juggled the words she wrote over and over.
Shayne wasn’t much for actually writing. He knew, theoretically, how to write but put him on the spot and he’d start to croak.
And so it goes that on Saturday mornings, Shayne would take a seat on his brown, creaking porch and watch clouds roll like gunpowder.
And some days, unlike this one, Damien would find him.
Damien C Haas came by often to stick his head in whatever book Shayne was reading and brush his hand against a line or two. He’d refused to read with him, would just sit on the floorboards and hear Shayne recite the words.
Today, Shayne was peering into poetry, shivering into a coat. He guessed that Damien was on his own, carrying half-made wishes and rolled weed to sell.
Damien was probably having the time of his life.
Shayne wanted to put his love-friendliness-brotherhood-helpfulness-and god forsaken love, into lyricism.
He didn’t know why but he needed to pump those feelings into poetry. Some days, Shayne thinks he might implode. Might roll over and self destruct and lose all his humanity. So might as well make a prose out of it, exhaust his emotions into writing. There had to be something inside of him that was good. This might just be the start.
But Shayne was sweating through his polo, and the words were blurring together and he felt that Emily’s message wasn’t hitting him right. All overcome by cunning moss. All overcome, all overcome.
Damien was probably happy. The thought made Shayne smile, if only for a moment. He was surely defacing public property or sewing “Eat the rich'' into his front pocket.
Cause Damien was cool like that.
Wow, Shayne couldn't focus, so instead, he forced himself out of boy-crazy rhyme schemes and wrote down a list of reasons why Damien would never go out with him and why Shayne should get over it.
Get over him, cause he’s been crushing on this guy since 8th grade, since he moved a block down from his cottage on Kingdom-whatever Avenue. And at this point, he felt obsessed. And sure, Damien was everything to him but in the grand scheme of small town boys, the world wasn't much.
So Shayne took out a loose leaf and bent himself over the page.
1, Damien needs someone to match his wit. I'm so NOT funny.
2, I'm not exactly prince charming when it comes to looks.
3, Damien is cool. I'm not. I mean, come on.
4, He obviously doesn't like me back and we're already best friends, sort of. I'd hate to ruin...y'know, everything.
5, He likes punks, doesn't he? I'm not really a punk in terms of fashion. I just have, I don't know, baggy t-shirts. And jeans.
6, I'm not spontaneous. He likes variety.
7…
The list went on till Shayne blanked at 14. All he put there was a small, black heart that he scribbled on the line. His pen ran out of ink and he cursed, shaking it.
"Fuck."
He rubbed a hand along his back, watching the sky as a small red sparrow landed gracefully by his feet. Weird to see a bird around in early December. It had just grabbed a few frosting worms from the yard, and its head tilted up at him.
"Hi!" Shayne laughed, cause really, he was talking to a bird now. All it did was fly away, just like he knew it would.
He checked his handwatch, and frowned.
"7:00pm? I swore it was just 4:00, like five minutes ago." He mumbled as he put textbook after textbook away. He'd finished everything a while ago and just felt too languid to pack up.
"Hey Shayne!"
And speak of the devil, Damien C Haas walked himself right up to Shayne, and it being so dark, Shayne hadn't noticed.
"Hey!" Shayne said back.
And the thrum of his beating heart picked up when Damien smiled, "I've got at least another two hours before my mom's gonna need me around the house. So…"
He leaned his weight over a rocking chair and nearly fell over.
"I've got my eyes on the water tower." Damien gestured to the west and Shayne's head peeked over his pre-calc textbook. He slowly nodded.
"Why, do you plan to climb it or…?" Damiens smile turned slightly manic.
"I've had one monster and two espressos; I'm not sleeping until I turn 30, and that water tower is beautiful, baby boy." Shayne flushed and Damien raised his hands to the darkening sky, "And I've got a car to ride in; I mean, my pal Tommy's been holding out on me! There's paint in the back and that watertower will look much better once I'm done with it."
Damien gave him a pointed look. His invitation was dead clear. Do you wanna go deface a watertower?
With Damien.
Shayne didn't know who Tommy was, but all he could hear was his stupid, selfish heart. He was adding another reason in his head as he muttered, "I can't."
Damien's face seemed to drop in a frown. He didn't argue.
"If I were you, I would have said yes. Immediately. But we're different peas in this metaphysical pod." He twirled, and pointed his finger right at Shayne, his theatric guard back up "You owe me a good time, alright?"
And Damien started walking off in the opposite direction, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Shayne felt that deep down he'd made a horrible mistake.
"Wait, hold on!"
Damien spinned himself around as Shayne jogged up to him. He had his keys out and his hand was against his Toyota.
There was something like hope in his eyes.
But all Shayne did was hand him his copy of Emily Dickinson’s best works, half read with Shaynes miserable annotations clouding the pages.
Damien frowned, and that was bad, making his best friend frown twice in one hour.
"It's annotated now and I-I think you should read it. It's really...good?" Shayne sighed, feeling his embarrassment all over.
But Damien, bless him, just took the little poetry book out of Shaynes hand and he lingered in the street. It was dark and it was quiet and to Shayne, it felt like a confession.
Shayne had many rules, too many if you asked Damien. Reason 15, Shayne was careful, the bad kind of careful.
And as Damien drove off, speeding right around the corner, Shayne thought, 'he's the good kind of risky, the good type of chaos.'
---
When Shayne walked out of school a week later, Damien was hovering by the doors. And Shayne, who'd sort of been avoiding him, lowered his head and tried to go incognito. He felt sicker than a dog today, and his thoughts were going wishy-washy. He failed at going unnoticed and Damien reached out to him with his palm outstretched.
"Hey, Shayne, how are you doing today?"
"Hey!" Shayne said, his voice cracking, and Damiens eyes died a little, "I…um…"
He felt a kind hand on his forehead, and Damien frowned, "You are way too warm right now, baby boy, let's fix that."
And Shayne shivered, following him close and pressing his weight to Damiens side. "But…I gotta go home, don't I? I gotta…"
"You do, yes." Damien gently guided him through the doors, "And I've got this lovely car to drive you in."
And despite how dizzy he felt, Shayne found himself sporting a smile across his whole face, sitting in the passenger seat of Damiens car. When Damien Haas turned it on, a slow, pretty Frank Sinatra song started playing. And sure, it was strange to hear something other than rock through his speakers but Shayne wasn’t complaining.
And Damien hummed to the tune of “Come fly with me” and “The way you look tonight.” His sweater was warm and heavy around his drawn up shoulders, and he smiled. And he kept smiling as he stared straight ahead at the road.
And it was almost a dream by then, something left in the background and Damiens strong hands steered them away from Willowtown High, away from the gawkers, the trolls, and the asshats that ruled the grounds.
So Shayne didn’t notice with the fever burning up, but Damien was watching him over his fists, blinking back emotions he didn’t know how to feel. Cause Shayne was…
Well, he was here in Damiens passenger seat, sitting on a tossed blanket and duct tape that he’d thrown on last year from unfortunate friends and even more unlucky dares. He was here, coughing into his sleeve, barely holding on despite Damien driving slow and careful, his foot stepping light on the gas pedal. With flushed, rosy cheeks and swimming eyes, Shayne looked pretty. So pretty.
The second Shayne got over that cough, he was taking his boy out of Willowtown.