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“He’s hiding something!”
Across from Shawn, Jasmine looks up from her laptop, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Dave,” Shawn clarifies.” He’s been acting weird for half a month. Slipping out randomly at random hours, looking all excited and when he gets back, he’s like a kicked puppy. Keeps being all secretive like he’s in some sort of spy movie. When I asked him yesterday what he was looking at on his phone, he nearly tossed it across our room! And then he said he was looking at pictures of Topher’s recent vlog. Which is absurd because Topher’s vlogs suck, and Dave’s complained about it to both me and Topher.”
“Hm,” says Jasmine.
Shawn huffs. “C’mon, Jas, are you even listening to a word I’m saying?”
“I’m sorry, I’m just—you’re saying Dave is hiding something from you? Are you sure we’re talking about the right guy?”
“Better yet, are we sure your paranoia isn’t acting up again?” Sammy puts in, approaching their table in the cafe and sitting next to Jasmine with two cups of Starbucks coffee. She leans against Jasmine and Shawn envies the easy way Jasmine rests her head atop her girlfriend’s blonde one. He and Dave are like that too, more or less…until recently when Dave decided his weird escapades are more important.
“I’m not being paranoid this time,” Shawn protests. “He’s acting weird and I’m about to lose it.”
“Mate, you’re weird on a good day—”
“Downright crazy on a bad one,” adds Sammy. Shawn lightly kicks her ankle under the table.
“—and Dave handles you just fine—”
“Then again, he can be just as weird too sometimes,” Sammy cuts in again. Shawn kicks her a bit harder and she does a half-yelp half-laugh.
“So maybe you should cut him some slack and see what’s up first,” finishes Jasmine. “Dave isn’t the type to act weird without a reason. ‘S a matter of fact, he’ll probably be horrified if you tell him he is. Being weird, I mean.”
“Plus he definitely cares about you,” says Sammy. “So it’s not like he’s cheating on you or anything—he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to do that either. His emotional range is like—” she sets her index finger and thumb an inch apart, “—that big. And you take up three-fourths of it.”
“Didn’t he clean out your closet full of instant ramen last year?” asks Jasmine, stifling laughter. “That’s plenty evidence that he’s going to be around for a long while.”
Shawn groans, giving both snickering girls the stink-eye. “Will you let that go already? Okay, so he got into my apocalypse-stock-up stash, great, huzzah. Honestly, I don’t even know what I expected when I came to you guys about this. You’re terrible at this shit.”
“Because there’s nothing to be said!” exclaims Sammy. “You two are idiots in love, nothing more to it. Oh, oh! Maybe he’s being all secretive because—”
All of a sudden, she stops talking with a deer-in-the-headlights look that Shawn associates with her nearly giving away something huge.
“What?” he asks. “What is it? Because what?”
“Nothing,” Sammy replies quickly. She chuckles nervously and sends a look at Jasmine who returns it tenfold; one that can only be described as diluted panic. “It’s probably nothing.”
“You’re a shit liar,” Shawn tells her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Anyway,” Jasmine says, closing her notebook shut noisily, jolting the other two occupants of the table out of their stand-off. “Bottom line is that there’s nothing fishy with Dave. Just talk to him about it or something—but please, for the love of God and everything that’s holy, don’t kick up a shitstorm.”
Shawn glances from Jasmine to Sammy, positive that there’s something hidden from him here as well; something big and he has a niggling feeling it’s something obvious too, but he’s preoccupied with his boyfriend that he pushes the concerns away for a later time.
“I don’t ‘kick up shitstorms’,” he says finally—and is it him or do both girls relax minutely when he’d accepted the change of subject? Something’s seriously cooking here, is a national holiday coming up? The last time everyone acted weird was during Christmas break, but that’s to be expected. Dave had gifted him a fancy voice recorder for his on-the-go conspiracy podcasting (the zombies are out there, and so are the aliens, he knows it!) after the New Year’s party.
(Shawn’s gift, a stunning potted flora, for his plant-loving-dirt-hating boyfriend seemed pale in comparison, he thought. Until he saw Dave beam upon seeing it. He still tends to it meticulously.)
Point being, it’s only March. Christmas is ages away.
“Yeah you do, mate,” Jasmine laughs. “Go out bush, you do.”
Shawn blinks.
“Babe, Australian translation, remember?” Sammy grins, pecking her cheek.
“Pretty simple enough: it means Shawn goes bonkers when he reaches his edge. We all remember what went down last October, I presume?”
“We are not talking about last October,” Shawn interjects. What happened last October stays in last October. “We’re talking about the lack of proper communication in my relationship and your lack of seriousness on the matter.”
“Shawn.” Jasmine leans forward and places her hands over his. She looks him dead in the eye, the first sign of sincere seriousness in her own. “Trust us on this. There’s nothing fishy going on—well, not the bad kind of fishy.”
“Thanks, I feel so much better,” Shawn mutters sarcastically.
Jasmine’s eyebrow rises again. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sammy slurp her latte, blue-green eyes flicking between them as though watching a tennis match.
“Fine,” he sighs, long and heavy. “Fine, I won’t cause a shitstorm.”
Jasmine and Sammy’s eyes brighten.
“Atta boy!” Jasmine crows, removing her hands and turning back to her laptop. “Now let me finish this report in peace. I only have four hours to submit it and I am running on seven energy drinks and three coffees. I’m ready to take my life in my hands as well as anyone who dares interrupt me.”
Sammy rolls her eyes in fond exasperation and hoists Shawn up by looping her arm in his. “Come on, let’s get you something before Jasmine kills us all. How about coffee?”
“Only if it’s black coffee.”
“You are the menace to society everyone is warned of.”
[***]
Okay, Shawn knows he made a promise to Jasmine and Sammy literally six hours ago—something about not kicking up a shitstorm, whatever that means because he’s never done that before, last October excepted—but all that seems far away right now as he’s leaned against the trunk perched on one of the higher branches of one of the higher trees behind their apartment building.
Because Dave said he’d be back in time for dinner—which is a godsend because Shawn cannot cook—but turns out he had to heat up leftovers (and some ramen but honestly fuck Dave’s fussing, this is what happens when he bails out on his word) because Dave didn’t fucking show up. For that matter, he still hasn’t shown up and, after eating, Shawn spent all of thirty minutes in their living room before the quiet got to him and he found himself yearning for the great outdoors.
Shawn kicks a twig off his branch and watches it tumble down the length of the tree. He doesn’t hear it fall, he’s too high up.
Sighing, he digs around in his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lights one up, blows a ring of smoke into the sky. Feels his lungs expand and contract (if Dave were here, he’d have given him that Disappointed Resigned Look). He doesn’t smoke often, only when he’s really stressed and nothing else stops his twitching fingers other than holding a cigarette; he’s pretty sure—like more than ninety percent sure—that this counts as a ‘stressful situation’ on his end.
Doesn’t mean Dave isn’t going to kill him though. Not that Shawn minds; Dave’s incandescent fussing is pretty amusing, it shows that he cares and Shawn needs that kind of reassurance in his life.
This time, however, when he hears the backdoor swing open with a creak, and sees the short figure approach the yard, Shawn doesn’t stub out the blunt like he usually does. He keeps smoking, almost like a nonverbal fuck you, as Dave stops at the base of the tree he’s on, looks up, and calls, voice carrying upward by the night breeze: “What’re you doing up there?”
Shawn shrugs, calls back down, “enjoying the scenery” and blows another ring of smoke. Yeah, he knows he’s being unreasonable right now, the voice that sounds like Jasmine tuts in his mind, but he’s too tired and grumpy to care. He’d been expecting to have a nice dinner and maybe nag Dave to continue watching The Walking Dead (and no, it’s not because he has an excuse to cuddle the other man who freaks out at the sight of zombies which is like every other scene, pfft, who do you take him for?).
Instead, he’d spent most of the night eating hard leftovers with no one sitting across from him, an empty flat, and ashes falling from his blunt onto his vest. Not really the best way to end the day.
He waits for the sounds of Dave retreating back to their flat, letting him wring himself out of the funk he’s in. Instead, to his surprise, he hears rustling and grunts, growing louder by the minute, until Dave’s head pops up—leaf-strewn and bemused—on the branch Shawn is on.
He scrambles up and automatically, Shawn reaches out an arm for a handhold, allowing the shorter boy to use him to heave himself up so that they’re sitting side-by-side. For a moment, neither of them speaks, content to watch the moon and be in each other’s presence.
The words fall from Shawn’s mouth (maybe the nicotine in his system is making him more confident): “Where have you been?”
“What do you mean?”
Shawn wouldn’t have pressed the question if not for the slightest way Dave’s shoulders, brushed up against his own, had tensed.
Yep, he’s totally hiding something. Shawn tries not to let his hurt show; Dave’s free to do whatever he wants, Shawn isn’t this uber-controlling boyfriend, he’s not going to restrict the guy!
But why is he being so damn secretive about it?
Shawn huffs. “Dude, you’ve been acting weird for nearly a month. Come on, just tell me, already, it’s driving me half-mad.”
But Dave appears to have focused on just one part of his statement: “dude?”
It's not like saying that is totally abnormal, especially when it comes to someone like Shawn. But it is also their informal way of communicating since dating; whenever the ‘dudes’ and ‘mans’ come out unironically, something’s up. It helps to make things obvious because they both can be dense as fuck with communicating. And considering Shawn's current mood, he can practically see the gears in Dave's head turning.
“If you don’t want to tell me, fine, I don’t care.” But he does and it’s obvious in the way he pointedly turns from Dave, pulling in more smoke into his lungs as a way of distracting himself from losing face when he meets Dave’s eyes.
Nope, he can’t have that happen. Enough is enough. No getting soft. He’s here to prevail.
“It’s nothing, seriously,” Dave says, when Shawn doesn’t look back at him. His voice is lowered as though understanding the gravity of the situation. “Nothing you need to be worried about, mind you. It’s—“ he hesitates. “I can’t say. Not now.”
“You can’t say,” Shawn repeats.
Dave winces. “I really can’t. It’s…better that way—at least for now. You’ll see soon enough.”
“I’ll see soon enough.” Wow, Shawn’s really imitating a parrot tonight. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. “Okay just tell me this one thing—are you getting coerced into a cult or something?”
All seriousness flies out the metaphorical window. Dave sputters. “What? No!”
“You sure? Not even a zombie cult?
“No!”
“Okay. That’s good.” Thank god for small miracles—Shawn is not ready to go head-to-head with a cult. (He probably, likely, definitely would’ve, though, for Dave, but that’s another story.)
“Are we done with the random questioning now? Can we go back inside, it’s freezing!”
Indeed, when their hands brush and pinkies interlock, Dave’s is ice-cold. Shawn responds by tugging him closer with an arm around the shoulder. An unspoken nope not done yet.
(Dave responds to that by sticking his freezing hands in the pockets of Shawn’s vest. At least it isn’t under his sweater. Shawn suspects he hadn’t done that because they’re both on a tree.)
The thing is, unlike Jasmine, Dave isn’t as subtle with his changing topics (not that Jasmine is all that subtle too, Dave’s just worse. According to Shawn). Which brings Shawn back to the not-so-reassuring subject that his boyfriend is still doing something fishy and, for some reason, he doesn’t want Shawn to know about it.
“Can you at least put out the cigarette if we’re going to stick around up here?” Dave grumps.
Shawn blows a final puff of smoke before grinding the last bits of it in a square piece of aluminum foil he’d brought with him, crumpling it into a ball to dispose of later.
“There. I did it.”
“Congratulations,” says Dave sarcastically. Shawn wants to kiss that tone away; dating’s made him soft. He still finds it shocking, a year later, that he doesn’t mind that much.
“I did it,” he repeats. “Now it’s only fair for you to return the favor. What’ve you been doing?”
Dave groans. “Not this again!”
“You’re freaking me out, man, you’re never like this. Is it really so bad if I knew?”
“Yes!” Dave pulls a hand out of his pocket to throw it up exasperatedly. “Yes, it really is. I already said it’s nothing bad, nothing you need to worry about. Plus there are others—“
He abruptly stops. Shawn latches onto it immediately.
“Others? So you’ve a whole group of people who know this so-very-intriguing secret except me? Are you sure you’re not in a cult?”
Dave shakes his head, muttering, “you’re killing me here.”
“Right back at you. Actually, you know what?”
“Shawn—“
“Until you think it’s the right time to tell me this secret of yours, I’m not talking to you.”
Dave stares. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh yes, I am. During the apocalypse, you’ve got to stay quiet most of the time, I’ve perfected it. You’re not getting a word. Maybe the zombie fanbase you’ve got going on will be better company.”
[***]
“I told you not to kick up a shitstorm!”
Shawn buries his face in his toque. Jasmine hadn’t stopped ranting since she entered the library, leaving Sammy to shoot apologetic looks at everyone who gave them dirty looks. He hazards the slightest guess that Dave must’ve informed her of last night.
Speaking of last night…
Why had he done that?! He sticks his face farther in his beanie, hoping the fabric might fucking suffocate him because goddamn why why why did he do that?!
He’d gotten all butthurt just because Dave didn’t want to tell him something probably personal, ugh, way to endorse healthy boundaries!
Jasmine falls heavily on her chair. “I thought your other half is the one to take things so personally so quickly, not you.”
Shawn makes a muffled sound.
“What was that?”
He lifts his head. “I said I think I fucked up, but I have a good reason!”
Jasmine literally facepalms. “And what reason is that?”
“I thought he was in a cult!”
The table next to them looks over. Sammy shoots them a strained smile. Shawn literally doesn’t care.
Jasmine gapes at him. “You thought—I—I thought you were going to give the whole conspiracy thing a rest.”
“I am!” He retorts defensively. “I mean, other than the zombie apocalypse because that’s no freaking conspiracy.”
Sammy is the one to facepalm this time.
“I was just worried y’know? He’s not someone who acts…well, like the way he’s been acting lately and I thought at first he’s been Bitten somehow, but the symptoms don’t add up. Then I thought…”
He pauses, aware suddenly that he’s about to unveil his innermost worries to his friends while in a public library.
“Yeah,” he concludes lamely, backing out at the last minute. “Yeah that’s basically it.”
Staring so hard at his toque that it’s a wonder it doesn’t burst into flames, Shawn misses the nonverbal communication Jasmine and Sammy send each other with their eyes.
Finally, Jasmine sets a hand on his arm. “Okay.”
At that, Shawn looks up. “Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. We believe you.”
Shawn’s eyes switch from Jasmine to Sammy, incredulity coloring his voice as he says “you do?”
Jasmine and Sammy exchange looks.
“Yeah, we get you. Kind of,” says Sammy. “I mean, when I started dating Jasmine, I couldn’t believe my luck. Even months, a year later, I kept worrying I’ll slip somehow or she’ll get tired or annoyed or bored with me—“
Jasmine kisses her hand, right atop her knuckles, murmuring “never” as she does.
“So I get it, Shawn, I get not knowing the whole romance stuff and not having prior experience and thinking you, as a person, will freak the other person away.” She grasps Jasmine's hand. “I get that completely.”
Shawn’s jaw drops.
“How,” he begins weakly. “How did you—“
She shrugs. “You don’t have to say it. We’re your friends.”
“This silent treatment isn’t going to land you anywhere, Shawn, go talk to him,” Jasmine urges. “Really, I bet it’s not as bad as you think it is.”
[***]
Shawn doesn’t talk to him.
Consider it pride or sheer stubbornness, but despite not even being mad at Dave, Shawn still continues with the silent treatment.
Okay, technically, it isn’t really a silent treatment. They still communicate, offhandedly, it’s just not as…intimate as before? Is that the right word? Whatever it may be, the vibe that makes them spend nights curled up together either watching dystopian movies or cheesy romcoms, Shawn attempting to cook with Dave swatting him away with the spatula, and them trash-talking large companies while eating breakfast as Dave scrolls through Twitter—all that has dimmed significantly because Shawn’s being a stubborn as fuck shit.
Dave’s not any better, not that that’s much comfort. He takes whatever’s going on in stride; Shawn suspects he probably didn't expect things to spiral the way they had, but to his credit, he doesn’t take it as personally as Shawn presumed he would. Other than occasional puppy-eyes sent his way and a wavering uncertainty, like he’s on the brink of saying something but ultimately stops himself, Dave controls himself pretty decently.
So does Shawn.
Basically, they’re both being stubborn pieces of shit and likely waiting to see who’ll crack first.
This, too, surprises Shawn because while Dave is stubborn, he isn’t so much when it comes to them. Between the two of them, Dave's the one who usually worries more about their relationship dynamics.
Their friends pick up on the weird vibes.
“Seriously? All this for one measly secret?” Topher had asked. (Shawn had jumped down from the tree he’d been on, landing in a large puddle and intentionally splashing the other boy).
Sammy just rolled her eyes, muttering something about “stubborn idiots” which Shawn took offense to, even though he knows it’s one-hundred-percent true.
Jasmine’s was the strangest though: “Shawn, you should really check your calendar. I’m assuming you haven’t.”
Well, she’s totally wrong about that. He’s checked it; the first week of March. Nothing special.
And they call him the weird one.
Then Thursday comes along. Shawn wakes up on the tree he’s been sleeping on ever since the beginning of the silent-but-also-not treatment. The sun is shining, snow is melting in wet patches, and he actually feels ready to take on the day.
This lasts for a grand total of fifteen minutes until he enters his and Dave’s shared bedroom, thinking that maybe he can sneakily take a quick shower or at least grab a new sweater before Dave wakes up, and comes face-to-face with his boyfriend who’s wide-awake and holding a packet in his hands.
They stare at each other.
“Hi,” says Dave. He fumbles the package. “Um, you have a minute right?”
“What’s up?” asks Shawn.
That appears to be enough to open the gates. A torrent of words break free from Dave like he’s been waiting days to say all of it, and Shawn exerts intense focus to catch all that’s being thrown at him.
“Listen, I know I’ve been acting weird this past few weeks, and honestly you’ve every reason to be upset, but I never meant for it to spiral like this, it was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, but it’s surprisingly hard to get something like this at any ordinary store, so it took a little while more, and yeah flowers are nice, but I’m allergic to like a bunch of those, plus I wanted to give you something more special for our one-year-anniversary, so uh,” he sticks out the package, wrapped neatly because of course it is. “Here you go. And maybe now you’ll start talking to me again? Hopefully?”
Dumbly, Shawn takes the gift, his brain going a mile a minute. As his fingers tear open the wrapping paper carefully, specific words from Dave’s flood of words hit him harder: one-year-anniversary, something more special.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He feels even worse when he takes a good look at what’s under all that wrapping paper.
A book. But not just any book. His favorite book—the one about surviving the apocalypse and how to handle zombies.
Flipping to the front page, the first thing he sees is a scrawling signature. It’s autographed?
He’d fight a hundred zombies for the very thing in his hands—a signed copy of his favorite book—and here it is from Dave, who Shawn, while he loves the guy, didn’t think he’d noticed stuff like this—stuff involving his zombie-obsession—before.
Plus the odds of Dave going store-to-store asking for a book that people might give him weird second glances about leaves Shawn astounded.
Dimly, he hears Dave ask with a tinge of uncertainty, “do you like it?”
He tries to speak. Honestly. But his throat is too tight and his eyes are burning, and he’s swamped with immeasurable guilt.
He stares at the book that Dave had spent weeks bending over backward to get for him. Belatedly, his mind clicks everything into place: this was what Dave had been acting all secretive about, this is why Dave said “I can’t tell you” because he was trying to keep it a surprise. And Shawn had acted like such a jerk over it…
Oh god. This was why Jasmine asked him that calendar question. And Shawn had checked. He’d glanced past the date, completely forgetting that, in the romance department, it’s supposed to be an important day, and that he, himself, is now a part of said romance department…
His throat tightens, his ears ring.
“Oh god,” he whispers and stumbles back, sits down hard on their bed. “I…I forgot. ”
Dave snorts. “Yeah, I kinda figured when you did the equivalent of looking like hell froze over when I told you I had to keep the literal anniversary gift I was planning for you a secret.”
Shawn shakes his head. His hands clutch the book. He’s heard stories around campus about how shit of a lover you have to be to forget an anniversary. “I don’t deserve this. I forgot— o pierdolony boże I’m sorry, I’m no good with these kinds of things and you know I’m trying but it completely slipped and it shouldn’t have, but that’s no excuse…” he looks up, “why aren’t you upset?”
“Hey,” Dave takes two steps forward until he’s close enough to rest his hands on Shawn’s shoulders. “It’s fine, okay?”
“How can you say that? I literally forgot—”
“It’s fine,” Dave repeats. “You said you’re not so experienced about love and stuff, and I know that. You’re my best friend before you became my boyfriend, I know how crappy you are at these kinds of things.”
At Shawn’s stricken look, he quickly rectifies: “shit, I didnt mean that in, like, a bad way, just trying to lighten the mood—aw fuck, guess we can both be shitty at things together, huh?”
That gets a faint chuckle out of Shawn and Dave smiles.
“Anyway, I am trying to be more open with stuff like this, so I understand, really. You’re already enough for me.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Wow, sorry, was that too cheesy?”
Shawn laughs for real this time. “You’ve been watching too many romcoms.”
Dave shoves him lightly. “Hey, I like the happy endings, okay? Sue me.” His face softens. “You know I don’t mind, right? You’re trying and I love that you are, just like I love you. We’re both trying our hands at this.”
Shawn shakes his head in awe, staring up at this man who’s an emotional mess, sarcastic, pessimistic, judgemental, open-minded, considerate, and willing to try and understand with him. This man who’s his and has been formally for an entire year. The reality is hitting him just now.
Adding on the realization that he isn’t being broken up with, and Shawn’s reaction may have been a bit off the rails for his standards.
Wrapping his arms around Dave’s waist, Shawn tugs him down so that he’s sitting half on the bed and half on his lap. Dave yelps but goes willingly, huffing in suppressed laughter as Shawn kisses up and down his neck.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against the soft brown skin that smells like eucalyptus with a dash of vanilla, and god he’s so in love, he can feel it expanding in his chest. “Thank you for…everything.”
Not just for the book, but everything else in between. He tries to convey that through the kisses too; being vulnerable isn’t his greatest strength either. But he’s working on it, for them.
Dave laughs, raising a hand with the intention to shove Shawn’s head away, but instead, his fingers wind in his hair, mussing the light brown strands. “Stop it, you’re tickling me—yes, yes, of course, it’s the least I can do, you do so much for me too, now stop.” But he’s snorting in laughter and his eyes are bright as he tilts his neck farther to the side, so Shawn doesn’t stop.
They stay like that, wrapped up in each other, kissing and laughing, for a long time, ultimately falling on their sides on the bed. When their high come down temporarily, Dave iterates his journey of finding Shawn’s gift, badmouthing all the stores for making him drive from town to town. Shawn listens intently, tracing nonsensical patterns on Dave’s back, watching the other man’s eyes as he gestures, thinking he can forever get lost in them—and then wondering if Dave’s clicheness has rubbed off on him.
He says breathlessly, cutting Dave off: “I’m going to give you something so awesome tomorrow, mark my words, I’m going to blow your socks off.”
Amused, Dave replies, “Typically, when you’re planning a surprise, you don’t announce it to the person you’re supposed to be surprising.”
Shawn smirks. “Oh, it’s not a surprise. Not this time. I’m saying it so you can prepare yourself.”
Dave cocks an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
Shawn leans forward and presses a determined kiss on the other’s lips. “Wait and see, mój drogi.”
“Fine. But no amount of cute pet names will make me forget to tell you to take your shoes off before getting on the bed, heathen!”
[***]
The next day, neither of them go to their classes. Despite Dave’s complaints the past month of his pathology exam and Shawn’s concerns of possibly failing his statistics paper, academics is the last thing on their mind, if at all.
Today is just Them Time. Or as Shawn puts it: One-Year-Anniversary Extended.
(“It’s not another zombie run, is it?” Dave asks worriedly.
Shawn grins. “It’s a surprise!”
“Oh lord,” mutters Dave; but when Shawn turns around, Dave’s hiding a small smile in his fist.)
From waking up to falling asleep on the roof of their apartment building, spread out on a blanket under the stars, Shawn makes sure everything’s perfect as can be, as he should’ve the day before.
Of course, there were some minor technicalities.
(“You really don’t have to do all this,” whispers Dave, embarrassment warring with the pleased expression on his face as tenants passing by eyed them curiously.
Shawn, who’s in the middle of a massive discussion with the building’s manager about why the roof access should be reserved for them today: “Just let me do this, dude, I swear it’s gonna be great.”)
But in the end, everything went swimmingly.
Along with that, sitting on the nightstand of their room is not only Dave’s gift to Shawn, but also Shawn’s gift to Dave: a sleek calligraphy pen that writes as smoothly as water.
(He’d seen Dave eye it a couple of times in front of the window of that antiques store.)
(Dave hasn’t touched it, not even opened the cap. When Shawn had given it to him, he’d clapped his hands to his mouth and said that there’s no way he’ll be able to use something so beautiful ever. Shawn thought he was messing around. He should’ve known Dave wasn’t.)
Shawn also makes sure to make a note in his calendar with notifications two weeks prior.
From next year onward, Dave can’t be the one in the relationship being all secretive for their anniversaries.
At least, not the only one.