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"You don't know it-"
Shawn didn't know how Cory had convinced him to do this.
"But sometimes-"
Actually, he didn't really convince him. He just… signed him up when Shawn specifically said he didn't want to. Cory talked of his reckless spontaneity, as if Cory himself didn't fit that more often. It was one of the things Shawn loved about him.
"You don't know it-"
Shawn looked at the group of students, his hands clutching the microphone stand like it was the only thing holding him down to the earth as he prepared to spill his guts out onto the student union floor. Cory was looking at him intensely.
"But sometimes-"
Cory was looking at him.
"Sometimes-"
Intensely.
And Shawn couldn't breathe.
He felt like he really was going to spill his guts onto the student union floor.
Air. He needed air.
"I'm sorry, I can't." Shawn's words caught in his throat and tears pricked his eyes as he got off stage and ran outside, ignoring his friends' concerned words.
He leaned against the brick wall of the building, trying to catch his breath, trying to slow his racing heart. The world was spinning around him and he could hardly remember where he was.
Why did Shawn choose the poem he wrote about his best friend? There was an entire half of a journal full of poetry, and he just had to choose one of the ones about his unrequited love. Good thing he stopped where he did, or Cory might've surely known-
Wait.
The journal…
He left his journal on stage.
Shawn took one last deep breath, before standing up straight, and going to the door. He just needed to get his journal and leave.
He opened the door.
And he looked at Cory.
"-By virtue of degree."
That little shit.
Shawn stormed up to his friend, and grabbed him by the arm. "Outside. Now."
Cory followed him outside, and Shawn snatched the journal away from him.
"Shawn, that poem was-"
"Shut up." Shawn cut Cory off. "How do I put this… who do you think you are?"
"Well, I was just-" Cory started.
"No. We are not doing this." Shawn had never been angrier at Cory Matthews. Cory, who was the perfect American boy. Cory, who had helped Shawn out of nearly every situation. Cory, who had worked harder than even Shawn to get him into college. Cory, who Shawn had fallen head over heels for time and time again. "That was a complete and total violation of my trust."
"I'm sorry, Shawnie."
"No. No, no, no. I don't want your apology. You crossed a line today, Cory. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you were wrong."
"I was wrong. I guess."
Shawn huffed, and turned around, kicking the brick wall. "You guess? You guess? God, Cory, do you ever hear yourself?" Cory didn't answer. "Do you even know what my poetry is about? That poem Feeny read in class, the one you hated so much, did you even think about what it was about?"
"I don't…"
"That one you just read to the entire student union, to our friends, to yourself, do you know who that was about?"
"Some girl, right?" Cory said, and Shawn wasn't sure if he was relieved or even more angry that Cory was clueless. "I mean, come on, Shawnie. I may be an idiot, but that was a love poem if I've ever seen one."
Shawn decided on anger. He was so completely and totally pissed. "Fuck you."
"Shawn."
"I'm going to our room. I'll see you later."
Shawn walked back to his dorm, and everything felt wrong. The earth was spinning just a little off axis and gravity was a little heavier than it should've been and the air was too foggy for Shawn to see anything real.
He kicked off his boots and got in bed with his clothes on, trying to dispel the images of his forbidden yearning from his mind.
Cory would soon figure out the poem was about him, and he'd request to move dorms and then avoid Shawn for the rest of his life. All because Cory just had to go and interfere.
He hated him.
And he hated himself for loving him.
Shawn stayed in bed, covers pulled up to half cover his face, staring into the dark room at nothing in particular for a few hours, waiting for his tears to dry into his face, not bothering to wipe them away. He was pathetic.
That was when the door opened.
Cory entered their room, and shut the door quietly. Shawn's face was turned away from the door, so he figured Cory would assume he was asleep. Cory knew better.
"Shawn?" Cory started. "Shawnie, I really am sorry."
Shawn didn't respond.
Cory respected that, and started taking his shoes off and getting into his pajamas.
When Cory went to lay down, Shawn spoke.
"Do you remember when we were kids, and I would be upset or scared or lost, and I'd climb through your window and get in bed with you without a single word being said?" Shawn didn't move from his curled up position, not daring to glance at Cory. "And every time, you'd hold me as I tried not to cry."
"And then you'd still end up crying into my shoulder and I'd tell you I was always there for you," Cory said. "And I am."
Cory approached Shawn's bed, and got under the covers next to him. He wrapped his arms around the other, holding him tightly. Shawn turned to face him, before resting his head on Cory's shoulder.
"And I'm sorry, I truly am, for what I did earlier," Cory continued. "You're right. I was wrong, and I crossed a line. And I'll never do it again."
"Thanks. And thank you for being here for me." Shawn pulled back slightly to look at Cory's face. "You really are the only person I feel completely and wholly safe around."
"What do you mean?"
"It's like… when I'm around most people, after a while it gets hard to breathe. Like I'm suffocating and need to get away. And some people, like Topanga and Angela… I don't know, it's easier to breathe. But with you, it's like you're personally putting the air into my lungs and it's just…"
"The air between two stars."
Shawn blinked slowly. "Huh?"
"That was my favorite line in the poem," Cory said, softly. "I thought it was beautiful. Whoever you wrote it about must be really important to you."
Shawn smiled, wondering if Cory could see the sadness in his eyes. "Yeah. He is."
"If someone wrote a poem like that about me…" Cory pushed Shawn's hair out of his face. "I think I'd… wait." He froze for a moment, hand still in Shawn's hair. "You said he."
"What?"
"I said whoever the poem is about must be important to you. You said, 'he is.' He."
Shawn wondered if Cory could feel his heart skipping some beats. "I did."
"Who did you write that poem about?"
Shawn glanced down at Cory's lips, then back at his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes. "I don't wanna say," Shawn said.
"Shawn, are you-"
"I'm not talking."
"It's a shame," Cory said. "I love to hear you talk."
Shawn shook his head, sitting up in bed. "Cory, stop."
"Stop what?" Cory asked, sitting up as well. He sat against the headboard, his hands folded in his lap innocently. And Shawn's thoughts were straying from innocence.
"Saying stuff like that. You make it sound like-"
"Like what?" Cory reached up, his fingers tracing over Shawn's jawline, and Shawn could feel how shaky Cory's hand was.
Shawn simultaneously wanted to pull away and lean closer to Cory's touch. "Like you love me."
"Why should I stop then?"
Shawn had never seen Cory this confident and sure of himself. Granted, his hands were shaking and Shawn could practically hear the other boy's heartbeat, but his words were solid and sure. Like for once in his life, he knew what he wanted.
And Shawn knew what he wanted, too.
"Because I might just have to kiss you," Shawn said.
"Well, that would be a shame. Can't let that happen, can we?"
"Yeah."
"Right. Because kissing might lead to other things. Like holding hands, or going out, or sharing a bed." Cory tapped the headboard with his free hand, the one that wasn't still caressing Shawn's face.
"We're already sharing a bed. We've been sharing a bed our whole lives."
"Well. We might as well kiss, then," Cory said with a smile.
Shawn loved poetry.
He loved stringing words together that would take someone three whole readings to really understand what he meant. It was beautiful and private and really just Shawn's inner feelings spewed onto a page. He'd rip his heart out of his chest and the blood from that turned to ink as he wrote the words, "At most you would know nothing of the beauty your existence throws to me." He was nothing but a conglomeration of organs but those organs breathed life into words that would kiss another's soul. Pen on paper was the only place anyone could truly understand Shawn Hunter.
And no one would understand that moment right then.
Because Shawn couldn't find the words.
Not a single poetic thought, not a single piece of romantic imagery came to mind as his best friend straddled his lap and was kissing him more intensely than anyone had before.
Like years of longing were pulling them together, two opposing poles of a magnet, and the energy felt electric, making the hairs stick up on the back of Shawn's neck.
Even the poets of the romantic era would look upon the boys in that state and say that nothing they could write would ever capture how beautiful it truly was.
The two of them fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, like links in a chain, like two sides of a clasp. Shawn wasn't sure if he believed in soulmates, but in that moment he could understand the feeling that someone's soul was a part of his, and they were twisting and meshing into one as lips moved against lips and they were grasping for any sort of contact, having waited for this moment their entire lives.
Shawn may have been being dramatic, but dramatics made for good art.
That's what it was. It was art within itself, that was why he couldn't write about it. You wouldn't write a poem about a painting or a sculpture, the art is already there! (But if you were to do that, Shawn would still respect it.)
Shawn tried to stifle a moan when Cory started kissing at his neck, which felt more needy and animalistic than poetic, but at that point, he really was just filled with need.
"Cory-" He inhaled sharply, the butterflies in his gut going absolutely wild. "Cory, hold on."
Cory pulled away and looked into Shawn's eyes. "Shawn?"
"I love you."
"I love you too," Cory said, before going back for Shawn's neck.
"Cory, seriously." Shawn shifted away, sitting up again, and Cory sat next to him, with his hand on Shawn's knee. "Listen."
Cory nodded, his eyes wide open, burning holes through all of Shawn's metaphorical walls. "Sorry."
"I've been in love with you for years. That poem I wrote… it's only one of many I did about you and about how we could never be together and how I think deep down you're the only person I have ever truly loved to such a degree."
"Shawnie, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that this-" he gestured between the two of them "-is serious to me. It's not some sort of one night fling. And I need to know that you understand that."
"I understand completely," Cory said. The faintest hint of a smile danced in his lips. "You're my everything, Shawn. You always have been. You always will be."
"Maybe you could be a poet," Shawn said.
"I'll leave the fancy words to you, I think," Cory said. "And I'll focus on giving you material to write about."
And their lips met again, a softer, slower dance, now that they knew that it wasn't a one time situation, their love for eachother. They would have every day for the rest of their lives to kiss every inch of the other's skin, to know the other inside and out.
Shawn needed more words, he decided. He wanted to write so hundreds of years in the future, anthropologists would look at his work and know everything about the beauty of Cory Matthews, and how he was Shawn's everything. How he was his heartbeat and the air in his lungs and everything in between.
Shawn would one day find the words to describe the moment he finally felt like everything clicked into place, and he'd write them all down and it'd fill pages upon pages of his journal. And he'd still feel it wasn't anywhere close to how beautiful it really was.
How beautiful he really was.
But maybe Shawn was just being dramatic.