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Gus is waiting at Franz’s door when he opens it. He’s wearing a crisp grey blazer and the purple shirt Franz has seen him in a hundred times. Compared to the latter’s towel and dripping wet hair, Gus is overdressed.
“Hello. Shawn is in the shower,” he greets, stepping aside so Gus can make himself comfortable in his home.
Gus takes one look at Franz and must decide promptly that he doesn’t want to know anymore. “I’m not here for Shawn. I’m here for you. You’re friends with Juliet, right?”
Franz makes a ‘so-so’ motion with his hand. “Ja. I think, at least,” he says, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door so he can put underwear and pants on, leaving a crack open so Gus can keep on talking.
“Is that Gus?” Shawn asks from inside the shower, curtain drawn tight.
“He says he needs to talk to me. I— don’t remember the words to explain in English,” Franz explains. He pulls up his jeans and doesn’t bother with a shirt.
“Why can’t he talk to me?” Shawn questions.
“It’s about Juliet. I don’t know. You can ask him when you get out.”
He’s slithering his belt through the loops as he walks back into the living room, where Gus has himself seated. (On his favourite cushion on the couch, too.)
“So, what did you need about Juliet?— Need to talk—“ He winces at the lack of clarity, and then tries again. “Juliet and I are friends. Not close, not like you and Shawn. I think we are friends.”
Gus’s expression changes to one Franz can’t describe. It’s like worry, this strange vulnerability Franz has never seen Gus express near him, let alone to him. Him and Gus have always had a distant relationship. He’s dating Shawn’s best friend, and sometimes he helps them on cases or drives them around, and sometimes he and Gus have to hang out without Shawn for a time, but they certainly aren’t very close.
“What would—“ Gus starts, then pauses, and Franz can almost see the gears in his head turning, shifting, rerouting themselves. “What could a guy do to, you know, impress her?”
Franz frowns in confusion, bewilderment. Maybe this is too odd for him. He’s sitting in his house, in Canada, wearing no shirt and talking to his boyfriend’s best friend about a girl they both know—who just happens to work for the police force.
“I— why would I know?” he says, in German. Then, in English, “I’m not sure. What were you thinking?”
Gus looks startled. “Oh, no. I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for a friend,” he explains, tone rising slightly, obviously.
Franz raises an eyebrow. He knows Gus is asking for himself. Everybody who has eyes can tell that Gus likes her—friends or not. “You are asking for a friend who also knows Juliet?” he responds.
Visually unsure, Gus stumbles on his words, but Franz makes a point of shrugging it off before he can say anything else. “What was your friend thinking of doing?”
“Dinner and a movie, but that’s too basic. Juliet is worth so much more—“ he explains, and Franz watches him force his hands not to fidget. Gus isn’t a man who needs to fiddle with something to focus, he doesn’t twirl his thumbs or crack his knuckles, and he certainly doesn’t do whatever Shawn does, but he looks like he needs to fidget now, like it’s his human right to do so.
“I see,” he says, even though he really doesn’t. He understands that Juliet is great and deserves a decent boyfriend who will take care of her properly, but he doesn’t understand how much more she can be viewed as. Maybe it’s because Shawn is at the centre of Franz’ solar system, he orbits around him, like the sun and earth; earth and moon. Maybe it’s because ever since he’s known Shawn he’s been practically in love with him. Maybe it’s because Juliet is his friend, who he can’t even imagine having a serious relationship, let alone one with Gus.
Before Gus can say anything else, Shawn opens the door to the bathroom and steps out. He’s in an old shirt Franz owned before it shrunk in the wash and blue jeans. The shirt reads “Ask me about my BMW” in German.
Shawn flops on the seat next to Franz, facing Gus. “I can’t believe you’re talking to my boyfriend about Juliet.”
“We’re talking about his friend liking Juliet,” Franz interjects, nudging Shawn softly. It’s taking all of his willpower not to ask how Shawn’s feeling or if he needs anything or if he’s allowed to speak with the baby yet—even if it isn’t even really formed at this stage. He doesn’t do any of this, because Shawn still wants to keep it a secret, because Shawn doesn’t want really anybody to know. He’s pretty sure Shawn would prefer to never tell anybody if that were possible. He isn’t showing, and the only sign that something has changed is all the vomiting he’s doing.
Franz doesn’t want to push him to tell, as much as he’s so completely euphoric, unbelievably, incredibly happy about the fact that’s he’s going to be a dad.
He can’t imagine what Shawn’s going through. Not only with the physical changes—off T, nausea—but also with the mental changes. Men really aren’t supposed to be having babies. Shawn’s an exeception to this rule, of course, but it must be extremely frustrating to be in a situation women go through, in the way most men don’t.
Shawn has never really discussed how being trans has affected him. He was lucky enough to have supportive parents who let him grow up as a boy, pass outwardly, correct pronouns. However, this is a whole different ballpark. It’s not feminizing, but it’s something Franz can’t place. It’s something he hopes Shawn isn’t having issues with—or will let him help in any way he can.
So, Franz wants to help. He wants to kiss Shawn’s belly and make him a strudel—because he always used to make it for his sister, and he wants to pray and thank God for giving him this child.
(What other gay men get to have biological children with their boyfriends?)
However, he doesn’t do any of this, because Gus, Shawn’s best friend since forever, doesn’t know and Franz isn’t sure Shawn even knows how to tell him. It’s such a big change.
“You’re actually going with the ‘my friend has a crush on the girl I actually have a crush on, but my friend is secretly me’ route? Dude, they stopped doing that in the 90s,” Shawn comments. He’s half laying on Franz, stretched out and comfortable and safe, no barriers between them, no walls to gently run his hands over, and Franz has to bite back an indulgent smile.