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The sun is just beginning to set above the coastline of Santa Barbara, as Shawn and Gus finally step away from one of the more popular food trucks along this stretch of town, arms laden with fries, burritos and slushies. The warmth has dragged people out of their homes and onto the streets in masses. A hum of joyous chatter lingers in the dusk air. Together, the pair weave through the crowds of people enjoying the warm summer evening and start heading towards the beach.
It’s become somewhat of a ritual now, the two of them and a truck of grease for dinner. Gus practices it religiously.
“I told you they wouldn’t put the slushie in a burrito Shawn. It would go all soggy and gross. Plus, who would even want that anyway?” Gus chastises him, shaking his head in disgust as they wander along. Shawn merely shrugs.
“Me?” He points out, already tearing into his hot burrito, his face relaxing into a look of pure bliss as he chews. “So fucking good,” he mumbles through a mouthful. It was so worth the wait, he decides. Once he swallows, he adds, “Anyways what’s wrong with a dessert burrito? In fact, a burrito dessert bar truck is a brilliant idea, Gus write that down right now!”
“You write it down Shawn!” Gus replies indignantly, opening his takeout box of fries. Huffing, Shawn stops in the middle of the sidewalk, pointedly puts his food down, pulls out a pen from his back pocket, and writes in unreadable handwriting ‘burito desert bar truck sick idea for bussness’, on the back of his hand and puts the pen away again.
“You couldn’t have just remembered that? Also, you spelt burrito wrong, and dessert, and business, stupid” he teases, no real heat behind any of his words. They keep walking, Shawn leaning into Gus in a way that sends Gus’ heart racing slightly faster than it’s supposed to, their arms brushing against each other fleetingly. He does his best to ignore it.
“For one, spelling is pointless and boring, and you are strange for having such a passion for it and two, every good idea starts out as a note written on the back of your hand Gus,” Shawn says matter-a-fact-ly, as if this is all very common knowledge.
Gus clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Your hatred of spelling has ruined my whole life Shawn, starting with that spelling bee I nearly won. I. Nearly. Won. It. Shawn,” he emphasises each word.
Shawn rolls his eyes. They’ve had this argument an insane amount times since it was revealed that Shawn knew what he was doing when giving Gus the wrong letter that fateful day. Gus has forgiven his best friend for many things, but this is not one of those many things.
“C’mon son, I was saving you from a lifetime of boringness and nerdiness. If you had won that silly Bee, you’d have buzzed off to be some stuffy smart person. Instead, you get to hang with me, fighting crime and being badass,”
Gus huffs, but doesn’t respond, instead preoccupying himself by chewing at his fries. If being badass is nearly getting killed on the daily, then sure, it’s just swell.
Before he can stop him, Shawn’s sneaky fingers reach out and grab one of his fries.
“Shawn, I swear to god,” Gus starts, watching with annoyance as Shawn shoves it quickly into his mouth and chews it down before Gus can take it back.
“Suck it,” Shawn sings, feeling immensely proud of himself. Opening his mouth, and then closing it once more, Gus decides not to argue this one. In truth, he doesn’t really mind. Afterall, it’s just Shawn.
Also, he really doesn’t want that chewed up fry back.
They reach the beach and sit down on the dry sand, away from the shoreline, side by side, so close their shoulders are practically touching. It’s not as warm here, the breeze is picking up, and Shawn shivers a little. Gus finds himself wrapping his jacket around his friend’s shoulders.
“Here, I’m not cold,” he offers.
Contentedly, Shawn sighs from under Gus’ clothing and scrunches the foil his burrito came in, into a tight ball in his fist. “I love fast food,” he says at last and Gus smiles. He doesn’t actually eat fast food when Shawn’s not around. It’s sort of their thing- together.
“You know that’s right,” he hums, and sucks his slushie through a paper straw that is slowly disintegrating. He’d never like to say it out loud, as an avid environmentalist and all, but Christ, Shawn is right about straws. The paper ones are shit.
He does his best with the paper mush.
Beside him, Shawn is fidgeting with the sand. He looks up at Gus and, maybe he’s blushing or maybe it’s the low light tricking Gus’ eyes.
“Thanks for giving me your jacket, you’re sure you won’t get cold?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, and Gus shakes his head. He can feel his arms chilling a bit but he’d rather Shawn have it.
“No, I’m fine,”
They sit quietly for a little while. It’s unusual, Shawn usually never shuts up.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally. “It’s so pretty here. And I nearly died. I mean I’ve nearly died a load, but like this time I really nearly died, and I just kept thinking, oh my god, Gus will kill me if I leave him,” His fingers are now against his chest, where the bullet was.
Gus’ breath hitches a little, anxiety flooding through him as he thinks about it. They sort of pretended it didn’t happen, the whole Shawn being kidnapped and shot thing. Shawn was fine, everything was fine, and they moved on. But something did happen. The scar is there, under Gus’ jacket and Shawn’s shirt that was Gus’ first. It’s a deep wound that really did happen.
“I’m so glad you’re not dead,” Gus says rather dumbly. He feels a little stupid after he says it.
Shawn snorts,” Yeah, me too buddy,”
Somehow, in this dusky light, Shawn, despite his many flaws, is beautiful, his face illuminated by the lights from the shops, the cars, the streetlamps and the boats on the water. He’s truly alight, a soft glow framing his figure and Gus feels weirdly drawn, like a moth to a lamp.
His eyes watch Shawn’s lips closely as they move.
“Man, sometimes I feel like I’m going a bit crazy,” Shawn says, his fingers fidgeting in the sand. Frowning, Gus finds himself asking, “Why’s that?”
Shawn doesn’t answer. He just reaches for Gus’ hand. Gus lets him take it, it feels like muscle memory, feels like home.
“When I was bleeding out, I just kept thinking, damn it, there’s so much I wanted to do with you, and tell you. And then I lived, and I still haven’t done it!” He groans, exasperatedly, annoyed at himself. For wasting all this time.
He pulls the pen out from his back pocket again, uncaps it and starts writing on his hand which he’s untangled from Gus’.
“What are you writing?” Gus asks and Shawn just shakes his head, as if to say you’ll see.
And then once he’s finished, he leans close to Gus, his breath tickling the skin of Gus’ neck lightly. “I think I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmurs.
Gus’ heart beats so fast, he thinks it will grow wings and burst from his chest. Shawn’s lips taste like blue raspberry, and Gus’ cherry, their tongues purples as Shawn kisses him hard. Gus’ hands make their way into Shawn’s hair, gripping tightly at him.
He never wants to let him go. He doesn’t know how long he’s wanted this, but something in him aches with relief.
They pull away at last, breathless.
Shawn laughs a little, flustered. Gently, Gus lifts Shawn’s hand to his lips. Written across his skin, below his previous note, in similarly bad handwriting reads, ‘stop being a wuss and ask him out’
Gus grins. Clearly all good ideas do start out as notes written across the backs of hands.