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The door creaked open. The sound of shoes being kicked off followed right after.
He turned on his stool, looking at the person in the doorway with a smile.
“Hey,” he said simply.
Eric tossed his keys onto the cabinet and smiled back.
“Hey.”
Shawn got up from where he’d been sitting and hung the jacket Eric had just taken off on the coat rack.
“How was it?” he asked simply.
Eric had left a few hours earlier already. Suddenly, Shawn remembered the first job interview Eric had ever nailed. He had the exact same happy smile back then.
Eric was still working part-time at the restaurant, but he’d been cast in a play at the university. Today had been his first rehearsal…
And he looked just as happy as he had the day he got his first job.
Maybe even happier.
Eric loved acting. Shawn knew it… everyone knew it. Eric had always had dreams too big for the world around him. And yet he kept pushing forward anyway.
That was something Shawn admired about him—that effortless refusal to ever give up on the things he loved.
“It was amazing!” his boyfriend replied, already launching into a long rambling monologue filled with every microscopic detail.
And Shawn listened to every single one of them.
Until the door opened again, abruptly cutting their conversation short…
Well. Eric’s one-sided conversation, really.
Cory slammed the door behind him.
“You are never gonna believe what just happened!”
Shawn gave him a puzzled look.
“What now, Cory?” he asked, already exhausted by whatever nonsense his best friend was about to unleash.
Cory was out of breath—he had probably run all the way there like a complete maniac.
He should have never given him the keys to their apartment.
“Topanga—” As always, every sentence Cory said started with that name. Shawn almost felt like rolling his eyes.
“—asked me to marry her.”
The expression on both young men’s faces shifted instantly.
Shawn’s eyes went wide like saucers.
And Eric looked just as stunned.
“What?!” Shawn’s voice nearly cracked.
“You’re gonna say yes?!” Eric asked, grinning like an idiot.
Shawn snapped his head toward him, completely scandalized, before turning back to Cory.
“No but— you’re way too young for that and— you need money to get married! Have you even talked to your parents?”
For a second, he almost sounded like Jonathan had when he’d found out Shawn moved in with Eric.
They had moved in together after only five months—no sane person did that. And yet… here they were, a year later, still together.
Everything was going so fast. Shawn could’ve sworn he’d turned eighteen just two weeks ago.
“Oh, you’re really ready for kids, aren’t you?” Cory sighed.
“I think I’m gonna say yes.”
“Weren't you the one talking about waiting?!” Shawn snapped back.
“Yeah, well I changed my mind! We’re nineteen… I think we—”
“This is irresponsible!”
Shawn had really changed.
His fifteen-year-old self would’ve said something like, “Do it, say yes.”
And now… now he was thinking seriously about things like consequences, money, stability...
It almost scared him, how much he’d grown.
At the same time… he had an apartment, a job…
That was what adults had, right?
Shawn ran a hand through his hair, nervous or frustrated, or whatever adults dealt with.
“Anyway— it’s not your opinion that’s gonna change my answer.” Cory said.
And that… Shawn knew.
He knew that no matter what he said, Cory would always do whatever he wanted.
Growing up, it almost felt like they had swapped personalities.
Cory was the kid who overthought everything, who hesitated, who froze up out of fear. And Shawn was the one who ran headfirst into everything without looking.
And it hadn’t even been that long ago… and yet somehow, it felt like everything had changed anyway.
Shawn was now the one who thought things through… and Cory the one who lived exactly the way his heart told him to.
Shawn kept talking about how he had changed—for the better. About not being the broken teenager he used to be anymore…
But pieces of that broken teenager had started to feel like something he missed.
“I—” Shawn stopped himself.
He didn’t want to crush his friend’s happiness with all his fears and overthinking.
“I’m happy for you,” he said instead.
Cory stayed a while longer. The three of them talked… but Shawn only listened halfway, his mind drifting somewhere else the entire time.
And when Cory finally left, Eric turned toward him.
“You’re not okay.”
Not a question. An observation.
Eric had always been good at reading people.
“How do you even see that?” Eric shrugged.
“We see each other every day… I’m starting to notice when something’s off.”
Shawn looked away for a moment.
“I wonder… if I even like this version of myself.”
Eric stayed silent for a beat.
“What do you mean?”
Shawn let out another sigh.
“I mean— I’ve changed. At least… I’m not like I used to be. I’ve got my dad, I’ve got you, I’ve got… all this happiness, and at the same time… I’m scared I don’t know how to handle it.”
He exhaled, trying to find the right words.
“Like someone who never learned how to drive. They don’t have a license, they don’t know what they’re doing behind the wheel… it’s the same thing. Happiness just showed up so fast that— I don’t know how to handle it.”
“So… you’re not happy about the fact that you’re happy?” Eric asked, his voice uncertain, his head tilted slightly.
“That’s not what I said—” Shawn corrected quickly. “You make me the happiest guy in this miserable world, but… it’s just a lot. Everything at once. We’re growing up so fast… I’m growing up so fast that I keep forgetting who I used to be.”
“But… you used to want to forget that,” Eric said softly.
“Not anymore,” Shawn admitted. “I learned that… there’s no point in running away from who I was.”
“Wouldn’t it be too late now?” Eric asked quietly.
And Shawn didn’t know what to say.
He shrugged.
“I don’t know… what was I like before?” Now it was his turn to ask.
“For me… you’ve always been the best person this universe has ever created… but I might be a bit biased,” Eric said with a faint smile, his hand slowly coming to rest on his boyfriend’s cheek.
“You’re not going to like this idea, but… if you really want to reconnect with your past… you could talk to Chet.”
Chet.
A name he had never wanted to hear again since Jonathan became his father.
And yet, Shawn sat with Eric’s words for a long moment.
If he really wanted to accept who he used to be in order to fully accept happiness… then maybe he had to talk to Chet.
To the man who slammed the trailer door too hard, making his son flinch every time.
The man he had tried so hard to erase from his life.
And that’s how, the very next day, while Eric was at university and Shawn had the day off… he used Eric’s computer.
“Hey. It’s been a long time since we last spoke. I hope you’re doing well…
He stopped typing for a moment, taking the time to think.
Did he really want to reconnect with him?
And yet, he kept writing.
It’s Shawn. I wanted to get back in touch with you. Don’t get the wrong idea—this isn’t about talking over coffee about lost time and ending things with hugs and tears…
But I need this if I want to accept the happiness that’s happening to me.
I don’t think I can really explain why… but I spent so much time trying to forget who I used to be while growing up, and now I realize…
A painting is nothing without its sketch.
Please contact me again if you’re willing.
—Shawn Turner.”
He didn’t hesitate before sending it. Didn’t even reread a single line.
He just clicked the tiny icon… and closed the laptop immediately after.
He let his head fall back with a long sigh. He had contacted Chet Hunter again. The name he had been trying to erase for years. He ran a hand through his hair, to stay grounded in reality. Put more pressure on his feet on the floor, so as not to think about it too much... But whether he likes it or not... The thoughts of an artist always end up wobbling. He thinks back on all the nights and days he spent alone in the trailer because his father was out getting drunk. Or the countless times he wondered if he even existed because his father would ignore him for hours on end. All the times he wanted to give up on everything... And he wondered if it was really such a good idea to get back in touch with Chet now that he was out of all that.
He forced himself to somehow get through the rest of the day.
It was exhausting, even though he’d barely left the apartment.
He kept thinking about Chet.
What if he didn’t answer?
What if he did?
Shawn honestly didn’t know which possibility scared him more.
And then evening came, and Eric got home.
They did what they always did—ate dinner, talked about nothing important and everything at once… and later, Shawn borrowed Eric’s computer again while sitting on the bed.
Eric let his head fall against Shawn’s bare shoulder, eyes drifting toward the screen.
Chet had replied.
Shawn.
I honestly didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.
I read your message three times before answering because I kept thinking maybe I understood it wrong.
You wanting to talk to me again wasn’t exactly on my bingo card.
First of all… I’m glad you’re alive.
I know that probably sounds stupid to say, but there were a lot of years where I wasn’t sure how things would end between us.
Or if there’d even still be an “us” left at all.
Second… I noticed you signed your name Shawn Turner.
Can’t say I didn’t deserve that one.
I don’t really know what you want me to say.
You said this isn’t about hugs and tears and pretending everything’s okay, and honestly? Good. Because I don’t think I’d know how to do that anyway.
I wasn’t a good father to you.
Hell, half the time I wasn’t even there enough to qualify for the title.
And I know saying I’m sorry now doesn’t magically fix nineteen years of damage.
But if you really want to talk to me… I’ll answer.
Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.
You probably earned that years ago.
And for what it’s worth…
I am happy that happiness found you before life completely ruined your ability to recognize it.
You can reply whenever you want.
Or not at all.
—Chet.
The first thing Shawn did the next morning was step out onto the balcony, phone in hand, and dial his father’s number.
Jonathan answered almost immediately. “What do you want? It’s 8 a.m.—” And 8 a.m. on a Saturday was unthinkable for Jonathan.
“I got back in touch with Chet. He replied.”
Or, “Dad, I need you—I think I've messed up" in Shawn’s words.
“He replied?”
Shawn nodded, before realizing that Jonathan couldn't see him. “Yeah...” was all he said.
He heard Jonathan sigh into the phone. “What did he say?”
“That he was willing to talk to me… That he didn’t think I’d ever speak to him again…”
And honestly? Shawn never thought he'd ever speak to him again either.
“Why did you reach out to him?”
“Eric told me it would be a good idea… I think… I need this.”
Jonathan fell silent. What had he done wrong to make Shawn feel the need to see Chet again? Had he been a bad father?
Those questions faded away pretty quickly. When he saw the man Shawn had become today... He realized that, in the end, he hadn’t been a bad father.
“When do you plan to see him again?”
“We haven’t set a date.”
“Just know... that if you need me, I’m here, Shawn.”
“I know, Dad.”
Shawn wondered if he had made the right choice.
He still remembers how he would jump every time he heard his father come home, or how scared he would get whenever he saw him with a bottle in his hand...
His gaze drifted down to his wrist. The scars from that period of his life were still all too visible.
They had set a date. It had been a few days now.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow he was going to a restaurant to talk to his father again. He might even shake the hand that had so often slammed against the counter. He would listen to the voice that had frightened him so much as a child...
That evening, Shawn couldn’t help but cry a little on their balcony.
Eric had come, because Eric always came.
Eric hadn’t asked any questions, because Eric always knew.
He had just hugged him.
Because Eric had always been there.
He had woken up early. Way too early.
As if to give himself time to prepare mentally. By 7 a.m., he was already on his fourth cup of coffee when Eric joined him.
He yawned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “How long have you been awake?” he asked, his voice tired.
Since 4 a.m.
“An hour or two…” Shawn said simply.
He didn’t want to lie to Eric, but he also didn’t want him to worry.
“You’re worrying me.”
Damn it.
“Why?”
“You don’t look well… If it’s about Chet, you don’t have to go, you know?”
Shawn knew.
“I want to go.”
He didn’t know if he really wanted to, but he needed to.
And that’s how Shawn found himself at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. It was 11:45 a.m. He’d made plans to meet at noon.
His fingers tapped against the wooden tabletop. He hadn’t ordered anything to eat or drink. He stared into space, lost in thought.
What if Chet had finally decided not to come?
His fingers tapped faster, trembling more than they were actually tapping.
What if Chet was actually coming?
This option seemed to scare him too.
Both did.
And his thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Chet sat down across from him.
He had come.
Shawn thought he wouldn’t come. That he’d do what he’d always done… Ignore him.
But he had come.
So what had Shawn done to keep Chet from coming all these past years?
“Shawnie, you’ve really grown up!” he said in his deep voice.
“Yeah…”
“You’re what now? Twenty years old?” he asked with a big smile, patting his son on the shoulder.
The touch almost burned Shawn's shoulder.
Chet was touching him like he had every right to do so.
Like every time he touched his son, he hadn't broken something inside him.
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen? Holy shit,” he just said.
A waitress came over to them, asking what they’d like to order. Chet ordered a beer. Shawn ordered a glass of water.
“So, how’s life? Are you still living… with that Turner guy?”
That Turner guy was his father. Not just anyone.
“No, I have an apartment with my boyfriend.”
Chet seemed shocked but didn’t comment.
“And who is he?”
Shawn wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell him.
“Eric. Cory’s brother.”
Chet chuckled softly.
“Well, I never would have guessed,” he said, taking a sip from his glass.
Shawn’s hand tightened around his own glass of water.
“What about you? Still living in the trailer?”
Chet shook his head. “I have a house now. I remarried—”
Shawn felt a bitter taste in his mouth at those words. He seemed strangely settled… something Chet Hunter had never been.
“To a great woman who has an adorable little girl. She’s eight—”
Shawn wasn’t listening anymore.
A little girl.
Eight years old. The age Shawn was when he waited for his father at 2 a.m., crying.
The age Shawn was when Chet would go days without speaking to him. Whole nights out on the town...
And she was entitled to what he’d never had.
Why?
If Chet was able to stay... What had Shawn done to not be worthy of that?
“What?”
That was all he said. His voice trembled slightly, as if he were about to cry. His fingers tightened even more around his glass, as if he might break it.
“She has an eight-year-old daughter—” Chet repeated, as if he enjoyed twisting the knife in the gaping hole he’d carved into his son’s chest.
“No, I get that. But... What do you mean? You didn’t... run off like you always did?”
Chet sighed. Tired, even sad.
“Shawn, listen—”
“Why does she get something I never had?!”
His voice was getting louder, cracking a little.
“Shaw—”
He didn't even let him finish. Again. Hearing his name come out of his mouth was starting to make him sick.
“Why?!”
People turned around, but Shawn didn’t stop.
“When she has nightmares, you comfort her; when she cries, you’re there… When she has school plays, I guess you’re there too…” Shawn continued. “So why weren’t you there for me?!”
“What did I do to not deserve your love?” His voice was lower.
He looked at Chet with teary blue eyes. Chet seemed regretful. But Shawn didn't give a damn anymore.
“You didn’t do anything—”
“You’re right, I didn’t do anything... So why were you never there?”
Shawn’s breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling.
“I was a kid!”
His voice cracked on the last word.
“I was just a kid and I loved you so much.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Chet looked like he might cry too now.
But Shawn almost felt angry seeing it.
Because now?
Now he cried?
Now?
“I used to think if I disappeared you wouldn’t even notice,” Shawn whispered.
Flash.
Thirteen years old.
Bathroom floor.
Blood running in thin lines down pale skin.
“I was bleeding in the bathroom because I was slitting my wrists so you’d notice me, but you never knew!” Shawn spat out again. “And she gets to see you every day, talk about school, cry in your arms—” His voice caught in his throat, his tears streaming down to his neck.
“Do you forget her name when you drink? Does she sit and wait for hours for you to come home? Does she—”
He couldn’t even finish. He was starting to get jealous of an 8-year-old girl.
“I didn’t know how to be anybody’s father,” he admitted hoarsely.
“That’s bullshit. You're a father to her.”
Chet went quiet.
And Shawn immediately hated himself for how fast the response came out.
But not enough to apologize.
“You know what the worst part is?” Shawn asked, voice quieter now. More broken. “I kept defending you.”
Chet looked up at him.
“To everybody.”
Jonathan.
Mr. Feeny.
Alan.
Amy.
Everybody.
“Because if I admitted you didn’t love me…” Shawn swallowed hard. “Then that meant I really was alone.”
Chet looked like he’d been hit.
Good.
Shawn wanted him to hurt.
Just once.
Just a fraction of what he’d carried for years.
He wanted to see him cry, to see him suffer... Everything Shawn had gone through for years.
“Shawn, I'm sorry for everything I put you through—”
“Saying you're sorry won't erase the scars on my arms.”
Chet was crying now. Shawn had stopped crying.
Silence fell for a moment.
“I'm sorry, Shawn. I know it won't change anything. I know you don't need me anymore, that you never needed me—that you have Turner. That you're a fine young man—”
“But I'd like to be there for you from now on.”
Shawn didn't answer.
“What's her name?” Was all that he asked.
“Maria. She reminds me of you when you were younger. I'm staying for her, as if that could make up for all the hurt I caused you.” Chet replied.
“I'd like for you to meet her someday—” The older one kept going.
“I don't want to meet her.”
Chet nodded. “Okay.”
“I don't know if I want to see you again.”
Chet nodded again. “If you want to... just give me a call.” He took a napkin and pulled a pen out of his pocket, writing his number on it.
The restaurant door closed behind him.
Cold air hit his face instantly, but it didn’t help.
Nothing helped.
Shawn walked toward the car on autopilot, Chet’s number still folded inside his pocket.
Maria.
Eight years old.
She reminds me of you.
The words kept replaying in his skull like a song he couldn’t shut off.
By the time he reached the driver’s seat, his hands were shaking hard enough that he missed the key twice trying to start the engine.
“Fuck…” he whispered.
The car finally started.
He drove.
Or at least he tried to.
The city blurred around him in pale colors and red lights and passing people. His chest still felt tight. Like something had wrapped around his ribs and kept pulling tighter and tighter.
Then he saw it.
A little girl on the sidewalk.
Maybe eight years old.
Pink backpack.
Tiny hand wrapped around her father’s fingers.
And suddenly—
Flash.
Trailer door slamming open hard enough to shake the walls.
Eight-year-old Shawn jumping awake on the couch.
2:13 a.m.
He remembered because he had checked the clock three times already.
His school papers were still spread across the table. Construction paper. Markers. A stupid solar system project he had spent hours on because Chet promised he’d come see him present it tomorrow.
“You said midnight,” little Shawn had whispered.
Chet stumbled further inside the trailer, smelling like cigarettes and beer and cold air.
“What?”
“You said you’d be home by midnight.”
Chet threw his keys onto the counter. Missed. They hit the floor.
“I’m home now, ain’t I?”
“You promised.”
Wrong answer.
Shawn remembered the way Chet’s face changed.
Not violent.
Not monstrous.
Just exhausted.
Like his son had become one more thing waiting for him when he got home.
“You think I got time for this shit right now?”
“I just wanted you to come tomorrow—”
“I said I would!”
“You said that last time too!”
Silence.
The dangerous kind.
Chet grabbed the beer bottle sitting on the counter.
“You know what your problem is?”
Shawn remembered shrinking instantly.
“What?”
“You never stop talking.”
The words hit harder than yelling ever did.
Because Shawn stopped talking after that.
For days sometimes.
Flash.
Present again.
A horn blared behind him.
His vision was getting blurrier and blurrier at the edges, but he had to get home, so he forced himself to keep going.
You never stop talking.
He arrived at the apartment. Eric was there; he had fallen asleep on the couch. Shawn couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He headed toward the bathroom.
He ran his hands under the cold tap water and splashed it on his face, just to clear his head a little.
His hands gripped the porcelain of the sink.
And he thought of Chet.
Of when he graduated... And how he’d almost expected to see Chet in the crowd.
Of when he moved in with Eric and how he’d almost wanted to tell Chet about it.
Jonathan was his father. It was written in black and white. Official. So why did he still love his executioner so much?
He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed his father’s number. Jonathan answered right away.
“Hello?” Jonathan got no answer.
“Are you okay, Shawn?” he asked, and Shawn couldn’t help but start crying almost immediately into the receiver.
“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked again. Shawn let himself slide down the bathroom wall until he hit the tile floor.
“I need help, Dad,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and his sobs cutting off his words.
“Is everything okay? Should I call the police? What’s going on, Shawn?”
The sound must have woken Eric up, because he burst into the bathroom. He grabbed the phone. “I’ve got this, Jonathan, don’t worry,” he said quickly into the receiver. (Which worried Jonathan even more.) Eric hung up and set the phone down on the floor.
He took Shawn in his arms, and he knew why his boyfriend was crying. Eric suddenly felt so bad for having given him the idea to contact Chet Hunter again.
His hand gently stroked his back, trying to soothe him as he cried on his shoulder.
It was as if he were back in the treehouse, holding that thirteen-year-old boy crying in his arms.
"I'm sorry, Shawn. I'm so sorry..." Eric kept repeating as Shawn's sobs against him gradually slowed.
Neither of them knew how long they stayed like that. Minutes, maybe hours... Neither of them cared. And when Shawn's fingers finally loosened their grip on Eric's t-shirt, when there were no tears left for him to cry, Eric still didn't let go.
"I really thought seeing him again might do you some good..."
"Me too."
His whole life, he'd wished Chet would change. And now that he had, Shawn found himself wishing he hadn't.
Because if Chet hadn't changed... maybe it wouldn't hurt so much to know he'd spent his whole life getting the short end of the stick.
The days passed.
Shawn had called Chet back. They talked.
Shawn was trying not to resent him, trying to listen.
Chet was sorry. Terribly sorry.
And he seemed to be a wonderful father to Maria, as if he were trying to make up for everything.
But Shawn didn't want to meet her.
Chet didn't push.
Shawn didn't want to see him again. Not yet.
Chet didn't push that, either.
Chet finished the call saying "I love you." Shawn didn't answer. He just hung up.
More days passed. Some months actually.
Cory was a complete nervous wreck, dressed in a perfectly pressed tuxedo.
Eric was pacing back and forth, made anxious by Cory's anxiety.
Shawn watched them with an amused smile.
"Where are the rings?!" Cory suddenly exclaimed, looking like he deeply regretted choosing Eric as his best man.
"Ask Morgan! She's the one who's supposed to bring them, remember?!"
"She's not answering her phone!"
The two brothers were practically yelling at each other now, which only made Shawn laugh harder.
Eric responded by flipping him off.
Morgan suddenly burst through the front door of the Matthews house, slamming it behind her.
"Where are the rings?!" Cory shouted, grabbing his little sister by the shoulders and shaking her dramatically.
"Oh, I handed that responsibility off to Jonathan," she said simply.
For a brief moment, Cory felt a powerful urge to throw her out the window.
"Then where the hell is your fucking father?!"
He turned toward his best friend, who was sitting comfortably on the couch.
Shawn raised both hands in surrender.
"I don't know."
Cory groaned in frustration once again.
The moment Jonathan walked through the door, Cory practically launched himself at him.
"Please tell me you have the rings!"
Jonathan gave him a strange look before pulling the small box out of his pocket.
"Who do you take me for, Curly?"
When the guests began to arrive, Cory’s stress slowly started to fade.
Shawn turned in his chair to watch as Topanga walked in.
She was beautiful. Radiant.
Cory looked just as happy—his smile stretched so wide it almost reached his ears.
Shawn couldn’t stop himself from tearing up a little, a soft smile still on his face.
His best friend was marrying his best friend.
At first, he had been afraid it would change something between him and Cory. But in the end, he trusted their friendship. He knew that if they had survived everything they had been through… it wouldn’t break because of something as happy as this.
Shawn was sitting in the front row, next to Amy and Alan, as if he were part of the family—which he was.
Eric was sitting next to him.
He squeezed Shawn’s hand just a little before Cory and Topanga said “I do” for eternity.
Shawn squeezed his hand back.
One day, he wanted to be in their place.
Eric seemed to want it too, judging by the fleeting look he gave him.
And on this beautiful day, a small ache settled in Shawn’s chest.
He could never have that.
Because it wasn’t legal.
But did he really need it that much?
That thought disappeared almost immediately when their “I do.” echoed through the Matthews’ living room.
Shawn started crying right away.
He clapped hard enough to hurt his hands and cheered loud enough to lose his voice.
Amy had cried so much that she was still sniffling long after the ceremony was over, a glass of red wine in her hand.
"My baby grew up!" she exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around her now-married son.
Shawn watched from a distance.
Eric hugged his brother for what felt like more than four minutes.
Amy was crying.
Alan was patting Cory on the shoulder.
Morgan had already made a beeline for the buffet.
And Joshua was sitting peacefully in his stroller.
The Matthewses.
He owed them so much.
And they had never asked for anything in return.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Topanga practically threw herself at him, demanding that he taste every single item on the buffet.
"How are these?" she asked, shoving a tray toward him.
"And the mini quiches? Are they too dry? What about the napkins? Do the napkins match the tablecloths? Be honest. How are the appetizers?"
The questions came so fast Shawn barely had time to answer one before she asked three more.
A few moments later, Cory joined them as well.
"I already can't wait for the honeymoon," he announced loudly.
At that, judging by the look on Topanga's face, she already seemed to be considering divorce.
"Everything is perfect, Topanga. Stop stressing—"
Behind them, Morgan nearly choked on a mini quiche.
"Okay, they might be a little dry, but it's nothing serious—" Shawn continued.
"I'd probably hurt myself less eating the walls of my bedroom!" Morgan cut in.
"I knew it! They're inedible—"
Topanga buried her face in her hands.
"Seriously, tell me you didn't actually hire a caterer for that piece of drywall," Morgan added helpfully.
Shawn immediately stepped on her foot.
Lightly.
"Alan made them," Topanga replied.
Morgan froze.
"You let my dad cook? Well, no wonder they're a pile of shi—"
Shawn stepped on her foot again.
Not lightly.
"AOW!"
When they finally got home, they were faced with two problems.
The partition still needed to be rebuilt.
And their washing machine had suddenly decided it no longer believed in working.
Shawn had nearly thrown himself off the balcony when he found out the next morning.
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE—"
Eric had sworn just as loudly when Shawn broke the news.
It wasn't like they were exactly making enough money to comfortably get through the month as it was.
Buying a new washing machine?
That wasn't even remotely in the budget.
So when Eric had offered to clean it, when he'd confidently said, "I've got this," Shawn had let him.
And when he came back to the apartment later, grocery bags in hand, he nearly dropped them on the spot.
The kitchen floor was soaked.
There was water everywhere.
Bath towels had been thrown across the floor in a desperate attempt to contain the damage.
"Eric..." Shawn began, already fighting back a laugh.
"Why is there water everywhere?"
"I made a few mistakes," Eric admitted.
He looked ashamed.
Like a kid who'd been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.
And now they were faced with three problems.
A broken washing machine.
Their partition.
And a kitchen floor covered in little pockets of water trapped beneath the laminate flooring.
(Because apparently water and fake wood flooring don't get along very well.)
Their money disappeared very quickly that month (along with Jonathan’s, who had offered to help).
They had to redo the flooring to prevent mold from spreading. Over 500 bucks gone.
And thankfully, Chet had an old washing machine he offered to give them. Otherwise, it would’ve been another hundred or so they simply couldn’t afford.
At first, Shawn had almost refused.
He had never needed Chet before.
And being, in a way, dependent on him made him angry.
But Chet was trying to make up for things.
The partition problem still wasn’t solved, but it would have to wait for the next paycheck.
And when all the chaos finally came to an end, Shawn sat down on the couch, taking a moment just to breathe.
“What do you want to eat?” Eric asked.
Even though, deep down, they both knew their options were limited to pasta or rice.
“Whatever you want,” Shawn replied.
Shawn stayed sitting there for a while.
The apartment was quiet in a way that felt almost unreal after everything that had happened that day. No shouting. No water. No crisis to fix. Just the low hum of life settling back into place.
Eric was somewhere in the kitchen, moving around softly, clinking something against the counter. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
Shawn exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned back into the couch.
His phone was in his hand.
Eric glanced over at him from the kitchen.
“You okay?” he asked, casually, like it was the easiest question in the world.
Shawn paused.
Then nodded.
“Yeah.”
Eric didn’t push. He just went back to whatever he was doing.
Shawn looked down at his phone again.
And almost automatically...
He changed the name of a long number to: Chet.