Hey y'all! So this is just a little fic that suddenly popped into my head and refused to leave. I'm actually extremely proud of this, especially because it's the product of three months' worth of writer's block. That said, we proceed to some warnings:

There are mentions of dysphoria in this, use of the word "freak" several times (but not excessively, nor unnecessarily), and hints of transphobia, so please be careful if you think this might trigger you.

There are slight mentions of throw up, but it's nothing major and in passing.This does contain a trans character. If that's not your cuppa, leave.

That's it! I don't own Psych, I hope you enjoy, and can't wait to hear what you think!

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

When Shawn is twelve, he realizes he hates himself.

Well, not specifically himself. He's got a great best friend and an awesome sense of humor and he's almost five feet, making him one of the tallest kids in his class, and that's pretty amazing, and that makes him pretty popular.

So no, he doesn't, like, totally hate himself- plus, that would be too annoying, and he's not feeling the whole self-hate thing. Yeah, he just hates his chest.

It's not- it's not really a big deal, honestly. It's just that his chest jiggles when he moves and the other boys in his class are looking at him more, whispering behind his back, tugging on his hair like they're teasing him. And he doesn't want to be teased like that- sure, Gus teases him, but it's usually when he's accidentally made a bad pun or when Gus somehow beats him at something, like that one time when they tried to play chess. Yeah, Shawn doesn't like chess.

But the point is that his grandmother tries to shove him in those velvet dresses at Christmas every year even if it was tolerable (mostly because it made his mom smile, because she wants grandma to be happy even though she's usually not smiling when grandma comes over), and his dad calls him pretty, and his relatives ooh and aah over his braids...and he hates it.

He hates it with all his might, hates his braids and the dresses and being called pretty, and the only one who seems to understand that is Gus. Gus never says things like 'you're pretty' or 'wear more dresses' or 'I like when you braid your hair instead of bun it'. He's just Gus, and lets Shawn be the Cowboy when they play Cowboys and Indians and lends him comic books and has sleepovers with him. The only uncool thing about Gus is that, like, he never wants to do anything interesting ever, like stealing the penguins from the zoo, and won't let Shawn try on his own. So Shawn can't have a cool black and white bird for a pet.

But Gus doesn't treat him like the teachers, like the other boys in his class, like his grandma and his mom and his dad. He just treats Shawn like a person; even listens when Shawn asks him not to say his name. That easy compliance makes Shawn feel like all he needs to be is himself.

So Shawn just...is himself.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

"Goose," his mom says, softly shutting the door to his room and making Shawn look up from his comic book. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Shawn sits up. His mom has her 'serious face' on, the one she gets when she's worried or annoyed or upset about something. "Yeah, Mom?" Shawn says, and twists so that he's sitting on the edge of his bed. If his dad came up and asked that, Shawn wouldn't have bothered with moving, but it's his mom and his mom is different, and he knows that she likes when he faces her during these little talks, even when he doesn't wanna, because they can get all emotional and he doesn't like that. But she doesn't say anything, just sits down next to him and brushes a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. It annoys him more than it should, and he bats her hand away, repeating firmer, "yeah, Mom?"

She sighs and looks down at him, still unsmiling, but her eyes are reassuring. "Goose, I just wanted to talk to you about what you wear," she says carefully, and Shawn can hear how she chooses her words. He's confused, though; he usually just wears a cool t-shirt and jeans.

"What about what I wear?" He's a little upset, actually. He really likes those t-shirts- they've got cool stuff on them, like Superman and BraveStarr and Ghostbusters on them, and if she says he can't wear them anymore he's gonna have to tell her that he can't stop, because they're pretty awesome.

"Well," his mom says, still carefully, "you're growing, and your body is changing, and you need to cover up a little bit more, Goose. Especially your chest."

Shawn's heart droops. Oh, so that's what this is about. "I don't wanna," he declares adamantly, and crosses his arms, annoyed when his chest is squishy.

His mom sighs and slumps, like she doesn't want to argue. "Honey, I know it's weird, and I know it'll take some getting used to," she says gently. "But you need to wear one."

And she holds the bra out for him to take.

He takes it like it's poison, and puts it on to make her happy.

He goes to Gus' and rips it to shreds later that day.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

"Why do you do it?" Gus asks him one day, when they're messing around on the beach and Shawn's dad is on the boardwalk talking to an old cop buddy, not watching them.

"Do what?" Shawn responds, pretending not to know what Gus is talking about, poking the big horseshoe crab shell and waiting to see what happens. He's disappointed when nothing comes popping out.

Gus sounds a little annoyed when he speaks next, but it's because he knows Shawn's pretending not to know. "You know what I mean."

Shawn sighs with his whole body, feeling an ache deep in his chest where the bra he's forced to wear presses against his skin. "Because this doesn't feel right." He knows Gus knows what he means.

Gus lets the matter drop and doesn't ask again, and thumps him on the back like he always does, says, "I'll see you later," and doesn't say Shawn's name just like Shawn asked him not to a few months ago, and it makes him feel a little better.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

It's his thirteenth birthday. His grandmother sends him makeup, and his mom shuffles him off to his room to try it on. He smears it on his face like it's for war and thinks that maybe it might make him feel better, more like...he doesn't even know. But he stares at his painted face in the mirror and feels disgusted with himself, with this thing that he's made himself out to be, and when he goes downstairs his dad's standing there, and claps like he's happy or something, and says Shawn looks just like his mother.

It's a weird feeling, the thing that blooms at the base of his spine and trickles into his chest and crawls up into his head, and Shawn's got about ten seconds to be confused and overwhelmed and feel absolutely horrible before pain like he's never known is ripping through his skull. It's something so intense that white flares in front of his eyes and he bends, gasping, digging his fingers into his temples to help even though it only makes it worse. It's throbbing like nothing Shawn has ever felt before, a twisting and terrible burn that floods his brain, and tears are coming and he's sucking in air even though he can't breathe, and the whole world flickers like he makes the lights do when he's telling Gus a scary story-

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

Migraines, the doctor says later, and his dad huffs like he's annoyed but he's probably not and his mom pushes her face into her hands like she's stressed, and Shawn kicks his legs back and forth because he's bored and the paper makes a funny noise when it crinkles under him. ADHD, the doctor goes on to murmur, but Shawn's not listening anymore. He and Gus are trying to figure out how to do a séance with Elvis because Shawn really wants to meet him, wants to learn how he did that twist and slide thing. Gus doesn't think it's possible, but Shawn thinks that probably spirits have that thing where their ears tingle when you're talking about them and he wants to test that out.

May need medication-

He starts reciting the last comic book he read in his head, and he has no trouble at all recalling the panels. If there's one thing that his brain's good for, it's for this.

He doesn't even care that the next day, he's told by his mom that he has to take two pills everyday. It's not like they're going to change him or anything.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

It's Christmas, and Shawn is miserable.

He's in a dress again, an ugly pasty yellow (and seriously, the dress is bad, but yellow? That's not even a Christmas color, and that almost makes it worse) and his dad is laughing with his cop buddies in the corner and his mom is hanging around his grandma (who brought him the dress, and is still looking unhappy with him- "smile, I paid a lot for that!") and everyone is asking him how he's feeling and about how it is to be all grown up now and he's just- just miserable.

He wishes Gus were here- he's sure Gus could make things better, or at least easier to deal with. He hates this, hates his hair not being in a bun (because apparently that's not a good look on him, according to his grandmother, but honestly Shawn could care less what that old bat thinks, even though his mom thinks otherwise) . It dangles off his shoulder in a braid. The strands keep getting in his mouth, and he's sure there's a bit of cookie crumb in somewhere too, but he doesn't care enough to find out where. The dress is cold and uncomfortable and breezy and clings in all the wrong places, and he wishes that he were in his cool Knight Rider t-shirt instead.

His grandma tells him he's pretty.

It's the straw that breaks the camel's back, and he locks himself in the bathroom for the rest of the night and plays on his Gameboy, and ignores his mom when she comes knocking at the door.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

He sees it in the store with his mom first.

Now, Shawn has always been a resourceful child (partially because his father has made him so, and partially because he's naturally good at finding things to aid him in mischief) but this, this truly gives him an idea.

He tugs on the back of his mom's shirt because she's getting ready to pay (after buying him a new slew of jeans, which he'd protest because he hates shopping but they actually do fit him nicely, so why not) and she turns around slightly, saying, "what's up, Goose? See something else you like?"

Shawn opens his mouth- but can't bring himself to say it, and instead, wordlessly points.

He tries not to notice his mother's delighted face when she picks up the sport bra, and then her excitement when he picks out five more.

When he gets home and puts two of them on, one on top of the other, it makes his chest flat.

He's happier than he's been in months.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

Gus notices, of course. Gus always notices things like this, even if he's nice enough not to say anything. He just eyes Shawn's chest, looks into his face and says, "dude, nice," and that's that. There's no fuss, there's no huge show, no questions. Just a quiet, subtle acknowledgement that he knows Shawn's changing and he's cool.

Shawn had always known he'd had an awesome friend, but it's in this moment that Shawn knows that Gus is one of the best things to ever happen to him.

And they're the same, just two guys hanging out like they've always been, and it's the best thing ever. They roughhouse and chase each other around and Gus' mom yells at them for making so much noise and disturbing the new neighbors.

Shawn goes home with a content feeling in his chest, right over the place his sport bras are, safe in the knowledge that his best friend is going to be his best friend for as long as they both live.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

His sport bras become habit, and it's something he looks forward to putting on in the morning and dreads taking off at night. His mom, he suspects, is just overjoyed that he's finally wearing bras in general. He hates the idea of the 'bra' part and thinks of it differently, something that makes him actually who he is. It's refreshing.

He comes home from school one day and his grandmother is in the kitchen, and he knows, just knows that this won't be good. His mom has a strained look on her face, like she wishes he hadn't come home at all.

His grandmother sees his clothing, and bursts into laughter even as she grows red from anger.

Shawn can feel himself blush to the roots of his hair, even when the long locks are pulled back into a bun, and his grandmother laughs and laughs and laughs, and Shawn goes cold in a numb sense of wrath. He can feel it swelling, whatever's inside him- and when he unleashes it, it won't be good.

Maybe he should stop it.

"You be careful," she grits, smiling with all her teeth, "or someone might think you're trying to be a boy. But you're not. You're the same as your mother and I, you hear me?" Her voice begins rising in pitch as the amusement fades and something worse takes its place. Shawn forces himself to swallow his pride and look contrite. "This rebellious streak must end, do you hear me?!"

Shawn clenches his jaw.

His grandmother obviously, foolishly continues in that same growly pitch, the kind that reminds Shawn distantly of a volcano. "You're being overly dramatic and attention seeking, and it stops, RIGHT NOW." She stands abruptly, grabs him by the back of his head, and rips his hair out of the bun, making it swirl all around his face.

Shawn can't help it- instead of in embarrassment, he flushes in indignance. "You don't know me," he argues, his voice growing as the rage inside him flares back to life, breathing frigid air into his lungs and giving him strength, giving him air, giving him courage enough to stand up for himself because he is done being stepped on. "You don't know who I am, or what I want, and you can't control ANYTHING about me! So you know what, you can just get the hell out of my house, and don't come back!"

"You can't speak to me like that!" His grandmother snarls, slamming her feet as she stands so fast her chair goes clattering backwards.

He takes one more deep breath-

And lets everything go.

"NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE!" He shrieks at the top of his lungs, shrill and burning with the cold inside him, his fists clenching at his sides. He's shaking with the adrenaline coursing through his veins; these are words he's been dying to utter for years and years and ones that he's swallowed down, swallowed down for what seemed like good, ready to be taunted and made fun of and mocked and miserable year by year by her stupid gifts and his mom's stupid wish to please her, and it stops, right now. Now that he's screaming, he refuses to stop. "YOUR OWN DAUGHTER HATES YOU! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

Just as he'd known, she stares at him with wide eyes, a deer caught in his glaring headlights.

And he can't help the savage satisfaction he feels when she flees, the screen door slapping shut behind her with a finality that he relishes with his whole being. With a snarl of his own he wrenches past his mother and flings himself up the stairs, hair streaking out behind him as he throws himself into the bathroom as he makes it just in time to vomit in the toilet, his body jerking so violently his neck aches from the strain. His hair is stringy around his face.

When he finishes he straightens with a sob of rage and pulls the drawers of the cabinets open so viciously that they screech free of their tracks, and he goes one by one and hurls them backwards, listening them to splinter as they hit the wall.

Finally finding what he needs, he jerks the scissors free and tosses his head back, violently grabbing his hair and twisting it around his hand so it's pulled taut against his head, hacking brutally against the locks and watching in feral pleasure as they flutter to the floor.

Breathing heavily when he's finished, he slumps against the door, the scissors clattering to the ground and laying there in resigned silence. He gently runs his hand over the rough patches of hair clinging to his head, short and cropped and boyish, and closes his eyes.

His mom doesn't even say anything when she picks the lock later and forces the door open- only helps him clean it up before his dad gets home and takes his face in her hands, smiling a fractured, weak smile, and with red rimmed eyes saying, "it's alright, Goose- it looks great. Why don't we just go get it cleaned up a little."
His dad tells him it looks ridiculous and he and his mom get into a loud argument about it, but Shawn doesn't even care anymore. It's not pretty, and that's all that matters.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

To his surprise, Shawn's life doesn't get better after that.

He keeps his hair short, and after a while his dad stops saying things about it. His mom and dad fight a lot, shouting things about Shawn sometimes which he tries desperately not to listen to. When it becomes too much, he sneaks to Gus' and sleeps there, and they don't tell Gus' parents about it because they'd probably think it was inappropriate, but Shawn's head is at the bottom and Gus' is at the top and that's it.

But life goes on- school grows progressively more boring with each passing day, Shawn takes his medication, and it's the most useless thing ever, except that his chest is flat and no one looks at him in interest anymore. In fact, some of the older boys in his school even start saying things like 'dude' and 'man' to him, and they're some of the best things Shawn's ever been called. They, thankfully, don't call him by his name either.

(Shawn thinks maybe that has something to do with Gus, but he's not going to ask. That's not how he and Gus roll.)

But Shawn knows, and he's really, really glad he has Gus for a best friend. And hey, he thinks, maybe these boys will even accept him into their friend group or something.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

He trudges home, sloshing through the mud and the sheets of rain coming down on the top of his head, the other boys' laughter ringing in his ears. His head is down even though he doesn't think anyone will notice that he's crying and that it's not rain dripping down his nose, but he's not sure and doesn't think he could face anymore taunting today, so his head stays down, far enough that he slams it into the edge of a mailbox.

Something warm and wet begins leaking from the split skin on the top of his head, and Shawn's sure it's blood, but he doesn't really care. He knows that head injuries and things can be serious- after all, his dad has come home with a few and they don't seem too fun- but he's too miserable right now to think about all the physical hurts.

Gus was insisting he give Shawn a ride home. Mr. and Mrs. Guster would probably take care of him, too, but he's not interested in being coddled like he knows they would do, and doesn't think he could deal if they said something along the lines of what the girl in the bathroom said to him. He doesn't even want to think about don't worry, you're still pretty.

His new sneakers are soaking, his favorite t-shirt is ruined, he's cold, wet, bleeding, and bruised, and his pride is all but shattered. He's done.

His ankle throbs in time with his ribs every time he takes a step, and he finally gets far enough the road that he can see his house through the pouring rain, all the lights on. Oh, wonderful.

When he gets closer, he can hear them both shouting at one another, and he doesn't think it's worth the fuss to go through the front door and instead takes the route into his room that he uses to escape it. It's kind of ironic and kind of painful, really, but he manages it, and he changes out of his sopping wet clothes and doesn't even care that his head is bleeding, except for the fact it'll bleed all over his bedspread because he really likes his bedspread and doesn't want to ruin it.

Rising and tiptoeing to the bathroom as his mom's voice escalates- leave it alone Henry can't you come home and see your wife and child for once! he shuts the door quietly behind him and locks it, then goes to the medicine cabinet for some gauze and maybe an ACE bandage. His cheekbone is swelling and already turning black and blue, and he can't really see out of his right eye.

He remembers the other boys, how they taunted him, pressed their palms against his chest and said, oh, look, there IS something there, how they told him 'take it like a man, come on, come on, that's what you're trying to be, isn't it, freak?'

He sniffles and wipes his bloody, sore nose, glaring at his socks balefully. He clenches the ACE bandages in a fist, his lips curling-

But then, he gets an idea.

Shawn is, after all, nothing if not resourceful.

Stripping out of his shirt and then his sport bras, he unravels the ACE bandage as far as it will go, and it's definitely long enough to suit his purpose. Rewrapping it and starting under his arm, Shawn winds it around his middle two, three, four, five times, until the roll is done and he's run out and his chest is as flat as it'll get.

When he puts on his shirt and presses, there's not even the faint bump to tell that there was ever anything there.

Through a split lip, Shawn grins at his wolfish reflection. You know, he thinks quietly to himself as he hears the front door slam and his mom's unmistakably footsteps marching down the driveway, this isn't even that bad.

After all, these bruises wouldn't look pretty on anyone, and actually make him look rather rugged.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

His mom doesn't come back like he expects. She doesn't call.

Shawn misses her, and wants to cry more than he's ever wanted to cry before.

(But he's a boy, and boys don't cry, so he keeps it in and makes the bandages tighter and screams into his pillow for a bit instead, with his sore lip and closed eye.)

(He gets no sleep.)

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

"Hey Gus!" He says the next day in school, top lip swollen enough that he cuts it again every time he speaks. His best friend looks up at him with consternation in his eyes, and Shawn is ecstatic. "Look! I got into my first fist fight! Pretty cool, huh?"

Gus drags him to the bathroom to get him a compress, because his lip is bleeding and his eye is completely swollen shut.

"This'll scar," Gus warns later as he presses the damp paper towel to his top lip. "Really, your lips are gonna look funny. Don't laugh, sto- you're making it worse!"

Shawn laughs louder, feels a new gush of blood and some tears leak out of his eyes. Gus makes an alarmed sound and presses the towel completely to Shawn's face to muffle him, but it doesn't do much.

The lip itself hurts like no one's business- but that's not why Shawn's laughing, not why his eyes are leaking.

It's just that they're in the boys' bathroom.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

Shawn wishes his mom would call, at least to make him feel better. He misses hearing her call "Goose!" to get his attention, misses her hugs (even though he'd never admit that to anyone, ever), and misses the sound of the front door slamming and signifying she was home.

One night, his dad is drinking and sitting in front of the television, off shift. He's eyeing Shawn, who sits in his t-shirt and jeans and with his short hair all cropped and gelled nicely and says, "why do you insist on being different? The look- makes you look freaky."

Shawn swallows down the thing that crawls up his throat and stands, and goes upstairs without a word.

He sleeps in his bandages that night, and wakes up with his chest on fire, and doesn't even care.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

It doesn't take long- but then, Shawn didn't think it would.

Gus is at his house and they're playing in the yard, his dad in the kitchen, a couple of weeks after his mom left, his bruises all healed and a scab on his lip. Gus was right; it's definitely gonna scar. At least he'll be able to spin a cool story for the pretty girl named Abigail in his class that he really, really likes- maybe he'll be able to ask her on a date then, and maybe she'll accept. That'd be pretty cool.

And it's only a little thing- Shawn says something funny, and they're both laughing, and Gus' eyes dart down-

And he stares at Shawn's chest, at his flat chest, and horror fills his face.

Shawn frowns. "Gus?" He asks, and when Gus continues to stare goes on, "come on, dude- what, do I have a stain or-"

Gus grabs his hand hard enough to make Shawn wince and yanks him backwards, ignoring Shawn's yelp of "Gus, what are you doing?!" He drags Shawn up the porch steps and through the kitchen, Gus' grip determined and firm and Shawn flailing out behind him as he marches up the stairs and into Shawn's room and locks the door behind them. There's a murderous look on Gus' face that Shawn has never seen before, and it terrifies him.

Dread has settled cold and dark and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and he can feel that thing that swirls inside him begin to creep up his spine. He doesn't know how he can stop it, but he does his best to keep it at bay, even though standing in front of Gus- Gus, his best friend, who Shawn had thought- he'd thought Gus had understood, and if not that then at least known a little about what Shawn's been going through- but maybe he's been wrong, maybe Gus doesn't know, maybe Gus has only just figured out what a freak Shawn is-

Shawn stands, muscles bunching, in front of his best friend, the boy he trusts with his life, with more than his life; he stands in front of his best friend expecting to be at least punched, even though that seems kind of silly- Gus is Gus, and Gus wouldn't hurt a fly, but he's also just human and Shawn's lied to him for so long, nearly all his life, because Shawn is sure that he's always somewhat been like this, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to stand in front of his best friend as this thing and not be punched. So he stands there, and his muscles bunch, and he doesn't move, and he expects to be hit.

Instead, Gus rolls his eyes and yanks Shawn into a hug. He shakes his head when he lets Shawn go.

Blinking, Shawn cants his head, eyes narrowing. Gus scoffs. "Come on- did you think I was really gonna hit you? You know me better than that." He doesn't seem to be at all hurt that that's what Shawn was expecting- just annoyed, and resigned, and fond, just like he's always been.

Shawn wets his lips. "I thought- I thought that was why you dragged us up here, dude."

Gus' face goes shuttered once more, and he looks away, and Shawn's fear makes an impressively speedy return. Taking a deep breath, he gestures to Shawn's chest, and Shawn's breath hitches. "Have you been binding?"

Shawn's mouth abruptly goes dry, and for a minute he doesn't know what to say. But Gus hasn't hit him yet- and suddenly Shawn doesn't think he's gonna. After all...wouldn't Gus have done it already? And...Gus and he are best friends. Gus has never hit him for real before. Maybe that's the reassurance that allows him to continue, swallowing past his fear to murmur, "I...yes." Short, simple. He doesn't need to explain anymore. Maybe Gus- maybe that's just all he needs, and Shawn doesn't need to go into detail.

Gus sighs. "You bind with ACE bandages?"

Shawn flushes, and looks at his shoes. They're muddy. They must've tracked mud all throughout the house. He thinks of his mom's annoyance- and snaps his teeth, tasting blood. His lip- he's ripped the scab off.

Gus doesn't say anything; just clears his throat like he's forcing himself to continue. "Well, do you?"

Shamefully, reluctantly, Shawn nods.

Gus sighs once more, but he sounds less urgent, more ashamed of himself, really, but Shawn doesn't know what Gus has to be ashamed of. It's not like Gus is a freak too or anything. "I…" Shawn peeks up through his bangs in time to see Gus flush, too. "I've been doing some- some research. About people who bind. And...and ACE bandages are really, really bad for you."

Shawn lowers his eyes (partially to obscure the tears in them from Gus' view, because he's not a little girl, and he shouldn't be crying). His ribs do ache fiercely by the end of the day even though he's only been doing it for about a week and a half, and he sort of misses the sport bras, if only because they were easier to slip on and off.

Gus must take his silence as an invitation, because he continues, more shame dripping from his voice than Shawn's ever heard. "It- it messes up your ribs and can break them, and- and I don't want that to happen to you."

Shawn blinks rapidly, and tries to pretend that tears aren't dripping off his nose. He doesn't want to ask, but he needs to- he needs to know, he needs the assurance, the comfort of it. So he asks, and doesn't care if he sounds small.

"...Why?"

Gus stares at him like he can't believe that just came out of Shawn's mouth. Maybe he actually can't.

"Because I'm your friend," he answers like it's the easiest statement in the world, like it doesn't mean everything. "And I don't want to see you hurt."

Shawn can't help it- even with his relationship with his father, his mother leaving, the bullies at school- there's still Gus, his best friend, the one person who's stuck by him no matter what.

So Shawn can't help it.

He bursts into tears.

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

("It's okay," Gus is saying, insisting, wiping away Shawn's tears with gentle fingers. "It's okay, it'll be okay. I promise…" It lingers in the air, just there, just present, not demanding, accepting whatever he decides to give.

"Shawn," he sniffles out, his chest aching, but for a different reason. "My name's Shawn."

Gus smiles from ear to ear. "Shawn," he repeats softly, and swipes across Shawn's cheeks again. "It suits you. Hey, Shawn."

Shawn sniffles once more, and smiles a watery but genuine smile in what feels like forever. "Hey, Gus.")

~OoO~oOo~OoO~oOo~

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and please leave me a comment on your thoughts! What do you say: continue?