Counts For Something
The funny thing was, Eric never said anything the first time Shawn kissed him, not even, 'What are you doing?' To which Shawn would have replied 'Nothing, unless you want it to be something, in which case I would be kissing you.'
He just closed his eyes and kissed Shawn back, and Shawn knew Eric was thinking Jack, but the funny thing was Shawn didn't say anything either because it didn't really matter what Eric was thinking. All that matter was that he had Eric, and if he had Eric, he could find a way to keep him.
Jack wasn't there and Shawn was, and Shawn knew that counted for something.
Jack wasn't there to run down the streets in New York late at night, into the early morning, trying to find a new club to try out, or a new place to get a slice of pizza or some Shrimp Fried-Rice. Jack wasn't there to see Eric get fucking wasted off Budweiser, he wasn't there to see Eric break down and cry because if he had been there Jack might have seen how much pain Eric was in because of him.
Shawn was.
And Shawn kissed the top of Eric's head, and he stroked Eric's hair, which he'd finally grown out again at Shawn's insistence, and he'd said, "I'm here, Jack's not, shhhh, it's OK, I'm here. I love you."
Eric hadn't reciprocated with, 'I love too.' To which Shawn would have replied, 'I know,' even though he'd have been lying though his fucking teeth.
Eric just gave a few last sniffles, unzipped Shawn's pants, buried his head in his lap, and sucked him off until Shawn was so high that nothing in the world could bring him down. Not even the words that he so desperately wanted to hear.
The somewhat sloppy, blow-job, brought on by obvious mixture of depression and affection, wasn't an I love you, but it was something, and Shawn knew that.
It counted for something the way Shawn being there, when Jack wasn't, counted.
It was something, but it wasn't enough.
Sometimes, when Eric fell asleep next to him, Shawn would pry his arms off from around Eric, so he could turn around and let himself cry into his pillow. He never actually cried because Shawn could never cry when he allowed himself to, but it was better then keeping his arms around Eric while trying not to cry into Eric's hair. Of course he'd want to cry when he was in a position where he shouldn't. Couldn't. It was a good thing Eric didn't have to wake up mumbling sleepily, 'What's going on? Why are you crying?' To which Shawn would have replied, 'I don't know, all I know is that you don't love me, and you're right here in my arms, but I'm still alone, and maybe I always will be.' Shawn never did get to find out what Eric would say in response to the answers Shawn never had to give.
He would have liked to, but he was never able to think that far ahead in the conversation.
Other times when Eric fell asleep, Shawn would just look at him and think about how they used to be, who Eric used to be to him, who he was to Shawn now. He'd pretend he was all Eric ever wanted and needed.
Then he'd turn over and try to cry, but it never worked.
His best moments were probably spent with Cory in Central Park where they made the bench,--where the old man came every morning, at exactly 10:00, to feed the pigeons--their spot. The man was always gone by 10:30, so they'd watch him, silently, as he fed the birds, and they'd take his spot when he left. It always smelled faintly of the bologna sandwich the man had in the paper bag he carried around with him, but they got used to it after awhile.
Eventually, Shawn told Cory about him and Eric, and he was so happy when Cory accepted it because, really, Cory was the only thing that mattered when he simplified everything in his world. Eric somehow always found his way back into the equation, but then again Shawn was never very good at math.
Their spot was the place Cory told him Topanga was pregnant, their spot was the place Shawn told Cory that he loved Eric, their spot was the place that Cory confessed he'd had a crush on Shawn when they were thirteen and fourteen (maybe even fifteen), and their spot was the place that Shawn admitted to almost-crying on Cory's wedding because he had been in love with him since they were fifteen. It didn't matter now since Cory was married to Topanga, and Shawn loved Eric, so they just sort of hugged, and that made everything OK because, really, nothing could change that they were Cory and Shawn, and they would always be that way no matter what.
When Shawn simplified his life down, Cory was always equal to one.
Shawn never could add up, or reduce down, Eric that way.
"Why don't you love me?" He asked Eric one day.
"Why do you love me?" Eric returned.
"Because even though you make me want to cry, you make me laugh, and smile, and write poetry that I know is crap, but I still like to read it over and over again anyway."
"Because you don't let me love you."
"What does that mean?"
Eric just shook his head, and turned on South Park for an hour, and he and Shawn laughed when Eric imitated South Park Eric, and they didn't talk about anything more that night, but long after Eric fell asleep, wrapped around Shawn, Shawn was still up thinking about what Eric meant.
A day or so after that Eric suddenly came out with, "You're scared to really let me love you."
"Well, yeah!" Shawn blurted out involuntarily. It came out louder and shaper then intended, surprising himself and Eric because they were getting their skates on to go ice-skating, and even though there were people around them talking, it wasn't hard to hear, so people sitting and standing by them glanced over at them. Not for too long, though, because one of the great things about New York was that there were so many weird things going on that people stopped really noticing after awhile. It was mostly tourists that stared.
"Well, yeah...?" Eric said, raising an eyebrow at Shawn, encouraging him to go on.
"I'm scared to let you love me because I'm scared if you do I'll hurt you. I'm used to being hurt, but as long as you're with me I don't care. If I hurt you I might lose you like I lose most other people I love. Relationship-wise, I mean. And you love Jack, anyway."
"Shawn, it's been over a year since Jack left, I'm with you now, not him, and I know that. You have me, not Jack. You're here he's not. It's as simple as that." And Shawn knew that it hadn't always been as simple as that, but maybe now it was.
Eric continued, "And you're not going to lose me if you hurt me, I know there's a good chance we'll hurt each other, but I do know you love me—and that counts for something." And really it did. It always had.
Eric kissed him, and no one really payed attention because in New York you saw guys kissing, when putting on their ice skates, quite a lot. There was a couple nearby that had been going at it for awhile.
That night Shawn fell asleep in Eric's arms long before Eric had even closed his eyes.