A/N: So today's my birthday! And nothing showed up as being updated on my watched list, so it'd really make my day if you guys REVIEWED THIS STORY or my other ones! Please leave a review even if it is just a comment. Criticism is always welcome as long as you have a way to improve the story. Thanks so much for reading!


6). The headaches? They don't come around as often.

It's been a bad day for Carlton Lassiter.

The murder case he's been investigating has run up against a dead end, and he feels that nothing he can do will help find any clues to convict anyone. Thankfully, the clock has just struck five, meaning that the weary head detective is now off work. Meaning, off to the bar.

He strolls to his car and jumps when he sees someone sitting in the passenger seat. Said mysterious figure leans his head out of the car and Carlton breathes a sigh of relief, spotting the mess of brown hair.

"Lassiebear! How was work?"

"Hard. As usual."

Shawn frowns at his boyfriend.

"I keep telling you that I can come in for help if you guys need me."

The older man shakes his head.

"I don't want you getting involved because it's a murder case and you might get hurt."

The fake psychic pouts.

"But I'll be able to help! And you don't have to worry about me. I'm a big kid now."

"Henry would argue otherwise," Lassiter breathes in slight exasperation. He swings open the car door.

"So why were you waiting to almost give me a heart attack, Shawn?"

"You should know! It's Wednesday evening, meaning…"

The younger man stares at the head detective, waiting for him to realize what day it is. Unsurprisingly, the older man doesn't catch on.

"Meaning what?" Lassiter massages the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, feeling a headache coming on.

"It's date night, Lassiekins! You've got to keep up on this, it's the second time you forgot."

Shawn shuts up as an icy blue gaze pierces him. He doesn't know whether to keep talking or not, but all he does know is that he's in trouble. That's what the death glare always means.

The head detective, on the other hand, knows that his stare means other things. Things along the lines of Sweet justice, you made my headache vanish. So when the older man opens his mouth, Shawn flinches, unsurprisingly.

"Sorry," Lassiter mumbles. "Where do you plan on going?"

The fake psychic's face brightens.

"Not a bar, that's for sure! 'Cuz by the way your face looks, that's exactly where you want to go."

The faint, dull rumblings of a headache return once more.

"Spencer, could we just please go to a—"

"Which is why we're just going to order takeout and eat at home!"

Carlton stares at his boyfriend, astonished.

"You sure you want to deal with the part of me that really wants my scotch?"

Shawn laughs.

"I know I won't have to deal with it if we're eating dinner together at home, watching some cop movie and cuddling all at once."

The earthquake that was the ominous headache stops instantly as the older man smiles.

"Let's go, then. I can't wait."