Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure if I owned Boy Meets World I would at least see some money every now and then. And I don't...so I probably don't own the show either.

Trigger warnings: Anxiety attack and mentions of child abuse.


Shawn should have known that Jack was not one to let things go. Even if they were just mild infringements. So when he refused to talk to Jack about the night before as soon as the sun began to rise the following morning—a show of "feeling absolutely no guilt for his recklessness"... or so Jack claimed—he should have expected his brother to immediately back out of their deal and drag him to the Matthews. There Shawn was forced to recount borrowing Jack's car, how he crashed—blinded by floodlights, not tears—the quick stop at the hospital to get checked out, and the subsequent trip to the station, to not only his brother but everyone that made up the Matthew household as well. The only thing he had to be grateful for was that no one seemed to notice his jump between being arrested and being bailed.

He still couldn't wrap his head around Mr. Turner's arrival, or how he felt about it. Everything had happened so fast, he could almost believe that he'd imagined the whole thing, that Jack had been able to get him out and he just got too caught up in a similar memory and ran with the idea. But one of Jack's first questions had been to ask him to explain who exactly Mr. Turner was—which he would have done had he been properly rested and prepared.

Instead he was strapped to a seat at the Matthews' kitchen table by his brother's hands on his shoulders, listening to lecture after lecture from each member in turn.

He'd been reckless.

He'd been stupid.

He should have known better.

He could have gotten himself killed. And did he know the amount of pain that would cause some people? People who would have to go the rest of their lives without their best friend, while he got off easy, lying in his grave, not a care in the world. An argument to which, "yes, Cor, I know," had only earned him a, "no, Shawnie, ya don't…you'd be dead."

So he accepted all their words and their sighs and their disapprovals. But Shawn hadn't been raised by authority and receiving a lecture was as foreign to him as World Food Day at school—he knew it only from the brief times he'd encountered it. Raised voices and frustration were more often lead-ins to physical fights in his experience. Fights he never had a chance of winning. Fights that left him feeling broken and helpless.

"I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry," Shawn finally snapped, jerking against Jack's hands until his brother freed him. Then he was on his feet, pushing away from the table, distancing himself from the din of angry voices that still seemed to play in his head.

"We aren't mad at you, Shawn, we're just worried," Mrs. Matthews said as she raised her right hand, palm out.

Shawn unconsciously flinched. Took another half step backwards. It wasn't a slap though, it was a gesture of peace.

"Mom's right, Shawn. I know you were upset about not finding out who your mother is and all, but taking a car out alone was pretty dangerous," Cory added.

Shawn shook his head, trying to clear the noise. "It wasn't about my mom," it was, "I had errands to run. I needed to drive." The words wisped past his lips, depleting him of breaths he was beginning to feel low on.

Jack shook his head. "Well, that's why people go for their licenses. You know, so they can legally drive?"

I'm not that stupid, Jack, he wanted to say.

"Oh yes you are. You're plenty stupid. More so than me, that's for sure," Jack responded. Except Shawn didn't think he'd said that out loud. And Jack's voice had a distinctly Shawn-like undertone.

"Does it matter if I actually said it? Not voicing the thought doesn't make it any less real," Jack's voice reasoned.

In his head. The words came from his own head. Not Jack. Just him.

They rang true nonetheless.

"I know how to drive. Don't need a card to tell me that," Shawn breathed. It was hard to get anything out, even harder to follow the line of conversation outside of his head. He could feel his panic spike.

Calm down, he had to remind himself. But his heart sped up still, and his head screeched with unspoken yelling.

Calm down.

In out.

Breathe.

Could no one else tell he was struggling to fill his lung?!

Calm down.

"You crashed. That doesn't look like you kn–"

Alan cut Jack off with a wave of his hand. "Listen, I don't doubt you know how to drive, Shawn. I helped teach you, for crying out loud. But that doesn't change the fact that driving without proper authorization is illegal. These kinds of things go on a record."

Shawn's hands ran through his hair. Nobody would listen to his side of the story; in their eyes there was no explanation for his actions. Everyone was staring him down, determined to make him feel guilty about what he'd done, when it hadn't even been that bad. Nobody got hurt.

The Matthews were always fair to him in the past, it felt wrong to think of them as the enemy. Maybe thinking was the problem though. Every thought came through muddled. He wondered if it had something to do with not getting enough oxygen to his brain, since the longer he stood there the shallower his breaths became. But why hadn't anyone seemed to notice that he wasn't breathing regularly?

Were they so upset that they wouldn't care if his breaths stopped coming?

He was being irrational.

Just calm down.

His heart picked up speed. His breaths shook. His head swam. And the silent yelling grew louder behind his eyes.

"Shawn?"

"Hey Shawn, get back here! We're not done talking."

"Shawnie…are you okay?

"Shawn? Where are you going?"

He hadn't realized he'd opened the door.

"Out," Shawn vaguely heard himself mutter.

"We're in the middle of a conversation, Shawn. You can't just leave!" Alan called.

But the fresh air felt so good against his oxygen deprived skin, and he hadn't even realized how trapped he'd felt until he could see the open sky.

"You're not my dad," Shawn whispered over his shoulder. It was his go to defensive remark, because who could argue that logic.

Walking aimlessly through the streets, Shawn tried to regain control of himself. Tried to steady his breathing, reason with his thoughts, block out the yelling that had morphed from that of the Matthews' to his own father's. It was almost eerie how clear the voice of a dead man could be. But even hating the words spoken, Shawn relished in their presence. They came from a time when he still had a father, when his mother may not have been around but was still easy to name.

"Look at what you done, boy!"

Shawn could feel his father's fingers knotting in his hair and pulling his head up to look at the shattered window of the front door. A window that had always had a little crack, but now lay scattered across the floor. Only one piece remained in its place: a jagged shard, seated at the bottom of the frame.

"I didn't do it. That was Eddie," he replied meekly.

The fingers tightened in his hair. "Don't go blamin' your brother when he ain't here to defend himself," Chet warned.

And Shawn's knees struck the floor on a landmine of broken glass. Three blows rang behind his left ear…

Shawn wished he could go back to that moment. Wished he could take the rest of the beating. Wished he could wake up the next morning, shaky and sore. Clean himself up in the bathroom. Kiss his mother goodbye. Go to school. Tease Cory. Hide winces behind smiles and laughs.

It had been his normal. He missed his parents being around, even if they showered him in blows instead of kisses and insults instead of praises. It wasn't how things should have been, but it wasn't so bad. Not as bad as missing them, knowing they'd never be back.

And they wouldn't be coming back so he might as well stop dreaming.

"Stop dreamin', boy," Chet scoffed.

Shawn felt a tired smile tug at his lips. His father always said that as a reminder that college wasn't going to happen, that a built in house wasn't going to happen, that his mother sticking around wasn't going to happen. And even in death the phrase was there to remind him that family wasn't going to happen.

That was okay though. He knew alone better than most…and he had friends, that was good enough, right?

In a haze, Shawn briefly registered walking into an apartment building. Then climbing, following set after set of steps, stopping when he saw an apartment 8 directly off the stairs on the right.

Turner's apartment…at least, what used to be Turner's apartment.

Shawn raised his hand, fingers curling to make a loose fist. He probably should have hesitated, taken a minute to think before he let his knuckles rap the wood, but his head was still swimming with voices and his lungs were still asking for too much. Thinking felt sluggish, like trudging through a pool of mud, and his body seemed to take control of its own accord.

He knocked again.

The lock clicked from inside, the knob turned, and the door slit open.

"Hello? Can I help you?" A woman with brilliant red hair and exotic eyes smiled through the thin crack of the door.

"Uh…" Shawn reached for words. What was he supposed to say? "Wrong apartment…I think. Looking for someone else. Sorry." He backed up a couple paces, rubbing his hands together in front of him.

"Are you looking for Jon?" The woman asked.

Shawn stared blankly for a moment, before offering a slow blink. He hated how long it took him to think of an answer, and "Mr. Turner?" was all he managed to squeeze out.

"Yes. Are you one of his students?"

Shawn shrugged. His head hummed with an explanation, but the words got stuck.

As it became obvious that he had nothing more to offer, the woman opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter. "I'll go get Jon, okay? Make yourself comfortable," she said as she turned toward the stairs and headed up.

Shawn thought he heard the whisper of voices, but it was hard to tell as his head pounded. He found himself sitting on the couch, head clutched between his hands, and in a moment of near lucidity, wondered what he was doing at Turner's apartment. He rose again, running his hands through his hair as he evaluated the space. It was very much the same to when he'd last been there, but there were differences. Like the five ceramic flowers that lined one shelf in varying shades of blue. Or the necklace hanging on the hook by the door.

It struck Shawn that Turner could have gotten married within their time apart. But he'd known the man, marriage did not seem up his alley. Then again it had been four years and a lot could change in that time, Shawn would know.

Still, it didn't seem fair if his former teacher had settled down, while his dad died, and his mom decided she never really existed, and his life fell apart for what must have been the hundredth time.

Then again, everyone was stolen by something. Death. Secrets. Who would discount the possibility of Marriage?

That was a selfish line of thought, but Shawn struggled to keep his breaths at the almost regular pace he'd found. Ugh, he'd been doing so good at distracting himself, now he was reminded of the thrum in his chest and noise in his head.

Calm down, he chided himself, you'll look like a mess when Turner comes down.

He exhaled slowly.

Just calm down. Please.


Jonathan studied himself in the full length mirror as he buttoned a faded black dress shirt that sported three vertical lines down its front. It was the third time he'd changed that morning, and he was tempted to do so again. Sarah was probably wondering what was taking him so long, though, since they were supposed to have left the apartment half an hour ago to get breakfast together. He didn't normally take so long in getting ready, but he'd had a lot on his mind since the night before and had to admit, if only to himself, that he had not slept after arriving back at his apartment.

A rap sounded on his bedroom door.

Okay, so no more changing, he decided with a shake of his head.

"Jon?" Sarah called from the other side as she pushed the door open.

Jonathan smiled, turning away from the mirror to face her. "Hey, Sarah. Did you decide where to go for breakfast?"

Sarah wet her lips before speaking. "Not exactly. Someone was at the door—a student of yours, I think. He was looking for you. I left him in the living room."

"Oh? Have you seen this kid before?" He turned back to the mirror again, adjusting his shirt's collar. With the semester coming to a close he'd been getting quite a few house calls from a couple last minute stragglers looking for one more chance to bring up their grades. There wasn't much he could do for them at this point, except stress the importance of completing assignments in a timely manner and actually studying next semester. It definitely wasn't the funnest part of his job, not when he knew how important grades were to a high school transcript.

Tilting her head, Sarah thought for a moment. "I don't think I have."

Turner caught a glance of her face in the mirror. He watched as she worried her bottom lip for a couple of seconds.

She knew who it was. Or at least had a pretty good idea.

Could it be…?

Turner didn't want to get his hopes up for nothing. He took a deep breath, schooling himself to be patient. "Well, I guess I better go see what this is all about, huh?"

"You probably should," Sarah nodded.

Jonathan crossed the room, giving Sarah's arm a quick squeeze as he began to slip past.

"Jon," she started again, halting his progress.

"Hmmm?"

"The kid looked pretty out of it. It might have just been a long way here, but…" Sarah trailed off with a shrug.

Jonathan nodded, his suspicions rising.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Jonathan saw the kid's back as he stood facing the door, hands dug into his hair. It was Shawn. He could tell, despite only seeing him from behind. Could see it in his posture, his fashion, his hair that had somehow managed to remain perfect in the last four years.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Jonathan asked lightly, trying not to startle him.

Shawn jumped slightly anyway, before spinning on his heels, and Turner instantly understood what "pretty out of it" meant—the phrase was an understatement if he ever did hear one. His face was a sheen of sweat and his chest rose and fell at uneven intervals. Maybe it had just been a long way to Turner's apartment, but his glazed eyes communicated something different.

"Hey-" Shawn gave a hesitant wave, dropped his hand. 'Hi…"

Jonathan took a slow step forward. "Hi, Shawn. How are you doing?"

"I'm…good. Good," Shawn smiled.

"I'm glad," Turner attempted to smile. Then, gesturing to the couch, offered him a seat.

Shawn took a couple shaky steps forward, seemingly changing his mind at the last second and rooting himself in place. A quick shake of his head followed a couple seconds later, as if an afterthought.

Turner cleared his throat. "So, Shawn, any particular reason you stopped by. Wanna talk?"

The look of confusion that flashed across Shawn's face was nearly palpable. "Well…" His eyes darted around for a couple of seconds. "You said you wanted to hang out…at some point. And I was going to call you but I realized I forgot your number, you know? I remembered the apartment though… I thought I'd see if you were still around." He punctuated the explanation by vigorously rubbing his hands together.

Jonathan noted the rush of words and slight tremble that accompanied them. The kid did not sound good. He hated the fact that the idea of Shawn being drunk instantly rose to the forefront of his mind. But Shawn had been arrested the other night, Jon still didn't know what for, and now he showed up out of nowhere, unsteady and confused. He couldn't entirely negate the possibility.

"That makes sense," Jonathan agreed slowly. "I'd love to catch up. We can hang around here, or go catch a bite somewhere?" He glanced briefly at Sarah who stood a little to his left, behind the couch. She gave him a soft smile in understanding.

Shawn, for his part, stared straight ahead, unblinking. Looking at Jonathan with such an intensity it seemed impossible that his eyes were so dull.

"Shawn?" Turner tried again.

And this time the boy reacted, closing his eyes and shaking his head. When his eyes opened again they flickered with a hint of clarity that hadn't been there before. He lifted his gaze to make eye contact with Turner and Jonathan saw emotions running wild behind the haze in his eyes. Uncertainty and anger and pain.

And something else. Something hidden just under everything else. Something that looked broken and lost and in need of comfort.

Jonathan couldn't help but question where Shawn's family was. He knew Chet had come back to raise his boy. He heard a rumor around school that the young Hunter's mother had returned shortly after. If yesterday was any indication, he had a brother who seemed to be around.

Why was he here? Why not with them?

"Shawn…are you okay?" Turner asked. But what he really wanted to know was if everything had been okay. If the last four years had been good on him. If letting Chet take him back was the right thing to do.

"Wha– Yeah, yeah, yes…I'm…" Shawn began, took a quick breath, started over. "I'm fine. Sorry. I…just noticed the place was a bit different now. You married?" His eyes shot over to Sarah who still stood behind the couch.

Jonathan doubted that was what he'd been thinking about, but didn't pry. Maybe it was best to keep him focused on something else until he was ready to talk.

"Not yet. The wedding is in a week and a half though."

Shawn's eyebrows shot to the fringe of his hair. "Wow. Congrats…" He let out an awkward chuckle, eyes jumping between Sarah and Turner a couple of times.

"Thanks!" Jonathan smiled, shooting Sarah an adoring gaze. "So…you want to get something to eat, Shawn? Or just talk?"

Shawn nodded. "Food sounds good."

"Okay. Where do you want to go?"

"Chubbie's." The answer was instantaneous.

Turner laughed lightly. "Of course. I'll just go grab a jacket and we can go, sounds good?"

At Shawn's agreement he turned to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was relieved to note that Sarah followed close behind.

When they reached the bedroom, Turner regarded her with a lowered tone. "You were right, Sarah…he doesn't look the best."

"Not at all," she said with a shake of her head.

"You're okay if we go without you?"

Sarah placed her hand on his forearm, offering a gentle squeeze. "I'll order some breakfast to my place or something. It's more important that you make sure everything is okay."

"I'm sorry to dump you, Sar. We'll do something later."

"There's no need to apologize." She handed him his jacket as he slipped out of the room.

Turner found Shawn in the same place he'd left him, staring blankly ahead once again. He chose to ignore this for the moment; everything would be better once they had a chance to talk. So, he strode forward, clapped Shawn on the shoulder as he passed—and regretted it when the boy tensed under his hand.

Shawn turned and followed him out of the apartment without a word.

Both men walked in relative quiet down the street. Cars passed by easily, spilling tire screeches and the occasional horn into their silence, and throwing flashy reflections along the snow speckled sidewalks. The smell of early morning flurries provided a freshened breath for each inhale, but the air held less of a chill than most mornings. The peaceful nature of the walk made it almost a pity to walk through the doors of Chubbie's heated diner.

Though the business wasn't overflowing with breakfasting individuals, Shawn selected a table near the exit. A table that allowed a hefty amount of cold to reach it. But Turner wasn't going to suggest they move. As far as he was concerned Shawn could choose to eat outside, so long as they had the opportunity to talk.

"So…" Turner prompted after the waiter left with their order.

"'So' what?"

"So…how's everything been, Shawn?"


"So…how's everything been, Shawn?" Turner asked, placing his hands on the table.

"Everything's been…" Shawn's mind flashed to the letter he'd opened two night before that had turned his life upside down for the uptenth time. The letter that had revealed Virna wasn't his biological mother and sent him on a search to find the woman who'd birthed him. The letter that had ultimately led to disappointment upon disappointment when his searches came up blank. "Fine. Everything's been fine." He tried to force a smile.

"Just fine? How's college going for you?" Turner pushed.

Shawn allowed the question to settle for a second before responding. The haze he'd been feeling since leaving the Matthew's home had lessened, leaving a sluggish sort of tired in its wake. "Oh you know…it's school. The first semester just ended last week, so it's mostly been slow the last couple of days."

Turner nodded in interest, but Shawn couldn't tell if he actually cared about what he had to say or was just feigning engagement to keep from hurting his feelings.

His dad wouldn't have cared. But Turner wasn't his dad, he knew that with certainty.

"Are you staying in a dorm, or still living with your dad?" Turner inquired, causing Shawn to nearly choke on his saliva.

Did Turner not know? He'd already graduated high school when his dad died, Shawn realized, of course Turner wouldn't have known.

"Uh…I'm trying to land a shared dorm with Cory. They're still working on renovations though, so we haven't been able to move in yet. I think they should be done pretty soon." He took a breath. "I've been staying with Jack until that's all settled."

"Right," Turner replied in a tone of disbelief. "Your brother?"

Shawn nodded slowly, not understanding why Turner sounded skeptical. He hadn't thought he'd misspoken. "That's correct; my brother."

"And your dad? Does he live with you both?"

Shawn had hoped Turner wouldn't ask. "Uh no…"

A look of anger tumbled onto Turner's face.

"Dad had a heart attack and…uh…died," Shawn tried to sound casual but was aware of the catch in his voice.

The anger on Turner's face instantly vanished, replaced by a slight frown and creased brow. "How long ago was this, Shawn?"

Shawn shrugged as he tried—and failed—to discreetly clear his throat. "Not too long after the school year started."

"Oh, Shawn…I'm so sorry. I had no idea. You should have come see me."

Shawn shrugged again. "It's fine. One good thing about having a father that's never around is that you learn not to miss them when they're gone." He lied; he did miss his dad, even if he was never around. He tried to laugh, but it came out strained.

"And you know…I was already living with Jack, so it wasn't too difficult to manage." He lied again; it was very difficult to manage.

Turner didn't seem to know what to say then. He awkwardly moved the food around in his plate, not holding Shawn's eyes for more than a couple seconds. It was pity, and Shawn hated pity.

"Anyway…what about you? Who's the fiance?"

Turner perked up at that, whether it was from thinking of her or moving off of the topic of his dad, Shawn didn't know.

"Sarah? She's incredible," Turner grinned.

"Okay?" Shawn could have laughed—if he hadn't felt so drained—at the look of pure adoration that had slipped onto his former teacher's face. Through all the women Shawn had known Turner to date, never had the man seemed so enraptured by the mere mention of one of them.

"We met shortly after my motorcycle accident."

Shawn tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that sprouted from those words. That same motorcycle accident had been the beginning of losing one of the few people he relied on. Because he'd visited Turner everyday when he was in the hospital, when it seemed he would never wake up and the doctors were not optimistic. He'd stayed by his side when there were slight improvements and setbacks and false alarms.

Then Mr. Turner was getting better and Shawn had hoped the room he'd stayed in at Turer's might still be available. He'd hoped that maybe once his teacher was better he could move back in with him…get away from his dad, who hadn't kept his promise of doing better.

And he'd showed up at the hospital one day and Turner wasn't there. Gone. For one sinking moment he'd thought something had gone wrong overnight and Turner had died.

He was fine, the doctor told him. Discharged earlier that day, the doctor told him.

Discharged and he'd never called Shawn. But he was probably just tired, he'd call eventually. So Shawn had waited and waited and waited and continued to wait for two weeks without any contact with Turner.

I should take a trip to his apartment and check on him, Shawn would think each day, but the chasm of pain that had started as a seed had grown a powerful trunk. Turner not calling was beginning to feel too much like being forgotten by his parents when they left.

Shawn had been bitter about the treatment, and had stayed away from the apartment. When Turner had showed up at school the next year, hallways that ran in the opposite direction of him had made themselves known.

Turner hadn't seeked him out in the following years of highschool, as far as Shawn knew.

It seemed cruel that while he was losing Turner, someone else was gaining him.

Turner began again. "We met in physical therapy; she was there with her dad. I just remember thinking someone's head had caught fire when I first saw her."

Shawn snorted.

"To be fair, I was still pretty heavy on painkillers at this point," Turner replied in defense.

Shawn just nodded.

"Anyway, we struck up a couple conversations while she waited for her dad and she instantly fell in love. I practically had to pry her off me and throw her out the door when her dad was ready to leave, and she's followed me around since then. It was creepy at first, but I think I've developed 'stalker-holm' syndrome" he said with a grin. "Don't ask her about it though…she's embarrassed and likes to twist the story."

"So what you're telling me is you were being stalked by a random woman, that you cared nothing about?" Shawn held back a guffaw at his obvious exaggerations. "You should have called the police and had her arrested."

Shawn realized his mistake too late, realized that it was too soon after his own arrest to bring up anything regarding the matter without the conversation being turned on him. He'd hoped Turner would ignore the opening, but his former teacher didn't miss a beat.

"Talking about arrest…" Turner started. "What happened last night, Shawn?"

Shawn was prepared for the questioning. He knew it would inevitably come up. Turner didn't sound mad though. Not even disappointed. Not like Jack and the Matthews. He sounded curious.

Curious was easier.

"I got in a little accident with a lampost." Maybe they could leave it at that.

"And you were arrested for that?"

Or maybe not.

Shawn's fingers looped around the cuffs of his leather jacket as he felt his nerves flutter. He rushed to spit the words out before his throat closed. "Not quite. See…I don't exactly have a license."

Turner's eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly open. "I can see why they'd have a problem with that."

"I know how to drive," Shawn muttered, though that argument had gotten him nowhere with anyone else.

"So you weren't drunk?" Turner asked.

Now it was Shawn's turn to assume a look of shock. "Why would I be?"

Turner let out a sigh, letting his shoulders relax. "I don't know, Shawn, but you were arrested last night, you didn't explain anything when I came down to bail you, and you looked…out of it when you showed up this morning."

"Oh."

The quick jump to defense hadn't escaped Shawn's notice. Turner probably thought he would be upset over the accusation, but Shawn was too caught up in the fact that Turner had been paying so much attention to his state. His dad wouldn't have noticed any of that.

He had to stop comparing Mr. Turner to his dad though. They were different people…but that didn't make his father bad. In any case you don't think ill of the dead, and his dad was dead, so there was no point in lingering on what he would and wouldn't have done in a situation.

Turner leaned towards the table, reducing some of the distance between them. "I'm not going to give you a lecture, okay? But I need to know that you are alright."

That was tough to answer. Was he alright? Physically, he was fine. Mentally, he'd been better. Emotionally…he hadn't been able to pull one emotion free of the next since morning. Did that qualify as alright? Would he be lying if he agreed? Alright was such a simple word, but held too many layers.

"Alright?" He asked for clarification without meaning to.

Turner nodded. "Yes, 'alright'. Is living with Jack working out for you? Have you been okay since your dad died? Are you happy? Are you alright?"

Shawn averted his eyes, staring at the table. He could answer each of those questions with one word: no. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm fine."

"I don't want 'fine', Shawn. I want alright. I want good. I want to know that you're not struggling."

Shawn couldn't offer any of those.

He opened his mouth for a second, moving his tongue a couple of times before closing it again. What was he supposed to say?

He was saved from coming up with anything when a voice he couldn't not recognize carried from the stairs on the other side of the diner. "...and the fact that we haven't been here in so long is exactly what's so attractive about it. It's familiar but not too obvious. If we're going to find Shawn this would be the place."

Cory!

Shawn nearly knocked the seat over as he careened out of it. Turner—who probably hadn't paid attention to the words of the entering customers—looked at him with confusion. In any other situation he might have explained, but he couldn't risk Cory spotting him; he didn't want to face his friend yet. He needed more time. So he bolted out the door. He wanted to run, but had the common courtesy to wait for his breakfast partner, who had charged after him.

"Shawn? Where are you going?" Turner asked, facing the boy as he leaned against the stone wall of Chubbies exterior, hands fidgeting with his jacket.

"I just…" Shawn considered lying, then thought better of it. "I heard Cory coming in."

Turner squinted in confusion. "What? You get in a fight?"

Shawn didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want to explain. Not yet. "Kind of. We disagreed on how to handle something and he was right. I just need to steer clear of him for a while." Him and the rest of the Mattews. And Jack…his roommate.

Turner didn't look entirely convinced with his story.

"Mr. Turner," Shawn began, sucking in a breath. He would probably regret this.

"Jon," Turner corrected.

"What?" Shawn looked taken aback.

"Jon," Turner reaffirmed, "not 'Mr. Turner'. I'm not your teacher anymore…we're buddies."

"Oh, right. Jon? Uh…would it be okay if I crashed with you for a couple days?" He instantly felt stupid for asking. They'd hardly communicated in three years and here he was expecting to be welcomed back with open arms.

And Sarah.

He hadn't even considered her. Turner wasn't alone anymore. Things weren't just going to go back to the way they had been.

"Of course!" Turner tried not to sound too eager. "You can have your old room for a couple of days, or however long you need."

Perhaps he'd been wrong about the open arms.

Shawn repressed a yawn. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until he'd stood up. Now he felt his fatigue settle in, along with a stiffness in his muscle. "Thanks."

Both men walked back to Turner's apartment in much the same manner as they had left: silence. But this time each was just a little less worried.


A/N (1/4/2023): Hey, I wanted to add a note for anyone still waiting for the next chapter and anyone newly opening the story.

So, if you've read the description of this story, you probably noticed that it says "story not abandoned," which I still stand by...however, what I didn't have the space to write was "This story isn't abandoned, but the next update probably won't arrive anytime soon."

I still check my email and love to see follows and favorites popping up. I also make an effort to respond to any pms and comments, so you'll probably get a response if you have any questions, suggestions, or just want to say hi (which doesn't happen enough, so you know, send me a hi and we can be best buds, lol).

Thanks for reading! I hope you'll still be around when an update finally stumbles out of the writing bank!