Shawn walked next to Gus on the way back to the dorms, feeling comfortably tired. It had taken two hours of hiking without a leash or anyone else around before the urge to move was finally appeased, but it had done a world of good. Even the thought of a dining hall full of people wasn't terrifying anymore.

Much.

"Ok," Gus said as the dorm building came into view. "Let's talk expectations. I looked it up, and the dining hall is basically an all-you-can-eat buffet. We'll scout out the options and then we'll start at the hot foods. Today it's chicken strips, pepperoni rolls, and noodles. No other information on what kind." He looked disgruntled at the lack of clear communication. "We'll both take care of our own food. You can serve yourself as much as you want, you don't have to worry about what I'm eating, we won't leave until we're both completely done. You can get seconds or even thirds if you want. I don't mind taking you back up so you can get more food. Any questions?"

Even though he hadn't gone hungry in three months, the opportunity to eat as much as he wanted was still overwhelming. Shawn focused in on what he and Gus might disagree on. "People will expect me to kneel."

"Would you feel more comfortable kneeling?" Gus asked as he tried to keep his face blank. He wasn't very good at it.

Gus wanted him to sit. Slaves knelt. What did he want? Gus liked when he knew what Shawn was thinking. "I… I don't want to be noticed."

"Then I guess that makes the answer easy." Gus clearly wished it was a different answer. He answered Shawn's look by adding, "I get it, and I'd rather you be comfortable instead of pushing yourself too far."

Shawn smiled at the warmth in his chest. He glanced around quickly; they needed to lighten things up. A girl with her nose in a book caught his attention and he nodded in her direction. "Wipe out in 3... 2… 1…"

A tire skidded on cement as a bike rider slammed on his brakes and tried to swerve around the book girl. She looked up just in time for his handlebar to catch her across the stomach. The bike went down, the book went flying, and yells filled the air. "Watch where you're going!"

Gus' eyebrows rose in an impressed look. "Man, your mojo is almost psychic, you know that?"

"Nah. If I was psychic, then I'd be able to figure you out." Shawn let enough of his smile show for Gus to see he was joking.

Gus thumbed his nose with a smug look. "Many have tried. Many have failed."

Shawn huffed a laugh. "I believe that."

Gus' voice was much quieter when he asked, "If things get too much, you'll let me know?"

"Yeah, I will," Shawn answered as the warmth in his chest grew.

There was food everywhere. A whole salad bar, a table of fruit and desserts, a row of cereal dispensers, an entire bar just with sandwich ingredients. Machines for ice cream, soda, nacho cheese, slushies… And they hadn't even gotten into line for the hot food yet.

Shawn couldn't stop staring. How was he supposed to choose? How was he supposed to not eat everything in sight and die stuffed and happy?

There were people everywhere too, sitting in chatting groups, milling around the food, taking dirty trays to their spot in the back. A few slaves were visible kneeling next to chairs or standing in the corner with a bucket and rag next to them. He'd thought he was handling it alright. But then he'd seen the food.

"Shawn?" Gus asked.

He'd promised… "T-Too much, sir."

"Yeah. I get that. Uh… Choices. Um…"

Gus usually came up with choices easily; except he had a bewildered look on his face too as he took in all of the options. Which oddly made Shawn feel better. At least it wasn't just 'his stuff', as Gus would say.

"Ok, lunchable model," Gus finally said. "Main, side, dessert. Do you want chicken, pepperoni roll, or sandwich?"

The tension in Shawn's chest loosened slightly; he could do smaller choices. He closed his eyes to the busy room and made a decision. "Pepperoni rolls, sir."

There were too many people to risk not being polite. But the addition felt wrong now; Gus was more than a 'sir'.

"Sides. Corn, fruit, or nachos?"

That one was easy. There was chopped pineapple on the table. "Fruit, sir."

"Dessert. Ice cream, cookies, slushy."

"Cookies, sir." Gus shouldn't have to help him like this. "Thank you."

"You did good letting me know. Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Shawn followed Gus to an open door with a small line of students. The air grew warmer as they stepped into a small room with yet another buffet bar, this one with heat lamps. Gus handed Shawn a plate and went first, grabbing a pair of tongs and loading his plate up with chicken strips. He paused after the pepperoni rolls and waited as Shawn tentatively reached out to serve himself. Gus raised his eyebrows and waited, and Shawn added another roll to his plate.

He'd served himself before, usually with orders, but there was always an expectation to never take more than needed. Staying a little hungry was better than a master thinking he was taking advantage of a kindness.

Which, naturally, meant Gus went against all master expectations, gesturing for Shawn to take an extra scoop of pineapple and an extra cookie before giving him quick options for his drink. It was a relief when they found a table in the corner and Shawn could kneel and not make decisions for a few minutes.

The food was just as delicious as it looked. The pepperoni rolls weren't quite as good as pizza, but what they lacked in tangy sauce, they made up for with extra butter and garlic. Shawn ate his cookies second, saving the pineapple for last.

He waited patiently after he finished, sneaking glances at the rest of the dining hall and taking mental snapshots to investigate later. He had to get used to crowds; practicing in his memories would be a good start.

"I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach," Gus finally said, angling his plate so Shawn could see two lonely chicken strips. "Want to try the chicken before you go up for seconds?"

Slaves ate their master's scraps. Friends shared food. Which one was this? "Yes- Yeah, I'll try them."

The chicken was good, but not as good as Mrs. Guster's. Gus waited for a couple of minutes after Shawn finished before asking, "Do you want more? Or we could sneak out some of those muffins for later."

Shawn huffed a laugh at Gus' fast acclimation. There were several food options that were individually packaged, including small blueberry muffins. And Shawn had seen several students slide them into their pockets when they thought no one was looking. "The muffins sound like a good idea."

He wasn't hungry anymore, and it would save him from having to make more choices with Gus waiting on him.

Gus led him to the conveyor belt for dirty dishes first, and they both put their dishes down. Gus turned away without a second thought, but Shawn took a moment to watch the trays disappear into the darkness before following. What was it like for the slaves in there? The hot kitchen, the endless dishes, the constant chores. Was it better to always have something to do or to have nothing to do?

Shawn shook his head in annoyance and focused back on his job of helping Gus. He'd never had thoughts like that before, and he had his own problems to deal with. There wasn't room for wondering about other slaves' experiences.

Gus meandered to the table with the packaged snacks and looked both ways before casually picking up a few muffins and handing them over. Shawn took them and hid his small smirk at how Gus seemed to light up at their small rebellion. After another furtive glance, Gus loaded up his own pockets before grinning and taking a napkin from a dispenser. "I've got an idea."

His idea was to fold several cookies up in the napkin before letting his hand drop to his side, hiding his stash in his palm. It wasn't hidden very well, but the chances of actually being stopped for the bits of napkin that stuck out were low. Gus' walk had a distinct swagger as they made their way out of the dining hall.

The air was heavy in the shower two days later. A creeping dread hung in the saturated air, invading Shawn's lungs and churning in his stomach. It was the first day of classes, which meant it was the first day he'd be left in the room while Gus went out on his own.

The door would be locked, so he'd be safe. There were plenty of snacks in case he got hungry. Gus had already laid out several comics for him to read… But the constant pressures to do something, to be useful, to move, were pre-emptively getting loud. And he was going to have to deal with them for hours.

He finished drying himself and pulled on the clean clothes he'd picked out. His hands trembled with suppressed energy, and he had to focus to make the controlled movements needed for buttoning his shirt and pants. It was fine; he was fine. Gus had even promised they'd get out of the dorm and take a long walk once he got back.

Like taking a dog for a walk after it had been cooped up all day.

Shawn growled at his brain –like a dog, it helpfully supplied– and slammed the lanyard on. The edge of the cloth strap dug into his skin, and he pulled harder, just to bleed off some of the energy. Gus was taking his slave for a walk, because he was nice, because there wasn't any other way Shawn could get out of the building.

Unless he ran away… but he wasn't planning on running away anymore, so that option didn't count.

A door opened outside of the shower curtain, and Shawn quickly gathered his things. He could do his hair in the dorm room; there was something else he needed to do first. He peeked around the edge of the curtain to confirm it was the brunette slave before walking out.

He'd gotten the timing wrong the day before, not seeing her until he was letting himself into Gus' room. But at least that meant he knew which room she'd come from.

The brunette smiled, not seeming surprised to see him. She was wearing a bright pink shirt that hung down to her knees this time, and her legs and arms were still bruise-free.

He hid his internal struggle with a smile and said, "Hi, sorry I couldn't answer you the other day. I don't know many signs."

The brunette's jaw dropped as her eyebrows rose. It was kind of cute, in a girl-next-door way.

Which was an odd thing to think about a slave.

"Yeah, my master lets me talk without having to be asked something," Shawn answered the silent question. "Are you allowed to talk?"

"...Yes," the brunette answered tentatively.

They both waited, listening for if her collar would recognize that Shawn was a slave asking a question instead of a free person. It didn't react and Shawn's smile became more genuine at the new way to bend the rules. "My name's Shawn. Do you have something you like to be called?"

Her expression grew guarded and she thought for a second before taking the out his wording had offered her. "N-No."

"That's fine." He squashed the urge to give her a nickname; slaves didn't name other slaves. "So, uh, first day of classes. Are you nervous?"

What the hell kind of question was that?

The brunette seemed to agree with his assessment as she raised a skeptical eyebrow. "No…"

"Right… That's all you're going to tell me now, isn't it?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "No."

Shawn smiled back as an alarm clock blared in his head. They'd taken enough time. "Sorry, I'll let you get to it. It was nice getting to say hi this time."

She nodded and made a short sign, her fingers twisting as she moved her hand out from her chest.

Shawn mimicked the sign and asked, "What does that one mean?"

"It means… Go in peace."

He needed all the peace he could find. Shawn made the sign again before adding another as he backed away. 'May you stay safe.'

She sent the sign back as he turned to leave the room.

"Ok… books, laptop, heavy-ass backpack…" Gus ticked off his items as he hefted the bag further up his shoulders. "Are you sure you'll be ok? You can still come with…"

"You're the one who said you wanted to know which classes let slaves in," Shawn pointed out while ignoring the loud voice in his head insisting he beg to be brought along. "And the door'll be locked; I'll be safe."

And Gus was here to learn, not worry about his slave. It was better this way.

"I know," Gus sighed as he checked his watch again. "I don't know if I'll be able to get back for lunch. Worst case scenario, I'll be back by two thirty, alright?"

"I'll be ok." His fingers needed to twitch; he forced them still.

"There's lunchables in the fridge; you're allowed to eat more than one. You're allowed to leave the room if you need to, you're allowed to nap if you want…" Gus paused as he looked for other permissions to give.

"Gus." Shawn waited for Gus to look at him. " It's ok. I'll be like Kevin McCallister, but without the robbers."

"I don't think that's the reference to use if you're trying to reassure me." Gus gave him a look, but Shawn could tell he was reassured. "See you in a few hours."

"See you."

Gus left, the door clicked shut, and Shawn was left alone without any jobs or orders.

Shawn let out a long breath and locked the door before letting go of his strict control over his muscles. His hands immediately began to jitter as he walked over to his basket to pick up one of his fidget toys. He had a plan, but he had to burn off some energy first. Gus had been training him for this, even if he hadn't realized it. It was just another break, except infinitely longer.

He'd been able to handle the breaks; he could handle this too.

The Koosh ball flew between his hands as he started to pace. It wasn't the first time he'd had too much energy; it was fine. He just had to burn off the edge before settling down with his comics. And sitting still. For the next… six hours.

He'd been put away for over six hours before. It should be easy.

An hour later, he hadn't been able to take in a word of the comics. Instead, he'd done thirty seven pushups, fifty crunches, and two-hundred and twenty-one laps of the room. And the all-consuming need to move had grown.

The force urged him on, barbed needles digging into his veins and pulling him forward as a sense of wrongness followed when he wasn't able to listen to the order. He needed to move, he needed to run, he needed something to do.

There wasn't a point to him if he didn't have something to do. Slaves were put away unless they were useful, and he wasn't being useful so he should be put away. He needed to be put away. But Gus wasn't there, and it wasn't like he could put himself away… Could he?

The bed called out to him on the next lap; the sheets could work as a makeshift rope. He could loop them tight around his ankles and wrists, make it so he couldn't move. He wouldn't have to worry about not being useful, about not having orders, about existing when he wasn't supposed to exist.

But he'd have to do them tight enough that he couldn't get out. And then Gus would find him…

A small whimper made its way through Shawn's throat as he turned away from the bed. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this for five more hours, for five more days, for nine more months… He was going to go insane.

"Moles and trolls, moles and trolls…" Shawn frantically whispered. It had worked before, maybe it could work again. "Work, work, work, work, work. We never see the light of day. We plan this thing for weeks and all they want to do is study…"

Kilmer was sometimes too on-the-nose. And it was barely helping. The words kept spilling from his lips anyway as his pacing took him next to Gus' desk. It was pristine, like everything Gus did. All lines and order, with a stack of papers neatly placed in the middle for Shawn to fold.

A manic giggle forced itself out of his mouth, stopping the movie quotes. God, they'd been so naive thinking this would work. Shawn grabbed the papers and pulled his hand back. He could throw them, watch them burst into chaos, send the energy to hell along with the perfectly organized distraction. At least then he'd have something to clean up…

The papers stayed suspended in the air as his hand refused to let them go. Slaves were grateful for what they were given. They took it, they said thank you, and they made do with what they had.

He let out a groan of frustration before dropping the neat stack on the floor. There wasn't a choice; he had to find a way to make do. He grabbed a pen from Gus' desk and knelt next to the papers as the urge to move grew even louder. He had to bleed it out.

The pen bit into the paper, and his hand moved frantically, driven by a force too great for him to control. The first page turned black as the ink slashed across it with angry jagged lines. It wasn't enough. Shawn tossed it to the side and immediately began filling the next page with the same thing, scribbling as hard as he could. The sharp push of the energy dulled, but it was still there. Another ruined page was tossed aside for a new one to take its place.

He just needed it out… Just one more page. And another. And another…

The backpack weighed heavily on Gus' shoulders as he walked back to the dorm. He checked his watch and forced his legs to speed up. He'd been right, unfortunately; the hour break he'd scheduled for lunch was bookended by classes that were twenty minutes from the dorms. He could have made it back to their room, but he would have had to turn right back around and leave almost immediately.

He turned onto another sidewalk, nearly getting run over by a bike in the process. He shook his head and tried to pay attention to the area around him. It was the busy time between classes, and he hadn't been prepared for just how many people could fit onto a sidewalk at a time. It was also hard to pay attention with a flood of new information cottoning up his brain.

For the first day, every single class had started with a syllabus and a twenty minute lecture on rules for the classroom. The exact same lecture with only a few minor adjustments. Which only made it harder to remember which ones required attendance, which ones allowed books during exams, and which ones allowed slaves to kneel next to the desks versus the back of the room.

If this was how overwhelmed he felt after only a few introductory lectures, how much worse was it going to get? School had always been easy for him, even in the advanced classes. But he'd never learned things on the very first day before.

At least he had an easier day tomorrow. He'd loaded up his classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays so he'd have lighter loads on the other days.

Gus turned into a shortcut Shawn had found yesterday and left the crowds behind. He'd be lying to himself if he thought classwork was the only thing weighing on him. It was his first time being on his own, the first time everything was on his shoulders. It had sounded freeing a few months ago, and in a way it was. But it was also overwhelming in a way he'd never anticipated.

Especially since he wasn't the only one he was in charge of.

The dorm building became visible and Gus sped up even more. He was almost there, then he'd see that Shawn was fine, and they could both decompress until dinner. It wasn't like Shawn hadn't been left alone before. He was just worrying for no reason. It'd be better once they were used to the new routine…

He entered the building and nearly jogged up the stairs as his stomach tied in knots. It was fine, he was going to see it was fine, he was just overthinking and getting anxious over nothing.

He finally reached his door, but his hand froze as it dug his key out of his pocket. Did he really want to go in? The second he opened the door, he was On again. He'd have to be constantly thinking and reacting to help Shawn through things. He wouldn't get any downtime until they went to bed and he was kept awake by all of the new sights and sounds of the room.

He shook his head at himself and pulled the key out. Shawn needed him; there wasn't a choice. He opened the door and froze at what he saw.

Paper covered nearly every surface of the room. Crumpled pages surrounded the desk, folded cranes lined the bed, pages dark with scribbles blanketed the floor. And Shawn was sleeping in the middle of the mess, one hand holding a partially folded flower.

Gus took a step in and closed the door, still trying to understand what he was seeing. He'd left paper out, but this didn't look like the work of someone who'd happily passed the time with a hobby. This looked like the paper equivalent of a madman's scribbling on an asylum wall.

A small group of origami butterflies were resting next to his foot, and he bent down to pick one up. It was lopsided, but what caught his attention was the elaborate design drawn on all four wings. He looked closer at the nearby shapes and saw they all had ink on them, either words or designs or just basic scribbles.

He curiously flattened a page with words on it. Shawn's handwriting was spiky and nearly illegible, but he could still make out a list of Val Kilmer quotes. Paper crinkled as he took another step forward, and Shawn startled awake.

Shawn's first reaction of flinching violently when he realized he wasn't alone made Gus want to find the nearest master to him and beat them within an inch of their lives. He didn't have time to process the emotion before Shawn burst into action, scrambling to his hands and knees and gathering as much paper as his hands could reach. "S-Sorry, sir. Sorry. I can… I'm sorry."

"Shawn," Gus said, not moving.

Shawn didn't listen to him, his hands still frantically cleaning up his mess.

"Shawn," Gus tried again, louder. God, he didn't want to use his master-voice…

"I kn-know, sir. Slaves don't make messes, they- it cleans them up."

Now Gus definitely wasn't using his master-voice. It was time to try something new.

He slowly took the last few steps to Shawn's side before kneeling next to his friend and putting a hand gently on his shoulder. Shawn flinched from the touch before freezing as a low whine escaped his mouth. Gus waited and watched him closely; it would be better if he didn't have to prompt anything.

Shawn seemed to realize what he was waiting for and squeezed his eyes closed as he took a shaky breath in and held it. His exhale came out all at once as tremors ran under Gus' hand. Gus felt the weight of his backpack –of his life– pull on his shoulders as he said, "You're doing good. Take as long as you need."

It took a couple of minutes before Shawn's breathing evened out into a smooth pattern. Gus waited another minute after before taking a chance and speaking up. "Ok, I get that you might not want to talk about it. But this clearly didn't work, and I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

He'd ask if he had to, this wasn't something he could just pretend to ignore, but forcing Shawn to answer seemed like the worst option available.

After several false starts, Shawn forced out an answer. "It's… loud." He opened his eyes and looked at the scattered paper. "I'm sorry. I knew I was making a mess…"

"I don't care about that." He kind of cared about that, but not for the reasons Shawn thought. "You said it was loud…?"

Shawn pushed himself back to his knees and clasped his hands together, his downcast eyes moving rapidly. A paper crane next to the snack basket caught Gus' attention, and his stomach dropped when he saw the dark black circles that had been carved into its neck like a chain.

"Slaves need orders," Shawn finally answered as he winced away. Gus kept his hand in place, praying that it was the right choice. "If you're… If a slave is told to stay, it has to stay, it can't move. But if you don't tell it to stay, it still can't move, but it can move, so it has to move, but it can't, because it's still a slave and it needs to be useful if it's allowed to move."

Damnit, that sounded important and his fuzzy brain had only managed to understand maybe half of it. Gus tried to think through the fog as the right words danced just out of reach. "So, you did all of this... because you needed to move?"

"...Yes, sir."

Gus sighed, because Shawn's hesitation meant he was wrong –or at least not entirely right– and Shawn wasn't ok enough to explain it any better. He could find the answer, but only if his brain would stop being so clouded and slow. Maybe if he thought out-loud, Shawn could at least tell him if he was on the right track.

He looked around the chaos in the room. "You told me a few weeks ago that you have too much energy."

"Y-Yes." Shawn's jaw twitched before he added, "A slave doesn't fidget, it does as it's told."

Gus squeezed Shawn's shoulder gently. He hated those phrases, but if that was how Shawn could communicate right now, then that's what they'd use. "But I didn't tell you to do anything."

"There wasn't any reason-" Shawn cut himself off with a small head twitch. "A slave needs something to do to be useful. The only way a slave can be happy is by making its master happy."

"I know there have been times in the last month where you've been happy for your own reasons," Gus reminded him gently.

At least he'd thought Shawn had been happy. But Shawn's reaction didn't do anything to soothe Gus' worries as he curled in on himself and looked absolutely miserable.

"A slave can only be happy if it's making its master happy," Shawn repeated, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Gus.

This wasn't getting them anywhere. And both of them kneeling in the mess of papers couldn't be helping with Shawn's mental state. "Ok, we don't have to figure it all out right now. Do you still need to move?"

Shawn let out an exhausted-sounding sigh. "Sort of."

"We'll go for a walk, then. Get you calmed down. We can take care of the papers when we get back "

"Yes, sir," Shawn answered quietly, not moving from his spot.

Gus patted his shoulder one more time before pulling his hand back to take his backpack off. His back sighed as the weight lifted, but the other weight on him only grew as he stood up to get the leash.

How had he managed to mess things up so badly in only the first few days? He'd known Shawn was struggling and had still left him alone. The clasp burned in his hand as he hooked it to the collar and saw Shawn's shoulders uncurl.

He'd been asking for too much; he should have known better.

How much had his mistake cost them?

The crowds had died back down to a steady trickle of people now that the rush minutes between classes were over. It didn't seem to matter as Shawn stayed quiet and in his 'proper' place behind Gus.

The walk at least seemed to be helping both of their emotions settle, but being calm didn't mean the answers were any easier to find. Gus turned down another sidewalk, heading towards a sculpture he'd heard about but hadn't seen yet. Who knew, maybe it'd be interesting enough to knock Shawn out of the weird headspace he was locked in.

Gus made a mental list while they walked. What did he know about what was going on? Something had freaked Shawn out about not having orders, and it had made him feel like he'd had to keep moving. And now he was stuck in a sort of slave-mode, like he was clinging to the slave things instead of the other way around.

Which led back to Gus expecting too much of Shawn at once. It was his fault Shawn was hiding behind the slave mask again.

It was five more minutes of guilty silence before they reached their destination. A sculpture towered in front of them, its colored parts in constant motion. Large red and blue pencils danced in the wind, spinning and turning over their fellow pencils that were locked in place to form a solid base. It was bigger than he'd expected and oddly mesmerizing.

It also seemed tailor made for the situation.

Gus glanced back to see Shawn watching the sculpture, his fingers moving gently like they were tied to the piece. It was the first time he'd looked up for more than a few seconds on their walk.

The weight on Gus lessened as he went back to watching the strange give and take of the pencils' dance. He hadn't completely broken Shawn with his mistake. He should have known that, he should have trusted Shawn to be strong. But there were times when it seemed like they were always teetering on the brink of disaster.

The largest pencil fell towards the ground as Shawn broke the silence. "I'm sorry. I meant to clean it up before you got back."

"It's ok." Gus tried to keep his relief from being too visible. Shawn had been able to start the conversation. "I'm sorry I left you for so long."

"You were being nice." Shawn watched as the sculpture twisted over on itself. "I sh-should have been able to be good."

"I knew you were struggling; I should have known better. That's not on you." He watched Shawn carefully; would any of his words break through?

"A master is always right," Shawn answered quietly. His gaze dropped back to the ground. "A slave exists to be useful for its master."

An ache built up behind Gus' eyes as he tried to translate. 'Useful' was a word that kept coming up. And now that Gus thought about it, it had always been a common word in Shawn's slave-language. His father's voice came back to haunt him. 'Slaves only feel fulfilled when they're useful.'

Which was bullshit, but it was still what Shawn was dealing with. The only way he'd be able to handle being alone for long amounts of time would be if Gus taught him that he didn't have to be useful just for the privilege of being alive.

And, really, Gus was the absolute worst person to be teaching something like that… Anytime he wasn't busy with school, he was finding ways to be busy with a hobby. He didn't really know how to not be busy.

"Gus?" Shawn's voice cut through his thoughts. And, damnit, he'd totally spaced out at the wrong time.

"Sorry. I was just thinking…" Gus rubbed his eyes, trying to press his thoughts back so he could actually focus on what was important.

How did they fix this so Shawn didn't freak out tomorrow when he had to go to class again? The only guaranteed way of keeping him calm was keeping him with his master…

"So, none of my classes today banned slaves, there were just different rules on where they could be." Though that would mean Shawn would be kneeling all day. Which still sucked. "You should come with me, at least until we figure something else out."

"You could..." Shawn's voice died out as he tried to force the words out. His shoulders slumped, and he looked every inch the perfect slave as he said, "A slave exists to make its master's life better. That slave janitor program… I could save you money. Make things better."

"And then other people could order you around," Gus said flatly. That was the exact opposite of what Shawn needed.

"And y-you could focus on learning. You said it was ok, if I… needed slave stuff to 'acclimate'." Shawn stood as still as a statue, a stark contrast to the moving display in front of them. "A slave cleans messes; it doesn't make them."

Gus groaned as his headache spread to his temples. Shawn had said what he wanted. But it was the wrong thing, driven by the wrong reasons. Did that mean Gus still had to listen to him? "Can we… rain check that option?"

Shawn's voice was flat when he answered, "Yes, sir."

Damn it. "I'm not saying no, but that program is a contract. If I sign you up" –if he sold Shawn for a few hours a day– "you'd be stuck in it until the end of the semester. That's not something I want to rush into."

Shawn stayed quiet; a slave waiting for his orders.

"One week," Gus bargained. "Give me one week to figure out if there's a better option. I won't make you stay in our room, but I can't keep you safe if I'm at class and someone else is in charge of you."

"You can't keep me safe from the whole world."

The words hit Gus like a pile of bricks as he heard his own voice saying the same thing to his parents. Maybe the apple didn't fall far from the tree... Except Shawn was still wrong. "No offense, but there's a big difference between the two of us. I can actually protect myself without getting shocked into oblivion for it."

Shawn set his jaw as he answered with an edge to his voice. "Yes, sir."

Which wasn't fair, it so wasn't fair. Gus was just trying to do what was best for him. "I'm not just saying no so I can stay in charge, you know. Here's what happens if we do the janitorial program. One," –he held up a finger– "you have to clean for hours, which I know you don't like. Two," –he raised another finger– "you won't be able to talk, which I know you don't like. And three," –he emphatically added a third finger to the mix– "you'd inevitably do something to piss them off, and you wouldn't be allowed on campus anymore which neither of us would like."

"Is there an order in there, sir?"

"Do you need there to be?" Gus snapped back. Damnit, he should have just skipped lunch and came home. Then they would have avoided this whole thing. Though that did beg the question… Gus sighed, already knowing the answer before he asked, "Did you eat lunch?"

Shawn twitched in surprise before answering, "No…"

"Great. Where do you want to eat?"

It was almost gratifying, watching Shawn's blank-stubbornness turn to normal confusion. "You're still letting me pick?"

"Of course I am." Gus turned his back on the whimsical statue and walked back to the real world. "I make no sense, remember?" It probably wasn't fair to leave it like that… He looked over his shoulder and added, "And friends don't let friends go hungry."

Shawn's eyes snapped up, and Gus met his gaze before looking away. They were still friends, right? He'd never fought with a friend before, much less one that he owned…

He felt Shawn's presence before he saw him, a quiet shadow coming to walk next to him instead of behind. Shawn still kept his eyes on the ground as he said, "We passed a taco truck on the way over."

"I could eat tacos," Gus agreed as they turned in the appropriate direction. Shawn stayed next to him, even when other people began to fill the sidewalk.

A/N: The sculpture is real and is called Flying Pencils. It's 27 feet tall, and it was installed in 1996, which is perfect timing for this fic! And, also, I wrote the freakout before I knew about the statue, it was just good luck at how perfectly it fit.