head_psychic | After the spotlight (for bigkitty75)

Shawn sneaks inside, alone, careful not to be seen. His lower lip is caught between his teeth and he bites down the frustration from time to time to stay focused on not making a sound. He's breathing hard, he's close to panting, his emotions running high. The place is empty but it doesn't stop him from walking up the stairs as silently as possible until he's once more in the sofreakinavantgarde room of the loft. Now with the case closed they have to get their things and move out.

He's not sad about leaving this place. He feels bitter about it, he feels bitter about a lot of things right now. His head throbs with an aching pain that could also be a lump in his throat for all he cares. Which he does not, he doesn't care. At all. About anything. His dad with a hickey, I'm going on a second date with Susan, Susan, what kind of name is Susan anyway?

No, he can't, he can't deal with this, he can't, there's just no way in hell. Shawn accidentally knocks his bag over, his hands are shaking, he wiggles them a little to relax his tense muscles. He grabs the bag and puts it back on the bed, throwing his stuff inside, determined to pack and leave as soon as possible.

He really wants to get out of this place before any of those air-headed models drops by for further commentary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Why are you being a bastard about this? Didn't you get what you wanted?" Gus picks up his own bag and eyes Shawn. "You got to make the big speech, everybody knows now, I'm never going to be welcome here. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Shawn freezes, the grip on his bag hardening momentarily.

He stares at Gus, all the anger and rejection, the night alone in this freaky place, all the loneliness returning like a slap in the face. He's almost convinced he can hear the echo. "Seriously?"

He takes a step forward. "You're calling me the bastard here?"

Edited 2008-02-09 17:19 (UTC)

"I believe that's what I said." Gus's chin juts out defiantly. He's not exactly sure why he's been mad at Shawn. Oh, the wrap-up had something to do with it. But he's not so sure that's as far as it goes.

Gus matches Shawn's step forward. They need to settle this tonight. Cause in the morning life returns to normal.

"Oh yeah, right." Shawn laughs, he can't help it, it feels unnatural but doesn't stop. "What were you supposed to do anyway, keep pretending that you're a model when you're not? Until when? A few hours after the incident? Until she ran her finely manicured finger a little more over your probably also oiled chest? Which is disgusting, by the way so forget I just said that?"

The bag drops to the floor because Shawn's too agitated to hold it now, his arms flying around in wild gestures. "In case you have forgotten, Gus, I brought you in there! I set up our model cover, I let you have your shiny time, I didn't interefere as long as we were on the case! I let you have your creepy, shallow model way with the creepy, shallow models, I did nothing more than complain when all it would have taken me was one word, one. Single. Word to end your I'm-a-good-looking-bastard cloud nine!"

He should really stop talking. Every word is making him angrier, with everything he says it seems like he's being shoved even further into some weird isolation pod he can't get out. He can't start rambling about what all of that did to him, he can't, he will just cut the conversation, right here. Period.

"You know what? Forget it. I don't care, Gus!" Shawn spreads his arms, desperate almost, his face a mask of irritation and hurt and anger and weird cramps while searching for words that usually paint ridiculous pictures he can hide behind. "I, I mean, do you see this? Do you see this?" He pats his chest, agitated, pacing before spreading his arms again and spinning on the spot. "This is me, me not caring! I just don't care!"

And with that he grabs his bag again, determined to leave, the way he left his dad, because running away to someplace safe seems to be the only way to stay sane right now.

"Fine! The very last thing I need is your care!" Gus holds his bag in a death fist, body so tightly strung with tension, it would only take one little, push. And he'd fly out of control. He sneers at Shawn's back.

"Go ahead, run away, hate to think you'd maybe try something different." But that doesn't mean Gus is going to stand in the background and watch him walk away, again. He's done that far too many times to count. Gus steps forward, equally as determined to leave.

"Yeah, one word from you and this whole thing came crashing down. You already proved that part. Shawn givith and Shawn takith away." Gus grimpses. "You seem to do an aweful lot of controlling for someone who fights their whole life against it. Did you ever think of that? You're the one who set this up, Shawn. You practically handed me these people! And then when I think, maybe, just maybe I can have friendships... you rip it out from under me."

Gus doesn't want to face Shawn. He hates the rawness of his own voice right now. "I knew it wasn't going to last. Not because I'm not one of them. I know I'm not! It's just...you have everybody wherever you go. For a while, I thought I had something like that too." He ends it stiffly. More of an explantion than he wanted to give Shawn. Terrified of what it may or may not mean.

"Those weren't your friends!"

Shawn practically yells, turning on the spot to face Gus again, face tight with anger. "How can you even think of them as something close to friends! Is that what you're telling me, Gus, that you prefer a bunch of stupid high-society model superstars over me? People who can't write their own name, who only want you as long as they think you're someone you're not, as long as you play their little clique game? Is that it?"

"No! Damn it!" Gus throws right back. "I didn't want them as friends! But it was pretty damn nice to be a part of a group, alright! You can't tell me that attention doesn't turn your head at all!"

Gus grits his teeth. Lots of things flashing across his face, anger, exasperation, but most of all confusion. So he spent some time with other people, Shawn does that all the time. What's the difference?

"Not at your expense, it doesn't!" Shawn snaps, stepping closer and invading Gus' personal space. "You excluded me. You refused to talk to me just because you knew your little shiny group didn't and wouldn't accept me. When I tried to talk to you in front of them you would put up that disgusted face as if something contagious was growing on my head, because you didn't want to lose any prestige around your 90-60-90 buddies. Did I forget something? Oh! Yes. All of that after I went out with you to celebrate your damn birthday and even delayed the case because you asked me to!"

Shawn steps back because the hurt is too much to keep talking. "So don't you dare, Gus, don't you dare blaming me for anything here. I am not going to apologize for you ditching me to pimp your ego!"

And with that Shawn grabs the bag and is out of this freaking place.

Gus holds completely still. Until long after Shawn has left. When he finially does move, it's auto-matic, mechanical. Goes to his car, gets in, drives home, puts his things away.

Step by step, because doing anything else. Thinking anything else is so far beyond his reach right now.

The last thing he does before he goes to bed is pick up his cell phone and check the voice mail from these past few days.

After the spotlight (for bigkitty75)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject