Two Roads Diverged, Chapter 5
Title: Two Roads Diverged (5/12)
Pairing: Cory/Shawn
Rating: This is more relationshippy than sexy, but there's some description of blow-jobs and hand-jobs, so rate that how you will.
Length: ~50,000 words over 12 chapters
Summary: Years after a falling out, Cory and Shawn reconnect in New York City and help each other through some big changes. This takes place about eight years after the end of the series, so roughly 2008-2009.
Note: My earlier BMW stand-alone fics " Idiot Savant" and " Average Boy" can be read as the backstories to this story, but you do not have to have read those to follow this one.
~~~~~~
"You cheated on Topanga?" Shawn roars.
Cory takes off his glasses and rubs his hands over his eyes.
Shawn shakes his head, mouth still open in shock, processing this confession. "Jesus, even you? Your whole thing was that you were so committed and that no one else...Jesus...it's all bullshit...Poor Topanga."
"I know. I'm a shit."
"Damn right you're a shit. I oughta kick your ass on her behalf."
Cory puts his glasses back on in time to roll his eyes, both at the notion that Shawn could ever kick his ass and at Shawn's misplaced sense of outrage about this whole thing. "I cheated on her with you for years."
"I don't count," Shawn snarls, but then Cory can tell the absurdity of the situation is getting to him and Shawn's trying hard not to smile. "Anyway," Shawn continues, his voice quivering with almost-laughter, "I came first. I always sort of felt like you were cheating on me with her."
"Oh, you did?"
"Yeah."
"And you put up with that?"
"Of course I did. I was pathetically in love with you."
Cory heaves a deep sigh, completely exhausted by the emotional roller coaster of the last fifteen minutes. He gives up on the conversation and starts spooning rice onto his plate, mixing it in with the chicken and vegetables. When he is angry, he eats. It keeps him from saying things he shouldn't, if nothing else.
"So, who were these guys?" Shawn asks almost in a whisper. He has apparently moved past being appalled and onto being intrigued.
Cory takes his time mixing all his rice around meticulously so that every grain is evenly saturated with sauce. He really doesn't want to have this conversation, but then he hears himself speaking the truth anyway. "They were three Shawn Hunter look-alikes who all reside in the general vicinity of Orange County and were surprisingly willing to mess around with me."
"No shit?"
"No shit."
Shawn is just flat-out grinning now. "You fucked three guys because they looked like me? That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard."
Cory eyes him warily. "I didn't say I fucked them."
"Fair enough. Hope you had a good time, though."
"Jesus. I thought I was a shit for cheating on my wife."
"Yeah, but you were sorta cheating with me and we've already established that I don't count."
"Have we established that?"
"More or less."
"Shawnie. Shut up and eat your goddamned food. My mother would cry if she saw what you look like."
A flash of annoyance passes over Shawn's face, but he starts putting together his plate. "God bless your mother."
Cory sighs. "Don't make fun of my mother."
"I'm not. I'm being serious. God bless her. Your mom and school lunches are the only reason I had enough to eat growing up. I haven't forgotten that." He heaps rice onto his plate and finally starts to eat his meal.
"Oh, come on," Cory says, "Sometimes I really think you exaggerate how bad you had it."
"Are you kidding?" Shawn asks around a mouthful of pepper steak, "I had it better than a lot of kids, but I sure as hell went hungry most nights." He swallows, takes a sip of his water and continues, "God, I was so hungry all the time. You never forget what that feels like. You know, I'm convinced now that was half the reason I did so poorly at school. I wasn't dumb, but it's hard to concentrate when all you can think about is lunch."
Cory has forgotten about eating his own dinner. This is completely new information about their childhood. "But you had parents. I know they weren't the greatest, but they must have looked after you when they were around."
Shawn shakes his head, "The State gave me lunch. Sometimes. Sometimes we didn't qualify. And sometimes there was food at home. But never much and I couldn't count on it. Virna hardly ever got it together enough to take care of herself, let alone this kid she was stuck with that wasn't even hers. She wasn't even functioning half the time. And Chet always just looked out for himself. Chet always looked out for himself...So, you know, god bless your family. And the taxpayers of Pennsylvania, I guess."
Cory tries to ignore the way his heart is sinking. There's so much he never even noticed that was going on right in front of him. "I don't understand what my parents had to do with anything, though."
Shawn keeps his eyes fixed on his plate, as if scooting his food around with his fork is suddenly mesmerizing. When he speaks again the practiced nonchalance is gone from his voice, replaced with something more like embarrassment. "Your dad caught me shoplifting from his store when I was, I dunno, eight? Wonderbread and peanut butter. I can still see it. But he didn't call the cops. And he didn't call my parents. He sent me home with a whole box of food. And after that your mom always made sure I had plenty to eat when I was at your house. Don't you remember how she was always sending me home with the leftovers? Your parents were so good to me, Cory, in a lot of ways. I don't know how I would have turned out without them. And Eric."
"Eric?"
"Yeah. When I moved in with him and Jack, it's not like my piece of shit dad gave me a food allowance. And I wasn't about to accept any kind of charity from Jack. But from Eric it was different, I guess. He bought the groceries for both of us and never made a big deal about it. I don't know if it was your parents telling him to do that, or what, but...well, I won't ever forget that. Your family, man...it wasn't 'til I got to college that I didn't have to depend on the Matthews to eat."
Cory smiles weakly. "I remember that. You wouldn't shut up about how amazing the whole meal plan thing was."
"It was!" Shawn's smiling now, too, which Cory's finds a relief. "That was the first time in my life I had a guaranteed three meals a day. It was like winning the lottery. I think I put on ten pounds my first month at Pennbrook."
A memory of Shawn in their dorm room pops into Cory's head. He was changing his clothes and laughing about something. Cory always checked him out when he was changing his clothes. He can see his body, his smile. He looked healthy and happy and so fucking hot. "You looked good in college," Cory murmurs.
"I did. I think that was the only time I didn't feel self-conscious, like everybody could just look at me and know I was poor and fucked-up."
"Well, you're not poor now," Cory says.
"Still fucked-up."
"Yeah, but we all are."
Shawn smiles. "This is true. Now, why are we talking about my stupid childhood when we should be talking about your secret hobby of sleeping with my gay Californian doppelgängers?"
Cory makes a face. "Why are we talking about any of this?"
"I want some details, Babe."
Shawn is smiling and Cory never could resist that. Or being called "babe." Shawn still knows how to play him like a violin.
"All right," Cory says, "But I'm gonna need another drink and a promise from you that you're going to finish your dinner and get dessert."
Shawn laughs. "I got no problem with green tea ice cream."
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"I know."
Two more drinks and a shared dish of green tea ice cream later, Cory finally starts talking about his three not-Shawns.
The first guy looked a lot like him. So much so Cory thought he was Shawn at first, pushing a shopping cart at Cory's local Target. But after he realized it wasn't, Cory continued to follow the guy. He couldn't take his eyes off him. And the guy picked up on it, gave him a smile.
"You were cruising him!" Shawn says, delighted, "You cruised my gay Californian doppelgänger!"
"I guess," Cory admits and continues with his story.
Up and down the aisles of Target, soccer moms all around them, Cory followed not-Shawn. At this point, neither of them was really shopping anymore, just pretending, playing whatever game it was they were now playing. Through the cleaning products aisle, the home decor department, and the greeting card section, Cory followed him, until not-Shawn abandoned his shopping cart outside the men's room. Then Cory followed him in and gave him head in the handicapped stall.
"Then he just sort of nodded at me, zipped his pants, fixed his hair and left."
Shawn nods appreciatively. "Hot. And then what?"
"I went back and finished my shopping. I couldn't go home empty-handed. Topanga would've been suspicious."
"Sneaky cheating bastard."
"Yeah." Cory feels a flush of guilt, but telling someone about the encounter for the first time-telling Shawn about it-has aroused him a little. It's also made it seem like maybe this wasn't the most horrible thing he could have possibly done. He's never allowed himself to entertain that thought.
"So, did you pretend he was me while you were sucking him off?"
"Of course."
"Excellent." Shawn signals to the waitress to bring them two more drinks. "Tell me about Bachelor Number Two."
The second guy didn't really look that much like Shawn, but Cory was desperate. It had been almost a year since the encounter with the first guy and Cory had spent far too many hours wandering the aisles of Target, hoping to run into him again. Topanga was out of town and Cory had gone to L.A. to have dinner with some friends of theirs. After he left their house, he found himself driving into West Hollywood.
"You went to a gay bar?"
"I did."
"Cory, I'm impressed."
"It was like I was possessed."
"You were horny. Sometimes it's like the same thing."
"Yeah," Cory says, then looks at Shawn and nods deeply in agreement with this statement, "Yeah, it is."
Cory spent a lot of time drinking at the bar, fending off advances from blonde guys and tall guys and just not right guys. Finally, a reedy guy with floppy hair and and blue eyes ordered a drink next to him.
"I haven't had hair like that in years," Shawn scoffs.
"Shut up if you want to hear my story," Cory says and continues.
This not-Shawn wasn't all that into him, but Cory was persistent and not-Shawn didn't seem to be hitting it out of the park that night anyway, so he gave in and they made out. Then not-Shawn saw some friends he knew, went over to say hello and never came back. Cory continued to get drunk, puked in the parking lot, then jerked off in his car and fell asleep.
"That is the saddest story ever."
"I woke up to a parking ticket too."
Shawn puts his hands on his head. "Good god, man. Tell me the third one was better."
The third guy was actually brought to their house by Topanga herself. She called a landscaping company after Cory sprained his ankle and was supposed to stay off it for a few weeks. She asked them to send someone over to mow their lawn. While she was at work and Cory was at home, moping with his ankle in a cast, this guy showed up. This not-Shawn barely resembled Shawn face-wise, but his body was dead-on.
"Poor guy," Shawn says.
"No, like, you when you were nineteen."
"Oh, the year I had the college meal plan!"
"Yeah. Your prime."
"Was that my prime?"
"I don't know, but you looked great that year."
"That was a terrible year, but I did have those ten pounds."
"Whatever it was it looked good. That's my go-to year of sexy memories of you."
"Your sexy memories are organized by year. Of course they are."
The lawn mower guy spent about an hour working on their backyard, shirtless the entire time. And Cory spent that hour watching him through the kitchen window. Then the guy came to the back door to get his cash and Cory invited him in for lemonade.
"You're so ridiculous," Shawn says, "This is like some suburban housewife's really tame fantasy life."
"I know, I know."
They sat at the kitchen table drinking lemonade, Cory in his cast, this guy all sweaty. Cory started babbling to the guy about how he resembled a friend he used to have, his best friend who was also once his roommate. The guy seemed really interested in this, then asked if Cory's foot hurt inside his cast.
"And then he gave me a blow job."
"Wait. How did you get from smalltalk to that?"
"I don't remember. It was the first blow job I'd gotten from a guy since you and it sort of overshadows all the other details."
"So fake nineteen-year-old me gave good head at least?"
"Yes."
"Good for him. Then what happened?"
"I paid him and he left."
"You paid him?"
"Well, I owed him the money for the lawn."
"Did you...tip him?"
"Yes."
"A lot?"
"Yes."
"So, basically, Topanga hired you a young male prostitute to come to your house, service your lawn and service you?"
Cory squints his eyes at Shawn and drains the last of his drink. "All right, we're done with these stories now. I have no secrets left from you. Now you know what a lame creep I am."
Shawn smiles at him. "I don't think you're lame or a creep."
"Well, I'm pathetic, anyway. Half of me's spent the past eight years trying to forget you and the other half of me has spent that time trying to replace you."
Shawn is looking at him warmly, but he doesn't say anything for a while. He finishes his drink then counts out some money and puts it in the portfolio the waitress has left with the check. Then he stands and holds out a hand to Cory.
"Let's go home, Babe."
At Shawn's apartment, it isn't even a question of whether Cory's going to stay the night. They come in, take off their outerwear and immediately begin taking off their regular clothes. Cory gets down to his shorts and sits on the edge of the bed, watching as Shawn's still removing layer after layer.
"You know I love you, Shawnie, but you gotta tell me why you look like this. What's going on?"
Shawn pauses, one arm out of his sweater and one arm in. He glances at Cory but then looks away again and continues undressing.
"I don't know," he sighs, "It's some psychological shit. When I'm unhappy or worried about anything, I can't eat. I feel sick if I do. And then it just gets out of hand. Probably related to my childhood food issues, I'm sure. It's embarrassing. I'm a grown man."
"So you're not dying of some awful disease and not telling me?" Cory tries to keep his voice light.
Shawn pulls off another t-shirt. "Nope. Healthy as a horse. Independently verified as of this afternoon." Then he scowls. "They're giving me an asterisk, though, until I can put some weight back on. Because apparently, that puts me into some sort of risky category. My life is so humiliating sometimes."
He stops undressing when he reaches his undershirt and leaves it on, perhaps self-conscious from their conversation. Then he heads back to the kitchen and Cory follows him. Cory sits at the bar while Shawn gets a glass of water and takes his sleeping pill.
"What are you so unhappy or worried about that you haven't been able to eat for months?" Cory asks, as delicately as possible.
"Nothing. Dumb shit." Then Shawn sees the look Cory's giving him and knows he isn't buying it. "Okay. There's some stuff going on but I'm not ready to talk about it. I'm sorry."
"All right. But you promise you're not dying?"
"I'm not dying."
"Are you in trouble with the mob?"
That gets a smile out of Shawn. "I am not."
"Did you sell your soul to the devil for your success and now he's expecting you to pay up?"
"I am not currently Fausting it up, no."
"Well, I'm out of ideas."
"Good. Cause I'm fucking exhausted."
Cory isn't sure why but, despite all the distress this day has whipped up inside him, he feels right now warm and happy. He hops off the stool and gives Shawn a kiss on the cheek, which seems to surprise him. Shawn's phone sitting on the countertop beeps with some kind of notification just then and Cory takes the opportunity to give him his privacy. He leaves him there reading his phone and heads off to the bathroom.
Cory takes his time in the bathroom getting ready for bed. He washes his face and rummages in the linen cabinet until he finds an unopened toothbrush (Stuart Rosenberg D.D.S. is emblazoned on the handle) and some mouthwash. Then he flosses and cleans his ears. Being kinda drunk but not too drunk always makes him slow and extra-fastidious for some reason.
When he finally emerges from the bathroom, Shawn is not in bed as he expects him to be. So he backtracks through the living room (no Shawn) and then to the kitchen. Shawn is perched on one of the barstools, sound asleep. His head is resting on his bent arm on the counter, his other hand still holding his phone.
"Hey," Cory whispers and gives him a little shake. No response. He shakes him a little harder and all that happens is a little trail of drool spills out over the corner of Shawn's mouth.
"You're gonna fall off at some point and hurt yourself if you stay here," Cory says, as if Shawn is listening and just being unreasonable.
He stands still for a minute, trying to figure out if he should just leave him there or what he should do. He pulls him by the shoulders to see if he'll stand up if he starts to fall, hoping he can sleepwalk him to the bedroom, but Shawn is completely limp and Cory has to catch him from falling into a heap. Finally, Cory gives up and just scoops him up in his arms and carries him to the bedroom.
He deposits him on the bed and takes a few minutes to arrange the blankets and make him comfortable. Then he switches off the lamp and crawls in beside him. He wraps his arms around him and rests his cheek on Shawn's shoulder.
"Have sweet dreams, all right?" Cory whispers. He stays awake there for a while and prays silently before the soft rhythm of Shawn's breathing lulls him off to sleep.
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Next:
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12