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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Welcome to my experimental Psychfic story. I hope you enjoy your stay.

 

You and the Package Deal

by

PeterPanic

 

 

 

        You watch him walk through that door. Watch him stroll casually through that doorframe with a shameless bounce in his step. The first thing you notice is his shirt, loudly colorful, a blinding pattern of plaid. You twist your mouth into a frown. You hold it there until it hurts. He’s young. He’s wearing faded jeans. He’s got perfectly coifed hair. He has a wide and inviting smile. His teeth are straight enough, no snaggle-tooth to steal the attention from an otherwise above average face. His eyes glitter in the fluorescent lighting. You tell yourself that you don’t care what color they are, but you still wonder because it’s hard to tell. And guessing is half the fun.

 

            He’s coming closer, looking right at you. You wonder if all this good cheer is meant for someone behind you. Surely it has to be. You’ve never met this guy in your life, yet he’s approaching you like an old friend. You almost turn around to check. That’s happened to you once before. It’s awkward, and you’d rather not experience that feeling again.

 

            But you’re wrong. It is meant for you. He’s right in front of the table you’re sitting at. He lowers himself into his own chair, straight across from you; he puts his hands palm down on the tabletop. You glance down at them. No ring, not that you care. He keeps his nails short and clean. Again, not that you care… because you don’t care at all. You’ve never met this guy in your life. He could be anybody. He is anybody. You know he’s young. Maybe going on thirty. And he’s still smiling broadly, goofily.

 

            He has hazel eyes. Gray. Blue. Brown. Green. You don’t care. All you care about is whether he can get you out of this mess, because you’re pretty sure you didn’t kill that lady. You would have remembered that, even if you had been drinking all night. Even if you had finished that bottle of wine all by your lonesome. You would have remembered committing a crime. You don’t commit crimes. You may be apt to run through yellow lights, but running over pedestrians is a whole other story. It’s a big leap, and you’re pretty sure you are an innocent party.

 

            And it’s up to gray-blue-brown-green eyes to help you.

 

            He seems open as he says his hellos. He says his name is Shawn. You’ve met plenty of Sean’s and even some Shaun’s, but this is your first Shawn. It’s a common name, yet he says it like it’s something special. Truth is, it isn’t special at all. It’s a modern-day John or Frank. It’s boring. You want to say as much, but you keep your mouth shut. You’ll let him talk, because that seems to be one thing he excels at. You hope he can also excel at clearing your good name, because you’re in a pickle. His yammering does nothing to assuage your fears.

 

            He doesn’t really make sense. Supposedly, he is a psychic. You don’t believe in psychics, nor do you not believe in psychics. Your views are purely neutral. You’ve decided not to take a side in that fight.

 

            He has proven that he’s friendly. He’s still smiling. But you’re not sure whether or not to trust him. He’s talking in a low voice now, as if he wants to conspire with you. He likes your name. He likes the curls in your hair and the fierce way you are frowning. You suddenly realize that he is flirting with you. You want to slug him in the face, maybe knock that nose out of alignment. Of course you are frowning. You’ve just been accused of vehicular homicide. There is nothing to smile about. It’s all frowns from here on out. You want to leap out of your chair and make a rush for the door. You want to be anywhere but across from this creep.

 

You glare. He smiles, but it has changed somehow. It almost seems apologetic. You still want to slug him. He is nothing but a flirt. A shameless psychic flirt. You want to trust him, but you know you shouldn’t. You’ve read about these kinds of people. You’ve watched them on TV. Your mother has warned you about them. Your best friend has dated one once. He is a bad scenario waiting to happen, but if he can help…

 

Shawn has an acquaintance. He comes through the door quietly. Passes through that doorframe apologetically, almost meekly. He’s dressed like a professional, a visitor’s badge clipped neatly to his suit coat. He has dark, dark eyes. Even from this distance, you know that for sure. You don’t have to guess and you don’t have to wonder. You know already that these two are very different but very much the same. He comes closer. His eyes are still dark, just like you knew they would be. He gives you a tentative smile as he takes a seat next to Shawn. Their elbows almost touch. They pass each other looks that seem to pose as conversation.

 

These two aren’t acquaintances. They are friends. More than friends in a way, but you’re not quite sure yet in what way. You keep your tongue securely in its place, even when he says his name is Gus and that he works with Shawn and that he is sure they will be able to clear your name. He has a way of talking that is genuine. He’s not like Shawn. He apologizes for Shawn’s behavior. You have a feeling that they’ve been apologizing for each other for a very long time. For some reason you find that comforting. You feel that you can trust them as a team.

 

Slowly, you smile just a little bit. You say thank you and reiterate that you are in quite a pickle, but you’re pretty sure you didn’t kill that lady. Gus asks you exactly how sure you are. For some reason, this doesn’t bother you. You say you’re almost definitely sure. You notice that Gus has doubts. But Shawn doesn’t.

 

You hadn’t perceived this before, but Shawn wants to trust you just like you want to trust Shawn. He’s easy with his trust. You notice this, and you can’t help but balk and wonder why. He doesn’t even know you. He has never met you once in his life. For all he knows, you are a serial vehicular killer, or at least a spree vehicular killer, or at the very least a first time vehicular killer. You could be a wino. Maybe you are a wino. You haven’t gotten to that stage of admission yet. But Shawn trusts you anyway. He is leaning forward. His gray-blue-brown-green eyes stare at you, look through you.

 

He’s smart, that much you can tell. And he seems to know what he’s doing. He rolls with the punches. You lick your lips. He wants to know the truth, just like Gus. You tell him as much. You tell both of them as much. You are upset and you’re afraid. Afraid of what you’re future might hold, but also afraid of that beanpole of a man who keeps glaring into the room at odd intervals.

 

Shawn tells you not to worry. Not about your fate, or about the beanpole lurking in the hallway, or about the exorbitant fee Gus will bill you once you obtain your freedom. He seems entirely sure of everything. You notice he has crows’ feet permanently ingrained on his face. You wonder why he is so happy, and then you wonder why he shouldn’t be happy.

 

You decide that you can trust him for what he can do, but not for who he claims to be. You deflect any further flirty suggestions that he passes your way. You’re here to have your name cleared. You’re not here to gain a friend or anything more. If anything, you wish Gus would speak more, but he is the quieter one of the two. He still stares at you though, as if he’s testing the waters.

 

You sigh. They are boys. Just boys. All you want is to crawl into your own bed, and preferably not with one of them.

 

A large man comes to take you away. He’s the friendly large man that always seems to be the one to lead you around. You don’t mind him. He’s kind, like a large dog who lives life for a good scratch behind the ears.

 

You say your goodbyes to Shawn and Gus as you are pulled through that doorway. Gus is waving. Shawn is telling you not to worry. He raises his voice. He even stands up. You stare at him until he is out of sight, but you can still hear him halfway down the hallway. Because he is loud, and it seems to be in his nature to shout.

 

You’re a compliant person, so you let yourself be pulled back to your cell. You’re not a hardened criminal. You don’t think to fight or mouth off or act like a general nuisance. You stand calmly by the bars as you are left to your own devices. You stare at the metal bunk, metal toilet, metal and concrete everything everywhere. It’s a far cry from your own bed. You already miss Shawn and Gus. You miss the gray-blue-brown-green eyes. You miss the dark, dark eyes. You miss how their elbows almost touched. You miss Gus’s doubt and Shawn’s trust. You guess that they are a package deal.

 

You wonder if that’s healthy, or if you come off as desperate. You’ve known them for a whole ten minutes. They’ve probably known each other hundreds of times that amount, thousands of times--or more. You’ve never been good at math.

 

You ultimately decide that you don’t care. If Shawn can do what he claims he can do, then letting the both of them into your life, at least for a little while, just might be worth it.

 


Chapter End Notes:
I'm not quite sure whether or not I want to keep this strictly a one chapter short, or whether to expand it to include a few points I've already sketched out. Let me know what you think of the style. Thanks!


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