Chapter Text
Shane may not know the answer to every mystery, but there are a few core facts in his life that he’s pretty confident about.
One: ghosts and demons are definitely not real. In the history of all time, no one has come up with a single shred of compelling evidence to support the existence of spirits. If it were out there, they’d have it by now. Case closed.
Two: despite the logic of Fact 1, Ryan Bergara will continue to be unshakably convinced otherwise. Sometimes Shane thinks it’s cute. Sometimes he wants to smack him across the face. (Sometimes he wants to smack him on the ass, too, but those things have never been mutually exclusive for Shane when it comes to Ryan.)
Three: no matter how hard Ryan laughs at his stupid jokes, or how many late-night beers they share when they both should be getting some sleep, or how fast Ryan reaches for him when he gets freaked out during their “investigations”, nothing will ever happen between them.
Which is fine with Shane. It’s all just dandy, as far as he’s concerned. He’s made peace with these facts. They comfort him. They’re the building blocks of his current reality.
He couldn’t give less of a shit that demons aren’t real. And he’s similarly okay with the fact that Ryan doesn’t want to bang him. Ryan’s straight, he’s known for a long time Shane isn’t quite as straight, they’ve been friends for like seven years and never so much as a lingering hug.
If they were going to find proof of ghosts, they probably would’ve found it by now. And, likewise, if something more-than-friendly was gonna go down between Ryan and Shane, it definitely would’ve happened already.
In fact, the only difference between these two facts is that Shane doesn’t often fantasize about shutting up some ghost with a hot, sloppy tongue kiss. Not that he has that fantasy about Ryan too often, but – it slips in there once in awhile.
Either way, he never expects to have any of these beliefs tested. And up until this point in his life, it never even occurred to him that they eventually might be.
Maybe that’s why he never saw it coming.
It’s an unseasonably warm October night in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. They’re at a dusty little house on a fairly busy road, filming the premiere for their fifth season of Unsolved: Supernatural.
Shane is feeling pretty damn good. For one, they’re not sleeping over here. They have a quaint little room at a Marriott twenty minutes away. He likes Pittsburgh, and after the investigation, he wants to take Ryan to a bar in Shadyside he remembers fondly from a visit to his cousin’s two years ago. Plus, a window is open somewhere, minimizing dust inhalation, and a pleasant breeze has followed them through the first floor.
All in all, Shane’s having a great time.
As far as he can tell, Ryan is feeling the exact opposite. They’re heading up the creaky stairs into the final stage of their investigation – a spirit box session in the master bedroom of the home, where a woman in the 1970s claims she was attacked by an unseen entity.
Ryan’s been vocally dreading it all night, despite being the one to plan and orchestrate this entire thing.
“Oh Christ. What am I doing here? This is messed up.”
He shrieks, and does a little sideways skip-hop that nearly sends both of them crashing to the bottom of the stairs. Shane steadies him, stifling a laugh.
“You good?”
“I swear to God I just felt something touch the back of my neck.”
“It was me.”
“Was it? Seriously?”
“No. Sorry.”
“I’m gonna murder you, Shane. I’m not even kidding.”
“That’s what the demon wants!”
The banister along the staircase has seen better days. Shane’s in front, Ryan a few steps behind him, TJ at the bottom, filming their ascent.
“Do you think demons actually enjoy living in these dilapidated houses?” Shane asks, genuinely curious. “It smells like rotten French fries in here.”
“Stop saying the word, Shane, I swear to God.”
“Dilapidated?”
“I’m gonna dilapidate you if you don’t stop saying it.”
“You’re going to stop maintaining me, allowing me to fall gradually into a state of disrepair and decay?”
“Yes,” says Ryan. “You’ll hate it.”
They reach the top of the steps. Shane steps aside so Ryan can get past him.
“How – do I even want to ask how you can possibly –“
“I have my ways. You don’t want to know.”
“Big talk, little man.”
“You’ll be like a burnt-out bell tower when I’m done with you,” says Ryan, a little spirit coming back into his voice. “Nothing behind the eyes.”
“Joke’s on you, buddy, that’s been my aesthetic since college.”
Secretly, Shane’s glad to hear it. He’s been goading Ryan for the last half hour, trying to get him to joke back. Ever since he (allegedly) felt something pull his sleeve in the basement, he’s jumped a mile at every little creak and barely laughed at any of Shane’s jokes. Ryan does this to himself, but it’s not like Shane doesn’t have a heart way deep down in there.
The master bedroom is undoubtedly the stuffiest place in the house. A wave of something ghastly hits them as they enter.
“Ugh, what’s that smell?”
Ryan pulls his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth. “That’s nasty.”
“For our viewers at home, it smells like a garbage truck took a dump in here.”
“That’s . . . vivid.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No. That’s actually very accurate.”
They shine their lights around – peeling wallpaper, faded robin’s egg blue, with splintery wood paneling visible underneath. The splotchy, water-damaged ceiling sags in the center, and in the back left corner stands an enormous old vanity made of very dark wood.
“Ooh,” says Shane, going over to check it out. “Hey, Ryan. Do you think the demon lives in one of these drawers?”
“Ugh.”
He starts opening them with a lot of pizzazz. “Demon! Show yourself! Come out and play with us!”
“Stop it!” Ryan swats him on the shoulder. “You don’t know what’s in there. It’s probably diseased.”
The bottom drawer won’t open. Something rattles around inside it when he tries.
“Ooh, it’s locked. This must be the demon drawer. You wanna touch it and see if you get any bad vibes? Any demon energy?”
Ryan gives him a Look. Then he squats down next to Shane and lays his hand flat on the bottom drawer.
“I feel nothing,” he says after a few seconds. “But I don’t like the way this wood feels. It’s slimy. It’s weirding me out.”
“Well folks, so far this room sucks. Bad smell, yucky wood, nowhere to sit down –“
“This whole house gets zero out of five stars on Yelp,” says Ryan. “Poorly maintained. No bathroom. Plus someone almost got murdered here.”
“They did?”
“Yeah. The mom. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Botch job. You know, this has got to be one pretty shitty demon if it can’t even get the job done. Amateur hour, am I right?”
“Shut up, Shane.”
“Listen to me, demon. You can redeem yourself tonight. Just one little murder and all shall fear you!”
“Yeah, just murder him, not me.”
“You’re talking to it too? This is delightful.”
“I’m not – ugh. Let’s just do this, and get the hell out of here.”
They stand in the corner near the creepy vanity. There are a few scratches on the wood floor, which Ryan squats down to film at close-range.
“What do you think made these?”
“A naughty dog,” suggests Shane.
“Yeah, trying to escape – you know who.”
Shane gasps dramatically. “She was trying to escape Lord Voldemort?”
“Oh my god.” Ryan glances over to TJ. “Is it just me, or is Shane being even more insufferable than usual tonight?”
“Seems pretty standard,” says TJ.
“I think you mean I’m being my usual charming self.”
“That assumes there are people out there who find you charming.”
Shane turns to TJ also and points into the camera. “I know you’re out there. I believe in you. The Shaniacs are eating this up.”
“So this is the spot, right here,” says Ryan, ignoring Shane. “This is where Mrs. Brennan says she was choked and scratched by an unseen entity.”
“Demon, that was very rude. Why don’t you come out and choke me, if you’re so into that stuff?”
“Why does it sound like you’re hitting on the demon?”
Shane waggles his eyebrows at the GoPro strapped to Ryan’s chest.
“We barely know each other. Let’s have a little chat and see how things go.”
“I honestly don’t understand you at all.”
Ryan fiddles with some dials on his precious spirit box. He seems subdued, not in the mood for jokes, which is too bad. Shane’s got some jokes stored up. He feels weird, on edge, and it makes him want to talk a lot, although he can’t quite pinpoint why.
“Okay,” says Ryan uneasily. “So I’m gonna turn this on. If there’s anyone here that wants to talk to us, uh, you can use this device to do that.”
He fires up the spirit box. Shane covers his ears as it bursts into life. It seems even louder than usual, which is difficult, since it’s already the loudest thing in America.
“Is there anyone here with us? If there’s anyone here, give us – uh, make a knock on the wall or something.”
“Or just choke us,” Shane suggests. “I’m not really into that myself, but Ryan might be.”
“Shut up, Shane.”
The spirit box makes a weird growling noise, like a faraway animal. Ryan goes white.
“What was that?”
“Sounded like static.”
The hair on the back of Shane’s arms stands up for some reason. He’d blame it on the breeze, except the one window in this room is boarded up.
“That’s Ryan Bergara talking to you, by the way, Ryan Steven Bergara,” says Shane. Ryan never says his own name during the demon investigations. Ryan glares at him.
“Yeah, along with Shane Madej. Two can play at that game.”
“I don’t care if it knows my name. Come on, demon, come out and talk to us! It’s me, Shane! You wanna rip my skull out?”
Static.
“Is anybody here with us?”
“We— are— not,” the spirit box spits out in three different voices.
“What the fuck?”
“I dunno,” says Shane. “Didn’t sound like much to me.”
“Uh, are you kidding me? It said ‘we are not.’ Plain as day.”
“Tricky demon, full of lies!”
“Was that you? Who said that? Can you say something else?”
For about twenty seconds, they listen to the sound of static. Then Ryan turns it off.
“You didn’t hear that?”
“I heard a lot of nothing. Is it time to get locked in here alone with the d-word?”
“Ugh. Yes. Might as well get it over with.”
He and TJ walk outside, and Shane helpfully closes the door behind Ryan. He hears Ryan say, “Okay, I’m gonna turn my light off.” Then the spirit box fires back into life.
Shane and TJ stand out there in the dark. Shane hums a little tune to himself. His skin feels weird, and he blames it on the strange barometric pressure of the evening.
A scream pierces the darkness, short and clipped and distinctly Ryan.
Shane grins knowingly at the camera.
“Knew he was gonna lose it.”
It would be entertaining, except – Shane’s heart skips a little beat – it doesn’t stop.
Ryan’s yelling, “Shane! Shane! Open the door!”
Something thumps on the ground, there’s a dragging noise, like something being pulled across the floor. The spirit box scramble is suddenly, freakily silent. This is new. Shane’s heart starts thumping. He reaches for the doorknob, but it’s stuck. The door won’t open.
He throws his full weight against it and it swings forward.
“Ryan! Where are you?”
It’s dark as hell. His flashlight won’t turn on. Shane gropes blindly for him in the darkness.
“Ryan!” Shane’s heart thumps out of control. His flashlight flickers a little then remains obstinately dark.
TJ says something about his camera that Shane doesn’t hear. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Shane’s flashlight turns on. Ryan’s in the middle of the room, just standing there, about three feet from where he was before. His mouth is open and slack. The sight of him sends Shane’s heart into overdrive. He grabs Ryan by the shoulder. Ryan flinches away.
“What happened?”
“Fuck, fuck,” says Ryan. He’s staring up at Shane with absolute terror in his eyes, although his voice is low and monotone. “It grabbed my shirt. It pulled me. It tried to pull me—“
He lurches forward into Shane. Their cameras clack together. Shane wraps his arms around Ryan’s shoulders. He’s shaking, hard, and Shane tightens his grip.
“You want me to cut it?” TJ asks in a low voice, and Shane nods once over Ryan’s head.
“Hey, it’s okay,” says Shane softly into the top of Ryan’s hair. They’ve never hugged like this before. Before this moment, he didn’t realize that Ryan’s face only reaches the base of Shane’s throat. Shane tightens his arms.
“It’s okay,” he says again, awkwardly. God, Ryan’s going to hate this later. He either won’t talk about it under any circumstances, or he’ll bring it up awkwardly all the time to make no-homo jokes. Shane isn’t looking forward to either. But that’s not what’s important right now.
“I’m not fucking around,” says Ryan into the front of Shane’s button-down.
“I know.”
Ryan takes a few deep breaths. He finally lets go of Shane.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I gotta – I gotta go. I can’t be here.”
He looks so disappointed in himself. For once, Shane doesn’t have anything snarky to say.
“We’re done anyway, right? This was this last room, wasn’t it?”
Ryan nods glumly.
“Let’s pack it up, boys,” Shane says. TJ nods, and heads down the hall to pick up the EVP equipment they’d left in the children’s room. Shane picks up the spirit box. It’s still switched on, but isn’t making any noise. Maybe it kicked the bucket. He turns it off. They can deal with that later.
Shane drives. It’s a quiet ride, despite having six people in the car. When they get back to the hotel, TJ hops out.
“We’re going to McDee’s, orders please.”
“A quarter-pounder and a coke,” says Shane. They both look at Ryan, who stares into his lap.
“I don’t care. Chicken nuggets,” Ryan says. “Thanks.”
“Yeah man, no problem.”
Shane and Ryan silently bring their ghost-hunting equipment inside. Usually Shane complains about doing that, and wonders aloud who would bother breaking into their car to steal such useless crap. Tonight, the five minutes it takes them to unload everything seems like an eternity.
“You okay?” He finally asks when they get into their room. “You’re acting kinda – weird.”
“I feel weird,” says Ryan, giving him a backwards glance. He’s digging through his duffel bag, trying to find something. It turns out to be basketball shorts.
Shane sits on the edge of the bed, watching him.
“Weird how?”
“You’re just going to make fun of me.”
“No, I fucking won’t,” says Shane, surprising both himself and Ryan with the fierceness in his voice. “Ryan, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
Ryan stands up.
“Something grabbed me. I—I felt it breathing on me.”
His breathing has gone a little shallow. He’s clutching the shorts in both hands.
“You’re safe now. It’s just us. No demons here. I’ve cleared the premises.”
“It grabbed my shirt and yanked me, Shane. I know you don’t believe me, but at this point I don’t really care. That was by far the worst thing that’s ever – that was the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever felt.”
“Ryan, look, I know it was scary. But it could’ve been anything.”
“It could’ve been anything? What the fuck does that mean? Was it you? Was it TJ?”
He waits for about three seconds. “No, it wasn’t. You weren’t even in the room. The door was closed. Someone pulled my shirt, Shane.”
“I believe that you – experienced something,” says Shane. “Do you want to look at the footage? See what really went down?”
“Fuck, no,” says Ryan. “Not tonight. I’m wigged out enough as it was. I don’t want to see the instant replay.”
“Understandable.”
“I’m gonna wash up and get changed.”
“Ryan –“
Ryan pauses.
“Look, I’m – you can talk to me, okay? I won’t argue or debate stuff—“
“Yeah, right. The day you don’t argue or debate stuff is the day you’re dead in a coffin.”
“Seriously. I won’t. If you need to talk, I’m here.”
“Alright,” says Ryan. They look at each other for a few seconds. Ryan’s eyes are moving too fast, darting around Shane, scanning the room for something invisible. Then he turns and walks into the bathroom.
The bathroom door closes. Shane glances around the room for the remote. It’s on the nightstand. He’s leaning back to reach for it when, from the bathroom, comes the second scream of the night.
“Shane!”
Before he knows what’s happening, he’s already at the door of the bathroom, pushing it open. Ryan’s shirtless in front of the mirror, with his back to it. He turns to Shane with an expression of horror.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He looks in the mirror, and then he sees what Ryan sees.
Etched into Ryan’s mid-back are three red, crooked lines. They look like cat scratches, but the sight of them sets Shane’s teeth on edge. The hair on his arms stands up again, and he feels a strange urge to wrap himself protectively around Ryan.
“Oh,” he says.
“Three fucking scratches,” says Ryan, voice shaking. “Do you – you know what that means, right? Tell me you know what that means.”
“I know what you think it means,” says Shane, before remembering his promise not to be dismissive. “Yeah, I do. I know. Look, you probably just rubbed against one of those splintery walls without noticing.”
“Uh, I would’ve noticed that,” says Ryan. “I wasn’t just stumbling around bumping into walls. This is fucking horrifying.”
It actually is. Shane’s not feeling so great himself.
“Let me take a closer look.”
It’s cramped with both of them in the bathroom. Ryan leans over the sink so Shane can examine the marks. They’re thin and shallow, but with a deep crimson hue that makes them appear deeper and more serious. Shane touches Ryan’s bare shoulder, moving it gently into a position that gives him a better look.
It’s strange and not at all unpleasant to be this close to Ryan when he’s not wearing a shirt. Shane tries not to think about it.
“What do you think?” Ryan’s clearly anxious. Shane can practically feel the restless fear thrumming below his skin.
“Just a couple scratches. Nothing serious. I have some bacitracin in my med kit.”
“Of course you do,” Ryan mutters, closing his eyes. “What’s bacitracin gonna do for some demon scratches? It fucking marked me. I’m a marked man.”
“It’ll keep them from getting infected, for one.”
“Sure, whatever,” says Ryan. “I can’t believe this is happening. My brain is melting.”
“We’ll get them cleaned up,” says Shane calmly. “Just sit down.”
Surprisingly, for once, Ryan does what he says. He sits down on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the tiles. Shane bends down and dabs at the scratches with a warm washcloth. Ryan flinches when the water touches his skin.
“It’s okay, just cleaning it off,” says Shane in his most soothing voice.
“You could warn a guy,” says Ryan, not sounding very soothed.
“Sorry. I’ll narrate everything I’m doing. Now I’m putting the washcloth next to the sink.”
“Shut up, Shane.”
“Now I’m opening my med kit.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t bring my rosary,” Ryan mutters. “The one time I don’t bring it.”
“I’ve got the next best thing, which is modern medicine.”
It’s an awkward angle, but it’s the best they can do in the cramped quarters. Shane gently rubs the clear gel over the thin cuts. Ryan’s breathing shallowly, hands on his knees.
“Feels weird.”
“I’m almost done. Just gonna Band-Aid them up and we’ll call it a night.”
“Thank you,” Ryan blurts out.
“Yeah, of course,” says Shane, giving him a weird look. Did Ryan think he wouldn’t do this for him? Did Ryan think there was a single thing on this godforsaken planet that Shane wouldn’t do for him in a heartbeat?
He has to get really close to Ryan to put the Band-Aids on accurately. He can feel the heat of his skin. It’s comforting in a strange way. Ryan’s here, whole, alive. Freaked out to the max, but all in one piece. Shane’s thoughts feel foreign, like they belong to someone else.
“Okay, you’re all set,” he says once the last Band-Aid is applied.
Ryan stands up, making it once again very obvious that this bathroom was not designed for two men to use simultaneously. He turns to check out his back in the mirror, and heaves a deep sigh.
Shane swallows, watching the muscles in Ryan’s back shift. Ryan meets his eyes in the mirror, and then twists around to face him. They’re way too close together for any of this to be natural.
“Thanks again, Nurse Shane,” he says. He’s obviously going for sarcasm, but his voice wobbles, and it just comes out endearingly sincere.
“Anything you need,” says Shane. “Just say the word. I’m here.” His voice comes out way too sincere as well, and he gives himself an internal shake.
Ryan’s looking up at him with big, dark eyes.
“Can I ask you something?”
The tone of his voice makes Shane’s heart beat for some reason. He can feel the heat from Ryan’s body, smell his clean, sporty cologne. Why the fuck are they standing this close together? It’s weird. It’s objectively weird. But neither of them move.
“Sure.”
Ryan opens his mouth, and someone raps on the door. They both jump a foot.
“McDonald’s delivery service!” yells TJ through the door.
“Oh, our food is here,” says Shane, and brushes past Ryan to get it.
He opens the door and takes the greasy bag from TJ.
“Thanks, man,” he says.
“No problem. The roads in this town are crazy. Half of them are one-way with no signs. We almost got run down by a dump truck.”
“Sounds like LA.”
“For real. You guys wanna go out?”
“I don’t know,” says Shane, glancing back into the room. Ryan’s still in the bathroom. “He’s kinda wigged out.”
“No worries.” He pauses. “Everything okay?”
“I honestly don’t know.” He briefly debates telling TJ about the scratches, but decides it isn’t his place. “I’ll ask him.”
“Yeah. Weird shit, man. Well, we’re headed out for a bit. Just text me if you guys decide to come, I’ll let you know where we end up.”
“Will do.”
Shane closes the door.
“Hey, you hungry?”
“Not really,” says Ryan, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Shane recognizes it as his pajama shirt. It’s old, worn soft, with a big UFO on the front and curly script that says ‘Aliens Believe In Us’. “Okay, a little. Gimme the nugs.”
Shane separates out their food on the empty desk.
“They’re going out for drinks,” he says. “What do you think? Drink to forget?”
Ryan considers it for a few seconds, chewing on a chicken nugget.
“I’d rather stay here and drink whatever’s in the mini bar.”
“Never thought I’d see the day when you turn down a social invite, but – solid choice.”
“Glad you approve. Felt like more of a Madej choice.”
“Oh, it fully is.”
Shane buys Sprite from the vending machine down the hall and makes them some sparkly lemon-lime vodka drinks. This whole thing is starting to remind him of college. McDonald’s and alcohol in thin paper cups. Ryan drinks it down in one gulp and holds his cup back out before Shane even has a chance to take a sip.
“Hit me again, barback.”
“No tip? You’re getting excellent service, you have to admit.”
“I’ll give you a tip,” says Ryan.
“Oh, okay. Give it to me.”
“It’s a hot one.”
“I’m ready.”
“Get me drunk and I’ll pass the fuck out instead of keeping you up all night.”
“Uh, okay. That’s fair. I don’t believe you, but it’s fair.”
Shane makes him a double.
Three drinks later, Ryan has calmed down somewhat. He somehow manages to find a rerun of some Lakers game, possibly from the previous season, and they’re watching it stretched out on Ryan’s bed.
Well, okay, Shane’s not watching it. He’s scrolling through Instagram, not reading any of the posts, double-tapping at random. He feels pleasantly drunk.
Ryan isn’t paying much attention to the screen either. He keeps scanning the room when he thinks Shane isn’t paying attention.
“Are you looking for spirits?” Shane asks finally.
“Uh, wouldn’t you be?”
“Mm—“
“No, that’s a stupid question, of course not. You’d be fine. You’d be, like, sipping wine and reading historical fiction.”
“I’m actually on kind of a sci-fi kick right now.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah, I’d probably be fine,” Shane agrees. He feels a little boozy and a lot better. The weird energy from earlier has dissipated. “But that’s just because I’m deeply broken inside.”
“Well, we already knew that.”
“I actually admire you. I admire your bravery.”
“What?” Ryan looks so comically dumfounded that Shane bursts out laughing. “You admire my what?”
“Bravery. Courage. Inner fortitude. Whatever you wanna call it.”
“I know what bravery means, dipshit. So then why do you spend half your life making fun of me for getting scared?”
“Because it’s fun.”
“Should’ve expected that.”
“But you do this stuff anyway. You don’t quit. You keep going even though it freaks you out so bad you poop your pants on a regular basis.”
“I’ve never actually pooped my pants,” says Ryan. “Contrary to popular belief. I’ve terror-farted, but that’s not the same.”
“It’s really not. It’s commendable, Ryan.”
“Thanks,” says Ryan after a minute. “That was nice of you to say.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“I admire you too.”
“Oh, do you now?” Shane feels more pleased than he wants to admit. “Is it my unyielding loyalty to the science of cold, hard facts?”
“No. Well, I mean, yes. Although sometimes I think you ignore cold, hard facts that are right in front of you because they don’t fit your narrative.”
“Mm, no. Not accurate.”
“I like how steady you are.”
“Steady?”
Ryan’s looking sideways at him, head against the pillows he has propped up behind him.
“Yeah. You’re dependable.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, man. It doesn’t matter how scared I get, how much I’m freaking out, you’re over there, fuckin – making jokes, doing what you need to do. It’s nice.”
“Oh, well,” says Shane, touched. He reaches for his drink – his fourth at this point, or maybe fifth – and takes a big swig because he doesn’t know what to say.
Ryan’s giving him a fond look. His cheeks are pink, like they usually are when he gets drunk, and he’s got that shine in his eyes that usually means he’s about to start rambling about something. Instead, he keeps going along the same sappy vein.
“It helps me. Like tonight.”
“I didn’t think I helped much tonight,” Shane admits. “I felt like I was just making things worse.”
“No way,” says Ryan, fixing him with a serious look. “You fuckin – saved the day, man. The way I was feeling in that house, like, I’m not even fucking around. Five more minutes in there and you would’ve had to carry me out. You guys got everything packed up so fast, and then you fuckin – bandaged up my back, it just really –“
He cuts off, looking at Shane. In the background, someone scores and the crowd goes wild. It seems very far away.
Shane’s gaze traces the curve of Ryan’s jaw, the translucent violet bags under his eyes. He wants to touch Ryan’s face, which is just weird. The moment stretches on a few seconds too long.
“Anytime, buddy,” he says finally, trying to sound normal. “I’m your demon bodyguard.”
“That makes it sound like you’re a bodyguard who moonlights as a demon.”
“Yeah, well, it’s too late to change all four hundred business cards, so it’s gonna have to stand. Shane Madej, Demon Bodyguard.”
Ryan finally laughs.
“I’ll take it. Clearly I need to just take what I can get.”
“I’m the crème de la crème, asshole. Take what you can get? I got clients lining the block to get my services. You should be thanking your lucky stars you get me for free.”
“Your services need an upgrade, judging by what happened tonight.”
“But did you die?”
“No,” says Ryan, reluctantly. “Not yet, anyway.”
“And you’re not going to. Not from this, anyway.”
“Ominous.”
“Mortality isn’t ominous, babe, it’s a fact.”
The word slips out before he can stop it. He hasn’t called someone “babe” in years. He’s never called Ryan that. It’s not something he usually says to anyone. It’s objectively weird to be saying to Ryan here, now.
“You’re a fact,” Ryan mumbles, cheeks going red. Thank god they’re both drunk. With any luck, they won’t even remember this in the morning. Shane smiles brightly and pretends it didn’t happen.
“Okay, unrelated question.”
“What is it?”
“Where do robots go for fun?”
“Oh Jesus,” moans Ryan. “This is gonna be really stupid, isn’t it.”
“Come on. It’s funny. I swear.”
“It’s not funny,” says Ryan. “I know definitively it’s not gonna be funny. But tell me, Shane, where do they go?”
“The circuits.”
Ryan snorts, thinks about it, and then bursts out laughing. So does Shane. He’s ten times funnier when he’s drunk. Another fact.
“That wasn’t the dumbest joke you’ve ever told me, but it was up there.”
“You loved it!”
“Me loving something and it being dumb are not mutually exclusive,” Ryan points out. “I love a lot of dumb things. Like –“ He cuts off mid-sentence, eyes falling from Shane’s, shaking his head.
“Like what?”
“Nothing. Shut up. I forgot what I was gonna say.”
“Uh, okay then,” says Shane, baffled. “Well in that case, I can name some dumb things you love. Sports, for one.”
“Sports aren’t dumb! How can you say that?”
“Football is barbaric.”
“Yeah, sure it is, but it’s also – well, I mean, I’m not a huge football fan, it’s not the greatest – that’s a bad example!“
“So you agree? “
“I will never agree with that. And you’re ignoring a lot of juicy history that comes along with sports. I know you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“It’s true. I have another one. You love ghosts. Ghosts are dumb.”
“I don’t love ghosts. And hang on, how can you say they’re dumb if you don’t even believe in them?”
“I think the sheer idea of ghosts is dumb.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“You love The Bachelor.”
“You love The Bachelor too!”
“I love an absolute shitload of dumb stuff,” says Shane, “duh.”
“Like what?”
Like you, idiot.
It would be an excellent burn, but they don’t say that to one another. Ryan had said it once, a long time ago, and to this day, Shane never said it back. They never spoke of that time or mentioned it again.
“Bumper cars,” says Shane.
“Bumper cars aren’t dumb.”
“They’re extremely dumb. The entire concept is dumb.”
“Fine,” says Ryan. “We both love dumb stuff. Let’s agree on that.”
“Agreed,” says Shane.
“Make me another drink, if you agree with me so hard.”
“Yes, sir,” says Shane amiably. He sits up and whacks his knee off the night table. “Ow.”
“You’re drunk,” Ryan says, crawling over to sit right behind Shane.
“You’re drunk,” Shane retorts. “You’re drunker than me, probably.”
“I am not,” says Ryan. “No, I am. I definitely am. But I could be more drunk.”
“I oughta cut you off,” says Shane. He can feel Ryan breathing behind him. He’s very aware of Ryan’s warm weight not-quite-touching his body. He’s also aware that they’re sitting much closer together than they usually do, a thought he happily ignores.
“Don’t cut me off,” says Ryan, draping himself over Shane’s back, slotting his chin onto Shane’s shoulder. He stays there for about seven seconds, which is still five seconds longer than usual. “I’m not done repressing everything that happened tonight.”
“Look, if it will make you feel better – let’s shoot Father Thomas an email tomorrow morning. I’m sure he’ll fix you right up.”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid he’s gonna – what do you think he’ll say?”
Shane adds the last of Ryan’s coke to some rum. He takes a small sip to make sure it tastes good, then hands it over.
“You know exactly what he’s gonna say.”
“‘Ryan, I’m very disappointed in you. I told you not to mess with demons, and you did it anyway. You’re possessed now and I’m not gonna help you cause this is what you get for being an idiot.’”
“First part, probably yes. Second part, not so sure.”
“What if I need an exorcism?”
“The Exorcism of Ryan Bergara,” says Shane. “That sounds like a movie you’d make us watch on Netflix.”
“It’s a movie I would never watch. I don’t even want to see the footage from tonight.”
“You don’t? Even if it contains definitive proof of spirits?”
“Okay, you’re right. Of course I want to see it. But not tonight. It’s too soon.”
“Save it for the sunshine,” Shane agrees.
“Shane, seriously. Tell me the truth.”
“About what?”
“You really didn’t feel anything?”
Shane considers it. He remembers the way the hair on his arms had stood up just before Ryan screamed, the dizziness and disorientation he briefly felt trying to find him. To say he’d felt nothing would be a lie.
“I felt weird,” he says carefully. “I’m not saying it was something paranormal. But I did feel weird.”
“Weird, how?”
He’s feeling kind of weird now, to be honest, although not in the same way. They’re facing each other on Ryan’s bed, both sitting cross-legged, which Shane only does when drunk and will likely regret in the morning. They’re not as close as before, but with the way Ryan’s looking at him – like he knows all the answers – they might as well be.
“Dizzy. I don’t know. Right before you yelled my name. The hair on my arms stood up, like when you get a shock from the carpet or something. Might’ve just been a little electro-zing from some of the equipment I was holding. Who knows.”
Ryan’s still watching him with a strange, unreadable expression. He doesn’t say anything, and for whatever reason, Shane feels compelled to keep talking.
“I was worried about you. I felt scared, I guess. Again, not necessarily paranormal, it was just – you don’t normally freak out that hard.”
“It fucking pulled me, Shane,” says Ryan with sudden urgency. The laughter is gone from his face. “It grabbed me by the back of my shirt. Which has fucking holes in it, by the way. It’s ripped in the back. Do you want to see the holes?”
“You just got caught on something,” says Shane weakly. “The splintery wall.”
“No, I fucking didn’t. I wasn’t anywhere near that wall, and you know it.”
He’s looking into Shane’s eyes with a quiet desperation. It shifts something uncomfortably heavy in Shane’s chest, something not meant to be moved. Without really thinking about it, Shane leans over and wraps his right arm around Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan slumps into him like he’s been waiting for it. His breath huffs out hot against Shane’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” says Shane. “It’s over now. Whatever happened, whatever it was or wasn’t. You’re here now and you’re safe.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Well, nobody knows anything in life, Ryan. That’s what keeps things zesty.”
His hair is tickling the side of Shane’s throat. It feels oddly natural to hold Ryan in this way, even though they’ve never done this before. Shane likes the warm weight of his body, the woodsy smell of his hair.
“It wanted to hurt me,” says Ryan. “I felt that. It was trying to pull me – away. Somewhere. I fucking fought it. It only lasted, like – five seconds. Maybe less. But I’ll never fucking forget that.”
“It’s alright. That motherfucker didn’t get you. I’ve got you, Bergara.”
Ryan’s head falls onto Shane’s chest. They rest like that for a few moments. Somehow, Shane’s arm has dropped to Ryan’s waist, supporting him, and Ryan’s hand is resting on the mattress behind Shane’s butt. The close contact is doing something unfortunate in Shane’s lower-belly area.
“We ought to be filming right now,” Ryan mumbles. “Wouldn’t this be a cute ending to the episode?”
Shane laughs out loud. “I’m in if you are. Although we’re gonna get asked a lot of weird questions.”
“I get asked weird questions every day as it is,” says Ryan. Finally, he shifts away from Shane, and lies down on the pillows.
“You do?”
“Every god damn day.” He yawns and stretches like a cat.
“Let’s get some sleep,” suggests Shane, shifting away. His body, loose and pliant from the booze, is a little too happy about their brief cuddle and the last thing Shane wants to do is make everything awkward by getting a boner.
“Yeah,” says Ryan. “Uh. Would you mind – “
Shane waits, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s looking at Shane with either concern or bewilderment. Shane returns the look.
“Would I what?”
“Sleep, um, over here?”
“In your bed?”
“Why do you have to say it like that and make it sound so weird?”
“I wasn’t making it sound weird,” says Shane. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Thanks.” Ryan sounds heartbreakingly relieved.
“I told you. Shane Madej, demon bodyguard.”
“That still sounds like you’re the demon.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Or you’re the bodyguard of a demon.”
“Look, I’m a multi-faceted bodyguard, okay? I have a lot of clients. Maybe they’re human, maybe they aren’t. Let’s not get into it right now.”
“Fine,” says Ryan, but he’s smiling.
Shane reaches over and flips off the light. They lay there bathed in darkness, not quite touching, Ryan facing away from Shane. Sleeping next to him was hit or miss on the Embarrassing Boner scale. Sometimes it did nothing for him. Sometimes it was a nightmare realm of infinite, exquisite torture.
Luckily, this time, it’s a big bed.
The drinks catch up with Shane all at once. Maybe in the morning, in the peaceful glow of a mediocre complimentary breakfast buffet, things won’t feel quite so delicate and strange. Maybe in the morning, he won’t remember the uncomfortable intensity of what he felt for Ryan tonight.
“Night,” he says, a little slurry.
“Night,” Ryan mumbles.
It can’t have been longer than five minutes before Ryan jerks to attention. “Did you hear that?”
Shane, who had been drifting off, struggles to be coherent. “What?”
“I heard something.”
“Ryan, it’s a hotel. You’re gonna hear stuff all night.”
“I know that,” says Ryan. “It sounded like it was in the room.”
He scoots closer to Shane. They’re almost touching – Ryan’s shoulder blades just barely pressed to Shane’s chest. One of his heels grazes Shane’s shin.
“It’s nothing. Just go to sleep,” Shane says, or tries to say. His tongue feels thick. The warmth emanating off of Ryan is a huge problem. Why did he agree to this?
“I am going to sleep,” Ryan mutters. “Ack! What was that?”
“Oh my god. I thought you were trashed.”
“Yeah, well, I probably am. So what?”
“So, I thought this was gonna make you pass out. Jesus.”
“I’m trying,” says Ryan.
He goes silent. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out.
Shane’s hovering on the edge of sleep when he feels Ryan’s heel again. It’s not grazing his leg this time though. It’s pushing between Shane’s calves, nestling in there. At the same time, Ryan shifts closer to him, pressing their bodies flush. Shane takes a deep breath and doesn’t let it out.
Neither of them speaks. Shane finally exhales.
Okay, so Ryan wants to cuddle. That’s fine. He can handle that. Slowly, like a secret, Shane snakes an arm around Ryan’s waist. It’s a comfortable position. He’s tired, drunk, and his body is already getting the wrong idea. But Ryan clearly needs this, and Shane realizes with an unfortunate jolt that he would do pretty much anything for Ryan.
It’s very dark. Shane can barely see anything. He’s wide awake by now. He wonders if Ryan’s asleep. His breathing sounds even and peaceful, but he shifts against Shane’s body, and his ass presses somewhere that makes dangerous little sparks fly in Shane’s belly.
Shane puffs out a guilty breath. All he wants to do is fall asleep, but his body is making this experience anything but relaxing. Nothing like getting accidentally horned up over your traumatized friend wanting to cuddle the bad feelings away.
He tries, again, to fall asleep.
Then Ryan’s hand touches his.
At first, Shane thinks it’s an accident. But his fingers close around Shane’s hand. Their fingers tangle together.
If he weren’t so drunk, he might – who knows what he might say. As it stands, he’s shocked into utter speechlessness. His dick is more than half-hard and pressed against Ryan’s ass. He has no idea what’s going on. They’re clearly having some kind of moment, but the nature of that moment is completely lost on Shane.
Still, nobody speaks.
Ryan’s trembling again. This time, Shane doesn’t do anything to comfort him. He doesn’t know what to do. His brain is racing a million miles an hour and coming up with nothing coherent. Ryan’s palm is clammy with sweat.
Then Ryan pulls Shane’s hand down to the front of his shorts, a quick press. Barely half a second. But it’s long enough for Shane to get the memo.
The wheels in Shane’s head abruptly stop turning.
“Ryan,” he says in a soft, choked voice. Just trying to – confirm, or something.
“Please?” Ryan’s voice sounds raw, a little broken and a lot drunk.
For once, Shane doesn’t overthink it. For once, he doesn’t think about it at all.
He rubs Ryan through the filmy material, gentle and efficient, until Ryan’s breathing gets ragged. Then he licks his hand and pushes it down the front of Ryan’s basketball shorts. Ryan yelps and the back of his head pushes against Shane’s throat. His skin is hot, electrifying. Shane feels surrounded by Ryan, the heat of his skin, the sweaty boy-smell of his hair, the scorching electricity moving between their bodies as Shane jerks him off.
Shane can’t help rolling his hips against Ryan’s ass, and Ryan makes a short, clipped little moan each time. Like he’s trying to hold back. Shane wants to tell him to let go. He wants to hear it. He wants to make him lose control. But the words catch in his throat. He can barely think, let alone speak.
Ryan’s breath sounds harsh, erratic. He’s thrusting against Shane’s hand, making little “uh, uh” sounds. Shane’s never been harder in his entire life, and that is yet another fact. He wants to say, Come on, baby, and maybe he does. It’s hard to tell. There’s a rushing in his ears. The friction between his sweats and Ryan’s butt is too much, the entire experience engulfing him, drowning his senses. He hasn’t felt these dizzy, lightheaded spikes of lust since he was a teenager. He can’t control his mind. He wants to fuck Ryan until the sun explodes, until neither of them can walk straight.
It’s only two or three minutes, in total. Ryan’s moaning shamelessly now, and it doesn’t take much more. A twist of Shane’s wrist, a taste of the firm, bold stroke that he uses on himself, and it’s all over. Ryan comes over his fingers with a long, gaspy groan that sears itself into Shane’s brain, and Shane comes in his pants with his dick pressed to Ryan’s lower back.
“Oh fuck,” says Ryan, breathing hard. “Jesus.”
“Don’t drag him into this,” says Shane, shaky, and Ryan laughs, a little too high-pitched. He doesn’t flip over. He just lies there on his side, breathing hard, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck.
They don’t say anything else. Shane gropes for a tissue from the bedside table and wipes off his hand. Then he lies back down next to Ryan. They aren’t touching anymore.
Ryan, miraculously, falls into a deep sleep. Shane lies awake for a very long time, listening to him twitch and mumble in his dreams.
It seems like he’ll never fall asleep, but he must, because he wakes up with a headache and a bad taste in his mouth. His phone says it’s 7:03. The first thing he does is look to his left, where Ryan’s face-planted into the pillows with his hair sticking in every direction.
A heavy weight tries to fall from Shane’s mind into the pit in his stomach, but he catches it mid-air. There is no point beating himself up over it, he thinks, feeling very mature. No point regretting anything. No point going over it again and again in his head until he has a breakdown.
They’ll either talk about it when Ryan wakes up, or they won’t.
It’s either going to ruin their friendship, or it won’t.
He goes into the bathroom and empties his bladder. Then he turns on the shower and stands for a long time under the lukewarm spray.
Despite the pit in his stomach, the hangover dread, he can’t stop thinking about what happened last night. He remembers the way Ryan pulled his hand down, the dawning shock when Shane felt his erection. He gets hard thinking about the way Ryan’s body had bucked against him when he stroked him just right. He’d never seen that side of Ryan. Against his will, he wonders if that was the first time Ryan did anything with a guy. It seems likely.
Shane doesn’t want to be thinking about any of this, but he jerks himself off anyway. It doesn’t take long. He comes hard into his fist thinking about how perfectly Ryan’s body fit against his, mentally replaying the noise Ryan made last night at the very end.
Then he gets out of the shower and gets dressed. Ryan hasn’t moved. Shane grabs his headphones and the paperback novel he bought in the airport after he accidentally finished his first one on the plane here. He puts his boots on – regrettably, he’d forgotten to bring a second pair of shoes – and slips out of the room, headed toward the lobby. It’s time to get some complimentary breakfast.
He finds a nice little table in the corner, away from the businesspeople with their briefcases and slicked-back hair. It’s sunlit and peaceful. He puts in his ear buds, opens his book, and tries to forget about what happened last night.
An hour later, Ryan still hasn’t come downstairs. In fact, he hasn’t seen anyone on their team. A little disturbing, considering their flight home leaves in just a few hours. Shane takes the elevator back upstairs.
In their room, Ryan’s finally awake and sitting up in bed. He’s still in his pajamas, hair plastered down over his forehead. It’s unbearably adorable. He’s got Shane’s laptop balanced on his legs and his GoPro hooked into it.
When he looks up, all of the shame Shane had managed to bypass during breakfast comes slamming back into his chest like a baseball bat. Ryan’s eyes pin him down like a bug on a card. Shane feels a burning need to say something, but his mind comes up blank.
It’s Ryan who speaks first, and it’s not at all what Shane was expecting to hear. His tone is low, awed.
“Come here. You’ve gotta see this.”