Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

And he never thinks of me…

Groaning, Ryan rolled himself out of bed.

His eyes felt like someone had poured acid into them. He definitely didn’t get enough sleep lately, and for none of the fun reasons.

Blindly blinking, he stumbled into the bathroom, tried not to look at any mirrors too closely on the way and got ready for another day. Outside, the first cars were racing past his window, the first people were chatting beneath it as if it wasn’t 6am, which was, quite frankly, hella annoying.

The whole “New York never sleeps” thing had been appealing for maybe a couple days and then Ryan had realized that also meant that he never slept.

Not that he would get any more sleep even if his neighbors did shut up once in a while.

“Okay,” he muttered to his empty room, a habit he’d picked up ever since he’d moved here. “Okay. You can do it. You can.”

The room didn’t answer - Ryan didn’t expect it to, not during the daylight hours, not when he felt a little lighter around his heart.

It was the nights that really made his heart skip in fear, that really made his hands sweat, his body feel cold, his mind see figures in the shadows, expect whispers in his ear.

Fucking Ghosts. He should’ve dedicated his life to prove the existence of unicorns instead. How come the only things he had left of LA were his demons and his ghosts?

Urgh.

When he was finally showered, fully dressed and had his first coffee of the day, Ryan felt almost like a person again. He grabbed his bag and his keys, locked the door behind him and took off to work.

They’d ruin his momentary relief in no time, after all.

Everyone was already busy when Ryan snowed into the studio.

“There he is,” said Darren, his lips tightened to the same motionless disgust he always regarded Ryan with.

Aw. What more could a man want in a career partner?

(He could think of one or twenty things, but all of them reminded him painfully of Shane, so he cut off that track of thought immediately.)

“Here I am,” Ryan greeted him with a forced, light-hearted tone and then shot a quick smile at their manager Sasha. “What’s up?”

“We have some interviews scheduled for the next couple of weeks,” she told him shortly - always lovely to be appreciated. “They sent us the first draft of their questions, I need you two to play nice and go through them.”

Ryan’s skills as an actor were limited, in his humble opinion, but he had gotten quite good at “playing nice” - at least in front of an audience. The only time that Darren happened to keep his slurs in.

“Alright then,” he sighed.

What a great start to the day.

He put his bag down at his table, threw a last, longing glance to his empty cup waiting there for him and followed Darren into their conference room.

“Try not to look too gay,” Darren said with his face pulled into a grimace. “The last time when you wore that super tight shirt, I don’t know how the interviewer didn’t call you a faggot.”

“Believe it or not, most people don’t feel the need to spit out slurs when they meet a gay man, that’s how,” Ryan responded dryly as he sat down at the large table. “Can we just focus on getting through the questions?”

Darren sat down as far away from him as he could, still that look of perpetual disgust on his face. Thankfully, as soon as they were in front of an audience, he was a better actor than he was a person.

“I’m just sayin’, I don’t wanna be seen next to a faggot. People will believe I’m one too. You freaks always come in packs.”

Ryan breathed out heavily through his nose, trying not to think, trying not to let the blow show on his face, as usual.

Darren knew as well as Ryan did that there was no pack of his to be found in New York.

“Whatever.” Ryan opened his laptop and the emails with the questions Sasha had sent them. “Question one,” he read out loud. “How does it feel to have your movie blow up so completely?”

“Awesome,” says Darren and then looks expectantly at Ryan, waiting for the next question.

Ryan sighed again.

Yeah. Life in New York was just peachy.

“I absolutely cannot do this.”

“It’s no different from our other shows, really,” Shane tried to calm him, even though he looked slightly pale himself. It was as if calming down Ryan had somehow gone over into his blood, was something he did on instinct as natural as breathing. “Just focus on me.”

“On you?” asked Ryan, feeling his breath shallow a little and - oh good. He was slithering towards a full-blown anxiety attack now. Just what he needed.

“Yes, on me,” Shane smiled. “What kind of camera or interviewer we talk to doesn’t really matter. Just banter with me like you always do. I’ll be right there with ya, buddy.”

Ryan took a deep breath and felt himself nod. Yeah. Yeah. He was right. He could do that. Shane would be there.

“It feels different, though,” he said. “Doesn’t it? Talking on TV? It’s not like on YouTube, with just people watching who actively chose to watch us, I don’t know. It’s different.”

“It is,” Shane agreed. He liked that about him. That he always told him what he really felt, even if it could end up feeding his anxiety. Because it was weirdly reassuring, to be taken seriously, talked to calmly by someone who didn’t seem fazed by him freaking out in the slightest. “But also not really? Our fans will still be watching, right? They know us. We know the questions beforehand. We got this.”

Ryan took another deep breath. They came a little easier now, the constriction of his chest loosening to let air through. His fingers still trembled slightly when he pushed closer to Shane, putting an arm around his shoulder.

“Thanks man.”

“Hey, any time. Not like you’re much use to me out there when you’re losing your shit.”

“Literally. Like, I feel like I’m really about to shit my pants.”

Shane snorted.

“Aren’t you always, though? It should be your natural state of living by now.”

“That’s rich, coming from the guy who ate hot dogs so bad, he got the shits on camera.”

And Ryan, a little shakily, joined Shane’s laughter at the slight, feeling the last lingering panic dissipate slowly. He was still nervous, of course, but Shane was right. They could do this. He’d faced ghosts and demons with this man, damn it! If they could do that, they could do pretty much anything together.

God , Ryan thought for the billionth time since he’d moved to New York. I miss Shane .

“Let’s kick some demon’s asses,” said movie Ryan, in this instance called Keith.

(He never particularly pegged himself to look like a Keith, but apparently fans didn’t mind.)

He sounded fearless. Badass. Ready for everything.

Like the absolute opposite of everything he was, pretty much.

“Listen to me,” said movie Darren - aka Lucas. “This one is not like the others. We can’t just waltz in and make it up as we go. We need a plan. Please-”

But Keith didn’t need a plan. Keith had never needed a plan in his life, because Keith was everything Ryan wasn’t. Bold, brave, confident, he took down the demons and ghosts, handled his own life, handled his work and his romantic conflicts with ease. Keith was always going to get the guy. Keith was going to ask Lucas out and get that future Ryan wanted. Picket-fence house, garden and dog, with the man of his dreams.

Ryan?

Well, Ryan got slurs instead.

“Get out of my way, fag,” hissed Darren, as usual ramming his shoulder against his when he disappeared off set the moment the shoot was over. Always quick to be the first with the make up artists, as if he was scared Ryan was going to steal them away from his incessant flirting

Always scared to be seen with him for longer than work necessarily needed him to, as if Ryan had a contagious disease (which, for as much as the world had evolved, homophobes really hadn’t, so that was most likely exactly what Darren thought. Yikes).

“You know, for someone playing a queer guy in a hit Youtube show, you’d think he’d be a bit more okay with the concept of gay people,” Ryan told the lady that was currently taking off his microphones. She gave him a nervous little smile but didn’t respond. Of course not - no one wanted to be caught shittalking Darren, not when he was the star of the show and the studio.

Ryan sighed.

It wasn't like he cared, not really. So his co-workers were either raging homophobes or entertaining one. So he was being treated like someone’s gross squished moldy slice of cheese under the bed for being bi - not because he’d come out to them but because Darren decided he wanted someone to bully and rightfully assumed that he was, in fact, not straight.

It would barely even matter to Ryan. He’d just go to work, do his thing, and enjoy the parts of this that he actually liked. Hanging out with fans. Doing live shows. Acting.

If it wasn’t for the gnawing, painful feeling of knowing that he’d almost had it all, that he had had it so much better, that he’d lost something so unique and special that he would never, ever again be able to replicate.

Fuck man.

Ryan missed home so fucking much .

He missed being at work with friendly faces. He missed going out and having drinks with them, laughing with them, knowing about their lives. The little things, like hearing what Obi was up to, what TJs mum said about his new girlfriend, what Steven’s new dog liked for dinner. He missed Mark’s exasperated sighs behind the camera when they were yet again goofing off instead of wrapping up filming.

Most of all, he missed Shane. He missed Shane so painfully much. He wanted nothing more than to come into office in the mornings without the raging ball of anxiety that had become his life and slide into the chair next to Shane instead, see him smile at him with crinkled eyes and shove a steaming cup of coffee over that he’d already known Ryan would need.

(Ryan couldn’t really drink coffee anymore, but in this particular fantasy, he didn’t mind. In none of his fantasies he minded, actually. And Shane was in a lot of them. All the time. Always the one, glaring star his solar system revolved around.)

Ryan let his head fall back against the wall as he waited for his next scene. Closed his eyes. And wondered, for what had to be the 500.000th time, if Shane missed him at all.

Probably not, let’s be real.

“Has anyone ever told you that your taste in movies is like… kind of insane?” asked Greg, smiling vaguely at Shane with those big, blue eyes that never quite lost that adoring puppy gaze Shane worked so hard on avoiding.

“Only all the time. Isn’t that kind of the premise of this whole thing?” Shane laughed.

Because there had to be a premise. You couldn’t just be a guy talking about what you loved on the internet, no you had to be interesting, you had to keep people’s attention. So now he was the quirky, nerdy weirdo who liked crazy aspects of movies and Greg was the loving little normie that called him insane. That was a concept, Shane supposed. That worked.

No matter how often he caught himself wishing it didn’t.

It was his own fault. He could’ve just gone back to being miserable as a barista behind some Starbucks counter, instead of being miserable in front of a camera. But like everything else, it was his own fault. He’d made his bed. He got to lie in it.

There hadn’t been any reason to share it with Greg but here he was anyway. Looking at Shane with big, blue eyes, searching for something he’d never get, from a guy who’d managed to drive everyone that loved him away.

Talking about fucking Kung-Fu Panda 4 like nothing was wrong and his biggest problem in life was metacritic only giving it a 7 out of 10.

“Hey,” said Greg. “Have you seen the new Silent Redem-”

“Nope,” said Shane, a little too fast.

“Really? But everyone’s talking about it and it already came out-”

“Okay, cut out the filming,” Shane told Mark and with a roll of his eyes, his camera man did, looking less than amused.

“We barely have any footage that’s not you sulking, just fyi,” said Katie, less than helpful but sadly correct, the way she so often was.

(Though, to be fair, she was incredibly helpful to the general production of good videos, it was Shane’s very fragile mental state, that always-swirling spiral of guilt and shame, that she wasn’t helping.)

“I told you,” he told Greg tiredly, “I don’t want to discuss these on the show.”

“But-” said Greg.

“No. No buts. We’ve talked about this a million times.”

“It’s one of the biggest series out there right now, man. They’re making the seventh movie. We have to talk about it, they’re begging us to.”

They were, indeed, begging them to, though Shane was fairly positive that Greg did not know the real reason for the fan’s insistence to address the movies.

Shane wasn’t an idiot. He liked to play one, of course, but he knew what his fans were here for and it very rarely was talk about any movie - at least not ones that didn’t have Ryan Bergara in one of the lead roles.

Man.

Life fucking sucked.

They weren’t even good movies. Shane had watched all the Silent Redemption movies - because of course he had -  and maybe it was just the disconnect between Ryan’s character playing some badass, unafraid ghost hunter versus the reality of it, which was Ryan Bergara being terrified of his own shadow (literally, Shane had watched it happen), but it just felt… cheap. Like a cop-out. And he knew, somewhere in his heart of hearts, that he was just bitter and upset and just thought the real Ryan was so much more interesting than the milktoast action hero he was playing.

But Shane really didn’t want to express any of that on camera. With millions of expecting ears and eyes turned to him. With Ryan out there somewhere, possibly hearing. Maybe hearing. Probably not hearing. He wouldn’t watch his videos, of that Shane was sure. If anything, he was somewhere sitting in some villa, never thinking about Shane again.

And that was like, the best case. The friendlier outcome. That was not outright hating him, which was probably more likely.

Shane closed his eyes and counted to ten, the way he often did around Greg. It wasn’t Greg’s fault. He didn’t do anything wrong.

Because, as usual, it was Shane’s.

“No,” he finally said softly, when he had counted to ten, his eyes still closed. “Final word on the matter.”

Never as final as he wanted it to be, but oh well. Greg, unsurprisingly, banged his hand against the table, looking frustrated.

“I just don’t get it man. What’s your problem? Are you that homophobic?”

Shane blinked at him.

“I- what?”

“I get it, you’re a big bad straight guy, but there’s really no harm in discussing one of the biggest queer franchises of our time for once, you know? It won’t hurt your masculinity.”

Oh good God. Shane opened his mouth, the resignation finally growing into full-grown anger, when Katie’s voice cut through the silence as she beat him to it.

“Okay, I think we’re going to take a short break, cool down a little. See you again in twenty.”

Greg stormed off without another word, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding bang.

“Homophobic?” asked Shane Katie and Mark with a baffled tone, not moving from his spot behind the table.

Mark just shrugged, pointedly not looking him in the eyes.

Katie rolled hers.

“He’s projecting. Just give him a minute, he’ll calm down.”

Shane stared down at the table for a long moment, then finally looked his friends in the eyes. “Do you think that we should-”

“Yes,” they both said in perfect unison before he could even finish his question and Shane breathed out through his nose, unsure of whether the huff he just suppressed was one of laughter or a sob. Probably a mix of both.

“They’re not even good movies,” he whispered and Mark snorted while Katie rolled her eyes again.

“And the Shane Madej who isn’t a coward would tell the world that,” she said. “But oh well.”

Yeah, Shane thought, his heart beating to his chest. But the Shane Madej who wasn’t a coward didn’t really exist now, did he?

Shane just stood there. Staring like a moron. Like he’d forgotten all about how speech worked in the short time he hadn’t talked to Ryan. The short time that felt like an eon but was- what? A month?

It was weird, being in here again after… everything. He wouldn’t be, if Steven hadn’t specifically insisted on being picked up in the office. It felt like he was haunting these halls now that he had left them behind. Becoming the office ghost that Ryan Bergara had feared all along.

Ryan hadn’t even noticed him. He had buried his head in his work, literally, with his neck so low he had to get cramps, stuck to his paperwork like it was the most important thing in the world. Maybe it was. Shane wouldn’t know. Shane wasn’t privy to that information anymore.

It felt like looking at a stranger, except he was looking at the person he knew best in the entire world. Like his brain had tried to unite the two and then failed and given up halfway through, making Ryan blur at the edges. It felt unreal. He wanted to walk up to him and fix things, but he stood still like a statue instead, scared that Ryan would notice him. His head running through a million words, none of which enough. How had he talked to Ryan for his entire life? He literally didn’t know. The ease and comfort he knew from him were completely obliterated, leaving nothing but burning, scorched shame in its wake.

So Shane simply didn’t say anything. With wobbly knees, he found himself walking past his old desk, past Ryan’s desk, up to Steven’s. Found himself hugging him hello with his back turned to Ryan. And it barely even stung, the burning hot stare of pure hurt he felt against his skin, knew was there when Ryan finally, finally looked up from his paperwork, straight at Shane.

Because adding fire to the heat really didn’t do all that much, except spreading, of course, except growing out of control, and burning down a forest or two.

… Except when I’m on TV

Ryan had always liked his fans. Sometimes people who weren’t in the spotlight asked him about it - how it felt to share so many personal aspects of his life with literal strangers, who so often seemed to think they knew everything about it, and he’d always found himself surprising them with a smile, had found himself telling them that he didn’t really care and that most of the time, they were actually pretty right about him anyway and that it was nice to be known.

It was still nice to be known. It kept him above water, really, in this faceless, barren city, to know there were people out there who still knew where he came from.

He’d liked them at Buzzfeed and they hadn’t changed much - same familiar faces in the crowds, cheering for his success the way they always had. A few more, now, yeah, but the essence stayed the same.

He always felt lighter around them.

Made the whole ordeal of kissing a raging homophobe on screen a little easier. Because Ryan took one look at them and they looked back and he knew that they knew and that was enough for him.

Darren, of course, liked to think they were all his.

That’s why Darren was the one walking onto the stage with his arms outstretched, head lifted high, soaking in the cheers and screams that were meant for Ryan, while Ryan just smiled at him in something that could be confused for affection for Darren, but was entirely meant for his fans instead.

And they looked at him and he looked back and he knew that they knew that he knew. And that was enough.

“So Ryan, Darren,” asked the cheerful, well-natured moderator Allan, as soon as the applause faded and their places on the sofa were taken. “How does it feel, to have your movie blow up like this?”

And Ryan, actor that he now was, smiled and lied through his teeth.

“Oh, I’m loving every minute of it.”

“It’s pretty dope,” responded Darren good-naturedly. He did that thing he loved to do, where he nudged Ryan a little too hard and smiled at him a little too bright. No one caught it, of course (except for when they did). Plausible deniability all the way down.

“You know, on screen, your dynamic is certainly reaching new heights,” Ryan heard their host say through his low fizzling anger. “The fans are all rooting for your couple to get together. But no one actually knows about your real life preferences.” There were gasps and little whistles from the audience. Ryan felt himself freeze, felt Darren freeze beside him. This hadn’t been on the preparation sheets. They’d gone through all the questions, no one had put that one on there. Ryan wouldn’t have done it. Not with Darren, certainly, not on live TV. What the hell? What the hell?!

“I’m just asking what the fans want to hear.” Their host was somehow still laughing, his grin making Ryan’s blood freeze, boil and freeze again.

He felt Darren curl his hand into a fist.

“We’re not-” he started and Ryan wasn’t sure why he cut him off, just that he needed to. Somehow he knew, if Darren was going to be homophobic on fucking live TV, it would somehow come back to bite him in the ass. It always did. It always fucking did.

“A movie is a movie,” Ryan said, calmer than he felt. “Doesn’t always reflect reality.”

“There have been voices pointing out that it might be nice to have queer actors represent queer roles in movies,” said Allan, his tone still gentle. Polite. Perfectly trained. He had probably had time to prepare himself for this. How lovely for him. “Surely, all that chemistry isn’t all pretend?”

Ryan heard some fans call something through a low, stressed buzzing in his ears. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant. It felt all very far away, in a way that made his skin crawl with familiarity. Panic.

Okay. Okay.

Ryan closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Heard Shane’s voice in his head, the way he’d had since that first time in the Sallie House.

“Just breathe, buddy. You’ve come this far, you can manage the rest too. Don’t throw it all away ‘cause you’re scared of ghosts. Literally.”

What would Shane say, in his place? Some funny non-answer. Some quip that he wouldn’t even think about, that came so easy, no one would even notice that he was evading the question.

“You know,” Ryan said, channeling his inner Shane. “If I told you, I’m afraid I would have to kill you.”

The audience laughed. Allan laughed. The guy behind the camera pointing right at Ryan smirked. Darren looked like he had bitten into a lemon.

Couldn’t win them all.

“I was really getting worried for him for a sec there,” muttered TJ under his breath.

Shane pretended not to notice, the way he did so often now.

He’d made his peace with the fact that, despite this being technically his little company, he had no say here. The little office TV always had Ryan on. It was as if his friends were purposefully torturing him - they weren’t, of course. They were sitting there, doing their work that was essentially furthering his career, while cheering on Ryan’s. They were keeping up to date on his life the only way Shane also knew how to - via a TV screen.

Life was fucked up that way.

“Eh, he’s got this.” That was Steven, always having faith in all of them.

Shane looked down at his laptop, headphone on without any music running, pretending not to hear. Pretending not to notice the little tremble in Ryan’s voice. The little pause he’d taken to collect himself. Pretending not to notice that asshole Darren stiffen up next to him, looking bitter and sour. Pretending, pretending, pretending, because that was all he had left.

He didn’t know Ryan. He had known Ryan, years ago, but those days were long over. And if, once in a while, he noticed things about him the lens didn’t quite catch for the public eye, if sometimes he caught his hands itching to reach out and chase away the dark cloud that seemed to follow Ryan that somehow no one else saw - well. That meant nothing. He was probably just delusional.

He felt the heat of a gaze on him and glanced around, catching Mark’s eye. He supposed as a camera man, he had to be the observant kind. Still annoying, though.

“He did pretty good, wouldn’t you say?” he asked Shane quietly, ignoring the headphone ruse completely.

Shane pretended not to hear him anyway, allowing himself to glance at the screen just once, where Ryan was sitting, radiant as ever, looking perfectly calm again as he discussed funny set stories with a guy he obviously couldn’t stand. He allowed himself to feel the warmth, just for one short moment, familiar and fond and overpowering, as it filled his chest, before it turned sour, before it turned into longing.

Yeah, Ryan was doing great. 

He always was.

(Even without him.)

“I just think,” said Ryan, because there was no way he was letting this one go, oh no, not that easily, and probably not ever. “I just think we could be good together, is all.”

“We already are good together,” Shane pointed out.

“Okay. Obviously,” Ryan muttered, his tone slipping easily into the same one he used when he wanted Shane to meet him in the middle of one of his theories for a moment. Wanted him to actually hear him and pause the banter. “I just think we could be even better. Imagine- just imagine for a moment - actually getting to do what we want.”

Shane looked at him, his lips already opened, as if he wanted to say “That’s what I am doing”, which- come on. No need to get content when Ryan wanted him to dream big.

Ryan’s eyes glittered.

“Like Ruining History. Like employing an animation team that’s not gonna get fired right under our asses - because we’re the ones paying them.”

“From what money?” asked Shane, eyebrows raised. “I know you like to play Monopoly, but I have some news for you about the bills they hand out there.”

“Shane!”

“I’m just sayin’,” Shane shrugged. “There was a reason this happened - it didn’t pay off for them. If it doesn’t pay off for Buzzfeed, how do you think it’s gonna go for us?”

“Will you just place some faith in us?” Ryan urged him, close to sulking now.

And Shane, finally, closed his mouth to look at him, really look at him, then let out a little sigh.

“I- It’s not that I don’t have faith. I have faith in- in us.” There was something in the air, a moment of consideration, of hesitation, where Ryan felt like he wanted to say something else but didn’t. (Coward). Then Shane pinched his eyes shut and muttered, “Oh I’m so going to regret this. Out with it then, Bergara. What’s the plan?”

“You’re down?” asked Ryan, hope spreading inside of him, warming and beautiful.

“I’m at least down to hear you out,” Shane said softly. “What harm can it do?”

Once in a while, Ryan still woke up sweaty from what could’ve been a lovely memory. Once in a while he still lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the mornings, while he wondered how something that had felt so right and natural at the time had turned out so wrong.

“It was supposed to be you and me against the world,” he told the waning morning moon again and again. “It was supposed to be us winning against all odds, because we were just that good of a team.”

They were. They had been. It should’ve never come to this. How had it come to this?

Ryan knew what they said about hindsight, of course. Looking back, he would’ve probably done things differently. He would’ve recognised the signs of betrayal for what they were. Sometimes he still lay awake, wondering which of his friends had sold them out. Whether it had been by accident or on purpose. He wondered if he’d ever know. He wondered if it even mattered.

Certainly didn’t feel like it did anymore.

(Except for mornings just like this, when the sky cleared and the daylight streamed into his room and Ryan still lay there, unmoving, staring at the ceiling, unwilling to go on another day because what the everloving hell for? When he felt that familiar mix of years old, cold rage microwaved yet again. The taste of it stale from how often it had been heated up again and again, but still feeding him. Then it mattered. Which wasn’t all that often.

Just on mornings just like this.)

Darren wasn’t happy with him, which, of course, meant in turn the entire studio wasn’t happy with him.

“They all think we’re fags now - I didn’t need you to project your fucking lifestyle onto me.”

“All I did was evade the question,” Ryan hissed, “before you could ruin your own fucking career with your homophobic bullshit.”

“What was so hard about just saying ‘no’? Now they all think we have something to hide!”

Ryan felt something sour on his tongue and quickly swallowed it down. He wasn’t going to get into this. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“This could be beneficial.” Vera pointed out. Sasha turned to her with her eyebrows raised.

“I know that tone. You’ve got an idea? Out with it.”

Vera simply shrugged but Ryan definitely tasted bile in his mouth now, his entire skin crawling. Not once, not once since he started with the RollOn Studios had their PR manager Vera come up with an idea he’d liked. Whenever she appeared in the office, it seemed to be to put him personally through perpetual hell.

“If people want to believe that they’re together, that’s what they want to believe. The best course of action is to give them that.”

“Absolutely not,” Ryan and Darren bolted out at the exact same moment, for once in their life in agreement (and neither of them seemed to like it one bit).

Sasha, as usual, ignored both of them, a perfectly manicured finger tapping against her lips. “Hm.”

“Sasha,” said Darren. “That’s not happening. I’m quitting if you make me do this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is the best job you could ever find,” she hissed at him. “You think anyone else is going to entertain your homophobic, racist ass?”

Ryan could’ve laughed, if he had the energy beyond all the terror currently flooding him. How nice to finally have someone acknowledge it, even if it was only to reassure Darren that it would continue to be ignored for as long as he played along. How charming. How sweet.

A happy little family.

(He missed his Buzzfeed crew so much that it ached.)

Darren looked like he wanted to punch someone, but he didn’t. He just sat there, buff arms trembling with suppressed rage.

Ryan wasn’t even going to keep protesting. He knew if they had Darren, they had him. What was he even going to do? He had nowhere else to go and they all knew it.

“It’s just for PR,” Sasha told them, the perfect picture of calm again, a smug grin on her face as she regarded them like large flies caught in her net. “Just a couple months, tops. You’ll tell people you’re a couple - you won’t even have to change a whole lot. Most people already believe so and you barely talk to each other outside of official outings anyway.”

Ryan wondered faintly if, in another life, another branch of reality, there was a Ryan Bergara living happily in LA. If he had finally come out, on his own terms, to people who supported him. If he got to tell the truth to the fans. His truth. A truth he owed them, that he wanted to share with them more than anything. He wondered if somewhere, in that better reality, there was a Shane Madej, kissing him, welcoming him home and telling him that he would never let him go.

He supposed that reality was forever going to be lost to him.

“Here’s the thing,” said Steven, because he was the diplomatic one of them and he was also holding them all fucking together with magical glue Shane wishes he could borrow for the rest of the broken shards that had become his life. “It’s a great chance for us.”

Shane couldn’t argue with that.

“I get it, dude, you don’t want to cover the movies. We’ll just let Greg do the interviews, if you like. You do the other ones. You stand prettily next to him and get distracted by cosplayers when R- when the topic comes up, I- I don’t know. Just please?”

Shane sighed. Steven looked worried, Katie, Mark and TJ apprehensive and Greg pissed again. What choice did he have, really?

He simply shrugged.

“Okay then.”

Shane hated working on movie conventions. In theory, sure, they were fun. He got to walk around, surrounded by stuff he loved. Horror replicas, props, autographs from famous actors, memorabilia, good (but ridiculously expensive) food, and his friends were all walking with him, pointing at things, having fun.

Work though? Work was annoying him on the best of days (okay, Greg was), but it was a lot tougher now that he was walking around the convention, making an idiot out of himself when interviewing film stars.

The thing was - yes they had quite a lot of subscribers. But at the end of the day, he was still the weird little niche youtuber talking to world stars. And he wasn’t even sure if anything he had to say was in any kind of way interesting. Did he actually stand out in any way? He didn’t think so.

Greg liked to disagree.

Greg was dragging him from actor to actor and somehow they let them. Somehow the people let them through with their cameras and their crew and their microphones that probably cost as much as their orange juice in the mornings. They let Greg ask his questions and then let Shane fumble through his, answered with unmatched grace and even forced a few laughs at Shane’s comments.

And it all wouldn’t have been so bad, if only- well.

If only there wasn’t that idiot-sized hole in his heart that he didn’t quite know how to fill or how to treat when people, for once, actually prodded at it.

“I genuinely think you deserve a main role,” Greg told Devina Mason for the third time now. “Show me the petition and I’ll sign it.” He turned to Shane, beaming at him and Shane forced himself to smile back.

“Oh, thank you,” she said kindly. “Honestly, I’m just glad to be in the movies at all, they’re such a hit. And the cast is really sweet.”

“Can you tell us more about them?” Greg asked her eagerly. “What are they like on set? As badass as in the movies?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, with the same friendly tone and that’s how Shane knew she was full of shit. “You truly do end up thinking you’re in the presence of fearless ghost hunters. They’re putting heart and soul into their roles.”

The truth about Shane - that Greg didn’t know - was incredibly easy. He thought he hated the movies - and Shane did. He’d still gone to the theaters on his own for every single release, when they’d made it from YouTube to the big screens. Had  watched them quietly with a large bag of popcorn in his lap - it just felt right - and good God. They were awful. They were so bad. Ryan was a fucking miserable actor - he always had been. He couldn’t hold his contempt for his co-actor Darren in, even when directed. (The idea that anyone was directing Ryan was already laughable.) And somehow the whole thing was sold as “chemistry”.

Maybe Shane just knew him too well. Maybe he would always see Ryan when he looked at the screens. Maybe he would always find it hard to suspend his disbelief for fearless ghost hunter Keith, when he knew “just entered his fifth panic attack” - ghost hunter Ryan far too well.

But he still didn’t buy a word this lady was saying.

“Be honest - did they pay you to say that?” Shane huffed out before he could stop himself, before he could think about it. Greg gave him a Look, but Shane ignored him, because he saw Devina’s lips twitch as she turned in his direction.

“No, I mean- Okay, at times it could be a bit chaotic,” she laughed and this laugh sounded a bit less fake. “I just- you know, I’m just starting off and I think there’s a lot to learn from them.”

“Right,” said Shane and then, because the fondness for Ryan he held like it was second-nature did what it always did, it came in an overwhelming wave of affection, out of nowhere, and demanded to be heard, to be shared, to be kept, rushed through the floodgate that was that damn hole in his heart no one knew how to stuff, he added, “like how to not listen to your director for five hours straight, in some cases, I’m sure.”

“Dude-” said Greg but Devina broke out into a surprised laugh.

“How’d you know?” she grinned and Shane shrugged, unable not to grin back, while he suddenly felt closer to Ryan than he had in years.

“Just a hunch of mine.” 

“Well, you know, I did learn from it though. The constant discussions can drag things out, but I think it was interesting to see someone so passionate for their role that they really wanted to get things right. And I think it paid off, in the end.”

Not really. But then again, she was probably obligated to say that. Greg looked awed, looking from Devina to Shane and back again.

“It definitely did!” Greg finally said. “I mean, the movies are really great and- sorry who discussed with the director?” he asked, still glancing at Shane with open confusion. “Just for our uh fans who might want to know.”

“Oh, that would be Ryan,” laughed Devina at the same time as Shane, far too softly, said “Ryan”.

It was a loud convention, Shane thought, while Devina went into a lively story about acting choices, finally opening up a little. There were voices bustling all around them. Devina had spoken over him and directly into the mic as she’d said it. Probably no one heard him. Hopefully nobody heard him. Maybe he could talk the editing team into not putting this part online.

(Like Steven would ever let him.)

“Dude! That was so good, how’d you do that?” Greg rounded up on him the second they were alone in the little side room they’d given them for the interviews. “Like- what? You refuse to talk about these movies for years and suddenly you strike gold? Did you know her or something?”

Her? No.

Ryan? Also no.

(Except, yes, of course and of course he’d pour heart, soul and blood into this role, even though it sucked fucking ass, of course, of course.)

“Uh no, I just, you know, prepared for the interview? Plus their interviews are constantly on TV when we’re in the office, so I picked up a thing or two.”

“Yeah sure, that ,” said Steven from the table in the corner, snorting.

“Well whatever magic you used, it made the interview so much better,” Greg said, clapping his back and then letting his hand wander lower, letting it linger as he smiled up at Shane. Warmly. Suggestively. “Good work, Shane.”

Mum, thought Shane. My co-host keeps hitting on me, what should I do?

No mum, not that one.

He forced himself to smile and then turned to Steven, raising an eyebrow.

“So, who’s next on the list?”

Ryan learned from Twitter, the way he usually did. Shane and he hadn’t blocked each other or anything dramatic (on Twitter - Ryan had very much blocked his number), they just didn’t interact anymore. Which was easy because Shane basically stopped being on there from one day to the next.

(And Ryan could tell the exact date, could tell the exact time of day, but he didn’t.)

The threads never stopped, though. Fans never didn’t tag Shane or him  in them, either. Fans were shameless when they thought nobody was watching, Ryan had learned that early into what Shyan fans lovingly called “The Divorce”.

(He called it “The Great Divide”, personally, but that was only because Linkin Park was great and he knew Shane would be pissed off that he thought so. Hah.)

While Ryan was busy with preparations to set up a fake relationship with a homophobe that couldn’t stand his guts, his Twitter feed was busy spamming a clip of Shane’s newest video with various pretty shades of “look Ryan, look”. And Ryan, sucker that he was, looked.

He saw Shane’s little scoff before he heard it. He saw the way he crunched his entire face up when he was about to call someone out on their bullshit but trying to find a way to do it politely, because that was who Shane was. Well, around anyone but Ryan, that was.

It wasn’t even the soft little “Ryan” that made him smile his first genuine smile in weeks, that made him feel like he was unclenching his jaw after a long period of stress, finally breathing freely again.

It was just-

Well.

Ryan had always liked to be seen .

He liked a random post that had him tagged in the video, just any, and then went on with his day. Just in case Shane wanted to see him a little more. Just in case some small, tiny part of Shane maybe liked to be seen too.

(Because as much as Shane liked to hide, liked to layer his clothes to disappear beneath them, liked to close his emotions off to keep them greedily for himself, liked to talk about every single movie on the market except for Ryan’s - oh yes, he’d noticed, thank you very much - he had always shared with Ryan. So Ryan could give him that, couldn’t he? At least he could give him that.)

Don’t look at me, thought Shane aggressively. Just please don’t look up now, I beg you.

The thing about losing your best friend was that it was a delicate art. Shane had lost many friends over the years, and it always started off the same. You thought “not this time, this one’s forever baby” and then it wasn’t. It slipped through your fingers like sand. One day you woke up and realized you forgot to close your hand and that it had trickled away like an hourglass. And you could turn and turn and turn that empty hand around but it just wasn’t going to come back.

Having a girlfriend that still worked in the office that had kicked you out? Awkward. Especially when she wasn’t entertaining his avoidance - in the slightest.

“Seriously,” Sara huffed. “If you made yourself any smaller, you’d have to disappear under the table.”

Shane threw a glance below as if he actually considered it and Sara rolled her eyes.

“He already knows you’re here anyway. How about you act like an adult and say hi?”

Nope. Shane was man enough to admit that he wasn’t man enough.

“Can we please just go? The movie is about to start anyway.”

Sara rolled her eyes but started packing up her things. “You can’t avoid him forever, you know? This is getting out of hand. You know that he hasn’t stopped working in hours? The only times I see him get up from that desk is when he’s going to the executive floor. Which, by the way, is almost every day, I think they’re really having him in a stranglehold.”

Shane hesitated.

“Won’t he tell you?” he finally asked. “What they want from him, I mean?”

“He doesn’t really talk,” she huffed. “He’s a lot like you, just more manic. We’re actually quite worried,” she added with a glance at him. “We don’t know how to get him to cool down and take some breaks.”

Shane chewed on his lips, a nervous tick he was fairly sure he had copied from Ryan at some point.

Sara’s gaze was pointed.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair.

“You- you kinda can’t leave him a choice in the matter,” he finally said. “Just grab some lunch - chipotle always works - and make him. He forgets. He also doesn’t really prioritize it. Get him wrapped up in some kind of conversation and he’ll kinda- slide into it.”

Sara crooked her head at him.

“Man, if only there was someone who was somewhat of a Ryan-expert who could do that shit for us.”

“Well, it’s not gonna be your unemployed boyfriend. Coming now?”

The spotlight always left Ryan sweaty and queasy. He didn’t like live TV a lot. He constantly felt like his make up was running down his face, he constantly felt his stomach loop itself in complicated, painful knots while trying to figure out what to say at what point in time.

One of these days, he was going to put his foot into his mouth and say something he shouldn’t have and the last studio in all of America that hadn’t blacklisted him yet would do so too - he just knew it.

How did one even go about pretending to be wildly in love with an asshole? How was he supposed to keep that ruse up, not just for as long as the cameras were running, but for months, maybe years, to the entire world? The paparazzi? The fans?

He was going to slip. He just knew it. He was going to slip and it was going to ruin his career. Fans would hate him. His studio would fire him. His future would look just as trist as it had all these years ago, when he’d finally gotten out of Buzzfeed’s claws only to find that he had nowhere else to go.

They had decided that they wouldn’t announce their relationship on TV. The plan was to make it a subtle little affair - to sit a little closer together on the sofa, to let their fingers brush together at one point, and then let people believe they came to their own conclusions.

So now Ryan sits shoulder to shoulder with Darren, under the bright spotlight, can feel his body heat, can feel his leg against his and he’s sat a million times like this with Shane, but this, this was horrible. Ryan had never been less comfortable in front of a camera.

(He didn’t want to lie to his fans. Was it a bit cliché? Was the very real wish for none of this to be happening mixed in there? Maybe. But the thought of lying to them really made something heavy fall over his heart, like a shadow, like a building threat. There was just no good ending for him out of this.)

Their interviewer, this time, didn’t go off script. She didn’t care about their relationship to each other at all and instead went into all the details of ghost hunting with them, leaning into the spooky theme. Any other day, Ryan would’ve appreciated the sentiment - despite being literally haunted, he did love it, here, underneath the bright spotlights, to talk about ghosts. Made him feel closer to home than most things, these days.

But he couldn’t make himself relax, not with Darren’s arm constantly brushing his. He kept his face open, listening and answering with interest, but there was turmoil in his insides and he knew it was similar for Darren.

Fuck Buzzfeed, actually, for making him end up here. When he did, eventually, sue Jonas Paletti for all he was worth, he was going to ask the judge to add the payment for his therapy bill on top of it, just for funsies.

“You two make such a dream team,” said their interviewer, and for the first time Ryan saw her eyes flicker to the proximity between them, acknowledging what they desperately didn’t want acknowledged. “I’m sure the eighth movie is going to present us with some crackling chemistry between you two,” she finally winked, like she was in on a very private joke.

Ryan rather thought that the joke was on him.



It took less than an hour before the first rumors were spreading on social media. From here, Ryan knew, it was going to be fast work. Shyan fans were groaning - They knew it was fake because they knew Ryan, knew Ryan well enough to hold onto something that was long gone - simply because Ryan couldn’t let go, either.

They would be fine, probably. They were used to getting discredited from all sides. He wasn’t worried about them, but he did know that they, in turn, would worry about him.

(And how right they were.)

He wished he didn’t have to do this to them. And himself. Mostly them, though.

Within four hours, the first news sources had tweeted the headlines. Within eight hours, a “source” that Sasha had carefully planted, confirmed the relationship. Within eleven hours, every gossip outlet in America was calling them “The queer romance of the year.”

And that was how Ryan Bergara had finally come out to the world. With a fake partner who called him homophobic slurs when the cameras were off.

Ryan curled up on his bed, threw his phone to the side, and forced his eyes shut. Forced himself to ignore the noises haunting his nights.

“ That’s just the house settling, ” Shane would tell him if he was here.

He forced himself to ignore the lingering, all-encompassing feeling of being watched.

“ That’s just your paranoia kicking in ,” Shane would tell him if he was here.

He forced himself to ignore the lingering panic, the nightmares and shivers.

“ Ghosts aren’t real, Ryan, you’re letting yourself get swept up in your anxiety .”

But it was a little bit too hard to ignore the sink in his stomach when he thought back to when he’d first told Shane, told him who he was, how scared he was of telling people, of not being “bi enough” and Shane just smiling and gently telling him, “dude, it’s okay, no one’s going to make you tell anyone before you’re ready. You won’t ever have to worry about that, okay?”

Shane Madej was so full of shit, sometimes.

“Please. All you have to do is sit there and answer a few questions. It’s not- it’s not a lot. I’ve got the most work, really.”

Greg was still looking down at the puppets sitting in front of Shane, looking skeptical.

“I don’t know, it's just a bit… silly, isn’t it? We’re trying to be taken seriously as a channel.”

Since when? What a load of bullshit. The only thing setting them even a little apart from all the billions of other movie review channels on YouTube was their humor.

( Shane’s humor, as Katie would remind him vehemently whenever he lost it, making him pull it back out and dust it off for the videos.)

“It’s just a side project.” Shane felt his own tone getting sharp and tried his best to hold back the rising bitterness. Ryan would’ve been down. Ryan had always been.

(Until he wasn’t anymore.)

“It won’t have anything to do with the actual review videos. People can just ignore it, if they want.”

It had been a spur of a moment decision. If he had spent several nights awake, working on his very own puppet theater instead of sleeping, manically saving himself into something to do the moment he’d read about Ryan’s new “relationship”, then well, no one would ever know. Sara wasn’t there to tell the tale. Greg certainly hadn’t been there. Not even Katie’s sharp eyes and Mark’s knowing gaze could possibly know.

“I just don’t really- understand,” Greg said, tone careful. “What is that blue thing and why does he talk about history and what does any of that have to do with me?”

This really wasn’t how Shane had imagined the whole “open your own studio” thing. For starters, Ryan was supposed to be here. It had been his idea, fucking hell. They were going to do it together. Were going to make all the silly, creative ideas happen, that were rolling around their otherwise empty skulls. Were going to fucking rock that thing, become bigger than Buzzfeed and rise above the need to adhere to rules like “a movie channel needs to be taken seriously.”

In a better world, Shane wouldn’t be sitting here, explaining to Greg why he wanted to have fun at his job.

But then again - In a better world, Ryan wouldn’t be out there, fake kissing a real asshole.

(In a perfect world, of course, he’d be kissing Shane but that train of thought was one he’d had to kill before it even really began.)

“No, I- Technically. Technically, I don’t know. I think it’s more sensible to pick the office first and then work from there? We can’t get equipment before we- I know it’s a bit of a money dump but-”

They had stuck their heads together, Ryan whispering intently, browsing through the pages he’d worked on with Shane. Truthfully, both of them were a bit out of their depths. They weren’t good at organization and business stuff. If they could have Katie’s help, that would be good, but they’d both agreed that it was too early to tell their friends. It didn’t help that their schedules were so full, they barely had a minute for themselves.

Discussing this in the literal Buzzfeeld office wasn’t… wise, Ryan was aware of that. But they were amongst friends - what could happen really, right?

But before he could get further into it, someone crashed against his chair, making him whirl a round, and something burning hot dropped in his lap.

“Ouch, what the fuck?” he yelled out and looked up at Greg’s wide open eyes, staring down at him with obvious panic.

“Oh fuck, I- I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to….”

He turned to Shane, his tone immediately changing, getting whiney and soft.

“I meant to bring you a coffee, just the way you liked it- I- I stumbled over Ryan’s bag.”

“Hey, no worries.” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I guess it was a bit in the way, there.”

“Uh,” said Ryan. “Some worries. I think my leg is completely scorched and my jeans are ruined.”

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that, he didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I- I’ll get you a new one,” Greg said, stammering, and then ran off with his half full cup of coffee.

“Careful!” Ryan called after him, then looked down at the brown mess on his leg with a sigh. “I can throw that out, that’ll never wash out.” He glanced at Shane. “Notice how he’s never bringing me any coffee?”

Shane frowned.

“I’m sure he just-”

“Oh, don’t start. He’s got a crush on you. It’s as obvious as daylight. And I don’t think he likes me much.”

“It wasn’t on purpose, Ryan.”

He got that tone he did sometimes, when he was done with Ryan entertaining a particularly ridiculous theory. Like a teacher talking down to an unruly student. Normally, Ryan would be into it but in this context- eh.

“Sure,” he said softly, forcing his tone into a joking one, forcing the anger back that always came when Shane didn’t believe him. “But you’ll remember my words when he takes my place and I’m somewhere in the dumpsters, trying to scrub coffee out of my jeans.”

Shane laughed and that was the end of that.

Should’ve been the end of that.

Ryan woke up with sweaty locks of dark hair sticking to his forehead, eyes torn open as he shot up in a sitting position.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Chapter Text

You're kinda awful...

The first thing Ryan felt was rage, the second relief, in close succession. It was a weird mix that made him feel sick to the stomach. He rolled out of bed, ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet with nothing actually coming out, the nauseated feeling not going anywhere.

In hindsight, he had maybe been an idiot for not realizing sooner.

He thought back to all the little moments and stares and glares. To Greg trying to get closer to Shane and Shane consistently pretending it wasn’t happening. He’d had a girlfriend at the time - Why Greg would’ve come for Ryan was beyond him, but he remembered it now.

That day he’d spilled coffee all over Ryan “by accident” they’d talked about their plans for their own channel. Talked about the budget. Ryan had actual papers out he’d sneaked into work.

And after three years of mindless wondering, of trying to figure out which of his friends and co-workers had sold them out, there it was. Pure, innocent, crushing-on-Shane Greg.

Who wasn’t all that pure and innocent.

Ryan felt hot tears run down his face and tried to figure out what he was feeling. There was bile in his throat, as if the vomit was still working its way up. Greg was working in Shane’s studio now, acting as his co-host. Ryan watched the videos. Ryan was a patreon, actually - fake name and all. Not because he liked the content very much, let alone Greg, but simply to support Shane.

And it wasn’t that he disliked it but it just wasn’t… Shane’s. Didn’t feel like the chaotic brilliance that Shane had brought to everything he’d touched at Buzzfeed. Soulless, maybe. As soulless as Ryan’s movies were, he knew. He knew.

But Greg had gotten everything he wanted, hadn’t he? Had gotten Ryan out of the way, had gotten Shane’s attention, a place by his side as a co-host, while Ryan had been forced to come out, only to be called slurs and miserable loneliness away from home. He saw his parents twice a year. He was stuck in a job he hated, that hated him. He couldn’t sleep because he kept having horrible nightmares.

He was, quite literally and figuratively, haunted.

It was just so unfair that he could scream.

Shallow, shaky breaths - Ryan could feel it coming, the anxiety breaking through it all the way it always did. When all of this calmed down, he’d know what he really felt and he assumed it would be rage, but right now, there was nothing but his racing heart and sweaty hands and his stomach in painful knots. His brain clouded over, left no space to think clearly, just desperate need to relieve his panic, to know that he was going to be okay.

Later, he’d blame himself, but right now, he couldn’t think, just did the first thing his instincts told him to. He took his phone, hit speed dial and was calling Shane before he even realized what he was doing.

Only when Shane’s voice broke through the mist did he realize what he was doing, choking sobs escaping him like a hiccup as Ryan froze, unable to hang up, unable to speak.

“Hello?” Shane asked again and Ryan knew that voice, knew it so painfully that his stomach was cramping in sudden, overwhelming need. He sounded sleepy and it was dark in his bathroom and as Ryan slumped against the cold tiles, still sobbing, he figured he had to have woken him up. “Who’s there?”

Oh, just the guy you haven’t talked to in three years. Remember Greg, the guy you thought I had some weird jealousy agenda against? Turns out all of this is his fault.

What a normal thing to call about.

He didn’t say anything, just kept quietly sobbing into the phone. He knew he should hang up but he couldn’t because there was Shane on the other side of the line and fuck . Fuck he missed him.

“Jesus, are you okay? What’s going on? If this is some weird kink, I swear to God-”

Ryan’s sob turned into a trembling laugh mid-cry. Never had he been more relieved to have changed his number since he moved to New York. Here’s to hope that Shane would never, ever know what really happened.

Shane breathed out heavily.

“Who is this, what’s going on?”

Another sob. He wished he could tell him, he wanted to so badly but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Three years was such a long time - He doubted Shane wanted to hear from him, now. They weren’t who they used to be. They were some broken, twisted shell that could never go back to the way they were, even if Ryan felt his entire being cling to it greedily even after all these years.

“Hey…” Shane’s voice was more alert now, but warmer. “It’ll be okay.”

Ryan hung up. His hands were still trembling as he stared down at the phone display through his tears, trying to breathe.

Shane had never lied to him before. He wasn’t going to make him a liar now.

“I refuse to believe that you’re surprised by this.”

“I-” Shane let himself fall onto the seat opposite Sara, burying his head in his hands. He let his hair run through his fingers, then tugged, just to feel something other than that horrible, painful knot in his chest.

It didn’t work.

“Shane,” she said, voice softer. “I love you. You know that. And I didn’t want to to do this while you’re miserable - and I know you are - but by now, it seems like I could wait forever and you still wouldn’t be any better and I- I can’t wait that long.”

He didn’t trust his voice to get a word out without sobbing, so he stayed quiet. Didn’t trust himself to look at her, so he didn’t. Just kept sitting like that, head in his hands and willed his entire life to go away, leave him alone, willed himself to wake up and find out that everything since he lost R̶y̶a̶n̶ his job was just a weird-ass shitty dream.

“I don’t think either of us is going to be happy just going on like this.”

“I- I love you,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say, how to make it better. His voice sounded hoarse, so unlike him that he almost flinched at the sound of it.

“I know,” Sara sighed. “But I’m not the one you’re in love with and you know that, too.”

And he could keep pretending not to know. That it wasn’t true. Could make up a million little excuses to lie to himself, but he couldn’t do that to Sara. She deserved better than that and she knew him too well for that.

So he just stayed quiet. That was how he lost Ryan, that was how he was going to lose her - it was only right.

“He knew immediately, you know,” she said, smiling softly. “We did what you said. Got him some Chipotle, wrapped him up in a conversation, made him sit back and take a break for once and he just stared at us and said, ‘Shane told you how to do this, didn’t he?’. Can’t fool him, either.”

Shane tried not to tremble but it was a losing fight. It didn’t matter. Sara knew. Sara slid off her spot on the sofa, knelt down in front of him and made him look at her. She kissed him softly, and said, “just talk to him. Don’t let me let you go for nothing, yeah? You’ll be just fine. He loves you.”

And it was only right. It was only right that he let both of them down in equal measure, in the end.

“You okay? You look like a train ran you over.”

It had to be true because Steven had made an actual double take, rushing past him, then stopping to take a second look at Shane and Shane sighed as he dropped his bag off on his office chair.

“Got a weird pocket dial at 3am. Just someone sobbing into the phone. Real fun.”

“Seriously?” Steven asked, stunned. “Any number you know?”

Shane shook his head. “Please say there’s coffee. I didn’t manage to go back to sleep and now I’m a wreck.”

“I made some, it’s in the kitchen.” Steven was still looking at him weirdly, a frown putting lines on his forehead. “Sobbing?”

Shane shrugged, stifling a yawn as he made his way to the kitchen.

“I’d be more worried if I wasn’t so goddamn tired.”

As he was pouring coffee into his cup, breathing in the reassuring smell with several degrees of relief, he heard Steven follow him into the kitchen.

“Can I see the number?” he asked, his voice a tad too innocent to be convincing. “Maybe it’s someone I know?”

“Pretty sure it was just someone typing in a random number and ending up with me, but be my guest.” He opened the call history on his phone, held it out to Steven and took a life-saving sip of his coffee. “So?” he asked after he’d swallowed. “Anyone you know?”

Steven still looked… weirdly invested.

“No. Uhm. Excuse me.”

He rushed out of the door, back to the main office and Shane shrugged, taking one more sip of coffee. Okay. Either everyone was being weird or he was just severely sleep deprived. Whatever.

He followed Steven into the office and sat down on his desk, ready to do whatever he could to ignore the TV that was, yet again, showing Ryan. Some taped interview.  He was holding hands with his boyfriend, if that’s what you could call it when your knuckles were white from the strength of your hand clenching and your boyfriend was most definitely a PR stunt, talking about how sweet he was.

What a load of bullshit.

Shane put on his headphones and started cutting what would be the first episode of his new show, tuning out the rest of the world. Greg had eventually agreed to do it, and it wasn’t quite what Shane had imagined it would be. Playing back the recordings, he could make a drinking game out of jokes his co-host had let fall flat (and maybe he should), and opportunities he hadn’t taken. With Ryan, this could’ve been an easy smash hit. With Greg, he would just have to hope his fans appreciated the whimsy of it all.

History taught through puppets. This sort of thing was what he’d had in mind, back when he and Ryan had first discussed starting their own studio. Ruining History, but better. Getting his own creative ideas out there, properly, with no Buzzfeed clapping him on the fingers and telling him the budget was sadly not covering his passion projects anymore.

And now it still wasn’t at all what he wanted it to be.

“Hey man, are you okay?”

Ryan could cry at the relief of hearing Steven’s voice, but he didn’t. He was all cried out, had immediately taken the day off and just spent his morning in his empty flat, staring at the ceiling and waiting for any spark of energy to return to him. He was always like this, after panic attacks. Drained.

“Sure am,” he lied easily. He was so used to it, now. It was the answer he gave his mother, his brother, any fan. He knew he was a shit actor, despite the weird turn his career had taken, but it was alright. Steven could probably not hear the exhaustion in his voice, not over the phone.

“Are you sure?” he still asked, which was more than what Ryan usually got as an answer. “You don’t sound so great.”

Okay, well, fuck phones.

“No yeah, it’s been a long night,” Ryan said, breathing out heavily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I bet,” mumbled Steven, then, louder, added, “hey, so I’ve been thinking, when will you be in LA the next time?”

Ryan pondered that. There were scheduled shows and cons in Los Angeles, there was his half-annual visit to his parents, there was also a mountain of money he was somewhat uselessly sitting on to just fly whenever he wanted.

“Depends. You wanna hang?”

“Yeah but also- okay so I was kinda thinking- you know, Watcher…?”

It was a fair question. They hadn’t talked like this in years, and if Ryan was being honest, it had peeved him, how easily his friends had forgotten about him, had let him slip away. Then again, he was the asshole who’d taken off without a word of goodbye to them, so he couldn’t really blame any of them for being apprehensive about reaching out.

And it wasn’t as if he’d been any better at it, either. Just sat here, wallowing in his sadness.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

“So I’m doing some food shows. And one of them is about traditional asian food and I figured- maybe you and your mum-” He broke off, sounding nervous and Ryan sighed. “Our views aren’t doing super great,” Steven added. “Full disclosure, we’re struggling a little and you could- really help.”

Linda Bergara would be so down for that shit and he’d love to help Steven out, it was just- well.

Shane worked there. Greg worked there.

“In the- studio?” he asked, trying not to sound too pathetic and Steven seemed to catch his drift, because he swiftly said, “Oh no, really, at your mum’s house would be fine, if that’s- if that’s okay. Usually it’s best done in the guest’s kitchens. We’d just have to get camera and sound people in and we’re golden.”

Before Ryan knew it, he was looking up flights to LA and setting up a date with Steven, feeling lighter than he had in- God, probably years.

It’d be good for him. Seeing his mum, being at home, hanging out with Steven. That was a fucking great plan. Steven had been there for him through most of it, after all.

“What the fuck?” asked Ryan, not for the first time.

“He’s new, but we believe he’ll do a good job.”

“No!” said Ryan, incredulity in his voice clearly audible. “Absolutely no way. Nope. No.”

“Ryan, please be sensible about this. You’ll need a new co-moderator, you can’t run the show alone.”

“Good, then I won’t. Of course I won’t. This is Shane’s show, too. This is not-”

“Again,” Jonas said, impatience creeping into his voice now. “Shane doesn’t want to do it anymore. He’s been sick and tired of you constantly in the limelight.” The other people crowding behind Jonas’ desk nodded meekly. He couldn’t even remember who they were anymore - when they’d introduced himself, Ryan had already known that this meeting would be full of shit.

A load of flaming, stinking bullshit.

“I’m not doing it without Shane,” he told them instead of any of the thoughts that he really thought. That they were liars. That they wanted Shane out because they knew they were making plans to make their own channel and leave Buzzfeed behind. That was the only reason, had to be the only reason they shot themselves in the foot like this, ruining one of their most successful formats. They could go rot.

“You’re bound to a contract, Ryan,” the bootlicking Buzzfeed lawyer reminded him with a deceptively gentle voice - but Ryan knew this carefully mild reminder was the exact reason he was in this meeting at all. The friendly but firm reminder that he didn’t have an out.

Ryan held back a growl.

“Go to hell, all of you,” he called out, jumping off his chair and heading for the door.

“We’ll see you next Wednesday for the shoot.” Jonas said, voice a whole lot colder than his lawyer’s and Ryan hesitated only for a moment before pressing down the doorknob and leaving.

He wished he could just tell him “Until never, asshole” but he couldn’t, now, could he?

What he could do was go and find Shane. Spend the evening with him on his sofa, drinking beer and cursing about Buzzfeed, like they’d done so often now. Find comfort in each other, find a solution together. Talk it through. They could keep planning their own project while Ryan somehow got through this time. They could-

He ran straight into Shane, standing leaning against the balustrade to the parking lots with his arms crossed and a weirdly stony expression on his face.

“Hey man,” Ryan greeted him gently. “I guess you got the news?”

Silence stretched out between them, only a few seconds too long but still tangible, and Ryan felt the first flickers of genuine anxiety.

“Yeah,” Shane finally said, his voice as toneless as his expression stony. Weirdly off. “I sure did.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan told him, figuring he’d be off too, if he’d just gotten the news that he was fired from his job. Hell, he was feeling off just from learning that Shane had. “That really sucks. Maybe we should-”

“Maybe you should leave me alone,” Shane told him with a cold voice. “Since that’s apparently what you wanted.”

For a moment, Ryan could just blink helplessly at him, lost, and then the words burrowed through the icy shell that had built around his thoughts and heart.

“I- what? You don’t actually-”

“Go fuck yourself, Ryan.”

The ice was falling straight into Ryan’s stomach as he watched Shane walk away. He wanted to rush after him, grab his wrist, pull him back, but he couldn’t move, frozen in place. His hands felt stiff and cold.

“Shane!” he called after him, barely able to move his lips, barely able to get a coherent thought together. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have- He’d expected them to tell Shane the same lies they’d told him but never, in a million years, had Ryan expected him to believe them.

“Shane!” he called again when Shane didn’t turn around, didn’t stop, Christ, he didn’t even slow down. Just marched off, fuming, hot with rage where Ryan was cold with terror. And then he was gone.

And Ryan still stood where he had left him, fighting down the urge to keep calling his name into thin air.

Steven found him like this after what felt like hours. Maybe it was only a few minutes. Ryan had lost all sense of time - or feeling in his limbs. 

He couldn’t say. He couldn’t think. All he could do was stand there and stare at the spot where Shane had stood, back when he’d thought they’d go through this shit together somehow. This morning, when the day had started, Ryan still had a co-host. Still had a best friend. Had his show. Right now, he had no clue what he had left.

“Ryan? Hey.” Steven stepped into his field of view, his concerned frown taking in his sight. Ryan immediately shifted his head to the side. He needed to watch the parking lot, needed to see when Shane came back, needed to-

“Ryan, what’s wrong?”

Two hands grabbed his shoulders, steadying him, and Steven was yet again in his view. This time, Ryan blinked slowly, and then, with his voice weirdly hoarse, said, “Shane just got fired.”

For a moment, nothing but silence stretched between them. Steven looked as shocked as Ryan felt, mouth falling open without any words falling out, just syllables that didn’t make any sense, before he finally found his ability to speak back.

“What? But why? - Fuck we gotta go find him and…-”

Ryan tugged his jacket closer, finally able to move again, but still feeling the chill - he couldn’t drive it away, it came from the inside.

“They told me that he hated working with me and was done. And they told him that I made them fire him,” he told Steven numbly.

Steven just stared at him.

And when Ryan spoke next, he had to fight back his frozen tears with all his might.

“And he believed them.”

... but you're not awful on purpose

Shane wasn’t sure how to act.

He could feel everyone’s gaze on him, cautious like they were waiting for a wild doe to run away if they got too close to the meat.

“That’s great,” he told Steven, his voice sounding wrong even to his own ears. Like it wasn’t really his. “I think that’s a great idea.”

It was. It was a fucking amazing idea. Ryan and his mother fit into Steven’s show. They would drive in viewers effortlessly. Ryan and Steven were good friends. On paper, it was fucking magnificent.

In reality, Shane felt like he might want to puke and cry at the same time.

“We’re meeting at his parent’s house,” Steven told him, with that same cautious look on his face as the rest of the studio. “You don’t have to meet him. But, you know, maybe you shoul-”

“No, I mean, I’m plenty busy anyway. You guys- have fun.”

Hollow. That’s what he sounded like. He felt it, too. The thing was, it hurt. Something about Steven getting the privilege to just hang out with Ryan and his family and do a show with him and not Shane. Something vicious and dark and petty rose inside of him, burning away at his insides. And it was his own medicine, he knew that, had made Ryan swallow it all these years ago, when he’d gone off on him, then avoided him, then gone and opened their Watcher with Steven instead of him.

So that’s what it tasted like, then.

Like a pile of burning, bitter shit.

“It’ll be good for the channel,” Steven told him, in a tone that sounded like he wasn’t sure who he was even trying to convince.

“It will be,” Shane confirmed.

“Who even cares.” Greg was shrugging as he brought Shane a fresh cup of coffee he never asked for, smiling brightly. “You can’t stand him anyway, right?”

Much to unpack. Not a whole lot to say. Apart from Sara and Steven, no one knew the truth of what went down. Shane had been too ashamed to tell the story and Ryan- well he wasn’t that kind of person.

It had been easier to let Greg believe it instead of going into it, back then, now he just ran with it, and it ached like a wound that should’ve healed years ago being consistently prodded with a finger.

Or a hot iron.

“Right,” Shane said numbly. “He’s the worst.”

He saw Steven roll his eyes behind Greg. Saw Katie and Mark exchange A Look. Saw TJ snort into his coffee. He felt hot and cold at the same time, just wanted to get out of here, wanted to be anywhere else. Wanted to punch Steven and hug him. Wanted to cry until he was all cried out. Wanted to call Sara but couldn’t stand her kindness. He didn’t deserve it.

So he just stayed sitting there, in the office, doing his work mindlessly, trying not to think about Ryan, in LA, doing things with Watcher with anyone but him.

“He- he said that?” Shane asked, for the fourth time now, as if somehow he was expecting a different answer. There was a famous saying about insanity being all about doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result - Shane hadn’t known how easy it would come to him, insanity, but in hindsight, it made sense.

“Shane,” his boss - ex-boss, he reminded himself - said with an unfamiliar softness in his voice. “We’ll be sure to write you an excellent recommendation, you won’t have any problems finding work, I’m sure.”

That was… not even something Shane had been worried about. Should he worry about that? Probably.

“No, yeah, right,” he said, thoughts numb. “Finding work. Of course. Because I have no work anymore.”

“It’s nothing personal, I’m sure you understand. If the star of the show says jump, we kind of have to jump.”

Shane wasn’t sure what to say to that. In some corner of his mind, the thought that this had to be what it felt like to be stabbed, it occurred to him. A laugh bubbled in his throat, hysterical, nonsensical. This wasn’t funny. None of this was funny.

“And Ryan said that, yeah?” he asked again and yup, this was definitely bordering on insanity now.

No one in the room bothered to answer anymore and Shane, quietly, nodded to himself more than to them.

“Well, then I best be on my way.” Shane stood up, the chair behind him stumbling precariously.

“Shane…”

“Nono,” he assured Jonas, his voice a little too high but his tone perfectly casual. “You know how it is. The star of the show says jump, so I jump.”

Right overboard, drowning.

“Well then I’ll be-” Another uncontrolled laugh escaped him. “Well, no I won’t be seeing you, I suppose.”

He felt like he was in a weird sort of zombie trance as he walked through the aisles of the Buzzfeed offices - for the last time, as he now realized.

He didn’t look around. He certainly didn’t search for Ryan. He didn’t bother saying his goodbye. He wasn’t even really here. Shane looked at his desk for a long minute, thinking without doing any thinking, and then just walked off without picking up any of his stuff. Not his framed photo with Ryan next to his work laptop. Not his stupid Unsolved memorabilia. Not the “(second) best ghost hunter” mug Ryan had gotten him for their Unsolved anniversary. He just turned his back and left it all behind.

It could all rot in hell. None of it meant anything anymore, none of these memories were unsullied now that Ryan had set fire to all of it and left him sitting in the ashes.

And the first clear, active thought Shane got as he stepped into the sunny parking lot of the Buzzfeed headquarters was a therapeutic, desperate little “What the fuck”. 

When Ryan had lived in LA, he’d been an independent, fun guy with a large circle of friends. When he’d met Shane, he’d expected him to fit into that circle, find his place in it - which he did and that would be it.

Now the circle had become some sort of orbit and Ryan was trapped in it, constantly rotating around Shane, instead. And it would be funny, if it wasn’t so sad, how lonely he was now, how much he had shut himself away from his life when he’d fled Los Angeles.

It was supposed to be a fresh start. One without obsessing over Shane. He was supposed to be over him by now. Moved on. Having a new circle that his old friends sometimes joined. Happy and independent somewhere else. A second home from home.

Didn’t work out that way. Because now Ryan was sitting on his bedroom floor, his laptop on his lap, watching Shane on live talking about movies with a guy he hated (and who apparently hated him enough to ruin his entire life and get away with it).

It was a habit he should probably shake. Didn’t help the entire “get over Shane” plan whatsoever, but Ryan couldn’t help it. He fucking loved movies. The only thing he had loved more than movies was sitting down and listening to Shane’s opinions about them. Give him shit for them, find out what views they shared (a lot more than people would think, actually).

Watch them together, doing shit commentary or being quiet together in awe, eating popcorn, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Chat’s asking when we’ll do SIlent Redemption,” Greg said and Ryan tried his hardest not to flinch. He tore his eyes from Shane to watch Greg make side eyes and he did look a little menacing, he thought, but maybe that was just his imagination now that he’d figured it out. Everything about Greg felt menacing now, really.

Shane didn’t seem to notice. He wasn’t even looking up, just humming.

“Still haven’t watched them, I’m afraid.”

God, Ryan was maybe not a good actor, but neither was Shane. Leave it to this idiot to lie about it just so he wouldn’t have to be mean to Ryan in public. Precarious situation. He understood.

It was kind of funny. Greg’s eye roll, Shane’s gaze avoiding the camera, the constant evasion of the topic. It was the closest Ryan got to feeling like they were actually going through this shit together.

“But hey, I just started a rewatch marathon of all the Marvel movies, maybe we should talk about them?”

Aw man. Ryan knew all his views on those already. He let his head fall back against the mattress, almost smiling. He’d be in LA soon. See his family, see Steven. Maybe he’d be okay.  Maybe he should call some friends, hang out with people who actually wanted him around for a change, reconnect. He couldn’t have Shane but that didn’t mean he had to avoid his entire past life.

There were people he could see that wouldn’t remind him of Shane. Probably.

Ryan thought it over, Shane’s babbling in the background half-tuned out, but still calming him, filling him with new confidence.

And it had been a good plan, really. Connecting with some friends that had nothing to do with Shane - he had more than enough of them. He should’ve really done that.

Instead of calling Sara, which was what he actually ended up doing.

Shane used to love browsing social media. He’d always been careful about what he shared, had kept certain parts of himself for… well, himself, unwilling to exploit them for content, but God, if he didn’t love the odd wave of supportive comments regardless.

Social media had turned into a bit of a minefield, now, but it wasn’t always one he minded, necessarily.

So, yes, his entire Twitter mentions were constantly spammed with people tagging him in Shyan posts. That was- weirdly okay with him. Once upon a time, it had been a ship he’d basically had no touchpoints with and people had left him alone. In a weird way, the divide between them had made it grow three extra heads and turned into a massive movement. Everyone was talking about it. There were daily threads with evidence of them missing each other (that were, embarrassingly so, incredibly accurate on Shane’s part and most of the time a complete reach on Ryan’s), little videos and clips of one of them mentioning anything that could even be remotely construed to be related to the other. Twitter accounts dedicated to them.

Shane actually had played with the thought of following one that just tweeted every day whether Ryan and Shane had interacted or not. After three years of “Nope, still nothing”, it shouldn’t bum him out anymore but… truth be told, it probably would, so he didn’t do it, in the end.

All that, they’d both learned to deal with by pretending they didn’t see it. It worked. The fans did their thing unbothered, it generated a lot of buzz for both their careers, and they could just pretend the thought never occurred to them. At least Shane suspected that’s how Ryan saw it, too.

But he couldn’t stop himself from scrolling through these profiles sometimes. This one fan, some self-proclaimed Shyan CEO called Moth (peculiar name, but he wasn’t going to judge, having once made it a point to call his own fans ‘shitfishes’), had posted thread now, that was just a row of pictures of Ryan looking miserable next to Darren Brown, emphasizing that this was either a very badly chosen PR relationship, or a very miserable real relationship, because hey, look how happy he looked next to Shane.

Followed up with pictures of- well.

Shane would be lying if he said he wasn’t staring at them, side by side, looking happy and care-free and so much younger. Three years, and he barely recognized them anymore. Three years, and he was still aching all over.

He’d fucked this up. None of them knew, because otherwise they wouldn’t suggest Ryan would be happier with him. But that was the truth of the matter - that day, he fucked up and lost less than he deserved in the process - and still everything.

Shane knew he had fucked up the second he made it home. God, he’d already known on the way there, if he was being honest, had known the second he’d turned his back on Ryan.

Now he was sitting on his sofa, head in his hands and was trying to figure out what to do. He’d have to find a new job. He’d have to fix things with Ryan. He still had stuff in the office he needed to pick up, too. He definitely needed to fix things with Ryan. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

That hadn’t been fair. That had been so fucking stupid. Never, in a million years, had Ryan said any of these things. He didn’t know why Buzzfeed wanted him out, didn’t know why they lied to him but they had to have because…

Fuck, he was never going to forget the look on Ryan’s face. He was a fucking idiot, such a fucking…-

Having enough of moping around, Shane grabbed his phone. Everything else could wait. His stuff, his job, who cared? What he needed was to make things right with Ryan, to have him on his side, to have…

Shane’s hand was trembling as he picked out the familiar name in his contacts, that was, clearly, the only reason he had mistyped. He tried to call again, but the same emotionless female voice told him the same thing, over and over again. He couldn’t reach Ryan. Like he had never existed. Like he had changed his number in the last five hours.

… Like he had blocked his number.

Fuck.

“Ryan. I love you. I love you like my brother. But you’re an idiot.” Sara paused empathetically, for impact. She did that. Ryan adored her for it. “Don’t worry, though. I told Shane the same thing.”

 “You told Shane that you love him like a brother?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Too soon?”

“It’s been three years, are you over him yet?”

“Well.” Ryan kicked his feet, watched the little Paddington Bear plushie Shane had gifted him all these years ago fall off his bed. “No?”

“Then stop asking me stupid questions.”

“Okay, jeez.” He paused. “I feel like this is something really insensitive to talk about with you.”

“You’re in love with my ex,” Sara sighed. “Who else would you talk about it with? Obviously no one understands it better than I do.”

“Well, yes. Weird bonding basis, you’ve got to admit.”

Sara laughed a huff through the phone, and it calmed him. She was like Shane in a lot of ways. She laughed when most people wouldn’t, gave him the feeling that there wasn’t a wrong step to take, here.

“We’ve known each other for over ten years, we don’t need any basis to bond over, that train has left the station when I watched your half-naked ass wallow on my sofa after Helen left it.”

“Wow, okay, coming in swinging,” Ryan laughed.

“You were basically trying to become one with the cushions.”

“Just- can you tell him, though? About Greg?”

“To summarize: You want me to go to my ex partner and tell him that I have the vague feeling that Greg was the one who went to Jonas to tell him that you were betraying Buzzfeed by doing your own channel, and that he plotted against tearing you two apart, under the guise of ruining the chance of any competing channel ruining what was left of Buzzfeed, while actually being in undying love with Shane and wanting him all for himself? But I’m not allowed to mention that any of this comes from you.”

There was a long stretch of silence in which Ryan tried to decide whether he should laugh or cry.

“Okay, if you say it like that, it sounds crazy.”

“What evidence do you have, exactly?”

“I uh. None. Yeah. None whatsoever.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Oh, I’ll blindly believe it. He won't, though. And I can see why, because I’m going to be offended for the rest of his puny life that he felt the need to conspire you out of LA while not even paying any attention to me, Shane’s longtime committed girlfriend. But have you ever noticed how everyone just seems to fall for Shane? Bit ridiculous. Have you seen us ?”

“I should’ve gone with you, instead,” Ryan sighed. “But falling for my best friend’s longtime committed girlfriend apparently wasn’t quite dramatic enough.”

“We can’t help it. We’re doomed to have awful taste,” Sara sighed theatrically.

“He’s not awful though.” Ryan’s voice was softer than he’d wanted it to be, affection seeping through the cracks. “At all.”

“No, just emotionally stunted, and a bit of a coward, and naive and-”

“Okay, so he’s awful, but not awful on purpose,” Ryan laughed.

“God, Bergara. You’re down bad.”

“Help me, Rubin.”

“I don’t think that I can. Like I said. You’re both stubborn idiots and need to talk to each other. But come by anyway while you’re here, my sofa is missing you. I can barely see your assprint anymore.”

“Fuck you, Rubin,” Ryan laughed. “I’ll be there.”

He felt so human, after hanging up. He had laughed and bantered and talked about things he had no one else to talk about. He had felt closer to Shane than he had in ages. It was good. Good enough to maybe, just maybe, get a single night’s sleep without night terrors, panic and nightmares.

Maybe.

Ryan’s new co-host always looked at him like he was one syllable away from calling him a racial slur.

“He probably does it in his head,” Steven suggested helpfully with his voice lowered.

Ryan nodded.

Nothing else seemed to be going on in Clint’s head, quite frankly. Just emptiness, filled by nothing but the steady stream of the occasional “dude!” and, as they had established, potential slurs.

“Think we can report him to HR for thinking racist thoughts?” Steven asked.

“I think we can’t report him to HR no matter what,” sighed Ryan. “He’s Jonas’ son in law.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeahh…”

“Aren’t there laws against nepotism?”

There were laws against firing something based on lies about their co-worker, Ryan was pretty sure, but only pretty sure. The thought of trying to afford a lawyer consultation or an expensive trial while saving for his own company drove sweat down his neck.

Plus, it wasn’t really his lawsuit to make it was… Shane’s.

And Shane was nothing if not non-confrontive. So non-confrontive, in fact, that he hadn’t confronted Ryan at all. In months. Nope. Not a single. Fucking. Peep.

“Anyway,” Ryan got up from his swivelly chair, pretending like his mind wasn’t winding down never-changing, ever-spiraling slopes of insanity. He was totally normal about Shane, actually. “Time to film post-mortem. This ought to be good.”

Steven raised a single eyebrow.

“In that way where you and TJ and Katie all laugh a lot because otherwise you’d have to cry?”

“That’s the one.”

The thing about Post-Mortem was this: With Shane, they had been fun. Not rarely they had turned into hour-long recordings that had to be cut down (thankfully not by him) to ten to fifteen minute long videos. Harmless Q & A. Oftentimes some hotdaga that Ryan would never admit to miss, no matter what today’s shirt might or might not say.

Nowadays, it was just him and Clint sitting awkwardly in a cramped studio, Clint on a chair that wasn’t his, staring at him with those empty eyes, and talking to fans that hated his guts. It would’ve been amusing in any other context.

But Ryan just hated every minute of it.

So, yeah. He wasn’t allowed to leave. He wasn’t allowed to pick his own co-host. He wasn’t allowed to actually talk about anything that was going on because of his NDA. All he could do was sit there, trapped in his own skin, and wear silly shaniac-tees as a silent cry for help to his former co-host. Who probably, realistically, wasn’t even watching.

(Most of the fans weren’t.)

(And the ones who did kept asking him to blink three times to indicate that he was being held hostage against his will.)

(And Ryan genuinely couldn’t blame them.)

(But boy, did he blink.)

So yes. Sue him (or better yet, don’t, since that was something he was currently actively avoiding) - So he was wearing a fucking “I love the hotdaga” shirt. He had to. Nothing else seemed to have worked. Shane was, as ever, tediously ignoring his cries.

If this one didn’t get a reaction though, he wasn’t sure what would.

When Ryan took his usual seat, he could see Mark behind the camera, giving one of his rare expressions of disbelief when he looked at him, snorting ever so slightly and Ryan actually felt the corners of his mouth ache a little at the rarity of the grin it twisted from him.

Without Mark and Katie and TJ and Devon - and most importantly Steven - he may have truly lost it by now. He was still close to losing it every day. But hey.

Clint could do that to a person.

Over the days, Shane developed somewhat of an inner counter. Days before Ryan. Days after Ryan. Not that he’d get to see him, but he’d get to live in the aftermath of it. People cutting videos with Ryan in them in the office. People talking about it in the comments. People harassing them through every possible channel about why he wasn’t also collaborating with Shane, because they wanted the truth but didn’t know they didn’t really want it.

Having to look Steven in the eyes, knowing he got to meet him and Shane didn’t.

So editing that one Puppet History episode they filmed yesterday, another catastrophic session, if you asked him, that was something he’d have to do in the Days Before Ryan, because otherwise he’d fall into a depression hole big enough to swallow the ocean. Telling Katie he got asked to be part of a Q&A panel on the con they all planned to go to - uh, probably still fine Post-Ryan, when she was calm and happy about all the views raining down on them.

(She had, technically, forbidden Shane to do Q&As because the questions were always the same and his reaction to them apparently not …. great. Yeah. No fucking shit.)

Then there were the other days, of course, the Days With Ryan, which were never but also every day because his crew couldn’t change the channel once and Shane was just forced to sit there and watch it. Ryan, on screen, getting interviewed yet again, being asked about his stupid PR relationship. Does he make you coffee every morning - but of course. That Ryan couldn’t have any caffeine didn’t come up. Did he bring flowers? Sure! Because Darren sure looked like the kind of guy to bring flowers. Did they want a cat some time? But of course. Ryan was allergic, and preferred dogs anyway, but who cared.

Certainly not the interviewer. Most definitely not Shane.

“So who would you say is your number one fan?” the interviewer asked, and Shane huffed a breath. The transparent attempts to fish for predictable answers were exactly why he was trying to get away from interviewing and film chat to things like Puppet History. He was so tired of it, the insincerity of it all.

But instead of saying what everyone certainly expected from him - Darren’s name - Ryan seemed to blank. 

“Oh that’s- uh. Well.”

Shane looked up from his screen for just a moment, eyes flickering to the TV where Ryan was visibly struggling, a hand now buried in his dark locks as he flushed slightly.

“Oh?” asked the interviewer, immediately smelling blood. “You seem unsure.”

“I just- you know, it’s probably my mum,” Ryan finally said, treading back on safer grounds. Shane could basically see the breath of relief as he caught himself. “You know how mums are. She’s really proud of me, all the time.”

Linda Bergara was really fucking pissed, actually, that her son had left LA and now visited her like twice a year. Shane knew because they talked. Because sometimes Jake and Carter took pity on him and hung out with him. Because that was a thing he did. Hanging out with Ryan’s family, like he still belonged with them, somehow.

But yeah. Proud of him. All the time.

Well. Whatever.

He wasn’t sure what he expected? For him to say Shane? Shane hadn’t even watched the movies, as far as he knew. Shane thought they were shit, anyway.

(Because they were.)

… Shane was, though, probably. In fact, he’d fight anyone claiming they were bigger fans than he was. As long as no one saw, that was.

God, he was such a fucking coward.

Shane was pacing.

He had been pacing for the past few hours. Had grabbed his shoes and put them on, then kicked them off again. Once he’d been as far as grabbing his car keys, but then he’d dropped them again.

He should go see Ryan. Realistically, Ryan should be home now. Realistically, he could block his number, but he couldn’t block Shane from his life, not really. Sometimes it felt like he’d been in his apartment more often than he’d been in his own. He had his key for emergencies. They went to the same coffee shop in the mornings. He was his emergency contact. He was feeding Obi for him when Shane and Sara visited family.

This was just- it was a blip, nothing more. An overreaction on both their parts. He’d just have to grab his keys and his shoes - but they were only a secondary concern, really - and get to him. Explain this to him.

But he’d been such a fucking dick and what was he even going to tell him?

“Hey Ryan, I’m sorry I believed a bunch of money-hungry, greedy, capitalistic asshats that you were the literally most horrendous friend in the universe”? Yeah, he’d really just get punched, wouldn’t he?

Then again, Shane figured he deserved it. With a sigh, he put his shoes on a fifth time, ignoring Obi’s clearly judging looks, and grabbed his car keys. Okay, progress, he’d never gotten so far before.

And then Shane felt almost proud of himself because he actually opened his door and made his way to the car, nothing but determination - and a considerable amount of shame - curling hot in his chest.

He could do this. He’d fix this.

Except, when he finally raised his trembling hand to ring Ryan’s doorbell, nobody opened.

Shane didn’t really have it in him to try again.