Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ryan's barely in the door when his cell buzzes with an incoming call. He fishes it out of his pocket and presses the screen to his ear without checking the caller ID, already knowing who it is. "Hey, big guy."

"Spill it, Bergara," Shane says, wasting no time on pleasantries and going straight for the jugular, as per usual. "How'd it go?"

"She was... nice."

Shane sucks in air through his teeth, letting it out in a hiss. "Ouch."

"What? She was! There just… there wasn't any chemistry. No spark."

A snort echoes through the line. "Methinks you're just too damn picky, Ryan."

Ryan laughs, tossing his keys on the coffee table and plopping down on his couch. "I'm too picky? What about you, Mr. I Didn’t Like the Way She Ate?”

“I’m not picky, Ryan,” Shane huffs. “I just have… discerning tastes. And it had nothing to do with the way she ate. It was the way she talked while she ate. With her mouth full. Bleugh.”

Ryan grins. "What about the one before that?"

"He believed in ghosts, Ryan. I only need one of those in my life, thank you."

Ryan wheezes, "You dick," and toes off his boots, twin thumps echoing through the apartment as they hit the floor. He sighs, sinking further into the couch and allowing the stress of the last couple of hours to bleed from his shoulders. "We've got to do something about our coworkers, Shane."

Shane hums in the affirmative. "Murder is an option," he muses.

"Jesus Christ," Ryan laughs, reaching for one of the throw pillows disturbed by his dive onto the couch and stuffing it beneath his head. "Something a little less morally reprehensible, please. Also, impractical much? Think someone's gonna notice if half of the office turns up dead."

"It's Buzzfeed," Shane argues, as if that explains anything. "You got a better idea, Mr. Morals?"

Ryan hmms. "Could always ask them to stop?"

"Is that not what we've been doing? Since the beginning?"

Ryan makes a face. Shane's right, of course. He loves his coworkers and considers most of them his close friends, but fuck if they're not the most stubborn group of people he's ever known.

"We could lie? Say we're both dating someone."

"Oh?" There's some rustling on the other end of the line. Considering it’s a little after ten p.m., Ryan would bet money on it being the rasp of bedsheets getting tugged over gangly limbs. Old man, he thinks with a fond grin. "And you think they’d just take our word for it without proof, after spending this long trying to set us up? You might not have realized this yet, Ryan, but our coworkers are a bunch of nosy fuckers. If we say we’re both dating someone, they’re gonna want to meet them."

Ryan sighs, deflating more with every word. Leave it to Shane to be logical. "You're right," he says, "much as I hate to admit it. We've gotta do something though, dude. One more awkward dinner and I'm just gonna say fuck it and go live in the woods."

"Oh shit," Shane breathes. "There room for two in your hobbit hole? You're not leaving me to deal with the Blind Date Brigade on my own, Bergara."

Ryan squints at the ceiling. "I... don't know what part of that I should address first. I really don't.” So he doesn’t even try. “You got any better ideas?"

Shane scoffs. “Have some sense, man. Of course I have a better idea.” Before Ryan can take offense to that – which he does, because it’s blatant slander and he refuses to stand for it – Shane continues with, “We say we're dating someone – "

"How is that any different from what I just said?"

"Do you talk over all of your dates, too?" Shane grumps. "I'm beginning to think there's nothing wrong with them at all. Think it's all you, bud."

Ryan's eyes narrow. He has the sudden urge to throw something, preferably at Shane's big dumb head. "Shut up and get to the point, Long Legs."

"As I was saying, we say we're dating someone. If they ask who it is - and, let's face it, they will, because they're like a fucking dog with a bone about this shit - we'll just say it's each other."

Ryan stares blankly at his ceiling, attempting to run those words back and forth through his head until they make sense and failing completely. "You want us to say we're dating... each other? As in, you and me?"

"Yes, Ryan," Shane says slowly, the duh unsaid but implied all the same. Dick.

"How would that help? Like, at all?"

"It'd keep them off our backs for a while," Shane says simply. "No more well-meaning but still painfully annoying prying into our love lives. No more plotting behind our backs. No more blind dates."

Ryan draws in breath to speak, fully intending to shoot down the idea as ridiculous, because it is, but he's stopped short by those last words. No more blind dates. No more awkward small talk over dinner, no more first date jitters, no more disappointed pouts from their coworkers when there isn't an immediate love match.

The more he thinks about it, the more appealing the idea becomes.

It's still ridiculous, and Ryan will tease Shane mercilessly for coming up with it later, but for now –

"Okay, big guy. How exactly would we pull this off?"

Chapter Text

The plan is simple. They'll drop a few hints about their 'relationship' until somebody asks about it, and then it's just a matter of sticking to the script they'd spent most of the weekend carefully constructing: They've been dating for a few weeks, it's still new, they haven't wanted to tell anyone or be too overt about it at the office because they don’t want it to interfere with their work. It's a solid story, and, more importantly, a believable one.

Well, as believable as the idea that he and Shane are dating in the first place, anyway, which is... not that far-fetched when Ryan really thinks about it. They're close, they get along, they have good chemistry both on and off-screen. It wouldn't be that big of a stretch to imagine their friendship taking a romantic turn.

Purely from the perspective of their coworkers, of course. Ryan's never entertained any thoughts about Shane being anything other than his strange, lanky, infuriating best friend, but he can pretend for the sake of a few weeks of peace from their would-be matchmakers.

Or so he thinks, until Shane meets him in the parking lot on Monday morning with a wave and a chipper, "You ready to get this show on the road, sugarlips?" to which Ryan tries very hard – and succeeds, barely – not to gag.

"Pretty sure we said no pet names," he says, hitching his bag over his shoulder and reaching for the door. Shane beats him to it, holding it open and sweeping his arm out in an over-exaggerated gesture of gallantry. Ryan looks on, unimpressed. "You're having way too much fun with this."

"And you're not having enough," Shane chirps, smirking as Ryan's eyes roll heavenward. "Lighten up, honeybunch. Smile a little, get that constipated look off your face. Remember, we're in love." He draws out the last word and bats his eyelashes, and Ryan utterly fails at suppressing a snort.

"Thought we were going for subtle," Ryan argues as Shane falls into step beside him. "You know, drop a few hints here and there, not rub everybody's faces in it?"

"Subtle smutle," Shane dismisses. "Go big or go home, baby, that's my motto."

"Jesus Christ," Ryan wheezes quietly, shaking his head. The elevator dings as it arrives at the ground floor, and they file into the empty car. "Seriously, Shane,” he adds as the elevator lurches to life. “Nothing crazy, alright? If we want this to be believable, we have to start small. Baby steps. No one’s gonna buy it, otherwise."

"I hear you, I hear you," Shane assures him, though something about his flippant tone makes Ryan think otherwise. "Here, then." Shane holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly when Ryan continues to do nothing but stare at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking baby steps," Shane says around a grin. He reaches for Ryan's hand, tucking their palms together and entwining their fingers.

Ryan's first instinct is to yank his hand away, more out of surprise than anything else, but then he realizes what Shane's doing, how it'll look if they walk into the office like this, and he relaxes. As first steps go it's a pretty good one, noticeable enough to draw attention without being too overt, which is exactly the approach they need to take. He feels like anything more would just make their coworkers suspicious.

"Huh. Subtle," Ryan says, ignoring the strangeness of Shane's hand wrapped around his, long, slender fingers curled loosely over his own. "I didn't think you had it in you, big guy."

"My better half has taught me well," Shane says with a wink, and Ryan snorts, the sound muffled by the soft shic of the elevator doors sliding open.

"Here goes nothing," he mutters, only to stumble forward as Shane takes one massive step out of the elevator, practically dragging Ryan along behind him. "Jesus Christ, Shane," Ryan mutters, quickly righting himself and hurrying to fall into stride beside his taller counterpart. "You and your long ass legs... "

Shane tosses a teasing smirk over his shoulder, and oh, that’s fucking insufferable. "Aww, am I going too fast for you, dear?"

Ryan narrows his eyes. The open door to the bullpen lies at the end of the hall; he can already hear the muted roar of their coworkers, talking and moving around the office as they go about their morning routines. He can only imagine the spectacle Shane will make if he reaches the door first, his signature goofy grin plastered across his face while he swings their arms between them, about as subtle as a car crash. The point of being discreet about this in the first place is making sure their story doesn’t come across as just that – a story. Fiction. If they ham things up too much right from the start everyone’s just going to think they’re doing some weird bit, and that’ll get them nowhere.

And okay, maybe Ryan bristles – a little; well, a lot – at the thought of this being their coworkers' first sight of them, Shane tugging him along like he’s the one calling the shots here, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Even if Shane was the one to come up with the plan in the first place, it’s already clear to Ryan that the whole thing will fall apart without him.

It’s the possibility of a blown cover that gets Ryan moving a little faster, and definitely not the thought of his coworkers getting the wrong first impression.

Judging by the crinkle of Shane's eyes and the curl of his lips, Ryan's not fooling anybody.

"Really?" Shane asks, amusement thick in his voice. "You're gonna get competitive over this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ryan says, picking up his pace so that he's a few steps ahead of Shane.

Shane whistles low. "Someone's trying to exert some dominance," he muses, hurrying his own steps until he's shoulder to shoulder with Ryan and gaining fast. Ryan curses - those giraffe limbs are an unfair advantage even when Shane's not trying, one of his strides easily equaling two of Ryan's, and Ryan has to pump his legs to keep up.

By the time they make it to the office they're both out of breath and a little sweaty, slumping against the doorframe and still clutching at each other's hand. A few heads poke out from behind their monitors to see what all the fuss is about, and Ryan narrowly avoids rolling his eyes. So much for subtle.

"Where’s the fire, boys?" Jen calls, on the way to her desk with coffee in hand. Her eyes drift from their faces to their joined hands, and one of her eyebrows climbs up to her hairline.

"No fire," Shane breathes. "Just eager to get to work. Lots to do, right, Ryan?"

"Mm hm, yeah,” Ryan huffs, using Shane’s momentary distraction to duck into the office ahead of him. He does his level best to ignore the few curious looks aimed at them as he tugs Shane along by the hand towards their desks, though inwardly he’s crowing. Just a little.

“You win this round, Bergara,” Shane mutters, though he doesn’t seem too beat up about it. If anything he looks delightfully amused, though he tries to temper his expression once he spots someone approaching over Ryan’s shoulder. “Incoming,” he murmurs so that only Ryan can hear, and then, louder, “Mornin’, Jen!”

"Good morning," Ryan hears Jen reply, a hint of laughter in her voice. "You're... awfully chipper today."

"Great day to be alive, Jen!" Shane chirps, enthused, his grin stretching as Ryan gapes at him, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline in the universal sign of really, dude?. Shane pays him no mind, of fucking course, merely squeezes Ryan’s hand and dumps his bag on his desk before heading toward the kitchen, calling out, “I’ll grab us some coffee, Ry!” over his shoulder.

Well, at least he hadn’t dropped one of those ridiculous pet names in there. Still, they're really gonna have to have another talk about subtlety if this is Shane’s idea of being discreet.

"Soooo," Jen drawls as Shane disappears into the kitchen, leaning her hip against Shane's desk and peering down at Ryan. "That's new."

Ryan tries not to fidget beneath her gaze. Showtime, Bergara, he thinks. Don't fuck this up.

"Shane being a general nuisance?" he asks aloud, busying his hands with pulling out his laptop and ignoring the weight of Jen's stare on his face. "Not really."

"Was referring to the whole 'coming into work all out of breath and holding hands’ thing, to be honest,” Jen returns slowly, as if she’s not sure whether Ryan is serious or not.

"Hmm? Oh!" Ryan makes a show of looking surprised, followed by a contrite tilt of his head. "Uh. That’s not really new, actually? We were going to tell you, but, well…"

Jen studies him for a long moment, and Ryan does his best to project 'totally dating my best friend and not trying to pull the wool over your eyes' vibes. He must be successful judging by her reaction, though he can’t tell whether the wide eyes and open mouth means she’s surprised or just freaking the fuck out. He wonders if that’s what he looks like when he starts hearing shit in haunted houses. "Wait, you and – ? You guys are – ?”

"Ah, guess you heard the news," Shane’s voice pipes up from behind them, his long legs eating up the distance between their desks and the kitchen in no time. He hands Ryan a steaming mug of coffee and takes a slow slip from his own, eyes twinkling over the rim. "I know, I know, I could do so much better. Ryan's sitting right there, Jen, Jesus.”

Ryan elbows him in the ribs, smiling sweetly as Shane curses, droplets of hot coffee staining the cuff of his sleeve.

Jen doesn't seem to notice the exchange, too busy blinking owlishly at the both of them. “Since when?”

Ryan jumps in, eager to lay the groundwork for their story. “Just a few weeks. Sorry for leaving you in the dark, we were just, you know, being cautious. Didn’t want it to fuck with our work.” They’d gone over this script so many times Ryan can recite it by heart, has no trouble instilling just the right amount of confidence and contriteness into his words.

“Weeks? How the fuck did we miss that?” Jen looks between the two of them, eyes narrowed as though she’s searching for something, before they bloom wide as a thought occurs to her. “Shit, Ryan, didn't you just have a date this weekend?”

“About that,” Shane interjects smoothly, throwing Ryan a subtle wink. They’d gone over this part, too. “Much as we appreciate all of your matchmaking efforts, we’re gonna need you guys to cut that shit out for the foreseeable future. I’ve got no plans on sharing this guy with anybody.” He curls his hand around Ryan’s shoulder, smiling amiably as Jen gapes at them, and Ryan forces himself to relax into the grip, his own smile a little more apologetic.

“We weren’t ready to tell anybody about, you know – “ He waves the hand not wrapped around his mug between himself and Shane. “So we went along with all the set ups to keep you guys in the dark. Sorry.”

Jen shakes her head. “Hey, I’m the one who should be apologizing. Shit, that must have been awkward for you guys.”

Ryan and Shane share a look before nodding simultaneously. Jen’s right, after all, just not for the reasons she thinks.

“Well, fuck,” Jen breathes, a smile curling her lips. She still looks a little gobsmacked, but almost happily so, now? Ryan takes it as a good sign. “I’m happy for you guys. Kind of disappointed all of our matchmaking efforts crashed and burned, but it looks like everything worked out in the long run.”

“Hey, if it weren't for your matchmaking, we probably would have never gotten off our asses and confessed to each other in the first place,” Shane reassures her. Ryan gives him a look. This is new.

Jen breathes out a laugh, saying, "Glad to know it didn't all go to waste then. As long as my boys are happy, that's all that matters."

"Oh, we are," Ryan says quickly.

"Yep," Shane adds. "So happy."

Jen leaves them to their work with a quick ruffle of their hair and a promise to keep the news to herself, at least for now. Ryan watches her walk away with a peculiar mix of relief and apprehension in his gut - relief that she had bought their story and seemed to believe it, and apprehension over her obvious happiness at the news. Much as he had complained about being set up, his friends had only been doing it out of concern for him and a need to see him happy. Resorting to a lie to get out of it makes him feel like a shitty person, though neither he or Shane are doing it to hurt anyone, so feeling bad about it is kind of pointless, isn't it?

Shane slides into his seat with a soft sigh, though he doesn't immediately set to working on anything. Rather, he nudges Ryan's foot with his own, jarring him from his thoughts with a casual, "Something on your mind, little guy?"

Ryan shakes his head. It's nothing, really. Their plan is a good one, and judging by their encounter with Jen, it’s off to a great start. There’s nothing to be concerned about.

“Nah, man, I’m good,” he answers, and reaches for his laptop. Time to get to work.

Chapter Text

By lunch the news has spread to the rest of the office, exactly as Ryan had known it would. Even with Jen promising to keep her mouth shut there had been plenty of witnesses to their arrival that morning, after all, and within an hour Ryan and Shane are already fielding questions from various other Buzzfeed employees, from Daysha and Mayci (both equally surprised but obviously happy for them), to the Try Guys (all four sweeping down on their desks like a pack of carrion birds, only with less scavenging for flesh and more inappropriate comments; still terrifying), to a few of the braver interns hungry for office gossip. By the time they’re treated to a shout of “I fucking knew it!” from an enthusiastic Steven Lim, his voice fading into the hall as Andrew carts him off to a meeting, Ryan’s more than ready for a break.

“Chipotle?” he asks Shane, the smile on his face a direct contrast to the slightly hunted look in his eyes. “It’s on me,” he adds, not at all desperately. He wonders if he can signal for help with Morse code if he blinks long enough.

Shane lowers his headphones from his ears, takes a sweeping glance around the office, and thank fuck, seems to get the message. “My favorite place for lunch and you’re buying?” he asks, raising his voice just enough to be audible around the bullpen. “Best boyfriend ever.”

“Shuddup, Shane,” Ryan grouses, pushing his chair back and grabbing for his phone, all while ignoring the heat in his cheeks. He’s always liked doing little things like this for his lovers in the past, simple gestures of affection like picking up their favorite food or offering to watch their favorite movie. He likes making people happy, especially the people he cares for, and okay, much as he might bitch and moan if he were ever confronted with it, Shane happens to fall under that umbrella. Whatever. It’s not a big deal.

Except for how it kind of is, at least in the eyes of the people around them, the ones that think they’re dating and that Ryan is just being a sweet boyfriend, even though he and Shane have shared countless meals between them before. It’s the added layer of their newly minted Relationship that gives the gesture such weight, he knows, and even though it’s all a farce, just a carefully constructed bit that no one is in on but them, that doesn’t detract from the warmth of satisfaction Ryan feels as he watches Shane scarf down his meal, his long limbs folded up into the other side of the booth.

“Hey, you’re smiling,” Shane points out, thumbing a bit of sauce from his lips. “And it’s not all murder-y this time.”

Ryan purses his lips. Now that his attention has been drawn to them, he realizes he had been smiling. Huh. “Was I that obvious, back at the office?” he asks, taking a huge bite of his burrito and practically melting into his seat as the spices burst across his tongue. Already he’s feeling better, his stress leeching away. Is there anything good food can’t fix?

Shane shrugs his shoulder. “Just to someone who knows what to look for,” he says, and well, he would know, wouldn’t he? Considering how often he’s followed Ryan into derelict hospitals and crumbling asylums, Shane’s probably the resident expert on picking up on Ryan’s distress. Maybe he should write an article: Top Ten Signs of an Impending Ryan Bergara Freakout. Number three might surprise you!.

“I probably shouldn’t have been surprised,” Ryan mutters thoughtfully. “We knew it’d be like this.”

“We’re a hot topic, baby,” Shane says, nodding, seemingly unbothered by the scrutiny they’d had to endure all morning. “They’ll get over it in a few days when they find something else to gossip about. You’ll see.”

Ryan hums dubiously. Considering how invested most of their coworkers had been in scoring them dates (and how fucking nosy they can get), Ryan’s not so sure.

No use dwelling on it now, he supposes, not when their plan has only been in effect for half a day.

Speaking of plans, though –

“What was up with you this morning, by the way?” he asks, adding at Shane’s blank look, “With Jen. The shit about us confessing to each other because of all the matchmaking. We didn’t talk about that.”

Shane shrugs, taking a few sips of his soda. “I saw an opportunity and I went with it,” he says simply. “Made it seem like we were pining away for each other. Pretty good, huh? Looks like that one improv class wasn’t a total waste after all.”

“I’ve never pined a day in my goddamn life,” Ryan returns coolly, turning his nose up as if the very idea offends him. Beneath the table, he nudges Shane’s boot with his own. “Especially over you, Sasquatch.”

“You wound me, Ryan,” Shane pouts, pressing his hand to his chest. “You really do. And we started off this morning with so much potential.”

Ryan snorts a laugh, reaching for his own drink. “You’re a dick and I hate you,” he says. He totally means it. Really. “Maybe run it by me before you decide to go rogue next time? Just so I can keep our story straight?”

“That defeats the whole purpose of going rogue,” Shane grumbles, and sighs. “Alright, funsucker. No more deviating from the script. Scout’s honor.”

“And I’m supposed to think that means fuck all to you?” Ryan asks, a single brow quirked. “Nice try, big guy. Also? Don’t call me funsucker. What are you, twelve?”

“You gonna veto all of my pet names, Bergara?” Shane pouts, slumping back in his seat and pursing his lips like the drama queen he is. “‘Cause I gotta tell ya, that sounds like something a real shitty boyfriend would do.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan groans, tempted to either leave Shane’s ass or toss the remnants of his meal in Shane’s face. Either way he’s out the rest of his burrito, an injustice for which he just won’t stand. That’s the only reason he gives in. Besides, compromise is important in relationships, right? Even fake ones. He holds up a finger. “I’ll give you one, okay? One pet name, Shane, and that’s it. Take it or leave it.”

He feels instant regret the moment the words leave his mouth. The look that creeps across Shane’s face is one Ryan’s seen far too often not to recognize it – the slow tilt of his smile, that particular glint in the depths of his eyes, the general aura of mischief that descends upon his lanky frame. That look screams one thing and one thing only: I’m gonna torment Ryan and I’m gonna fucking enjoy it.

Shane leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and perching his chin in the dip of his palm. Ryan braces himself just in time for those lips to twitch into a far-too familiar smirk, Shane’s voice wrought with barely concealed triumph as he murmurs, “You’ve got yourself a deal, baby.”

Chapter Text

The office quiets down after lunch, thankfully. Ryan’s not naïve enough to think that means they’re off the hook yet, though. Like Shane said (and apparently believes; Ryan’s still not so sure), it’ll take some time for the novelty of their ‘relationship’ to wear off, and until then they’re just going to have to grit their teeth and endure the curious looks and playful teasing from their coworkers and crew.

Their crew, who had been surprisingly nonplussed about the whole thing. Ryan had figured they’d be shocked or confused at the very least, but T.J. and the others had seemed strangely unaffected by the news, save for some half-hearted guilt-tripping on T.J.’s part.

“You know you could have told me, right?” he’d asked, and though he’d been exaggerating his disappointment at being “the last to know, seriously,” his approval had been genuine, and Ryan had been strangely touched. It was nice knowing that so many people had their backs.

“I know, man,” he’d said, a twinge of unease in his gut. The lies were necessary, he knew, and ultimately harmless, but they felt a little tawdry in the face of so much of their friends’ unflinching support. “It wasn’t just you, it was everyone. We just didn’t want it to fuck with work, you know? Not until we knew it was a sure thing.” The words had fallen easily off his tongue, all of them true – or they would have been, had his and Shane’s relationship been legit. Both of their shows, their jobs, their friendship – that was a lot to gamble on an office romance.

“And is it?” T.J. had asked, a knowing smile on his face. “A sure thing?”

“It is,” Ryan had answered, and the confidence in his voice had made Teej grin, slapping his shoulder with a firm, “Congrats, man,” before he’d left Ryan to his thoughts.

The hell of it is – Ryan hadn’t been lying. Much as Shane drove him up the motherfucking wall on a daily basis, he knew he could depend on him for… well, anything: composure in haunted houses, encouragement whenever Ryan was stuck in his research, shitty jokes to make him laugh whenever he got caught up in his own head. That was the reason Ryan could traipse headlong into dilapidated buildings, why he could taunt demons and steal their bridges, and why he would continue to push for more seasons of Unsolved, more exposure, more gear, because he knew Shane would have his back, and that even if nothing else was certain, Shane always was. Shane Madej was a sure thing.

It’s as comforting a thought as it is insufferable, if Ryan’s being perfectly honest.

“What are you so happy about?”

Ryan blinks, the text on his screen swimming back into focus. “Hmm?” he hums, glancing over at Shane, who’s in the middle of tidying up his disaster zone of a desk (a task which seems to consist primarily of sorting one mess into three separate, slightly neater piles of chaos). “What’d you say?”

“You were staring at your screen and grinning,” Shane explains, shutting down his computer with a few clicks of his mouse. “What’s up? Thinkin’ about your next ghostly encounter? Or were you thinking about me?” He waggles his eyebrows, reaching for his bag and stuffing a few books and research folders inside.

Ryan’s grateful for his distraction: it saves him from replying and gives him a few precious seconds to get his shit together. There’s a noticeable heat in his cheeks – consequences of getting caught doing exactly what Shane had guessed at, and he quickly busies himself with packing up his own stuff for the day while he wills the traitorous flush away. What the fuck.

Shane doesn’t seem too concerned with his lack of an answer, at least, and they head out into the hallway together with no interruptions. Ryan’s a little surprised, honestly. The morning had been a little hectic, but the rest of the day had gone by pretty smoothly, and all he and Shane had even had to do to convince their coworkers they were together was spin a few tales and hold hands. Not bad, all things considered.

Still, he’s looking forward to going home and sinking into a popcorn-and-Netflix induced haze, exactly what he needs to decompress from this strange ass day.

“Ah, ah, ah,” a familiar voice tsks right behind them, carrying down the length of the hallway and stopping them both in their tracks. “Where are you two running off to?”

“They can’t see us if we can’t see them,” Shane mutters, picking up his pace a little, but it’s too late and they both know it.

Sure enough, Curly and Jen overtake them before they can reach the sanctuary of the elevator, Jen hooking her arms through both of theirs and Curly walking alongside with a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“Did you two really think you could slip away without any of us noticing?” he asks, shaking his head. “That’s precious. Dumb, but precious.”

“You’re planning something,” Shane accuses, a note of resignation in his voice. “C’mon, Wonder Twins, spill it. What do you want?”

“We,” Jen jumps in, squeezing her arms around theirs and shooting them both a wide grin, “want to celebrate. And since the thing we’re celebrating happens to be the both of you, well – “

“You have to come,” Curly finishes, matter-of-fact.

“You really want to celebrate… this?” Ryan asks, incredulous as he gestures between him and Shane. He gets that they’re excited, happy, even. After weeks of tossing them at (what felt like) every single, available friend or acquaintance they had he supposes they’re probably just as relieved as Ryan is to finally stop, but still.

“Hell yeah, Bergara!” echoes behind them, and Ryan peers over his shoulder to see – oh hell – Steven Lim leading the rest of the aptly named Blind Date Brigade down the length of the hallway towards them – Daysha and Maycie and Eugene and all the rest.

He and Shane exchange a glance. Shane shrugs, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as if to say What can ya do?, and Ryan sighs.

Fuck it. It isn’t popcorn-and-Netflix, but it’s good food and plenty of alcohol, so why not?

“Let’s fucking go, then,” he says, and grins as his coworkers cheer.

Chapter Text

They wind up at their usual spot, a hole in the wall a few streets over from the Buzzfeed offices with shitty lighting and the best potato skins on the planet.

They take up three tables between them all, though half of the group detaches and heads straight for the dance floor as soon as they arrive. Give the rest of them half an hour and a few drinks and they'll all be out there, Ryan thinks with a grin, though he’s content enough to settle into a seat with his beer and observe the crowd for now. The place isn't packed and probably won't be, considering it's relatively early on a Monday evening, but he almost prefers it that way. The sheer volume of their group makes up for the lack of other people, anyway, as does the sheer…. enthusiasm of their friends on the dance floor.

It shouldn’t surprise Ryan to see Shane in the middle of it all, flailing his limbs in paroxysms of dance and having a grand old time, judging by the wide smile on his face. How he has so much energy to burn after the day they’d had, Ryan will never know, but it makes for an entertaining sight, at least, and Ryan spends a few moments shaking his head at the ridiculous display. He’s pretty sure Shane’s not even trying to sync his movements to the music, though that’s probably the point. Ryan can hear his laugh all the way from the table, interspersed with Maycie’s and Daysha’s as Shane spins them around, and unbidden, Ryan’s lips tilt into a smile over the rim of his beer bottle.

“Alright, Bergara,” he hears, just before Jen and Kelsey slide into the seats in front of him, momentarily blocking his view of the dance floor. They’re both wearing the kind of curious, expectant faces that Ryan has seen all day – the kind that usually precede questions and plenty of them – and Ryan braces himself. Time to put your game face on, Bergara. “Spill.”

“Spill… what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“You haven’t told us yet how you and the big guy happened,” Kelsey says, gesturing over her shoulder to the dance floor and the long-legged Chicagoan currently tearing it to pieces. “Who confessed to who and all that.”

“All the juicy shit, basically,” Jen grins, tipping her water bottle at him. She and Keith had graciously offered to be designated drivers so all of their asses made it home in one piece. “So? Spin us a yarn, Ryan. Plenty of details, please and thank you.”

Ryan huffs a laugh, amused at their enthusiasm. “Alright, alright,” he says, settling in to tell the whole sordid tale. This is yet another aspect of their story that he and Shane had gone over, knowing that someone was bound to ask at some point. “It happened after a date, if you can believe it. One of Shane’s – with a friend of Keith’s, I think?” They’d both decided it was better to stick as close to the truth as possible, though they couldn’t help but add a few embellishments. They were both storytellers at heart, after all. “He’d called me afterwards, and it didn’t go well, I guess, so I offered to come over. Bring popcorn. Hang out, you know.”

“Of course,” Kelsey urges, utterly transfixed already. Ryan suppresses a laugh and continues.

“I could tell something was off when I got there. He just seemed… preoccupied? Wasn’t really talking much. I just figured he was still thinking about the date and he’d tell me what was up when he was ready.”

“I’m not that damn dramatic,” Shane had told him as they were constructing the story. “C’mon, man.”

“I have hours worth of footage that says otherwise,” Ryan had answered. “Including you screaming at demons to rip out your spine and make you shit blood. It’s good for the story, Shane. Just suck it up and go with it.”

“It wasn’t until we’d finished a movie that he finally spoke up. Asked me if it was weird that he’d had more fun with me than with his date. Said that he’d actually been thinking of it – us, me – during dinner with her.”

“Holy shit,” Kelsey breathes. She looks positively delighted. Jen looks like she’s about to vibrate right out of her seat.

Ryan leans towards them both, unable to resist drawing out the tension just a little longer. He might as well have fun with this, right? “See, the thing is, I had kind of been thinking the same thing? I wasn’t really having fun on any of my dates, but I tried to play it off, convince myself that it was just because I hadn’t clicked with anybody yet, you know?” Alright, now Ryan’s embellishing a little, but Shane had already planted the idea that they’d been pining away for each other, so fuck it. “And then I thought about it, and I finally realized – the last time I’d had fun, the last person I’d had fun with, was Shane.”

He shrugs, a what can ya do? gesture, and takes a sip of his beer. The storyteller in him revels at the barely leashed excitement on Jen and Kelsey’s faces – it’s clear that they’re hooked, totally invested in the tale he’s spinning.

“I tried to make a joke out of it, said that we should just date each other if we weren’t having fun with anybody else, and, well… “ He trails off meaningfully, taking another, longer sip of his beer.

“Well?” Jen asks, practically on the edge of her seat. “What happened then?”

“And then I planted one on his handsome mug and the rest is history,” Shane chimes in, leaning over Ryan’s shoulder and snatching the bottle from his hand. Ryan hadn’t even noticed him approaching.

“Shane, you dick,” he grouses, reaching for his beer. “Get your own.”

“But the bar’s too far away and I’m dying, baby,” Shane returns, smirking as Ryan’s lips twist at the endearment. “Dancing is thirsty work, you know?”

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” Ryan asks, his tone colored with mock-surprise. "I just thought you were having some kind of fit. My mistake."

Shane’s eyes narrow. “You think you could do any better, Bergara?” he asks, leaning his hip against the table’s edge and fixing Ryan with a challenging smirk.

“Oh, I don’t think so, I know so.” Ryan vaguely hears someone snort and remembers that they have an audience a little too late to bother being embarrassed about it.

Shane’s eyes flash. He downs the rest of Ryan’s beer and slams the bottle onto the table, reaching for Ryan’s arm and curling long fingers around his bicep. “Prove it,” he says, all low and cocky like he actually expects Ryan to lose, and Ryan –

Well, Ryan’s never been known to back down from a challenge, and he follows Shane out to the dance floor with every intention of making him eat his words.

It’s easy to lose track of time after that, beneath the heat of the shitty bar lights and the slant of Shane’s stupid smirk. Ryan might not be the world’s greatest dancer but he’s leagues above his long-legged counterpart and more than happy to prove it, and before long they’re clustered together on the dance floor in a circle of their coworkers, their laughter providing a raucous backdrop to the music and the low hum of voices sweeping through the bar.

It’s exactly what Ryan needed after such a stressful day. There’s no thinking required, no planning, just heat and sweat and laughter, interspersed with periodic breaks to hit the bar and be roped into conversation with their friends.

By midnight he’s pleasantly buzzed and only mildly exhausted, and doesn’t make a fuss as Shane leads him out of the bar with a long arm wrapped around his shoulders. Jen and the others spill out onto the street behind them, conversation muted by the late hour and the sudden remembrance that work looms bright and early the next morning, and as the group slowly begins to disperse, some to catch Ubers home and others to bum rides from their sober coworkers, Jen approaches them with her car keys dangling from her fingertips.

“I can give you boys a lift home,” she offers, but Shane waves her off with a tired grin and a nod to his phone, already opened to the Uber app.

“M’good, Jen, thanks. It’d be out of your way, anyway.” He jostles Ryan’s shoulder, their sides tucked close together. “You can take this guy, though. It’s way past his bedtime.”

Ryan wheezes, too mellow from the alcohol warming his blood to be annoyed. “That’s rich coming from you, old man,” he says, reveling in Shane’s gasp of outrage.

“Can you believe this, Jen?” he asks, shaking his head in mock-despair. “Mocking my dance moves, calling me names. Such blatant disrespect from this guy, I’m tellin’ ya – “

“I can see that,” Jen tsks, her lips twitching in a barely concealed smile. “However will he make it up to you?”

Shane strokes his chin absentmindedly. “To make up for such a low blow? I don’t know, Jen. I just don’t know.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ryan huffs. He can feel his own lips twitching, tempted to bloom into a smile at the utter ridiculousness that is Shane Madej, but he holds it back. Barely. “Would it calm your tits if I walked you to your car?”

Shane brightens immediately, eyes twinkling behind his clear-framed glasses. “Consider them calmed, baby!” he chirps, before sending a swift salute towards Jen and their remaining coworkers. “Until tomorrow, folks!”

Soft laughter and scattered goodbyes follow them as they head toward the curb. Once they’re safely out of earshot, Shane squeezes his shoulder and quirks an eyebrow at him.

“So, not too bad for our first day as a couple, huh?” he asks, and Ryan huffs out a laugh.

“All things considered, it could have gone a hell of a lot worse,” he agrees. Unbidden, his own arm settles around Shane’s waist as they walk, though he doesn’t think much of it. He’s not drunk enough to need the support, but better to be safe than sorry, right?

“See, nothing to worry about,” Shane returns, nudging Ryan's hip with his own. His phone chimes, a notification that his ride is nearly there, judging by the familiar Uber logo emblazoned on the screen, and as he stuffs it into his pocket he asks, “Ready to do it all over again tomorrow?”

Ryan groans. “I’m ready to sleep. Tomorrow’s a problem for future Ryan, as far as I’m concerned.” A car slows to a stop in front of them, doubtless Shane’s ride home, and Ryan pats his back once before pulling away, shivering a bit as the warmth at his side recedes. “See you in the morning, big guy.”

Shane makes no attempt to duck into the car. “That all I get, Bergara?” he asks, amusement thick in the drawl of his voice. “Not even a goodnight kiss?"

Ryan sputters, consciously aware that they’re in full view of their lingering coworkers. “Really, Shane?”

“Hey, you knew it was coming eventually,” Shane grins, and Ryan knows he’s just trying to get a rise out of him, but he’s right. They’d talked about it, how a kiss in public would help to sell their story. Ryan just hadn’t expected to be confronted with the subject so soon.

It’s not like it’s a big deal, though. It’s just a kiss. A peck on the lips. Nothing to it.

Shane will give him hell if he refuses, Ryan knows that as sure as he knows that Shane's standing there thinking Ryan's too chickenshit to go through with it, and Ryan’s had just about enough of that smirk for one day, thanks.

“Alright then,” he says, privately pleased by the flash of surprise in Shane’s eyes. “Plant one on me, big guy. I don’t have all night.”

He sounds a fuckload more confident than he feels, though he’d rather spend another night in the Sallie House than admit that he’s feeling a little rattled.

Shane studies him for a moment; Ryan half-expects to be called out on his bullshit, but all Shane does is take a step closer.

"You sure you’re ready for that, Ryan?" he asks, and beneath the ever-present amusement there’s a hint of something genuine in Shane’s voice. Ryan knows all it’ll take is a word and Shane will back down; he’d never actually push the boundaries of Ryan’s discomfort purely for the sake of a bit.

Not that Ryan actually is uncomfortable. He’s not. He’s… nervous, for some goddamn reason, but it’s the pins and needles, ‘this is something new and I don’t want to fuck it up’ variety rather than the ‘there are demons afoot and I’m gonna have a complete psychic break’ kind.

So he scoffs, ignoring the anxious twitch of his fingers. "It's just a kiss, dude." Just a kiss with his best friend in full view of most of his coworkers to convince them of a fake relationship with said best friend. Simple. Easy.

Shane shrugs. If you say so, the action conveys, and Ryan feels a twinge of annoyance at his nonplussed attitude. Shane never seems to be affected by anything, be it ghosts or demons or embarrassingly awkward social situations, and, not for the first time, Ryan wishes he had half of his friend’s composure.

“Alright, let’s just… get this over with,” he mutters, and closes his eyes. It’ll be easier that way, he hopes. He doesn’t think he can handle the sight of Shane’s face dipping down to meet his, not without either laughing nervously or darting away. Jesus, this is so weird.

But it’s necessary, so Ryan waits, subconsciously braced for contact... only to furrow his brows in confusion when a few seconds pass and nothing happens. He peeks open one eye and then the other, confused about the hold up. Shane hasn’t even moved, doesn’t look like he’s planning on it anytime soon, and Ryan –

Ryan knows exactly what he's doing.

"Well?" he gripes, glad his back is to the others and they can't see the embarrassed flush blazing across his face. "Lean down, asshole."

Shane smirks, taking another step closer. Ryan doesn’t take a step back, but it’s a near thing, and that just pisses him off. "You're gonna have to come and get it, shortstuff,” Shane says, and oh, that’s it.

Ryan is not one to back down from a challenge, okay. He's a stubborn guy on the best of the days, but toss in Shane and his stupid smug smirk and general aura of self-satisfaction and the urge to make him eat his fucking words is impossible to resist. Knowing this is Shane’s form of payback for the move Ryan pulled that morning only makes it worse, and he can feel his hackles rising.

He'll be damned if he rises up on his toes for Shane Madej.

Before he can ask himself what the ever loving fuck he’s doing, Ryan curls his fingers in Shane’s collar and yanks, tilting his head at the last second to slot their mouths together. Shane stumbles a little at the rough handling, and Ryan has a moment to feel a sharp burst of satisfaction coiling at the base of his spine before a laugh rumbles against his lips, a wide palm curving slowly around his neck, and oh. Okay.

He's being kissed. That’s a thing that’s happening.

Being kissed, because there’s no way in hell that Ryan’s leading this. He’s not doing a damn thing, actually, except clenching his fingers in Shane’s collar as Shane’s lips move gently against his. It's almost funny - as fired up as he'd been just a few moments ago, Ryan's docile as a fucking lamb now, the rhythmic glide of Shane's mouth against his leeching all of the fight from his limbs. But so what? Shane’s palm pressed to the side of his neck, Shane’s fingertips brushing against the short hairs at the nape of his neck, Shane’s stubble scratching lightly at his chin – it’s a lot to process, okay. Ryan can’t be blamed for being a little overwhelmed here.

They're chaste as far as kisses go, and the contact only lasts a handful of seconds before Shane’s pulling away with a last press of his lips against Ryan’s, leaving Ryan to blink his eyes open – when the fuck had he closed them? – and fumble for words that suddenly refuse to come.

Shane smiles, gently untangling Ryan’s fingers from his collar, and taking a step toward his ride. “Goodnight, Ryan,” he says, soft. The whole of him looks soft, actually, all sleepy-eyed and content as he folds his long limbs into the backseat and waves goodbye.

“G’night,” Ryan calls belatedly, watching the door click shut and the car pull away from the curb. He stays there until it’s out of sight, and then he heads back to the bar, ignoring Jen’s grin as he falls into step beside her.

The taste of beer and something else, something deeper, something new, lingers long after she drops him off at home, and if Ryan finds himself absentmindedly licking his lips as he readies himself for bed, well, nobody has to know.

Chapter Text

Shane wakes to the blare of his alarm with a faint throbbing behind his eyes and a fuzzy taste in his mouth. He fumbles for his bedside table and silences his phone, squinting blearily at the screen to see that he has a slew of new text messages from Jen, Steven, and Ryan.

He grins as he remembers the events of the previous night and thumbs open the text from Ryan first.

Jen smirked at me the whole ride home. Didn't say a word. Just smirked. Thanks a lot.

You’re welcome, baby, Shane sends, lips curling as he imagines Ryan’s face upon reading the text. He should probably cool it with the endearment, conserve it for special occasions so Ryan doesn’t get used to it too quickly, but it's too much fun to watch his face scrunch in annoyance when Shane says it. He's so damn easy to rile up.

Like last night. Shane snorts as he remembers Ryan's little challenging smirk as they'd followed each other onto the dance floor. Ryan had always been a competitive little shit and stubborn to boot; make a little dig at his prowess in anything and he'd be itching to prove you wrong. Half the time that’s entirely why Shane does it, just to see how Ryan will react, and Ryan never disappoints.

Shaking his head fondly at the remembrance of Ryan’s antics, he opens Jen's text next. It’s just a simple Got your boy home safe and sound followed by a thumbs up emoji, and he huffs a soft laugh because he can practically feel her giddiness through the phone. She’d been so thrilled by the news yesterday, it seemed, and Shane can’t even fault her for it. As much as it had annoyed him sometimes, she and the others really were just looking out for them, and it was obvious by last night's celebration that everyone was happy for them.

He feels a little guilty about that, admittedly. His coworkers are good people, the whole crazy lot of them, and he can’t deny that his and Ryan’s little act of dishonesty, though never intended to hurt or upset anyone, may wind up doing just that, if anyone were to find out about it.

But that’s the beauty of their plan – no one will. They’ll keep this thing going for a while and then call it quits, citing differences or something similar, nothing too severe so that their continued friendship doesn’t raise any brows. Simple and easy.

And it is. It’s easy. They’ve only been at it for a day, and though Shane’s never been one to count his chickens before they hatch, there’s no denying that the whole plan had gone off without a hitch. He’d known it would, and it’s hard not to feel too smug about it when he remembers the previous day. There had been some surprise among their coworkers, yeah, but no one had challenged them about their new relationship status. A few people had even seemed to anticipate it.

Like Steven, whose first text comes in the form of a photo, slightly blurry and half filled with his grinning face. Over his shoulder Shane can see Ryan and himself, Ryan's hands wrapped in his collar and his palm cupping the side of Ryan's throat, and it takes a few moments before Shane can force himself to thumb down and read Steven's second message. Thanks for making me a wealthy man, Madej, it reads, and Shane barks a laugh even as the image of he and Ryan locked in that kiss clings stubbornly to his mind.

He wonders if Ryan knows about the little bet that had been making its way through the office for years. Probably not; Shane would have gotten an earful about it otherwise, not that he would have been inclined to do anything about it. He finds the whole thing hilarious, honestly - his coworkers placing bets on if and when he and Ryan ever became a Thing. It's a little ridiculous that anyone, let alone the people they work with, would care enough about their love lives to risk money on them.

The irony of Steven being in on it isn't lost on Shane, either. If there's a bet going around about him and Ryan there's bound to be one circling about Steven and Andrew, and he's tempted to point that out in his reply.

But he isn’t a dick, not when it really counts, so he settles for, Next round of drinks is on you then, Lim and sends it off with a tap of his thumb.

And then he scrolls back up to the photo, ignoring the swath of Steven’s face and zooming in on his and Ryan’s instead. They’re both too blurry to make out much detail, but the sight still draws him up short – their mouths tucked together, his hand wrapped around Ryan’s throat, both of their eyes closed. In the moment he had been so caught up in the joy of teasing Ryan, watching him bristle as Shane refused to duck down, making Ryan work for it, that the prospect of the kiss itself hadn’t really bothered him. It was just a kiss, they’d talked about it beforehand and knew they’d probably need to do it at some point. No big deal.

And it hadn’t been. It had been short, chaste, nothing to write home about.

Shane’s lips twist unconsciously. Liar, he chides himself, feeling foolish. There’s no reason to be so dismissive in the safety of his own head; it’s not like anybody else can hear him.

So, okay. Truthfully, it had been… nice. Kissing Ryan had been nice. He makes fun of Ryan’s big mouth all the time but he’d never given any thought to how it might feel – soft, as it turns out, almost surprisingly so, smooth and supple beneath his own. They’d fit well together, too, Ryan’s lips plush against his and tasting faintly of beer, and feeling them soften further beneath the heat of Shane’s own mouth had been… well. Nice.

Ryan’s face afterward had been nice, too, his expression of slack surprise making Shane grin even now. It wasn’t the first time Shane had ever seen that look, but usually the cause was something he’d said rather than done, something so outlandish or exasperating that Ryan was stricken speechless in response.

It’s a bit of an ego boost if Shane’s perfectly honest with himself, though he knows better than to blame his stellar smooching skills for Ryan’s reaction. No doubt it was the novelty of it that had driven all of the fight from Ryan – the admittedly strange sensation of kissing your best bud for the first time, in full view of most of your coworkers, no less. Even so, Shane amuses himself for a few moments with the thought that, had he known all it took was a little lip lock to shut Ryan up, he would have been goading Ryan into kissing him much earlier. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it a time or two, usually when exhaustion or alcohol has lowered his inhibitions to a point where they’re practically nonexistent.

Nothing strange about that, no sir, he thinks with a huff, pushing himself free of the comfort of his bed and to his feet. Everybody thinks about it at some point, what it’d be like to kiss a friend, right? Right. It’s a byproduct of spending so much time in Ryan’s presence, practically glued to his hip since they were both interns. Ryan’s probably entertained the same thoughts about him. Probably.

And now he doesn’t have to wonder anymore. Now he knows exactly how it feels to kiss Ryan – soft and smooth, firm pressure that sinks into a gentle shift of lips and shared breath. Warm.

Case closed, he thinks, slapping a mystery solved! stamp on the whole thing and banishing the thought from his mind.

It works pretty well, until he rolls up to the office and finds himself wondering how Ryan’s going to act around him now. Ryan’s not the most… subtle of individuals; whatever he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or happiness or unease, is usually plastered so obviously across his face that everyone in a ten mile radius can pick up on it. If they act all awkward and weird around each other today, it’s gonna raise a few questions from the coworkers they’d just spent all of yesterday convincing they were happily in love.

Not that Shane plans on being awkward. There’s no need; he’s already decided that the whole thing was No Big Deal, after all, so he’s good. Perfectly zen.

He doesn’t even falter as he approaches their desks. Ryan’s already there, typing rapidly away at his laptop, working on a script by the looks of his computer screen. Shane plops down into his seat with an exaggerated huff and a chipper, “Mornin’, Ry!” just like he does every other morning, and Ryan passes him a softly steaming mug of coffee, made just the way he likes it, because it was Ryan’s turn today to take care of their mutual caffeine fix. It’s normal, the same routine they’ve followed nearly every morning for years.

Until Ryan leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek, a quick, light brush of lips followed by a soft, “Morning, Shane,” before he turns back to his screen. Yeah, that’s new.

Shane freezes for a second, just long enough to see Ryan’s lips curl into a smirk and to spot an intern a few desks down hide a grin behind her hand. Oh.

He pulls out his phone. You smooth motherfucker, he types, and watches as Ryan’s lips stretch into a pleased grin once his phone lights up with the message.

Just paying you back for last night, he replies, turning his head just enough so that the intern won’t see and sticking his tongue out at Shane.

“Real mature,” Shane stage whispers.

“You would know,” Ryan whispers back, and then they’re both grinning, whatever minuscule trace of awkwardness that may have existed between them in the cold light of day smothered in the wake of their mutual idiocy.

They spend the rest of the morning watching their coworkers trickle in in various states of dishevelment, and the rest of the day hard at work on various projects. In his down time Shane finds himself contemplating his next move, half of him totally invested in besting Ryan at his own game and the other half endlessly amused that they’re apparently turning this entire ploy into another friendly competition between the ghoul boys, only this one has no discernible prize waiting at the end. Bragging rights, he supposes, which can be as good as gold between the pair of them.

By the end of the day Shane’s come up with a few gems – tagging along on one of Ryan’s game nights (or at least nabbing him the tickets beforehand; not even the sanctity of their fake relationship can make Shane feign an interest in sports), disappearing for lunch together and showing up at the office with suspiciously rumpled clothes, sporting a few self-inflicted hickies that could pass for the real thing to anyone bothering to look (Shane almost suggests that last one just to see the look on Ryan’s face.)

It’s not until he gets home later that evening that he settles on a plan, though. He’s watching a movie as he waits for dinner to be delivered, a pile of clean laundry scattered around him, still warm from the dryer. He sorts through it mechanically, separating sleepwear and towels and everyday wear without tearing his eyes from the screen. It’s not until he catches a glimpse of gold that he finally looks down, his nose wrinkling at the sight of a familiar jersey lying among his clothes. How had that gotten in there?

He’s in the middle of a text to Ryan about the perils of tossing his clothes in the wrong suitcase when it hits him, a stroke of pure genius. He stops, eyes trailing over the splash of gold and purple lying innocently in a pile of plaid and denim and patterned button-ups.

Huh, he thinks. Now there’s an idea. It might not carry the same hilarious potential as the hickey thing, but Ryan’s far more likely to agree to it, so Shane quickly erases his current text and sends off another, grinning all the while.

I think you should wear one of my shirts.