anarchetypal
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Eric, sounding faintly worried, says, “So, my instinct is that laughter is good? But my other instinct is, like, maybe I did irreversible damage to your psyche and you are not okay.”
Christian attempts to respond, snorts inelegantly, and just covers his face with a breathless squeak of a laugh that dissolves into silent half-hiccups.
Eric doesn’t look any less concerned. “Aria’s gonna be really mad if you just straight-up lost your whole mind because I helped you get in touch with your emotions for all of five seconds.”
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“I can’t— I hustle pool, I don’t do this, this is way out of my comfort zone—”
Christian slips his hand into Eric’s and pulls him from the main entrance into a side corridor, gets his back against the wall and brackets him in, arms on either side of him. To anyone passing by, hopefully it’ll look more like a tipsy tryst than a pre-job pep talk. “Look at me.”
“Uh, kind of hard not to,” Eric says, laughing, but his tone is pinched and anxious even still. “Are we about to make out. Like, I’m totally down for that, but give a guy some warning—”
“I know you’re out of your comfort zone,” Christian says, steamrolling over Eric’s babbling before he gets too carried away with himself. “That’s why we’re here. This is low-stakes. A practice run. This can become your comfort zone.”
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“I was thinking, uh, maybe we could. Go to dinner or something?"
Christian blinks. Processes. “Dinner,” he echoes.
Eric looks borderline panicked. “Not, like— Not like a date or anything! Just. Two bros going out to dinner together in a, uh, extremely heterosexual way—”
“You’re asking me on a date,” Christian says.
Eric deflates. “Sort of? Unless you don’t want to, in which case I am one hundred percent not asking you on a date.”
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Ryan finds out Shane is Not Traditionally of This World, and that’s— that’s fine, really, when it’s all said and done. Adult life is already so goddamn weird; Ryan feels like he’s prepared to let most anything roll off his back, so. Demons. Sure. As long as Shane’s not going to drag him to hell or eat his soul or whatever it is demons do, Ryan’s fine to keep working with him and having popcorn-and-movie nights with him and tumbling into bed with him.
He’ll fuck a demon. Whatever.
Except Shane says he’s not a demon.
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Detective Madej knows Ryan Bergara is guilty, but there’s no evidence. Nothing will stick to him. He’s like smoke, and Shane can’t catch him.
Well.
There’s no evidence.
And then a body turns up in Shane’s apartment.