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When the floorboards of the room above them creak loudly, shattering the 1am stillness and making Ryan’s heart leap in his chest like it’s just discovered the secret of flight, the first thing he does is flinch, accidentally miss his pillow, and slam his head against the floorboards with a resounding crack.
The second thing he does is groan, quietly.
The third thing he does is get interrupted by Shane.
“Dude,” he hears his friend say, voice made bleary with sleep, “Did you hear that? There was like- like a thump and a groan.”
Ryan groans again, and lifts his hand to rub the back of his head. Fuck. That’s going to swell up soon, he just knows it.
“Yeah, it sounded like that.” A pause, followed by a few moments of quiet shuffling as Shane rolls over in his sleeping back to face him. Ryan turns his head to look at him, flinching at how even that slight motion makes pain lance through his skull, and lifts an eyebrow.
He soon realises that this will have very little effect, as Shane’s eyes are still shut.
What, Ryan thinks to himself, was the point of rolling over to look at me if you’re not actually looking?
And it’s like Shane can hear his thoughts – which, frankly, would be creepy and horrifically embarrassing – because his eyes blink open barely a second after the thought forms in Ryan’s mind.
There’s a moment of silence.
“…It was you, wasn’t it?” Shane asks eventually.
Ryan nods, and then quickly gives up on that. Shane hasn’t got his glasses on, and Ryan doubts he can see more than Ryan’s vague outline in the darkness of the room. “Yeah.”
Shane sighs heavily, and shuts his eyes again. “What happened?”
“I thought I heard-“ Ryan begins, and then promptly shuts up as another long, low creak draws across the air. He falls silent, holds his breath until the sound fades, and then waits a bit to see if Shane says anything about it.
Shane does not.
“I heard that,” he says.
“Oh.” Shane doesn’t seem bothered. Shane doesn’t seem to care at all. Shane actually seems like he might be going back to sleep already, and Ryan has no fucking idea how he can hear something like that and dismiss it instantly, not even trying to explain it.
“Oh?” he repeats, incredulous, “That’s all- that’s all you’re gonna say? Oh?”
“Yeah,” Shane says, and Ryan can hear what sounds like him shrugging inside his sleeping bag before he rolls back over onto his back. “It’s just- it’s just a creak Ryan, it’s no big deal.”
“It sounded like footsteps!”
“It sounded like an old house!” Shane retorts.
Ryan huffs and rolls his eyes, not caring that Shane can’t see him doing it. “It was a footstep, dude, I’m telling you. Why else would the floor creak like that?”
As if to prove his point another creak rings out, this one followed by a soft ting, like a nail had just been knocked off a shelf.
Ryan hears Shane shrug again, just barely, over the newly-terrified beating of his own heart.
He was scared before, of course, but he’s not a complete idiot, and he would’ve been willing to let Shane explain away what was definitely (alright, probably) a footstep so that he could calm himself down enough to possibly fall asleep. But this… where the previous creak could have been dismissed by something like a breeze, or a creaking window shutter, this one most definitely could not.
And now he’s goddamn terrified.
He’s not sure how, but it seems like Shane picks up on his terror, because just a few seconds pass between the creak and Ryan’s panic before he hears Shane roll over in his sleeping bag and turn to face him.
“Ryan,” he hears Shane say, “Relax, it’s just the house settling.”
“It’s already settled,” Ryan hisses back, terror thrumming under every word, “It is 1 in the goddamn morning, and this house has already settled. Whatever’s making those sounds is not the house, Shane.”
“Could be the plumbing.”
“Shane!”
“I’m just saying! There’s lots of weird things in houses that make weird sounds.”
“Sounds like footsteps?”
“Yeah, like them.”
You’re insufferable, Ryan thinks, but does not say, because the moment he opens his mouth there’s another soft groaning creak from the floor above, and terror freezes his vocal chords in place. Fuck. This is it. This is how he dies. There’s a- there’s a fucking ghost, or a demon, or just something awful upstairs, and it must have heard them speaking by now, it must have, even if it somehow missed the noise Ryan’s skull made when he accidentally smashed it against the floor, and now he’s going to fucking die because Shane can’t bring himself to actually think outside the box for once, and the last words he’s ever going to hear are going to be about fucking plumbing.
He snaps his mouth shut with a click and lies still and silent in the dark, feeling his heart racing rabbit-fast beneath his skin.
Fuck, he thinks again, Fuck. Fuck. The floorboards creak again, and Ryan swears the sound is closer to the stairs now.
The stairs he can see from his position on the floor.
He trains his eyes on them, and then immediately looks away. He doesn’t know if he actually wants to see whatever it is that’s slowly descending through the house, but then he wonders if seeing it will give him more time to wake Shane up – because he can hear his friends soft snores, and knows that he’s already gone back to sleep because apparently Shane can just sleep through an actual fucking life or death situation like it’s a fucking ad break – and then drag them both of the house, though doing that would require them to go past the stairs, so maybe he should just look away from the stairs and accept his death at the hand of whatever goddamn ghost this fucking awful house has spat out just to taunt him and kill him and he can’t fucking breathe, there’s no air, maybe this is how ghost kill people, he doesn’t even know if ghosts can do that but his mouth is open and he’s gasping in silence like a- like a fish, and his heart doesn’t know how to calm the fuck down and he’s going to fucking die.
He wonders, distantly, if this is what having a heart attack feels like.
And Shane chooses, at that exact moment, to wake back up again when his own snore startles him awake.
“Hm, wha-?” he says, and Ryan instantly shushes him into silence with a terrified hiss.
“Dude, quiet!”
“Why?” Shane asks, completely disregarding Ryan’s previous instruction. “What’s up? Something happen?”
Obviously, Ryan wants to say, but he hears another creak and another soft nail-falling sound, and all that comes out is a squeak.
He can practically feel Shane’s eyebrow raise, and resolutely says nothing.
“Oh,” Shane says eventually, “The floorboards? Still?”
“It’s been three minutes since the last one, dude.”
“Huh,” Shane says, sounding surprised, “Damn. I think that’s a record for you waking me up.”
“That is not the point.”
“Mm, it kinda is the point.” He sounds more awake now, Ryan notices. “I’d really like to get some sleep tonight, and I can’t do that if you’re going to keep squeaking and yelping and telling me about ghosties.”
“We could die.”
“Or I could sleep. I think I’d prefer the second option, Ry.”
“Yeah, so would I, but that’s going to be hard for me to do when there’s a ghost upstairs who wants my blood.”
“…Isn’t that vampires?”
“Shut up!”
Shane shuts up. For almost an entire minute.
“Do you get vampire ghosts? Can those exist?”
“I- what?”
“Just, if vampires are real, and ghosts are apparently real, could you get a vampire who dies and then becomes a ghost?”
“I don’t- I don’t fucking know, dude, that’s not really what I’m thinking about right now, you know? I’m more thinking about the ghost who’s going to kill us, because I accidentally smashed my head into the ground earlier and now I can’t stop talking and now the ghost definitely knows where I am and it’s going to kill me!”
There’s a pause. And then, cool as a cucumber, Shane says, “Just scoot into my sleeping bag then.”
For a long few moments, all Ryan can do is blink. “…What?”
“If the ghost knows where you are now, shift into my bag, and then it’ll get confused, right? Like, two body heat signatures, it won’t know which one is you, and then it’ll get confused and give up or something.”
Ryan has no idea how that makes sense. He also hates that he is seriously contemplating it as a viable solution to his ‘I-might-be-having-a-fear-invoked-heart-attack’ problem. Because he knows- he knows that he likes Shane, and he knows that Shane, despite how annoying Ryan finds him a lot of the time, manages to calm him down quicker than anything or anyone else, and he also knows that he rarely feels calmer than when Shane rests a hand on his back, or bumps their shoulders together, or reaches out to gently touch his side through his sleeping bag when he’s freaking out in a haunted and/or possessed house. There’s just something about Shane’s presence that calms him, and seeing how his heart is quickly moving away from ‘I just went on a pleasant jog’ and is instead approaching ‘I don’t think organs should be able to move this fast’, he can’t deny that sharing a sleeping bag with Shane sounds like a pretty damn good idea.
So he sighs, and shrugs, and shifts his hand, and says, “Yeah, alright,” and hopes to God that it sounds casual, and not like he’s realising he’s going to be sharing a sleeping bag with his crush of almost a year, and makes to sit up.
And then the fucking floorboard creaks, because of course it does, and suddenly fear is growing roots out of Ryan’s veins and cementing him to the floor.
God fucking damn it.
Shane must hear his movement suddenly stop, because suddenly there’s another rustle from beside him. “Ry?” he hears Shane ask, “You alright? Just scoot over, shuffle in.”
“Can’t,” he manages to say.
“What?”
“I can’t- I can’t get out of my fucking sleeping bag, Shane. I’m not doing it.” It’s safe in the bag, or at least it feels that way, even if Ryan knows that a few thin layers of fabric isn’t going to deter any ghost worth its salt.
There’s a moment of silence, and then Shane speaks again.
“Alright,” he says, and that’s when Ryan hears the sound of a zip being pulled and more rustling, and looks over in time to watch Shane start to climb out of his sleeping bag.
Somehow, it’s even worse than the thought of leaving his own sleeping bag.
“Shane!” he says, and he’s scrambling now, this new fear cutting through his old fear and letting him sit upright, reaching across the space between them in some desperate attempt to force Shane back into his own sleeping bag because what if the ghost can sense movement. “Shane, dude, no, no no no, stay in your bag, I swear to God, if you get killed by this ghost I’ll never forgive myself, I swear, I-“
“Ryan,” Shane cuts in, and he’s actually laughing somehow, like all this is funny, or at least slightly amusing. “Chill out, it’s fine. Ghosts aren’t real, I’m gonna be fine. Lie back down and relax, alright?” Much to Ryan’s dismay he continues to climb out of his sleeping bag, ignoring Ryan’s semi-desperate flailing, and soon he’s standing in all his Sasquatch-ey height in the middle of the room, and Ryan can’t stop his eyes from flickering back over to the staircase.
The floorboards above them groan.
Ryan swears he sees a flicker of motion in the shadows.
He’s amazed he hasn’t actually given himself a heart attack yet.
“Shane,” he hisses, and glances over as Shane actually goddamn stretches, as if they have all the time in the world. “Shane,” he says again, more urgently, “Move. I- There’s- I saw movement, dude, I swear to God, please fucking hurry up and just get in a sleeping bag, I don’t care which one, just move.”
He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so certain that the sleeping bags will help this situation in any way, but he just is. It’s that childhood comfort coming back to him, the knowledge that the bogeyman under the bed will go away if he puts his head under the blankets.
He contemplates actually ducking down inside his sleeping bag, but doesn’t manage to get much further than contemplation because suddenly Shane is crouching by his side, tugging at the zipper to Ryan’s sleeping bag and shimmying his way in.
Ryan would be lying if he said that he didn’t immediately feel slightly comforted the second Shane’s body pressed up along his own.
It’s clear from the start that it’s going to be a tight fit to get both of them inside Ryan’s sleeping bag, and it’s a fact that only becomes clearer as Shane attempts to wriggle inside. He curses under his breath, reaching out to tug the zipper down further, and after a few long, rustle-filled moments he manages to fit inside, his chest flush to Ryan’s. He reaches an arm out, grabbing at the zipper tag, and only just manages to zip them both in.
It’s unbelievably warm.
“There,” Shane says, sounding much more awake and also much smugger than last time he spoke. “Problem solved. I haven’t been eaten by ghosts, you haven’t been eaten by ghosts, and now we can both get some sleep.”
“… Ghosts don’t eat people,” Ryan manages to say eventually. It’s a little… well, if he’s honest, the sleeping bag positioning they’ve found themselves in is actually a little awkward. Not because of anything- anything dirty (though Lord knows Ryan has had more than his fair share of frankly horribly filthy thoughts about his co-worker, but now is not the time to think about those and Shane is never going to find out about them if Ryan has anything to do with it), but just because, squidged into a single bag like this, they’re more or less eye-to-eye constantly whether they like it or not. Shane’s just right there, right in front of him, his nose almost bumping into Ryan’s with every slight motion of his head, and he can feel Shane’s breath against his cheek and frankly it’s just weird.
And thankfully, Shane seems to feel the same way, because the next words out of his mouth have nothing to do with whether ghosts can eat people or not. “This is weird,” he says, and Ryan smiles, just a little, because hearing those words fills him with a strange sense of relief.
“Yeah,” Ryan says, “I- I thought that too, but I just didn’t wanna say it, you know?”
“Oh, I know,” Shane replies, “We’re just- is this what sardines feel like? All packed in together.” He widens his eyes, and leans forwards the two millimetres needed for their noses to bump together. “I can see every little bit of your eyes.”
That’s bullshit, Ryan thinks. “That’s bullshit,” he says, “You don’t have your glasses on, and also I’m pretty sure human eyes can’t actually focus on something that close to them.”
Shane grins. “Yeah, it’s bull. I’m actually giving myself a headache staring into those pretty eyes of yours.” He leans back as much as he can, not seeming to notice Ryan’s faint blush. He’s not sure if it’s a compliment, or even an intended one, but Shane… Shane had definitely just called his eyes pretty.
(He really, really hopes this sleeping bag sharing doesn’t become awkward for the other reason.)
Shane, even if has noticed, doesn’t say anything about it. He sighs a little, glancing up at the ceiling, and then starts to unzip the sleeping bag again.
Ryan, for a moment, is utterly confused.
“You’re gonna have to scoot,” Shane says, once he’s unzipped the bag enough to fold a corner down, “I mean, I would, but if I shuffle any further down in this thing my feet are gonna stick out of the end. Shuffle yourself down and just- make yourself comfy. So that we’re not staring each other down for the rest of the night.”
Shane’s proposal makes a lot of sense, and Ryan doesn’t hesitate to comply. It’s still a bit awkward, shuffling down Shane’s long, lanky body to tuck his head against his shoulder, but he tries not to think about that and to instead think about the ghost that-
Oh, fuck.
The ghost.
He forgot about the fucking ghost.
And just like that, he feels his heart trip into overdrive.
How the fuck did he forget about the fucking ghost, the whole reason he’s now sharing a sleeping bag with Shane Madej? A few minutes ago he’d been absolutely certain they were going to be slaughtered in their sleep – or in his case, extremely awake state – by the angry ghost of the man who was killed in this very house, only a floor above them, and he’d been watching the stairs and listening for anything, any sign that the ghost was on the move, and then suddenly all that had flown out of his mind just because Shane fucking Madej decided that the best way to catch forty winks would be to cram his overly-lanky body into a sleeping bag with Ryan.
(I didn’t see you complaining about it when he offered, part of Ryan’s brain says, and he resolutely ignores it. He has a ghost to panic about).
He’s glad he doesn’t need an excuse to smush his face against Shane’s shoulder and chest – crammed together in the bag as they are it’s practically his natural state now, and Shane doesn’t really need to know how the faint scent of cologne that still clings to his skin calms Ryan’s heartrate down to something that’s closer to ‘just finished a marathon’ than ‘actual legitimate heart attack’. He presses in as close as he can, folding his arms up awkwardly in the space inside the bag, and curls his hands into fists.
His nails sting against his palms, but he can’t focus on that. Not when there’s another creak, and then another, and what sounds like the groan of long-rusted door hinges.
Oh, Christ.
“We’re gonna fucking die,” he whispers against Shane’s chest, “We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die.” His heart feels like it’s trying to beat fast enough to explode, and there’s no way that Shane can’t feel it. So long, post-marathon heartrate. Hello again, death from heart implosion. “We’re- Jesus fuck, dude, how are you so calm? We’re gonna fucking die, oh Jesus-“
“Ryan.”
“This is it,” he mutters to himself, and closes his eyes as hard as he can. He’s pretty certain now that his heart will kill him if the ghost doesn’t first, and honestly the thought doesn’t make him feel any better. It just makes him try to calm his heart down, which makes him try to stay still and silent, which makes him extra alert to any weird sounds the house or ghosts may make, which makes him freak out about the ghost more, which makes his heart speed up to even faster than it was before. “Fuck,” he mutters, with great feeling, “Fucking- fuck. Fuck!”
“Ryan!”
“We’re gonna die, Shane!”
“Ryan, dude, you’re- I need you to calm down, alright?” Not alright. Definitely not alright, because they’re going to die. “Ryan,” Shane says again, more forcefully, “You’re alright, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.” There’s the sound of faint rustling, and then Ryan flinches and nearly leaps out of his goddamn skin because something is lying over his back.
And then the thing moves, and he realises it’s Shane’s arm wrapping warm and close and snug around his shoulders, and he lets out a sigh of relief that he just knows Shane will be able to feel through his t-shirt.
“That’s it,” Shane says, and his arm starts moving, running up and down Ryan’s back in long, soothing strokes, “That’s it, Ry. Just breathe, alright? You’re gonna be fine. I won’t let any ghosts get to you.”
Ryan doesn’t know why, but it’s those last few words that really get him to start calming down – the thought of Shane caring about him enough to want to protect him against this thing he doesn’t even believe in, to want to soothe him and comfort him and make sure he doesn’t freak himself into an early grave, is… soothing, more than anything. It’s nice. It makes him feel small and safe and protected, and he sighs again, and tries to listen to the beat of Shane’s heart. He can hear it easily from where he is, with his head pressed flush to Shane’s chest – and he’s not sure when he slipped further down Shane’s body but it’s clear that he did – and it’s so steady and constant that he swears he feels his own heart start to try to beat in time, calming him down and pulling him back from the precipice of a full-blown panic-attack.
He breathes again, and then once more, and every time it becomes easier to pull air into his lungs. “There you go,” he hears Shane murmur, and he can feel it now, can feel the words echoing through him. He can feel them down to his bones. “There you go. You got this.” Slowly, tentatively, Ryan shifts inside the bag, reaching one arm out and uncurling his hand from its clenched fist to instead start to gently curl it into Shane’s t-shirt. He doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t know if he’s pushing this already strange situation. He really hopes he isn’t.
And it seems that Shane doesn’t think he is, because as soon as he notices what Ryan’s doing he gives a soft wheeze of laughter, and Ryan swears he feels Shane’s fingers running through his hair. “You can cuddle in, Ry, if that’s what you want,” Shane says, “Don’t worry about it. Whatever helps you calm down quickest, alright?”
“Yeah,” Ryan breathes. It’s about all he can think to say.
“Yeah,” Shane repeats, and Ryan’s definite that Shane is actually running his fingers through his hair now, and it helps more than he thought it would. Caught like this, between Shane’s body and Shane’s arm and Shane’s hand, enveloped in sleeping bag and warmth and Shane, and the smell of Shane’s cologne that still hasn’t worn off, he feels himself start to calm.
It’s slow, and gradual, but it’s definitely happening.
Shane keeps murmuring reassurances in his ear, and Ryan will never admit to anyone just how safe and protected they make him feel.
“You’re alright,” Shane says, all soft and warm like sunlight, “I’ve got you, buddy, you’re alright. You’re alright. Just keep breathing, okay? You’ve got this.” There’s a pause, and Ryan feels- well, he feels something press to the top of his head. It might be lips. It might, by some weird fucking turn of fate, be an actual tiny kiss that Shane Madej is pressing to the top of his head.
But that’s ridiculous, because Ryan’s pretty certain that Shane is as straight as they come, and he tries his best to dismiss the thought and instead focus on breathing again. He never thought he’d say this, but his crush can wait for now.
“Good,” Shane says from above him, and Ryan feels himself relax a little bit more. He shifts again, just a little, and lets his arm drape gently over Shane’s waist, caught between the warmth of Shane’s skin and the fabric of the sleeping bag. “Yeah, there you go. I told you you could cuddle in if you needed to, baby. No ghosties are gonna get you now.”
“… You sure?” Ryan asks. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as small and as timid as it does, but he can’t change that now. Shane, thankfully, doesn’t even seem to bat an eye.
“I’m sure,” he says, and Ryan is unspeakably grateful when Shane doesn’t start talking about how certain he is that ghosts aren’t real anyway. “Trust me. You trust me, right?”
“Yeah.” He does. It’s going to bite him in the ass one day, but he does, unquestioningly.
“Good. So trust me when I say I won’t let any ghosts get to you, okay? Not now. I’m gonna look after you.”
Ryan can’t help it – he smiles just a little when he hears Shane say that. I’m gonna look after you. God. He feels warm, warmer than even the sleeping bag and Shane’s closeness would warrant but it’s- it’s fine. It’s nice. It’s a warmth born of safety, of security, of knowing that when Shane says he’s going to look after Ryan that he means it, through and through, no questions asked.
“Okay,” he says softly, and feels Shane’s fingers start combing through his hair again, slow and gentle.
“Okay,” Shane echoes back, and Ryan can hear Shane’s faint smile.
They both lapse into silence and, wonderfully, Ryan doesn’t think about the ghost any more.
Minutes pass.
There’s no more creaks, no more groans of tortured floorboards. Ryan, safe and warm and comfortable in Shane’s grasp lets his eyes close. It’s nice, being held like this; it’s so much easier to keep his mind off of what may dwell upstairs and focus instead on how soft Shane’s t-shirt is, how warm the sleeping bag is now that Shane’s in it. Ryan sighs a little, and feels his breaths slow. God, he’s tired. He’s so tired, worn out by fear and terror and his own goddamn heart trying to kill him, and now he’s so ready for sleep.
“…Ryan?”
Ryan doesn’t respond. He’s determined to sleep, and he can already feel slumber flitting feather-soft around his mind.
“…Ryan.” It’s not a question this time, isn’t a request for him to wake up or a gentle check to see if he is awake. “I’ve got you,” Shane says, and it’s more of a whisper now. Ryan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stir, just lets himself continue drifting towards sleep. There’s a small motion, and he thinks he feels lips press to the top of his head again. “I’ve always got you, Ry. God, I hope you know that.”
That… somehow, that sounds like more than just comfort.
There’s a soft huff of laughter from somewhere above him.
“I wish you weren’t asleep right now.” He- what? Ryan doesn’t frown, but it’s a near thing. “It was nice when you were all cuddly. Made me feel like this could, y’know, actually be a thing.” This is- Ryan shouldn’t be hearing this. He’s not meant to hear this. He knows that, but he can’t stop himself from listening. Because it sounds, absurdly, like Shane might actually feel the same way he does.
He feels fingers scratch lightly through his hair, and feels a soft kiss being dropped to his forehead. Shane sighs, and his breath is warm against Ryan’s skin. “Alright,” he says, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself now, “Alright, Shane, that’s enough. Let him sleep. You can- you can talk in the morning.”
And with that, Shane falls silent, and Ryan hears the distinctive pattern of his sleeping breaths a few moments later. Even now, it seems, he can still fall asleep within moments, leaving Ryan awake to mull over his words.
Talk in the morning? he thinks, and smiles to himself. He shuffles a little in the sleeping bag, tucks himself in closer, and feels Shane’s arm shift slightly on his back. Yeah, they can definitely talk in the morning, because if this is what he thinks, what he hopes, what he prays it is, then Ryan-
Ryan…
Ryan is going to wish he convinced Shane to climb into his sleeping bag earlier.
He shuts his eyes, tilts his head into a more comfortable position, and lets sleep start brushing in around his mind.
Maybe the ghost wasn’t so bad after all.