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“Ryan, we need to talk.”
Ryan’s stomach falls. No good conversation has ever started with those words.
He tries to play it cool, shrugging his headphones off and leaning back in his chair before he remembers Roland broke this one last week and catches himself on the kitchen counter. “‘Sup?”
Steven eyes the precarious chair situation, but doesn’t comment. “How serious about this are you? About Watcher?”
“Uh, extremely? I mean, I quit my job and I’m pouring all my money into it, so…”
“So, you want it to succeed, correct?”
“Yeah? Why are you even asking that?”
“Because if we want this to happen, I think we might have to make some changes. Adjustments.”
“Like what?”
Steven folds his hands together, his eyes peering into Ryan’s own. He gets like this, intense and serious, and it always reminds Ryan of being in a parent-teacher conference. “Like Shane.”
Ryan barks out a shocked laugh. “What? What about him?”
“I know he’s your friend, I know we need him for the fan appeal. But I don’t know if we should sign the paperwork with him.”
“What are you talking about, dude? It’s the three of us, we all shook on it a month ago! His BuzzFeed contract is up in two weeks! This is the plan!” Ryan explains, exasperated. “If you don’t like him, you should have told me when we started talking about this!”
“I do like him!” Steven’s quick to reply. “I promise, I do. This isn’t personal. It’s just,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “He’s not good at this.”
“I mean, are any of us? None of us went to business school.”
“No,” he concedes. “But Shane is…extra not good at it. Every time we ask him for input, he has no opinion, no ideas beyond redoing Ruining History with…puppets? And he keeps delegating all the big scary decisions to us. That doesn’t make him a bad person, but it certainly makes him a bad business person. And we are, well, trying to start a business.”
Steven isn’t wrong. Shane does seem particularly ill-suited for the stressful life of being a small business owner. But he’s Shane.
“Okay, but what are we going to do without him? He’s why Unsolved got so huge, we’re kind of a package deal.”
“Selling yourself short there, I think,” Steven points out. “And I’m not saying he can’t be on the channel. I just think he shouldn’t be an owner with us.”
Ryan sits with that for a while. He pictures it, Shane as a co-star and occasional creator, able to hop in as needed with creative work, but without any of the larger responsibilities. Ryan knows Shane well enough to realize that is the perfect role for him. To be the ever loyal sidekick, the Watson to his Holmes. It would allow him the freedom to pursue his own endeavors, writing weird little songs about food people, fiddle with Premier for hours on end to get just the right kind of animation, and all the other things his strange brain loves to do. It really is exactly what Shane would want.
But it’s not what Ryan wants.
“No,” Ryan finally says, fighting back tears he doesn’t even understand. “No. Shane’s—we need him.”
Steven studies him for a moment before rapping his knuckles against the table. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Steven, if you’re not sure about him—,”
“You are,” he interrupts. “That’s enough for me.”
Relief washes over Ryan like a warm shower. “Yeah?”
“Yup,” Steven assures him before burying his face in his laptop again.
That’s the end of it. Weeks later, they sign the document that will tie the three of them together for life, or at least as long as Watcher survives. Shane scribbles his name last, with a little flourish on the “j” in his name.
As their little company grows in fits and starts, Ryan often thinks of what Steven asked him all those months ago. Shane really is not great at being a businessman. He’s not a workaholic like Steven or a perfectionist in the way Ryan is. He insists on a work-life balance that Ryan admires, but feels incompatible with the career they’ve chosen. Not for the first time, Ryan doesn’t understand him.
But as much as Shane clearly struggles with being the co-founder of a media company, he doesn’t go anywhere. He never even jokes about it. He’s there, through the highs of posting the first episode of Puppet History to the extreme lows of March 2020 and beyond. There are days when Ryan thinks he can’t do this, is sure this company is going to fail and he’s going to ruin the lives of their employees and disappoint all the people who gave him a chance. He’s going to have to move back in with his parents, he’s going to lose every inch the world gave him. He’s going to have to fight for it, all over again.
And then Shane sends him a video of animals farting and Ryan remembers how to breathe. He can do this.
And they do. They survive and sometimes even thrive. It’s never easy, but it gets easier. They close the book on the show that made them famous and immediately start a new one, despite the cost. And it costs a lot. So much that the sleepless nights are back, as Ryan thinks of all the ways this isn’t going to work, of how many people depend on him to make this show better than the last. Because if it isn’t, then the whole ship goes down. And he’s the captain.
When Shane lies about where he hides the walkie in Waverly Hills Sanatorium, Ryan is ready to kill him. At the time he’s just mad that he has to walk around the worst fucking place on earth for an extra long time, but the more he stews on it, the more pissed he gets. Ryan has trusted Shane with so much over the years and he’s never shown Ryan the same amount of respect. He never takes responsibility for anything, so he can shit all over the rules that Ryan and others have meticulously written. If Ghost Files fails, it won’t be Shane’s fault. If Watcher fails, it won’t be Shane’s fault. It can’t be if you force Ryan and Steven to take control of everything. He can sit back with his stupid puppets and let everyone else do all the dirty work.
Maybe Steven had been right. Steven usually was about these things.
Ryan is ready to tell him all of this, to start a fight because he needs Shane to fight for it, when a burrito is sat in front of him.
“Where’d this come from?”
“Place down the street,” Shane says as he sets a LaCroix next to the burrito.
“Oh, uh, why?”
Shane’s eyebrows disappear behind his hair. “Because it’s 2pm and you haven’t eaten.”
Ryan blinks, checking the time on his screen. Huh. “Shit, I didn’t realize.”
“I know,” Shane says with a smile. “Hey, what’s this meeting you added for us at the end of the day?”
“It’s—it’s nothing. Misclicked.”
Shane remains a mystery, a file that Ryan can never quite close. Everything about him is inexplicable, from his refusal to have a group dinner together on a Ghost Files shoot to having a toxic relationship with a grocery store. Ryan is never more confused by him than when they shoot Making Watcher. It feels like it physically pains Shane to be there, to talk about the company they’ve done so much for. Why does he hate something he helped bring into the world?
“Why are you here?” Ryan asks him after they’ve shot their final interviews for the day. Carter is asking Steven about the decision to move offices, so that will take a while.
“Like, on Earth? Well, Ryan, when Mark and Sherry Madej love each other very much…,”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“Why are you here?” Ryan repeats, waving to the office around them. “At Watcher.”
“Well, when three coworkers hate their corporate overlords very much…”
Ryan shoves at Shane’s chair with his foot. “I’m serious.”
Shane shrugs. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You asked me to start a company with you and Steven and I said yes.”
“Yeah, but why?”
“Because it was better than the alternative of staying at BuzzFeed?”
“Sure, but you didn’t have to do this. You could have done other jobs. Why this one?”
“Because I like making videos?” Shane says, obviously flustered. “Is…is that not apparent?”
“Actually, it’s not. That was like pulling teeth in there,” Ryan says, pointing to the room where they shot Making Watcher.
“Oh, you know me, I hate that kind of gooey sentimental stuff.”
“You actually don’t, though. You cry just talking about It’s A Wonderful Life,” Ryan points out. “But you do hate ghost hunting. Not making Ghost Files, but the actual part of ghost hunting, you hate it. Along with ranking things, listening to creepypastas, directing a show that, god forbid, is anything besides a puppet theater. You hate making unilateral decisions and leading and everything else that bosses are supposed to do. Half the time you act like you don’t give a shit. So, yeah, Shane, explain to me why you’re here. Because I don’t get it.”
Shane doesn’t look at him. He says nothing for long enough that Ryan’s worry climbs up his throat until he can feel it in his teeth.
“Have you ever seen a cheetah at a zoo?” Shane finally says. It’s such a non-sequitur that Ryan forgets to be annoyed about it.
“What?”
“Cheetahs, at zoos. They’re not really meant to be there, they’re not good at being contained. They get too anxious to even breed, which is half the reason zoos have them in the first place.”
“Too nervous to nut, huh? Bummer.”
Shane ignores that. “But some zoo figured out that if you put a dog in with the cheetahs, they do much better. The dogs aren’t natural predators or prey, so they just hang out together.”
“Oh, that’s pretty cute, as long as the cheetahs don’t rip the dog’s head off. Can you imagine seeing that at a zoo? Fucking horrifying.”
“But that doesn’t happen. The dogs and the cheetahs get along great, to the point that zoos now raise cheetah kittens and puppies together so they bond early.”
“That’s nice. Weird for the dogs, though. They’ve gotta be so confused why they’re in a cheetah enclosure and not, like, someone’s living room.”
“They have everything they need and they get to hang out with their best pal all the time,” Shane says, finally meeting Ryan’s eyes. “Sounds like the dream to me.”
It finally clicks. Jesus, this man can never just say what he means, can he? Fine, two can play that game. “But don’t the cheetahs worry that the dogs aren’t happy?”
“I think the cheetahs have enough to worry about,” Shane says softly.
“I think you don’t know what cheetahs actually worry about.”
“And I think you’re not listening to me,” Shane says, hooking his foot underneath Ryan’s chair. “The dogs are exactly where they want to be. It’s mutually beneficial.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” Ryan mumbles. “It feels like the cheetah gets all the benefits while the dog is just forced into this support animal role he never asked for.”
Ryan’s chair jerks forward until his knees hit Shane’s. Shane’s staring at him with an intensity Ryan’s rarely seen, his eyes dark and serious.
“The dog doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t hate any part of it. He loves it, even the parts that are hard, because he gets to do it with you.” He stutters on the “you” and pauses to swallow. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Ryan can’t help but smile. “There, was that so hard?”
Shane shoves Ryan’s chair away from him again. “It was, actually.”
Cackling, Ryan grabs Shane’s chair this time and pulls him in close. “You’re so bad at this, it’s kind of amazing.”
“I’m actually really good at this, you’re just very bad at recognizing it. Jesus, do you really think I hate my job?”
“I mean, you do talk about how boring ghost hunting is all the time.”
“Because it is boring. Except for the parts where I get to hang out with you.”
“But that’s most of it.”
“Exactly.”
Ryan shakes his head. “I will never, ever understand you.”
“I’m easy, baby. You’re just speaking a different language.”
Their hands are linked together. Ryan’s not sure when that happened. He squeezes his fingers around Shane’s. “Then translate for me.”
“It’s more fun to watch you try and figure it out,” Shane grins, that ever-present playful glint in his eye.
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I know. It’s my love language,” Ryan says before making a purposefully very stupid face.
Shane laughs like Ryan knew he would. “Do the weird giggle.”
Ryan does and Shane laughs harder, holding Ryan’s hand against his chest. Ryan is overcome with a need, but this isn’t the place. Well, it could be the place, but not the time. Their employees are in the next room and cameras are rolling.
He stands and pulls Shane into the nearest empty room. It’s the podcast room, dark except for the logo softly illuminating the furniture. Ryan locks the door and then pushes Shane up against it.
“I’m not too nervous to nut,” he says because Ryan’s brain is a nightmare place.
“That’s–that’s good to know,” Shane laughs, shaking his head.
“So, are you just going to stand there or—?”
“Uh, what?”
“You’re gonna take the lead, big boy. Be the boss for once.”
“See, annoying, like I said.”
“Shane.”
“Fine.”
A hand cradles the back of Ryan’s head as their lips meet. It’s nice, the way Shane slides their mouths together. Pretty good as far as first kisses go, soft and sweet.
Ryan’s never been one for sweets, though.
He all but picks Shane up and drops him onto the couch. Shane flails, stuttering like Jimmy Stewart, until Ryan climbs on top of him, thoroughly shutting him up. He kisses Shane with years of pent-up frustration, restless for this energy to go somewhere, anywhere. Every nip, every grind, every squeeze is an attempt to show him how much Ryan wants this, wants him. The hardness against Ryan’s thigh tells him it’s working, but Shane pulls away anyway.
Typical.
“Wait, stop,” Shane says, pulling himself up to a sitting position. His hair is going in thirty different directions and Ryan wants him to shut up so he can make it thirty-one.
“The door’s locked, we’re fine.”
“It’s not that. I mean, we really shouldn’t do this here, but it’s not that.” Shane glances up at the Watcher sign, the soft white light illuminating his profile. “Do you really think I don’t give a shit—that I don’t care about this place?”
“I know you care,” Ryan says truthfully. “But you don’t care as much as me and Steven do. And that’s okay, really, but I guess the disparity gets to me sometimes.”
“You really think that of me?” he asks, his voice smaller than a mouse.
“I mean, it’s true, isn’t it? And like I said, it’s okay, I get it. Really,” Ryan reassures him with a gentle palm on Shane’s cheek.
Shane turns away. “No, it’s not.”
“It’s not okay or it’s not true?”
“Not true.” Shane sniffs and Ryan pretends not to notice. “Do you know why I hate doing Making Watcher so much?”
Ryan fights down the urge to make a joke. “Why?”
“Because it’s not for them.” Their hands find each other again, Ryan’s thumb sweeping over Shane’s. “They have so much of us, I can’t give them more.”
Shane’s always had a different relationship with their fame than Ryan has. It gets to him in ways that it doesn’t to Ryan, but he always chalked that up to their extrovert/introvert differences. Ryan’s finally beginning to see there’s more to it than that.
Shane’s obsession with being small isn’t just about his size.
“That’s okay,” Ryan says, just above a whisper. “It can be just for you. For us.”
Shane curls himself into Ryan, his face pressed heavy against Ryan’s neck. Ryan holds him tightly as his own emotions bubble to the surface. This is why he’s here. It’s why they’re both here, crammed together on a couch in a dark podcast studio. It’s always been about each other.
“I think I’m in love with you,” Ryan says because, again, nightmare brain.
He expects stunned silence or another stuttering mess, but Shane surprises him. He lifts his head, a grin across his face.
“Yeah, I got that.”
“That’s your response?!”
“I mean, yes? What else do you want from me?”
“Really?” Ryan rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, you’re annoying.”
“And you’re insufferable.” Shane kisses the pout off Ryan’s lip. “I love you too, bee-tee-dubs.”
“Was that so hard?”
Shane palms Ryan’s crotch without hesitation. “Hm, could be harder, but I can work with it.”
“Fucking hell, dude,” Ryan gasps.
“Still not too nervous to nut, I hope?”
Ryan grins as he pushes Shane back down on the couch. “Let’s find out.”