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It’s been several minutes since Josh dropped his chin on Chris’ shoulder, and now it’s seriously digging in.
“Not helping, dude,” Chris gripes. “Just give me a minute and then you can watch, okay?”
“Who says it’s the video I wanna watch so bad?”
Heat creeps up Chris’ neck, and Josh pulls away with a snicker. He lives for this shit: pushing Chris’ buttons, unrelenting until he gets a laugh or a scare or—nightmare of all nightmares—a blush. Fuck this guy. Chris doesn’t keep any kind of score, as the damage to his already delicate self-esteem would likely be irreparable, but if he did, he imagines it would look something like:
Chris: 12
Josh: 546
And that’s a conservative estimate.
“Don’t be a dick,” Chris chides, as though that’s ever worked in the decade-plus they’ve known each other. “Here.”
Satisfied with his work—or satisfied enough, at least, to let another person look—he tugs off his headphones and powers them down. As he skips back to the beginning of the timeline, he runs a hand through his hair, working some life back into the strands that have been flattened like a pancake.
“Your locks are fine, princess,” Josh says.
“Would you watch the goddamn thing?”
“Alright, sheesh. Testy.”
Chris presses play, and they settle in to watch the teaser he’s spent the morning laboriously crafting from Jess and Emily’s last batch of footage. Rather, Josh watches the teaser. Chris, the biggest hypocrite who’s ever walked the earth, watches Josh watch the teaser.
Chris has always been a behind-the-scenes kind of guy, never wanting nor particularly needing the kind of attention Josh craves. It’s why (well, partly why) he agreed to this arrangement, but Josh has an irrepressible habit of name-dropping Chris at every given opportunity. Of roping him into commentary with a pointed, “You seeing this, Cochise?” Any viewer who’s watched more than a handful of their videos knows Chris, even if they’ve only heard his voice off-camera.
They know he’s Gore Galore’s editor too. “The one and only,” Josh boasts, as though he scored someone with actual skills and not his best friend who had nothing better going on and a debilitating weakness for Dumb Shit Josh Washington Asks Me to Do. It works well enough, though. The audience seems to like him, if the plethora of comments praising his editing—and yes, the occasional appreciation of his jokes—are any indication. Chris may not have asked for the ego boost, but he’s as susceptible to the positive attention of online strangers as the next guy.
What he really cares about, though—what he’d trade thousands of those comments for, if he had to choose—is this.
Josh leans forward, the way he always does when he’s paying close attention (and electing to ignore Chris’ warnings that he’s going to be hunched by the time he’s forty). He props his chin in his hand and trains his eyes on the screen with that razor-sharp intensity of his, the kind most people find off-putting when they’re on the receiving end of it. The video is barely more than a minute long, but Josh manages to squeeze in an impressive amount of verbal reaction: uh-huh and nice and yup, yup. If they weren’t already keeping so many plates in the air on this channel, Chris might suggest a Josh Reacts segment. Surely someone out there would enjoy this as much as Chris does.
When the video ends on Jess and Emily unearthing the skeletal arm inside the wall, Josh positively howls.
“Oh, hell yeah. Fuck yeah. I mean, may their soul rest in peace, yada yada yada, but Jesus H. Christ. We couldn’t have asked for anything better, huh? And you—” Josh points a finger at him. “You have made some masterful shit, my man.”
You couldn’t pay Chris to keep the proud smirk off his face at this precise moment, but he does his best to retain a shred of modesty.
“Well, it’s easier when you have killer material. If you’ll pardon the expression.”
Josh claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’re selling yourself short, bro.”
“And you’re doing a number on this shoulder today.”
“Sorry,” Josh says, not sounding sorry at all. He squeezes once and gets to his feet. “Now toss that up and come hang with me. We’re supposed to be on break.”
Whoops. Maybe Chris should’ve been paying attention after all.
“Gimme a few. I need to run through it again.”
“Run through… We just watched it. What d’you need to do it again for?”
“My anxiety,” Chris lies.
It’s a believable lie, so Josh just sighs and waves him off. “Alright, fine. But if you’re not out here in twenty, I’m dragging you out. Got it?”
“Yes, boss.”
***
Chris is eating shit.
They lounge on the couch in the Washingtons’ living room. It’s an obscenely large couch for a family of five (though it feels like four, considering Mr. Washington never seems to be home long enough to sit in it), and it looks even sillier when it’s just Chris and Josh side by side. Mounted to the opposite wall is a slick 75-inch TV that definitely cost more than Chris’ run-down car, and on it is the stomach-turning violence of Mortal Kombat 1.
Josh is a huge Mortal Kombat fan (see: stomach-turning violence), but Chris is the video game guy. They’re his thing, and he’ll admit without a trace of self-doubt that he’s pretty damn good at them. It’s why Josh keeps him in such close proximity during these matches; sometimes a well-timed kick to the shin is the only way for him to get a leg up, and he isn’t afraid to play dirty.
Today he doesn’t need to. The first time he beats Chris, he’s over the moon, leaping to his feet and whooping so loudly that his mom yells a warning from the other room. He gets a congratulatory beer for himself and a consolatory beer for Chris, and his excitement is palpable enough to make Chris swallow his comment that it’s barely past noon.
The second time, Josh manages to stay in his seat, but he’s no less thrilled.
“Once could be a fluke, but twice? Twice? I’m coming for your ass, Chris.”
“I’m off my game today.”
“Maybe. Or maybe my game is just superior to your game. The student becomes the master and all.”
The third time, Josh's mouth turns down at the corners.
“Okay, you’re eating serious shit, dude. I know I’m not this good, and yes, I know you sometimes let me win when I’m getting pissy, so don’t try that with me either. I can tell the difference.”
He pops out of the game and sets his controller down. Chris does the same.
“Sorry,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just tired, I think.”
“Yeah, no shit. Your eyebags are like—well, they’re not as bad as mine yet, but a couple more days and they might be. And the ladies, you know, they love me for my sleep-deprived swag, so you can’t be giving me a run for my money like this. I won’t stand for it.”
Chris exhales a weary laugh. He wishes he could blame the channel. It has been doing especially well lately, and this “break” they’re on is more for Josh than it is for him. Chris is still editing, and still acting as the point person for comments and socials. It’s a lot, but normally he’s doing this while they’re filming, and often while they’re filming and traveling. Busy as he may be, he should be more rested than usual, not less.
He doesn’t know where else to place the blame though, and it’s much easier to make flippant comments about bodies in walls than to dig up the truth.
“Shit. Well. I don’t want to infringe on your territory, so I’ll make sure I get my beauty sleep tonight.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Chris vows. “No later than ten.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Pinky promise.”
“Chris.” Josh’s voice is hard and evidently louder than he intended it to be. He lowers it and adds, “Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?”
“Oh my god, dude. You think I, a master of deflection, don’t know one when I see one? Fuck off. I was trying to be chill about it, but if you won’t take the bait then I’ll just ask straight up. What’s bugging you?”
A lightbulb sparks in Chris’ mind. “Hold up. So you agree it’s annoying when you’re trying to help someone and they put up a wall for no reason?”
Josh’s mouth opens and closes, and Chris revels in the rare point for him. It’s not much, but he’ll take what he can get.
“First of all,” Josh starts, “this ain’t about me. Second of all, it’s for a lot of reasons, which I explore on Tuesdays and Fridays from four to five pm. Right now, I’m off the fuckin’ clock. This is a No Josh Problems zone. So lay it on me, bro.”
“I…” Chris falters. “It’s stupid.”
“Not if it’s keeping you up at night. C’mon, man.” Josh knocks his knee against Chris’ leg. “How many times have you been here when it’s the other way ’round? You’re way overdue to cash this check.”
Josh isn’t wrong. Chris has been on the receiving end of countless sleepover invitations. Some are genuine, just-wanna-hang invites—Josh pulls strings with his film industry friends to score a copy of a new movie, and they make a night of it, camping out in the Washingtons’ theater room with more snacks than they can reasonably handle. Or a new game drops and they just know they’ll be up till three in the morning, so they don’t even try to resist.
Other times, Josh’s texts read like bizarre sales advertisements for an insomnia buddy.
pizza with your choice of toppings if you sleep over tonight.
i will buy you the most expennnsive alcohol on earth if you’re here by 8.
cancel your plans for the night and you will gain my undying love and devotion. +2 bags potato chip
It’s strange for Chris to feel like he’s being bribed, but it’s preferable to the third—and by far worst—kind of invite. The kind where Josh abandons all pretense and simply says sleep over? Once Chris wasn’t even asked—just told to stay over tonight, followed by a delayed please.
So this wouldn’t be their first or tenth or even fiftieth rodeo, but still—
“You don’t owe me a debt for that,” Chris says.
“I know I don’t. I’m just offering. But I’m not gonna force you or anything. God knows I get it if you don’t wanna talk about—”
“It’s the videos.”
A beat of silence. Then: “We run a YouTube channel, Cochise. You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”
“Jess and Em’s videos, you dick. Jeez.”
“They’re unbelievable, huh?”
Josh says it with something like wonder, and Chris is pretty sure he’s barking up the wrong tree here, but there’s no harm in being absolutely sure. In fact, he has to be absolutely sure. His gaze slides to Josh.
“Yeah. They do seem literally unbelievable, don’t they.”
Josh’s brow furrows. “What do you— Oh. Oh. You think I—” He barks a laugh. “Shit, I’d be insulted if I weren’t so flattered. You really think me capable of such things?”
“You’re capable of a lot.”
That truth runs deeper than Chris lets on. He may have agreed to be Josh’s partner-in-crime on this YouTube venture, but he didn’t think it’d be anything more than a bit of fun and an excuse to spend even more time together. Now it’s a capital-T thing, with subscribers and influence and money, and it’s all down to Josh being far more capable than most people give him credit for.
But when Josh cocks his head and asks, “Was that derogatory or affectionate?” Chris snorts a laugh.
“Both. It just— It seemed weird that we spent so long looking for this stuff and got nothing. Not that we didn’t hit up some cool places, but we literally begged the devil to hang at the crossroads, and the scariest thing that happened that night was a possum trying to steal our food. All those videos and we didn’t get so much as a debatable apparition, let alone the fuckin’ Mothman.”
“Maybe the Mothman knew you weren’t ready for him.”
“Oh, it’s my fault?” Chris balks. “Maybe he was thinking about it, but then you came on too strong. Ever thought about that?”
“Actually, I was told I’d benefit from placing less blame on myself, so I’ve been assuming everything’s your fault for, like, months.”
“Not sure how that’s different from the last ten years, but listen— You get what I’m saying, right? I mean, what are the chances Em and Jess get a hit on their first try, and then score even better on their second? Rest in peace, et cetera, et cetera,” Chris adds hastily. “It made me wonder if…maybe you…”
“I’d love to take credit for this, man, I really would. But it’s not me. Honest. And you know why you can trust me on that?”
“Uh, because you’re my best friend and you shouldn’t lie to me?”
“Nice try,” Josh says. “Nah, it’s because if it were me, you know who my first target would be.”
He casts a meaningful look at Chris, and Chris doesn’t know which of them is the more fucked up party in this situation: Josh for delighting in the prospect of traumatizing him, or Chris for being lowkey flattered that Josh would choose him over anyone else.
“You’re a real charmer, you know that?”
“Hey, you can’t deny it’s the perfect setup. You, the skeptic who doesn’t believe in anything logic can’t explain, finally faced with the unexplainable. I’d plan everything out, of course, but I’d let somebody else flip the switches, so you’d never suspect it was me…” Josh trails off, relishing in the scenario playing out in his mind. “Fuck. Why didn’t I do that?”
“Honestly, dude? I kinda wish you did. To them, I mean. Not because I want them to be freaked out for no reason, but because I wanna be freaked out for no reason. Trust me when I say I’d rather we all face a little ribbing for falling for your bullshit than…the alternative.”
Chris rubs his eyes. They burn from lack of sleep, but the press of his fingers provides momentary relief. He presumes Josh has only quieted because he’s still lost in his twisted little fantasy, so it comes as a surprise when he asks, “D’you think it’s Emily?”
“Mmm, I thought about that. You two do have a weird…frenemies thing going on, and I’m sure she wasn’t thrilled you asked her to do this. But if she is responsible—if she’s got someone doctoring their footage before it goes in the Dropbox—then they’re doing quick work on it. It’s not impossible, but damn near it. Also, I don’t think Jess is that good of an actress. And I know she’s a bad liar.”
“Even worse than you.”
Chris lays a hand on his heart. “Ouch.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Nah, but you shouldn’t say it.”
“Never stopped me before.”
“That’s not a good thing, Josh.”
“Plus,” Josh says, pointedly ignoring Chris’ last words, “I gave them a very clear set of rules, and trying to pull one over on us is in direct violation of rule number two.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Now, now. I haven’t broken a single channel rule, not once. They’re serious. Sacred, even.”
It’s true that Josh hasn’t violated any rules—yet, and that’s only as far as Chris is aware—but the self-serious tone with which he proclaims his innocence has Chris rolling his eyes.
“Sure. You just break everyone else’s rules.”
“Less important rules, let’s say.”
Chris gives a rueful shake of his head. Josh could argue these semantics all fucking day, if Chris allowed it, but now that he’s gotten the ball rolling on his confessional, he finds it hard to stop.
“I keep watching them, man,” he admits. “And when I’m not watching them, I can’t get them out of my head. Those people’s eyes. That girl’s mouth.” He flexes his own jaw, grateful to find it properly hinged. That one’s been a staple of his dreams the past few nights.
“Now the window,” Chris continues. “Jeez, this freakin’ clip, I’ve watched it so many times. Forward and backward and slowed down and— Nothing goes through that glass. It just shatters. On its own. Somehow. If—if it’s not you, and it’s not some rando Em’s hired to mess with you, then…I don’t know what it is. And that changes everything. Just—like—everything I thought I understood. About the whole fucking world.”
The dam that’s been keeping this at bay finally breaks. Anxieties—real ones, not the one he fibbed earlier—crash over him. He drops his head into his hands.
“Okay, so you’re existential crisis-ing.” Josh says it like it’s no big deal. “That’s a totally normal reaction to have to all this.”
Chris uncovers his face and turns to Josh. “Is it? Because you’ve been, like, actually normal—”
“Chris, I don’t think I’ve been ‘actually normal’ a day in my life.”
“Fine, you’ve been Josh Normal. TM, all rights reserved, blah blah blah. And don’t tell me it’s because you always knew the truth was out there or what-the-fuck-ever. You never bought the shit you sold.”
Josh shifts away, working his jaw. He thinks long and hard, and Chris wonders which flavor of nah, this stuff is real, I swear he’ll be served this time. At this point, he’s pretty sure he’s tried them all.
“I wanted to.”
It’s a miracle—or it would be, if Chris believed in such things—that he isn’t knocked back by the sheer force of his shock.
“Ha!” He jabs a finger at Josh. “I knew it! I knew you were bullshitting for the camera. Man, I tried to make you break so many times—”
“It wasn’t for the camera.”
“Ba-loney, dude. I’m not sure anyone loves putting on a good show more than you, and skeptic-and-believer? You said it yourself—that’s classic.”
“’Course, but what I’m saying is, I woulda done it even if we weren’t rolling.”
“And why’s that?” Chris dares to ask.
A grin unfurls across Josh’s face. Not just any grin, but the grin, sharp and flashing a hint of teeth. It’s the one that gets him into shit and back out of it again. The one that makes Sam groan, makes Emily say “no” without waiting to hear what comes out of his mouth, makes Matt duck for cover.
The one Chris finds way, way more charming than he has any right to.
“Because,” Josh drawls, “I like messing with you.”
The past week has served up plenty of things for Chris to work on, and not just run-of-the-mill things like videos to edit and comments to trawl through. Deal with a fundamental shift in the world as you know it. Pray your friends don’t perish in a series of strange, unexplainable events. Now, to top it all off: Please, for the love of God (whom Chris, for the record, also doesn’t believe in), stop feeling like a special little snowflake when your best friend says shit like this.
“Yeah, I think I’m starting to realize how deep that vein runs,” says Chris, playing it off as best he can. “Little scary.”
Josh shrugs like it’s far from the worst thing he could be.
“Let’s say this is legit then,” Chris continues. “It’s all real, and we’re totally cool and not freaking out about it. Now—”
“Wow, you’ve got ‘existential crisis’ on your list and then some?”
“Yes, Josh. I’m a worrier. World-class. Catch me juggling, like, a dozen at any given time.”
“Impressive. You want my therapist’s number, or…?”
Chris pauses at this surprisingly not-terrible idea. “Maybe later,” he decides. “Just think about it for a second. If this is real, then it’s dangerous. And not ‘this building’s structural integrity is a little suspect’ dangerous. Seriously dangerous. We don’t know what doors we’re opening. We don’t know what’s on the other side. We don’t know what could happen to us.”
One by one he counts these risks on his fingers, and bit by bit Josh’s expression brightens, like a sunrise blooming over the horizon. Dread pools in the pit of Chris’ gut.
“And that excites you, doesn’t it.”
Josh turns his hands palms up. “Oops?”
“God, you’re so…”
Chris fails to find the appropriate word. This is exactly what he feared most. The unknown was scary, sure, but even more frightening was the thought of Josh diving in headfirst, consequences be damned.
“Look,” says Josh, “if it makes you feel any better, the girls don’t have to keep doing this. This is way more than they bargained for, so if they wanna bail, I won’t hold it against them.” He pauses, then adds, “And I won’t hold it against you either. Scout’s honor. No jokes, no shit-talking. You can just walk out the door—”
“Wait,” Chris cuts in. “Me?”
“Yeah? Sorry, did you not just barf your panic all over me? If you’re looking for an out, here it is. Want me to get a silver platter from the china cabinet and hand it to you on that?”
“No, I— I’m not trying to cut and run here.”
“This is a vent session then? Cool if it is, I’m just—”
“I track the hashtag, Josh. I know you do too. They want an Avengers-style team-up. With all of us. As much as I hate to say it, I gotta admit there’s a real chance we could encounter something…well… real. The girls could bail, and I could bail, but you—” Chris sighs. “You would go. And not just because your subscribers want you to. Hell, you’d probably go even if they didn’t want you to.”
“I mean…guilty as charged.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Oh.” Josh blinks in surprise. “Damn, dude. You’re losing sleep over little old me?”
If Chris doesn’t think about the fact that his cheeks feel like they’ve been set aflame, then they simply are not burning, and that’s that.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head. You never know what’s good for you, so…y’know…somebody’s gotta try and rein you in.”
He peers at Josh, trying to gauge the impression he’s left. Josh still appears a bit blindsided, but Chris doesn’t detect a hint of the trepidation he hoped to instill.
“I, uh… I gather it’s not working though.”
Josh offers a small, apologetic smile. “I’m touched, Cochise. For real. But nah, not this time.”
He’s resolute in this; it’s in the set of his jaw, the determination lighting his eyes. Chris accepts this—has no choice but to accept it. He’s not sure he feels any better about the situation itself, but if nothing else, he feels marginally less shitty for having hashed it out. For knowing where they both stand, and for having a clear path forward.
He nods. “Alright. So we go then.”
“I meant what I said. You don’t have to—”
“No. Nope. You go, I go. That’s it. End of story.”
Josh drapes an arm over Chris’ shoulder. “Shucks. You mean that?”
From the bottom of his heart, unfortunately, but it’s more that it’s a simple fact of life. The Earth orbits the sun, and Chris Hartley orbits Josh Washington. Chris-and-Josh, not Chris and Josh. Clearly the universe isn’t as black and white as Chris thought it was, but if he’s sure of anything, it’s that they’re a package deal, no exceptions.
“Yep. One caveat though.”
“That seems fair enough.”
Chris tries his hand at a sly grin. It likely doesn’t hold a candle to Josh’s, but if he can manage even half the impact, he’ll be satisfied.
“I am going to complain the whole time.”
***
“Okay, I’ve hidden your laptop somewhere you will never, ever find it,” Josh declares as he rejoins Chris in the living room some time later.
Chris would be remiss not to take this as a challenge. “Hmm. Under the seats in the theater room?”
“No.”
“Desk drawer in your dad’s office?”
“Nada.”
“Don’t tell me it’s in the attic. The dust and stuff—it wouldn’t be good for it.”
“What do you think I am, a fuckin’ amateur? Hiding something in an attic, Jesus Christ…” Josh approaches and holds out his hand. “Now give me your phone.”
Chris clutches the item in question to his chest. “You’re not gonna throw it on the roof again, are you?”
“A: You seriously wouldn’t put it down. B: I didn’t know it was gonna rain that day. C: I bought you a new one, so it’s basically like it didn’t happen.”
All Chris can do is stare, too stunned by the speed with which Josh delivered those arguments to have any sort of rebuttal on hand.
“Not the first time you’ve brought it up, pal,” Josh says. He swipes the phone while Chris is distracted and slips it into the pocket of his sweatpants.
“The girls might…”
“Re-lax, I’m not turning it off. Just manning it for the day. Anyone wants to get ahold of you, they gotta go through me.” Josh’s gaze slips away as he adds, “And you’re staying the night, obviously. Goes without saying.”
Chris considers his ensemble with a frown. The hoodie’s fine, but no one wants to sleep in jeans.
“I didn’t bring clothes.”
“You left a pair of sweats last time. I just threw ’em in the wash.”
“Oh, sweet,” Chris chirps. “Serendipitous.”
“That’s an interesting way to say forgetful, but I’ll let you have the win.” Josh flops back onto the couch. It’s about two seconds before he invades Chris’ personal space, stretching his legs across Chris’ lap. “Figure we’ve got a lot coming down the pike, but after things cool down, we should take a trip somewhere.”
“Hate to break it to you, bud, but after this I don’t think our friends are gonna go anywhere you tell them to. Like, ever.”
“I don’t mean a group trip,” Josh says. “I mean a me-and-you trip.”
“Don’t we do that all the time?”
“One that’s not for the channel, dumbass. This was supposed to be a break. For me it kinda has been, but you’re still working away. Feel like a bit of a dick about it, so…”
“You don’t have to do that, man.”
“Hey, it’s for your benefit too. You looked in the mirror lately? Your hair looks like it’s been run over by a truck.”
Chris gasps. “You said it was fine.”
“Yes, but I—unlike you and Miss Riley—am an excellent liar.”
“This is assuming we survive the horrors, by the way,” Chris says as he fruitlessly combs his fingers through his hair. “Pretty big ‘if,’ if you ask me. Your life’s been one long training session for this, but me…”
“You’ll be fine. Brown belt, right?”
“I haven’t gone to Taekwondo since I was, like, fourteen. Even if I was in top form, what am I supposed to do, roundhouse kick an eldritch god? Gonna go out on a limb and guess that won’t help much.”
“Probably not,” Josh concedes, “but I’d kill to see it.”
Fair enough. Chris himself can’t resist chuckling at the idea.
“Okay. So. Survive horrors, and then…we go somewhere.”
“Wherever you want. No cameras, no horror bullshit. Just us.”
“My, my. I’d say that’s generous, but you know you could ship me off and hire someone in my absence, right? There’s no reason you need to go too.”
“What happened to ‘you go, I go,’ huh? I’m just trying to show you the feeling’s mutual.”
“Well, I think you’re trying to weasel two vacations out of this,” says Chris, “but if it’s go with you or don’t go at all, I guess I can live with the company.” If they’re truly off-duty though… “What about the channel?”
Josh shrugs a shoulder. “It’ll survive.”
“Whoa. Who are you and what’ve you done with Josh Washington?”
Chris expects a joke, because this is how their relationship goes—joke, joke, insult, joke. Instead Josh says, with disarming solemnity, “I don’t like seeing you like this, Chris. Giving you a breather—a real one—is more important than serving the algorithm or whatever. We’ll figure it out.”
Chris opens his mouth to respond—to say what, he has no fucking clue—but Josh doesn’t give him the opportunity. He steamrolls on.
“For now…permission to blow your mind one more time?”
“Uh.” Words, Hartley, words. “Granted.”
Josh’s gaze flickers toward the TV. The screen is inky black, having turned off by itself after they left it untouched for so long.
“Pick a movie, any movie.”
Chris’ jaw nearly hits the floor. “Holy hell. And all it took was an existential crisis.”
“Have more breakdowns and you’ll get to pick more movies. I dunno what to tell you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chris notes. He straightens and steeples his fingers. “Quiet on set, if you please. I gotta put some serious thought into this.”
Josh zips his lips and pulls his own phone out of his pocket. For a few moments, as he occupies himself with the endless scroll and Chris considers his options, there is a rare and total silence.
Then Josh heaves a sigh. “Are we watching this movie or what?”
“Shut up. I never get to do this, man, it has to be perfect. But yeah—I think I’ve got it.”
“Well?” Josh prompts, raising an eyebrow.
After countless hours spent watching Josh do his on-camera host schtick, Chris has learned a thing or two about presentation. He pauses for dramatic effect.
“The Princess Bride.”
The only response is a little snrk.
“It’s a good movie,” Chris snaps. “Objectively, it’s a very good movie.”
“Did I say it wasn’t? It’s a great movie. It’s just so…”
“What?”
Josh seems to fumble for the right words. “You,” he says at last. “Also, you’re into the romance, like, a weird amount.”
“I’m a schmaltzy guy. I like a little romance. Now put it on, quick—I think I feel another crisis coming on.”
“Not me. I just sat down.”
Josh gives him a pointed look and gestures behind the couch, where the Washingtons’ extensive media collection occupies the back wall. Floor to ceiling shelves of Blu-rays, DVDs, old VHSes of movies Chris suspects no one outside this family knows. Sometimes, in his perusing, Chris glimpses a title and wonders if Josh has planted fakes over the years. The guy made a proper DVD collection of the terrible short films the two of them made as kids, so Chris wouldn’t put it past him. Those, too, are in there somewhere—not that anyone else would ever want to watch them. They really are awful.
“Christ, I gotta do everything around here,” Chris moans. “Can you, uh…?” He makes a shoo, shoo motion over Josh’s legs.
“Can I what?”
“Josh.”
“Just get up. What’s the big problem?”
“Oh, come on.”
Left with no choice, Chris tries to push Josh’s legs off him—and meets surprising resistance. It'd be impressive if it weren't annoying as hell. A second attempt proves just as useless as the first.
“This is so not funny,” Chris says.
It’s a poor argument, what with the laughter bubbling in his voice. Josh, on the other hand, wears an impeccably straight face.
“You’re right. I knew your ass was weak, but this is dire. Maybe you should hit the gym before we get back out there. Lift some potato sacks or something.”
“You know, two minutes ago you couldn’t wait any longer. Now I gotta pass a surprise fitness test?”
“Yeah, that was a whole two minutes ago. It’s a fast-paced world, my man. Keep up.” Josh reaches for the remote and brings the TV back to life. “Anyway, we can just watch it on streaming.”
There it is at last—a break in the mask. Josh presses his lips together to hide it, but Chris catches it, if only briefly. He narrows his eyes.
“You are insufferable. In-fucking-sufferable. I don't know why I put up with you.”
“One Princess Bride, comin’ right up,” says Josh cheerily. “Hope you don’t have to take a leak anytime soon.”
This isn’t the first time he’s employed the la la la I can’t hear you tactic today, and at the rate they’re going it might not be the last, but Chris lets it slide. There are worse positions to be in. In truth, not even he can find much to complain about this one.
As the film rolls, Chris says, “Hey. You know what would make me really happy? As a reward for suffering your bullshit and all that.”
“Milking it, bro.”
“I heard through the grapevine there’s some guy—”
“Let me stop you right there. Stories that start with there’s some guy never end well. For anyone involved.”
“There’s a guy,” Chris revises, undeterred, “friend of a friend or something. He’s run a couple LARPs before, and I heard they were legit. I also heard…he’s planning a Princess Bride LARP.”
Josh looks at him like he’s just said a combination of words heretofore unknown to man.
“You are making this up.”
“Am not. Bad liar, remember?”
“A Pri…” Josh raises his eyes to the ceiling. No heavenly intervention comes. “No. No, no, no. I’m not fuckin’ LARPing with you. Get Ashley for that shit.”
“C’mon, you love making costumes and props and stuff.”
“Yeah, I love making them. Not parading around in them, talking like a medieval peasant.”
“Who says you’d be a peasant?”
Josh reconsiders. “You’re right. You’d be a peasant.”
Despite himself, Chris crows with laughter. “Dude, if I die out there—killed by some ghoul because my roundhouse didn’t do shit—you’re going to feel so bad about this. You’re gonna lie awake at night—”
“I already lie awake at night.”
“—inconsolable, saying to yourself, ‘If only I’d granted my best bro’s wish before he beefed it. If only, if only.’”
With a groan, Josh throws an arm across his eyes. They’re ignoring the opening scene of the only movie Chris will probably ever be able to choose, but it’s so worth it.
“Fine!” Josh cries. “Fine. I'll LARP with you, you fucking loser. But you speak of this to no one, do you hear me? No evidence either. No pictures, no videos, and I’m gonna be a knight in shining armor or whatever. So no one can see my face.”
“Deal.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“Whatever your heart desires, my noble knight, I shall grant it.”
Josh leans forward, eyes blazing even brighter than before, and says, “I am going to complain the whole goddamn time.”