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Shane surveys the damage. Streamers hang limply from the ceiling, co-mingling with a handful of balloons that are already starting to deflate. Cans of carbonated water dot every surface. A stack of paper plates stands high next to the uneaten cake they were bought for. The bottle of cheap champagne is warm and uncorked.
It was supposed to be a celebration.
“Are you coming?” Katie asks, a sympathetic hand on Shane’s elbow.
“Yeah. Just…gonna pick up a couple things.”
“Okay.”
She squeezes his elbow before leaving with Lizzie and Sam. To be frank, Shane doesn’t want to join them, he wants nothing more than to crawl inside of a very deep hole and never emerge. But he knows he has to. He’s the boss, one of them anyway, and he needs to be there for his team.
He just…he needs a minute, first.
Silently, he grabs a trash bag and starts filling it. He picks up the cake to toss it in too, but hesitates. Shane hates throwing away food, but it seems doubtful anyone will ever eat it.
“Chuck it.”
Ryan.
“Seems like a waste to do that.”
“Was a waste to get cake in the first place, it sucks.” He appears out of Shane’s periphery and unceremoniously dumps the cake into the trash bag. Shane is both annoyed and grateful. “C’mon, help me pop the balloons.”
“We could probably leave them.”
Ryan levels a dark look at him. “And let the crew walk back into this shit on Monday?”
Shane grimaces. “Right.”
As they clean up, Shane’s brain won’t stop swirling. He’s replaying every moment that led to today, counting all the ways he fucked up. The screeds against him and his co-founders flash in between his regrets, reminding him of how perilous all of this is. He’s hurt and he feels guilty for it–he got off easier than Ryan and especially Steven. The shame over that is like a black hole in his chest, threatening to flatten his soul. He can’t keep going.
He has to keep going.
He can’t do this.
He has to.
Shane closes his eyes. All he can see are the crestfallen faces of his employees, so he opens them again. Everything’s blurry. It’s only when he feels the tear fall off his nose that he realizes he’s crying.
He sniffs, quickly trying to quell the tears. He has to be strong. Be strong for Ryan. That’s what he does best, after all.
“Sorry,” Shane mutters. What he’s sorry for could fill an auditorium.
“Don’t, man. Not to me,” Ryan insists. His own voice is strained and watery, like it’s been all day.
That’s the permission Shane needs. The trash slips from his hands as he collapses into the nearest chair. Everything he’s been holding in all day spills from his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more horrible. Not even baggage claim hot dogs come close.
A paper napkin makes its way into Shane’s hands. He wipes at his eyes, his nose, his cheeks. The scratchiness of the napkin burns his sensitive skin, but it feels good, almost. Like he deserves it.
“Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me it’s going to be okay,” Ryan says. He’s seated now, too, his knees centimeters from Shane’s. “Please?”
“Ryan–,”
“Shane,” he stresses in a tone Shane recognizes immediately from 3am phone calls worrying that Watcher was a terrible idea, that the pandemic was going to ruin them, that no one’s going to watch Ghost Files.
Shane swallows the truth down as his hands find Ryan’s. “It’s going to be okay.”
A grimace crosses Ryan’s face. “Again.”
Shane repeats himself as many times as Ryan asks, but the relief they’re both seeking never comes. It’s different this time.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
Both of their phones light up. Shane’s uninstalled all his apps, so it must be a text. The sender says Steven Lim, but the message isn’t from him.
Hey, it’s Tammy. I’ve got his phone for the night. He’ll touch base in the morning. ♥️
White hot anger and guilt rushes through Shane again. There’s a lot he’ll never understand about what happened, least of all the response to Steven. No one deserves that reaction, let alone the kindest weirdo he knows. Shane wants to say something, but they’ve been advised to stay off socials completely.
He doesn’t know what to do.
“We should meet the others,” Ryan finally says, shoving his phone back into his pocket. His other hand is clinging to Shane’s like a lifeline.
“We should.”
Neither of them move.
A rattling cough from Ryan’s throat directs Shane’s attention to him again. He’s as tired and stressed as Shane’s ever seen him and tired and stressed is kind of Ryan’s whole thing. It worries him. Add it to the pile.
“We fucked it, didn’t we?” Ryan asks.
“Little bit.”
“What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s helpful,” Ryan scoffs.
“It’s the truth. I don’t fucking know what to do.”
“We have to do something,” Ryan insists. “This…this can’t be…,” he trails off, letting Shane fill in the blanks.
It’s a very real and possible fear. One that Shane never actually believed was possible.
He’s never given Ryan enough credit for how terrifying it is to be a believer.
“I think,” Shane finally says, swallowing down as much of the bile in his throat as he can, “for now, we join the team at the bar. We drink. We cry. And then we go home.”
“And then what?”
“We try again tomorrow.” Shane holds Ryan’s hand against his chest. If it’s near his heart, that’s a coincidence. “No matter how much it sucks.”
Ryan’s fingers flex against Shane’s. “It’s going to suck so much, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but on the bright side, it can’t suck worse than today.”
A laugh. It’s hollow, but it’s a laugh. “You sure about that?”
“No.” Shane stands, pulling Ryan up with him. Instinctively, Ryan’s nose finds Shane’s neck while Shane’s arms hold him in place. “I am sure about one single thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s no one I’d rather have the worst day of my life with than you.”
Another laugh. This one is genuine. Good. “Yeah, big guy, same.”
They lock up the office, throw the trash in the dumpsters, and head in the direction of the bar the team is at. Their hands find each other again. It’s probably a trauma response, but Shane feels like maybe there’s something more to it. Like maybe it’s the beginning of something that’s been brewing for a long time. Or maybe when they break apart tonight, that’ll be the end of it. The end of everything.
Shane grips Ryan’s hand tighter.