Chapter Text
Celine stares at Chelsea, stunned. She had to have misheard. There was no way Chelsea just said what she thought she’d said.
“Sorry, say that again?” Celine requests, lifting her water bottle with a trembling hand.
“I need you to take my place on the Project Fear channel.” She hadn’t misheard. Celine slowly shakes her head.
“I don’t understand. You’ve been with the team since the beginning. Why now?” Chelsea smiles, one hand resting on her stomach.
“I’m not leaving, not entirely. More so just taking a break.” She pauses, smiling softly at Celine. “I’m pregnant.” Celine’s eyes widen.
“You’re what?! You waited how long to tell me that? That’s huge!” Then, more quietly, “You definitely can’t be ghost hunting while, y’know… with child.”
“Exactly,” Chelsea laughs. “So will you do it? I know it’s a big ask, but I can’t think of anyone that could be better. You’re the perfect fit. Besides me, of course.” They both chuckle.
“I mean, it’ll be a lot of pressure…” Celine contemplates it. But looking at her best friend - glowing, hopeful - was all it took. “I’ll do it.” She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth. This next nine months were going to be pure chaos.
“Really? Oh, that’s amazing! You’re going to love it. You already know Dakota, of course, and you’ll get along great with Alex and Tanner. Conner - you’ll love him.” Celine listens to Chelsea ramble, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I think you and Alex will really click, you guys have a really similar sense of humor…” Celine’s mind wanders as Chelsea continues to talk. She’s watched the channel, sure, but this was real now. She’d be living with these people, filming with them. “Oh, and one more thing…”
“Hm? What?” Celine snaps out of her thoughts as Chelsea pulls an envelope from her purse, tossing it to her way.
“I already bought you a plane ticket. Just in case you said yes.” Celine catches it, hear breath stuttering. This has to be an elaborate joke. But when she opens the envelope with shaking hands, a very real ticket stares back at her.
Well, shit.
***
The airport is in a whirlwind. Celine stands by baggage claim, nerves buzzing. She never should have agreed to this. She was about to bolt and buy a return ticket when-
“Celine?” Dakota appears, arms open. She smiles, hugging him tightly. It had been too long since they last saw each other.
“Hey, Dak.” As they pull apart, her eyes flick to a nearby camera - and the three guys behind it. “Um… hi?”
“I’m Connor.” The blond with a baseball cap steps forward, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I help with the background stuff for the channel.”
“I’m Alex,” the other blond says as he joins them, lowering the camera. He holds out his fist for her to bump. “Dakota’s best friend.” Connor laughs as the taller man approaches.
“I’m Tanner, Dakota’s actual best friend.” The guys all cackle. She stares up at Tanner, wondering if she’d be able to reach the top of his head without standing on her toes.
“Um..” she shakes her head, snapping herself out of it. “As kind as the introductions were, I already know who you guys are. I’ve seen every episode. Chelsea told me about all of you - she’s my best friend.”
“Her actual best friend,” Dakota teases, mocking Tanner. Even Celene lets out a chuckle. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe she’ll even come to be friends with these guys. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He takes her luggage from her and they maneuver their way through the airport, dodging rolling suitcases, distracted travelers, and the constant echo of overhead announcements. Celine follows close behind Dakota, her carry on bumping against her back as they exit the terminal and step into the heavy Nevada heat. The air is thick with the smell of car exhaust and fast food, the sound of honking horns creating a low, constant hum. They use the elevator to get to the third floor of the parking garage, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a cold glow on the concrete. Finally, they reach a sleek black SUV tucking away in a shaded corner, the back hatch already opening. It swallows up her luggage and with it, the last sliver of her old normal.
The ride is quiet, the kind of silence that hums with unspoken thoughts. The guys chat softly in the backseat while Celine stares out the window, watching Vegas blur by in streaks of neon, concrete, and palm trees. Her fingers fidget with the lid of her drink, nerves twisting in her stomach. As they pull into a calmer neighborhood, Dakota finally speaks.
“We’re almost at your AirBnB. And don’t even think about paying me back for it because Chelsea threatened me and she’s very scary.” She laughs, knowing it’s more than likely true. They listen to the radio quietly playing as they pull down residential streets, following the GPS. It leads them to a nice, split-level house with its own entrance. Celine practically vibrates with excitement.
“Oh, this is so cool!” Celine unbuckles and hops out of the car before it’s even turned off. The guys follow soon after, lugging her bags behind them. Dakota checks his phone typing a code into the lock pad on the door on the right. “I’ve never stayed in an AirBnB before, this is so sick!”
“Really? Do you usually stay in hotels?” Connor asks as they cross the threshold. Celine’s nose crinkles in disgust.
“God, no. Those are cesspools.” Connor shrugs, nodding in agreement. Dakota enters the apartment, camera in hand.
He points the camera at her face. “Celine, my friend… on a scale of one to ten, where would you say your belief in ghosts lands?” She gives him a side-eye glance, taking in her surroundings.
“Isn’t that what Sam and Colby ask people?” She questions. Dakota makes a face, briefly pointing the camera towards himself.
“...Maybe.” She looks around, thoughtful.
“I don’t know… maybe, like, a four? I’ve never really had any experiences with ghosts but there’s some pretty solid stuff you’ve found.” Tanner acts flattered, pretending to toss hair over his shoulder. They all laugh, continuing into the apartment. On the left is a small dining area with a basket full of snacks on the table, and a tiny kitchen blocked off from the living room. Through the other door she finds the bedroom, a decently sized bathroom attached.
“That’s fair,” Dakota comments with a sly look on his face. “Well, we can work on that.” He presses a button on the camera before setting it down on the table. “Is there anything else you need from us before we go?” Celine shakes her head, grabbing a small bag of chips from the snack basket.
“Nah. I’ve got your number.” She breaks open the bag, tossing a chip into her mouth.
“I texted you the code for the door, just in case. We’ll come back tomorrow, hang out.” She glances at the others, who are currently admiring a particularly detailed painting of dogs playing golf.
“Could it just be you?” She asks Dakota quietly. “I just… I need a little time to adjust.”
“Of course.” His voice is gentle. “I get it.”
“Also, groceries. I’ll need to grab some tomorrow. I don’t want takeout all week.”
“You got it.” He picks up the camera, letting it dangle from his hand. “Guys, let’s head out.”
“Bye, Celine!” Alex yells, sliding out the front door, Tanner following with a grin. Connor lingers, glancing between Dakota and Celine.
“It was nice to meet you. Looking forward to the trip.” Then he disappears after the others. It’s quiet as Dakota and Celine stand in the middle of the living room. Neither of them say anything for a moment, just looking at each other.
“It’s really good to see you again,” Dakota finally says. Celine lifts the corners of her lips, wrapping her arms around herself. She suddenly feels so small under his intense gaze.
“Yeah, you too.” She shudders, averting her eyes. “Catch up tomorrow?” Dakota sniffs, then clears his throat.
“Yeah, tomorrow.” He turns towards the door, then pauses. “Wait - I almost forgot.” He reaches into his pocket, gesturing for her to hold out her hand. She complies, and he places something small and soft into her waiting palm. Celine looks down to find a tiny Kuromi plush nestled in her palm, its mischievous little grin almost matching her own.
“I figured it might help with whatever hell this trip brings,” Dakota says with a lopsided smile. The unexpected gift tugs a laugh from her throat - quiet, but real. Somehow, it made everything feel a little less terrifying.
“You remembered.” She softens, wrapping her fingers around the toy, holding it close to her heart. ‘Thank you.”
“You too,” she responds quietly. The door shuts. Silence settles around her like a weight. She quickly turns on the TV - anything to interrupt the static. It lands on a sports channel. Whatever. It’s noise. She sinks into the couch, staring at the ceiling. Time slips by, completely unbeknownst to her. When she finally checks the clock, thirty minutes had passed and the sun had set. With a heavy sigh, she gets up and makes her way to the bedroom.
She lays her suitcase down, unzipping it and propping the top against the wall. Her toiletries bag is next, and she carries it into the adjoining bathroom. As she unpacks it, she hums to herself. She hesitates over the lip balm, then tucks it into the corner of the counter like it belongs there. One by one, she sets down each item - moisturizer, floss, a tiny bottle of perfume - until the bottle is empty. Her reflection watches her with tired eyes as the hum dies on her lips. She splashes water on her face, not because she needs to, but because it gives her something to do. In the other room, the announcers’ voices drone on, bright and theatrical. She dries her face with a towel that isn’t hers, then folds it neatly over the rack. The silence between words from the living room feels too thin, like a thread ready to snap.
She steps back into the bedroom, the air cooler now, like the walls had absorbed the day’s heat and finally let it go. Her suitcase is gaping open, half-unpacked, clothes folded with the kind of care that implies she might leave again soon. She pulls out a sweater and presses it to her chest before slipping it on - sleeves a little too long, fabric still smelling of the lavender detergent she used the last time she washed it. Sitting on the edge, she curls her fingers around the throw blanket, coarse and unfamiliar beneath her skin. A laugh escapes her - not out of humor, but at the strangeness of it all. How she ended up here. How quickly this place started to feel like it was waiting for someone else. She leans back, letting herself fall slowly onto the bed. Her hair fans across the pillow like spilled sunlight. The ceiling above is smooth and blank, no cracks to follow with her eyes, no patterns to read. Just clean white silence. The kind that makes her feel like a guest in her own life. The thread snaps.
She rolls over on the bed, propping her phone against a pillow. Her hair’s a mess from the flight, and she’s still in her airport outfit. Exhaustion radiates from her as the phone rings. When Chelsea’s face finally appears on FaceTime - glasses crooked, bun lopsided - she gasps and says,
“You look like a raccoon who fought with a suitcase and lost.” Celine laughs, rubbing her face.
“That’s accurate. I got in about two hours ago. Vegas is… loud.” Chelsea nods in agreement.
“I feel like I can never sleep when I visit Dakota. But…” A sly smile spreads its way across her lips. “How do you feel about the guys?” Heat creeps up Celine’s neck and she panics, feeling like she just got caught doing something she shouldn’t as her mind flashes to the stuffed toy Dakota gave her. She slips her hand into her pocket, fingering the soft felt.
“It was a little… overwhelming at times. But they’re nice. I didn’t feel like any of them were really mad about me being the Project Fear Backup Blonde.” Chelsea snorts.
“Oh, my God. You’re not the backup blonde.” Celine purses her lips to the side, scrunching up her nose.
“It was your spot, Chels. Your invitation. I’m just-”
“-Doing what I couldn’t right now,” Chelsea interrupts gently. “And I’m proud of you for it.” Celine nods slowly, swallowing like she’s trying to digest the encouragement.
“Thanks. I didn’t want to go into things without talking to you first. I just know that if I waited too long, I’d chicken out.” Chelsea smiles, leaning her head against the headboard behind her.
“Well, when you’re out filming ghost hunts in the middle of nowhere, think of me while I’m stuck preparing a nursery.” Chelsea glances at someone beyond the screen, eyes sparkling. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s looking at her husband.
“Deal,” Celine says, smiling. She’s really, truly happy for her best friend. A small, selfish part of her brain whispers about jealousy. Her smile falters, but she reinforces it with false hope. “Thanks for answering - I know you’re busy.” Chelsea turns back to the screen.
“What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t answer?” She scrunches her face in confusion. “Oh, yeah, how’s Dak? How long did it take for him to shove a camera in your face?” Celine laughs, ignoring the shame creeping up her spine like a naughty child being scolded.
“It wasn’t him, but I had a camera pointed at me from the moment they saw me. For him, he at least waited until we got to the AirBnB.” She rolls her eyes, making Chelsea giggle.
“Believe it or not, that’s him showing restraint.” Celine exhales through her nose, smiling slightly. Desperation rears its ugly head, dragging anxiety along with it.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this, Chels,” she confesses, hanging her head. Her breathing quickens, panic setting in. Her hands tremble slightly as she clutches her phone, her knuckles pale against the pink case. The screen shakes with the rhythm of her shallow breaths, and Chelsea’s familiar face is a blur of concern on FaceTime. “I’m freaking out.” Her voice is tight, crackling at the edges. Her chest feels too small for her lungs, thoughts spiraling faster than she can catch them - what if she messes up, what if she doesn’t belong, what if this was a mistake? Chelsea’s voice filters through like a lifeline, calm and grounding, telling her to breathe, to count, to look around the room. Her surroundings are unfamiliar, distant. They seem as far away as the stars in the sky, like she could reach and reach but never touch them.
“You’re okay, Ce,” Chelsea repeats gently. Celine nods, even though tears are pricking at her eyes. She swallows hard, gripping the hem of her sweater, trying to anchor herself in the sound of Chelsea’s voice.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Celine chokes out. “The team, the cameras, pretending I’m not terrified.” A tear falls down her cheek, quickly followed by another. Her breathing catches, resuming its petrified beat.
“You don’t have to pretend anything. You’re not alone out there, Ce. You have Dakota. But you’re you, and that’s enough. You’ve always been enough. Breathe with me.” For a moment, all Celine can do is sit there, breathing in sync with her best friend, letting the words sink in. The panic doesn’t disappear completely - but in its place is something softer, quieter, just strong enough to hold onto. Celine sniffs and wipes under her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, managing a shaky smile.
“God, I probably look like the raccoon my suitcase fought with,” she mutters, referencing the comment Chelsea had made earlier in the call. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the corner of the screen - mascara smudged, nose red, hair flattened on one side. Chelsea huffs a laugh.
“Girl, you look like someone who got into a fistfight with her emotions and just barely lost. Iconic.” Celine lets out a startled laugh, unexpected and high-pitched, the sound cracking through the lingering tension in her throat.
“Stop,” she says, giggling now. “Don’t make me laugh while I’m crying, I look unhinged.” Chelsea grins, triumphant.
“Unhinged is in, babe. It’s giving method actor meets ghost hunter. Honestly? You’re on brand.” Celine snorts, covering her face.
“I hate you!” She groans, peeking through her fingers.
“No, you don’t.” Chelsea smirks.
“No, I don’t,” she concedes, her voice lower, steadier. She lowers her hands and breathes deep, eyes a little clearer. “Thanks for picking up.” Chelsea tilts her head.
“Always. You’re gonna be okay. And if you panic again, call me, and I’ll do more stand-up. I’ve got a killer bit about haunted vending machines.” Celine grins.
“That… sounds terrifying.”
“Exactly,” Chelsea says. “Perfect for Project Fear.”
As the call ends, the screen goes dark, and for a few seconds, Celine just stares at her reflection—tired eyes, smudged makeup, the faint puffiness from crying. The silence in the room isn’t complete - the TV in the living room is still going, a commentator’s voice rising and falling with the rhythm of a game she doesn’t care about. It makes the suite feel less empty, like someone else is still here, even though she knows it’s just her.
She exhales slowly and places her phone on the nightstand, rubbing her hands over her face. The panic has ebbed, but now there’s the dull ache of coming down from it—like she’s exhausted from running when she hadn’t moved at all. Her suitcase sits half-unpacked on the other side of the room, one side yawning open, clothes spilling out like a second reminder that she’s not home. She stares at it for a moment, tired eyes drooping.
The shout of a touchdown erupts from the TV, followed by canned crowd noise and a flurry of commentary. Celine swings her legs off the bed and pads into the living room, her socks sliding along the carpet. She doesn’t change the channel. Instead, she slumps onto the couch, curling into the corner like she’s trying to make herself small enough to disappear into the crevices.
She watches the game without seeing it, her mind replaying every moment since she landed—the awkward introduction to the Project Fear team, the too-loud arrival at the AirBnB, the constant sense that she was playing a part that wasn’t quite written for her. But then she hears Chelsea’s voice again in her mind—You’ve always been enough—and it catches her like a thread, pulling her back from the edge of that spiral.
A player scores again, and the commentator yells something dramatic. Celine snorts quietly.
“Calm down, it’s just a game,” she mutters, and the sound of her own voice surprises her. It feels good—anchoring. Normal. She pulls a throw blanket over her legs and lets herself watch the game for real this time, not because she cares who wins, but because it’s something solid, something now. She’ll try again tomorrow. Tonight, she just needs to sit still and breathe. This time, when the team scores and the commentators yell, she lets out a tearful laugh. The future still feels uncertain, but tonight, in a strange city with strangers who already felt like friends, it feels like the start of something big.