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“Alright boys, listen up!” Adapt’s voice boomed, cutting through the chatter as the Faze crew clustered at the gates of the Holloway House. The camera light glared against the peeling paint, throwing eerie shadows over boarded windows and cracked shutters. “Welcome to the haunted Holloway House. They say no one who spends the night here comes out the same.”
“Yeah, they come out with tetanus,” Ron cut in, pointing at a jagged rusted fencepost. The crew cracked up, and the camera tilted just in time to catch his grin.
“Here’s the deal,” Adapt went on. “We’re splitting up. Pairs. Each team has a camera and a flashlight. Whoever captures the scariest footage wins. Loser” he smirked “buys dinner for the whole squad.”
“That’s like two grand,” someone groaned.
“Exactly.”
Lacy elbowed Ron, grinning. “You’re not lasting five minutes in there, bro. Ghost farts and you’ll be done.”
Ron clutched his chest, gasping in mock-offense. “Me? I’m the bravest one here. Ghosts are scared of me. They’re shaking in their chains right now.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, shaking because they don’t wanna hear you talk.”
“Oooh,” the group chorused, delighted. Ron threw his arm around Jason’s shoulders.
“You’re just jealous, Ween. Bet you hope you’re stuck with me so I can protect you.”
Jason ducked out from under his arm. “The only thing you’re protecting me from is peace and quiet.”
“Alright, alright,” Adapt said, trying not to laugh. “Pairs are random, so no crying.” He pulled slips of paper from his hoodie pocket. One by one, names were called and crews peeled off: Lacy and Adapt together, PBM with Silky. Jason felt Ron hovering at his side, practically vibrating with energy.
“Last pair is…” Adapt squinted at the final paper, then smirked. “Jason and Ron.”
Jason’s stomach dipped in a way he didn’t want to examine. Of course it had to be Ron. Loud, reckless, impossible-to-ignore Ron. Great. Just great. If he got jump-scared tonight, it wouldn’t be by a ghost, it’d be by Ron doing something stupid.
Ron whooped like he’d won the lottery, grabbing Jason’s wrist and raising their arms in victory. “Dream team, baby!”
Jason groaned. “Kill me now.”
The rest of the guys heckled as they set off, flashlights clicking on and cameras rolling. Jason muttered something about drawing the short straw, but Ron was already talking to the camera, launching into a dramatic monologue about their “death-defying” adventure.
⸻
The house swallowed them whole. Inside, the air smelled of dust and damp wood, like time itself had rotted. Their footsteps echoed on warped floorboards, and Jason kept his beam steady, sweeping across faded wallpaper and old furniture covered in sheets.
Ron, of course, was in full performance mode. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is where the Holloway family allegedly vanished in 1923,” he whispered into the camera like a knockoff Ghost Adventures host. “Some say their spirits still wander these halls…”
Jason snorted. “Yeah, and some say you’re funny.”
“Harsh! But fair.” Ron swung his flashlight toward Jason, throwing him into stark light. “Viewers, you see this? That’s the face of a hater. But don’t worry, if the ghosts try anything, I’ll keep him safe.”
Jason shoved the flashlight away. “Keep the beam on the hallway, idiot. Unless you’re trying to get us killed.”
Ron grinned, unbothered. He trailed close behind Jason as they moved deeper, their voices echoing off the cracked plaster. For a while, it was only creaks and the occasional drip of water somewhere above them.
Ron stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, swinging the flashlight under his chin like a campfire ghost-story kid.
“Alright, alright,” he said, grinning at the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Ghost Hunters: Faze Edition. I’m your host, the bravest man alive, Ron, and with me tonight is my reluctant assistant—”
He shoved the camera right in Jason’s face.
“Jason the Ween!”
Jason blinked into the harsh light, unimpressed. “Bro, I’m not doing this bit.”
“Yes you are,” Ron shot back instantly. “Look at him, folks. This is the face of a man who’s already terrified and we’ve been in here, what” He squinted theatrically at his watch. “Two minutes? Maybe three?”
Jason shoved the camera down. “The only thing I’m terrified of is getting stuck with you for an hour.”
“Ooooh!” Ron made a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “Did you hear that? The spirits are angry. They’re speaking through Jason.”
Jason couldn’t help the snort that slipped out, even as he shook his head. “You’re such an idiot.”
Ron grinned wider, clearly thriving off the reaction. He turned the camera back on himself, whispering in a fake serious tone.
“Notice how he deflects with insults. Classic symptom of paranormal possession. Pretty soon he’ll be crawling on the ceiling, guys. Stay tuned.”
Jason rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself. God, he was unbearable.
Ron slowed his steps, voice dropping into a mock-ominous tone. “The walls are closing in… every step could be your last…” He dragged the words out, then suddenly let out a loud, sharp scream.
Jason jerked, hoodie strings bouncing as he whipped around. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Jason’s pulse was tripping over itself, heat climbing up his neck. Not just from the scare—though yeah, that was part of it—but from the way Ron’s grin split wide and smug, like he’d scored a win that mattered. Jason hated how good it looked on him. Hated that his first instinct wasn’t to punch him, but to stare a second too long.
Ron bent over laughing, nearly dropping the flashlight. “Got you, bro. You should’ve seen your face.”
Jason’s ears burned. “You think that’s funny? I hope something actually jumps out at you.”
Ron wiped tears from his eyes. “Worth it. Totally worth it.” He straightened, still chuckling. “C’mon, Jason, you gotta admit I scared you good.”
Jason gritted his teeth. “You’re lucky I don’t leave you here.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll chill.” Ron finally straightened, brushing invisible dust off his hoodie. “No more fake screams.”
“Good.”
“…Unless I think it’d be hilarious.”
“Ron.”
Ron winked and turned down the next hallway before Jason could get another word in. His flashlight beam swept over the walls, revealing faded wallpaper patterned with ivy and roses. Most of it was peeling in strips, curling toward the floor like brittle fingers. Jason trailed after him, eyeing a cracked picture frame where the face in an old portrait had been scratched out completely.
“This place is low-key creepy,” Ron admitted, voice quieter now. He reached out to tug one of the wallpaper strips, and it came loose with a dry hiss. “Like, imagine living here. You’d just… rot.”
Jason glanced at him. “That’s comforting.”
“What? I’m setting the vibe!” Ron swung the camera back on Jason. “Okay, Mr. Ween, describe what it feels like in this hallway. Go.”
Jason huffed but played along, deadpan: “It feels like I’m babysitting a child with too much sugar.”
Ron snorted, muffling it against his sleeve. “That was kinda funny, I’ll give you that.”
For a moment, the air shifted into less banter, more awareness. The house seemed to hum around them, a draft slipping down the hallway, and Jason caught Ron glancing at him instead of the walls.
He looked away quickly, telling himself it was nothing. Just Ron being Ron.
As they turned down the next hallway, the air shifted. A loud bang echoed from upstairs—sharp, real, not Ron’s dramatics. Jason froze. Ron went silent, his laughter cut off mid-breath.
“…That wasn’t me,” Ron whispered.
Jason’s grip on the flashlight tightened. “No shit.”
The silence pressed heavy, thick enough Jason could hear both their breaths. Then, without warning, Ron grabbed his sleeve, hiding his face against Jason’s shoulder like a kid.
Jason stiffened. “Seriously?”
“Bro, it was loud! What the hell was that?” Ron’s voice cracked halfway through, muffled against Jason’s shoulder.
Jason blinked at the ceiling, heart thudding, but all he could really register was the way Ron was plastered against him. Warm. Solid. Absolutely refusing to let go.
“Probably a raccoon,” Jason muttered, more for himself than anything. His voice didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.
“Raccoons don’t slam doors, man.” Ron’s grip tightened.
Jason should’ve shoved him off. Should’ve told him to grow up. But with Ron pressed tight against him, warmth cutting through the cold air, Jason found himself hesitating. His own heart was hammering, and not just from the scare.
Jason sighed and tugged his arm free, only for Ron to instantly loop an arm around his waist instead.
“Seriously?”
“What? You heard that bang! Safety in numbers, man.” Ron leaned in, flashlight beam bouncing off the cracked plaster. “Plus, the camera loves this. Everyone’s gonna think we’re the bravest duo.”
Jason arched a brow. “You’re literally hiding behind me.”
“Exactly. Bravery is about knowing your strengths. Mine’s,” He tapped Jason’s chest. “letting you take the hit.”
Jason shook his head, but his heartbeat had gone uneven. Ron’s hand lingered a little too long. His grin was a little too soft.
“Stay close,” Jason muttered, voice rougher than he meant.
Ron tilted his head just enough to smirk. “Knew you’d protect me.”
Jason rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away.
They stood there longer than necessary, the house creaking around them, until Jason cleared his throat and forced himself to move forward.
“Let’s just… keep going. Cameras are rolling.”
Ron finally peeled off, but not without dragging his hand down Jason’s sleeve like he had to make it obvious. Jason shoved his hands in his pockets, ignoring the prickling awareness that lingered where Ron’s grip had been.
They turned a corner into a narrower hallway. The air felt heavier here, stale and damp, with old water stains marking the ceiling. Jason swung his flashlight toward a half-open door, relieved for something else to focus on.
“Shortcut,” he muttered, pushing it wider. “Less chance of dying if we don’t stand in the middle of the hallway like idiots.”
Ron followed close behind, still sticking close enough that Jason could feel his shoulder brush his. Not clinging anymore, but not exactly keeping space either.
And Jason hated how much he noticed.
⸻
They ducked into the side room to regroup, pushing past the crooked door that squealed on rusted hinges. Inside, moonlight filtered weakly through a cracked window, glinting off dusty shelves and broken furniture. The smell of mildew hung heavy.
The door groaned shut behind them, sealing the hallway out. For the first time all night, the house didn’t sound like it was breathing down their necks. No rattling pipes, no slamming doors just silence thick enough that Jason could hear his own pulse in his ears.
“Creepy,” Jason muttered, more to break the quiet than anything
Ron flopped dramatically onto a dusty chair, flashing Jason a crooked smile. “Welcome to our hideout. Romantic, right? Nothing sets the mood like asbestos.”
Jason didn’t even flinch this time. “You’re really committed to being the most annoying guy alive, huh?”
“Hey, it’s my brand,” Ron shot back, dropping the flashlight and leaning back in the chair like he owned the place. “You’re just mad you can’t handle my natural charisma.”
Jason snorted, but he felt the edge of a smile tug at his mouth. Don’t encourage him. He turned away, brushing dust off the mantle, trying to focus on anything else. But the quiet pressed in too thick, every sound of Ron shifting in the chair tugging at his attention.
“You’re doing that thing,” Ron said.
Jason frowned. “What thing?”
“That thing where you pretend I’m not funny, but you’re actually trying not to smile.”
Jason’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer, but the silence stretched, heavy with something neither of them was naming.
Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into a sing-song tease. “What’s the matter, Jason? Scared you’ll fall for me in a haunted house?”
Jason leaned against the wall, flashlight beam grazing across old picture frames. He could feel Ron’s eyes on him even in the dark.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Ron said.
“I’m listening,” Jason muttered.
“To what? Ghosts?” Ron grinned. “Or me?”
Jason shot him a flat look, but Ron only leaned back in the chair, smirk growing. “You’re stuck with me, Jason. Might as well admit you like the company.”
Jason’s jaw worked. “I don’t.”
“Liar.”
Jason’s breath caught, a dozen sharp comebacks dying on his tongue. Ron was too close, leaning in with that half-smile that always made Jason want to roll his eyes—or maybe grab him by the collar. His heartbeat thundered so loud it drowned out the silence of the house.
Jason pushed up suddenly, crossing the short distance between them. Ron leaned back in the chair, breath catching as Jason planted his hand beside him. The playful spark in his eyes hadn’t dimmed, but there was something else now, heavier, buzzing between them.
Ron opened his mouth—probably to say something cutting—but Jason cut him off with a kiss.
For a heartbeat, Ron froze. Then the tension snapped, and he grabbed Jason by the hoodie, dragging him closer, kissing him back hard enough to make Jason stumble.
Ron laughed against his mouth, breathless. “Knew it.”
Jason silenced him with another kiss, deeper this time, pulling him flush against his chest. The chair creaked as Ron backed into it, Jason following, pushing him down. The flashlight clattered to the floor, beam spinning wild as shadows danced over them.
Ron’s fingers curled in Jason’s shirt, tugging him down, greedy and reckless. Jason cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the line of his cheek before sliding lower, tracing the curve of his throat. Ron kissed like he did everything else—loud, messy, with no brakes.
Jason didn’t know how long they stayed like that, mouths crashing, breaking only to gasp for air before colliding again. The haunted house, the cameras, the crew, all of it disappeared under the heat building between them. Just lips, teeth, breath, and the shocking realization that he didn’t want to stop.
⸻
“Where the hell are Ron and Jason?” Banks’ voice echoed faintly down the hall.
They froze, foreheads pressed together, breaths uneven. Ron’s grin widened, wicked and breathless. “Bro… we’re so dead.”
Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re dead. I’m denying everything.”
Ron laughed softly, still clinging to his hoodie. “Sure, sure. Tell that to the camera.”
The flashlight hummed on the floor between them, recording every shadow.
⸻
Lacy crept down the corridor, camera raised. He’d spotted their flashlight beam vanish into one of the side rooms and grinned. The perfect setup for a jumpscare. The footage would be gold.
He pushed the door open a crack. And froze.
Instead of terrified faces, he caught sight of Ron tugging Jason down into his lap, their mouths locked like they’d been starving for it. Jason’s hand was twisted in Ron’s hair, Ron grinning into the kiss like he’d already won something.
Lacy’s jaw dropped. Then, slowly, the smirk spread.
“Unreal,” he muttered, lifting the camera. He filmed a solid fifteen seconds of uninterrupted make-out before backing silently into the hall, already scheming about how long he could milk this for blackmail.