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Conor pushes the door open with his shoulder, skateboard tucked under one arm, keys still dangling from his fingers.
The apartment smells faintly like coffee and whatever Shane tried to cook earlier and probably completely ate all of it, or maybe left a bit for him.
Shane is already sitting on the couch.
Waiting, which is suspicious.
He looks up immediately when Conor walks in and then he smiles. Not just a smile.
That smile.
The one that makes Conor feel like he’s just walked into a trap he’s absolutely willing to fall into.
“Hey,” Shane says, too casually.
Conor narrows his eyes, dropping his skateboard by the door. “Why do you look like you’ve committed a crime?”
“I haven’t,” Shane says quickly. Then, after a beat: “Yet.”
Conor laughs, stepping further into the living room. “What’s up?”
Shane leans forward, eyes bright, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Oh my god, I had an idea.”
There it is. Conor already knows this is going to end badly.
“You know how people keep saying I can’t skate?” Shane says.
Conor raises an eyebrow. “You can skate.”
“I can roll,” Shane corrects. “That’s different.”
He jumps up from the couch, grabs his own skateboard from beside the wall, and turns back toward Conor with a grin so wide it’s impossible not to smile back.
“We film a video,” Shane announces.
Conor tilts his head. “Okay… what kind of video?”
Shane walks closer, eyes sparkling like he’s revealing a master plan.
“I start skating,” he explains, gesturing wildly. “And then I do a like a big jump—”
“You doing a jump already sounds dangerous.” Conor interfered.
“—and during the jump,” Shane continues, ignoring him, “it suddenly cuts and it’s you.”
Conor blinks.
“…me?”
“In my clothes,” Shane adds proudly.
Conor stares at him. Processes. Then laughs softly. “You want me to pretend to be you?”
“Yes!” Shane beams. “But like… obviously. Not hidden. People will know you're hair is darker and your like 5 inches smaller than me. That’s the joke.”
Conor watches him for a second, the excitement, the absolute lack of planning already shining through.
“You didn’t think this through at all, did you?”
Shane grabs his jacket not paying attention and says with a grin: “We’re losing daylight.”
Which answers the question.
The skatepark is nearly empty when they arrive, the evening air already turning cold.
Streetlights hum softly above them.
Shane rolls forward first, trying a few casual turns while Conor films him, laughing every time Shane nearly loses balance but recovers dramatically like he meant to do it.
“Okay,” Shane says, skating back toward him, slightly out of breath. “Wait.”
He looks at Conor. Then at Conor’s clothes. Then back at Conor.
“…I should’ve brought spare clothes.”
Conor lowers the camera slowly. “Yeah.”
Pause.
“So… now what?” Conor lifts an eyebrow.
Shane shrugs.
“Honestly? I don’t really care.” And before Conor can even react, Shane starts pulling off his slipknot t-shirt with a long sleeve underneath.
Conor immediately doubles over laughing.
“BRO— what are you doing?”
Shane kicks off his pants next, completely unfazed, standing there in nothing but his underwear and shoes like this is a perfectly reasonable filmmaking decision.
“You need my clothes,” Shane says simply, holding them out.
Conor presses both hands over his face, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “What are we actually doing right now?”
“Content,” Shane replies confidently, with his casual grin.
The clothes are huge on Conor.
The long sleeve swallows his hands almost even though it’s only supposed to be three-quarter sleeves, and the pants drag so low he has to yank them all the way up over his stomach to keep from stepping on them.
Shane looks him up and down and grins
“You look cute in my clothes.”
Conor snorts. “I look ridiculous.”
“Perfect,” Shane says.
They only film one take.
Shane rolls toward the edge, camera set, pretending confidence he absolutely does not have and then the cut happens.
Conor takes over.
The oversized clothes flap around him as he launches into the jump, landing cleanly.
Behind the camera, Shane cheers loudly despite shivering, arms wrapped around himself against the cold evening air.
When Conor rolls back, laughing, he finds Shane still standing there in nothing but underwear and sneakers, filming him like this is completely normal.
Conor slows to a stop.
Looks at him. Really looks at him.
Messy hair, flushed cheeks from the cold, smile soft and completely unguarded.
“…You’re freezing,” Conor says.
Shane just smiles at him.
“Worth it.”
They barely talk on the walk home.
Mostly because Shane is shivering.
At first he tries to play it cool, shoulders squared, pretending he’s fine, but about halfway down the street his teeth start chattering.
Conor glances at him.“You good?”
“Yeah,” Shane lies immediately, rubbing his arms.“Totally fine. Love being half-naked in February. Really builds character.”
Conor laughs.
By the time they reach the apartment, Shane’s fingers are pink from the cold and he’s walking suspiciously close to Conor like he might steal body heat without admitting it.
The door closes behind them.
Warm air hits Shane’s skin.
He exhales dramatically.
“Okay,” he mutters, toeing off his shoes. “Maybe… maybe that was a dumb idea.”
Conor drops his skateboard by the wall, trying not to smile too much. “You think?”
Shane wraps his arms around himself again. “I’m so cold. Why am I still cold? We’ve been inside for like… two minutes.”
“You stood in a skatepark in your underwear,” Conor reminds him gently.
Shane shoots him a look. “It was for content.”
“It was for chaos.”
Shane shivers again, more noticeably this time. Conor watches him for a second, the stubbornness slowly melting into actual discomfort.
Then he shrugs casually.
“Okay. How about this.”
Shane looks up.
“We just go to my room. The heater’s always turned way too high in there anyway. We can just… get under the blankets. Warm up.”
Shane narrows his eyes slightly. “That sounds suspiciously cozy.”
“Scientific fact,” Conor replies, deadpan. “Two people are warmer than one.”
Shane’s lips twitch.
“And,” Conor adds, already walking backward toward his bedroom, “we could put on a movie.”
Shane follows him automatically. “What movie?”
Conor pushes open his bedroom door.
“I kinda wanna watch *Pitch Perfect again,” he says casually. “Don’t judge me.”
Shane stops in the doorway.
Stares at him.
“You want to rewatch Pitch Perfect.”
“Yes.”
“The riff-off scene again?”
“Especially the riff-off scene.” Conor smiles.
Shane also smiles despite himself.
“Fine,” he says softly.
Conor points up a finger and says “But I’m quoting every line.”
“You always do.” Shane says that with a kind smile.
They end up tangled under Conor’s blankets ten minutes later.
The room is almost too warm, but Shane doesn’t complain.
He shifts closer.
Then closer again.
Until their legs are pressed together and Shane’s cold feet sneak under Conor’s calves without asking.
Conor flinches. “Jesus— you’re freezing!”
“I warned you,” Shane mumbles, already burrowing into his side.
The movie starts playing quietly in the background.
Shane relaxes slowly. The shivering fades.
His head ends up resting against Conor’s shoulder without either of them really acknowledging when it happened.
Halfway through the opening scene, Shane sighs contently.
“…Okay. This was a better idea.”
Conor hums. “Told you.”
There’s a pause.
Then Shane tilts his head slightly, voice softer now. “Thanks for doing the video with me.”
Conor doesn’t even hesitate.
“Always.”
Shane smiles at that, small, warm, the kind he only really gives when he feels safe.
On screen, the Bellas start singing.
Under the blanket, Shane’s fingers curl loosely into Conor’s hoodie.
Outside, it’s still cold.
But in here, it’s warm.
And neither of them moves away.