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It doesn’t show sometimes, but Deacon hates ghosts. Especially creepy ghosts that are more likely to be called evil entities rather than ghosts. So really, the only logical response to seeing a door at the end of a dark corridor turn into a huge, open mouth teeming with human teeth was to tail and run at full speed.
But before he could even break a step, he was knocked off his feet.
Something slams into him from the side, hard enough to send him sprawling across the hallway and knock the air out of his lungs. The whole room shook. Disoriented, Deacon thought for a horrifying second that he was going to barf before he even hit the floor. As he lay on the freezing ground, he decides to wait until the tremors subside.
“What the hell was that?” He muttered hoarsely. He pushes himself up with his elbows and looks around to see if the others are safe around him.
Chase and Buddy are gone.
Which means they were most likely separated. In a place like this, that’s very, very bad news.
Panic finally registers through his bones. He frantically scans the hallway again, only to see Wave on the ground next to him, propped up in one arm awkwardly with his hair more tousled than usual.
“Oh thank god,” Deacon sighed in relief, tension leaving his body. Wave looked just as confused and mortified.
The baffled man let out a nervous chuckle. “Dude, that was scary. Did it finally stop?” Wave’s voice cuts through the eerie silence. It echoes through the hall and Deacon winces.
To be honest, Deacon isn’t sure himself. He’s read the book, sure, but books don’t really tell them just when exactly an event stops. Deacon surmised, from his storybook adventures with Chase, that books can have their own consciousness–which is extremely amusing, but only when it’s a romance genre with any possible love-interest maidens present at all.
Very obviously, that scenario does not apply here.
A door with human teeth isn’t supposed to be in the story, heck, half of the events that have unfolded so far don’t even make sense. He hoped that his cousin, and Buddy, weren’t near any danger and were probably safe somewhere; even if they were always one step away diving head-first into any kind of trouble.
“I think so, but lower your voice, we might attract them,” Deacon shushed. He does not need to tumble over the grimy floor twice. He looks around again, more cautiously, unsure if his brain is playing tricks on him or not when he sees strange shadows hovering in the ceiling.
“I think we lost Chase and Buddy.” He finally tells Wave, and the man sends him a quizzical, wide-eyed look.
“That’s... really bad. But they can’t be too far from us,” Wave reassured him, though his eyes say otherwise as they dart from the edge of the hallway to the creepy looking doors.
Suddenly, a whisper (that definitely did not sound like Chase nor Buddy) that resembled a string of curses ghosts over them, and Deacon didn’t hesitate. He grabs Wave’s wrist and runs.
It’s dark, stuffy and smelled overwhelmingly of bleach and chlorine.
“...This isn’t exactly an ideal place,” Deacon mumbled, his back pressed against the cold metal surface.
A janitor’s closet had been Wave’s first thought of a safe room. Deacon didn’t have any smarter ideas, so here they are. Catching their breaths in a secluded space no bigger than a nook; waiting until it was safe. Deacon could feel his clothes sticking to his skin from the sheer humidity of two grown men shoved into a box.
When his breathing finally slows, he notices for the first time just how tiny the room was, and how Wave looms over him. Deacon’s usually the tallest among his group of guy friends, but Wave seems to take over that place now.
Ghosts and monstrous teeth aside, Deacon can’t help but think that if he had to be trapped in a closet with someone, he’d rather it be a maiden. At least then the proximity would make sense. He'd even consider it to be romantic.
“I panicked,” Wave sighs, pulling him out of his fantasy. “It was either this or get eaten by the ghosts, sorry,” he tries to scratch the back of his neck only to bump Deacon’s cheek in the process.
In response, Deacon crosses his arms to create a barrier, but immediately regrets it as his elbows hit Wave’s ribs. It just took up more space. “It’s fine. We can wait here as long as it’s safe.” He chews on his right cheek.
It suddenly occurs to him how bad he is at small talk.
“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” Deacon questioned, a little concerned. Wave just responded softly, “Nope, you?” And Deacon shook his head.
They settled into a silence that wasn’t really comfortable, but not too unbearable. Deacon directs his focus on any strange noises outside, listening for any sign of Chase and Buddy arguing, but is too painfully aware by the presence of the other man. He isn't exactly used to sharing this much space with anyone. And with nowhere to look or nowhere else to bring his attention to, he decides to look at Wave.
Purely for the sake of comparison, Deacon told himself.
Wave is… surprisingly easy on the eyes. Beach wave hair, a defined jawline. He’s probably really strong too–like the guys at his college who pretty much live in the gym instead of hitting the semester’s books. It’s no wonder girls would like him. What’s not to like? He’s also really nice even when he’s kind of goofy.
Deacon felt a strange, itchy sort of envy. If he had that kind of effortless confidence, maybe he wouldn't feel so out of place outside of a library.
The other man's eyes land on him and Deacon feels caught. He snaps his head away and decides to pay close attention to the empty spray bottles on the floor. Shifting uncomfortably, he pins his arms to his side to avoid too much skin to skin contact with the man.
But Wave did not follow the memo, instead moving too much in his little corner as if he’s trying to make himself comfortable somehow, if that’s even possible. Their legs end up being tangled even more, and Deacon grunts.
“Is this okay?” Wave asks. He moves one of his legs once again, the edge of his shoe grazing hard against Deacon’s.
No, it’s not okay.
“It’s okay, just back up a little,” Deacon responds, voice quiet. Wave smells like sea-salt and a tinge of coconut (probably from surf wax), a scent so sharp it makes his nose wrinkle.
Maybe this situation he’s in is a bit too unusual for two very straight guys. They're so close Deacon can practically feel him breathing in his space.
Thankfully, Wave does back up as little as the room allows him.
“Have you tried surfing?” Wave asked suddenly. Whether he noticed that Deacon was staring or not, he is thankful for the change of subject.
“Um, do I look like I surf?” Deacon tilted his head to the side.
Wave raised an eyebrow as if he was genuinely offended. “Are. You. Kidding? Surfing is the best! Anyone can surf, dude, you should try it,” his green eyes practically sparkled as he mentioned surfing.
Resting his head against the wall, Deacon scoffed with a smile, a little amused at how expressive the other man is. “No thanks. I’ll just fall off and make a fool of myself, then Chase will never let me hear the end of it,” he mumbled with a slight chuckle.
“Then tell Chase to pick any book with a beach or a pool, and I can teach you guys! It’ll be sick!”
A small part of Deacon thinks that Wave is being ridiculous, but that does sound fun. Even if he's not that big into surfing, a break from ghosts and villainesses would be nice.
“Fine, but we still have to be careful,” Deacon smiled. His eagerness probably rubbed off on him to get him to agree so fast.
“You should be more confident, dude,” Wave sighs, his voice soft and careful. Deacon stills–being read like an open book was not part of his plan today. “You’re a cool guy, you know that?” He continued.
“...Am not,”
“Yes you are!”
“Nah.”
“Did you forget what I said a while ago?” Wave genuinely looks offended again, and Deacon almost feels bad for being the constant source of that expression on his face. “Like, about you being a good third wheel? I think it’s cool how you handle these stories man, we seriously would’ve died without you,” he has the sweetest look on his face, and it makes Deacon’s stomach churn.
He feels a sudden, hot prickle of embarrassment, contrary to the cold surface he’s leaning on. His gaze jerks toward the door.
Sighing deep, he finally agrees, despite his initial doubts. There is nothing good about being a thirdwheel. But what Wave said back then was quite nice, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit comforted, even if that sounds pathetic. "Okay! okay, I get it. It’s really not a big deal.. but thanks. I guess."
Wave just smiles at him softly for letting him win the argument. For a big guy, he radiates such gentle energy around him. On the other hand, Deacon feels so awkward he'd rather crawl into a hole.
Before the silence becomes too loud for comfort, and before he feels himself start to sweat, Deacon hears footsteps.
“Guysss!” It’s Chase's voice.
“Freckles! Wave!” and Buddy's.
He breathes a sigh of relief. He can’t wait to get out of here.
He fumbles over the doorknob and stumbles out of the tiny room, leaving Wave dumbfounded.
“Buddy! Chase! I’m so glad you two are safe,” he calls out.
Frantic footsteps come toward them while Wave manages to step out right after him.
“Don’t worry, we knew what to do!” Chase shouts from across the hall, “The rules are no investigating weird sounds, no taunting the ghosts out loud, and definitely no kissing!!” He emphasizes the last part until he stops mid-stride upon reaching them.
Squinting, he scans the two of them from head to toe, eyes fixated on their rumpled clothes and their flushed faces. Deacon was about to defend his dignity until his cousin finally notices the janitor's closet behind them, dragging a long "ohhhh" in acknowledgement.
Their eyes widen in slow realization.
“Looks like you guys followed the rules too! Good job,” he chirps. Buddy stands nonchalant behind him, his eyebrows raised as if a little intrigued at what possibly could've happened while they were gone.
“Well, yeah!” Deacon sputters as soon as Chase’s words register to his brain. “Wait, what?!”
Wave rumbles a loud cackle before putting his arm over Deacon’s shoulder. “Sorry dude, you’re nice and all, but I sorta have a girlfriend,” he grins then winks at him. What the hell is their problem?
Deacon’s face burns a bright, furious red. A strange knot forming in his stomach as his heart beats at a rapid, traitorous pace. He shoves Wave off in a panic at the wild assumption, “Stop that, Wave, and Chase, I like girls! Exclusively!”
The three burst into a fit of laughter, with Chase laughing the loudest. Deacon makes a mental note to get back at him later when he's done panicking. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Dorkin,” Chase teased, wiggling his eyebrows like he didn't just incite something reality-shattering that will keep Deacon up at night.
A high-pitched wail freezes them in their tracks, and they fall into silence.
“I think we should keep moving,” Buddy sighs, glancing down the dark hallway. “This place is giving me the creeps.”
“Finally, someone with common sense,” Deacon mutters quickly, hoping to get this over with.
Chase claps his hands once, and glances at each of them with a stern expression. “Alright! New rule: nobody gets separated again. Stick to me and Buddy.”
The group starts walking, with Chase and Buddy leading the way out to the exit. The tension slowly easing now that they’re back together. Finally, the hallway feels a little less suffocating.
Wave falls into step beside Deacon, occasionally nudging him with his elbow on accident. He should probably say something now.
“Hey, um,” Deacon starts quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “About earlier…”
He takes a moment to find the right words, his free hand fidgeting with the camera he forgot about holding the entire time they were stuck in the closet. Wave hums in response.
“Thanks for what you said back there. It meant a lot to me.”
Wave blinks at him, then grins easily.
“No worries. Thought you needed a little confidence boost, dude.”
Realizing that they're slowly falling behind, Wave yelps and jogs forward to catch up with the other two.
Deacon watches him go for a second longer than necessary. Hears thumping in his chest for a reason he can't quite place. He's unfamiliar with this feeling, and it scares him a little.
He exhales slowly and lets the chills from the creepy atmosphere run down his spine. Gently, he rakes a hand through his hair, since when did it get so damp?
Can he be blamed though? His whole day has been weird.
Ghosts. Possessed doors. Getting shoved into a closet with a guy who smells like surf wax and coconut. Any guy would be weirded out by that.
He shoves his hands, along with his camera, into his pockets and hurries after the others, yelling at them to wait up. Running at full speed, he tries to clear his head, purging any images of Wave and replacing them with his latest crush on a cute girl he met on his last adventure as if his life depended on it.
But his mind forces him back to Wave. His nice green eyes, his unexpectedly comforting body heat, and the soft voice that called him cool.
His breath hitches and he slows his pace, thinking back to how Chase saw them. Or caught them? How he thought they were... were...
Whatever. It shouldn't bother him that much. Plus, Wave has a girlfriend (not that it matters, because he literally feels nothing toward the man). And he'd rather disappear entirely than get nervous over a guy.
He just wants to get back home to shut himself away from the world. Back to his bedroom. Where it's familiar and safe.
But it's a little hard to avoid. He glances at Wave's tall figure from afar, and lowers his head in burning shame.
...Maybe he’ll use whatever happened today as writing material for his next book.
Or maybe he has a lot of internal unpacking to do. More than he'd like to admit. Maybe about how much he wishes to be like him?
Deacon nods at the only possible explanation before he finally catches up to the group, shrugging off the weight of his thoughts. He joins in, teasing and rolling his eyes at Chase and Buddy, which earns him a light, flickering laugh from the man at the center of this conundrum.
Yeah, that's probably just it.