Ryan Bergara is a defense attorney who can see ghosts. But his opponent in court, prosecutor Shane Madej, is a renowned skeptic! Can Ryan turn things around and get a ‘not guilty’ for his client, or will the identity of the true killer remain… unsolved?
a/n: this is the three-years-later sequel to and he takes and he takes. sorry it’s sad and sorry it’s late. love you guys!
ao3
Ryan Bergara is crying and he doesn’t know why. It’s not a soft, small cry; he’s sitting in an empty hospital room, surrounded by a plethora of cards (but no flowers), he’s staring out the small window, and he’s sobbing. His chest is heaving, tears are streaming down his cheeks, but he knows that, if pressed, he could not name the reason his tears fell.
Because Ryan Bergara forgot. It’s the one thing that he promised himself he wouldn’t forget, the only thing in his whole life that he said to himself and meant—
For the life of him, he can’t remember what the fuck it was.
—
Shane Madej wasn’t the only ghost lingering in his home. In many ways, Ryan knew that he was a ghost.
He could pinpoint the moment he became one, too. After chasing ghosts and haunts for a large portion of his career, after believing in them for his whole life, he figured it would feel different. Ryan always assumed he would die first.
He became a ghost sitting alone on his bathroom floor. Blood was dribbling from his mouth, his body curled up, hunched over the toilet. The water was pooled at the bottom of the bowl and his reflection was transparent and almost unseeable. The water rippled, the blood curling down his bottom lip and dripping into the water, flowering and disrupting his pale reflection.
At the bottom of the water sat two flowers.
Earlier, when he had been choking and gasping for air, painful tears streaming down his face as he suffocated, for just a moment, he paused for a moment to look in the mirror. It was less than half a second, but the lips on the panicked face that looked back were a bluish-purple color as he tried, and failed, to breathe.
The petals of the sodden flowers that mocked him from the toilet were the same color. Pale, half-alive, bluish-purple flowers.
Blood dropped into the water again. His reflection rippled and dispersed.
He couldn’t even watch his eyes widen, but he felt his skin shift with realization.
The lonely feeling lodged under his skin. The grief he could feel in his gums, under his fingernails. The love he would never get to feel in return.
He wondered if Shane ever felt like this. The next drop of blood that dropped into the water was diluted slightly, pinkish in color and saltier than blood usually is.
He was a ghost. And he had at least gotten one thing right: ghosts were so, incredibly cold.
—
“Hey,” Sara opens the door to the hospital room, giving Ryan a little wave as the door gently clicks behind her, “How are you feeling?”
Ryan smiles, but he knows it looks strained and unhappy. Her face falls slightly, but she quickly picks it back up as she walks over to Ryan’s bed.
She sits down at the end of the bed, and for a moment there’s a silence. It’s a horrible, awkward silence as they both hold back questions that are too sensitive to ask. Ryan looks down at the thin, plastic hospital blanket, watching his fingers pick absently at the material.
“I don’t remember who it was,” he says quietly. Sara finally looks up at him.
“You never told me,” her voice is low. As if it’s a secret. As if it’s a regret. “So I can’t remind you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She sighs.
“It’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have told you, if it had been me,” she smiles, and she turns her face away from him to look out the window, “Shane told me, but that’s just the type of guy he was, I guess. It’s different for everyone.”
Ryan lays his head down on the pillow, his gaze turning toward the same window.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, as a small red bird hits the window. It falls to the sill, where it gets up, flits its wings, and then flies away.
“Hey,” he sits up again, the plastic sheets crunching as he does, “Who’s Shane?”
A beat.
Two beats.
Three beats, four.
The quiet stretches as Ryan’s question settles and fills the room. Sara is frozen, a veritable statue in her silence.
“Please,” her voice is suddenly ragged, “please, please tell me this isn’t happening.” She turns to face Ryan, and she isn’t crying. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she’s not crying. She’s biting her lip, probably the inside of her cheek as well.
Ryan’s heart is sinking down into the pit of his stomach.
“I am trying so hard not to be angry right now,” she whispers, looking down at the bed. She gets up abruptly, shoving her fingers into her curly hair.
“You’re— he— oh my God,” she’s facing the wall now, “He was so fucking stupid. I knew he should have just…”
She sinks down to the floor, slowly dissolving into a pile. Ryan thinks he can hear her finally start to cry.
Ryan watches her, her shoulders moving up and down as he tries to figure out something to say. The bed is loud as he swings his legs outward and lifts himself up. There’s a pain in his chest as he crosses the room and sits down beside Sara.
Ryan’s never been good at this kind of stuff. It’s not often that he becomes emotional, and it’s almost never that he knows how to make himself or other people feel better. He follows his curiosity instead.
“Who was he?” The question comes out louder than he intended, interrupting the soft crying in an abrupt way. It does make Sara pause for a moment, so Ryan counts it as a win.
“He was… an idiot,” she laughs softly, a sound that’s both grieving and nostalgic, “and he loved you so much. He... loved you, Ryan. He died from this—“ she weakly waved at Ryan’s hospital gown, “because he thought… he couldn’t have known but he should’ve tried… he didn’t know you loved him. He died not knowing you loved him—“
Sara’s explanation is cut off by a brief sob, the sound made when the lump in someone’s throat bubbles up and is released. She composes herself, and turns to look Ryan in the eye.
“I kind of resent you, Ryan, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help it,” She lays her hand on his thigh, “It’s just, you get to live the rest of your life now. He’s dead, and it’s completely unfair because you guys should’ve been together and happy but now he’s dead because that stupid, selfish asshole couldn’t own up to his own feelings and he didn’t want to stop loving you or forget you.”
She let out a breath.
“I’m so mad at him,” she released a long, shuddering sigh, “but now he’ll never get to hear about it. That’s the trade-off for you getting to live, I guess— you lost one of the most important pieces. One of the funniest, one of the most weird, amazing parts of your life. I’m sorry.”
She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand and stands. She helps Ryan up, then pulls him into a tight hug.
“I have to go,” she pulls back, then grabs her purse, “But google Buzzfeed Unsolved— surely you remember that, you can’t have forgotten Unsolved— and take a minute and watch all of the videos with him. Just watch and see how happy you made him and how happy he made you, and just…”
She opens the door and looks back at him.
“See what you lost.”
—
The day after Shane died, as Shane’s family tried to sort out their grief and the funeral plans, Ryan sat at his computer and watched Buzzfeed Unsolved.
The room was dark, and he was curled up underneath his blankets. The laptop’s screen reflected dim light onto his face as the videos played and played on. He sat there watching Shane move, breathe, laugh.
He never used to watch these videos, before Shane died. Didn’t like to see himself and hear his voice play back. Now, it felt like all he had left. His own presence in front of the camera didn’t even register with him: it was all Shane.
His chest hurt. He couldn’t tell if it was the violets coming back up or the gaping hole left in his heart by Shane’s death.
He couldn’t cry anymore. He felt as if he had spent all the tears he’d been allotted for his life the night he found out Shane had died in the back of an ambulance. Watching these captured pieces of time, in which Shane was with him and always would be, stopped in time, made him want to cry. But he couldn’t, and he wasn’t going to force himself to.
He coughed, a terrible, hacking cough. His next breath was difficult, and his next one didn’t come at all. He threw the blankets off and stumbled blindly to the bathroom.
The videos played on in the empty room, Shane’s voice and Ryan’s heaving the only sounds in the quiet apartment.
—
His nose was big, framed by warm eyes, with thick eyebrows and short hair, all three the same shade of dark brown. The first thing Ryan notices about him is the charming way the skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
Ryan watches all of the videos he can find. He’s amazed he doesn’t remember a single thing about him. His own appearance in the videos isn’t surprising (he remembers Unsolved, of course he remembers Unsolved), but the other man isn’t involved in any of the memories he has. Their conversations are easy, funny, and Ryan knows that this is the man he was in love with.
Ryan doesn’t know if people can fall in love with someone they’ve never met, but if they can, Ryan knows he still loves Shane. It’s not all-consuming, it’s not fiery or feverish, it’s not sharp or cutting— it aches. It hurts like a headache: all over, not unbearable, but uncomfortable, and with no specific starting point.
The window outside his hospital room shows the night sky, and he looks toward it as the videos play. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound.
“I did meet some of the most insufferable people. But, they also met me.”
Ryan laughs, surprising himself.
In another universe, Shane didn’t die. In another universe, Shane told Ryan, or Ryan told Shane, and they were okay.
In this one, though, Ryan holds onto a man he doesn't remember through small vignettes of their time together. In this universe, Ryan is in love with someone who would never know, couldn’t know.
The video ends. Ryan turns his phone off and sits in the dark room.
There’s a sound outside the window. Ryan sits up, and slowly lifts himself from the bed, carefully so as not to upset the stitches from his surgery. He shuffles over and looks out.
Two birds sit in the bush directly outside. A cardinal and a blue jay, and, softly, they tweet back and forth to each other, copying each other’s songs.
He laughs to himself, quietly. Ryan feels like it’s a sign, but he knows Shane, based on what he saw in the videos, would hate the idea that he came back from the dead.
Maybe he’d like it, though, Ryan thought, watching the two animals interact, because he’s a bird and not a ghost.
As Ryan leans onto the window sill, he feels loved and seen. It hurts and doesn’t all at the same time.
Ryan starts to cry again, cathartic and painful, and the birds fly away. Ryan watches them through his tears, until he can’t see them anymore. He shuffles back to the hospital bed, climbs back in, and falls asleep thinking about Shane.
if ur still doing requests can i get uhhh fuckin shyan heathers au
a/n: you ABSOLUTELY can i’ve been listening to dead girl walking (reprise) on repeat for like a week pls enjoy:
Ryan pushed open the doors of Westerberg High School, a frantic and frenzied energy thrumming beneath his skin as he stalked down the hallways he’d loathed so much. He was so stupid to have let that hatred get the better of him– his bitterness, his anger, all of it had blinded him, led to the death of three people and maybe more if he couldn’t find Shane.
Croquet mallet in hand, he broke out into a run, the images of Heather C., Ram, Kurt flashing through his head. He had to find Shane. He had to. This had gone on long enough.
No one here deserved to die, except himself and Shane. His Shane. His monster.
Head’s up Shane, Ryan thought, sprinting down the empty hallways, I’m a dead man walking and I’m going to end this. He clenched the croquet mallet tight in his hand, the distant sound of the pep rally reminding him what exactly was on the line.
Lost in his thoughts, Ryan didn’t notice the opening classroom door in front of him. He collided into Mrs. Fleming, who looked up at him and then did a double take, eyes widening in shock.
“Ryan?” The teacher asked, incredulous, “Shane Madej told me you just committed suicide?” She ended the sentence on a questioning note, still looking Ryan up and down with a stunned expression.
“Yeah, well, he’s wrong about a lot of things,” Ryan huffed out; he didn’t have time for this– his crazy ex-boyfriend was going to blow up the school and he couldn’t be trapped talking to Mrs. F–
An idea struck him.
“What’s underneath the gym?” He asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth far too quickly.
“The boiler room?”
“That’s it.” Ryan shoved past the concerned teacher, pace picking up into a run as he locked his eyes onto the doors to the stairwell.
“Ryan!” He heard Mrs. Fleming yell from behind him, “What’s going on?”
He kept running, heartbeat roaring in his ears. He didn’t have time to talk– he shoved open the door to the stairwell, throwing himself down the stairs as the muffled cheers from the pep rally got louder.
The doors to the boiler room stared at him; Shane was on the other side, he knew. Ryan took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the croquet mallet in his hand. He had to do this.
Ryan threw open the doors. Shane was crouching next to one of the boilers across the floor– his head snapped up, widening his eyes and then frowning when he saw Ryan.
“I knew that noose looked too loose.”
“Step away from the bomb.” Ryan thought his voice would shake, but it remained firm. He grabbed his mallet with both hands, his grip beginning to tremble when Shane let out a soft laugh and stood up, black trench coat billowing around him.
“This little thing? I’d hardly call this a bomb. This is just to trigger the packs of thermals upstairs in the gym,” Shane gestured to the bomb connected to the boiler, then he dropped the smile and clenched his fists, eyes wrathful, “Those are bombs.”
Ryan took Shane all in– he remembered the slushies at 7/11, the absolutely mind-blowing sex, the obsessive love, everything they’d shared. But he also remembered the bullets between Kurt and Ram’s eyes, he remembered hiding in a closet, faking his own fucking suicide to escape. Shane stared at him with dark purple bags under his angry, hurt eyes; Ryan watched him with shaking hands, as he bared his teeth and shoved a hand into his trench coat.
“People are gonna see the ashes of Westerburg High School and they’re gonna think ‘There’s a school that self-destructed not because society doesn’t care, but because that school was society’” Shane growled, pulling out the gun that Ryan had become so intimately acquainted with, “The only place Heathers and Marthas can truly get along is in Heaven!”
Ryan was staring down the barrel of Shane’s gun, tears burning the backs of his eyes. He loved Shane, he truly did, but enough was e-fucking-nough.
He wished it didn’t have to end like this.
“I wish your mom had been a little stronger,” Ryan said, voice unsteady as he pushed the words past the lump in his throat, “I wish she stayed around a little longer.” Shane’s eyes darkened at the mention of his dead mother, and he turned his face away, mouth set into a hard line and not looking Ryan in the eye anymore.
The tears began to fall down Ryan’s face as he took a step closer, not caring about the gun in Shane’s now-shaking hands.
“I wish your dad were good! I wish grown-ups understood!” He shouted, hot tears running down his face as he screamed at Shane, everything they could’ve been racing through his mind, “I wish we met before they convinced you life is war! I wish you’d come with me!”
Ryan thrust out his hand towards Shane, a silent plea. Shane stared at Ryan’s hand, uncertainty in his eyes. After a couple of beats, Ryan’s hand and Shane’s gun the only things in between them, Shane looked back up at him with a frenzied determination in his eyes.
“I wish I had more TNT.” Shane hissed with tears streaming down his face and an incurable rage burning in his eyes.
The was a moment of silence, only sound the “Heyo, Westerburg!” of the pep rally right above them– and then Ryan swatted the gun out of Shane’s hand, the weapon scattering to the floor as he went for the bomb–
But Shane grabbed him by his hair and pulled him back, Ryan crying out as pain radiated from his scalp– he was thrown against a wall, opening his eyes just in time to see the angry form of Shane Madej rearing back his fist. Ryan ducked and he heard Shane shout in pain as his hand connected with the concrete wall where Ryan’s head had been.
Ryan scrambled away from Shane, only to have the other boy grab his leg as he tried to get away. Time seemed to slow down as he glanced frantically to his left, eyes falling on the glinting black surface of Shane’s gun.
He grabbed the gun, pointing it at Shane just as he was whipping himself around, lunging for Ryan.
Ryan locked his gaze with Shane’s angry, angry eyes. He wished it didn’t have to end like this.
i’m about fifty followers late but WHO CARES i’m doing a thing where you can send any prompts you want (writing prompts, drawing prompts, edit prompts, etc.) and i’ll try to get through all of them!! let’s celebrate!!
i’m about fifty followers late but WHO CARES i’m doing a thing where you can send any prompts you want (writing prompts, drawing prompts, edit prompts, etc.) and i’ll try to get through all of them!! let’s celebrate!!
“Shane told us that we are by far the most scientifically interesting community in the U.S., and he had come to study just what is going on around here. He grinned, and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly.”
This has probably been done before but we deserve this nightvale AU
Ryan blinked open his eyes, the fog of sleepiness in his mind evaporating slowly as the watery, mid-morning sun streamed onto his face; he vaguely recalled having nightmares as he slept, but they slipped away from him as he tried to remember them in detail. He pushed it to the back of his mind and sat up, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn, before picking up his phone to check the time. His eyes widened as he read his lockscreen.
Ryan blinked open his eyes, the fog of sleepiness in his mind evaporating slowly as the watery, mid-morning sun streamed onto his face; he vaguely recalled having nightmares as he slept, but they slipped away from him as he tried to remember them in detail. He pushed it to the back of his mind and sat up, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn, before picking up his phone to check the time. His eyes widened as he read his lockscreen.
Missed call from Shane <3 (14)
[shane] ryan please come over when you wake up please
[shane] please i need someone right now
Ryan stumbled out of bed, the bleariness of just waking up dissipating as he frantically got dressed. Hundreds of anxiety-fueled situations ran through his mind as he hastily pulled on clothes.
What if he's hurt?
Is something wrong with his mom? Did his father come back?
He texted me, so whatever's going on he must be okay physically--
But he sounds upset so there must be something wrong--
He pulled his jacket on and grabbed his phone and keys from on top of his nightstand before almost running out of his room and down the stairs. His parents didn't appear to be up yet, so there was no one around to ask questions when Ryan slipped out the door in a distressed hurry.
There was a slight drizzle as he climbed into his car; it was one of those days that seemed perfect for relaxing and staying inside where it was cozy and warm, but Ryan was far from relaxed in his current state. He quickly sent off a 'I'm on my way' text before starting the car and pulling out of his driveway-- his heart was pounding and all his thoughts seemed to center around Shane and his wellbeing.
He made it over to the Madej household faster than he ever had before; it usually took around fifteen minutes, but Ryan was pulling into Shane's long, gravel driveway in about ten minutes, breaking a few speed limits in the process.
Ryan got out of his car, fumbling with his seat belt in his haste, before going up onto Shane's front porch and knocking on the door. He didn't have to wait ten seconds before the door swung open.
Shane looked like shit; he was in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, facial hair messy and untrimmed, eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying.
"Shane," Ryan said softly, heart aching as he reached out to grab Shane's hand. Shane took his hand silently, before pulling Ryan into a tight hug, burying his face in the nook of his neck.
Ryan didn't say anything, just rubbed Shane's back and offered him solace in the form of holding him close. His confusion had given way to pure worry, because whatever was going on with Shane had him a mess.
Shane pulled away and wiped at his eyes, before looking around and realizing they were still on his front porch. "Come in," he said, voice hoarse.
His anachronistic house was cozy after the being in the cold rain, although a heavy sense of foreboding rested atop it. Ryan immediately went to the kitchen, pulling two mugs and the Madejs' kettle from the cabinets.
"I'm gonna make tea," Ryan told Shane, who was leaning on the kitchen counter, eyes on the floor, "And then you're going to tell me what's wrong. Okay?"
"Okay," Shane replied, voice quiet as Ryan grabbed the tea bags from the cabinet. He had been over so much lately that he knew where everything was stored, and soon enough he had the kettle boiling on the stove.
Neither of them said anything-- Shane was silent and was refusing to look at Ryan. He wanted to go over and wrap his arms around him, tell Shane that whatever was going on Ryan would still love-- no, not love. It was far too early and Ryan was far too cowardly to be the first to say the dreaded l-word.
He wanted to go over and pull Shane into an embrace, run his hands though Shane's hair and tell him that whatever was going on, Ryan would always be here for him. No matter what. But Shane's body language was tight and closed off, arms wrapped around himself and a sad, almost guilty expression on his face.-- Ryan knew that his physical proximity was not what Shane needed right now.
Shane's home was silent, but it wasn't the nice, companionable silence Ryan had grown used to; rather, it was uncomfortable and heavy. Ryan jumped when the kettle screamed, not anticipating the sudden break in the melancholy quiet.
His heart ached for Shane as he poured the tea; he wouldn't look at Ryan even as he poured him his tea and led him to the couch. They sat down next to each other, Shane immediately burrowing into one of the blankets.
He suddenly looked very young and vulnerable, something about the unhappy and fearful look on his face filling Ryan with a longing to reach out and comfort him.
"Please," Ryan said, voice as gentle as possible, "tell me what's wrong. You've got me worried out of my mind here, Shane."
Shane didn't respond right away, instead staring down into his mug of tea as if it held the secrets of the universe. Ryan reached out to rest a hand on his knee, and felt Shane go tense underneath him--finally, he breathed out a long sigh.
"I think I..." His voice cracked, the upset look coming back, before taking another deep breath, "This morning. I woke up in the forest as always, but something was wrong-- I came back home, and I turned on the news and I-- I--"
He seemed to not be able to get the word out, breaths coming faster and faster before finally screwing his eyes shut and continuing.
"They found a dead body in the forest, Ryan," He choked out, "They found a dead body that looked like it was killed by a wolf. And I-- I didn't wake up in the clearing, I got out of my chains last night-- oh my God, I killed somebody, Ryan--"
He paused, breathing too fast, hyperventilating and putting his face in his hands. Ryan was at a loss for how to console Shane; he settled on grabbing one of Shane's hands and running his thumb over the back.
"It's okay, Shane," He placated in a soft voice, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, "You have no proof it was you."
"I'm the only wolf in this area, Ryan," Shane's voice was pained and he looked close to tears, "There's no one else it could have been. I hurt someone--" He broke off into a sob, causing Ryan's heart to break in half.
Seeing Shane, his Shane, calm and collected Shane, have a complete and messy breakdown right in front of him was a jarring sight; it was disconcerting and terrible seeing the boy he loved dissolve into tears and not be able to do anything about it. He absolutely hated seeing Shane like this, it wasn't right.
Shane tried to stop crying and attempt to collect himself, but was gripping the empty mug in his hands so tight that it suddenly shattered-- they both stared at it for a couple of seconds before Shane broke down again into tears.
"I'm so destructive," He whispered, staring at the mess and ripping his hand from Ryan's to wipe at the tears falling from his eyes, "I'm a fucking monster."
"Shane, you are not-- look at me," Ryan tugged gently on Shane's hands, pulling them away from his face, "You're not a monster. You have no proof that it was you-- for all we know it really could have been a wild animal attack."
"You're gonna cut yourself on the glass," Shane mumbled, not listening to Ryan, trying to pick up the shards on top of the blanket with shaking hands, "Be careful."
"You're not listening to me," Ryan mumbled miserably, watching Shane refuse to meet his gaze and pick up the sharp pieces of ceramic with bare hands and an upset expression. Ryan stood up and helped Shane clean up in silence, waiting for him to say something, anything.
As they collected the shards of glass, Shane didn't acknowledge Ryan, instead giving him sad glances whenever he thought Ryan wasn't looking; after they managed to collect and throw away the pieces of the mug, Ryan pulled him into another tight hug-- except Shane wouldn't put his arms around Ryan.
"What's going on in your head right now?" Ryan asked, pulling away, trying to keep his voice from cracking-- he wished Shane would look at him, or say something. Seeing Shane fall apart was heartbreaking, but seeing him shut down was worse.
Shane wrapped his arms around himself, eyes on the floor. "I'm so afraid," He choked out finally, voice trembling, "I'm so afraid of hurting you."
Ryan didn't know how to say that Shane shutting him out was far more painful than any physical injury he possibly could sustain, so instead he forced himself to swallow his hurt and put on a brave face.
"I know you would never," Ryan grabbed Shane's hands, pulling them towards his face so he could kiss the back of his hand, "Trust me, Shane. When have I ever been wrong?" He thought that maybe that would get a laugh out of Shane, but Shane just stared at him with his sad amber eyes, the eyes so often full of joy and light now shaded by grief.
Ryan forced a small smile onto his face. "Why don't we go up to your bedroom and watch stupid movies to help us both calm down?" He faked cheerfulness, as if some mind numbing Disney movie would make any of this better.
Shane dropped his gaze to the floor again and nodded, allowing Ryan to lead him upstairs and into his room.
Ryan pulled up some low-budget animated film for them to make fun of and laugh at, and an artificial pretense of normalcy fell over them for a few hours. The day went on and night fell, and even though they cuddled and kissed and did all the things they normally did, all the things Ryan loved doing, it felt as though there was something fake about it. Ryan was gentle in how he moved and in what he said, Shane was cautious in everything he did and still wouldn't look Ryan in the eyes.
Ryan played his part and it left a bad taste in his mouth. He could see Shane hurting underneath the half-hearted laughs and smiles, but didn't reach out or say anything-- what good would it do? Surely, Shane would say something if this method of coping with everything wasn't working, right?
Ryan snuggled up to Shane's too-warm frame, listening to the rise and fall of the other's chest as they both pretended to be asleep. Surely, this was helping Shane cope. This was the best thing Ryan could do to help.
He repeated that as a mantra until sleep took him fitfully.
--
Morning came as a cold reality shock.
Ryan awoke slowly, alone, cold in Shane's bed. He sat up, confused, eyes falling on Shane sitting on the edge of the bed, on his phone.
"Shane?" Ryan asked groggily, wondering why he wasn't cuddling his boyfriend at the moment-- the events of yesterday came flooding back and the rest of the sentence withered in Ryan's throat.
"Oh. You're awake," Shane said softly, quietly, but there was something wrong about it.
He figured it was best to tread lightly right now.
"How are you holding u--"
"I'm fine now," Shane interrupted, glancing back but not looking at Ryan, "Sleep helped".
Ryan narrowed his eyes, knowing Shane well enough to see something was clearly bothering Shane but also not wanting to push. He leaned over to give Shane a good morning kiss despite this, except-- Shane moved out of the way. Shane all but dodged out of the way of Ryan's affection.
Something was definitely wrong, and the feeling of dread returned to Ryan.
"Shane, is there something wrong?" He asked as gently as possible, but Shane still flinched.
"No, really, I'm fine," Shane mumbled, facing away from Ryan, "I just-- I just think it would be best if I was alone right now. You should go home, Ry."
The words hit Ryan like a slap in the face, but he forced himself not to act like it had hurt. If that's what Shane needed right now... then he would leave. Ryan got up out of the bed mechanically, feeling like an automaton as he grabbed his phone and keys off of Shane's desk.
Shane accompanied Ryan to the door and said a curt goodbye, completely freezing Ryan out as he tried for another kiss.
"See you later," Ryan forced himself to say cheerfully as he stood on Shane's porch, "I'll miss--"
Shane shut the door.
It was all Ryan could do not to collapse on the ground and cry.
Ryan got Shane needing to be alone, but what was the need to be so distant and cold? Had he done something wrong? Ryan walked to his car in a daze of melancholy, feeling heartbroken and confused.
He was trying to unlock his car through the tears threatening to spill from his eyes when he heard the backdoor of Shane's house slam, and snapped his head upwards to see Shane stalking towards the woods.
Ryan couldn't leave like this. He needed answers.
"Shane!" He cried out, jogging towards his boyfriend's lanky frame, "I--"
The words died when Shane whipped his head towards him. Shane's vibrant yellow eyes widened at the sight of Ryan; there was something impossibly animalistic and feral about how he was holding himself, and he was shivering slightly, his teeth bared in an almost-snarl. For the first time, Ryan felt a jolt of fear and shock run through him.
"I told you to leave!" Shane shouted, voice sounding both desperate and animal at the same time, "I'm about thirty seconds away from transforming-- I don't want you to see me like this, Ryan!"
"I-- I didn't realize," Ryan instinctively took a step back from Shane, but immediately regretted it when hurt flashed across Shane's face, "I'm sorry--"
"Just leave!" Shane's voice was almost entirely a growl, and it sent Ryan scampering away.
Almost as soon as Ryan had turned around, he was frozen in place by the awful sounds of bones cracking and snapping, human screams-- Shane's screams, horrible hoarse cries that seemed to last for years that transformed seamlessly into a wolf's howl. Just as soon as it had begun, everything went silent, and Ryan dared to glance behind him.
A large brown wolf with vibrant yellow eyes was staring at him, something human in how upset it looked, before it turned tail and bolted into the forest.
All Ryan was left with was the sound of his own breathing, heavy and ragged.
His head swam as he trekked back to his car, Ryan's head filled with Shane, Shane, Shane. As he fumbled with the keys, his mind drifted back to how distant he was that morning, how destroyed he was the night before. How sad those bright yellow eyes were just moments ago.
As Ryan sat down in the driver's seat, he made a vow to prove Shane wasn't responsible for the corpse in the woods. I'm gonna find the truth, he thought, staring at the wide expanse of green, thinking of Shane out there, alone, even if it fucking kills me.
