There exists a video somewhere of Shane Hollander standing in the parking garage of Censplex wearing a backwards snapback and althetic shorts with an inseam that is probably quite literally just listed as 'slut' on the tag as he stares down whoever is holding the camera. In his hands is a beautiful and perfectly spherical watermelon. In his eyes there is nothing.
"You want me to do what?" he asks.
"Crush it," says Harris, too loud and close to the camera.
"Like, with my hands?"
"The challenge is to do it with your thighs."
Shane, his face and his watermelon do not move.
"It's for charity."
Smash cut to Shane sitting on a parking block, face bright red as he reroutes every bit of strength in his entire body towards his thighs. He is utterly silent, straining, and he only makes a sound when the watermelon finally gives up and crumples under the onslaught.
The sound he makes is high, long and deeply inappropriate. It also echoes throughout the entire parking garage for what seems to be a preternaturally long time.
"What the fuck is--" Ilya, who heard that shit through an open window all the way in the team offices, careens out of the propped-open side door just in time to see his husband bite a hunk of watermelon from the dripping remnants. There is juice on his thighs.
"Hey," Shane says, and then squints at the camera, deadpan once again. "I nominate Ilya Rozanov for the watermelon crushing challenge. Or whatever."
Harris, luckily, has a second melon handy.
