Host of Sheets (shyan)

Chp 3. Echoes

"Hey Shane- think fast!"

Shane blinked awake just in time for a small nerf ball to bounce off his head.

His deskmate Curly grinned at him. "You were sleeping. I helped."

"I wasn't sleeping. I was...trying meditation on for size."

Curly laughed and let him be, but it was true that Shane wasn't sleeping. He hadn't really been sleeping all week, dreaming of water and hands in the dark. He kept telling himself, over and over again, that it was just trauma from almost dying. His brain was just...working some things out. No big deal. It would go away.

People almost died all the time.

The hallucinations still bothered him though, if he thought about them too long. That was a side of his brain he hadn't been aware of. Imagining clawing hands and things crawling inside him, dragging him down. Ryan was starting to get to him, it seemed.

Although sometimes, when he woke up in a cold sweat, semi-aroused from nightmares of just how...familiar he'd imagined those hands being- and that brought him pause. Why would his subconscious imagine that? It was definitely not a part of him he wanted to over-analyze.

He frowned, thumb brushing the sore, scabbed-over mark on his chest through his shirt. It stung. It was taking its damn time healing, the scab nearly black. That was probably his own fault; if he'd just stop messing with it...

Curly seemed to realize Shane wasn't in the talking mood, and so he just ruffled his hair as he went by, slipping out a little early- probably to get ready for the party tonight, Shane assumed. Buzzfeed was throwing a retirement party for one of their execs. No plus-ones, but there was an open bar, and that was good enough to create a little excitement among his coworkers. Most people were probably going to be there.

He did not want to go.

Shane spun in his desk seat, fiddling with his pencil. He had video to edit for Ruining History there was always, always more to edit, but his concentration was non-existent. It was midway through Friday and he'd done almost nothing all week. He'd considered calling in sick once or twice, but people were already acting weird around him as the rumors spread, and he certainly didn't want to encourage that.

If he was a little late with his final cut, they would probably forgive him. And really, staring at computer screens and playing with all the buttons and sliders and fiddly settings wasn't working for him right now either, like he was having trouble remembering how to do it.

Next week would be better, he told himself. It'd be absolutely normal.

Shane glanced at Ryan out of the corner of his eye. With Curly having left, they were now alone in the office.

Ryan didn't have Shane's problems. He was sitting at his desk still, headphones on, staring intently at the screen. He was on a tight deadline to figure out whether what they'd taped for the Crestmourn episode would work in some way, or if they needed to come up with something else. He'd spent the week buried in tapes, and they'd barely spoken- that was Shane's fault, he'd snapped at him the day they were back in the offices, but really, maybe it'd been Ryan's fault. He was hovering, they all were. Walking on eggshells. Treating him different.

When Shane's gaze drifted to Ryan's monitor, he saw himself on the screen, standing in the little chamber. The night vision was on, giving his eyes that odd haunted glow.

Shane swallowed roughly, feeling his heart pace up a beat or two as he watched his own expression grow confused. Nervous.

...as did Ryan's.