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sherydenTitle: The Roommate
Author:sheryden
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2155 (this chapter)
Fandom: Kane RPS
Pairings: eventual Chris/Steve, mention of past Chris/OFC
Warnings minor language
Disclaimer: I do not own these people, and the story within is just the fruit of my vivid imagination.
Summary: Troubled Chris agrees to move into an old Victorian house with his best friend Steve, but little do either of them know that their new home is occupied by matchmaking ghost. Psychic!Chris, Skeptic!Steve, and Ghost!Jensen.
Notes: I don't even know, guys. This has been nipping at my brain for a while, and I have to get it out. I was going to do extend this for a big bang, but it wanted to be written now. Who am I to argue? I'm breaking it into three chapters. This is the short opening act.
The rain pounded against Steve’s windshield as he pulled into the parking lot of the dingy little hole-in-the-wall bar. Even with the lack of visibility, he knew exactly where he was going. After all, he’d made this little two-in-the-morning trip enough times to know the route by heart.
He pulled his car to a stop in the nearest parking spot, turned off his engine, and climbed out onto the blacktop. His eyes scanned the area until they fell on the object of his nighttime drive—Chris. He was leaning against the wall next to the exit of the bar, and he looked as though he was probably staying upright only because of the wall.
Letting out a breath, Steve trudged over and smacked Chris on the bicep. “Come on, Kane,” he said. “It’s pouring out, and I wanna go home.”
Chris blinked at him a couple of times. “Steve? Hey, man. What are you doin’ here?”
“You called me, dumbass. Now get in the car.”
“Oh…yeah.” Chris blinked again, then his lips curved into a grin. He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck. “I love you, man. You’re a good friend.”
Steve squeezed him back, then grabbed his elbow so he could lead him to the car. “I’m a great friend. Now let’s go.”
***
Chris woke up to the morning sun pouring into his eyes. The muscles in his back and legs and shoulders were stiff, and his head was pounding like someone was inside trying to get out. Cussing under his breath, he sat upright and glanced around at his surroundings.
Fuck, he thought to himself. He had apparently spent the night on Steve’s couch again. And since he didn’t remember how he had gotten here, that meant he had either called Steve to come and get him in the middle of the night, or he’d driven here drunk. Either way, he figured he should start concocting an apology before Steve ventured out of his bedroom.
He stood unsteadily to his feet, stretched the kinks out of his back, and dragged himself to the bathroom. After he’d relieved himself, he washed his face and wrenching off his t-shirt, ran a wet cloth over his neck, chest, and underarms. It was a paltry clean-up job, to be sure, but at least he’d smell presentable while he was groveling for forgiveness for whatever he’d done the night before.
As Chris was tossing the cloth onto the edge of the tub, Steve poked his head into the bathroom. “Morning.” He shoved a pair of jeans, some boxer briefs, and a clean t-shirt into Chris’s hands. “You left these here last time. The green towel is clean, and you can throw your dirty clothes into the laundry basket in my bedroom.”
Chris stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, man.” After Steve walked away, Chris pushed the door to the bathroom closed, then started to pull off his dirty garments. His jeans reeked of alcohol, and Chris imagined that he—or someone else—had probably dumped a drink on them at some point during the night.
Once he was in the shower, he let the scalding hot water cascade over his neck and shoulders soothing the tension in his muscles. Slowly, he washed his hair and ran a soapy cloth along the expanse of his body. He wanted to drag out the shower as long as he could. He figured he was in for a good talking to when he went back out there, and he wanted to postpone that as long as he could.
After he finished showering, he reluctantly got himself dressed, then took the bundle of dirty clothes in and dumped them in Steve’s room.
When he finally worked up the nerve to venture toward the kitchen, he was greeted by the smell of sausage, eggs, and pancakes cooking. Steve was cooking. For him. A pang of guilt surged through him as he swallowed and rounded the corner into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said weakly.
Steve glanced up, spatula in hand. “Hey. I’ll have breakfast done in a minute.”
Chris ran a hand through his damp hair. “What can I do to help?”
“Nah,” Steve said, waving a hand through the air. “I got it. Just grab some drinks. I have milk and two kinds of juice. Or there’s iced tea.”
Wrenching open the fridge, Chris pulled out a pitcher of iced tea and fished out a couple of glasses from the cupboard. After he filled the glasses, he put the pitcher back into the fridge and sat down to watch Steve move around the kitchen.
After about thirty seconds, the lack of response from Steve started to get to him, and he said, “If you’re gonna bitch at me, could you just get it over with?”
Steve glanced up. “I’m not gonna bitch at you, Chris. It never does any good anyway.”
Ouch, Chris thought to himself. Had he finally pushed Steve far enough that he no longer thought Chris was worth the trouble?
Chris licked his lips. “I’m sorry that I, uh…” He closed his eyes. “To be honest, I don’t remember how I got here.”
“Relax,” Steve said. “I picked you up. Jay and one of his buddies brought your car back this morning.”
Nodding, Chris folded his arms across his chest and tried to will himself to become smaller. “I’m sorry that… I’m just sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You, uh, usually read me the riot act when I do stupid shit. I’m not worth it anymore?”
Steve tossed the spatula into the sink and leaned his weight against the kitchen counter. “It’s not that,” he said with a tinge of exhaustion to his voice. “It’s just bitching at you isn’t doing any good. If you’re planning on drinking yourself into a stupor every night because of a girl, what can I say?”
The Girl. Chris’s ex and the subject of quite a few “I told you so” speeches from Steve. She had ground Chris’s heart to dust six months ago, and even though he knew he should get over it, he just didn’t seem to be able to move on.
“I’m trying, Steve.”
Steve nodded as he deposited plates of eggs, pancakes, and sausage onto the table. He sat down across from Chris, and started shoveling eggs into his mouth. “So,” he said between mouthfuls. “I had an idea. You know I’m moving into that old Victorian I told you about.”
Chris took a bite of pancakes. “Yeah, I remember. I’ll help you move.”
Chuckling under his breath, Steve shook his head. “No, man, I’m not asking you to help me move. I just… I told the landlord that I wanted to find a roommate, and… I don’t know. Would you be interested?”
“In moving in with you?” Chris barked a laugh. “What? So you can keep an eye on me?”
“Partially. But it’s way too big for just one person, and the rent’s reasonable, but it would be better if I could split costs. And you’ve mostly been couch surfing lately.”
Chris leaned back in his chair and gazed at Steve. The thought of having a stable place to live again was appealing, to be sure. And there was a time not so long ago that he and Steve had been practically inseparable. It would be good to find that connection with him again. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Sounds like a plan.”
***
Steve balanced a heavy box in his arms as he climbed the steps of the old Victorian. It was an old house, but the landlord had assured him and Chris that it was in good repair. The plumbing had been recently updated, and the basement was waterproof. There was a loose step leading to the back door, but Steve had gotten a promise that it would be fixed within the month.
He was more than a little excited about this move. It finally gave him a place where he could spread out and really start to feel at home. He could have get-togethers without cramming everyone into his tiny apartment, and the kitchen was magnificent. But even more importantly, he was moving in with Chris.
Over the years, he and Chris had been closer than close. For a while, Steve had even entertained the possibility that the connection between them might be one they could nurture into something more than friendship. He’d never had the nerve to act on those feelings, though, and he’d had to watch as Chris had thrown himself after a string of girls that were bound to break his already fragile heart.
The last one had been the worst. Chris had decided that he was in love with her, and he’d even talked about building a future with her. Steve had seen the heartbreak coming a mile away, but he had been helpless to stop it.
After the inevitable had happened, Chris had fallen apart. He’d become reckless, drowning his pain in a bottle and drifting away from Steve. Even though Steve tried to help as much as he could, Chris just seemed lost these days. Maybe this new living arrangement would help pull him out of the hole he was in. Steve could only hope…
As he walked into the living room and deposited the box onto the floor, it occurred to Steve that Chris should have been right behind him, but he was nowhere to be found. Stretching the kinks out of his body, Steve headed back out the door to see if Chris needed a hand. When he got the edge of the porch, he saw Chris standing in the yard, staring up toward the attic. His face was white as a sheet.
“You all right?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Chris said, licking his lips. “I’m fine.” Head down and arms clasped around a dining room chair and trash bag full of clothes, he breezed past Steve and walked into the house.
***
Chris sunk into the cushions of the couch next to Steve and gazed around at the forest of boxes in the living room—their living room.. This was so tantalizingly normal—moving into a house and wondering how the hell they were ever going to unpack all the boxes before they were old and gray. He wanted this. He wanted normal. He wanted the house and the yard and someone to share it with. But normal was something Chris just didn’t do, and he’d had a smack-in-the-face of a reminder of that out on the front lawn just now.
When Steve said it was an old Victorian house, Chris should’ve known. A house like this must have a history, and houses with histories… well, they sometimes they came with rattles and loose steps and peeling paint. And sometimes they came with a powerful dose of the past.
Chris had felt the presence almost as soon as he’d hit the front lawn. It had crept up on him like icy fingers traveling up his spine. At first, he’d shaken it off and had tried to ignore it. As he’d carried the chair and bag of clothes into the house, though, his eyes had drifted up to the attic window, and that’s when he’d seen him, plain as day. It was a man, younger than him and Steve from the looks of him. Handsome—almost pretty. He had been leaning against the window, just gazing at the goings on in the yard. He looked solid, just like a regular flesh and blood man. But as soon as he’d laid eyes on him, Chris knew he was staring up at a ghost.
Steve nudged Chris with his knee. “Hey, if we leave this stuff packed, I don’t think we have to buy any more furniture.”
Shaking off his concerns over the house’s other occupant, Chris plastered a smile on his face. “I want to point out that most of this stuff is yours.”
With his characteristic broad smile, Steve smacked him with a throw pillow. “It’s still not that much, though, huh? Once we get these boxes out of here, the room’s gonna look pretty bare. We need a couple more chairs, at least.”
“Well, there’s always Goodwill.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “We could probably head out there next week and pick some stuff out.”
“Man, that’s downright domestic,” Chris said with a smirk. “Should we be picking out China patterns?”
A look Chris couldn’t quite place ghosted across Steve’s features. After a moment, it was gone and replaced with a grin. “What? Bargain dishes and paper plates aren’t good enough for you?”
“Well, I am accustomed to certain comforts.”
“I think paper plates are gonna have to do it tonight. I don’t know where I put the dishes.”
“Yeah,” Chris said with a smile. He punched Steve in the shoulder. “I’ll head down the road and get the pizza and beer.”
Author:
sherydenRating: PG-13
Word Count: 2155 (this chapter)
Fandom: Kane RPS
Pairings: eventual Chris/Steve, mention of past Chris/OFC
Warnings minor language
Disclaimer: I do not own these people, and the story within is just the fruit of my vivid imagination.
Summary: Troubled Chris agrees to move into an old Victorian house with his best friend Steve, but little do either of them know that their new home is occupied by matchmaking ghost. Psychic!Chris, Skeptic!Steve, and Ghost!Jensen.
Notes: I don't even know, guys. This has been nipping at my brain for a while, and I have to get it out. I was going to do extend this for a big bang, but it wanted to be written now. Who am I to argue? I'm breaking it into three chapters. This is the short opening act.
The rain pounded against Steve’s windshield as he pulled into the parking lot of the dingy little hole-in-the-wall bar. Even with the lack of visibility, he knew exactly where he was going. After all, he’d made this little two-in-the-morning trip enough times to know the route by heart.
He pulled his car to a stop in the nearest parking spot, turned off his engine, and climbed out onto the blacktop. His eyes scanned the area until they fell on the object of his nighttime drive—Chris. He was leaning against the wall next to the exit of the bar, and he looked as though he was probably staying upright only because of the wall.
Letting out a breath, Steve trudged over and smacked Chris on the bicep. “Come on, Kane,” he said. “It’s pouring out, and I wanna go home.”
Chris blinked at him a couple of times. “Steve? Hey, man. What are you doin’ here?”
“You called me, dumbass. Now get in the car.”
“Oh…yeah.” Chris blinked again, then his lips curved into a grin. He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck. “I love you, man. You’re a good friend.”
Steve squeezed him back, then grabbed his elbow so he could lead him to the car. “I’m a great friend. Now let’s go.”
***
Chris woke up to the morning sun pouring into his eyes. The muscles in his back and legs and shoulders were stiff, and his head was pounding like someone was inside trying to get out. Cussing under his breath, he sat upright and glanced around at his surroundings.
Fuck, he thought to himself. He had apparently spent the night on Steve’s couch again. And since he didn’t remember how he had gotten here, that meant he had either called Steve to come and get him in the middle of the night, or he’d driven here drunk. Either way, he figured he should start concocting an apology before Steve ventured out of his bedroom.
He stood unsteadily to his feet, stretched the kinks out of his back, and dragged himself to the bathroom. After he’d relieved himself, he washed his face and wrenching off his t-shirt, ran a wet cloth over his neck, chest, and underarms. It was a paltry clean-up job, to be sure, but at least he’d smell presentable while he was groveling for forgiveness for whatever he’d done the night before.
As Chris was tossing the cloth onto the edge of the tub, Steve poked his head into the bathroom. “Morning.” He shoved a pair of jeans, some boxer briefs, and a clean t-shirt into Chris’s hands. “You left these here last time. The green towel is clean, and you can throw your dirty clothes into the laundry basket in my bedroom.”
Chris stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, man.” After Steve walked away, Chris pushed the door to the bathroom closed, then started to pull off his dirty garments. His jeans reeked of alcohol, and Chris imagined that he—or someone else—had probably dumped a drink on them at some point during the night.
Once he was in the shower, he let the scalding hot water cascade over his neck and shoulders soothing the tension in his muscles. Slowly, he washed his hair and ran a soapy cloth along the expanse of his body. He wanted to drag out the shower as long as he could. He figured he was in for a good talking to when he went back out there, and he wanted to postpone that as long as he could.
After he finished showering, he reluctantly got himself dressed, then took the bundle of dirty clothes in and dumped them in Steve’s room.
When he finally worked up the nerve to venture toward the kitchen, he was greeted by the smell of sausage, eggs, and pancakes cooking. Steve was cooking. For him. A pang of guilt surged through him as he swallowed and rounded the corner into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said weakly.
Steve glanced up, spatula in hand. “Hey. I’ll have breakfast done in a minute.”
Chris ran a hand through his damp hair. “What can I do to help?”
“Nah,” Steve said, waving a hand through the air. “I got it. Just grab some drinks. I have milk and two kinds of juice. Or there’s iced tea.”
Wrenching open the fridge, Chris pulled out a pitcher of iced tea and fished out a couple of glasses from the cupboard. After he filled the glasses, he put the pitcher back into the fridge and sat down to watch Steve move around the kitchen.
After about thirty seconds, the lack of response from Steve started to get to him, and he said, “If you’re gonna bitch at me, could you just get it over with?”
Steve glanced up. “I’m not gonna bitch at you, Chris. It never does any good anyway.”
Ouch, Chris thought to himself. Had he finally pushed Steve far enough that he no longer thought Chris was worth the trouble?
Chris licked his lips. “I’m sorry that I, uh…” He closed his eyes. “To be honest, I don’t remember how I got here.”
“Relax,” Steve said. “I picked you up. Jay and one of his buddies brought your car back this morning.”
Nodding, Chris folded his arms across his chest and tried to will himself to become smaller. “I’m sorry that… I’m just sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You, uh, usually read me the riot act when I do stupid shit. I’m not worth it anymore?”
Steve tossed the spatula into the sink and leaned his weight against the kitchen counter. “It’s not that,” he said with a tinge of exhaustion to his voice. “It’s just bitching at you isn’t doing any good. If you’re planning on drinking yourself into a stupor every night because of a girl, what can I say?”
The Girl. Chris’s ex and the subject of quite a few “I told you so” speeches from Steve. She had ground Chris’s heart to dust six months ago, and even though he knew he should get over it, he just didn’t seem to be able to move on.
“I’m trying, Steve.”
Steve nodded as he deposited plates of eggs, pancakes, and sausage onto the table. He sat down across from Chris, and started shoveling eggs into his mouth. “So,” he said between mouthfuls. “I had an idea. You know I’m moving into that old Victorian I told you about.”
Chris took a bite of pancakes. “Yeah, I remember. I’ll help you move.”
Chuckling under his breath, Steve shook his head. “No, man, I’m not asking you to help me move. I just… I told the landlord that I wanted to find a roommate, and… I don’t know. Would you be interested?”
“In moving in with you?” Chris barked a laugh. “What? So you can keep an eye on me?”
“Partially. But it’s way too big for just one person, and the rent’s reasonable, but it would be better if I could split costs. And you’ve mostly been couch surfing lately.”
Chris leaned back in his chair and gazed at Steve. The thought of having a stable place to live again was appealing, to be sure. And there was a time not so long ago that he and Steve had been practically inseparable. It would be good to find that connection with him again. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Sounds like a plan.”
***
Steve balanced a heavy box in his arms as he climbed the steps of the old Victorian. It was an old house, but the landlord had assured him and Chris that it was in good repair. The plumbing had been recently updated, and the basement was waterproof. There was a loose step leading to the back door, but Steve had gotten a promise that it would be fixed within the month.
He was more than a little excited about this move. It finally gave him a place where he could spread out and really start to feel at home. He could have get-togethers without cramming everyone into his tiny apartment, and the kitchen was magnificent. But even more importantly, he was moving in with Chris.
Over the years, he and Chris had been closer than close. For a while, Steve had even entertained the possibility that the connection between them might be one they could nurture into something more than friendship. He’d never had the nerve to act on those feelings, though, and he’d had to watch as Chris had thrown himself after a string of girls that were bound to break his already fragile heart.
The last one had been the worst. Chris had decided that he was in love with her, and he’d even talked about building a future with her. Steve had seen the heartbreak coming a mile away, but he had been helpless to stop it.
After the inevitable had happened, Chris had fallen apart. He’d become reckless, drowning his pain in a bottle and drifting away from Steve. Even though Steve tried to help as much as he could, Chris just seemed lost these days. Maybe this new living arrangement would help pull him out of the hole he was in. Steve could only hope…
As he walked into the living room and deposited the box onto the floor, it occurred to Steve that Chris should have been right behind him, but he was nowhere to be found. Stretching the kinks out of his body, Steve headed back out the door to see if Chris needed a hand. When he got the edge of the porch, he saw Chris standing in the yard, staring up toward the attic. His face was white as a sheet.
“You all right?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Chris said, licking his lips. “I’m fine.” Head down and arms clasped around a dining room chair and trash bag full of clothes, he breezed past Steve and walked into the house.
***
Chris sunk into the cushions of the couch next to Steve and gazed around at the forest of boxes in the living room—their living room.. This was so tantalizingly normal—moving into a house and wondering how the hell they were ever going to unpack all the boxes before they were old and gray. He wanted this. He wanted normal. He wanted the house and the yard and someone to share it with. But normal was something Chris just didn’t do, and he’d had a smack-in-the-face of a reminder of that out on the front lawn just now.
When Steve said it was an old Victorian house, Chris should’ve known. A house like this must have a history, and houses with histories… well, they sometimes they came with rattles and loose steps and peeling paint. And sometimes they came with a powerful dose of the past.
Chris had felt the presence almost as soon as he’d hit the front lawn. It had crept up on him like icy fingers traveling up his spine. At first, he’d shaken it off and had tried to ignore it. As he’d carried the chair and bag of clothes into the house, though, his eyes had drifted up to the attic window, and that’s when he’d seen him, plain as day. It was a man, younger than him and Steve from the looks of him. Handsome—almost pretty. He had been leaning against the window, just gazing at the goings on in the yard. He looked solid, just like a regular flesh and blood man. But as soon as he’d laid eyes on him, Chris knew he was staring up at a ghost.
Steve nudged Chris with his knee. “Hey, if we leave this stuff packed, I don’t think we have to buy any more furniture.”
Shaking off his concerns over the house’s other occupant, Chris plastered a smile on his face. “I want to point out that most of this stuff is yours.”
With his characteristic broad smile, Steve smacked him with a throw pillow. “It’s still not that much, though, huh? Once we get these boxes out of here, the room’s gonna look pretty bare. We need a couple more chairs, at least.”
“Well, there’s always Goodwill.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “We could probably head out there next week and pick some stuff out.”
“Man, that’s downright domestic,” Chris said with a smirk. “Should we be picking out China patterns?”
A look Chris couldn’t quite place ghosted across Steve’s features. After a moment, it was gone and replaced with a grin. “What? Bargain dishes and paper plates aren’t good enough for you?”
“Well, I am accustomed to certain comforts.”
“I think paper plates are gonna have to do it tonight. I don’t know where I put the dishes.”
“Yeah,” Chris said with a smile. He punched Steve in the shoulder. “I’ll head down the road and get the pizza and beer.”
