Shane definitely doesn't look okay. As he heads to his still-made bed, Hayden catches a glimpse of his eyes. They look bloodshot and strained, and as Shane tears through his duffel bag and grits out, "I'm taking a shower," Hayden hears the rasp in his voice.

“Shane.”

“What,” Shane snaps, yanking off his shirt. Then he freezes, holding onto it with both hands like he’s only realized what he’s been wearing, and says with equal vehemency, “Fuck,” and flings it toward the headboard. “Fuck!” He says again, louder.

(Or, Shane gets back to his hotel room after running away from Ilya’s place in Boston and panics. Hayden is also there.) (Words: 2,094)