#raychael

Los Santos is a city full of crooked cops and gang wars. Up and coming criminals constantly fought for the top spot, unseating the previous kings and queens in the city of saints. The latest crew emerging worthy of note are the Fake AH. What the AH stands for, nobody knows.

The Fakes, as far as any of Ray's contacts could tell him, consist of three or four people with an astonishing track record. They waltzed into the city about two months ago, immediately uprooting established gangs and taking over their turf. They've also officially declared war on the Corpirate, the current king of LS.

Ray would prefer to stay far away from them and the trouble they're seeking, but.

The other fact he knows of the Fakes is that they're recruiting. Actively and selectively. That wouldn't be a problem, except the Face of the crew, their so called Golden Boy seems to have a specific target in mind:

Michael.

It started with a job they took, just Michael with Ray for secret back up. Ray picked it because it seemed low risk, high reward, with a decent payoff even if they split the money. And it worked like a charm, too: with Ray on overwatch and calmly calling out positions in Michael's ear, they wrap up in record time and without Ray giving away his presence.

But while Ray packed his sniper away, slow clapping echoed across the empty shipyard. It took Ray a moment to locate him. The Golden Boy leaned against a shipping container, legs comfortably crossed at the ankles and watching Michael through golden glasses. His smarmy grin put Ray on guard immediately.

"Well done," he said, pushing off the container to swagger up to Michael. "Impressive, even. And I'm not easily impressed."

Ray expected Michael to be wary, to brush him off. And he did, but the Golden Boy wasn’t deterred, continuing to flatter him. He sidestepped Michael’s prickly exterior and right into his space, metaphorically and literally. To Ray’s surprise, Michael let him. Didn’t protest as loud as he should, didn’t shove him away, and that’s when Ray knew he’d lost him.

If there is one truth universally acknowledged in Los Santos, it's this: the Golden Boy gets what he wants. Always.

It doesn't help that he and Michael hit it off immediately. The third time Michael comes home to their joined flat, brimming with excitement after going out for 'bevs' with 'Gavvy', Ray realizes that this is it. He's losing his best friend, without even jeopardizing their friendship by bringing up his feelings.

“-so he invited me over to his place next week, we’re gonna play some Mario Kart, you should-”

“He what now,” Ray interrupted, trying to maintain a neutral face despite the jealousy flashing through his heart.

The thing is, before all of this, Ray thought he had a chance. Michael flirted with him, in that friendly, gruff way he had. Except now he sees the same behaviour directed at someone else, and he can’t tell if it’s just how Michael is, or if Gavin holds his interest, too. And if it comes to a contest between Ray and the Golden Boy, Ray knows who wins.

It’s not him.

“Yeah, he wants me to meet his crew. It’d be good to have strong allies in this city,” Michael explains, grin bright and happy. Ray’s heart sinks. He knew it would come to this, but now that they’re here, he finds he’s not ready to let go.

Michael will go far, and Ray will remain behind. Invisible, like always. Alone again.

He’s happy for Michael, he tells himself. He is.

He’ll get used to it.

“I thought we were gonna check out the parking garage on 9th street,” Ray protests, though it’s quiet, more of a grumble than anything. Michael rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like we’re gonna spent all fucking day down there.” Michael musters Ray with a long, intense look Ray can’t quite meet, focussing instead on his game. “You can come with, you know. We don’t have to tell him all about your ‘secret sniper identity’ or shit.”

“And intrude on your special ‘boi’ time?” Ray drawls, rolling his eyes in turn. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Michael’s eyes narrow and after a long, tense moment, he points an accusatory finger at Ray. “Wait. Wait. Are you… jealous!?”

Ray gapes at him and sputters, “Wha- jeal- me? What? No!” Then he clears his throat and tries to compose himself, heart thundering away in his chest. He puts as much nonchalance as he’s able to into his next words (which is none). “Why would I be jealous?”

"Because I've been spending a lot of fucking time with Gavin, apparently!" Michael exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. But Ray's brain gets stuck on one specific word in that sentence.

"Fucking?" he presses out through a tightening throat, and hopes the dry delivery makes it sound more sarcastic than desperate.

"Fuck, no." Michael’s nose scrunches up in distaste, and Ray is swamped with relief. “What the fuck, Ray. Why would you think that?”

“S’not like you’ve been around much,” Ray mutters, crossing his arms. “How the fuck should I know.”

Michael sits down next to him, staring at Ray without replying. Ray ducks his head, fiddling with the controller in his lap. Maybe it’s for the best if Michael assumes Ray’s best-friend-jealous. That way, Ray can continue to pine for him from a safe distance.

“So do you want to grab some burgers or something?” Michael asks, breaking the stretching silence. Ray’s head snaps up.

“What, now?”

Michael shrugs. “You got anything better to do?”

Ray bites his lip, glancing back at his game, before saving and quitting. “Guess not.”

***

Ray’s halfway through his Up-n-Atom burger which Michael insisted paying for when he freezes, staring at Michael with wide eyes. Michael, whose foot has been nudging against his while he gesticulated wildly, regaling Ray with his latest adventure.

“Wait,” Ray says, and Michael pauses mid-sentence. “Wait. Is this a date?”