(no subject)
Master Post
Ryan's phone beeps on Monday afternoon, just as he's leaving AP European History. The text from Z just says come over, and Ryan nods at his phone and then slips it back into his front pocket. He'd been expecting that text ever since he woke up this morning to a message that said mental health day. you in? Ryan had wanted to, he'd really, really wanted to, but he'd spent all of Sunday slogging away on that goddamn paper about why Napoleon decided to take over the rest of Europe. Not turning it in seemed like a monumentally stupid idea. He'd sat up in bed, groaning in frustration, and then typed back i cant, shit, AP paper due and stumbled off to the shower with a sour feeling in his stomach. His day hadn't improved much from there.
Ryan can see Tennessee's tall frame at the end of the hallway, and he turns to the side, ducking his head and walking as fast as he can to the buses. He can't put his hat on until he leaves school grounds, but he can at least make himself less noticeable until he's safely away. Tennessee is just-Ryan just can't fucking deal with them right now, can't handle being at the center of all of that energy and cheerfulness. He doesn't want to talk to Spencer and Tennessee and watch them hold hands, accidentally, like they're not even realizing they're doing it. He just wants to escape, and maybe by the time he's walking up Z's driveway the tightness in his chest will have faded away.
Ryan slips into the line for the bus that'll take him to Z's neighborhood, pulling his hat and headphones out while he's waiting to board. He ignores the freshmen wrestlers (they have to be subtle in public, but they don't generally let that prevent them from pushing or shoving at him when the closest teacher isn't looking).
By the time he's managed to find a seat, the bus is pulling away from the curb and all Ryan has to do is close his eyes and listen, letting his head fall back against the cheap, slippery brown plastic. It's a shorter ride to Z's house than it is to his own. Ryan only makes it through five songs before the bus is stopping at the street that curves into Z's neighborhood, and he ducks his head down as he walks off, ignoring the whispered insults he can hear even through the headphones. It doesn't matter. He's almost home, almost safe, and fuck what these guys think about him and Z and everyone who doesn't fit into their standards of behavior. He's suddenly, painfully glad that Z doesn't have to do this anymore. She scraped together enough money to buy a car almost as soon as she'd gotten her permit, and even though she steadfastly maintains that it was because she needed something to haul her gear around in, Ryan knows that a large part of it had to do with the assholes on her bus.
"Keep walking, faggot," someone-probably Carl, the stupid sophomore who thinks fucking with Ryan is the route to popularity-yells out the window as soon as Ryan's on the curb. He keeps his back straight, shoulders back, as he walks away with the other kids who live in Z's neighborhood, none of whom he knows. None of whom will do anything but stare, either-the special brand of assholes that will beat you up if you're not careful don't live in Z's neighborhood. Thankfully. It's only as he's turning into her street, shielded by the tight row of trees that Mrs. Lee-who-lives-on-the-corner planted when they were kids, that he lets himself slump.
God, Ryan hates this fucking town.
The door to Z's house is open when he walks up, latched but not locked. He pushes it in slowly, listening for signs of life. Z's definitely here, but Ryan's not sure where here is until he hears the faint sound of an acoustic guitar coming from upstairs. Ryan tugs his headphones out, silent now, and walks up the stairs. He pushes the door open to Z's room and she's sitting on the bed with her guitar, one leg crooked and bent underneath her, one leg stretched out towards the doorway. She's playing something soft and quick, a sad melody that sounds like an old folk song.
"Hey," Ryan says quietly, once she's finished. Z smiles at him, holding out her hand.
"Come here," Z says, waving him over. "Come sit with me. I'm working on something. What do you think?"
"Let me hear it again," Ryan says, dumping his backpack on the floor.
"Just close your eyes and listen," Z says, and Ryan leans back against her pillows shoved up against the headboard, closing his eyes. He tries to just breathe and listen, imagining Z's fingers on the fret, to let the music wash over him like a wave. It's good, it always is, but on first listen it doesn't sound like something that would work for The Like. It's sadder and rougher, more like a country melody than anything else.
Z plays it three times, pausing occasionally when she wants to work out a progression or fiddle with a bridge. Ryan keeps his eyes closed. He's still not relaxed, not even close, but he feels a little less...brittle around the edges, and he can't escape from the way he's feeling anymore. Z is playing him a song that sounds like it's about love lost, or love never had, or love once had and then forgotten, and with anyone else he'd be getting up and leaving the room. But Z's different. Ryan isn't going to take this out on her. He's just going to sit here and listen, and try to come up with something constructive to say that isn't about the ache in his chest, even if, even if-
This whole thing really fucking hurts.
"Something tells me you're not thinking about the song," Z says softly, eventually. "What's up, Ry. Shitty day?"
"No," Ryan says, rolling over, away from Z. "It's fine. I mean, calling it a 'shitty day' would imply that there are days which are less shitty, so."
"Yeah," Z says. "I know. I just-couldn't do it. Today. I didn't have anything important in class, and I wanted to work on this song."
"And you didn't call Brendon?" Ryan says, turning back. He tries to keep the hurt tone of out of his voice, because he's not trying to be a dick. He's honestly surprised that Z texted him instead of Brendon.
"Maybe I didn't want to hang out with Brendon today," Z says airly, and then relents when Ryan gives her an unimpressed look. "Fine, I always want to hang out with Brendon. But it doesn't mean I'm going to. He's not everything, Ryan. He's a nice guy and I like him a whole fucking lot, but he's not you."
"Yeah," Ryan says, turning back to his very important activity of staring up at the ceiling. "I'm glad you have him."
"Wow, could you sound any less excited about it?" Z says, setting her guitar down. She shifts on the bed until she's pressed up against Ryan's side, her head tipped onto his shoulder. "You're jealous," Z says softly, and it's not a question.
"I'm," Ryan says, and then stops for a moment to make sure this comes out right, because unlike every other guy that Z's dated, he's not actually jealous of Brendon. Fuck if he knows why, but it's true. "I'm not jealous of you and Brendon," Ryan says carefully. "I like him. He's good for you, and he respects you, and he's kind of a lamer but whatever, you seem to be into that lately, so it's good." Z quirks an eyebrow at him, waiting for Ryan to continue. "I just kind of sometimes wish I could have that," Ryan whispers, when it's becoming obvious that Z isn't going to let him off the hook. "I mean-whatever. It's not a big deal."
"Why don't you think you can have that?" Z says, after a few moments have passed with neither of them speaking.
"Because I can't," Ryan says. "I don't-fuck, Z. Don't make me do this." He's tensing up, gritting his teeth.
"You remember when we were kids?" Z says suddenly. "We were seven, I think. And we watched that movie, and you told me afterwards that you'd always be my secret-keeper if I would be yours."
"Z," Ryan says. The words come out cracked around the edges. He doesn't think he can have this conversation. Saying the words out loud, fuck, it'll make it real.
It's going to hurt more if it's real.
"I am the only person you ever have to tell," Z says, her voice a low whisper. "And I think I know what you're going to say but let it go, Ryan. I'll carry the secret for you, you don't have to-"
"Fuck you," Ryan says, tunelessly. He owes Z this, and maybe she's even right, but he just doesn't want to.
"Say it," Z says, and when Ryan looks over her eyes are large and solemn, and she's squeezing his hand almost painfully. "Do I have to go get the razor? We'll swear with blood again, if we have to, but Ryan Ross, I am telling you right now that sometimes I know you better than you do. This is fucking eating you up inside. If we have to fucking-exorcise you or something, after, we can. But you can't stay like this."
Ryan breathes.
"Don't get the razor," he says. Z's fingers are warm and firm in his own. He tips his head onto to her shoulder, letting his eyes close. Z smells good. Familiar. Z bends down and presses a kiss to the top of Ryan's hair and then whispers just tell me. Ryan nods against her shirt. He can feel her heart beating.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever fucking done," Ryan whispers back. His eyes feel hot. "They're in love, Z. They're in love and they've been in love and I don't want to fuck that up, not even in my head. There's never going to be space for me. Not the way I want." Ryan rubs at his forehead. "And they don't fucking get it, they keep coming back and coming back and I don't understand why they can't just leave me alone."
"Because they like you," Z says, smoothing her hand over Ryan's hair. "Because Spencer and Tenn, they're-good people."
"But they don't love me," Ryan says, forcing the words out. Now that he's started, he might as well fucking finish. "They never will. I'm always going to have to watch them be happy together. Every single smile, everything just makes it hurt more. And I can't fucking say anything. I can't do anything except take it and-" Ryan swallows, sucking in air. "And it hurts," Ryan says, closing his eyes. "It hurts more than I thought something could."
"I know," Z says. And then, "Thank you."
"Any fucking time," Ryan mutters, keeping his eyes closed. Z must have been lying, because he doesn't feel any better after saying it out loud. He just feels tired. Hollow.
"Ryan," Z says, poking Ryan's nose until he opens his eyes. "Look at me."
"I don't even like you right now," Ryan says, but they both know it's a lie.
"That was rough," Z says, nodding at him. "Don't think I don't get that. I'm going to hug you for a while now, and you're going to shut up and like it. And then we're going to go downstairs and cook up the most self-indulgent shit we can find in my kitchen. Macaroni and cheese with bacon. Brownies. Whatever," Z says. "Whatever you want. And then we're going to sit on the couch and watch bad movies all night."
"That's not going to fix this," Ryan says tiredly.
"Nothing's going to fix this," Z says, and it's another punch to the gut, but a clean one. Ryan blinks at Z and then he nods, because well, yeah. It's almost refreshing to hear someone say it out loud. "I can't fix this for you. There's nothing we can do. So I'm going to hug you and then we're going to go indulge the shit out of ourselves for a while."
"Okay," Ryan says. His chest is starting to feel a little less hollow. "I-okay."
-
The roadtrip is Tennessee's idea.
Well, Spencer concedes, idea might be too strong. She basically comes up to him at the beginning of their lunch period and says, "Spencer, can we-could we potentially not do this today? Spencer?" looking tired and fragile (like she pretty much never does, especially not in public) before he's nodding and texting Brendon. He wants a break too, and he's betting Brendon could use an afternoon of not sitting still. They meet Brendon outside the lunch room and go downstairs.
They run into Ryan and Z on their way, and Spencer doesn't have to look at either Brendon or Tennessee before he says, "We're getting out of here. You want to-"
(He especially doesn't have to look at Brendon, he can practically feel the smile starting on Brendon's face without even turning his head.)
Z answers for them both, nodding and looking relieved. Ryan's looking really tired. Spencer aches to ask, but can't quite figure out how.
They sneak out through the back door of the orchestra room. The fire alarm's been broken for years; if someone presses down on the glass casing while the door's open, the alarm won't ring. It's a two-person operation, but Ryan and Z have it down to a science. Spencer is entirely impressed. He and Tenn usually just cut and run through the football fields, counting on their long legs to get them past the tree line in time before they're spotted.
"I like a girl who can disable an alarm system," Brendon mock-whispers, slipping past Z and through the door that Ryan's holding open. Z rolls her eyes, motioning the rest of them to move faster. "This only works for sixty seconds," Z hisses. "Move, come on guys." Ryan waits until the last moment, grabbing at the locking mechanism just as Z lets go of the casing. It's a delicate dance, but they manage to shimmy Z through the opening before the door shuts, with Ryan's long fingers trapping the latch bolt until the last possible second.
There's a moment of breathless fear, and then the silence rings out, the muted noises of a school during lunch break safe behind the door. Z smiles widely in satisfaction. Ryan squeezes her elbow.
Z's little hatchback is a tight squeeze, but she says she wants to drive, and no one argues, shuffling into seats and settling in. Tennessee tips her head against Spencer's shoulder, quiet and still. Ryan is next to her, staring out the window, and Brendon and Z are whispering hurriedly in the front seats.
"If we're going somewhere, we should go now," Spencer says, watching the door of the school carefully for any signs of life. Z nods, whispers one more thing to Brendon, and then starts the engine. They pull out of the lot slow and steady, but Z only waits two blocks before hitting the gas. Spencer blinks, startled into high alert by the sudden jolt of blues music through the stereo and the wind in his face.
"Thank god," Z calls out, over the sound of Dan Aeurbach's rough, throaty croon. "I thought we were never going to get out of there."
"And whose fault would that be?" Ryan says, smiling a little at the front seat. "Took you two long enough to make an action plan."
"Playing hooky is seriously business," Brendon deadpans, turning around to look down at Ryan over the rims of his chunky glasses. "Important decisions had to be made."
"Important decisions like...lunch?" Spencer guesses, as they pull into the parking lot of the supermarket down the street.
"Important decisions like picnic supplies," Z says, turning off the engine with a click. "Stay here, guys. Brendon and I will be right back." Tennessee hums in response, a sad little noise. Spencer smooths his hand over the back of her hair. Her eyes are closed, lashes soft and dark against her cheeks.
"Is she okay?" Ryan says softly, almost a whisper.
"I'm right here," Tennessee murmurs. Ryan smiles humorlessly.
"Are you okay?" Ryan says. His shoulder is pressed up against hers.
"No," Tennessee says, after a moment.
"Me either," Ryan says, so soft it's barely audible. Spencer looks over to see Tennessee's hand snaking out from between them, her fingers curling around the back of Ryan's hand. Ryan sighs a little, and squeezes back.
-
Spencer wakes up abruptly when Brendon shoves a bag full of groceries on his lap. "Hold this," Brendon says, and Spencer nods dumbly. Tennessee sneezes, shoving the plastic bag out of her face and blinking at Brendon in confusion. Next to her, Z is loading Ryan's lap up with bottles of lemonade and cranberry juice and seltzer, while Ryan makes confused noises and then burrows back into his sweatshirt. "Did we all fall asleep?" Spencer asks, his brain stupid and slow, and Z nods. "Sorry," Z says. "That kind of took a while. We got, uh. Distracted."
"Distracted?" Spencer says, raising an eyebrow. "In a supermarket?"
"Single-stall bathrooms with locks!" Brendon says, grinning widely.
Z leans over and smacks him in the head. "Shut up," she says. "They did not need to know that."
"You would have told Ryan eventually," Brendon says. "I'm just being a good friend, Z. I'm improving Spencer and Tenn's sex life."
"I'm going to improve your face if you don't stop talking," Z says darkly. Spencer can feel Tennessee snickering into his chest.
-
The next time Spencer wakes up, they're turning onto a dirt road far outside of town. Tennessee's still zonked out on his chest, but Ryan is rolling down his window and lighting a clove, sweatshirt marks still pressed into his cheek.
"Hey," Spencer mumbles, and flails a hand out until he can pat at Ryan's shoulder. Ryan looks over at Spencer, and then he smiles a little and hands it over. The smoke is sweet; it smells like incense and spice, and Spencer takes a long drag.
"Don't inhale," Ryan says, when Spencer passes it back. "Just breathe it in and hold it and then blow it out. And then lick your lips."
"I know how to smoke a clove," Spencer says, but he still relishes the taste of molasses that's left on his lips. He thinks about kissing Tennessee, just to share, but something stops him. Ryan is looking away from him, dappled sunlight playing on his delicate features as they drive through the trees. Spencer wants to kiss him, wants to pull the taste of sugar off his mouth and offer it up to Tennessee. Wants to watch as Tennessee takes a drag, her lips forming a perfect "O" around the filter, and then trades her taste back to Ryan.
Spencer wants a lot of things.
"We're here," Z says, pulling off at an unlabeled fork in the road. There's a small patch of dirt, barely marked as a parking lot except for one crooked sign. There's a trail leading into the woods, but it takes a sharp left after a few yards and Spencer can't tell where it leads.
"Should I be concerned that you're leading us all out here for nefarious purposes?" Spencer says, climbing out once Brendon's hopped out and pushed the front seat forward. "You guys didn't pick up axes and shovels at the supermarket, did you?"
"If I killed Ryan I wouldn't have anyone to go shopping with," Z says dismissively. She pops the trunk open, standing in bare feet while she kicks her heels off and switches to a pair of low flats. Then she pulls out two blankets, handing them to Spencer. Spencer looks around for more things to carry, but Tennessee and Ryan are standing next to the car, leaning on each other and yawning, each loaded up with grocery supplies. He shrugs, and tucks the blankets under his arm.
The sunlight is warm through the trees as they set off, heat that quickly fades as they move through the patchwork trail of light and shadow. Brendon and Z walk ahead of them, holding hands. Spencer feels strange, breathless and weightless. Tennessee is quiet next to him, but with a tiny smile on her face that suggests she's not feeling quite so fragile anymore. Ryan lags behind.
"I can carry one of those," Spencer says, turning around to check on Ryan.
"I've got it," Ryan says. He bites his lip, then looks away. "I'm fine. You don't need to help."
"I'll trade you a blanket for a lemonade," Spencer says, holding it out in front of him. "I'm really thirsty." It's a slight lie, but with a purpose. Spencer's starting to understand Ryan a little bit better than he used to.
"Okay," Ryan says, after a pause. Their hands brush when Spencer takes the cool plastic bottle away, tucking it under his arm. "Do you know where we're going?" Spencer says, letting Tennessee continue ahead with Brendon and Z. He can hear Brendon's voice rising in mock-outrage, and he suspects Tennessee's woken up enough to start teasing him and Z about their supermarket adventure.
"Yeah," Ryan says, carefully. "Z and I come here a lot."
"Oh," Spencer says. "Um. Do you mind us coming along, then?" He understands what Ryan's not saying-that wherever this mysterious hidden place is, it's special. It's something for Z and Ryan alone, a refuge from the world, and the fact that Z led them here without a second thought means something.
"No," Ryan says, stopping in the middle of the path and looking fully at Spencer for the first time all afternoon. "I don't mind." Spencer's struck with another sudden sensation of breathlessness. Ryan's hair is mussed and there are deep circles under his eyes-but here, in the woods-it almost seems as though Ryan fits in with his surroundings. A strange place for a strange boy, something wild and strong. Ryan's eyes are so, so dark.
Spencer can't breathe.
"We should go," Ryan says faintly. They're too close, and Spencer knows it. Six inches more and they'd be kissing, and Ryan's mouth would taste like the tang of sugar and Spencer needs to back away. Not because he thinks Tennessee would care-but because she wouldn't, and that's a whole other problem in and of itself. It's something they need to talk about, and soon. Spencer loves Tennessee, and he's falling in love, and the mess in his head is getting harder and harder to think through.
"Yeah," Spencer says finally, forcing himself to step back. "Yeah. We should-let's catch up with the others."
"Right," Ryan says, swallowing hard. "Yeah."
-
Brendon finally catches sight of the lake, blue and clear, and turns around to look at Z, smiling so brightly it makes her stomach hurt a little with how much she wants to kiss him. (All the time, is the thing. She wants to kiss him all the time.)
"Hey, come here," she says, and pulls him close.
He grins into her mouth. "I love this," he says, breaking away a little. "This-" he sweeps an arm around to indicate the cliffs and the water and the bright, bright sky, "I just, it feels like I could lift clear off the ground."
"You're not allowed," she says automatically, but relents a little. "Only if I can come with you," she says, and he touches her cheek. "Anywhere," he says quietly, suddenly much more serious, and Z's still not used to his quick shifts but she knows Ryan would say he's not unlike her in that way. She nudges her cheek into his hand, and then they're interrupted by Tennessee clearing her throat. (It's entirely possible that Z forgot she was there for a second.)
"Shall we lay down a blanket," she says delicately, and Brendon lets go of Z to turn to Tennessee and hold out his hand.
"Will you trust me with this delicate operation, milady?" In response, Tennessee dumps everything she's carrying but the blanket in his arms and lays down the blanket herself. "I guess not," Brendon says, mock-dignified, and puts everything down very carefully, glancing up at Tennessee. "Have I performed to your satisfaction?"
"There's a 'That's what she said' joke to be made here, but I'm just going to leave it at that," Ryan says dryly behind them, and Z turns to face him.
"Because what, you're pretending to be an adult today?" She grins at him, expecting him to grin back, but he only smiles quickly and a bit shakily, turning away from her to put down his load of picnic food. Z glances at Spencer and makes a mental note to ask Ryan what happened in the forest when she gets him alone.
For now, though, she's going to pay attention to her-boyfriend? Person-she-is-dating? Something?-who is grinning at her because "Tennessee only pretends to have a black heart, dude, look-" and now she sees them, three bags of skittles on the blanket. She knows neither she nor Brendon bought any Skittles, so she looks at Tennessee with raised eyebrows. Tennessee ignores them both, a little pink-cheeked, rummaging around in the plastic bag she was carrying and laying out the (admittedly somewhat unorthodox, fine, Z knows her taste is a bit odd sometimes) picnic food on the blanket. She doesn't blink at any of the cookies though she does make an amused noise and look up at Brendon and Z both when she gets to the Twizzlers.
"Did either of you buy anything more, er, substantial?"
"Spencer has that bag," Brendon offers, and then, more quietly, "Thanks for carrying around Skittles for me, Tennessee Thomas."
She shakes her head. "It's no big deal, just, you like them."
Maybe Tennessee doesn't think it's any kind of a big thing, but Z gets it, She shifts over so she's standing behind Brendon and squeezes him around the waist a little. "We like you," she says, putting her chin on his shoulder.
"Yeah we do," Spencer says, finally piping up. Z was beginning to worry he'd lost his voice in the forest (she so needs to get Ryan alone right now, but she has to wait). "Of course we do."
Brendon turns in Z's arms. "You too," he says, very quietly, and normally Z can brush off that sort of emotional blackmail, but somehow she can't right now.
"Yeah yeah," she says, and swallows. "Let's sit down and avoid the impending low blood sugar crisis. If we don't feed Ryan now he'll start chewing on someone's leg."
"Only because you're so tasty," Ryan says blandly, and Z relaxes a little, because he's sounding more okay than before.
They portion out the cookies (though they let Brendon have all the Skittles-well, not so much let him, more accept the inevitable) and the apples, and make peanut butter sandwiches because Brendon remembered to buy plastic knives. Z has no idea what they would have done otherwise, but she's betting it would have involved creative uses of Other Things You Can Use To Spread Things On Sandwiches.
"On one quite memorable picnic we used a pen," Tennessee points out, and Z snorts in amusement.
Ryan blinks at her.
"How does that work?" Ryan says, frowning in confusion. Tennessee shrugs. "You make do," Tennessee says, tipping her head back so she's staring up at the clouds. "My hands were all covered in mud, and we had a lot of bread and peanut butter and no knife. I felt it was quite an ingenious solution."
"It was until you put it back in my messenger bag," Spencer mutters. Ryan bites his lip, gaze dancing back and forth between the two of them as they share a secret smile.
Eventually the sun and water and air starts to make them all sleepy, Z included. Tennessee and Ryan lie down, talking in whispers about something while Spencer watches them, something a little bit achy in his eyes. Z's not sure when she became quite this good at reading other people than Ryan, and she's not sure she likes it, but she supposes it's sort of useful when you're worried about your best friend in a certain situation. Then she looks at Brendon and catches him mid-yawn. He closes his mouth, looking sheepish. Z grins at him. "It's okay to take a nap, you know," she says, and he clearly takes that as permission to put his head in her lap and fall asleep. Z feels sort of weird, looking down at him, and finds herself stroking his hair. She looks up and meets Spencer's eyes, clear and steady, and she colors a little.
"He doesn't sleep enough," she says, voice low.
"I know," Spencer says. "Tennessee doesn't either. They worry a lot. About stuff."
Z doesn't want Brendon to be worried, she thinks, and strokes his hair again, carefully taking his glasses off so they don't end up making his head hurt. She smiles at Spencer and they sit there in companionable silence for a while. Spencer digs a book out of Tennessee's purse, and Z giggles a little when he starts to read, frowning in concentration at what is a very very pink book. For once, she isn't bored without anything to occupy her hands or her thoughts, she just sits there and watches the trees and the sun licking at the water and feels weirdly content.
Eventually, Ryan and Tennessee start moving again, Tennessee nearly knocking the book out of Spencer's hands when she sits up and stretches her arms out.
"Ooops," she says, laughing, and her voice must wake Brendon up because he turns over and blinks up at her, then touches his face. She hands him his glasses and he fumbles to get them on, accidentally poking her in the stomach and yawning. She bends down to kiss him and he meets her halfway. She has to bite her lip in order not to say what she's feeling right now, because it's all very stupid, but when she looks up at the others, she thinks it's probably in her face anyway. Fuck.
Ryan apparently takes pity on her, because he says something about getting back to the car, and then, while they're folding blankets and stuffing their trash into one of the plastic bags, he says, all casual, like it's not something she should have been told weeks ago: "Tennessee drums. And she's quite good, too." Z blinks, because seriously?
"Why haven't you-"
"Because she's weird about it," Ryan says, looking over at Tennessee and Spencer, who have abandoned folding their blanket for looking at the view and talking in low voices. "And I thought-I owe you for the other day." He shrugs uncomfortably. "So, like, maybe do this carefully?" Ryan says, and Z reaches over and squeezes his shoulder because Ryan still has that broken look to him. She thinks it's probably a secret he wasn't supposed to tell, but he's telling her, and that means a lot.
Z can be careful. She can be-okay, so maybe it doesn't come naturally to her, but when it's about her band, she can totally make an effort.
Fuck, though. A drummer.
-
She asks Brendon about it that night when they're on the phone.
"I don't know why she's weird about it," Brendon says. "She's never weird when we jam together, her and me and Spencer."
Z bites her lip. "Could you maybe-Or, No. Sorry. I shouldn't ask you to do that." She rubs at the bridge of her nose.
His voice is soft. "No, I could. Not just because you're asking. I think-honestly, she'd be kind of perfect. And I think she wants to, she's just scared."
"Have I told you lately how much I like you?" Z says.
"Nah," Brendon says. "Tell me again." Z grins at her phone. "When are you going to see them next?"
"Not tomorrow, at least. Spencer said not to call either of them for, um, anything but emergencies."
Z grins. "Aha, I see. Private couple time?"
"Oh yeah," Brendon says. "I suggested we go get dinner together just to be an ass, and you should have seen the look on Spencer's face. Pure pain, baby."
Z snorts. "You, um, do you want to meet up later though?"
"Always," Brendon says, and she doesn't quite know how he makes it sound so easy. "The diner?"
"Perfect," Z says.
-
Spencer's doorbell rings the next morning, almost exactly an hour before he's expecting it to. Spencer grins and tugs a pair of pajama pants on over his boxers, turning off the TV with a muted click and going downstairs. The twins are swimming in their very first relay today, and Spencer's home alone after some well-timed fake coughs, and now his super-hot girlfriend is standing at his front door holding two cups of coffee. His life is awesome.
Tennessee kisses him when he opens the door and then walks past him, setting down the coffee cups on the table in the living room. He closes the door and leans against it, just looking at her for a second, her long legs and her short little dress and her hair tied back in a messy braid.
"No one would be home, you said?" Tennessee says, giving him a sly glance over her shoulder.
"Uh-huh," he manages, and she ducks her head and grins, then pulls her dress off in a flash. "Good," she says, wrestling it over her head. "You would not believe how uncomfortable this dress is. You wouldn't believe it, Spencer."
"No," he says, "probably not," and god, he wants to touch her. Her braid's gone all sideways from pulling her dress over her head, and he reaches out and touches her neck, then undoes her braid, trailing his fingers through her hair. Her eyes go all soft when he does that. Her underwear doesn't match even a little bit. Spencer loves her.
"I really love you, you know," he says, and that's casual between them at this point, but at the same time he always means it. No matter what this thing with Ryan leads to, he's not scared he'll lose Tennessee over it.
"Yes, yes, so you've said," she says, and her eyes are still all soft. Then she ducks away from his hand and starts walking towards the stairs. "I feel as though there might be a bed somewhere, Spencer, I have this hunch."
"I think you might be right about that," he calls after her, grinning.
She glances over her shoulder at him. "You should come help me investigate what we can do with that," she says, and then saunters upstairs. Spencer follows. What else is he going to do? He tackles her into the bed and they're both laughing, like they do, and the sunlight glances across her hair and he can't breathe, he never can remember how when they're like this, and how did he get so lucky, anyway? Her smile is open and her eyes are open and she laughs into his mouth when he swears about his jeans (they're far too uncomfortable now, too tight, and Spencer thinks he'd be better off without them) and the house is empty and he doesn't have to let go of her for hours and hours.
They're quiet, after. Spencer is stroking her hair and she's looking up at the ceiling, breathing softly. He closes his eyes and then opens them again, propping his head up on his hand and looking at her. He doesn't know how to start this conversation, because didn't they just-? and Spencer knows that normally that means that no one else is involved, that no one else should be involved, but.
But Ryan. Ryan and Tennessee and him, and if Spencer doesn't say something now, he's not sure what might happen.
Spencer swallows, gathering up his courage. "Maybe we should talk about Ryan," he says, and Tennessee takes a deep breath against his chest.
"I think so, yes," she says, and then tugs him closer. She doesn't say anything for a little bit, staying silent and thinking. Spencer feels like he should be able to hear her thoughts; she's so focused, so intent.
"It's not that I don't love you," she says eventually, kissing him softly. "You know that, right?"
Spencer nods against her mouth, because yes. "I know," he agrees. "I know Tenn, it's just, like." He swallows. "It's just more?"
"More," she says, sounding a bit far away. "Yes. That's it."
"I don't know how to explain it," Spencer says. "I wasn't looking for this. I love you, god. You're everything, Tenn. But it's just-there's something there, isn't it? I'm not just imagining things."
"No," Tennessee says. "I want to-Spencer." She sits up suddenly, staring down at him. "He just fits," Tennessee says. "It feels like this is right. I can't explain it either, but. It just is. And I think-"
"Yeah," Spencer says. He swallows hard, because this is where it gets a bit complicated. He knows she cares about Ryan, has seen that every time he's been around, but Spencer needs to be sure, he needs to be absolutely sure that this isn't just her deciding Ryan needs them and Spencer wants him and she likes him a lot so she might as well, or something.
"You think?" he prompts when she doesn't continue.
"Spencer, he's so-" her cheeks are going a little red again, flushing, and Spencer starts to grin, because, well. At least he knows that part of it isn't just Tennessee humoring him.
"Beautiful?" he suggests, even though that's a weird word to use about another guy. But Ryan is.
Tennessee nods. "Yes, that's, that's what I was thinking." She closes her eyes. "His hands, Spencer," she admits, and then squirms around so she's facing him. She's biting her lip, the way she does when she's sort of turned on but a bit weirded out about it. "But you're sure about this too? This is really what you want?"
Spencer nods, because it's a bit hard to articulate just how sure he is that he does want this, just as much as she does. "Yeah," he manages. "No, I do."
"You're really okay with the 'him' part," Tennessee says, tilting her head to the side. "I know we've talked about it, like, boys in the abstract, but this is-he's going to be a real boy, Spencer. A very real boy, with a dick and all of that, and I mean, for me it's just, er, more of the usual," she goes a little more pink at this, "but you, are you really sure-"
Talked about it is an understatement, Spencer thinks. Tennessee is the only one who knows, the only one who's ever known that Spencer doesn't only like girls. So Spencer is...yeah. He's definitely okay with the thought of Ryan's cock, as much as thinking that makes him feel sort of strange and desperate and squirmy inside. "I'm sure," Spencer says, breathlessly, because wow, okay, he knows Tennessee is trying to be helpful-but she really shouldn't be bringing up Ryan's guy parts when she's nudging a thigh in between his legs. It's probably pretty obvious how sure he is. "I'm-I'm sure. You know I am."
"You really are, aren't you," she says wonderingly, reaching out to trace his jaw. "Spencer, I can't-" she pushes forward and kisses him sort of desperately, like she's run out of things to say and can't stay away, has to touch him. She does that sometimes, now that they've spent quite a bit of time getting over their respective initial shyness together, and Spencer finds it so incredibly hot that he just shudders into the kiss and pulls her closer.
"Fuck," he mutters against her neck when they break off to breathe, and Tennessee laughs a little shakily.
"I don't think I can, I'm too," and she pulls his hand down until he's touching her; she's so wet that Spencer's fingers just slide, she must be so close. He nudges her onto her back, keeps touching her.
"Are you," Spencer says, before he can think better of it. He can't help it, he wants to know, wants with a sudden, desperate intensity to hear Tennessee say it out loud. "What are you thinking about, is it just you and him, or-"
"Everything," Tennessee murmurs, rolling her hips up against Spencer's hand. Her breathing is stuttery against his neck. "God, Spencer, all of us, it would be so-" She leans in, biting down firmly on Spencer's neck, and Spencer tips his head back.
"Fuck," Spencer says again, his own voice coming out just as breathless. Tennessee just bites down harder, sending a sharp frisson of sensation down Spencer's spine. "Come on," he says against her ear, shifting to slide two fingers into her, "come on, Tenn, I want to see you-"
"Oh," she says, her mouth falling open and her back arching, "oh shit, Spencer-" and she's always so, he can't get over how gorgeous she is when she comes, he can't.
Abruptly he wishes Ryan was here with him so they could watch her together, like this, just like this. And then when Tennessee was ready to go again (when she's this worked up it doesn't take long) and then they could, fuck, Ryan and her. Spencer can see it in his head-all of them, Ryan's long limbs twined up with Tenn's, the way Spencer could lie next to them and watch. The way Ryan's hair would get all mussed up and his lips would turn red under Tennessee's mouth, and the way Spencer could run his palm down the graceful arch of Ryan's spine. Ryan would push back, into him, and then they could keep him in the middle, one of them on either side. And, and then it would just be them, all of them, soft and warm and open, so much skin and-
Tennessee gets a hand on him, eyes still dark, and he comes before he even realizes how close he already is. They sleep a little after that, until the afternoon is casting long shadows in the room and Spencer suddenly remembers he hasn't eaten since breakfast. Which is never a good plan. Tennessee's stomach chooses that moment to growl as well, and they both start laughing.
"Food it is," Spencer says. After glancing at hi's alarm clock and making sure they have at least another two hours to themselves, he hands her one of his t-shirts and her underwear (she steals his clothes whenever she can and he likes to enable her), and grabs a pair of sweatpants for himself before they wander downstairs.
Over bacon and toast, she tells him she can't remember when she fell in love with Ryan, that it just felt inevitable and right.
Spencer has to take another sip of his coffee before he can answer, because it's a little overwhelming, all of it. "I do know," he admits. "When we were out dancing, I-"
"Oh yes, that night, I couldn't stop looking at either of you," Tennessee says. "It's so strange, isn't it, this thing we're trying for?"
"I think it would be stranger not to try," Spencer says, thinking about them both, thinking about Ryan smiling for real and getting to hold them both. "We have to, I think."
"I can't figure out which I want more," Tennessee says thoughtfully. "If I just want him to be happy, or if I want him to be ours."
"I think it might be the same thing," Spencer admits. He thinks back to their afternoon free from school; Ryan in the woods, strange and wild, Ryan's hand in Tennessee's and the way he'd fallen asleep on her shoulder, his expression finally at peace. "Or, I mean, I hope it's the same thing."
"Me too," Tennessee says, smiling bright and beautiful. She laughs a little. "So we're really going to do this, then?"
"Yeah," Spencer says, kissing her again. "Yeah. We are."
-
"So I was thinking," Z says, and sucks on the straw of her shake. She swirls it around a bit to get at the ice cream-y chunks in the bottom that haven't quite melted yet, and the tall glass makes a weird noise on the formica counter of the diner. "Um, I mean, I don't know what you wanted to do tonight-"
Brendon shrugs, smiling at her a little. "I'm pretty cool with 'whatever,'" Brendon says. "That was the plan, right?"
"Right," Z says, nodding. "Yes. Whatever."
"Did you...have a specific 'whatever' in mind?" Brendon says. He's still picking at the remains of his french fries and has nearly finished his portion, which is pretty impressive, considering Z had never seen that many french fries in her life. At least not all in one place, on one plate, like some french-fry convention or something.
"There's a drive-in nearby," Z says, before she loses her nerve. "They're playing all of the Indiana Jones movies tonight. I mean, we won't be able to stay for the whole thing, it goes all night, but I thought-"
"Z," Brendon says, lighting up. "Z, holy crap, how is that even a question? Get the check, let's go."
"Okay," Z says, smiling and breathing out for what seems like the first time in forever. It's dumb, that she was that nervous about suggesting a stupid drive-in movie marathon, but sometimes-sometimes Z thinks that Brendon thinks she's all fascinating and otherworldly, like he's actually believing her facade. Which is good, because that's the whole point of having a facade, but sometimes? Z just wants to sit around and make-out and watching stupid Harrison Ford movies. It's just-it's not something she's used to admitting to people, that's all.
But Brendon is still grinning at her with absolute delight as he waits impatiently for the check, so maybe it's okay.
-
They pull in just as Raiders of the Lost Ark is starting, and Brendon keeps craning his neck to see the screen as Z tries to find a parking space. They have those parking attendants standing around and theoretically helping people find spaces, but the field is absolutely packed and Z can't really see anything except rows and rows of other cars. They finally manage to find a space off to the side. It's not ideal, but it will do.
"I wish we had a blanket," Brendon says wistfully, pushing his seat back and kicking his feet up on the dashboard. "We could sit on the hood, like they do in movies."
"Yeah," Z says, shaking her head at herself. "That...probably would have been smart, huh."
"Probably," Brendon agrees. "But you didn't know for sure if we were coming. And anyway, it's almost nicer like this." He reaches out and takes her hand, rubbing his thumb across the backs of her knuckles.
"Yeah," Z says, squeezing back. Damn her tiny little Volvo. She kind of wants to be snuggled up with Brendon to watch the movie, not sitting here ten inches away in the driver's seat. She'd move over to sit next to him, but Z isn't quite sure her passenger seat is big enough for two people. Or, no, she knows it isn't. Her mouth quirks, remembering the bump on her head the night she and Alex tried it out.
Although.
"Do you think," Z says, peering at the backseat of her car thoughtfully. They could probably fold the front seats down, and take off the headrests, and then maybe they'd be able to sit back there and enjoy the movie together without grievous bodily injury.
"Hmm?" Brendon says, looking up. He glances at Z and then follows her line of vision to where she's staring at the back seat, squinting thoughtfully.
"Oh," Brendon says, after a moment, in an interested tone. "I see your point, Ms. Berg."
"Want to try it?" Z says, already starting to open her car door. "I think we can make it work."
"Totally," Brendon says, flashing her a smile. There's something in the way he says it-mischievous, slightly dirty-that makes the pit of Z's stomach flip over, and she hides her face down near the floor of the driver's side, pretending to be very interested in pulling her seat all the way forward.
It's not that she's embarrassed. It's just that it's been a long time since she's been with someone who made her want this much. There's something about the way Brendon touches her that just leaves her aching, restless and overwhelmed and Z doesn't even know what's different from before, she just knows that it is. Brendon's sweet, and he makes her laugh, and he's really adorably awkward, and none of those things should be a recipe for mind-blowing makeouts, and yet-it's like there's this other side to him too, something he doesn't let very many people see. It's this weird mix of confidence and vulnerability, of the way his eyes get dark and his breath hitches, the way he slides his fingers across Z's skin.
"Ow," Brendon says, rubbing his head and frowning at the lip of the doorframe, and Z snaps back to the present. Right. Setting the car up, that's what they're doing. She wrestles the headrest off, and then pushes down on the seat until it clicks into place; across from her, Brendon does the same. It's a tight fit to wriggle themselves into the back, but once they're in there they have enough room to sit back and stretch their legs out and still see the screen.
Z sighs happily. Brendon grins at her, and then does a completely obvious and obnoxious yawn and stretch, ending up with his arm around her lower back. Z takes a moment to reflect on how gone she must be for this dude, to let him get away with that, and then snuggles into it.
"You're really fucking lame," Z tells Brendon, once she's got her chin tucked into his shoulder.
"I am exactly what it says on the box," Brendon tells her gravely. "And that box is labeled Super Awesome."
"Uh-huh," Z says, grinning. "Whatever you say, buddy."
Part Three | Part Five
Ryan's phone beeps on Monday afternoon, just as he's leaving AP European History. The text from Z just says come over, and Ryan nods at his phone and then slips it back into his front pocket. He'd been expecting that text ever since he woke up this morning to a message that said mental health day. you in? Ryan had wanted to, he'd really, really wanted to, but he'd spent all of Sunday slogging away on that goddamn paper about why Napoleon decided to take over the rest of Europe. Not turning it in seemed like a monumentally stupid idea. He'd sat up in bed, groaning in frustration, and then typed back i cant, shit, AP paper due and stumbled off to the shower with a sour feeling in his stomach. His day hadn't improved much from there.
Ryan can see Tennessee's tall frame at the end of the hallway, and he turns to the side, ducking his head and walking as fast as he can to the buses. He can't put his hat on until he leaves school grounds, but he can at least make himself less noticeable until he's safely away. Tennessee is just-Ryan just can't fucking deal with them right now, can't handle being at the center of all of that energy and cheerfulness. He doesn't want to talk to Spencer and Tennessee and watch them hold hands, accidentally, like they're not even realizing they're doing it. He just wants to escape, and maybe by the time he's walking up Z's driveway the tightness in his chest will have faded away.
Ryan slips into the line for the bus that'll take him to Z's neighborhood, pulling his hat and headphones out while he's waiting to board. He ignores the freshmen wrestlers (they have to be subtle in public, but they don't generally let that prevent them from pushing or shoving at him when the closest teacher isn't looking).
By the time he's managed to find a seat, the bus is pulling away from the curb and all Ryan has to do is close his eyes and listen, letting his head fall back against the cheap, slippery brown plastic. It's a shorter ride to Z's house than it is to his own. Ryan only makes it through five songs before the bus is stopping at the street that curves into Z's neighborhood, and he ducks his head down as he walks off, ignoring the whispered insults he can hear even through the headphones. It doesn't matter. He's almost home, almost safe, and fuck what these guys think about him and Z and everyone who doesn't fit into their standards of behavior. He's suddenly, painfully glad that Z doesn't have to do this anymore. She scraped together enough money to buy a car almost as soon as she'd gotten her permit, and even though she steadfastly maintains that it was because she needed something to haul her gear around in, Ryan knows that a large part of it had to do with the assholes on her bus.
"Keep walking, faggot," someone-probably Carl, the stupid sophomore who thinks fucking with Ryan is the route to popularity-yells out the window as soon as Ryan's on the curb. He keeps his back straight, shoulders back, as he walks away with the other kids who live in Z's neighborhood, none of whom he knows. None of whom will do anything but stare, either-the special brand of assholes that will beat you up if you're not careful don't live in Z's neighborhood. Thankfully. It's only as he's turning into her street, shielded by the tight row of trees that Mrs. Lee-who-lives-on-the-corner planted when they were kids, that he lets himself slump.
God, Ryan hates this fucking town.
The door to Z's house is open when he walks up, latched but not locked. He pushes it in slowly, listening for signs of life. Z's definitely here, but Ryan's not sure where here is until he hears the faint sound of an acoustic guitar coming from upstairs. Ryan tugs his headphones out, silent now, and walks up the stairs. He pushes the door open to Z's room and she's sitting on the bed with her guitar, one leg crooked and bent underneath her, one leg stretched out towards the doorway. She's playing something soft and quick, a sad melody that sounds like an old folk song.
"Hey," Ryan says quietly, once she's finished. Z smiles at him, holding out her hand.
"Come here," Z says, waving him over. "Come sit with me. I'm working on something. What do you think?"
"Let me hear it again," Ryan says, dumping his backpack on the floor.
"Just close your eyes and listen," Z says, and Ryan leans back against her pillows shoved up against the headboard, closing his eyes. He tries to just breathe and listen, imagining Z's fingers on the fret, to let the music wash over him like a wave. It's good, it always is, but on first listen it doesn't sound like something that would work for The Like. It's sadder and rougher, more like a country melody than anything else.
Z plays it three times, pausing occasionally when she wants to work out a progression or fiddle with a bridge. Ryan keeps his eyes closed. He's still not relaxed, not even close, but he feels a little less...brittle around the edges, and he can't escape from the way he's feeling anymore. Z is playing him a song that sounds like it's about love lost, or love never had, or love once had and then forgotten, and with anyone else he'd be getting up and leaving the room. But Z's different. Ryan isn't going to take this out on her. He's just going to sit here and listen, and try to come up with something constructive to say that isn't about the ache in his chest, even if, even if-
This whole thing really fucking hurts.
"Something tells me you're not thinking about the song," Z says softly, eventually. "What's up, Ry. Shitty day?"
"No," Ryan says, rolling over, away from Z. "It's fine. I mean, calling it a 'shitty day' would imply that there are days which are less shitty, so."
"Yeah," Z says. "I know. I just-couldn't do it. Today. I didn't have anything important in class, and I wanted to work on this song."
"And you didn't call Brendon?" Ryan says, turning back. He tries to keep the hurt tone of out of his voice, because he's not trying to be a dick. He's honestly surprised that Z texted him instead of Brendon.
"Maybe I didn't want to hang out with Brendon today," Z says airly, and then relents when Ryan gives her an unimpressed look. "Fine, I always want to hang out with Brendon. But it doesn't mean I'm going to. He's not everything, Ryan. He's a nice guy and I like him a whole fucking lot, but he's not you."
"Yeah," Ryan says, turning back to his very important activity of staring up at the ceiling. "I'm glad you have him."
"Wow, could you sound any less excited about it?" Z says, setting her guitar down. She shifts on the bed until she's pressed up against Ryan's side, her head tipped onto his shoulder. "You're jealous," Z says softly, and it's not a question.
"I'm," Ryan says, and then stops for a moment to make sure this comes out right, because unlike every other guy that Z's dated, he's not actually jealous of Brendon. Fuck if he knows why, but it's true. "I'm not jealous of you and Brendon," Ryan says carefully. "I like him. He's good for you, and he respects you, and he's kind of a lamer but whatever, you seem to be into that lately, so it's good." Z quirks an eyebrow at him, waiting for Ryan to continue. "I just kind of sometimes wish I could have that," Ryan whispers, when it's becoming obvious that Z isn't going to let him off the hook. "I mean-whatever. It's not a big deal."
"Why don't you think you can have that?" Z says, after a few moments have passed with neither of them speaking.
"Because I can't," Ryan says. "I don't-fuck, Z. Don't make me do this." He's tensing up, gritting his teeth.
"You remember when we were kids?" Z says suddenly. "We were seven, I think. And we watched that movie, and you told me afterwards that you'd always be my secret-keeper if I would be yours."
"Z," Ryan says. The words come out cracked around the edges. He doesn't think he can have this conversation. Saying the words out loud, fuck, it'll make it real.
It's going to hurt more if it's real.
"I am the only person you ever have to tell," Z says, her voice a low whisper. "And I think I know what you're going to say but let it go, Ryan. I'll carry the secret for you, you don't have to-"
"Fuck you," Ryan says, tunelessly. He owes Z this, and maybe she's even right, but he just doesn't want to.
"Say it," Z says, and when Ryan looks over her eyes are large and solemn, and she's squeezing his hand almost painfully. "Do I have to go get the razor? We'll swear with blood again, if we have to, but Ryan Ross, I am telling you right now that sometimes I know you better than you do. This is fucking eating you up inside. If we have to fucking-exorcise you or something, after, we can. But you can't stay like this."
Ryan breathes.
"Don't get the razor," he says. Z's fingers are warm and firm in his own. He tips his head onto to her shoulder, letting his eyes close. Z smells good. Familiar. Z bends down and presses a kiss to the top of Ryan's hair and then whispers just tell me. Ryan nods against her shirt. He can feel her heart beating.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever fucking done," Ryan whispers back. His eyes feel hot. "They're in love, Z. They're in love and they've been in love and I don't want to fuck that up, not even in my head. There's never going to be space for me. Not the way I want." Ryan rubs at his forehead. "And they don't fucking get it, they keep coming back and coming back and I don't understand why they can't just leave me alone."
"Because they like you," Z says, smoothing her hand over Ryan's hair. "Because Spencer and Tenn, they're-good people."
"But they don't love me," Ryan says, forcing the words out. Now that he's started, he might as well fucking finish. "They never will. I'm always going to have to watch them be happy together. Every single smile, everything just makes it hurt more. And I can't fucking say anything. I can't do anything except take it and-" Ryan swallows, sucking in air. "And it hurts," Ryan says, closing his eyes. "It hurts more than I thought something could."
"I know," Z says. And then, "Thank you."
"Any fucking time," Ryan mutters, keeping his eyes closed. Z must have been lying, because he doesn't feel any better after saying it out loud. He just feels tired. Hollow.
"Ryan," Z says, poking Ryan's nose until he opens his eyes. "Look at me."
"I don't even like you right now," Ryan says, but they both know it's a lie.
"That was rough," Z says, nodding at him. "Don't think I don't get that. I'm going to hug you for a while now, and you're going to shut up and like it. And then we're going to go downstairs and cook up the most self-indulgent shit we can find in my kitchen. Macaroni and cheese with bacon. Brownies. Whatever," Z says. "Whatever you want. And then we're going to sit on the couch and watch bad movies all night."
"That's not going to fix this," Ryan says tiredly.
"Nothing's going to fix this," Z says, and it's another punch to the gut, but a clean one. Ryan blinks at Z and then he nods, because well, yeah. It's almost refreshing to hear someone say it out loud. "I can't fix this for you. There's nothing we can do. So I'm going to hug you and then we're going to go indulge the shit out of ourselves for a while."
"Okay," Ryan says. His chest is starting to feel a little less hollow. "I-okay."
-
The roadtrip is Tennessee's idea.
Well, Spencer concedes, idea might be too strong. She basically comes up to him at the beginning of their lunch period and says, "Spencer, can we-could we potentially not do this today? Spencer?" looking tired and fragile (like she pretty much never does, especially not in public) before he's nodding and texting Brendon. He wants a break too, and he's betting Brendon could use an afternoon of not sitting still. They meet Brendon outside the lunch room and go downstairs.
They run into Ryan and Z on their way, and Spencer doesn't have to look at either Brendon or Tennessee before he says, "We're getting out of here. You want to-"
(He especially doesn't have to look at Brendon, he can practically feel the smile starting on Brendon's face without even turning his head.)
Z answers for them both, nodding and looking relieved. Ryan's looking really tired. Spencer aches to ask, but can't quite figure out how.
They sneak out through the back door of the orchestra room. The fire alarm's been broken for years; if someone presses down on the glass casing while the door's open, the alarm won't ring. It's a two-person operation, but Ryan and Z have it down to a science. Spencer is entirely impressed. He and Tenn usually just cut and run through the football fields, counting on their long legs to get them past the tree line in time before they're spotted.
"I like a girl who can disable an alarm system," Brendon mock-whispers, slipping past Z and through the door that Ryan's holding open. Z rolls her eyes, motioning the rest of them to move faster. "This only works for sixty seconds," Z hisses. "Move, come on guys." Ryan waits until the last moment, grabbing at the locking mechanism just as Z lets go of the casing. It's a delicate dance, but they manage to shimmy Z through the opening before the door shuts, with Ryan's long fingers trapping the latch bolt until the last possible second.
There's a moment of breathless fear, and then the silence rings out, the muted noises of a school during lunch break safe behind the door. Z smiles widely in satisfaction. Ryan squeezes her elbow.
Z's little hatchback is a tight squeeze, but she says she wants to drive, and no one argues, shuffling into seats and settling in. Tennessee tips her head against Spencer's shoulder, quiet and still. Ryan is next to her, staring out the window, and Brendon and Z are whispering hurriedly in the front seats.
"If we're going somewhere, we should go now," Spencer says, watching the door of the school carefully for any signs of life. Z nods, whispers one more thing to Brendon, and then starts the engine. They pull out of the lot slow and steady, but Z only waits two blocks before hitting the gas. Spencer blinks, startled into high alert by the sudden jolt of blues music through the stereo and the wind in his face.
"Thank god," Z calls out, over the sound of Dan Aeurbach's rough, throaty croon. "I thought we were never going to get out of there."
"And whose fault would that be?" Ryan says, smiling a little at the front seat. "Took you two long enough to make an action plan."
"Playing hooky is seriously business," Brendon deadpans, turning around to look down at Ryan over the rims of his chunky glasses. "Important decisions had to be made."
"Important decisions like...lunch?" Spencer guesses, as they pull into the parking lot of the supermarket down the street.
"Important decisions like picnic supplies," Z says, turning off the engine with a click. "Stay here, guys. Brendon and I will be right back." Tennessee hums in response, a sad little noise. Spencer smooths his hand over the back of her hair. Her eyes are closed, lashes soft and dark against her cheeks.
"Is she okay?" Ryan says softly, almost a whisper.
"I'm right here," Tennessee murmurs. Ryan smiles humorlessly.
"Are you okay?" Ryan says. His shoulder is pressed up against hers.
"No," Tennessee says, after a moment.
"Me either," Ryan says, so soft it's barely audible. Spencer looks over to see Tennessee's hand snaking out from between them, her fingers curling around the back of Ryan's hand. Ryan sighs a little, and squeezes back.
-
Spencer wakes up abruptly when Brendon shoves a bag full of groceries on his lap. "Hold this," Brendon says, and Spencer nods dumbly. Tennessee sneezes, shoving the plastic bag out of her face and blinking at Brendon in confusion. Next to her, Z is loading Ryan's lap up with bottles of lemonade and cranberry juice and seltzer, while Ryan makes confused noises and then burrows back into his sweatshirt. "Did we all fall asleep?" Spencer asks, his brain stupid and slow, and Z nods. "Sorry," Z says. "That kind of took a while. We got, uh. Distracted."
"Distracted?" Spencer says, raising an eyebrow. "In a supermarket?"
"Single-stall bathrooms with locks!" Brendon says, grinning widely.
Z leans over and smacks him in the head. "Shut up," she says. "They did not need to know that."
"You would have told Ryan eventually," Brendon says. "I'm just being a good friend, Z. I'm improving Spencer and Tenn's sex life."
"I'm going to improve your face if you don't stop talking," Z says darkly. Spencer can feel Tennessee snickering into his chest.
-
The next time Spencer wakes up, they're turning onto a dirt road far outside of town. Tennessee's still zonked out on his chest, but Ryan is rolling down his window and lighting a clove, sweatshirt marks still pressed into his cheek.
"Hey," Spencer mumbles, and flails a hand out until he can pat at Ryan's shoulder. Ryan looks over at Spencer, and then he smiles a little and hands it over. The smoke is sweet; it smells like incense and spice, and Spencer takes a long drag.
"Don't inhale," Ryan says, when Spencer passes it back. "Just breathe it in and hold it and then blow it out. And then lick your lips."
"I know how to smoke a clove," Spencer says, but he still relishes the taste of molasses that's left on his lips. He thinks about kissing Tennessee, just to share, but something stops him. Ryan is looking away from him, dappled sunlight playing on his delicate features as they drive through the trees. Spencer wants to kiss him, wants to pull the taste of sugar off his mouth and offer it up to Tennessee. Wants to watch as Tennessee takes a drag, her lips forming a perfect "O" around the filter, and then trades her taste back to Ryan.
Spencer wants a lot of things.
"We're here," Z says, pulling off at an unlabeled fork in the road. There's a small patch of dirt, barely marked as a parking lot except for one crooked sign. There's a trail leading into the woods, but it takes a sharp left after a few yards and Spencer can't tell where it leads.
"Should I be concerned that you're leading us all out here for nefarious purposes?" Spencer says, climbing out once Brendon's hopped out and pushed the front seat forward. "You guys didn't pick up axes and shovels at the supermarket, did you?"
"If I killed Ryan I wouldn't have anyone to go shopping with," Z says dismissively. She pops the trunk open, standing in bare feet while she kicks her heels off and switches to a pair of low flats. Then she pulls out two blankets, handing them to Spencer. Spencer looks around for more things to carry, but Tennessee and Ryan are standing next to the car, leaning on each other and yawning, each loaded up with grocery supplies. He shrugs, and tucks the blankets under his arm.
The sunlight is warm through the trees as they set off, heat that quickly fades as they move through the patchwork trail of light and shadow. Brendon and Z walk ahead of them, holding hands. Spencer feels strange, breathless and weightless. Tennessee is quiet next to him, but with a tiny smile on her face that suggests she's not feeling quite so fragile anymore. Ryan lags behind.
"I can carry one of those," Spencer says, turning around to check on Ryan.
"I've got it," Ryan says. He bites his lip, then looks away. "I'm fine. You don't need to help."
"I'll trade you a blanket for a lemonade," Spencer says, holding it out in front of him. "I'm really thirsty." It's a slight lie, but with a purpose. Spencer's starting to understand Ryan a little bit better than he used to.
"Okay," Ryan says, after a pause. Their hands brush when Spencer takes the cool plastic bottle away, tucking it under his arm. "Do you know where we're going?" Spencer says, letting Tennessee continue ahead with Brendon and Z. He can hear Brendon's voice rising in mock-outrage, and he suspects Tennessee's woken up enough to start teasing him and Z about their supermarket adventure.
"Yeah," Ryan says, carefully. "Z and I come here a lot."
"Oh," Spencer says. "Um. Do you mind us coming along, then?" He understands what Ryan's not saying-that wherever this mysterious hidden place is, it's special. It's something for Z and Ryan alone, a refuge from the world, and the fact that Z led them here without a second thought means something.
"No," Ryan says, stopping in the middle of the path and looking fully at Spencer for the first time all afternoon. "I don't mind." Spencer's struck with another sudden sensation of breathlessness. Ryan's hair is mussed and there are deep circles under his eyes-but here, in the woods-it almost seems as though Ryan fits in with his surroundings. A strange place for a strange boy, something wild and strong. Ryan's eyes are so, so dark.
Spencer can't breathe.
"We should go," Ryan says faintly. They're too close, and Spencer knows it. Six inches more and they'd be kissing, and Ryan's mouth would taste like the tang of sugar and Spencer needs to back away. Not because he thinks Tennessee would care-but because she wouldn't, and that's a whole other problem in and of itself. It's something they need to talk about, and soon. Spencer loves Tennessee, and he's falling in love, and the mess in his head is getting harder and harder to think through.
"Yeah," Spencer says finally, forcing himself to step back. "Yeah. We should-let's catch up with the others."
"Right," Ryan says, swallowing hard. "Yeah."
-
Brendon finally catches sight of the lake, blue and clear, and turns around to look at Z, smiling so brightly it makes her stomach hurt a little with how much she wants to kiss him. (All the time, is the thing. She wants to kiss him all the time.)
"Hey, come here," she says, and pulls him close.
He grins into her mouth. "I love this," he says, breaking away a little. "This-" he sweeps an arm around to indicate the cliffs and the water and the bright, bright sky, "I just, it feels like I could lift clear off the ground."
"You're not allowed," she says automatically, but relents a little. "Only if I can come with you," she says, and he touches her cheek. "Anywhere," he says quietly, suddenly much more serious, and Z's still not used to his quick shifts but she knows Ryan would say he's not unlike her in that way. She nudges her cheek into his hand, and then they're interrupted by Tennessee clearing her throat. (It's entirely possible that Z forgot she was there for a second.)
"Shall we lay down a blanket," she says delicately, and Brendon lets go of Z to turn to Tennessee and hold out his hand.
"Will you trust me with this delicate operation, milady?" In response, Tennessee dumps everything she's carrying but the blanket in his arms and lays down the blanket herself. "I guess not," Brendon says, mock-dignified, and puts everything down very carefully, glancing up at Tennessee. "Have I performed to your satisfaction?"
"There's a 'That's what she said' joke to be made here, but I'm just going to leave it at that," Ryan says dryly behind them, and Z turns to face him.
"Because what, you're pretending to be an adult today?" She grins at him, expecting him to grin back, but he only smiles quickly and a bit shakily, turning away from her to put down his load of picnic food. Z glances at Spencer and makes a mental note to ask Ryan what happened in the forest when she gets him alone.
For now, though, she's going to pay attention to her-boyfriend? Person-she-is-dating? Something?-who is grinning at her because "Tennessee only pretends to have a black heart, dude, look-" and now she sees them, three bags of skittles on the blanket. She knows neither she nor Brendon bought any Skittles, so she looks at Tennessee with raised eyebrows. Tennessee ignores them both, a little pink-cheeked, rummaging around in the plastic bag she was carrying and laying out the (admittedly somewhat unorthodox, fine, Z knows her taste is a bit odd sometimes) picnic food on the blanket. She doesn't blink at any of the cookies though she does make an amused noise and look up at Brendon and Z both when she gets to the Twizzlers.
"Did either of you buy anything more, er, substantial?"
"Spencer has that bag," Brendon offers, and then, more quietly, "Thanks for carrying around Skittles for me, Tennessee Thomas."
She shakes her head. "It's no big deal, just, you like them."
Maybe Tennessee doesn't think it's any kind of a big thing, but Z gets it, She shifts over so she's standing behind Brendon and squeezes him around the waist a little. "We like you," she says, putting her chin on his shoulder.
"Yeah we do," Spencer says, finally piping up. Z was beginning to worry he'd lost his voice in the forest (she so needs to get Ryan alone right now, but she has to wait). "Of course we do."
Brendon turns in Z's arms. "You too," he says, very quietly, and normally Z can brush off that sort of emotional blackmail, but somehow she can't right now.
"Yeah yeah," she says, and swallows. "Let's sit down and avoid the impending low blood sugar crisis. If we don't feed Ryan now he'll start chewing on someone's leg."
"Only because you're so tasty," Ryan says blandly, and Z relaxes a little, because he's sounding more okay than before.
They portion out the cookies (though they let Brendon have all the Skittles-well, not so much let him, more accept the inevitable) and the apples, and make peanut butter sandwiches because Brendon remembered to buy plastic knives. Z has no idea what they would have done otherwise, but she's betting it would have involved creative uses of Other Things You Can Use To Spread Things On Sandwiches.
"On one quite memorable picnic we used a pen," Tennessee points out, and Z snorts in amusement.
Ryan blinks at her.
"How does that work?" Ryan says, frowning in confusion. Tennessee shrugs. "You make do," Tennessee says, tipping her head back so she's staring up at the clouds. "My hands were all covered in mud, and we had a lot of bread and peanut butter and no knife. I felt it was quite an ingenious solution."
"It was until you put it back in my messenger bag," Spencer mutters. Ryan bites his lip, gaze dancing back and forth between the two of them as they share a secret smile.
Eventually the sun and water and air starts to make them all sleepy, Z included. Tennessee and Ryan lie down, talking in whispers about something while Spencer watches them, something a little bit achy in his eyes. Z's not sure when she became quite this good at reading other people than Ryan, and she's not sure she likes it, but she supposes it's sort of useful when you're worried about your best friend in a certain situation. Then she looks at Brendon and catches him mid-yawn. He closes his mouth, looking sheepish. Z grins at him. "It's okay to take a nap, you know," she says, and he clearly takes that as permission to put his head in her lap and fall asleep. Z feels sort of weird, looking down at him, and finds herself stroking his hair. She looks up and meets Spencer's eyes, clear and steady, and she colors a little.
"He doesn't sleep enough," she says, voice low.
"I know," Spencer says. "Tennessee doesn't either. They worry a lot. About stuff."
Z doesn't want Brendon to be worried, she thinks, and strokes his hair again, carefully taking his glasses off so they don't end up making his head hurt. She smiles at Spencer and they sit there in companionable silence for a while. Spencer digs a book out of Tennessee's purse, and Z giggles a little when he starts to read, frowning in concentration at what is a very very pink book. For once, she isn't bored without anything to occupy her hands or her thoughts, she just sits there and watches the trees and the sun licking at the water and feels weirdly content.
Eventually, Ryan and Tennessee start moving again, Tennessee nearly knocking the book out of Spencer's hands when she sits up and stretches her arms out.
"Ooops," she says, laughing, and her voice must wake Brendon up because he turns over and blinks up at her, then touches his face. She hands him his glasses and he fumbles to get them on, accidentally poking her in the stomach and yawning. She bends down to kiss him and he meets her halfway. She has to bite her lip in order not to say what she's feeling right now, because it's all very stupid, but when she looks up at the others, she thinks it's probably in her face anyway. Fuck.
Ryan apparently takes pity on her, because he says something about getting back to the car, and then, while they're folding blankets and stuffing their trash into one of the plastic bags, he says, all casual, like it's not something she should have been told weeks ago: "Tennessee drums. And she's quite good, too." Z blinks, because seriously?
"Why haven't you-"
"Because she's weird about it," Ryan says, looking over at Tennessee and Spencer, who have abandoned folding their blanket for looking at the view and talking in low voices. "And I thought-I owe you for the other day." He shrugs uncomfortably. "So, like, maybe do this carefully?" Ryan says, and Z reaches over and squeezes his shoulder because Ryan still has that broken look to him. She thinks it's probably a secret he wasn't supposed to tell, but he's telling her, and that means a lot.
Z can be careful. She can be-okay, so maybe it doesn't come naturally to her, but when it's about her band, she can totally make an effort.
Fuck, though. A drummer.
-
She asks Brendon about it that night when they're on the phone.
"I don't know why she's weird about it," Brendon says. "She's never weird when we jam together, her and me and Spencer."
Z bites her lip. "Could you maybe-Or, No. Sorry. I shouldn't ask you to do that." She rubs at the bridge of her nose.
His voice is soft. "No, I could. Not just because you're asking. I think-honestly, she'd be kind of perfect. And I think she wants to, she's just scared."
"Have I told you lately how much I like you?" Z says.
"Nah," Brendon says. "Tell me again." Z grins at her phone. "When are you going to see them next?"
"Not tomorrow, at least. Spencer said not to call either of them for, um, anything but emergencies."
Z grins. "Aha, I see. Private couple time?"
"Oh yeah," Brendon says. "I suggested we go get dinner together just to be an ass, and you should have seen the look on Spencer's face. Pure pain, baby."
Z snorts. "You, um, do you want to meet up later though?"
"Always," Brendon says, and she doesn't quite know how he makes it sound so easy. "The diner?"
"Perfect," Z says.
-
Spencer's doorbell rings the next morning, almost exactly an hour before he's expecting it to. Spencer grins and tugs a pair of pajama pants on over his boxers, turning off the TV with a muted click and going downstairs. The twins are swimming in their very first relay today, and Spencer's home alone after some well-timed fake coughs, and now his super-hot girlfriend is standing at his front door holding two cups of coffee. His life is awesome.
Tennessee kisses him when he opens the door and then walks past him, setting down the coffee cups on the table in the living room. He closes the door and leans against it, just looking at her for a second, her long legs and her short little dress and her hair tied back in a messy braid.
"No one would be home, you said?" Tennessee says, giving him a sly glance over her shoulder.
"Uh-huh," he manages, and she ducks her head and grins, then pulls her dress off in a flash. "Good," she says, wrestling it over her head. "You would not believe how uncomfortable this dress is. You wouldn't believe it, Spencer."
"No," he says, "probably not," and god, he wants to touch her. Her braid's gone all sideways from pulling her dress over her head, and he reaches out and touches her neck, then undoes her braid, trailing his fingers through her hair. Her eyes go all soft when he does that. Her underwear doesn't match even a little bit. Spencer loves her.
"I really love you, you know," he says, and that's casual between them at this point, but at the same time he always means it. No matter what this thing with Ryan leads to, he's not scared he'll lose Tennessee over it.
"Yes, yes, so you've said," she says, and her eyes are still all soft. Then she ducks away from his hand and starts walking towards the stairs. "I feel as though there might be a bed somewhere, Spencer, I have this hunch."
"I think you might be right about that," he calls after her, grinning.
She glances over her shoulder at him. "You should come help me investigate what we can do with that," she says, and then saunters upstairs. Spencer follows. What else is he going to do? He tackles her into the bed and they're both laughing, like they do, and the sunlight glances across her hair and he can't breathe, he never can remember how when they're like this, and how did he get so lucky, anyway? Her smile is open and her eyes are open and she laughs into his mouth when he swears about his jeans (they're far too uncomfortable now, too tight, and Spencer thinks he'd be better off without them) and the house is empty and he doesn't have to let go of her for hours and hours.
They're quiet, after. Spencer is stroking her hair and she's looking up at the ceiling, breathing softly. He closes his eyes and then opens them again, propping his head up on his hand and looking at her. He doesn't know how to start this conversation, because didn't they just-? and Spencer knows that normally that means that no one else is involved, that no one else should be involved, but.
But Ryan. Ryan and Tennessee and him, and if Spencer doesn't say something now, he's not sure what might happen.
Spencer swallows, gathering up his courage. "Maybe we should talk about Ryan," he says, and Tennessee takes a deep breath against his chest.
"I think so, yes," she says, and then tugs him closer. She doesn't say anything for a little bit, staying silent and thinking. Spencer feels like he should be able to hear her thoughts; she's so focused, so intent.
"It's not that I don't love you," she says eventually, kissing him softly. "You know that, right?"
Spencer nods against her mouth, because yes. "I know," he agrees. "I know Tenn, it's just, like." He swallows. "It's just more?"
"More," she says, sounding a bit far away. "Yes. That's it."
"I don't know how to explain it," Spencer says. "I wasn't looking for this. I love you, god. You're everything, Tenn. But it's just-there's something there, isn't it? I'm not just imagining things."
"No," Tennessee says. "I want to-Spencer." She sits up suddenly, staring down at him. "He just fits," Tennessee says. "It feels like this is right. I can't explain it either, but. It just is. And I think-"
"Yeah," Spencer says. He swallows hard, because this is where it gets a bit complicated. He knows she cares about Ryan, has seen that every time he's been around, but Spencer needs to be sure, he needs to be absolutely sure that this isn't just her deciding Ryan needs them and Spencer wants him and she likes him a lot so she might as well, or something.
"You think?" he prompts when she doesn't continue.
"Spencer, he's so-" her cheeks are going a little red again, flushing, and Spencer starts to grin, because, well. At least he knows that part of it isn't just Tennessee humoring him.
"Beautiful?" he suggests, even though that's a weird word to use about another guy. But Ryan is.
Tennessee nods. "Yes, that's, that's what I was thinking." She closes her eyes. "His hands, Spencer," she admits, and then squirms around so she's facing him. She's biting her lip, the way she does when she's sort of turned on but a bit weirded out about it. "But you're sure about this too? This is really what you want?"
Spencer nods, because it's a bit hard to articulate just how sure he is that he does want this, just as much as she does. "Yeah," he manages. "No, I do."
"You're really okay with the 'him' part," Tennessee says, tilting her head to the side. "I know we've talked about it, like, boys in the abstract, but this is-he's going to be a real boy, Spencer. A very real boy, with a dick and all of that, and I mean, for me it's just, er, more of the usual," she goes a little more pink at this, "but you, are you really sure-"
Talked about it is an understatement, Spencer thinks. Tennessee is the only one who knows, the only one who's ever known that Spencer doesn't only like girls. So Spencer is...yeah. He's definitely okay with the thought of Ryan's cock, as much as thinking that makes him feel sort of strange and desperate and squirmy inside. "I'm sure," Spencer says, breathlessly, because wow, okay, he knows Tennessee is trying to be helpful-but she really shouldn't be bringing up Ryan's guy parts when she's nudging a thigh in between his legs. It's probably pretty obvious how sure he is. "I'm-I'm sure. You know I am."
"You really are, aren't you," she says wonderingly, reaching out to trace his jaw. "Spencer, I can't-" she pushes forward and kisses him sort of desperately, like she's run out of things to say and can't stay away, has to touch him. She does that sometimes, now that they've spent quite a bit of time getting over their respective initial shyness together, and Spencer finds it so incredibly hot that he just shudders into the kiss and pulls her closer.
"Fuck," he mutters against her neck when they break off to breathe, and Tennessee laughs a little shakily.
"I don't think I can, I'm too," and she pulls his hand down until he's touching her; she's so wet that Spencer's fingers just slide, she must be so close. He nudges her onto her back, keeps touching her.
"Are you," Spencer says, before he can think better of it. He can't help it, he wants to know, wants with a sudden, desperate intensity to hear Tennessee say it out loud. "What are you thinking about, is it just you and him, or-"
"Everything," Tennessee murmurs, rolling her hips up against Spencer's hand. Her breathing is stuttery against his neck. "God, Spencer, all of us, it would be so-" She leans in, biting down firmly on Spencer's neck, and Spencer tips his head back.
"Fuck," Spencer says again, his own voice coming out just as breathless. Tennessee just bites down harder, sending a sharp frisson of sensation down Spencer's spine. "Come on," he says against her ear, shifting to slide two fingers into her, "come on, Tenn, I want to see you-"
"Oh," she says, her mouth falling open and her back arching, "oh shit, Spencer-" and she's always so, he can't get over how gorgeous she is when she comes, he can't.
Abruptly he wishes Ryan was here with him so they could watch her together, like this, just like this. And then when Tennessee was ready to go again (when she's this worked up it doesn't take long) and then they could, fuck, Ryan and her. Spencer can see it in his head-all of them, Ryan's long limbs twined up with Tenn's, the way Spencer could lie next to them and watch. The way Ryan's hair would get all mussed up and his lips would turn red under Tennessee's mouth, and the way Spencer could run his palm down the graceful arch of Ryan's spine. Ryan would push back, into him, and then they could keep him in the middle, one of them on either side. And, and then it would just be them, all of them, soft and warm and open, so much skin and-
Tennessee gets a hand on him, eyes still dark, and he comes before he even realizes how close he already is. They sleep a little after that, until the afternoon is casting long shadows in the room and Spencer suddenly remembers he hasn't eaten since breakfast. Which is never a good plan. Tennessee's stomach chooses that moment to growl as well, and they both start laughing.
"Food it is," Spencer says. After glancing at hi's alarm clock and making sure they have at least another two hours to themselves, he hands her one of his t-shirts and her underwear (she steals his clothes whenever she can and he likes to enable her), and grabs a pair of sweatpants for himself before they wander downstairs.
Over bacon and toast, she tells him she can't remember when she fell in love with Ryan, that it just felt inevitable and right.
Spencer has to take another sip of his coffee before he can answer, because it's a little overwhelming, all of it. "I do know," he admits. "When we were out dancing, I-"
"Oh yes, that night, I couldn't stop looking at either of you," Tennessee says. "It's so strange, isn't it, this thing we're trying for?"
"I think it would be stranger not to try," Spencer says, thinking about them both, thinking about Ryan smiling for real and getting to hold them both. "We have to, I think."
"I can't figure out which I want more," Tennessee says thoughtfully. "If I just want him to be happy, or if I want him to be ours."
"I think it might be the same thing," Spencer admits. He thinks back to their afternoon free from school; Ryan in the woods, strange and wild, Ryan's hand in Tennessee's and the way he'd fallen asleep on her shoulder, his expression finally at peace. "Or, I mean, I hope it's the same thing."
"Me too," Tennessee says, smiling bright and beautiful. She laughs a little. "So we're really going to do this, then?"
"Yeah," Spencer says, kissing her again. "Yeah. We are."
-
"So I was thinking," Z says, and sucks on the straw of her shake. She swirls it around a bit to get at the ice cream-y chunks in the bottom that haven't quite melted yet, and the tall glass makes a weird noise on the formica counter of the diner. "Um, I mean, I don't know what you wanted to do tonight-"
Brendon shrugs, smiling at her a little. "I'm pretty cool with 'whatever,'" Brendon says. "That was the plan, right?"
"Right," Z says, nodding. "Yes. Whatever."
"Did you...have a specific 'whatever' in mind?" Brendon says. He's still picking at the remains of his french fries and has nearly finished his portion, which is pretty impressive, considering Z had never seen that many french fries in her life. At least not all in one place, on one plate, like some french-fry convention or something.
"There's a drive-in nearby," Z says, before she loses her nerve. "They're playing all of the Indiana Jones movies tonight. I mean, we won't be able to stay for the whole thing, it goes all night, but I thought-"
"Z," Brendon says, lighting up. "Z, holy crap, how is that even a question? Get the check, let's go."
"Okay," Z says, smiling and breathing out for what seems like the first time in forever. It's dumb, that she was that nervous about suggesting a stupid drive-in movie marathon, but sometimes-sometimes Z thinks that Brendon thinks she's all fascinating and otherworldly, like he's actually believing her facade. Which is good, because that's the whole point of having a facade, but sometimes? Z just wants to sit around and make-out and watching stupid Harrison Ford movies. It's just-it's not something she's used to admitting to people, that's all.
But Brendon is still grinning at her with absolute delight as he waits impatiently for the check, so maybe it's okay.
-
They pull in just as Raiders of the Lost Ark is starting, and Brendon keeps craning his neck to see the screen as Z tries to find a parking space. They have those parking attendants standing around and theoretically helping people find spaces, but the field is absolutely packed and Z can't really see anything except rows and rows of other cars. They finally manage to find a space off to the side. It's not ideal, but it will do.
"I wish we had a blanket," Brendon says wistfully, pushing his seat back and kicking his feet up on the dashboard. "We could sit on the hood, like they do in movies."
"Yeah," Z says, shaking her head at herself. "That...probably would have been smart, huh."
"Probably," Brendon agrees. "But you didn't know for sure if we were coming. And anyway, it's almost nicer like this." He reaches out and takes her hand, rubbing his thumb across the backs of her knuckles.
"Yeah," Z says, squeezing back. Damn her tiny little Volvo. She kind of wants to be snuggled up with Brendon to watch the movie, not sitting here ten inches away in the driver's seat. She'd move over to sit next to him, but Z isn't quite sure her passenger seat is big enough for two people. Or, no, she knows it isn't. Her mouth quirks, remembering the bump on her head the night she and Alex tried it out.
Although.
"Do you think," Z says, peering at the backseat of her car thoughtfully. They could probably fold the front seats down, and take off the headrests, and then maybe they'd be able to sit back there and enjoy the movie together without grievous bodily injury.
"Hmm?" Brendon says, looking up. He glances at Z and then follows her line of vision to where she's staring at the back seat, squinting thoughtfully.
"Oh," Brendon says, after a moment, in an interested tone. "I see your point, Ms. Berg."
"Want to try it?" Z says, already starting to open her car door. "I think we can make it work."
"Totally," Brendon says, flashing her a smile. There's something in the way he says it-mischievous, slightly dirty-that makes the pit of Z's stomach flip over, and she hides her face down near the floor of the driver's side, pretending to be very interested in pulling her seat all the way forward.
It's not that she's embarrassed. It's just that it's been a long time since she's been with someone who made her want this much. There's something about the way Brendon touches her that just leaves her aching, restless and overwhelmed and Z doesn't even know what's different from before, she just knows that it is. Brendon's sweet, and he makes her laugh, and he's really adorably awkward, and none of those things should be a recipe for mind-blowing makeouts, and yet-it's like there's this other side to him too, something he doesn't let very many people see. It's this weird mix of confidence and vulnerability, of the way his eyes get dark and his breath hitches, the way he slides his fingers across Z's skin.
"Ow," Brendon says, rubbing his head and frowning at the lip of the doorframe, and Z snaps back to the present. Right. Setting the car up, that's what they're doing. She wrestles the headrest off, and then pushes down on the seat until it clicks into place; across from her, Brendon does the same. It's a tight fit to wriggle themselves into the back, but once they're in there they have enough room to sit back and stretch their legs out and still see the screen.
Z sighs happily. Brendon grins at her, and then does a completely obvious and obnoxious yawn and stretch, ending up with his arm around her lower back. Z takes a moment to reflect on how gone she must be for this dude, to let him get away with that, and then snuggles into it.
"You're really fucking lame," Z tells Brendon, once she's got her chin tucked into his shoulder.
"I am exactly what it says on the box," Brendon tells her gravely. "And that box is labeled Super Awesome."
"Uh-huh," Z says, grinning. "Whatever you say, buddy."
Part Three | Part Five