Master Post

Ryan's total injury count—-according to Z, anyway—is two black eyes, multiple bruises, and one fairly nasty cut on the back of his head that's shallow but won't stop bleeding. Ryan's had worse, and he knows that Z knows it, but for some reason this time around she won't let it go.

"Just keep holding it closed," Z snaps, glaring at him when Ryan tries to move his hand away. He's tired of holding his head over the tub, for fuck's sake. It's not bleeding that badly.

"My wrist is cramping," Ryan points out, shifting so he can force himself into a slightly less awkward position over Z's bathtub. "And it's fine, you said it yourself. It's just a little cut."

"I thought it was fine before it wouldn't stop bleeding," Z says, completely ignoring her own advice when she pushes Ryan's hands away to peer at the cut again. "I'm not letting you die in my bathroom."

"Local boy found naked in bathtub, covered in blood, story at eleven..." Ryan drawls, and he's mostly kidding but he doesn't miss Z's shaky intake of breath, the way she bites her lip and very carefully turns away from him. Ryan waits, but she doesn't turn back around.

"That's not funny," Z says quietly, and then there's a hitch to her breathing and Ryan feels a wave of guilt wash over him, settling firmly in his stomach.

"Z," Ryan says, one hand on his cut scalp, the other reaching out to brush against her arm. "Hey, Z. I didn't mean it. It was a joke."

"You always joke," Z hisses, pulling away from him. "You always push and push, like it doesn't matter, like you don't matter, and you do, Ryan. You fucking do. What the hell would I do without you?" Z says, and now she's actually tearing up, wiping at her mascara with impatient fingers. Ryan feels like shit. "You're not allowed to fucking die on me," Z says. "And I bet you a lot of money that everyone else in this house feels that way too, so stop playing so fast and easy with your life and get some fucking perspective."

"I don't," Ryan says, numbly. "I—Z, of course I don't. I don't have a fucking deathwish."

"Then stop acting like everything that happens to you doesn't matter," Z says quietly. "Because it matters to me, Ryan. It matters to me and it matters to Spencer and Brendon and Tennessee, okay? So suck it up." She's wiping at her eye makeup again, smudging it to all hell, and Ryan can't do anything but lean in and tuck his face into her shoulder, one arm snaked around her waist to hold them both up.

"I'll try," Ryan whispers, closing his eyes. "Promise, Z."

"You better," Z mumbles, her face pressed into his hair. Her hand is covering his, and Ryan lets himself just sink into the familiar sensation of Z's hugs and Z's smell for a moment. He lets himself relax and then all of a sudden he hears a soft, pleased noise, a sort of quiet ah-ha!.

"It's stopped bleeding," Z says, pulling her hand carefully back. She's smiling again. "We can tape it up now."


"Thank god," Ryan mutters, lifting his hand away from his scalp and crossing the room to go sit on the closed toilet seat, next to the medicine cabinet. His palm is stained with blood, but Z's hands on his head are gentle as she starts to tape him up with gauze, and when she pulls her hands away her fingers are clean.

There's a knock at the door.

"Can we come in?" Spencer's voice says, quiet and hesitant. "Ryan, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, and the door opens to reveal Spencer and Brendon and Tennessee, all clustered around the door and peering in anxiously.

"He's fine," Z says, dropping the last of the bandages in the trash. "It stopped bleeding. He's just going to be sore for a few days, that's all."

"No worse than normal," Ryan says, shrugging, and then he looks away awkwardly when Spencer and Tennessee's faces fall. Whoops, he thinks. This whole "mattering to other people besides Z" is going to take some getting used to.

"Anyway," Z says, when it looks like no one else is going to say anything. "I think we should all stay here tonight? If you guys want, I mean—" She looks slightly nervous after she gives the invitation, but she's cut off almost immediately by a chorus of agreement.

"I need to call my parents," Tennessee says, digging her in pocket for her phone. "But hell no, I'm not leaving. They'll have to force me out of here tonight if they want me to come home."

"Me too," Spencer says, crossing the room to stand awkwardly next to Ryan. "You sure you're okay?" He says, in an undertone, and Ryan nods. "Yeah," Ryan says. Tennessee's words are still running around and around in his head, and he can't help but tilt his body so he's touching Spencer slightly, his shoulder brushing up against Spencer's hip. Spencer brushes his fingers over the back of Ryan's neck, hesitant. Ryan closes his eyes and lets himself lean into the pressure.

"Then that's settled," Z says, nodding at the rest of them. "Sleepover in the den."

"Moulin Rouge?" Ryan mumbles, his eyes still closed.

"Absolutely," Z says firmly. "Whatever you want, Ry."

—

"So what next?" Z mumbles, as the end credits begin to roll. She's got her face mashed into the pillow that's tucked up against Ryan's side, her eyes barely open.

"Sleeping," Ryan mumbles, flailing out a hand to pat her on the head. He misses and ends up with his hand in the half-eaten bowl of ice cream perched on her knee, and he holds his hand up to inspect it with a grimace.

"Ice cream's sneaky shit like that," Brendon mutters, from his vantage point on the floor of Z's den. "You think it's totally safe and then it gets you every time."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Ryan says, rummaging around for something to wipe his hand off on. "Does this happen to you a lot?"

"Don't tell me you've never stepped in a half-eaten bowl of ice cream," Brendon says, rolling over onto his back so he can sneak his toes up to the couch, underneath Z's legs. "I do it all the time. It sucks."

"I haven't," Ryan says, shaking his head. "Because I actually do my dishes sometimes, you messy freak."

"Hey," Z says tiredly. "Don't call my boyfriend a freak." She tries to punch Ryan in the arm, but mostly succeeds in poking his shin.

" 'time is it?" Tennessee mumbles, from her spot just below Ryan's perch on the couch. She and Spencer are stretched out on the floor, as close to Ryan as possible without actually sharing the couch with him. Ryan's torn between finding it sort of sweet and getting sick of stepping over them every time he has to pee.

"Three am," Ryan says, softening his voice. "Go to bed, Tenn."

"Mmm," Tennessee says, rolling over and blinking at him sleepily. Next to her, Spencer is passed out, snoring softly. "Not until you do. But why are you—Ryan, why are you covered in ice cream?"

"I'm wondering that myself," Ryan says, but he accepts Tennessee's offer of a paper towel after she retrieves the roll that had gone missing under the couch.

" 'm going to bed," Z says, pushing herself up to a sitting position. "Ry, you want me to give you the couch so you can stretch out? Or do you want to sleep in my bed and I'll stay down here?"

"Here's okay," Ryan says quietly. If it was just him and Z he'd probably take her offer of a bed, but as it is he's not horribly uncomfortable on the couch and he kind of wants to stay down here with Spencer and Tennessee, if he's honest.

"Does that offer of sleeping in your bed hold for everyone?" Brendon says with a sleepy leer, but Z just rolls her eyes, bending down to kiss him and then standing up.

"Only for people I'm not dating," Z says, yawning. "My mother would have a heart attack if she found you in my bed tomorrow morning. I think she might actually keel over."

"She doesn't do that when it's Ryan," Brendon says, brushing his fingers against her ankle as she carefully steps over him. "You never know, she might be immune."

"She also still makes Ryan smiley faces on his pancakes with syrup," Z points out, clicking the lights off. The glow from the TV is suddenly the only light in the room. "It's not really the same thing."

"I know," Brendon says, winking at Ryan. "I'm just teasing. Sweet dreams, babe."

"You too," Z says. "All of you." She gives Brendon one last look, biting her lip and smiling over her shoulder, and then she's gone.

"What a girl," Brendon says softly, sounding awed for no reason that Ryan can ascertain. He's wearing a soft, slightly goofy expression, and Ryan makes a gagging face at no one in particular.

"Stop making creepy eyes at my best friend and go to bed," Ryan says, fumbling around until he's more comfortable. "You're weirding me out." Brendon mumbles something back that sounds suspiciously like you should talk, but when Ryan looks back over he's feigning sleep.

"Everyone in this house is crazy," Ryan tells Tennessee solemnly, peering down at her from his perch on the couch. She smiles sleepily up at him. "Yeah," she says, reaching up to squeeze gently at his knee. "Quite crazy, I agree."

—


Waiting for her possible drummer to walk through the door of their rehearsal space is possibly the most stressful thing she's ever experienced. Worse than the talent show, rea
Z's chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she thought she was rid of. But as it turns out, wally. She wants this, it's the key to so many other things, and she can't quite believe it's happening, oh fuck.

Her bandmates are next to her on the couch. No one's saying a word.

There's the door.

"Hey, Tenn," she says, once she's crossed the room to open the heavy metal-framed door. "Hey, you made it."

Tennessee licks her lips. "It looks like I did, yes." She looks around their practice space, and Z takes a moment to at least congratulate herself on how much better it looks now than it did before. They'd cleared out the back of the room and then spent the morning moving Laena's brother's old drum kit here, a project which had taken approximate four hours and a lot of of smoothies and duct tape.

It's still kind of a disaster zone, though.

"It's a mess," Z says apologetically. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, you should see mine and Spencer's," Tennessee says, grinning a little. "This is fairly clean, comparatively."

"We try," Laena says. "Z trips over stuff all the time, but at least she usually doesn't break anything."

"This is Laena," Z says, digging her elbow into Laena's waist. "She likes to make fun of me. She's also our bassist."

"I know," Tennessee says, and she's starting to look a bit more relaxed, thank fuck. "I saw you at the talent show, you were really good." She turns to Annie. "You're Annie, right? Keyboard and hand claps and such."

Annie smiles. "Yes, that's me. And actually I'm the one who falls over the most, if we're going to be fair about this. My girlfriend just thinks it makes me self-conscious, so she pretends Z is the clutzy one."

Z feels a momentary rush of affection for the way Annie is so clear about her and Laena when she can be; she's so quiet and so sweet, but she doesn't move an inch on the things she thinks are important.

"You're right," Laena says, grinning. "You're the clutzy one and Z is the kitchen disaster."

"What are you, then?" Tennessee says, sounding amused.

"Me? Oh, I'm the levelheaded one."

"I'll get you for that," Z murmurs, trying for menacing and mostly managing to sound giggly. She really likes her band. And it seems like Tennessee might like them too, if the way she's grinning is a fair indication. Okay. Time to see if this will work for real. "Ladies," she says. "Shall we try something out?"

Abruptly, Tennessee is back to looking nervous. Z ignores it; Brendon told her Tennessee is basically amazing even if she undervalues herself, so Z's just going to go ahead and get the music going and hope that clears up the nerves. "Like, I thought we could start with some Beatles?"

Laena nods. "I Saw Her Standing There?"

They've been messing around with a cover of that, partly because it makes Annie grin at her keyboard and Z and Laena get to split vocals for it. "Do you know it, Tennessee?"

"Do I—" Tennessee sniffs, mock-haughtily. "I'll have you know that we're born knowing how to play The Beatles where I come from. There's a reason they called it the British Invasion, you know."

Z snickers. She suggested The Beatles because she's overheard Spencer and Tennessee debate the merits of Ringo Starr about eighteen times over the past weeks, and she's glad to see it was a good choice.

"Places, everyone!" she says, because she likes saying it and because it makes Annie laugh and Laena roll her eyes fondly.

Z slings her guitar strap over her shoulder and counts them in. After about thirty seconds, they all move forward as far as they can, because as it turns out, a real drum set makes a hell of a lot more noise than a fake one.

"Sorry," Tennessee calls. "I—um."

"No, it's fine, we just have to adjust some shit," Z says, and lets Laena deal with both of their pedals while she adjusts her amp.

It takes them a few tries to get the sound balance worked out right, but when they do, oh my god. Sure, Z messes up the lyrics halfway through the second verse and Laena starts laughing in the middle of "you know what I mean," because Z accidentally put in way too much of a leer there, and Tennessee loses track of where she's at a couple of times. Annie's fairly perfect, but that's par for the course. Even with all of that, though, it's so—it's so good. Z's laughing helplessly by the end of it, and the rest of them are grinning too.

"One more time?" Laena's almost bouncing.

Tennessee pushes her bangs out of her face, taking a deep breath. "One more time," she agrees.

They keep at that song for the next half-hour when Z, remembering Brendon's entreaty to not push Tennessee, suggests they break for the day. "I, for one, am getting tired. You've got rhythm, Thomas."

Tennessee smiles quickly. "Thanks, I—"

Z shakes her head. "Just think about it." She looks at her bandmates, who are both nodding. "If you want it, the spot is yours, but you don't need to tell us your answer now. You should, however, partake of our traditional post-practice blended beverage extravaganza, yes?"

Shaking her head, Laena says, "What Z means is that I will now make you all smoothies. I don't know about the extravagant part, but I do have mango."

"Mango sounds fairly extravagant to me," Tennessee says.

"Just don't let Z touch the blender," Laena says, and Tennessee laughs.

—

Z's sucking down a mango-strawberries-kiwi smoothie and listening to Laena and Tennessee argue the merits of traditional drum kits versus more tricked-out ones, when her phone buzzes. It's a text from Ryan: spencer asked me on a date. with him and tenn. what do i even say. Z blinks. She'd been hoping, but oh, oh wow. You say yes, she texts back, and then tugs Tennessee away from the table, leading her into the next room.

"We need to talk," Z says, trying her best to sound gentle. "Um, not about the band," Z says, when Tennessee's eyes go wide and scared. "About you and Spencer and Ryan. You're like—you're not going to hurt him, right?"

Tennessee looks confused. "Hurt him? What, Z, I—"

Z shows her Ryan's text and Tennessee's eyes turn soft.

"Spencer asked, yes. I told him we should. We want him, Z."

"Right, but for what?" Z says quietly, conscious of Annie and Laena in the kitchen.

"For as long as he'll have us," Tennessee says simply.

Z swallows. That's what she was hoping, yes, but she's still scared. "You hurt him and I'll, I don't know."

"If we hurt him, you can do whatever you want to us," Tennessee says. "He shouldn't have to hurt like that anymore. That's not why, but that's why we've been pushing. He deserves to be happier."

"You can't fix him," Z says.

Tennessee shakes her head. "No, no. It's not about that. It's just—he's incredible, you know?" She looks down, blushing. "We both think so. And we know it's kind of strange, that there's two of us, but—whatever," Tennessee says, looking back up. "We've talked about a lot," Tennessee says. "Me and Spencer. We're both as serious as we possibly can be with this. We're not going to jerk him around."

"Okay," Z says. "Okay. You have the best friend's approval." And because she can't help herself, she leans up on her toes and hugs Tennessee, and then runs back into the kitchen. "No making out in here, guys, you're going to scar the wild Thomas."

Laena doesn't drop Annie's hand. "She can take it," Laena says, smiling to take the sting out of the words.

"It is true, I can take it, indeed I can," Tennessee says, coming in behind Z. "You're far more palatable than the hijinks of our Miss Berg and her erstwhile paramour, anyway."

"I resent that implication," Z says, and it's easy, it feels easy, and she's hoping for so many things to come out right that it kind of scares her. Hope is a terrifying thing, but maybe, just maybe they can make it work out this time.

—

"Seriously," Ryan mutters, rolling his eyes. "Just pick one."

"I'm thinking," Z says. Ryan's closet is an unholy mess, as usual, but at least everything's mostly clean. "Look, I usually never get to dress you up for dates. Let me enjoy this for a moment."

"That's because you always try to make me wear something idiotic," Ryan says, frowning at his reflection as he messes with his hair. He's trying to play it cool, but Z can see where his hands are shaking, just slightly.

"Like paisley is the height of cool," Z says, but she stops stalling and starts pulling things out in earnest. "Are you wearing those pants? Or are you changing."

"I don't know," Ryan says, turning to face Z. "Should I? I just—fuck, Z, I don't know anything. What the hell am I doing?" His voice is still calm and even, but there's a familiar shake at the edges.

Z isn't going to call him on it though, because if she points it out he's going to lose it completely, so it's better for both of them to pretend that everything is fine. She's good at Ryan-wrangling, and she knows it works better if she pretends to be a bit oblivious. And she wants it to work, she wants him to do this.

"You're going out on a date with two attractive people who think you're wonderful," Z says, frowning at Ryan's collection of vests.

"Yes," Ryan says helplessly. "It's the two part that's tripping me up." It's not, really, Z doesn't think, or it's not the only thing, but it's probably the easiest to fixate on.

"Hey," Z says, bringing him the first three shirts she wants him to try on. Ryan looks down at her, his eyes wide and scared. "Hey. Don't worry about it, okay? We know them. I mean, I can't believe I'm saying this, but we both know they're for real." Z touches his shoulder. "They really like you," she says quietly. "They're trying to do this right. Just—let them try, okay? And if it doesn't work—we'll figure it out from there."

"I really want it to work," Ryan says, equally quietly.

"I do too," Z says, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Now. Try these on. And hurry up, we only have half an hour and we need to make you look hot."

"I always look hot," Ryan says, some of the familiar sarcasm beginning to return. His shoulder aren't quite so high, though, so Z knows her words might be sinking in.

"Yeah, yeah," Z says. "Whatever."

—

"You look nice," Spencer says quietly, smiling at Ryan as they walk towards Tennessee's car. Tennessee leans out the window, honking the horn and grinning when she sees Ryan.

"Thanks," Ryan says, trying not to blush. "Um. You too." Spencer isn't particularly dressed up, but he's obviously taken a little time with his appearance; his hair is all shiny and clean, and he's wearing a tight hoodie and dark blue jeans. Z and Ryan had eventually compromised on Ryan's outfit; he'd ended up in his favorite jeans and boots, but with a green v-neck that Z insisted showed off his collar bones.

"Hello, handsome," Tennessee says. "I'm afraid there's a toll required for the journey. New rules." She leans out the window and tips up her cheek, and Ryan can't help smiling when he leans down and gives her a peck.

"Thank you," Tennessee says, winking at him. "Now get in. I've secret plans."

"Secret plans?" Ryan says, raising an eyebrow at Spencer as he pulls the back door of Tenn's car open.

"Honest to god," Spencer says, sliding in next to Ryan. "I have no idea where we're going or what we're doing. She told me I'm not even allowed to ride in the front seat."

"Are those complaints I hear?" Tennessee says, raising an eyebrow at them in the rearview mirror. Ryan shakes his head quickly; next to him, he can see Spencer grinning and doing the same. "Thought so," Tennessee says, hitting the 'play' button on the tape deck. The car is suddenly filled with the sounds of The Clash. Spencer nods in approval.

The ride to wherever they're going is fast and loud, but enjoyably so. Tennessee's staying silent and mysterious in the front seat, so the only thing Ryan can hear is the sound of Joe Strummer singing about Spanish bombs when Spencer leans over to him.

"I could try and come up with a witty line," Spencer says. "But Tennessee's kind of better at that than I am."

"What?" Ryan says, blinking at him.

"I was saying I don't really have a witty line for this," Spencer says, and then he leans in and kisses Ryan on the cheek. It's quick and soft, but Ryan can still feel himself blushing. He thinks his mouth might be hanging open.

"I know this is weird," Spencer says, shrugging awkwardly. "But we wanted to try and make this as not-weird as possible."

"It's not weird," Ryan says, before he thinks too hard about it. It should be, but it isn't. Maybe that's what's throwing him. Everything feels too easy. Ryan's not used to easy.

"Cool," Spencer says, leaning back against his seat and smiling at Ryan, one of those blindingly sweet smiles that still leave Ryan a little breathless. "That's the idea."

—

"So how's it going?" Brendon says, peering over Z's shoulder at her cellphone. "Is everyone still wearing clothes?"

"Stop," Z murmurs, smiling to herself as she types out a reply to Ryan. "They're fine. It's going fine. And no one's naked yet."

"Too bad," Brendon says, grinning. Z rolls her eyes.

"Stop fantasizing about your friends getting naked together," Z says. "It's weird."

"I'm not fantasizing," Brendon says, tucking his head into the crook of her shoulder so he can spy on her phone more easily. "I'm just saying. If no one gets naked tonight, it will be a travesty."

"You think any day without nakedness is a tragedy," Z says. Her phone beeps again. The text says, spencer just kissed me. Behind Z, Brendon makes an interested noise.

WHAT???? Z types back.

not like that. on the cheek, the answering text replies. Z feels something settle a little, deep down inside. She didn't want to admit she'd been worried, she trusts them, honestly, but—well. Maybe she'd been a little worried.

Her phone beeps again.

it was nice. also we're here, wherever here is. turning phone off.


"Aw," Brendon says, and if he were anyone else Z would probably hit him, but he sounds like he actually means it. "See? I told you everything would be fine."

"Yeah," Z says, tossing her phone onto the bedside table. "You did. I know."

"They're good people," Brendon says, sitting back a little so he can stretch out his shoulders. "They'll take care of him, Z."

"Ryan doesn't need anyone to take care of him," Z says, without thinking. It comes out sharp. Brendon raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Z says immediately, shaking her head. "Sorry. I just—"

"I know," Brendon says, his eyes softening. "I know. You're protective of him."

"With good fucking reason," Z says, scooting across the bed so she can lean up against the pillows. Brendon follows suit, bumping his shoulder into hers. "I still can't believe he just—I don't even know what he was thinking. He's such an idiot sometimes."

"Everyone has to make their own mistakes," Brendon says. He tips his head back so he can look at Z's ceiling fan, spinning slowly above them. "I know I have. I definitely regret some of this shit I said to my parents before they kicked me out and I ended up here."

"Oh," Z says softly, because—okay, she knows Brendon doesn't mean it like that, but it sort of sounds like—

"Z?" Brendon says, frowning a little and turning to face her. Z knows she's suddenly become very stiff, but she can't help it. "What—"

"But you're not sad you moved here?" Z blurts out, the words tumbling out all at once. "Right? Or are you going to leave after the semester's over, it's only three weeks, I know you said it was getting better with them, but you—but we—"

"Hey," Brendon says firmly, turning on his side so he's facing her. "Z. Look at me, okay?" Z can feel his hands on her jawline. She takes a deep breath, and then lets him gently turn her head so they're looking at each other.

"No," Brendon says. "No, and no, and seriously, no. I'm not going anywhere. I'm four classes short of graduating, anyway. I've moved around too much, and the school board is being picky about my credits. I'm going to have to take summer classes or stay on for another semester at least. And with my parents, it's not—it's getting better, yeah, but I'm definitely not ready to go back there yet." He pauses. "And besides," Brendon says, a little softer. "I'm not leaving you."

"Okay," Z says, biting her lip. "Promise?" She hates herself for it, for the needy tone in her voice, but Brendon is just—awesome. He's awesome and amazing and Z can't remember the last time she's been so stupidly, unnecessarily happy with someone. She's never been this happy with someone, if she's being honest.

"Promise," Brendon says solemnly. "I mean. For the next year, at least. I can't promise I'm going to get old and die here. But I don't think you're going to do that, either."

"Definitely not," Z says, wrinkling her nose. "We've got a year to make a demo and record an album, and then we're getting out of here. I just didn't want—you know," Z says lamely, because it seems kind of selfish to say I didn't want you to leave before I did.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "I know." Z can feel him settling in a little closer to her, slipping his hand into hers. It's quiet between them for a moment. The house is empty and still.

"So what do you want to do?" Z says eventually. "Everyone else is out falling in love, and things. We have the evening to ourselves."

"Oh, I don't know," Brendon says casually. He swipes his thumb across the back of her hand. "I thought we could have sex."

"Surprise of the century," Z says, snickering a little. "I knew the conversation would eventually make it back to the topic of nakedness."

"Yeah," Brendon says, but underneath his the casual tone, his voice sounds a little off. "Uh. About that."

"What?" Z says, sitting up and kicking off her bunny slippers and starting to tug at her socks. There's no point in leaving them on, they're just going to come off anyway. "Is that about that making-out-in-the-shower thing you told me about the other day? Because I told you, my shower is small, we'll both slip and die."

"No, um, Z—" Brendon says, tugging on her hand, forcing her to look at him again. Z pauses, one hand still holding her left sock. "I meant," Brendon says awkwardly. "Like. Sex. Like sex that involves condoms. Not just orgasms."

Z blinks at him.

"Oh," Z says.

"Is that a bad 'oh'"? Brendon says hesitantly, after a moment. "Or a good one?"

"It's good," Z says weakly. "Really good."

"Okay," Brendon says. "Um."

"Yeah," Z says. "No, seriously, okay, it's really good, I am so down with that, but you said—you said you'd never, and this is kind of a big deal, and I feel like maybe I shouldn't be in my socks and bunny slippers right now, and possibly I should have showered, and—" Oh god, Z thinks, slightly hysterical. oh my god, Z, STOP TALKING.

"I really don't care," Brendon says, starting to smile. Z's glad her utter and complete loss of a verbal filter is funny to someone. "Z. Do you think I'd be saying this if I cared about whether you'd showered?"

"Maybe?" Z squeaks. She finally gets it together to throw her left sock over the bed, kicking the slippers off as well because okay, she's not a virgin, she's done this before, but it's still kind of weird to think about seeing fuzzy ears in the corner of her vision while she's having sex.

"Well, I don't," Brendon says. "Greasy hair and bunny slippers and all, okay?"

"You make it sound so enticing," Z says, but she wiggles a little closer on the bed, holding her breath.

"It's not like I showered," Brendon says, grinning at her a little. "This is, uh. Kind of spur-of-the-moment."

"Are you sure?" Z says, biting her lip again. "This is a big deal, okay. Or it can be. It can be a big deal."

"If you don't relax I'm going to rescind the offer," Brendon mumbles, but he's leaning in, kissing her feather-light and soft. Z lets herself relax into the pressure, the softness of his mouth on hers. "Seriously, though," Brendon says, once he pulls away to breathe. "I'm a little bit in love with you. I want to. It's okay. I'm not going to regret this."

"Oh," Z says, wonderingly. She can feel her breath stuttering in her chest, just a little.

"So let's do this," Brendon says, leaning in to kiss her again, and Z can't help it—she's smiling against his mouth when he kisses her again. It's both his words (I'm a little bit in love with you, oh god) and his oh-so-smooth tone. Z feels like she's walking on the clouds, like everything is suddenly sunshine and roses and cotton candy, and she's not prone to hyperbole and it's a dumb metaphor, but—yeah. It feels like she's floating away.

"How do you want to, um," Z mumbles, even as she's pressing in closer and Brendon's hands are coming to rest on her hips so he can pull her on top of him. He tugs a little, and Z lets herself be pulled, and then she's straddling him, legs bracketing his thighs. Brendon's already half-hard. Z presses down without thinking, chasing the sensation, and Brendon makes a breathless noise into her mouth.

"Uh, the normal way?" Brendon says, once they've pulled apart again and Z is occupying herself with sucking a large and noticeable hickey into the side of Brendon's neck. He's all pale and smooth, and he likes to tilt his head back and make these soft little noises. It makes Z want to push and push, makes her want to hold him down and force him to stay still so she can bite him harder.

(It's the kind of thing she might be worried about—these sudden, um, urges she has—if Brendon wasn't so obviously into it. If he didn't tilt his head back and look up at her, all open and trusting and honest.)

"Huh?" Z says, pulling back and admiring her handiwork. She brushes her fingers over the mark, now slightly raised and red under her fingertips, and Brendon lets out a breath.

"The normal way," he says, catching her face in both hands and pulling her in so he can kiss her deeply, slick and rough. "Whatever way we feel like, fuck—" Brendon breaks off, glancing down at Z's hands underneath his t-shirt, holding on to his hips. "Okay," Brendon says breathlessly. "Wait. We need to be naked."

"Usually," Z agrees, but she's already sitting up and tugging off her undershirt. She has to roll off of Brendon so he can wiggle out of his jeans, but then she shucks the rest of her clothing and suddenly Brendon's pulling her down and—jesus christ, Z thinks blearily, because there's skin, so much skin, and Brendon is smooth and soft and rough in all the right places.

"Fuck," Brendon mumbles, spreading his legs slightly so Z can fit in between them, wrapping them around the backs of her legs so they're closer, closer. His hands are running up and down the long length of her back, a single stroke from the nape of her neck to the curve of her ass, and Z can't help arching her spine into the pressure.

"Yeah," Z says. "Yeah—wait."

"What?" Brendon says, blinking up at her, red lips and a dazed look on his face. He's hard against her stomach, and Z loses her train of thought a little when he shifts under her, rolling his hips up slightly, like he can't help it.

"Condoms," Z says firmly. "We need them. Hang on."

"My wallet," Brendon mumbles, pulling her back down. He gets one kiss in before Z pulls back again, shaking her head at him.

"Didn't you pay attention in sex ed?" Z says grinning. "Never use the wallet condom." She sits up, twisting and stretching so she can reach her bedside table and fumble at the second drawer from the top. "Here," Z says, finding the lube first and dropping it on the bed, and then stretching even further so she can rummage in the back for the 3-pack she knows is in there. Just in case.

"You keep lube in your bedside table?" Brendon says, raising an eyebrow.

"Gotta have something for when you're not around," Z says, winking at him. Brendon makes an interested noise in reponse, but Z just pushes aside the random other assorted crap in that drawer until her fingers finally close around a slim cardboard box. "A-ha!" Z says, victorious and grinning. "Found it."

"Good job," Brendon says, and his tone is joking but he's looking up at Z with an expression that's more serious than anything else—serious, and honest, and oh, yeah. Z is so down for this.

"Okay," Z says, and Brendon pulls her back in, settling her back down on top of him. "Okay, so should we just—"

"Yeah," Brendon says.

"Okay," Z says. "Because I was thinking about blowing you first."

"Oh god, wait, I changed my mind," Brendon gasps out, as Z starts shuffling backwards. "I'm picking that option, fuck."

"I figured you would," Z says, grinning into his stomach. She bites at the thin skin there and Brendon rolls his hips up, tilting his head back with a sigh. His cock is thick and flushed against his stomach, and she rubs her thumb over the head, watching carefully so she can enjoy every little reaction. She knows it's not Brendon's first blowjob or anything, but it's still gratifying when she takes him in her mouth and he bucks his hips, one hand clenching in her hair. He releases her just as quickly, murmuring sorry, sorry, but Z just shrugs, pulling off for a moment to close her lips around the head of his cock and suck gently.

"You can pull," Z says, before she takes him back in. "I don't mind. Just don't like, rip my hair out or anything."

"Uh-huh," Brendon says weakly, but he slides his hands back into her hair anyway, tugging gently whenever she does something that he really likes. He's not huge or anything, so Z can easily take him in all the way, and that earns her a strangled moan and a harder tug than all the rest put together.

"Z," Brendon gasps out, after she's been at it for a little while, taking her time and generally enjoying herself. "Z, fuck, you need to—we need to. I'm kind of close."

"Yeah," Z says, sliding her mouth off after one final, gentle lick. "Yeah, I was getting that." The words are flippant but she's careful to keep her tone soft, so Brendon knows she's not teasing. "Can I be on top?" Z whispers, once she's straddling him again, leaning down so that Brendon can chase his own taste out of her mouth, a move that earns her another surprised moan.

"Always," Brendon whispers, and Z bites down, hard, on his lower lip. She feels the firm pressure of Brendon sliding his hand down her side, coming to rest on her ass and then dipping down between her legs. He brushes his fingers over her entrance, and Z pushes back against his hand. "You okay?" Brendon says breathlessly, pressing just the tips of his fingers inside of her. "Do we need lube, are you—fuck, you're so wet," Brendon says, and Z grins into his mouth, shifting her hips so he'll move his hand away. She grabs the condom package, ripping it open with both hands and then rolling it on to him, chucking the empty wrapper over her shoulder. Whatever. She'll pick it up later.

"I like going down on guys," Z murmurs, getting herself situated and then sliding her left hand back down to line him up. "I like going down on you."

"Great," Brendon says, his voice still strained. "Awesome. That is an awesome development—Z, fuck," Brendon gasps out, because Z's sliding down on him, slow and careful. Her breath hitches when she's finally all the way down.

"Z," Brendon says again, looking awed and slightly freaked out and turned on, all at once, and Z can't help herself, she leans up to kiss him again, soft and gentle this time. She can't get over how good he feels inside of her, thick and perfect. She rolls her hips just once, experimentally, and Brendon grabs for her hands, tangling his fingers with hers. "You feel amazing," Brendon whispers, and Z nods.

"So do you," she whispers back, and she means it. "I'm going to move, okay?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, and Z rocks her hips, pushing herself back onto his cock. She loves being on top like this, loves running the show even if it means her legs will probably be sore tomorrow. It's worth it, god.

"Z, I can't," Brendon says, and then he's untangling their fingers, grabbing on to her hips as he thrusts up. Z gasps out at the sudden shock of sensation, of the way he's suddenly filling her up in all the right places. "I just can't—" Brendon says again, and Z nods, leaning forward so she can bite down on his shoulder.

"Whatever you want," Z gasps out, her mouth falling open when Brendon starts fucking into her, hard, like he's been hanging on by a thread this whole time and now he can't help it. "That's good. I'm good." She knows she's babbling, but somehow he's managing to hit all the right spots, and Z would be impressed if she wasn't too busy chasing the sensation, rocking her hips in time with his thrusts. She leans down again and it's skin to skin everywhere, Brendon's hands on her hips and his cock pressed deep inside of her, just right, and when she kisses him rough and messy Brendon suddenly stills, every muscle in his body drawn up tight. "It's okay," Z gasps out, sinking one hand into his hair, squeezing down on him so that she can feel every inch of him inside her. "It's okay, come on, I want to feel it—"

"Oh, god," Brendon whines, and then he's throwing his head back and pressing his hips impossibly closer, fucking her with jerky, desperate thrusts until he comes with a muffled yell into her shoulder. Z can feel his dick pulsing inside of her and it's hot and she's fucking dying to get off but she's also struck by the sudden intensity of it all, of knowing that Brendon's never felt this before, with anyone. Z just wants to stay here forever, wants to do this again and again, wants to sink into this moment and never let go.

Brendon stays there for a while, his forehead pressed to the curve of her collarbone. Z strokes his hair, unable to help herself. "Hey," she says softly, once he's finally caught his breath. "Hey, B. You okay?"

"More than okay," Brendon says, blinking up at her with an expression that's stripped entirely bare, even for him. He looks amazed, amazed and endorphin-stupid and so, so happy.

Z can't breathe; she thinks that this must be what flying feels like.

"Love you," she says softly. She doesn't even think about it; it just tumbles out, honest and so very, very true.

"Yeah," Brendon says, reaching one hand up to brush her hair out of her eyes. "Yeah, god. Love you. I love you. Fuck, Z—wait." He pauses. "Shit, we are such a cliche right now."

Z blinks at him. And then she snorts, because yeah, they really are.

"Whatever," Z says, bending down for another kiss. "I meant it. So there."

"Me too," Brendon says softly. He's starting to slip out, so Z pulls back, wiggling her hips until he's no longer pressed up inside of her. Her thighs feel wet. Which, oh fuck. She bites her lip.

"Okay," Z says, as Brendon's tugging off the used condom. "So that was awesome and amazing and life changing but I really need to come now and then we can make moon eyes at each other, okay?"

"Can I help?" Brendon says, tying off the condom and tossing it into the wastebasket underneath Z's nightstand. "I get to help, right?"

"Duh," Z says, "That's part of your job description." She slides her fingers down, biting her lip, but Brendon stops her with a gentle hand on her wrist.

"Can I go down on you?" Brendon says, and his voice is low and throaty. "Can I. I really fucking want to go down on you right now."

"Um, like I'm going to say no," Z says, and climbs off of him to settle back against the pillows. Brendon rolls over, kissing at her stomach and thighs before tucking her legs up behind his head. "This is the life," Z says, smiling wide and happy at the first touch of Brendon's lips, sighing a little as he licks over her clit before sucking gently.

"No disagreements here," Brendon murmurs, and Z grins and settles back to enjoy herself.

—

"...paintball?" Ryan says, blinking, as they pull in to the lot.

"And mini-golf," Tennessee says seriously. "And bowling. There are many options, my friend."

"And yet," Spencer says, unbuckling his seat-belt, "I suspect you brought us here for the paintball. I see right through you, you know."

"Won't that hurt?" Ryan says, peering at Tennessee's bare legs underneath her dress.

"I brought leggings," Tennessee says, grinning at him. "And yeah, probably, but it's always worth it when I manage to get Spencer in the neck."

"You're evil," Ryan says, not with a tinge of admiration.

"Yes," Tennessee says patiently. She's fumbling in her purse and then pulling out a pair of black leggings, and Ryan swallows and then forces himself to look away while she tugs them up and under her dress. It's not that he wants to look away, but it feels like—he doesn't even know. It feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, yet, even if neither Tennessee nor Spencer seem to care.

"Shall we?" Tennessee says, after she's ready, and Ryan and Spencer both nod. Ryan's actually only played paintball about twice in his life, but he's pretty curious about playing it with Spencer and Tennessee. He suspects there will be a lot of friendly competition and cat-calling. He also suspects that Tennessee is about to kick both of their asses, but at least it will be entertaining.

They each pay their own way, once they're inside, and Tennessee shoves her flats in her purse and puts on a pair of sneakers. She looks absolutely absurd. Her dress is white and lacy and has kittens on it. Her sneakers are bright blue.

"You look awesome," Ryan says, and means it whole-heartedly.

"Thanks," Tenneesee says, smiling broadly. "Now. Where do we pick up our body armor?"

—

"Ow, fuck!" Spencer yelps, for the eighteenth time, ducking back behind the barricade. Ryan grins into his face mask. Next to him, Tennessee knocks her shoulder into his.

"Nineteenth time's the charm," She stage whispers, pushing herself up so she can quickly glance around the corner, over Ryan's crouched form. "Go for the stomach."

"I'm starting to worry you're actually insane," Ryan whispers back, but he nods when she starts to silently count them in. She holds up three fingers, and then two, and on the first finger they both slam out from behind their corner and start frantically looking for Spencer's red body gear. Ryan's grip on his paintball gun is clumsy and awkward. They wait a second, two seconds, and then all of a sudden Ryan's face make explodes in a burst of yellow paint and Tennessee is howling with laughter.

"Okay," Tennessee says, standing up and tugging her mask off. Her cheeks are flushed red with exertion, and her hair is an absolute mess. "That's it. I'm done for the day."

"Sorry," Spencer says, jogging over to where Ryan is wiping paint out of his hair and grimacing. Spencer's smiling wide and unapologetic. "I was totally aiming for Tenn."

"Your aim kind of sucks," Ryan points out, but he accepts a helping hand up, and there's something soft and warm blooming in his chest as he walks back to the entrance nestled in between the two of them. His clothes are a mess and he knows they all look absurd, but right now he doesn't even care.

They drop off their gear and head out into the parking lot together, still bumping shoulders and giggling. Somehow, by the time they get to the car, Ryan realizes he's holding on to both of their hands.

"You're coming with us all the time from now on," Tennessee says, squeezing Ryan's hand before dropping it so she can fumble in her purse for her keys. "That was way more fun than just going with Spencer. You make a great decoy."

"Thanks," Ryan says dryly.

"You'll get better," Spencer says, holding on to Ryan's hand as they scramble into the back of Tennessee's car together. The parking lot is hazy in the falling light, a darkening expanse of concrete broken by the shimmering circles of tall streetlamps. "It takes some practice before you really get the hang of it."

"I'm pretty sure all the practice in the world couldn't make me better at that game," Ryan says, remembering in painful detail the three separate times he'd managed to slam himself into a concrete barrier. "But it was pretty cool," he says carefully, when Spencer's face falls. "I had fun."

"Good," Tennessee says, turning the engine over with a hum and then a roar. "That was the idea. You don't smile enough, Ryan."

"I'm working on it," Ryan says softly. Spencer slides over so he's touching Ryan's arm with his own.

The ride back to Ryan's house is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Ryan stares out the window and thinks about everything and nothing, and by the time Tennessee is finally pulling into Ryan's driveway, he's not even sure how much time has passed.

"I wish we could stay out later," Tennessee says, turning from the front seat to face Ryan and Spencer in the back. "But I have this thing tomorrow with my parents, some big craft fair that my mum's been dying to go to, and it starts at like, nine in the morning."

"It's okay," Ryan says, a yawn curling out of his throat without his permission. "Spending two hours scrambling in fear for my life kind of wore me out."

"Next time will be a little more relaxing, we promise," Spencer says. Ryan blinks at him, that warm feeling in his chest curling into something even larger and brighter. "There's going to be a next time?" Ryan says carefully, because he just wants to make sure.

"Absolutely," Tennessee and Spencer say firmly, in unison. They roll their eyes at each other, afterwards.

"Good," Ryan says, biting his lip when it feels like his smile is plastered all over his face, impossibly huge. "Okay."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He takes a deep breath, squeezing Ryan's hand again and moving in awkwardly for a hug, and Ryan just—doesn't let himself think about it too much. He listens to the large, bright thing in his chest, instead, and when Spencer moves closer Ryan tilts his head up, pressing his lips to the corner of Spencer's mouth. He feels Spencer startle as he does it, a jump of muscles and motion, and then Spencer relaxes into, moving forward so that it's a real kiss, not just a brush of lips. His lips are dry, but his mouth is soft and warm.

Ryan lets himself stay there for a moment, just a few seconds, and then he pulls back to check Spencer's expression. Spencer's eyes are warm and surprised, and his cheeks are tinged with a faint blush. "We didn't want to assume—" Spencer says softly, still only a few centimeters away. "We figured, you know. We'd take this really slow—We don't want you to feel like you have to—"

"Kissing is okay," Ryan whispers, leaning into kiss him again. Then he pulls back farther, turning to face Tennessee. She's smiling at them, her eyes dancing with fondness and amusement.

"Well hey, do I get a good night kiss, too?" she says, and Ryan laughs, leaning in to kiss her. Her mouth is softer than Spencer's. She tastes like strawberry chapstick and Ryan wants to stay here forever, wants to map out all the ways their kisses are different and yet strangely similar, and then out of the corner of his eye he sees his porch light flicker on.

"Time to go," Ryan murmurs. Tennessee kisses him on the cheek, and then Spencer follows, pressing his lips to the same spot as Ryan unbuckles his seatbelt. He slides through the door and then turns back to them once he's outside the car, closing the door with a click. He wants to say something awkward and heartfelt, but Tennessee just winks obnoxiously at him, mouthing Call us! while waving her hand next to her head, shaped like a phone. Ryan snorts, shaking his head.

"Now I don't know if I want to," Ryan says, grinning at them, and the last thing he hears before Tennessee pulls them out of the driveway is the sound of their combined laughter.

—

Z doesn't want to move. Doesn't want to move ever again, in fact. She's carding her fingers through Brendon's hair and humming softly, and she's just—it's pretty stupid, how happy she is.

"Z?" he says softly, voice rough like he's falling asleep (and fuck, she wants to fall asleep with him and wake up together even though he's basically a human furnace and everything will be uncomfortably hot in the morning).

"Yeah?" she says, equally softly.

"I think—is that your phone?"

She blinks and listens—"It totally is," she says, surprised. She'd put it on silent and it had stayed silent while they, well, but now it's humming, so she must not have turned off the vibration. "Shit," she says, and squirms out from under Brendon to rummage through her purse, hanging half off the bed. Like the awesome boyfriend he is, Brendon holds on to her legs so she doesn't fall off and only laughs a little bit at her when she squirms back onto the bed and answers the phone with a breathless, "Talk."

She's expecting Ryan, so she almost falls off the bed again when it's actually Tennessee on the phone.

"Oh," she says. "What do you—hi?"

Tennessee laughs a little. "Z, hi, hey. How was your evening?"

Z isn't blushing, she's just not, but she thinks the way Brendon's eyes are dancing means she probably is, just a bit. "It was nice," she says, ignoring Brendons muffled "Nice? Just nice? Z Berg, I'm hurt."

"Good, excellent," Tennessee says, and Z thinks she maybe sounds a little nervous.

"How was yours?" she asks, trying not to worry about what Tennessee being nervous could mean for Ryan. What if something went wrong on their date? What if Ryan freaked out? What if they didn't—

"Oh, my evening," Tennessee says, sounding relieved. "It was good, great. We played paintball."

Z's eyebrows nearly reach her hairline. "You—really? Ryan played paintball? Voluntarily?"

"We had fun," Tennessee says, a smile in her voice. "I think Spencer has the most bruises, though Ryan lost the most points."

"Of course he did," Z says, grinning fondly. "So, like, was there something you needed?" She winces after saying it, biting her lip and hoping she didn't just come off as insanely rude.

The way Tennessee hesitates, though, gives her the feeling that maybe she was right about Tennessee calling for a purpose. "Spill," she says, and hopes it doesn't come out wrong, hopes Tennessee isn't actually calling to turn down—

"I'd like." Tennessee pauses. "If you would still have me? I'd like to join your band."


"Oh my god," Z says, and falls off the bed.

"Z?" Brendon says, his voice distorted by laughter as he peers down at her. "Z, are you okay?"

"A drummer," Z says, her voice filled with wonder. Through the phone, she can hear Tennessee laughing just as hard as Brendon is. "Our drummer. Tenn. You're going to—we're really—oh my god, I love you. This is going to be amazing." Z pauses, because Brendon is gesturing at her. "Brendon says I should tell you that I got so excited I fell off the bed." She wrinkles her nose at her boyfriend.

"I heard the thumping noise," Tennessee says, still laughing. "But yes. Yes. If you want me—I'm in."


—


Epilogue - Three Months Later

Z's voice rings out through the practice space, ending on a low note, perfectly timed to the rising beat of the drums. Ryan's perched on their broken amp, watching all of them in turn; Z's little hip shakes and the wide smiles aimed at Brendon, sitting on the floor near her microphone; Annie's carefully timed head bobs and straight posture; the way Laena dances in place; the intense joy that radiates out from Tennessee as she plays. From his perch Ryan can just barely see the lyrics to their new song, taped to the floor next to Z's effects pedal. It's the one she was working on a few months ago, speeded up in tempo so that it now sounds more joyous than anything else.

A shift in shapes has come about
And no one's safe or sacred now
But isn't that much better than
The limbo we were living in

Diaspora or renaissance
Blame mercury or fate or chance
Changes always come in packs,
Sniffing out your darkened doorsteps

"And the world is upside down," Z sings out, and Spencer brushes his hand over the curve of Ryan's hip as he walks up behind him. Ryan leans into the touch, tilting his head backwards so he can just barely see the bottom of Spencer's jaw as he stands behind him.

"Hey," Ryan mouths, and Spencer squeezes his hip, leaning down to brush a kiss over Ryan's mouth.

"Hey," Spencer mouths back, and then they both face forward so they can continue watching Tennessee rock the fuck out. Her hair's flying everywhere, and it's not a particularly intense or drum-heavy song, but Ryan knows that's just the way she is—she gives it her all, every time, even if it's just their final practice before their first show at the Green Cauldron on amateur night.

"I'll stand my ground," Z sings, voice rising, and Ryan can't look away, because yes, yes. They'll stand their ground, they'll make this work. Somehow.