Master Post
Ryan isn't entirely sure how it happens. All he knows is that he zones out after class the next day and nods when Spencer murmurs, "We should get on this, yeah?" This referring to the painfully awkward conversation about nothing happening next to Z's locker, Brendon biting his lip and nodding while Z tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles at her shoes. And yet Ryan knows nothing will come of it, because it's the fourth such conversation they've seen this week. Ergo, getting Brendon and Z together might take actual superpowers, and Ryan really ought to stay far away from it all. Impossible feats are a drag, after all.
So why did he just agree to help? Who the fuck knows.
And then Tennessee follows it up with, "Do you want to meet up for coffee and plot?" all the while waggling her eyebrows and looking—not mysterious, but at least mystifying, and he obviously has to say yes to that too. Really, this is not a good precedent to set. Being easy isn't something he likes to be known for, though it has happened before—like that week in tenth grade when rumor had it he sucked off the entire football team for a bottle of vodka, that was fun—so, yeah, unpleasant associations, and he ought to be watching what he agrees to.
Next, because his day just wasn't going swimmingly enough, Ryan now has to explain to Z why he's going somewhere without her after school.
"But—" Her arms are crossed and she's approaching a pout. Never a good sign. She's about to try to guilt him into something. He knows, because he taught her that pout; she taught him the slow-somewhat-shy-gaze. The point being, he is wise to her tricks.
"Z, I just need to do something. Alone."
She huffs. "I don't see what you have to do that I can't come with you, and you know it's better if we stay together—"
"Not out of school," he points out, "and I, I don't know, what if I'm having sex?" Nice, Ryan. Credible.
Now she's laughing, at least. "Right, like I wouldn't already know about that."
"I could have kept it a secret?" he tries.
"Ross, the only time you managed to keep a boyfriend OR a girlfriend secret from me for more than ten minutes was when I had the flu and you didn't see me for ten days. Now spill."
It's clear she won't give up. Time for desperate measures. "What if it's a surprise? For my best friend?" It's technically true, which is good, because she'd be able to tell if he was lying outright.
She raises her eyebrows. "For me? A surprise? Oh, you are such a good boy."
He's not sure how he'll explain it when the surprise turns out to be a new boyfriend, but he thinks she'll probably forgive him.
—
Spencer is going to kill Brendon. He really is. Because he won't stop talking. Gym is bad enough as it is without needing to listen to Brendon listing The Virtues of Z Berg, starting at A for Amazing and rhapsodizing his way through the alphabet. Really, they have to resolve the shit out of this situation so Z and Brendon can date each other; maybe then this endless mooning will stop.
"Helpless, I tell you, helpless. Her voice. And Spencer, did I tell you she writes her own songs?"
Spencer sighs. "Once or twice, yes."
"And they're so good, right, they're all retro, and her lyrics are so sharp, they're so much better than mine, seriously—shit, Spencer, did you see that? She totally just winked at me!"
Spencer doesn't even know what to say at this point. Ryan claims Z is in fact interested, so there's that, but he's also pretty sure Z wasn't looking at Brendon just then, seeing as how she was hanging upside down from the rings at the time.
But there's no point in saying that, so Spencer just sighs (again) and hopes Brendon's natural agility will keep him out of trouble, since he's definitely not focusing on what he's supposed to be doing, which is walking the balance beam. Spencer wishes Tennessee was in this class with them, but she has gym in fifth period instead.
And then Brendon falls off. At first Spencer thinks he's fine, and Brendon seems to think so too because he starts to get up, but then he crumples, his ankle folding.
"Shit," he says.
He tries again and does get up that time, but it's obvious that something is wrong. He's wincing in pain, and he can't put any weight on his ankle and then he folds again, sitting down on the floor. Spencer manages to get them both on their feet, one arm around Brendon's shoulders, just as the bell rings. He's not sure what to do, because he's supposed to be meeting Ryan after school, but he can't tell Brendon that. He doesn't want to stand Ryan up, but they're meeting at a coffee shop across town and Tennessee doesn't have a car. But someone has to get Brendon to the nurse's office; he can definitely move his ankle, so they know it's not broken, but it's a pretty bad sprain. Spencer looks for their teacher, but she's still not back from dealing with the two students who got in a fight.
Just then, Z walks towards them, heading towards the changing rooms and laughing with Annie about something. She catches Spencer's eye and nods a little stiffly, and then her eyes widen when she sees Brendon.
"Oh shit," she says, coming to an abrupt halt. Annie doesn't see her stopping, and bangs into her with a yelp. "Oh, shit, what happened, are you okay?" Annie's holding her head and looking at Z bemusedly; Spencer doesn't blame her, because Z is very obviously not concerned with her bandmate's welfare at all.
"Hi Z," Brendon says, trying to smile and managing a grimace. "Uh, yeah, I'm—"
"No, he's not," Spencer says, just as the lightbulb goes off in his head. "He needs to go to the nurse's office. Z, you have a car, right? You can drive him home after?"
"I—yes?" Z says. "What?''
"Great," Spencer says, tugging her over and starting to arrange Brendon's arm around her shoulders. "I have to go. Like, right now."
"Spencer," Brendon hisses, his eyes widening. "Spencer, what are you doing?"
"Trust me," Spencer says. Z falls over a little bit when Brendon first puts all of his weight on her, but then she straightens up properly and soon she's got Brendon standing almost upright. Spencer knows she'll be fine; Z's much stronger than she looks, if her ability to effortlessly lug around amps in high heels is anything to go by.
Spencer's very carefully not thinking too hard about why he's so concerned that he might stand Ryan up. He's—well. Spencer's trying not to go there, because he has a girlfriend, and he loves his girlfriend, because Tenn is awesome and amazing, but—there's just. There's something about Ryan, something about his wrists and his awkward laughter, and the way his smile kind of slides onto his face and his eyes light up when someone says something smart or when Z shows up.
Okay so maybe Spencer's thinking about it anyway, but whatever. He's not going there.
"Hey, I'll call you later," Spencer says to Brendon, and then takes off at a dead run towards the locker rooms. If he hurries, he'll be able to change, meet Tenn, and still make it across town in time to see Ryan.
—
Tennessee's waiting for Spencer when he gets to the car, leaning back against it and looking... Spencer has to smile when he sees her, like he always does.
"Hey," he says, stealing a kiss.
She smiles against his mouth. "You're late, Smith. What's up with that?"
Fuck, Spencer's so stupid about her. He makes fun of Brendon for listing Z Berg's virtues, right, but he knows he could make up lists of all the reasons Tennessee is the best, the most wonderful, and he'd start with the way she laughs at herself when she uses an American slang expression and then keep going for a really long time.
He shakes his head and says, "Brendon hurt himself in gym," which he knows'll be enough of an explanation.
She frowns, looking worried. "He's okay though, right?"
"Yeah," Spencer says, then amends, "Well, he's definitely sprained his ankle or something, but I sent him to the nurse with Z, so he should be alright. Mostly."
She still looks concerned, but she snickers when he gets to the part about Z. "Oh lord," she says. "He's going to kill you."
"Yes," Spencer says. "Yes he is, but maybe he'll get somewhere. I don't know. I figure we can tell Ryan we've made some progress?"
Her cheeks go a little pink, but she nods. "We'll go and visit him later though, won't we? And bring him some of your atrocious American snack food."
"Obviously. And I think you mean our awesome snack food." Spencer pauses, biting his lip. "I would have taken him to the nurse myself, just, you know. Ryan."
"Yes," she says, as if she can fill in the rest of the sentence about how Spencer didn't want to be late to meet Ryan in particular. Spencer lets out a breath.
To compose himself, he sends off a text to Brendon. u ok?
He puts his phone back in his pocket and discovers Tenn has stolen his keys.
"I'm driving," she says, and grins at him.
"Stealing my car, are you?"
"And you, Spencer Smith. It wouldn't be worth the trouble without you in it."
—
Waiting outside the nurse's office while Brendon gets his ankle examined, it occurs to Z to consider the situation she's in. She's still wearing her gym clothes, and she's pretty sure there's a hole in her t-shirt, and she's meant to be taking Brendon home after this, and—it's a bad high school movie, is what this is. And this particular kind of scene always ends in horrible embarrassing times for everyone. She sighs and chews on her thumbnail.
Eventually Brendon is let back out, ankle bandaged up and sneaker off.
Easing him down on the chair next to Z, the nurse asks, "You his friend?"
Z hesitates for a second, then sees Brendon sort of shrink into himself and says, "Yes, yes I am. Can I take him home?"
"He has to stay off the ankle for the next two weeks, so yes, I'd suggest you take him home. He'll have to come in tomorrow before classes begin to get the crutches, four of the cheerleaders got hurt trying out a new routine so I only have very big ones on hand at the moment, but I'm getting new ones in the morning." The school has an elite cheerleading team, which, Z tended to dismiss cheerleading a lot before watching them, but holy shit, it looks dangerous when it's done well.
Brendon rolls his eyes when the nurse finishes explaining about the crutches and mutters, "Yeah, I get it, I'm short for a guy."
Z stifles a giggle. "It's okay," she says, "I'm pretty sturdy, he can lean on me." The nurse eyes Z sceptically but helps Brendon up again and lets Z take his weight.
Z doesn't quite realize what it means to have Brendon leaning on her until he is—he's warm and kind of sweaty, and his arm around her neck makes her shiver a bit. Brendon's skin is really soft.
She takes a deep breath and smiles at Brendon, whose face is right next to hers now, which, okay, and says, "So, think you can make it to the car?"
"Yeah," he says, "yeah, as long as I don't bang my foot into anything or something, I should be fine, it doesn't hurt much when I don't—fuck." That last comes out when they accidentally stagger into a water cooler she hadn't seen, and Brendon looks white around the lips for a second before asserting that no, he's totally okay.
"Sorry!" Z says, feeling terrible.
"I'm pretty sure it was my fault, dude," Brendon says. "It's not like I'm used to distributing my weight like this."
She grins. "True. Okay, come on, we can do this."
Getting to the car is actually not too bad, as soon as Z figures out how to hold herself so she can support him and simultaneously walk forward and not fall over. She grins for a second, thinking about the time she picked up a speaker and walked right past this guy who thought hitting on her via solicitously offering to "carry her shit" was a good plan. Thanks but no thanks, college douchebag frat boy. She smirks and looks to the side to find Brendon looking at her.
"What are you thinking about?" he says. "You're grinning like, I don't know."
"Oh, just some asshat who didn't think I could carry my shit. It was pretty glorious—I picked up a speaker and walked right past him. In heels."
Brendon snorts. "Awesome. Yeah, the way you're lugging me around is pretty badass."
"Please, you hardly weigh anything," Z says, and demonstrates this by opening her car door with one hand and helping him inside.
"I see how that works," he says, looking impressed.
Z resists the urge to preen a little; it's not like her strength is usually her most admired physical feature. "Where am I going?" she says instead.
"My aunt lives about six blocks that way," Brendon says, and Z doesn't ask why he's living with his aunt, even though she's still really curious about why he transferred to their school. It's not like it's the best choice for, well, any reason.
They fight over the radio, but Z eventually forfeits because she's driving and she knows how to be safe, thank you very much. While she is momentarily apprehensive about ceding control over something as important as driving music, she soon realizes Brendon has—damn, boy has really fucking good taste, actually. Nice. She nods at him in approval, and he breaks into one of those positively blinding smiles. She smiles back, biting her lip, because she's coming to realize that Brendon smiling, well. She likes it, and that's all she's going to say about that.
She pulls in where he directs her to, and raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief when he tries to get her to just drop him off on the curb.
"You do realize you have a sprained ankle and no crutches, right?"
"That's okay," Brendon says earnestly, "I can hop on one leg, I'm really good at it." And he attempts to demonstrate, but he nearly falls over and his whole face turns gray.
"Hang on," she says, and gets out of her car. "Let's do what we did before, it worked better than this." So she gets his arm back around her neck and supports him with an arm around his ribcage. "Now lean, idiot."
Brendon laughs a little, but he does lean, and he keeps leaning while they stop to let him unlock the front door. He's really skinny, she thinks as they maneuver through the doorway. He's really skinny, like he moves so much the weight just flows off. In fact—
"Hop on," she says as they reach the stairs, and he looks at her in disbelief.
"Seriously, I get that you're badass, but there's no way you can carry me. No way."
"Hop on," she repeats.
He shakes his head. "If I fall to my death I'm taking you with me, okay?"
"Fine by me," she says. She knows she won't drop him.
Getting him onto her back is a little difficult—he can't actually hop right now, so they have to get him up two steps and then turn around and walk up together. She braces herself on the banister and starts to walk upwards. Sure, it's not the easiest thing she's done, but he's good at hanging on tight, knees and arms locked and his face turned into her neck, which, um.
"This is going awesomely," he says, and Z shivers when his mouth moves so close to her skin.
"I told you," she replies belatedly, and winces at the way her voice shakes, just a little.
"Well, pardon me for not wanting to add 'falling down the stairs' to the list of most cliched deaths ever," he says, and it's not that funny, it's not, but Z can't stop laughing, which does nearly cause them both to fall. At the last second, a heroic effort by both of them (Z leaningleaningleaning and Brendon grabbing the banister and holding on) saves them from a death by broken neck.
"We rock at this," Brendon finally says when they stagger to the top, still laughing, still intact.
Z's a little too preoccupied by him sliding down her back to stand on his own again to answer, but she finally says, "We really kind of do."
After that, getting him to his room is easy, and Z doesn't stop to think at all until she's helping him lie down, turning around to grab him a non-sweaty t-shirt to change into from his open closet and turns back to see Brendon leaning against his pillows. His eyes are so fucking dark, and suddenly she can't breathe.
"I, I have to go," she blurts, and throws the shirt at Brendon who catches it, looking bewildered.
She runs down the stairs and doesn't stop to think until she's three blocks away and pulling over, knocking her head against the steering wheel. Fuck, fuck.
—
Ryan's coffee is getting cold.
Terrible fucking idea, Ryan thinks to himself. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking? Except Ryan knows what he was thinking, and it was that maybe, just maybe, Spencer and Tennessee weren't assholes like everyone else in this damn town. He can't believe he actually fell for this. He should know better by now.
He's standing up and shouldering his backpack, frustration and anger twisting in his stomach, when he hears the jingle of the door opening. He ignores it for a second, until he hears the sound of sudden, hurried footsteps behind him, rushing over to the corner he's been hiding out in.
"I am so sorry," Tennessee says breathlessly, throwing herself down in the chair opposite him. "Brendon sprained his ankle in gym class, and then Spencer sort of shoved him at Z and made her take him to the nurse's office, and then we couldn't find parking, and—you don't have to go anywhere right now, do you? We're not too late?"
Ryan blinks at her.
"...no," Ryan says slowly, sitting back down again. "I just thought. Uh." Ryan shakes his head. "You know what, never mind. It's not important."
"What's not important?" Spencer says, walking over to their table with three mugs and a cupcake held precariously in his hands, the fingers of one hand hooked into the handles so they won't fall, the other holding the extremely large cupcake. "Here," Spencer says, setting them down on the table and then holding the first mug out to Ryan. Ryan stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending. "Cappuccino," Spencer says, handing the second mug and the cupcake to Tennessee and then sitting down. "On us. Seriously, we didn't mean to keep you waiting for so long. Did Tenn tell you what happened?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, cautiously. He looks over at his cold cup of coffee, and then pushes it aside in favor of the cappuccino, because he might be a misanthrope but he's not actually stupid and if people are going to buy him good coffee, he's going to drink it. "Brendon... sprained something?"
"Sprained the fuck out of his ankle," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "I was getting another lecture on the beauties and virtues of Z Berg and he wasn't actually paying attention to the outside world while delivering his soliloquy, so now he's on crutches."
"That's...special," Ryan manages.
"Extremely special," Tennessee agrees, with a small smile. "That's Brendon for you. Special guy."
"Sure," Ryan says. "So...wait, where does Z come in? Besides being the focus of his undying love, I mean. You said something about Spencer shoving him at Z?"
"Spencer had a brilliant idea," Tennessee says. "Z was walking by when it happened, and giving Brendon and Z time to bond just seemed like a good idea, with the plan and all. Also, Spencer was already late. So they're...bonding," she finishes, waving her hand vaguely.
Ryan squints at them. "Do you guys always talk for each other?" he blurts out, before he can stop himself. "Because it's a little weird." He's instantly mortified, because fuck, he doesn't know them at all, but Spencer just barks out a laugh.
"Tennessee has a lot of feelings," Spencer says, turning his head so he can smile at her. "I like it when she narrates. It usually comes out a lot more entertaining than whatever I was actually thinking at the time."
"Hush," Tennessee says, rolling her eyes and punching him on the shoulder. Ryan swallows. Spencer and Tennessee are...not what he was expecting. Granted, he wasn't really sure what he was expecting in the first place after they essentially dragged him out behind a dumpster to spy on his best friend, but whatever it was, it wasn't...this.
"Anyway," Tennessee says. "We're sorry we're late, and we do have to go soon, but we had an idea." She looks over at Spencer, biting her lip for a moment, and then she looks back at Ryan.
"We were thinking," Spencer fills in, when it looks like Tennessee isn't going to come right out and say it. "There's this concert. I don't know what you guys—um. The band is awesome, but they're not super well-known, and it seems like—something Z might like," he says awkwardly. "And she met us the other day—sort of, at least—and we were thinking maybe Brendon could ask her if she wants to come along." Ryan has an instant, knee-jerk reaction of no, fuck you, don't take her away from me but he pushes it down. They're plotting, after all, and Ryan can't shake the feeling that Brendon might be good for Z, that she should at least take the chance and find out, but he also knows that she's never going to do it without some pushing on his end.
"Good idea," Ryan says. "You should do that."
"You think so?" Tennessee says. "You think she'll come with us?"
"I'll convince her," Ryan says shortly. He doesn't think about how, if this works, he's going to end up spending all of his Friday nights alone again, like the last time Z got a boyfriend. He doesn't blame her for it, because he's done it too, but the timing kind of sucks right now. "Anyway, she'll be more likely to go if it's a double date. She'll be less freaked out about it."
"Double date?" Spencer says, frowning. "No, you should come too. It's not a date, it's just—an outing. With friends."
"I'm not crashing your date," Ryan says, rolling his eyes. "No thanks. It's fine, I'll convince her to go."
"No, honestly, you should come," Tennessee says, leaning across the table. "Please? I mean—you can bring someone too, you know. If you'd like?"
"I usually bring Z," Ryan mutters. He doesn't quite want to admit how much his love life is sort of a barren wasteland at the moment, because he has a reputation to maintain. But really, there's—well. No one he can have, anyway. Ryan's not thinking about it.
"So come with us," Tennessee says. "You can hang out with us while they're off staring longingly at one another."
"I'm not going to be the fifth wheel," Ryan says.
"You won't be," Spencer says, suddenly. "We promise."
Tennessee glances over at him, and Ryan is willing to bet that her raised eyebrow means she too has noticed the faint blush on Spencer's cheeks. She wisely says nothing, except, "Yes. Ryan, see? You won't be a fifth wheel. Come with us."
Ryan stares at them for a long moment, considering. He bites his lip, chewing on the corner, and then he lets himself nod once, small and careful.
"Right," Tennessee says. "That's a plan, then. Now, I'm going to go and purchase another one of those cupcakes, because Spencer thinks he's stealthy when he's stealing my food but he's really not, on the account of there being less of the cupcake left to eat. Ryan, do you want anything?"
He shakes his head, but Spencer looks at him consideringly and says, "You should get him a cookie, Tenn."
"I was intending to," she says indignantly. "I still can't believe he was here for half an hour and not having cookies, it's a travesty."
"Not everyone subscribes to the theory that the cookies of The Green Cauldron could bring about world peace," Spencer says. He's smiling at Ryan, wide and amused, and Ryan feels his breath catch in his throat for a moment before he nods again. Because Spencer's smile is just—fuck, Ryan thinks. Spencer's smile is dangerous. They're both dangerous, in a good way, in a way that Ryan's trying desperately to ignore.
He's going to have to be more careful from now on.
—
After about three songs, Ryan is forced to admit that The Pipettes are maybe really great, despite his initial misgivings. He says as much to Z, who smiles smugly (they've had arguments about retro bands before, long and involved arguments) before forgetting herself and moving in place, dancing by herself the way she always swears people look like dorks when they do. She keeps bumping Ryan's elbow, but he doesn't mind, even if it's all sweaty and close and Ryan's shirt is starting to stick to his back. He grins at Z when she points out the girl with the beehive hairdo, because of course Z would notice that and love it.
"Do you think—" she starts.
Ryan shakes his head. "I don't think pink hair is you," he says firmly, then grins. "Purple, on the other hand—"
Z punches him in the shoulder, because they both remember the great disaster that was Z's first experiment with hair dye. She's gotten better at it, her current blond not natural but looking fucking fabulous, but her first attempt had resulted in blotchy magenta stains everywhere, including Z's back and Ryan's hands when he had to try and help her scrub it off.
Then Brendon taps Z on the shoulder. Ryan was keeping an eye on him and waiting to see what he would do when standing next to Z for an extended amount of time. So far, the results have been disappointing. Brendon just looked, unnoticed by Z because she so sucks at noticing things like that. Shoulder-tapping is promising, though.
Ryan can't hear it over the music, but by Z's reaction—biting her lip and a small smile—he's betting she just got asked to dance. Ryan flicks his eyes down, and notices she's already taken Brendon's hand, probably without even noticing she was doing it. Seriously, how is she so gone on this guy?
Z lets herself be led away and Ryan hides his smile in the Shirley Temple that Tennessee had insisted on buying all of them (everyone except Spencer, who had argued firmly and successfully for club soda). But the drink is sweet on Ryan's tongue, and it's a bittersweet moment, because, okay. He knows he's a little possessive of Z. Usually it's not a big deal, Z will date some tall dark handsome thing and Ryan will be entirely unimpressed and kind of a dick, and eventually that boy will fade away when Z gets bored, and Ryan's okay with it, he really is, because Z is his, his partner in crime. He went along with the plotting because he does want her to be happy, but until this moment, he'd never honestly thought it would become anything but a short fling. Possibly. Assuming they both got hit over the head enough with how into each other they are.
But as he's sitting there watching Brendon and Z, he's sort of. Maybe he's rethinking his stance a little, because Z can dance, and he's never met anyone who can keep up with her, but Brendon can, even with his bum leg. He's slightly awkward but it's obvious from watching them that it's just due to his ankle, that when Z turns and spins and Brendon is right there to guide her back in that they just fit. And Z's smile is wide and delighted when she forgets to be mysterious, and Brendon's hands are careful on her waist.
He swallows, poking at the ice at the bottom of his glass with the straw. He's glad the club is dark, he really is, because he doesn't want Z to look over and notice; he thinks she would probably misinterpret the look on his face (even though she normally never does), or rather, she wouldn't understand where the loneliness was coming from.
Tennessee comes over and leads him to stand by the wall with her and Spencer. She spins a little, on her toes, so that Ryan's forced to lean up against the wall between them. And Ryan's uncomfortable with it for a moment—it's not his place—but then Tennessee leans behind him and whispers something to Spencer, and he can feel her warm breath in his ear, and suddenly he's uncomfortable for an entirely different reason. Tennessee's hair is in her face, caught on her eyelashes in the heat of the crowd, and Spencer leans over to brush it out of the way—
And then he drops his arm and it rests on Ryan's shoulders for a bit and Ryan thinks, oh.
It's completely friendly, a normal gesture of affection between friends, except for how it doesn't feel like that at all.
Spencer moves his arm away a few beats after it starts to get awkward, right after Ryan's suddenly conscious of how he can feel the warm heat of Spencer's skin through his T-shirt, even in the heat of the club. He doesn't know what it means, and he tries to focus on watching Brendon and Z, but his throat is suddenly so dry. He can't seriously be thinking about this, he can't. It's the first time in ages he's made new friends, and they're actually kind of awesome; fuck, he seriously can't be ruining it for himself by crushing on both halves of a couple. How is he such an idiot?
He wants to drag Z away from Brendon and have her pet his hair for a bit, because he feels so stupid right now and she's the only one who ever comes close to fixing that shit, but he can't, not when she looks this happy.
And it gets even harder, because they're so careful to include him all night, keeping him participating in their conversation while Brendon and Z claim a table and are talking intently to each other, Brendon gesturing wildly and Z laughing. This time Z's the one being a klutz, though, knocking over a glass of water and splashing both of them.
She's mortified, but Brendon laughs and says, "If you only knew how many times I've done that," and helps pat her dry in what Ryan is shocked to realize is actually a rather gentlemanly fashion.
The latter makes Spencer giggle and hide his face in Ryan's shoulder, mumbling, "I can't take it, they're too much, Ryan, tell me when they're done?" Ryan pats his head awkwardly and tries to smile non-awkwardly at Tennessee who is also giggling and so beautiful when she does; god, how's he supposed to deal with this?
Tennessee pokes him in the shoulder when she's gotten her giggling under control. "Dance with us, Ryan Ross, dance with us and leave the lovelorn idiots to their own devices for a bit."
Ryan protests that he doesn't dance, but Spencer won't hear it.
"Dude, I don't dance either, or I used to never do it, but Tenn makes me, right? And it's fun, come on Ryan, you can't stand at the back and look cool all night."
Tennessee nods in agreement. "It's true, I do make him. Twist his arm and everything. Don't make me twist your arm, Ross, I'm much stronger than I look."
And Ryan has to laugh at that, has to say yes, has to follow them out under the lights. He doesn't tell them, but it's one of the best nights he's ever had. It's not like he doesn't fucking love going out with Z, hanging at the back and feeling like they own the whole room, secretly, but when Tennessee spins him, grinning brightly, he laughs again and lets himself be spun.
Even if he has to spend so much of the night pointedly not looking at where Spencer's shirt's going dark with sweat or where the straps of Tennessee's dress are slipping off her shoulders, it's still a fucking good time.
Even if he can't really stop looking, no matter how much he tries.
—
Z takes Brendon home after, since Spencer pointed out that really, Z lives much closer to Brendon than Spencer does, and Ryan and Tennessee are practically next-door neighbors. Brendon might be blushing as he gets in the car, but none of them comments on it.
"Gosh, they're so adorable," Tennessee says as they watch Z pull out from the parking lot.
"No kidding," Ryan says, shaking his head a little. "When do you think they'll catch a clue?"
"God," Spencer says. "God, I don't know. We might be looking at weeks."
"Or months," Ryan says darkly, knowing just how oblivious Z can be when the thing she thinks she doesn't deserve is right in front of her.
"We'll just have to keep plotting," Tennessee says brightly, and Ryan may or may not be really happy to hear that. Maybe.
They drop him off at home, after, Spencer ceding his keys to Tennessee with a laugh and Ryan guiding them to his house from the backseat.
—
"Brendon. Brendon." Spencer is torn between laughter and sighing.
Brendon looks up at him, sort of dreamily. "Hmm?"
"Your elbow is in your salad," Tennessee informs him gravely, and then neither she nor Spencer can keep from laughing anymore.
Brendon goes a little red and removes said elbow from his poor limp lettuce, which definitely didn't benefit from that treatment and now looks even limper.
Spencer's still laughing when Tennessee asks Brendon, "So, you had fun last night, right?"
Brendon sort of sighs and nods. "I mean, like, I still can't believe it happened, you know?"
Spencer and Tennessee look at each other. If anything more than the dancing happened, well, then Tennessee owes Spencer money.
"I mean, we danced. I never thought that would, like, she'd ever do that."
Okay, so Spencer owes Tennessee ten dollars. He was sure Brendon and Z would at least kiss after the show, but Tennessee said it'd never happen that fast, and apparently she was right. Dammit.
—
Ryan sets his lunch tray down, and then cranes his neck to peer really obviously at Brendon's table, all the way across the cafeteria. Z tugs him down with a mortified expression.
"Ryan," she hisses. "Ryan, what do you think you're doing?"
"Brendon looks pretty dreamy today, don't you think?" Ryan says, and Z smacks him on the arm.
"Shut. Up." Z says, and stares down at her macaroni and cheese with a murderous expression. "We're not talking about this, you asshole."
"Oh, I think we are," Ryan says, poking her with his fork until she breaks and starts laughing. "Z, Z, Z. Spilling water on your date, really?"
"He wasn't my date," she says quickly, turning a bit pink.
"Oh, but he wanted to be," Ryan says slyly, and earns a napkin pelted at his head.
"No he didn't," she says, and Ryan sighs inwardly. Seriously. "He's like that with everyone, all happy and sweet and—" She breaks off and swallows.
"Right," Ryan says drily. "Right, he dances with everyone, spinning them around and smiles and smiles and smiles, Z Berg, I didn't know you'd gone blind."
"Whatever," she says, muttering something about him being better than she deserves anyway, even if he did like her, which he doesn't. Ryan is about to refute that round of bullshit when she looks at him, considering. Her smile turns sharp, and Ryan winces inwardly. He's been lucky to avoid this conversation thus far; the look on Z's face suggests that that luck is rapidly running out.
"Speaking of dancing," Z says casually, popping open the tab on her Diet Coke. "Spencer and Tennessee seem to be quite the life of the party."
Ryan shrugs, mock-casual. "They're nice enough."
"Oh, but I don't think they're just nice," Z presses. "Ryan. Ryan, they got you to dance. What is going on with you and them?"
"Nothing!" Ryan blurts out. "I—Nothing, Z."
"Does this have something to do with me and Brendon?" Z says, giving him a suspicious look. "What are you plotting? You're plotting, I know you are."
"I - yeah," Ryan fumbles. "I mean, no. We're not plotting, Z, you wound me." He doesn't think about how maybe he's taking the easy way out, about how it's almost better that Z gets pissy and accuses him of engineering her love life than presses him further about his feelings for Spencer and Tenn.
"Ryan. Seriously, Ryan. The last time you lied this badly was, like, seventh grade, when you didn't want to tell me about your crush on Kevin."
"Fine, maybe we're plotting a little," he says. "Do you really mind?"
Z's face darkens. "Do I mind? Do I mind that—yes, I mind, I don't even know if he—"
—
"I don't even know if she likes me at all," Brendon says desultorily, poking at his food. "I mean, she's really nice, right? So maybe she's just being, you know, nice."
Spencer looks at Tennessee helplessly and tries to figure out how to tell Brendon that he's pretty sure Z has never been that nice to someone not Ryan before, without sounding like he thinks she's a bitch. She's not, she's just—from what he's gotten from Ryan and from what he's seen of their school over the last two years, Spencer's pretty sure Z and Ryan are fiercely protective of each other for a reason. After they went to the cafe together, Tennessee said, sounding a little sad, "It's like he was surprised we were being kind." Spencer thinks about small towns and how they treat unusual people, and winces.
He settles on, "No, Brendon, it really did seem like she was happy to be with you specifically."
Brendon looks up. "You really think so?"
"Yes, we do," Tennessee says, reaching out and poking him in the shoulder. "Chin up, munchkin, I think the lady likes you."
Brendon sticks out his tongue at her and then grins. "Do you think I should write her a song? Should I?"
"Um," Spencer says, thinking about Brendon's usual level of lyrical subtlety.
"Yes," Tennessee says firmly, and Spencer looks at her in alarm.
She rolls her eyes at him. "If love is not enough," she murmurs, and Spencer remembers, yes, there was that one. Right.
"Well then," he says. "Write a song and win fair lady's heart."
Brendon's smile grows brighter, and Spencer's mouth twitches. "I reserve the right to make fun of you for it, though."
"Unfair, Spencer, unfair!" Tennessee says. "I want to, I'm much wittier than you are."
Brendon sighs dramatically. "You can BOTH make fun of me if you want. I guess."
—
Spencer doesn't regret encouraging Brendon, but he is starting to doubt that they'll ever get to a point where Brendon writes something he isn't terrified to share in public. Brendon is fine performing when he's being funny or playing a role, but this is apparently the scariest task he's ever undertaken. He has a song now, probably, but he's refusing to play it for them, so he's just sitting on the floor of the practice room with his guitar on his lap and staring at a lyrics sheet on the ground.
Spencer looks at Tennessee, willing her to say something. She looks at him a little helplessly and shrugs. Argh.
But maybe there's something he can do. Spencer throws Tennessee her sticks, one at a time, and nods at the snare drum next to her.
"You want to—"
"Uh-huh," she says, nodding.
Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer sees Brendon lifting his head and looking over at them. Score.
"Can we just do some fills?" he asks, deliberately not acknowledging Brendon's sudden interest.
"Yes," Tennessee says, and the way her eyes are glittering tells Spencer she's caught on. Excellent.
Sure enough, after about three minutes of the two of them going back and forth, challenging each other to more and more complicated beats, Brendon's putting down his guitar, grabbing Spencer's extra sticks and joining them. Another twenty minutes later and he's both sweaty and breathing hard, and he looks much, much happier.
"Don't think I don't know what you just did," he says, but he looks all surprised and pleased, like he's actually not that used to someone going out of their way to cheer him up.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Spencer says. Brendon turns to Tennessee.
"I plead the fifth," she says immediately, and Spencer has to lean over and kiss her because he not-so-secretly loves it when she adopand thatts American slang expressions.
"Ugh, stop," Brendon says, but he's laughing. "If you can keep from being disgustingly cute for a minute, I'll play you that fucking song, I know it's what you were angling for all along."
"Again, I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer says, grinning. "But sure, play us your song."
When Brendon finishes, it's all very quiet for a second, and then Tennessee pushes herself off the ground and kisses the top of Brendon's head, because: "Well done, short stuff. Well done."
"Really?" he says, and Spencer aches a little for how bare his emotions are in that moment.
"Really," Tennessee says firmly, and Spencer nods.
"Definitely," he confirms. Brendon grins, looking down at his hands.
Maybe, Spencer thinks. Maybe.
—
Ryan knows he's an elitist, but Open Mic night at the Green Cauldron really is a form of cruel and unusual punishment. The problem is that Z knows this all too well, which makes convincing her to actually show up a bit of a challenge.
"Ryan," Z says, putting the finishing touches on her eyeliner, "This had better be fucking good. I have newly washed sheets on my bed, an entire bag of cookies, and a brand-new episode of RuPaul's Drag Race to watch."
"It will be there when you get back," Ryan says, twisting Z's handmade blanket between his fingers. He pulls his hand away when she turns around, because her grandmother made it for her and he's lucky she even lets him sit on it. "I'm telling you. Comedy gold, Z. Last month, there were no less than three poems about Edward and Jacob."
Z pauses, liquid eyeliner in hand. She meets Ryan's eyes through the mirror and says, "Really?"
"My favorite was the one for Bella Swan," Ryan says loftily. "This dude called her the love of his life, the moon to his sun, the—what was it, beach to his shore, which doesn't make any sense. But who am I to argue with artistic genius? It was all very touching, anyway."
Z snickers, but she's also eying the bag of cookies on her dresser. They're oatmeal raisin, which is her favorite kind, and Ryan knows he's going to have to go in for the kill if he wants her to actually leave the house tonight. That's okay though: Ryan has a secret weapon.
"I might, um, read something," Ryan says, trying to look uncertain while also silently congratulating himself for being a devious motherfucker. "I haven't decided yet."
Z looks at him and sighs. "Well, I suppose I'll have to come then, if you're going to do that." Ryan allows himself a silent mental fist-pump. He does have a poem with him, but he'd rather not actually read it. He's pretty sure Brendon will be on before him and then hopefully Z will forget all about what Ryan may or may not have promised to do.
They get there and instead of grabbing a table at the back, Ryan looks for Spencer's wave and pulls Z with him through the crowd to squeeze in at their table, which is right in front of the stage. Ryan hopes Brendon has something to deliver here, because it's going to be really awkward if he doesn't.
"You made it," Spencer says in an undertone.
Ryan grins at him, which makes Z look at him suspiciously. She does that every time he smiles at Tennessee or Spencer, which, he's well aware he doesn't usually smile at people he hasn't known for that long. Not like that, anyway.
"Of course he made it," Tennessee says loftily. "As if Ryan could stay away from us." And there's something in her voice; no, Ryan's reading too much into it. But he likes the way her eyes look when she smiles like that, like he's in on the joke.
Brendon hasn't said anything yet; Ryan supposes he's nervous. Z knocks her shoulder into him carefully.
"Hey," she mumbles, and Brendon smiles into his mug of—Ryan really hopes that isn't coffee, he's seen Brendon on caffeine before.
"Hey," Brendon says, fingers clenching around his mug for a second.
That's all they have time for before the performances kick off. There are three predictably abysmal poetry readings, and Ryan suspects they were put on first just so the crowd would thin out a little bit (there isn't any elbow room in here at all; Ryan is afraid to lean back lest he knock over four lattes and a boy on very precarious high heels).
Then it's Brendon's turn. Z blinks in surprise when he goes on and looks a lot more intent all of a sudden, and Ryan just about bites back a joke, because god, how many times has she talked about seeing Brendon on stage, right? Right. She rolls her eyes at him as if she can hear what he's not saying. Which. She probably can.
Spencer looks horrified as soon as Brendon strikes the first chord, like he knows what's coming, and hisses "That's not—what is he, Brendon, what is he doing?" Tennessee's mouth is twitching. For good reason, too, because seriously, what is Brendon singing? Ryan is just about ready to call this an unqualified disaster when Z cracks up, giggling uncontrollably, which makes the whole table lose it, and when Ryan looks up on stage, he can see Brendon grinning between lines, like he meant for that to happen. Who likes it when their crush laughs at them? Ryan doesn't get it.
After that, though, Brendon takes a deep breath before announcing the next song, and he says, "This one, um, IwroteitforZBerg."
Ryan's watching Z, and he sees her eyes go dark, and he smirks into his coffee. There. Now if Brendon's song is only—
And then Brendon starts singing, and yeah, it is.
Z stiffens next to him. Ryan can feel her fumbling for his hand under the table, and he links their fingers, squeezing hard. Her back is absolutely straight, and she's staring at the stage with wide, disbelieving eyes. Ryan isn't even sure she's breathing.
"Told you," Ryan says quietly, and Z shakes her head. She swallows once, hard, as Brendon goes into the bridge. It's a sweet song, with a lilting melody. The words don't really matter, something about always and you and being caught, but it isn't important—Ryan knows enough to know this much. What matters is the way Brendon's looking at her, his face honest and open.
Ryan looks over just in time to see Z blink twice, hard, and then she's dropping his hand and grabbing her purse and running out the door.
"Ryan," Spencer hisses, reaching over and shaking his shoulder. "Ryan, what the hell? You said she'd love it, you said—"
"She did," Ryan protests. "No, she did, Z's like that, I think she was crying, and she never lets anyone see her when she's—"
"Oh my lord," Tennessee says, her face falling. "She was crying?"
"No, that's good," Ryan says. "It's good, really, it just means that she—"
"This was an awful idea," Spencer says. He shakes his head in despair. "Shit, Brendon looks he's like about to cry."
Ryan looks up. Brendon finishing his song, but he's no longer smiling. He's staring down at the floor, only raising his head when he has to sing the rest of the verse.
"I'll fix this," Ryan says, suddenly. "I can fix this. Look, just stay here, I'll go get her, she's probably out in the parking lot—"
"You better," Tennessee says, firmly. Brendon hits the final chord on his song, and the crowd breaks into applause. She stands up and claps, loudly, and then mutters, "Outside, now, while he's distracted."
Ryan slips out as Brendon's picking up his guitar, hurrying out the front door. Z's not outside, and Ryan has a moment of panic before he realizes she must be in the parking lot. He turns the corner and walks slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets.
"Z," he calls out, softly, and then he hears a tiny sob from over near the dumpsters.
"Z, hey," Ryan says gently, and Z flutters a hand at him, a tiny motion that means go away. Ryan's used to ignoring it, because one of the reasons they work so well together is that neither of them has ever listened to each other when it really matters.
Ryan sits down next to her on the concrete. Her legs are kicked out at awkward angles, as though she'd just collapsed on the ground. Her shoulders are shaking.
"No, hey," Ryan murmurs, brushing at the mascara trails on her face a little awkwardly. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay."
"I'm sorry," Z chokes out, "I'm sorry, Ryan, he's going to hate me, I ruined it, I ruined everything—"
"You didn't," Ryan presses. "He'll understand, Z, I know he will—"
"Yeah, I will," Brendon says quietly from behind them. He's got his hands in his pockets, his guitar case slung over one shoulder. He's not looking at either of them. He takes a deep breath, like he's looking for courage, and then he says haltingly, "I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to embarrass you. Or. Or make you upset. I just—You're really special, Z."
Z's eyes are large and dark, even with the ruined makeup. She takes a shuddering breath, and in that time Brendon continues talking.
"I thought that maybe—I mean, okay. You're way too cool for me, and I know it, right? Like. Seriously, you're gorgeous and talented and funny, and everyone thinks so, and I'm just some dumb loser with a guitar. I get it."
"Brendon," Ryan says, softly, because he can't just sit here and listen to Brendon beat himself up like this. Maybe Ryan's been guilty of it too, of making Brendon feel like he's not good enough.
Z shushes him, placing one hand over Ryan's mouth. "Ryan, let him finish," she says, and schools her features into something more like her usual nonchalance. Her eyes, though—Ryan can see the infinite kindness there, the gentle way she's looking at Brendon. He hopes Brendon can see it. God, Ryan really hopes they're not going to fuck this up.
"I'm pretty much done," Brendon says, and laughs, tuneless and awkward. "I'll—I'll leave you alone, after this. If you want. I just figured I should say something, and I was too much of a coward to say it in words." He turns to walk away, and then Z's stumbling up, tripping over her heels as she runs after him.
"Brendon," she says, catching his hand, making him turn around and look at her. "I—there's something you should know."
"You just want to be friends?" Brendon says, and smiles humorlessly. "Yeah, I got that part."
"No," Z says, wiping at her face. "No, that's not it, at all. I just—I don't cry in front of people. I can't. I don't want them to see me like that."
"Great," Brendon says. "So I made you cry, and—Fuck, Z. I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that," Z says. "Brendon, stop. Look, I just—those were good tears, okay? Good tears." She stops for a moment, and bites her lip, and then looks up at him. From ten feet away, Ryan holds his breath. He knows he should leave, but he can't seem to make his legs move.
"No one's ever written a song for me," she says quietly. "Not even Ryan."
"Oh," Brendon says. He fiddles with the strap of his guitar, and then looks back up at her. "So you—"
"Yeah," Z says helplessly. "Yes, Brendon, to everything. Everything you said in that song. Yes to all of it, okay?"
"Okay," Brendon says. There's a tiny smile breaking out onto his face, and that's when Z leans up on her toes and kisses him. Ryan wants to clap, or cheer, or something, but instead he just smiles to himself. Z pulls away after a few moments, blushing, and then Brendon's wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her in and kissing her so hard that her back bows a little.
"Yes?" Brendon breathes out, against her lips.
Z laughs into his mouth. "Yes," she says, and kisses him back. "All of it, Brendon. Please."
Ryan stands up, and brushes the dirt off his pants. He quietly makes his way to the fire door, pulling it open carefully. Brendon and Z are silhouetted against the streetlight.
He pulls the fire door open and makes his way through the crowd back to his table. Tennessee's playing with her hair, slumped down on one elbow. Spencer's rubbing her back and looking murderous.
"Uh, hi," Ryan says, and they both whip their heads around.
"So?" Spencer says, and glares at Ryan a little.
"They're making out in the parking lot," Ryan says, a smug smile starting to make its way onto his face. "I told you."
Tennessee's eyes widen. "Really?" she says. "Honestly? You're not making fun?"
"I am one-hundred percent not making fun," Ryan says. "We should probably get them home before they ruin each other's virtue."
"Brendon doesn't have a lot of virtue," Spencer says, and snickers. "Or, well. He's got a lot of virtues, but I don't think he would be complaining. Ryan Ross, you're a miracle worker."
"I try," Ryan says, and fishes out an ice cube from his drink to crunch on. "I really do."
Tennessee pokes Spencer in the shoulder. "I think I'm due some credit too, aren't I? The song was my idea, after all."
Spencer grins at her. "Yeah, but I pretty much think everything you do is miraculous."
Tennessee looks torn between being charmed and laughing at Spencer, and Ryan groans.
"Man, I am trapped in sappy couple-land."
"Our apologies!" Tennessee says immediately. "Let's go rescue them from themselves."
They don't, not right away, because the next performer has taken the stage. While Ryan's not against being rude, he wouldn't ever walk out on Greta Salpeter if you paid him to, she's that goddamn good.
Part One | Part Three
Ryan isn't entirely sure how it happens. All he knows is that he zones out after class the next day and nods when Spencer murmurs, "We should get on this, yeah?" This referring to the painfully awkward conversation about nothing happening next to Z's locker, Brendon biting his lip and nodding while Z tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles at her shoes. And yet Ryan knows nothing will come of it, because it's the fourth such conversation they've seen this week. Ergo, getting Brendon and Z together might take actual superpowers, and Ryan really ought to stay far away from it all. Impossible feats are a drag, after all.
So why did he just agree to help? Who the fuck knows.
And then Tennessee follows it up with, "Do you want to meet up for coffee and plot?" all the while waggling her eyebrows and looking—not mysterious, but at least mystifying, and he obviously has to say yes to that too. Really, this is not a good precedent to set. Being easy isn't something he likes to be known for, though it has happened before—like that week in tenth grade when rumor had it he sucked off the entire football team for a bottle of vodka, that was fun—so, yeah, unpleasant associations, and he ought to be watching what he agrees to.
Next, because his day just wasn't going swimmingly enough, Ryan now has to explain to Z why he's going somewhere without her after school.
"But—" Her arms are crossed and she's approaching a pout. Never a good sign. She's about to try to guilt him into something. He knows, because he taught her that pout; she taught him the slow-somewhat-shy-gaze. The point being, he is wise to her tricks.
"Z, I just need to do something. Alone."
She huffs. "I don't see what you have to do that I can't come with you, and you know it's better if we stay together—"
"Not out of school," he points out, "and I, I don't know, what if I'm having sex?" Nice, Ryan. Credible.
Now she's laughing, at least. "Right, like I wouldn't already know about that."
"I could have kept it a secret?" he tries.
"Ross, the only time you managed to keep a boyfriend OR a girlfriend secret from me for more than ten minutes was when I had the flu and you didn't see me for ten days. Now spill."
It's clear she won't give up. Time for desperate measures. "What if it's a surprise? For my best friend?" It's technically true, which is good, because she'd be able to tell if he was lying outright.
She raises her eyebrows. "For me? A surprise? Oh, you are such a good boy."
He's not sure how he'll explain it when the surprise turns out to be a new boyfriend, but he thinks she'll probably forgive him.
—
Spencer is going to kill Brendon. He really is. Because he won't stop talking. Gym is bad enough as it is without needing to listen to Brendon listing The Virtues of Z Berg, starting at A for Amazing and rhapsodizing his way through the alphabet. Really, they have to resolve the shit out of this situation so Z and Brendon can date each other; maybe then this endless mooning will stop.
"Helpless, I tell you, helpless. Her voice. And Spencer, did I tell you she writes her own songs?"
Spencer sighs. "Once or twice, yes."
"And they're so good, right, they're all retro, and her lyrics are so sharp, they're so much better than mine, seriously—shit, Spencer, did you see that? She totally just winked at me!"
Spencer doesn't even know what to say at this point. Ryan claims Z is in fact interested, so there's that, but he's also pretty sure Z wasn't looking at Brendon just then, seeing as how she was hanging upside down from the rings at the time.
But there's no point in saying that, so Spencer just sighs (again) and hopes Brendon's natural agility will keep him out of trouble, since he's definitely not focusing on what he's supposed to be doing, which is walking the balance beam. Spencer wishes Tennessee was in this class with them, but she has gym in fifth period instead.
And then Brendon falls off. At first Spencer thinks he's fine, and Brendon seems to think so too because he starts to get up, but then he crumples, his ankle folding.
"Shit," he says.
He tries again and does get up that time, but it's obvious that something is wrong. He's wincing in pain, and he can't put any weight on his ankle and then he folds again, sitting down on the floor. Spencer manages to get them both on their feet, one arm around Brendon's shoulders, just as the bell rings. He's not sure what to do, because he's supposed to be meeting Ryan after school, but he can't tell Brendon that. He doesn't want to stand Ryan up, but they're meeting at a coffee shop across town and Tennessee doesn't have a car. But someone has to get Brendon to the nurse's office; he can definitely move his ankle, so they know it's not broken, but it's a pretty bad sprain. Spencer looks for their teacher, but she's still not back from dealing with the two students who got in a fight.
Just then, Z walks towards them, heading towards the changing rooms and laughing with Annie about something. She catches Spencer's eye and nods a little stiffly, and then her eyes widen when she sees Brendon.
"Oh shit," she says, coming to an abrupt halt. Annie doesn't see her stopping, and bangs into her with a yelp. "Oh, shit, what happened, are you okay?" Annie's holding her head and looking at Z bemusedly; Spencer doesn't blame her, because Z is very obviously not concerned with her bandmate's welfare at all.
"Hi Z," Brendon says, trying to smile and managing a grimace. "Uh, yeah, I'm—"
"No, he's not," Spencer says, just as the lightbulb goes off in his head. "He needs to go to the nurse's office. Z, you have a car, right? You can drive him home after?"
"I—yes?" Z says. "What?''
"Great," Spencer says, tugging her over and starting to arrange Brendon's arm around her shoulders. "I have to go. Like, right now."
"Spencer," Brendon hisses, his eyes widening. "Spencer, what are you doing?"
"Trust me," Spencer says. Z falls over a little bit when Brendon first puts all of his weight on her, but then she straightens up properly and soon she's got Brendon standing almost upright. Spencer knows she'll be fine; Z's much stronger than she looks, if her ability to effortlessly lug around amps in high heels is anything to go by.
Spencer's very carefully not thinking too hard about why he's so concerned that he might stand Ryan up. He's—well. Spencer's trying not to go there, because he has a girlfriend, and he loves his girlfriend, because Tenn is awesome and amazing, but—there's just. There's something about Ryan, something about his wrists and his awkward laughter, and the way his smile kind of slides onto his face and his eyes light up when someone says something smart or when Z shows up.
Okay so maybe Spencer's thinking about it anyway, but whatever. He's not going there.
"Hey, I'll call you later," Spencer says to Brendon, and then takes off at a dead run towards the locker rooms. If he hurries, he'll be able to change, meet Tenn, and still make it across town in time to see Ryan.
—
Tennessee's waiting for Spencer when he gets to the car, leaning back against it and looking... Spencer has to smile when he sees her, like he always does.
"Hey," he says, stealing a kiss.
She smiles against his mouth. "You're late, Smith. What's up with that?"
Fuck, Spencer's so stupid about her. He makes fun of Brendon for listing Z Berg's virtues, right, but he knows he could make up lists of all the reasons Tennessee is the best, the most wonderful, and he'd start with the way she laughs at herself when she uses an American slang expression and then keep going for a really long time.
He shakes his head and says, "Brendon hurt himself in gym," which he knows'll be enough of an explanation.
She frowns, looking worried. "He's okay though, right?"
"Yeah," Spencer says, then amends, "Well, he's definitely sprained his ankle or something, but I sent him to the nurse with Z, so he should be alright. Mostly."
She still looks concerned, but she snickers when he gets to the part about Z. "Oh lord," she says. "He's going to kill you."
"Yes," Spencer says. "Yes he is, but maybe he'll get somewhere. I don't know. I figure we can tell Ryan we've made some progress?"
Her cheeks go a little pink, but she nods. "We'll go and visit him later though, won't we? And bring him some of your atrocious American snack food."
"Obviously. And I think you mean our awesome snack food." Spencer pauses, biting his lip. "I would have taken him to the nurse myself, just, you know. Ryan."
"Yes," she says, as if she can fill in the rest of the sentence about how Spencer didn't want to be late to meet Ryan in particular. Spencer lets out a breath.
To compose himself, he sends off a text to Brendon. u ok?
He puts his phone back in his pocket and discovers Tenn has stolen his keys.
"I'm driving," she says, and grins at him.
"Stealing my car, are you?"
"And you, Spencer Smith. It wouldn't be worth the trouble without you in it."
—
Waiting outside the nurse's office while Brendon gets his ankle examined, it occurs to Z to consider the situation she's in. She's still wearing her gym clothes, and she's pretty sure there's a hole in her t-shirt, and she's meant to be taking Brendon home after this, and—it's a bad high school movie, is what this is. And this particular kind of scene always ends in horrible embarrassing times for everyone. She sighs and chews on her thumbnail.
Eventually Brendon is let back out, ankle bandaged up and sneaker off.
Easing him down on the chair next to Z, the nurse asks, "You his friend?"
Z hesitates for a second, then sees Brendon sort of shrink into himself and says, "Yes, yes I am. Can I take him home?"
"He has to stay off the ankle for the next two weeks, so yes, I'd suggest you take him home. He'll have to come in tomorrow before classes begin to get the crutches, four of the cheerleaders got hurt trying out a new routine so I only have very big ones on hand at the moment, but I'm getting new ones in the morning." The school has an elite cheerleading team, which, Z tended to dismiss cheerleading a lot before watching them, but holy shit, it looks dangerous when it's done well.
Brendon rolls his eyes when the nurse finishes explaining about the crutches and mutters, "Yeah, I get it, I'm short for a guy."
Z stifles a giggle. "It's okay," she says, "I'm pretty sturdy, he can lean on me." The nurse eyes Z sceptically but helps Brendon up again and lets Z take his weight.
Z doesn't quite realize what it means to have Brendon leaning on her until he is—he's warm and kind of sweaty, and his arm around her neck makes her shiver a bit. Brendon's skin is really soft.
She takes a deep breath and smiles at Brendon, whose face is right next to hers now, which, okay, and says, "So, think you can make it to the car?"
"Yeah," he says, "yeah, as long as I don't bang my foot into anything or something, I should be fine, it doesn't hurt much when I don't—fuck." That last comes out when they accidentally stagger into a water cooler she hadn't seen, and Brendon looks white around the lips for a second before asserting that no, he's totally okay.
"Sorry!" Z says, feeling terrible.
"I'm pretty sure it was my fault, dude," Brendon says. "It's not like I'm used to distributing my weight like this."
She grins. "True. Okay, come on, we can do this."
Getting to the car is actually not too bad, as soon as Z figures out how to hold herself so she can support him and simultaneously walk forward and not fall over. She grins for a second, thinking about the time she picked up a speaker and walked right past this guy who thought hitting on her via solicitously offering to "carry her shit" was a good plan. Thanks but no thanks, college douchebag frat boy. She smirks and looks to the side to find Brendon looking at her.
"What are you thinking about?" he says. "You're grinning like, I don't know."
"Oh, just some asshat who didn't think I could carry my shit. It was pretty glorious—I picked up a speaker and walked right past him. In heels."
Brendon snorts. "Awesome. Yeah, the way you're lugging me around is pretty badass."
"Please, you hardly weigh anything," Z says, and demonstrates this by opening her car door with one hand and helping him inside.
"I see how that works," he says, looking impressed.
Z resists the urge to preen a little; it's not like her strength is usually her most admired physical feature. "Where am I going?" she says instead.
"My aunt lives about six blocks that way," Brendon says, and Z doesn't ask why he's living with his aunt, even though she's still really curious about why he transferred to their school. It's not like it's the best choice for, well, any reason.
They fight over the radio, but Z eventually forfeits because she's driving and she knows how to be safe, thank you very much. While she is momentarily apprehensive about ceding control over something as important as driving music, she soon realizes Brendon has—damn, boy has really fucking good taste, actually. Nice. She nods at him in approval, and he breaks into one of those positively blinding smiles. She smiles back, biting her lip, because she's coming to realize that Brendon smiling, well. She likes it, and that's all she's going to say about that.
She pulls in where he directs her to, and raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief when he tries to get her to just drop him off on the curb.
"You do realize you have a sprained ankle and no crutches, right?"
"That's okay," Brendon says earnestly, "I can hop on one leg, I'm really good at it." And he attempts to demonstrate, but he nearly falls over and his whole face turns gray.
"Hang on," she says, and gets out of her car. "Let's do what we did before, it worked better than this." So she gets his arm back around her neck and supports him with an arm around his ribcage. "Now lean, idiot."
Brendon laughs a little, but he does lean, and he keeps leaning while they stop to let him unlock the front door. He's really skinny, she thinks as they maneuver through the doorway. He's really skinny, like he moves so much the weight just flows off. In fact—
"Hop on," she says as they reach the stairs, and he looks at her in disbelief.
"Seriously, I get that you're badass, but there's no way you can carry me. No way."
"Hop on," she repeats.
He shakes his head. "If I fall to my death I'm taking you with me, okay?"
"Fine by me," she says. She knows she won't drop him.
Getting him onto her back is a little difficult—he can't actually hop right now, so they have to get him up two steps and then turn around and walk up together. She braces herself on the banister and starts to walk upwards. Sure, it's not the easiest thing she's done, but he's good at hanging on tight, knees and arms locked and his face turned into her neck, which, um.
"This is going awesomely," he says, and Z shivers when his mouth moves so close to her skin.
"I told you," she replies belatedly, and winces at the way her voice shakes, just a little.
"Well, pardon me for not wanting to add 'falling down the stairs' to the list of most cliched deaths ever," he says, and it's not that funny, it's not, but Z can't stop laughing, which does nearly cause them both to fall. At the last second, a heroic effort by both of them (Z leaningleaningleaning and Brendon grabbing the banister and holding on) saves them from a death by broken neck.
"We rock at this," Brendon finally says when they stagger to the top, still laughing, still intact.
Z's a little too preoccupied by him sliding down her back to stand on his own again to answer, but she finally says, "We really kind of do."
After that, getting him to his room is easy, and Z doesn't stop to think at all until she's helping him lie down, turning around to grab him a non-sweaty t-shirt to change into from his open closet and turns back to see Brendon leaning against his pillows. His eyes are so fucking dark, and suddenly she can't breathe.
"I, I have to go," she blurts, and throws the shirt at Brendon who catches it, looking bewildered.
She runs down the stairs and doesn't stop to think until she's three blocks away and pulling over, knocking her head against the steering wheel. Fuck, fuck.
—
Ryan's coffee is getting cold.
Terrible fucking idea, Ryan thinks to himself. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking? Except Ryan knows what he was thinking, and it was that maybe, just maybe, Spencer and Tennessee weren't assholes like everyone else in this damn town. He can't believe he actually fell for this. He should know better by now.
He's standing up and shouldering his backpack, frustration and anger twisting in his stomach, when he hears the jingle of the door opening. He ignores it for a second, until he hears the sound of sudden, hurried footsteps behind him, rushing over to the corner he's been hiding out in.
"I am so sorry," Tennessee says breathlessly, throwing herself down in the chair opposite him. "Brendon sprained his ankle in gym class, and then Spencer sort of shoved him at Z and made her take him to the nurse's office, and then we couldn't find parking, and—you don't have to go anywhere right now, do you? We're not too late?"
Ryan blinks at her.
"...no," Ryan says slowly, sitting back down again. "I just thought. Uh." Ryan shakes his head. "You know what, never mind. It's not important."
"What's not important?" Spencer says, walking over to their table with three mugs and a cupcake held precariously in his hands, the fingers of one hand hooked into the handles so they won't fall, the other holding the extremely large cupcake. "Here," Spencer says, setting them down on the table and then holding the first mug out to Ryan. Ryan stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending. "Cappuccino," Spencer says, handing the second mug and the cupcake to Tennessee and then sitting down. "On us. Seriously, we didn't mean to keep you waiting for so long. Did Tenn tell you what happened?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, cautiously. He looks over at his cold cup of coffee, and then pushes it aside in favor of the cappuccino, because he might be a misanthrope but he's not actually stupid and if people are going to buy him good coffee, he's going to drink it. "Brendon... sprained something?"
"Sprained the fuck out of his ankle," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "I was getting another lecture on the beauties and virtues of Z Berg and he wasn't actually paying attention to the outside world while delivering his soliloquy, so now he's on crutches."
"That's...special," Ryan manages.
"Extremely special," Tennessee agrees, with a small smile. "That's Brendon for you. Special guy."
"Sure," Ryan says. "So...wait, where does Z come in? Besides being the focus of his undying love, I mean. You said something about Spencer shoving him at Z?"
"Spencer had a brilliant idea," Tennessee says. "Z was walking by when it happened, and giving Brendon and Z time to bond just seemed like a good idea, with the plan and all. Also, Spencer was already late. So they're...bonding," she finishes, waving her hand vaguely.
Ryan squints at them. "Do you guys always talk for each other?" he blurts out, before he can stop himself. "Because it's a little weird." He's instantly mortified, because fuck, he doesn't know them at all, but Spencer just barks out a laugh.
"Tennessee has a lot of feelings," Spencer says, turning his head so he can smile at her. "I like it when she narrates. It usually comes out a lot more entertaining than whatever I was actually thinking at the time."
"Hush," Tennessee says, rolling her eyes and punching him on the shoulder. Ryan swallows. Spencer and Tennessee are...not what he was expecting. Granted, he wasn't really sure what he was expecting in the first place after they essentially dragged him out behind a dumpster to spy on his best friend, but whatever it was, it wasn't...this.
"Anyway," Tennessee says. "We're sorry we're late, and we do have to go soon, but we had an idea." She looks over at Spencer, biting her lip for a moment, and then she looks back at Ryan.
"We were thinking," Spencer fills in, when it looks like Tennessee isn't going to come right out and say it. "There's this concert. I don't know what you guys—um. The band is awesome, but they're not super well-known, and it seems like—something Z might like," he says awkwardly. "And she met us the other day—sort of, at least—and we were thinking maybe Brendon could ask her if she wants to come along." Ryan has an instant, knee-jerk reaction of no, fuck you, don't take her away from me but he pushes it down. They're plotting, after all, and Ryan can't shake the feeling that Brendon might be good for Z, that she should at least take the chance and find out, but he also knows that she's never going to do it without some pushing on his end.
"Good idea," Ryan says. "You should do that."
"You think so?" Tennessee says. "You think she'll come with us?"
"I'll convince her," Ryan says shortly. He doesn't think about how, if this works, he's going to end up spending all of his Friday nights alone again, like the last time Z got a boyfriend. He doesn't blame her for it, because he's done it too, but the timing kind of sucks right now. "Anyway, she'll be more likely to go if it's a double date. She'll be less freaked out about it."
"Double date?" Spencer says, frowning. "No, you should come too. It's not a date, it's just—an outing. With friends."
"I'm not crashing your date," Ryan says, rolling his eyes. "No thanks. It's fine, I'll convince her to go."
"No, honestly, you should come," Tennessee says, leaning across the table. "Please? I mean—you can bring someone too, you know. If you'd like?"
"I usually bring Z," Ryan mutters. He doesn't quite want to admit how much his love life is sort of a barren wasteland at the moment, because he has a reputation to maintain. But really, there's—well. No one he can have, anyway. Ryan's not thinking about it.
"So come with us," Tennessee says. "You can hang out with us while they're off staring longingly at one another."
"I'm not going to be the fifth wheel," Ryan says.
"You won't be," Spencer says, suddenly. "We promise."
Tennessee glances over at him, and Ryan is willing to bet that her raised eyebrow means she too has noticed the faint blush on Spencer's cheeks. She wisely says nothing, except, "Yes. Ryan, see? You won't be a fifth wheel. Come with us."
Ryan stares at them for a long moment, considering. He bites his lip, chewing on the corner, and then he lets himself nod once, small and careful.
"Right," Tennessee says. "That's a plan, then. Now, I'm going to go and purchase another one of those cupcakes, because Spencer thinks he's stealthy when he's stealing my food but he's really not, on the account of there being less of the cupcake left to eat. Ryan, do you want anything?"
He shakes his head, but Spencer looks at him consideringly and says, "You should get him a cookie, Tenn."
"I was intending to," she says indignantly. "I still can't believe he was here for half an hour and not having cookies, it's a travesty."
"Not everyone subscribes to the theory that the cookies of The Green Cauldron could bring about world peace," Spencer says. He's smiling at Ryan, wide and amused, and Ryan feels his breath catch in his throat for a moment before he nods again. Because Spencer's smile is just—fuck, Ryan thinks. Spencer's smile is dangerous. They're both dangerous, in a good way, in a way that Ryan's trying desperately to ignore.
He's going to have to be more careful from now on.
—
After about three songs, Ryan is forced to admit that The Pipettes are maybe really great, despite his initial misgivings. He says as much to Z, who smiles smugly (they've had arguments about retro bands before, long and involved arguments) before forgetting herself and moving in place, dancing by herself the way she always swears people look like dorks when they do. She keeps bumping Ryan's elbow, but he doesn't mind, even if it's all sweaty and close and Ryan's shirt is starting to stick to his back. He grins at Z when she points out the girl with the beehive hairdo, because of course Z would notice that and love it.
"Do you think—" she starts.
Ryan shakes his head. "I don't think pink hair is you," he says firmly, then grins. "Purple, on the other hand—"
Z punches him in the shoulder, because they both remember the great disaster that was Z's first experiment with hair dye. She's gotten better at it, her current blond not natural but looking fucking fabulous, but her first attempt had resulted in blotchy magenta stains everywhere, including Z's back and Ryan's hands when he had to try and help her scrub it off.
Then Brendon taps Z on the shoulder. Ryan was keeping an eye on him and waiting to see what he would do when standing next to Z for an extended amount of time. So far, the results have been disappointing. Brendon just looked, unnoticed by Z because she so sucks at noticing things like that. Shoulder-tapping is promising, though.
Ryan can't hear it over the music, but by Z's reaction—biting her lip and a small smile—he's betting she just got asked to dance. Ryan flicks his eyes down, and notices she's already taken Brendon's hand, probably without even noticing she was doing it. Seriously, how is she so gone on this guy?
Z lets herself be led away and Ryan hides his smile in the Shirley Temple that Tennessee had insisted on buying all of them (everyone except Spencer, who had argued firmly and successfully for club soda). But the drink is sweet on Ryan's tongue, and it's a bittersweet moment, because, okay. He knows he's a little possessive of Z. Usually it's not a big deal, Z will date some tall dark handsome thing and Ryan will be entirely unimpressed and kind of a dick, and eventually that boy will fade away when Z gets bored, and Ryan's okay with it, he really is, because Z is his, his partner in crime. He went along with the plotting because he does want her to be happy, but until this moment, he'd never honestly thought it would become anything but a short fling. Possibly. Assuming they both got hit over the head enough with how into each other they are.
But as he's sitting there watching Brendon and Z, he's sort of. Maybe he's rethinking his stance a little, because Z can dance, and he's never met anyone who can keep up with her, but Brendon can, even with his bum leg. He's slightly awkward but it's obvious from watching them that it's just due to his ankle, that when Z turns and spins and Brendon is right there to guide her back in that they just fit. And Z's smile is wide and delighted when she forgets to be mysterious, and Brendon's hands are careful on her waist.
He swallows, poking at the ice at the bottom of his glass with the straw. He's glad the club is dark, he really is, because he doesn't want Z to look over and notice; he thinks she would probably misinterpret the look on his face (even though she normally never does), or rather, she wouldn't understand where the loneliness was coming from.
Tennessee comes over and leads him to stand by the wall with her and Spencer. She spins a little, on her toes, so that Ryan's forced to lean up against the wall between them. And Ryan's uncomfortable with it for a moment—it's not his place—but then Tennessee leans behind him and whispers something to Spencer, and he can feel her warm breath in his ear, and suddenly he's uncomfortable for an entirely different reason. Tennessee's hair is in her face, caught on her eyelashes in the heat of the crowd, and Spencer leans over to brush it out of the way—
And then he drops his arm and it rests on Ryan's shoulders for a bit and Ryan thinks, oh.
It's completely friendly, a normal gesture of affection between friends, except for how it doesn't feel like that at all.
Spencer moves his arm away a few beats after it starts to get awkward, right after Ryan's suddenly conscious of how he can feel the warm heat of Spencer's skin through his T-shirt, even in the heat of the club. He doesn't know what it means, and he tries to focus on watching Brendon and Z, but his throat is suddenly so dry. He can't seriously be thinking about this, he can't. It's the first time in ages he's made new friends, and they're actually kind of awesome; fuck, he seriously can't be ruining it for himself by crushing on both halves of a couple. How is he such an idiot?
He wants to drag Z away from Brendon and have her pet his hair for a bit, because he feels so stupid right now and she's the only one who ever comes close to fixing that shit, but he can't, not when she looks this happy.
And it gets even harder, because they're so careful to include him all night, keeping him participating in their conversation while Brendon and Z claim a table and are talking intently to each other, Brendon gesturing wildly and Z laughing. This time Z's the one being a klutz, though, knocking over a glass of water and splashing both of them.
She's mortified, but Brendon laughs and says, "If you only knew how many times I've done that," and helps pat her dry in what Ryan is shocked to realize is actually a rather gentlemanly fashion.
The latter makes Spencer giggle and hide his face in Ryan's shoulder, mumbling, "I can't take it, they're too much, Ryan, tell me when they're done?" Ryan pats his head awkwardly and tries to smile non-awkwardly at Tennessee who is also giggling and so beautiful when she does; god, how's he supposed to deal with this?
Tennessee pokes him in the shoulder when she's gotten her giggling under control. "Dance with us, Ryan Ross, dance with us and leave the lovelorn idiots to their own devices for a bit."
Ryan protests that he doesn't dance, but Spencer won't hear it.
"Dude, I don't dance either, or I used to never do it, but Tenn makes me, right? And it's fun, come on Ryan, you can't stand at the back and look cool all night."
Tennessee nods in agreement. "It's true, I do make him. Twist his arm and everything. Don't make me twist your arm, Ross, I'm much stronger than I look."
And Ryan has to laugh at that, has to say yes, has to follow them out under the lights. He doesn't tell them, but it's one of the best nights he's ever had. It's not like he doesn't fucking love going out with Z, hanging at the back and feeling like they own the whole room, secretly, but when Tennessee spins him, grinning brightly, he laughs again and lets himself be spun.
Even if he has to spend so much of the night pointedly not looking at where Spencer's shirt's going dark with sweat or where the straps of Tennessee's dress are slipping off her shoulders, it's still a fucking good time.
Even if he can't really stop looking, no matter how much he tries.
—
Z takes Brendon home after, since Spencer pointed out that really, Z lives much closer to Brendon than Spencer does, and Ryan and Tennessee are practically next-door neighbors. Brendon might be blushing as he gets in the car, but none of them comments on it.
"Gosh, they're so adorable," Tennessee says as they watch Z pull out from the parking lot.
"No kidding," Ryan says, shaking his head a little. "When do you think they'll catch a clue?"
"God," Spencer says. "God, I don't know. We might be looking at weeks."
"Or months," Ryan says darkly, knowing just how oblivious Z can be when the thing she thinks she doesn't deserve is right in front of her.
"We'll just have to keep plotting," Tennessee says brightly, and Ryan may or may not be really happy to hear that. Maybe.
They drop him off at home, after, Spencer ceding his keys to Tennessee with a laugh and Ryan guiding them to his house from the backseat.
—
"Brendon. Brendon." Spencer is torn between laughter and sighing.
Brendon looks up at him, sort of dreamily. "Hmm?"
"Your elbow is in your salad," Tennessee informs him gravely, and then neither she nor Spencer can keep from laughing anymore.
Brendon goes a little red and removes said elbow from his poor limp lettuce, which definitely didn't benefit from that treatment and now looks even limper.
Spencer's still laughing when Tennessee asks Brendon, "So, you had fun last night, right?"
Brendon sort of sighs and nods. "I mean, like, I still can't believe it happened, you know?"
Spencer and Tennessee look at each other. If anything more than the dancing happened, well, then Tennessee owes Spencer money.
"I mean, we danced. I never thought that would, like, she'd ever do that."
Okay, so Spencer owes Tennessee ten dollars. He was sure Brendon and Z would at least kiss after the show, but Tennessee said it'd never happen that fast, and apparently she was right. Dammit.
—
Ryan sets his lunch tray down, and then cranes his neck to peer really obviously at Brendon's table, all the way across the cafeteria. Z tugs him down with a mortified expression.
"Ryan," she hisses. "Ryan, what do you think you're doing?"
"Brendon looks pretty dreamy today, don't you think?" Ryan says, and Z smacks him on the arm.
"Shut. Up." Z says, and stares down at her macaroni and cheese with a murderous expression. "We're not talking about this, you asshole."
"Oh, I think we are," Ryan says, poking her with his fork until she breaks and starts laughing. "Z, Z, Z. Spilling water on your date, really?"
"He wasn't my date," she says quickly, turning a bit pink.
"Oh, but he wanted to be," Ryan says slyly, and earns a napkin pelted at his head.
"No he didn't," she says, and Ryan sighs inwardly. Seriously. "He's like that with everyone, all happy and sweet and—" She breaks off and swallows.
"Right," Ryan says drily. "Right, he dances with everyone, spinning them around and smiles and smiles and smiles, Z Berg, I didn't know you'd gone blind."
"Whatever," she says, muttering something about him being better than she deserves anyway, even if he did like her, which he doesn't. Ryan is about to refute that round of bullshit when she looks at him, considering. Her smile turns sharp, and Ryan winces inwardly. He's been lucky to avoid this conversation thus far; the look on Z's face suggests that that luck is rapidly running out.
"Speaking of dancing," Z says casually, popping open the tab on her Diet Coke. "Spencer and Tennessee seem to be quite the life of the party."
Ryan shrugs, mock-casual. "They're nice enough."
"Oh, but I don't think they're just nice," Z presses. "Ryan. Ryan, they got you to dance. What is going on with you and them?"
"Nothing!" Ryan blurts out. "I—Nothing, Z."
"Does this have something to do with me and Brendon?" Z says, giving him a suspicious look. "What are you plotting? You're plotting, I know you are."
"I - yeah," Ryan fumbles. "I mean, no. We're not plotting, Z, you wound me." He doesn't think about how maybe he's taking the easy way out, about how it's almost better that Z gets pissy and accuses him of engineering her love life than presses him further about his feelings for Spencer and Tenn.
"Ryan. Seriously, Ryan. The last time you lied this badly was, like, seventh grade, when you didn't want to tell me about your crush on Kevin."
"Fine, maybe we're plotting a little," he says. "Do you really mind?"
Z's face darkens. "Do I mind? Do I mind that—yes, I mind, I don't even know if he—"
—
"I don't even know if she likes me at all," Brendon says desultorily, poking at his food. "I mean, she's really nice, right? So maybe she's just being, you know, nice."
Spencer looks at Tennessee helplessly and tries to figure out how to tell Brendon that he's pretty sure Z has never been that nice to someone not Ryan before, without sounding like he thinks she's a bitch. She's not, she's just—from what he's gotten from Ryan and from what he's seen of their school over the last two years, Spencer's pretty sure Z and Ryan are fiercely protective of each other for a reason. After they went to the cafe together, Tennessee said, sounding a little sad, "It's like he was surprised we were being kind." Spencer thinks about small towns and how they treat unusual people, and winces.
He settles on, "No, Brendon, it really did seem like she was happy to be with you specifically."
Brendon looks up. "You really think so?"
"Yes, we do," Tennessee says, reaching out and poking him in the shoulder. "Chin up, munchkin, I think the lady likes you."
Brendon sticks out his tongue at her and then grins. "Do you think I should write her a song? Should I?"
"Um," Spencer says, thinking about Brendon's usual level of lyrical subtlety.
"Yes," Tennessee says firmly, and Spencer looks at her in alarm.
She rolls her eyes at him. "If love is not enough," she murmurs, and Spencer remembers, yes, there was that one. Right.
"Well then," he says. "Write a song and win fair lady's heart."
Brendon's smile grows brighter, and Spencer's mouth twitches. "I reserve the right to make fun of you for it, though."
"Unfair, Spencer, unfair!" Tennessee says. "I want to, I'm much wittier than you are."
Brendon sighs dramatically. "You can BOTH make fun of me if you want. I guess."
—
Spencer doesn't regret encouraging Brendon, but he is starting to doubt that they'll ever get to a point where Brendon writes something he isn't terrified to share in public. Brendon is fine performing when he's being funny or playing a role, but this is apparently the scariest task he's ever undertaken. He has a song now, probably, but he's refusing to play it for them, so he's just sitting on the floor of the practice room with his guitar on his lap and staring at a lyrics sheet on the ground.
Spencer looks at Tennessee, willing her to say something. She looks at him a little helplessly and shrugs. Argh.
But maybe there's something he can do. Spencer throws Tennessee her sticks, one at a time, and nods at the snare drum next to her.
"You want to—"
"Uh-huh," she says, nodding.
Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer sees Brendon lifting his head and looking over at them. Score.
"Can we just do some fills?" he asks, deliberately not acknowledging Brendon's sudden interest.
"Yes," Tennessee says, and the way her eyes are glittering tells Spencer she's caught on. Excellent.
Sure enough, after about three minutes of the two of them going back and forth, challenging each other to more and more complicated beats, Brendon's putting down his guitar, grabbing Spencer's extra sticks and joining them. Another twenty minutes later and he's both sweaty and breathing hard, and he looks much, much happier.
"Don't think I don't know what you just did," he says, but he looks all surprised and pleased, like he's actually not that used to someone going out of their way to cheer him up.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Spencer says. Brendon turns to Tennessee.
"I plead the fifth," she says immediately, and Spencer has to lean over and kiss her because he not-so-secretly loves it when she adopand thatts American slang expressions.
"Ugh, stop," Brendon says, but he's laughing. "If you can keep from being disgustingly cute for a minute, I'll play you that fucking song, I know it's what you were angling for all along."
"Again, I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer says, grinning. "But sure, play us your song."
When Brendon finishes, it's all very quiet for a second, and then Tennessee pushes herself off the ground and kisses the top of Brendon's head, because: "Well done, short stuff. Well done."
"Really?" he says, and Spencer aches a little for how bare his emotions are in that moment.
"Really," Tennessee says firmly, and Spencer nods.
"Definitely," he confirms. Brendon grins, looking down at his hands.
Maybe, Spencer thinks. Maybe.
—
Ryan knows he's an elitist, but Open Mic night at the Green Cauldron really is a form of cruel and unusual punishment. The problem is that Z knows this all too well, which makes convincing her to actually show up a bit of a challenge.
"Ryan," Z says, putting the finishing touches on her eyeliner, "This had better be fucking good. I have newly washed sheets on my bed, an entire bag of cookies, and a brand-new episode of RuPaul's Drag Race to watch."
"It will be there when you get back," Ryan says, twisting Z's handmade blanket between his fingers. He pulls his hand away when she turns around, because her grandmother made it for her and he's lucky she even lets him sit on it. "I'm telling you. Comedy gold, Z. Last month, there were no less than three poems about Edward and Jacob."
Z pauses, liquid eyeliner in hand. She meets Ryan's eyes through the mirror and says, "Really?"
"My favorite was the one for Bella Swan," Ryan says loftily. "This dude called her the love of his life, the moon to his sun, the—what was it, beach to his shore, which doesn't make any sense. But who am I to argue with artistic genius? It was all very touching, anyway."
Z snickers, but she's also eying the bag of cookies on her dresser. They're oatmeal raisin, which is her favorite kind, and Ryan knows he's going to have to go in for the kill if he wants her to actually leave the house tonight. That's okay though: Ryan has a secret weapon.
"I might, um, read something," Ryan says, trying to look uncertain while also silently congratulating himself for being a devious motherfucker. "I haven't decided yet."
Z looks at him and sighs. "Well, I suppose I'll have to come then, if you're going to do that." Ryan allows himself a silent mental fist-pump. He does have a poem with him, but he'd rather not actually read it. He's pretty sure Brendon will be on before him and then hopefully Z will forget all about what Ryan may or may not have promised to do.
They get there and instead of grabbing a table at the back, Ryan looks for Spencer's wave and pulls Z with him through the crowd to squeeze in at their table, which is right in front of the stage. Ryan hopes Brendon has something to deliver here, because it's going to be really awkward if he doesn't.
"You made it," Spencer says in an undertone.
Ryan grins at him, which makes Z look at him suspiciously. She does that every time he smiles at Tennessee or Spencer, which, he's well aware he doesn't usually smile at people he hasn't known for that long. Not like that, anyway.
"Of course he made it," Tennessee says loftily. "As if Ryan could stay away from us." And there's something in her voice; no, Ryan's reading too much into it. But he likes the way her eyes look when she smiles like that, like he's in on the joke.
Brendon hasn't said anything yet; Ryan supposes he's nervous. Z knocks her shoulder into him carefully.
"Hey," she mumbles, and Brendon smiles into his mug of—Ryan really hopes that isn't coffee, he's seen Brendon on caffeine before.
"Hey," Brendon says, fingers clenching around his mug for a second.
That's all they have time for before the performances kick off. There are three predictably abysmal poetry readings, and Ryan suspects they were put on first just so the crowd would thin out a little bit (there isn't any elbow room in here at all; Ryan is afraid to lean back lest he knock over four lattes and a boy on very precarious high heels).
Then it's Brendon's turn. Z blinks in surprise when he goes on and looks a lot more intent all of a sudden, and Ryan just about bites back a joke, because god, how many times has she talked about seeing Brendon on stage, right? Right. She rolls her eyes at him as if she can hear what he's not saying. Which. She probably can.
Spencer looks horrified as soon as Brendon strikes the first chord, like he knows what's coming, and hisses "That's not—what is he, Brendon, what is he doing?" Tennessee's mouth is twitching. For good reason, too, because seriously, what is Brendon singing? Ryan is just about ready to call this an unqualified disaster when Z cracks up, giggling uncontrollably, which makes the whole table lose it, and when Ryan looks up on stage, he can see Brendon grinning between lines, like he meant for that to happen. Who likes it when their crush laughs at them? Ryan doesn't get it.
After that, though, Brendon takes a deep breath before announcing the next song, and he says, "This one, um, IwroteitforZBerg."
Ryan's watching Z, and he sees her eyes go dark, and he smirks into his coffee. There. Now if Brendon's song is only—
And then Brendon starts singing, and yeah, it is.
Z stiffens next to him. Ryan can feel her fumbling for his hand under the table, and he links their fingers, squeezing hard. Her back is absolutely straight, and she's staring at the stage with wide, disbelieving eyes. Ryan isn't even sure she's breathing.
"Told you," Ryan says quietly, and Z shakes her head. She swallows once, hard, as Brendon goes into the bridge. It's a sweet song, with a lilting melody. The words don't really matter, something about always and you and being caught, but it isn't important—Ryan knows enough to know this much. What matters is the way Brendon's looking at her, his face honest and open.
Ryan looks over just in time to see Z blink twice, hard, and then she's dropping his hand and grabbing her purse and running out the door.
"Ryan," Spencer hisses, reaching over and shaking his shoulder. "Ryan, what the hell? You said she'd love it, you said—"
"She did," Ryan protests. "No, she did, Z's like that, I think she was crying, and she never lets anyone see her when she's—"
"Oh my lord," Tennessee says, her face falling. "She was crying?"
"No, that's good," Ryan says. "It's good, really, it just means that she—"
"This was an awful idea," Spencer says. He shakes his head in despair. "Shit, Brendon looks he's like about to cry."
Ryan looks up. Brendon finishing his song, but he's no longer smiling. He's staring down at the floor, only raising his head when he has to sing the rest of the verse.
"I'll fix this," Ryan says, suddenly. "I can fix this. Look, just stay here, I'll go get her, she's probably out in the parking lot—"
"You better," Tennessee says, firmly. Brendon hits the final chord on his song, and the crowd breaks into applause. She stands up and claps, loudly, and then mutters, "Outside, now, while he's distracted."
Ryan slips out as Brendon's picking up his guitar, hurrying out the front door. Z's not outside, and Ryan has a moment of panic before he realizes she must be in the parking lot. He turns the corner and walks slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets.
"Z," he calls out, softly, and then he hears a tiny sob from over near the dumpsters.
"Z, hey," Ryan says gently, and Z flutters a hand at him, a tiny motion that means go away. Ryan's used to ignoring it, because one of the reasons they work so well together is that neither of them has ever listened to each other when it really matters.
Ryan sits down next to her on the concrete. Her legs are kicked out at awkward angles, as though she'd just collapsed on the ground. Her shoulders are shaking.
"No, hey," Ryan murmurs, brushing at the mascara trails on her face a little awkwardly. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay."
"I'm sorry," Z chokes out, "I'm sorry, Ryan, he's going to hate me, I ruined it, I ruined everything—"
"You didn't," Ryan presses. "He'll understand, Z, I know he will—"
"Yeah, I will," Brendon says quietly from behind them. He's got his hands in his pockets, his guitar case slung over one shoulder. He's not looking at either of them. He takes a deep breath, like he's looking for courage, and then he says haltingly, "I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to embarrass you. Or. Or make you upset. I just—You're really special, Z."
Z's eyes are large and dark, even with the ruined makeup. She takes a shuddering breath, and in that time Brendon continues talking.
"I thought that maybe—I mean, okay. You're way too cool for me, and I know it, right? Like. Seriously, you're gorgeous and talented and funny, and everyone thinks so, and I'm just some dumb loser with a guitar. I get it."
"Brendon," Ryan says, softly, because he can't just sit here and listen to Brendon beat himself up like this. Maybe Ryan's been guilty of it too, of making Brendon feel like he's not good enough.
Z shushes him, placing one hand over Ryan's mouth. "Ryan, let him finish," she says, and schools her features into something more like her usual nonchalance. Her eyes, though—Ryan can see the infinite kindness there, the gentle way she's looking at Brendon. He hopes Brendon can see it. God, Ryan really hopes they're not going to fuck this up.
"I'm pretty much done," Brendon says, and laughs, tuneless and awkward. "I'll—I'll leave you alone, after this. If you want. I just figured I should say something, and I was too much of a coward to say it in words." He turns to walk away, and then Z's stumbling up, tripping over her heels as she runs after him.
"Brendon," she says, catching his hand, making him turn around and look at her. "I—there's something you should know."
"You just want to be friends?" Brendon says, and smiles humorlessly. "Yeah, I got that part."
"No," Z says, wiping at her face. "No, that's not it, at all. I just—I don't cry in front of people. I can't. I don't want them to see me like that."
"Great," Brendon says. "So I made you cry, and—Fuck, Z. I'm sorry."
"Stop saying that," Z says. "Brendon, stop. Look, I just—those were good tears, okay? Good tears." She stops for a moment, and bites her lip, and then looks up at him. From ten feet away, Ryan holds his breath. He knows he should leave, but he can't seem to make his legs move.
"No one's ever written a song for me," she says quietly. "Not even Ryan."
"Oh," Brendon says. He fiddles with the strap of his guitar, and then looks back up at her. "So you—"
"Yeah," Z says helplessly. "Yes, Brendon, to everything. Everything you said in that song. Yes to all of it, okay?"
"Okay," Brendon says. There's a tiny smile breaking out onto his face, and that's when Z leans up on her toes and kisses him. Ryan wants to clap, or cheer, or something, but instead he just smiles to himself. Z pulls away after a few moments, blushing, and then Brendon's wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her in and kissing her so hard that her back bows a little.
"Yes?" Brendon breathes out, against her lips.
Z laughs into his mouth. "Yes," she says, and kisses him back. "All of it, Brendon. Please."
Ryan stands up, and brushes the dirt off his pants. He quietly makes his way to the fire door, pulling it open carefully. Brendon and Z are silhouetted against the streetlight.
He pulls the fire door open and makes his way through the crowd back to his table. Tennessee's playing with her hair, slumped down on one elbow. Spencer's rubbing her back and looking murderous.
"Uh, hi," Ryan says, and they both whip their heads around.
"So?" Spencer says, and glares at Ryan a little.
"They're making out in the parking lot," Ryan says, a smug smile starting to make its way onto his face. "I told you."
Tennessee's eyes widen. "Really?" she says. "Honestly? You're not making fun?"
"I am one-hundred percent not making fun," Ryan says. "We should probably get them home before they ruin each other's virtue."
"Brendon doesn't have a lot of virtue," Spencer says, and snickers. "Or, well. He's got a lot of virtues, but I don't think he would be complaining. Ryan Ross, you're a miracle worker."
"I try," Ryan says, and fishes out an ice cube from his drink to crunch on. "I really do."
Tennessee pokes Spencer in the shoulder. "I think I'm due some credit too, aren't I? The song was my idea, after all."
Spencer grins at her. "Yeah, but I pretty much think everything you do is miraculous."
Tennessee looks torn between being charmed and laughing at Spencer, and Ryan groans.
"Man, I am trapped in sappy couple-land."
"Our apologies!" Tennessee says immediately. "Let's go rescue them from themselves."
They don't, not right away, because the next performer has taken the stage. While Ryan's not against being rude, he wouldn't ever walk out on Greta Salpeter if you paid him to, she's that goddamn good.
Part One | Part Three