Still Looking At You [ryan ross/z berg][bandgirlsbang][pt2]
Part 1
She knocks on his apartment door and then crosses her arms over her chest. She feels self conscious and a little nervous.
When Ryan opens the door, he’s wearing a brilliant smile, dark blue jeans, and a paisley button up. None of these things surprise Z - instead, she feels a wash of comfort from seeing him so casual, right in front of her. It’s odd.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and his voice is almost breathy - Z would blush except it sounds stupid, so she just laughs.
“Thanks,” she murmurs as he steps back and she walks into his apartment. She looks around, and it smells like Ryan - a little clean, but almost a little rough (and she thinks that might be his cologne, but she’s not positive), but again, it makes a sort of soft comfort wash over her. She doesn’t feel nervous about being here anymore.
“You’ve been staying clean,” she says quietly, peeking into the kitchen. She turns and gives him a questioning smile pointing at the frozen, microwavable boxed dinner sitting on the counter. “Is that dinner? Lean Cuisine?”
Ryan laughs and walks past her, touching her shoulder as he moves into the kitchen and sticks the box back into the freezer. “Not unless you want it,” he says, looking up at her, “do you want to go out for dinner?”
She looks at him, her heart skipping a beat. She wants to roll her eyes at herself. “I…only if you do.”
A date. That would be nice.
Ryan grins. “I think I’d like that. Wait - did you bring any clothes?”
Z blinks at him like he’s crazy. “What?”
“You’re staying. For the weekend. Right? I thought that was the plan. Well, that’s what I meant.”
“I…don’t live far away,” she says, frowning. “Unless you have clothes I can borrow? I guess I can deal with sweats and oversized t-shirts, if you’ve got that, for the weekend. As long as you don’t expect me to look beautiful all weekend. I didn’t bring any make-up besides my eyeliner, which is always in my purse…”
She stops talking when Ryan presses a long finger over her lips. “Hey. You always look beautiful.”
She does blush this time.
--
They do end up going to dinner, and there’s a lot of small talk - again, it’s surprisingly comforting, and Z feels warm the whole time. Protected. And she knows she hasn’t felt that way in a while. In a long time.
“Do you play music?”
Z blinks when he asks the question. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem like you would. And like you’d have a great singing voice.”
“R-really?” Z asks, frowning. She had always been afraid of her own voice, and that’s why she had never played her music for anyone else. “I mean, I do, kind of. I can hit notes well enough. It’s not a big deal or anything, but I play a little guitar and shit like that…but I’m a model.” She says it like it’s something that could prevent her from playing, and that’s how she’s always seen it.
Ryan chuckles, pouring some of the wine into his glass. He lifts it to his lip and then picks up the bottle again. With a crooked grin, he asks, “You like some?”
Z eyes the bottle and looks back at her Sprite in her glass. “No,” she says, shaking her head. Ryan shrugs and drinks down the wine.
“Just because you’re a model doesn’t mean you can’t play music,” he states blatantly, something Z has thought about but never let herself really think about. “I mean, I’m beautiful but I still play music, you know?”
Z laughs, shaking her head. “I’m too busy. It’s a miracle that we both had time off at the same time. Especially a weekend. But on Monday it’s back to work. I just have to push myself.”
Ryan tilts his head. “You don’t. You really don’t.”
Z shakes her head, not liking where this conversation is headed. “I do have to work hard. If I don’t, people will think I have money and fame for nothing, and that just isn’t true. I worked fucking hard to get where I am, and I don’t want people telling me I’m shit because I give up some of the things that make my life difficult. I’m kind of…stuck up, especially about my appearance. It’s why I have so few friends.” Z shrugs, looking down at what’s left of her dinner. She knows she shouldn’t have eaten everything, or she should have gotten a smaller portion, but it’s hard to give a fuck.
“You seem very real to me, in case you didn’t know. Come on, Z, give yourself a chance.”
She laughs again, but she’s not amused. “Whatever, Ryan. You don’t know me, stop acting like you do.”
Ryan laughs, and he, on the other hand, is amused. “Why do you think I’m here?”
--
Ryan’s hand hovers at her waist in the parking lot of the restaurant. In the parking lot of his apartment building. In the elevator. Down the hall.
She lets him.
They step into his apartment and her heart is beating too fast. She turns, just barely, and his hand moves to compensate, resting on her shoulder. She looks at him for a moment and smiles a bit, and then she rises on her toes, kissing him on the mouth. He does the same thing he did last time she kissed him, after the show - his lips move just barely, kissing her back dryly for a moment, as they both adjust in each other’s arms.
Z wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him harder, bruising almost. She’s tired of playing this back and forth game, and right now, she just wants someone to hug and to kiss and to make her feel like she belongs somewhere. And Ryan, with his bony fingers on her cheeks and her neck and her waist, right now he’s perfect for that.
Neither of them whisper ‘I love you’ or say anything stupid - Ryan fumbles with the zipper on the side of her dress and Z yanks the buttons open of his shirt, spreading her hands over his chest carefully.
She bites her lip and looks at him. He mouths down to her, ‘You’re beautiful,’ and the blood flushes to her cheeks. She kisses his Adam’s apple and he swallows - she laughs against his skin and squirms her way out of the little pale dress she bought from the kids department. He hooks her leg around his and presses closer to her as she pushes his shirt off.
“Not so fast,” she murmurs with a small laugh, kissing his throat. “You need to be at least as naked as I am before anything gets good.”
Ryan laughs too, and again, it’s comfortable. He takes off his belt and she unbuttons his jeans.
“I have a bedroom,” Ryan states with his pants hanging around his hips. “If you’d rather go there?”
Z blinks. “Oh. Hey. That works.”
Pulling his pants back a little more comfortably, Ryan takes Z’s hand and leads her down the hall - she feels weird, following him in her bra and panties, but it’s kind of fun, thrilling, almost.
She doesn’t expect it, but he grabs her into another kiss, and this time they’re both kissing with tongue. He spins her around and drops her onto the bed and Z laughs again, her entire body shaking with it and nerves. Ryan crawls on top of her, his shoes kicked off and on the floor. She smiles as he unzips her boots, pulling them off as she lifts a leg to make it more comfortable. They land next to his shoes.
“You,” Ryan begins, kissing the skin of her neck, “are,” he continues down her chest, to the curve of her breasts, “beautiful.”
“I’m nothing special,” she murmurs, if only to hear him tell her she’s wrong.
“Liar,” he says, and it really does make her feel good - she giggles.
He kisses down her stomach and rests his hands on her hips. Z can feel her breath catching as he looks at her, his eyes wide and hungry. “I don’t wanna fuck you,” he says, and his voice is suddenly rough and low. Z shivers. “Not tonight.”
“Y-yeah?” she says back, and her voice just shakes.
Ryan smiles at her a little, positioned between her legs. He puts his hands on her knees and pushes her legs apart gently - she bites her lip and forces her thighs to relax to give him more room - before dipping his head down.
Z gasps when he presses his nose against the cotton of her panties - she knows she’s damp and he can probably smell her, and she twists her head, closing her eyes. “Turn off the light,” she manages, an actual sentence. Ryan chuckles and she knows that he has control over her now, but somehow she’s not afraid. He does as she asks.
He settles between her legs and leans down again, this time pressing his tongue against her. Z suppresses a shiver as he pushes his tongue against her clit through her panties, teasing her with the soft warmth.
“Fuck, Ryan,” she breathes out, reaching a hand out to tangle in his hair. Ryan breathes against her and moves one of his hands from her inner thigh, moving between her legs to move her panties to the right.
Z gasps, harder this time, when Ryan pushes his tongue against her, licking slow and deliberate against her clit before slipping his tongue inside. Z groans shamelessly and tightens her fingers in his hair - if he keeps this up, she’ll be coming wordlessly in about two minutes.
And he does continue, though he actually pulls her panties off, throwing them along with their shoes onto the floor. He focuses on pushing his tongue against her, almost painfully, but there’s still that jolt every time he adds pressure, licking from her opening up.
“God, Ryan, Ryan, don’t stop,” Z murmurs, throwing her head back and moaning again. “So fucking good,” she babbles as he fucks her endlessly with his tongue, only pausing when he can tell she’s close (he can tell because she starts shaking and her back arches just barely and she clenches just a bit) to pull back and kiss up and down her thighs. She whimpers, pathetically, every time he does this, even though it kind of adds to the thrill.
With his tongue inside, Ryan rubs the pad of his thumb over her clit, moving his tongue as he jerks his finger until she is quivering all over, her fingers tight in his hair and pushing him closer. “Fucking fuck, Ryan, Ryan, oh God,” she manages before her hips buck up and then fall, twitching again with him still rubbing her and licking at her, more gently now that she’s come.
Z stays on her back, catching her breath - her feet fall over the edge of the bed as Ryan rolls off of her and she opens her eyes to look at him, tiredly.
He gives her a meek smile. “Sorry,” he says as he shoves his hand into his underwear, “but that really turned me on.”
Z hums in agreement and just closes her eyes - she’s very tempted to help him, but every muscle in her body feels tingly, like it’s on fire, and Ryan is already cursing to himself and moaning quietly, so she figures he’ll be okay by himself.
When he drapes his arm around her, she laughs. “Don’t touch me if your hand is covered in your own cum, idiot,” she mumbles, rolling over so that her back is to him. Ryan chuckles and rolls over to spoon her, wriggling his other hand under her to hold her.
“Don’t worry, I cleaned it up.”
“I won’t even ask.”
--
Z wakes up with Ryan’s face in her neck and she smiles, feeling relaxed and kind of perfect. She rolls over so that she’s facing him in his arms, and they haven’t moved since they fell asleep. She kisses the corner of his mouth, and his lips are dry, but as if he senses her thoughts, he licks them in his sleep.
“Ryan,” Z murmurs, pulling a hand free of his heavy arms and touching his face. “Wake up, it’s Saturday,” she murmurs, and she kisses his cheek. “Wake up, darling,” she says, and he begins to stir. She wonders if that was too much.
“G’morning,” Ryan mumbles sleepily, and he grins like an idiot when he sees her. He kisses her and she kisses him back, both of them happy. “Well, my memories of last night are pretty vivid,” he murmurs against her lips before spreading open mouthed kisses over her face and neck.
“Hmmm, yeah, and I’m still awkwardly naked,” Z laughs, twisting so that her bra actually covers both of her tits. “God, I need a shower.”
“Shall I join you?” Ryan asks, but he’s teasing so Z just laughs instead of taking his offer seriously. Ryan rolls off of her and Z sits up, frowning.
“Fuck,” she mumbles, looking at her panties on the floor. “I don’t have any clean panties.”
“Mmm,” Ryan groans, stretching as he sits up. “Boxers are in the bottom drawer on the right. God knows what you’ll find, maybe something interesting?”
“Oh, really?” Z murmurs, not expecting a real answer as she stands and rummages through the drawer, picking out a pair of boxers that will, undoubtedly, not fit - but at least they’re just plaid and look clean. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes. Make coffee or breakfast or something.”
Ryan grumbles something about it not being a bed and breakfast, but Z just makes a soft ‘pfft’ noise, heading into the attached bathroom.
As she showers, she thinks of Ryan’s mouth and she thinks of Ryan’s face - his words and everything. She thinks about Ryan in general, about the sweet things he told her and the way he was gentle and actually seemed to care. She sighs and washes her hair with his shampoo and conditioner, and she wonders if she’ll smell as good as he does.
--
They spend the rest of the weekend cuddling on the couch and watching bad romantic comedies, some that Ryan owns and some that are playing on PayPer View and just television in general. Z doesn’t mind wearing Ryan’s oversized shirts and polos and sweatpants, and Ryan says she looks beautiful no matter what she wears.
She kind of loves that about him. He wraps an arm around her on the couch and kisses her forehead and says, “Your eyes are beautiful,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
But Z can’t help it.
She doesn’t think it will last.
--
On Sunday night they fuck again, and Z comes harder than she has in ages and Z’s pretty sure the entire apartment can hear Ryan’s moans.
She holds him afterwards and kisses him, biting at his lips and licking into his mouth, pushy and demanding for a girl who just fucked harder than she has in ages, but she’s already beginning to miss him. She whispers, after they kiss for almost five minutes straight, both of them with swollen lips and lost breath, “I’m going to miss you, I don’t want to go.”
Ryan twines his fingers into her hair and kisses her, softer. “You don’t have to,” he tells her, but she shakes her head.
“You’re wrong. It’ll all go back to the way it used to be. I have to work again. We probably won’t see each other much. But at least this time you’ll know I don’t hate you.”
Ryan’s grip tightens and he shakes his head. It’s almost one in the morning and Z has a photo shoot that starts tomorrow at ten. She needs to go home and get the right clothes. She should just leave now. It would be easier, in the long run.
“No, no,” he says, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. “I can’t lose you again.”
Z laughs. “We’re not anything special, you know. I’m not anything special. You’ll find another, more flexible girl, in no time.”
“Stop,” Ryan growls, and his voice is actually sort of menacing. “Shut up, I don’t - I can’t. Don’t do this to me, Z. I was just getting used to this, this greatness, this…getting to hold you and kiss you and love you, and I might…I might be falling in love with you.”
Z squirms, beginning to panic. “What are you lying to yourself for?” she hisses, pushing her hands against his chest. “I’m nothing to love, fuck, get off of me.”
Ryan’s grip just tightens, and Z’s seriously beginning to get scared. “Fuck if you think you’ll get away with this, I am so fucking sick of being used, Ross, you fucking know what happened to my last boyfriend and I’m not going to let myself be used without you getting your fucking -”
Ryan kisses her again and then lets go, rolling over.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is shot, dry and weak.
Z sits up. “Ry…?” she whispers, and her voice is shaking.
She asks herself, What? and even in her head it sounds wrong.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to love you. If you’re too scared to commit, though - I, I understand that. It’s rough. But…” Ryan twists his head to look at her. “I’m not your ex-boyfriend, Z. I would never hurt you. I just want to protect you so much that it hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” Z whispers, and she sits up, grabbing her pair of panties which are still on the floor, unwashed but unused for the past 48 hours. “I’m going home.”
She dresses in her used clothes and feels dirty and unwanted.
She cries as she drives home.
And she only gets a couple of hours of sleep, anyway.
She was better off just letting it go, but she never did that very well.
--
“What do you really want to do with your life?”
Z rolls her eyes but shrugs.
Greta laughs. She has a laugh similar to Tennessee’s - full, but kind of like sleigh bells, because her voice twinkles - and Greta reminds Z of Tennessee in a lot of ways, in that manner.
“Is this really what you expect to do for years to come?” Greta asks, gesturing at the set. “I mean, modeling is great and everything, it’s a great way to start, but I don’t want to be caught here when my face starts to sag and they expect me to get lots of plastic surgery. I’m not perfect, and I’ll have to deal with that…and that’s okay, whatever, you know? I just wonder what you have in mind. You play guitar, right? You can sing, I’m sure. You have such a lovely voice.”
Z bites her lip (still raw and sore from kissing Ryan) and then rubs them together, spreading the lipstick lingering around. The shoot is over but she’s not sure what she’s going to do when she goes home. “Thanks,” she finally says, tilting her head back. She sighs. “I don’t really know. I guess I’d like to play music, you’re right, I do play guitar. But no one wants to read about the model who went rock star, or some shit. That’s so boring, so cliché. No one cares.”
Greta shrugs. “Do you care?”
Z frowns.
“Because then, someone cares. And I care.”
Greta touches Z’s shoulder and squeezes. “You’re amazing, Z. I just wanted you to know that.”
Greta kisses Z lightly on the lips and leaves with a smile on her face.
Z hesitates and watches her go, touching her lips.
She wonders if Greta could taste Ryan, leftover and still lingering on her mouth.
--
“You didn’t!” Tennessee gasps, and Z blushes. “You left him? Oh my God, oh my Gawd, Z, you can’t just leave a boy all alone after you…how could you do that to him? Z, he said he loved you. He wanted to love you. Oh dear Lord, you poor darling, you’re still afraid, aren’t you?”
Z stares at her lap and Tennessee wraps her arms around her. “Oh, baby, oh, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Tennessee kisses her hair and hushes her with soft strokes against her arm. “I know you’re just frightened, but if he told you that he wanted to protect you, you should have let him. Z, honey, you can manage a relationship…you know that, right?”
Z is shaking now, holding back sobs.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
Tennessee kisses her hair again.
--
Z ends up playing a lot of guitar and singing a lot of sad music about broken hearts and hating yourself.
She eventually gets tired of singing, though, gets tired of her own voice and making her fingers all calloused.
She has way too much time on her hands.
So she just starts murmuring to herself.
--
Z is so tired. So tired and sore and lonely. She doesn’t know who to talk to, or what to talk to them about. She wants to talk - but she’s afraid to talk, and she honestly doesn’t know what she’d say. She’s called Tennessee, asked Tenn to tell her about her day, just to hear someone’s voice because she’s so sick of her own. Z calls her on a Saturday night when she’s sick of getting voicemails from Ryan that she doesn’t check (one a day, at exactly 9:27 P.M. on the dot, though Z can’t figure out why) or answer, when she just wants a distraction.
When Tennessee picks up the phone, it’s not with a chipper, “Hey Z, how are you?” knowing just what she needs and providing it. Instead, Tennessee answers in a sharp voice, “Can I come over?”
Z can’t say no to Tennessee, and though she’s surprised (she blinks at her cell phone and frowns before being able to come up with a proper answer), so she just says, “Of course.”
Tennessee doesn’t give her a proper good bye, instead just hanging up.
Baffled, Z sits on her couch and stares out the front window, and she waits.
--
Tennessee shows up, looking a lot less ruffled than she had sounded on the phone. Z lets her in with a half-smile, but Tennessee doesn’t return it. Z is beginning to freak out - she’s going to get a lecture, she’s sure of it - but Tennessee doesn’t say anything, not immediately, at least.
“Do - do you want something to drink?” Z asks as they both hover in the kitchen. She knows it’s a stupid question (if Tennessee really wanted something to drink she would have said something and already have gotten it herself) but she needs to fill the silence.
Tennessee looks up at Z. “You’ve needed me in the past,” Tennessee states, but her voice cracks - Z blinks again. “You’ve needed me before - do you need me now? That’s why I’m here. You won’t stop calling me. I don’t know what to do for you except this. Is this what you want? I don’t know. But if it is…”
Tennessee trails off, frowning and biting her lip, and Z’s breath catches. It’s true, when she thinks about it. She’s always used Tennessee as a crutch, for when she’s hurt. Always leaned on her shoulder. And maybe that’s because that’s what Z thinks friends are for. Best friends.
Z shudders, feeling a sudden sob that doesn’t make sense as Tennessee shakes her head. Tennessee doesn’t react to Z’s blinking back of tears except to step forward, the heels of her shoes clicking slightly on the kitchen tile, cupping Z’s chin and kissing her.
Z kisses Tennessee back and it’s almost routine - they did this last time, after ex-boyfriend nearly broke Z’s face - just bittersweet warmth and the movement of Z’s raw and chapped lips against Tennessee’s butterscotch chap stick ones. Z likes the way that Tennessee kisses, maybe because it’s different than the way boys do it. Tennessee is so much softer, and she’s a lot more languid. Her lips actually make what seem to be pattern, like she actually enjoys kissing and isn’t just in it for afterwards.
Z tangles her fingers into Tennessee’s long hair, her other hand touching her back, kissing her more fiercely. It doesn’t last, because her entire body feels like it’s going to break as a sob cracks through her mouth, flooding into Tennessee. “Tenn,” she groans as the tears begin to slide down her cheeks, leaving tickling trails over her skin and under her chin. “Tenn, I’m so lonely.”
Tennessee pulls Z into her arms, tight and protective, pressing Z’s face into her shoulder. “I know,” Tennessee whispers, stroking Z’s short hair. They kiss again. Harder, this time.
--
Z’s mind is foggy when she wakes up. She stares at the ceiling and listens to Tennessee’s soft breathing beside her. She feels too warm, sweat making her bare skin stick to the sheets, but she can’t make herself move. She has an arm tucked under Tennessee, under her shoulder, and it’s almost like it belong there. So instead, she just sits and watches the ceiling and tries to breathe.
It’s odd, to an extent, because eventually Z’s circulation comes back and she can feel blood rushing to her head and all these alarms going off in her head that she’s fucking up again. Her heart rate increases but she doesn’t move. Her breathing doesn’t quicken. She doesn’t panic.
She tries to deal.
Z tilts her head and looks at Tennessee, her long hair splayed over the pillow and the bed, her pale eyes closed gently. She looks like a little angel, sleeping next to Z, and that’s kind of what she’s always been to Z (she knows that) - and it’s something she’s thought about, long and hard, but she’s never been able to come to the right conclusion. Something that makes sense.
Z strokes Tennessee’s cheek slowly with her spare hand, the other still gripping her around the shoulders. Tennessee doesn’t stir and Z begins to think. She thinks of all of the times Tennessee was just what she needed, the perfect constant in her life. How she’s always, every time, turned back to Tennessee - for advice, for compassion, for affection, for sympathy, for sex, for God knows, for every fucking little thing - and how Tennessee has always held her up.
Z bites her lip.
She kisses Tennessee in her sleep and slips out from under her. Tennessee rolls over, making a quiet noise in the back of her throat, but she doesn’t wake up. Z wants to kiss Tennessee again. Kiss her over and over. Tell her she’s the best thing that ever happened to Z.
But when Z looks up, sees her acoustic guitar leaning against the dresser on the other side of the room, lonely but waiting Z realizes something. Realizes that, while Tennessee has always seemed to be what she needed, Tennessee was just making up for what Z was missing. What Z was running from.
Z whispers, “I’m sorry,” and her voice cracks, unsure how to truly pronounce the words (they come out wrong and ragged, but it doesn’t matter - she doesn’t think Tennessee can hear her, anyway).
Z dresses quietly - clean underwear, a clean dress, a clean outlook - and then puts her guitar into the case. She shuts it as carefully as she can, looking back at Tennessee every couple of seconds to make sure she hasn’t woken her. Tennessee still doesn’t move. Z should have known - Tennessee’s always been a heavy sleeper.
Z knows she’s not leaving (not really). She’s just making the first decision for herself.
“Thanks, Tenn,” she murmurs and leaves her own house.
--
Z sits in her car in the parking lot of Ryan’s apartment building, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the clock for at least six minutes.
She tries to make herself believe that she’s just mustering up courage, but she knows that’s a lie. She’s nervous as hell and just - she doesn’t know what to do. In her head she has it all planned out, to each single step and movement and word, but when she tries to move it doesn’t work and when she really thinks about it, it seems pathetic and misguided.
She knows she’s not turning back (she can’t turn back now) so she just takes a breath.
“Now or never,” she tells herself, her voice husky and almost tired, and she gets out of her car. Closes the door. Stares at the brick building.
Z focuses hard on every step so she doesn’t concentrate on anything irrelevant or frightening and works her way to the elevator and up, down the hall.
She’s outside Ryan’s apartment before she can even really think about it. She stares at the door - it’s familiar to her, in a sense, with the number hanging over the eyehole. Ryan will look through it to see who it is and see Z near shaking and wonder What the fuck is she doing here? and then Z will cry.
Well. She thinks it could end up that way. But it’s not how she has it planned.
Z knocks. She notices her hand is shaking and shakes her head. She needs to get her shit together.
The moment she waits for Ryan feels like forever, but he does eventually open the door, and yes, he does look confused. “Z?” he asks, groggy - Z thinks maybe he just woke up because he rubs his left eye with his knuckle and blinks down at her. “What are you doing here?”
Z doesn’t know what time it is but she’s pretty sure she didn’t wake up that early so maybe Ryan just slept in. It doesn’t change the fact that now she feels like an idiot.
“I…wanted to talk to you,” she says slowly, composing herself. “And kind of apologize?”
Ryan raises an eyebrow but steps back. “Come in. You look shaken.”
Z huffs and shrugs her shoulder, stepping inside the apartment, which again has that strange familiar feeling. Ryan hasn’t cleaned since the last time she was over - she can tell by the used coffee mugs sitting by the dishwasher, the pair of jeans on the floor by the television. The little things - a used tissue in between the cushions on the couch, shoes gathering up near the door and strewn across the floor. She doesn’t know why though.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asks into the silence, and Z finally looks at him. She’s surprised to see that he doesn’t look suspicious or afraid - he’s not leaning away from her, but he’s not leaning into her - but simply, he looks honestly worried.
Z swallows.
“I’m a lot of things. I don’t know if okay is one of those.”
Ryan shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Are you saying something?” he asks, his voice suddenly hushed.
Z’s still holding her guitar. The guitar she had forgotten about, but had been her reason for coming here in the first place. That final push.
“I’m saying a lot of things,” Z responds tersely, setting the case down. She’s unsure if she should kneel besides it and take the guitar out first.
“You brought that for a reason,” Ryan says before she can make up her mind. She looks back up at him again.
“Yes.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath - it’s nice, it’s kind of like the stale air is escaping her lungs - before she begins to talk. Her voice is surprisingly steady for the way her heart and head are both going haywire.
“I slept with my best friend last night.” Eyes still closed, Z can feel Ryan tense. She thinks he’s going to say something so she waits a moment.
“And who would that be?”
Z smiles a little, recognizing the gentle hurt in his voice.
“Tenn. You know her. Tennessee. Jane. Bunny. Thomas. That’s her full name, something you probably didn’t know. She’s my beautiful best friend and she’s always, always been there for me. It’s kind of sickening, in all honesty, but I really do trust her. I garner all my sympathy from her. She’s protected me. Saved me, really.”
Ryan doesn’t say anything this time.
“It’s not the first time. Thus, it’s not the first time I’ve slept with a girl.” Z lifts her eyelids lazily (she’s gaining confidence) to see Ryan’s reaction on the outside. She smiles, a little weakly, because his shoulders are bunched up and he’s watching her warily. “If that surprises you, I’m sorry. It’s never really been a publicity issue, obviously. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Ryan smiles, just a little bit, at that. Z continues.
“It kind of snapped into place after that, this morning. I looked around and I felt empty - I was next to my best friend, the person I had dedicated myself to and who had dedicated herself to me, and yet I didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel the kind of love I wanted to feel. I know that’s selfish, but I know it’s wrong of me to make Tennessee deal with me all of the time, anyway.” Z chuckles a little, her voice rough. “And I’ve always loved music, I’ve loved playing and writing, and there was always something that…drew me in about it. I’m sure you know the feeling.”
Ryan is watching her with less wariness and more curiosity now. Z’s smile grows a little bigger, though her heart is still pounding. “I’m not a model, Ryan Ross.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Z laughs again, clearly. “Yes, you’ve told me that.”
“What do you want me to say? I can’t offer you anything but myself. I don’t even know if that’s what you want anymore…you’re a woman and it’s damned confusing the way your head works, I swear…”
Z laughs again, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She tries to stay calm when she wipes them away, but she’s sure Ryan sees anyway. “Yes, I am a woman, and yeah, I know, I’m confusing…” she admits, the words followed by a heavy sigh. “And yes, I want you.”
Ryan looks at Z, quizzical, and Z just shakes her head. “Do you…do you get what I’m getting at? Like, I don’t think even I do, but I’m trying, I’m really, really trying Ryan. It’s not fair to you, I know it’s not, and that’s why I’m so nervous, but I realized that she had done so much for me, Tennessee had, but what you had done affected me more over a shorter period of time and I just really like your voice and your fingers and your eyes and your smile and I think I might be kind of in love with you a little but I’m afraid to admit it? I don’t think I know what being in love means so I’m kind of fucked up, but I think you know that, if you’re okay with that than maybe we can make something out of it but…”
Z stops when Ryan presses his index finger against her lips. She stares up at him with wide eyes and he gives her a half smile.
Ryan says, “You have to stop tormenting yourself.”
Z nods.
“Will you let me help you stop tormenting yourself?”
Z swallows, and then nods. Her lips are burning where he’s touching her.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
He kisses her.
--
The way Z sees it, she has to give up all of the old things that made her life what she didn’t want. Ryan sees it another, more open minded way.
“Now you just have something to fall back on,” he explains, lacing his long fingers in hers. Z hesitates but then squeezes his hand, biting her lip. She leans forward and presses her forehead to his - Ryan meets her gaze with a quirk of an eyebrow and a tiny smile before pushing a little closer to kiss her. Z sighs. She still likes it a lot when Ryan kisses her.
“I don’t know if I want to model,” Z says, knowing it’s a stupid excuse. “Not anymore. But what the fuck else am I supposed to do for a living?”
Ryan grins, forehead still pressed against hers. “I have an idea. You need to play for me. Play me some of your songs…I feel like you could really get somewhere, musically. You have so much drive.”
Z snorts. “Are you being honest here…?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “I have no confidence in my musical ability…it was just for fun.”
Ryan tangles the hand that’s not entwined with Z’s through her short hair. “Maybe you just need someone to stand by you. I’m not suggesting you start a solo project or something…that’d probably be a bad idea, honestly…but like…a band…like…get together some friends? I don’t know. It’s something to think about, and I could definitely help you.”
Z smiles and laughs again, kissing Ryan. “I think that seems like it might be a good idea,” she admits, closing her eyes and letting out a heavy sigh, “but I’m pretty sure I still have a contract with my modeling agency and I have no idea how I’m going to get out of it.”
Ryan kisses her again (it’s something they’ve both grown very accustomed to - kisses, always, every day), smiling against her mouth as he adds, voice muffled, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
--
Z spends a couple of days thinking about what Ryan has said to her. She goes to a photo shoot that had been scheduled last month and feels nervous - she doesn’t do well and gets a lot of glares from her manager and the photographer - Greta talks to her afterwards, asking in a stern voice why she was so off. Z just shrugs, tells Greta it was a bad day.
It’s scary, because maybe leaving modeling means that Z has to leave Greta and Victoria and the other few wonderful people she’s met along the way. She doesn’t like the idea of that - of them not respecting her or feeling like she doesn’t respect them anymore, which just isn’t true.
Z finally confronts Tennessee, who, admittedly, she’d been avoiding since she had left that morning. She shows up at Tennessee’s apartment at about ten in the morning, shuffling and checking the laces on her boots nervously. When Tennessee opens the door, she loses her voice.
“Z?” Tennessee asks, blinking. “What are you doing here so early?”
Z doesn’t remember when Tennessee started being able to call ten in the morning early, so she ignores it - instead, she’s captivated by the fact that Tennessee is still wearing her pajamas, and how great she looks without lipstick.
“Uhm, I. I wanted to ask you something,” Z admits, not sure whether she should take a step forward or a step back. Before she has the chance to advance or step down, Tennessee takes her own step back, opening the door wider.
“Come in, Z.”
Z smiles, grateful, and enters the apartment. Tennessee’s a lot neater than Ryan and Z, something Z has always appreciated, and she doesn’t have clothes scattered all around or used coffee mugs waiting by the sink. Everything is in order, and that makes Z calm down a little, because it seems that some things can be made perfect.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Water? Something to drink?”
Z hesitates for a moment. “Yeah, coffee sounds good.”
Tennessee has always known how to make Z’s coffee, and Z’s always loved what she does with it, whatever it is…that she does.
They’re both quiet as Tennessee makes the coffee, and Z takes a seat at the tiny kitchen table, crossing her legs at the knee.
Tennessee sets down the mug of coffee in front of her and Z says a quiet, “Thank you,” as Tennessee sits across her with her own mug. Neither of them drink for a moment, both holding the mugs and waiting for the drink to cool down.
After about five minutes of silence, Tennessee asks, “What did you need to ask me?”
Z looks up at Tennessee, taking another sip of her coffee. It’s perfect, just as she knew it would be - Tennessee makes perfect coffee. “You’re my best friend,” Z begins softly, and Tennessee smiles a little, though she looks hurt. “I’m sorry for leaving you.” Z ducks her head.
Tennessee giggles. “Are you happy now, Z? Happy with your decision?”
“I…” she begins, biting her lip. She’s glad she’s not wearing lipstick - she’s not wearing any make-up at all. “I think I am. I talked to Ryan. He agreed. I…I want to quit modeling.”
Z looks up at Tennessee through her eyelashes, trying to read her reaction. Tennessee blinks a couple of times and then nods, swallowing.
“I can see why you’d do that,” she says, as if trying to keep her voice steady. “But you have a contract. And what will you do, anyway?”
Z shrugs but then shakes her head. “I know what I’d like to do. I guess. I’d like to…you know I’ve written music since we were teenagers, right? I mean. I have so much music. And. Ryan said he’d help, and he’d help me improve, and I know you play drums, Tenn, and I’d love if you…if you wanted to join me. And be in a band with me.”
Tennessee’s eyes widen with initial surprise and then her face splits into a grin. “Are you serious, Z? This is wonderful! I would love to! This is…this is fantastic. Are you sure? I mean, Ryan’s band…and wow, if we had a band do you think we could tour with them? That would be so fantastic, I can’t even imagine, and I love playing but I never get the chance…And oh, dear, I’m sorry, I’m babbling.” Tennessee giggles, high pitched and nervous, and Z can’t help the soft, warm smile on her mouth.
“You are babbling, but that’s okay. Thank you so much. Oh God, Tennessee, thank you so much.”
Z bites down hard on her lip as the tears before the roll down her cheeks, and her body shakes with sudden sobs.
Not soon after, Tennessee is crying too.
--
“What you really need to realize, Ms. Berg, is that you have a contract. A contract is a promise, and you have to keep to it, no matter what happens. Unless you’re dead, or seriously injured. We gave you enough leeway last year, and this was because you were seriously injured. Don’t tell me you’ve got another abusive boyfriend who won’t let you model.”
The man across from Z sneers, and she’s quite tempted to sit up and slap him, but she keeps her legs crossed at the knee and smiles at him, sickeningly sweet. “No, of course not. My boyfriend is anything but abusive, and it’s quite nice, actually - hopefully he won’t push me down the stairs this time, you know?”
The man stiffens and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough but not honest. “I’m just trying to get the point across. You have half a year left on your contract - you can’t just quit. There are agencies that are expecting you and planning on using you as a tool, and yeah, that sounds bad, but it’s true. They’ll surely sue, us and you.”
Z sighs. She doesn’t know if she can manage six more months of this. “Please?” she asks, giving the man her best sad puppy-dog face. He raises an eyebrow at her and she huffs, folding her arms over her chest. “Why can’t I just quit my job like a normal person?” she snaps. “What if I’m not good enough? Can I get myself fired by being a shitty model?”
The man across from her laughs. “It’d do shit for your rep, but you probably could. What, don’t show up for three shoots? I don’t know if that’s a good idea, my dear, but if you’re desperate.”
Z shrugs. “Pretty desperate,” she agrees. “Well, can I have my schedule?”
The man laughs, a lot more amused now, and nods. He hands her a small calendar book, and Z flips through it quickly - it lists off the next six months of already set up appointments and she grins.
Within the next two weeks, she’ll be out of a job.
--
“Oh, God, Tom, stop being such a pussy.” Z rolls her eyes at him through the phone and smiles at Ryan who is drawing patterns on her bare legs, slung over his lap. She pulls him in for a kiss, mostly ignoring Tom on the other end.
“Are you trying to get fired, for Christ’s sake, do you just really want to reschedule or what? We can’t do this without you, you’re the centerpiece, for God’s sake, you don’t think this looks bad for me?”
Z bites her lip and Ryan quirks an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Tom. You can put all of the blame on me, okay? It’s not your fault at all. I am trying to get fired, in fact, just so you know…please, don’t let them give you any heat, okay? Give them my home number, my cell number, they can do whatever.”
Tom huffs loudly on the other line. “Believe me, I will,” he growls darkly and Z laughs as they both hang up.
“This might end up more stressful than I had hoped. But I guess that’s what happens.” Z sighs and folds her legs, crawling over to Ryan and wrapping her arms around his waist. He squeezes her close and kisses her hair.
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
Z hums, pleased, and kisses his neck.
--
“I don’t know,” Laena says, strumming her bass slowly. “The Like? I mean, what does it mean? Is it a joke? Are we being sarcastic? I don’t get it.”
“It doesn’t matter, Laena,” Z scoffs, grinning at Tennessee who grins back at her. “We’re being sarcastic, we’re hilarious, come on, just go with it. At least it’s not something stupid, not really.”
Laena rolls her eyes but smiles. “I guess you’re right. So you have songs? What kind of songs are they?”
“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” Annie says with a tiny smile.
Z nods. “I have lots of songs.”
--
“I’m nervous,” Z admits, and Ryan smiles - he can tell by the way she’s twitching and wringing her hands together, twitching the ring on her right finger. “What if they hate us?”
“Hey,” Ryan says gently, kissing her once quick on the mouth. “They won’t hate you. They’ll love you. You have such a great, strong voice, and you are just such a great and beautiful group of girls. The crowd’s gonna be blown away. They’re gonna want you four to encore, fuck the Young Veins, those kids are shit…”
Ryan kisses her again, and Z can feel herself settling down, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “Okay,” she says against his lips before trailing her mouth over the stubble on his cheek. “Okay, I believe you.”
“Now go out there,” Ryan murmurs into her perfectly placed hair, “and rock those kids’ hearts and souls.”
Z laughs.
--
Z pulls off her guitar and Ryan thinks she’s going to throw up, but she just shoves it against his chest. He takes a breath of air, meaning to ask her what’s wrong, but then she lets out a long, shaky sob.
Laena shows up suddenly, touching Z’s elbow as she starts to cries. Ryan suddenly can’t find the ability to speak. “Z…” Laena murmurs, stroking her arm comfortingly - she glares up at Ryan as if he did this to her and he takes a step back, holding the guitar up as if in his own defense. Laena raises an eyebrow questioningly at him and he just shakes his head.
Z continues to cry quietly, her body quivering, and Tennessee and Annie both join her, flanking Laena. Tennessee looks the least concerned, simply wrapping her arm around Z’s shoulders and pressing the side of her face to her hair.
After a moment of sniffling, Z looks up, meeting Ryan’s worried gaze. She grins. “Thanks,” she says, licking her lips. “For making me do that.”
Laena and Annie both frown, obviously confused, and Tennessee just giggles, kissing Z’s hair and squeezing her shoulder. “That’s my girl,” Tennessee whispers, and Ryan is still bewildered.
“It felt good,” Z says, shrugging off Laena and Annie who step back. She’s grinning at Ryan now. “I feel more alive than I have in…in a while. It’s kind of amazing, uplifting - I’m like, having a revelation or something, and just…Well, thanks. For making me do this.”
She kisses him on the cheek, pushing herself on her toes, and Ryan’s reminded of the second night. He’s reminded of a lot of things.
Mostly he’s just reminded of the way Z smells and moves and rests her hands on his hips. She presses her face to his chest, and Ryan can kind of feel the wetness on her cheeks. He’s never seen her cry - never seen her like this - and he wraps his arms around her small body and he smiles. He smiles and he presses his face into her hair and murmurs, “You’re so very welcome.”
--
Z’s reputation is completely and utterly trashed. She ends up unplugging both her home phone and turning off her cell phone unless there’s a dire need for it, and for the most part, she stays at home. Ryan stays at home with her, usually driving and getting them groceries (they have both come to the realization that they are actually pigs, and when they were fighting over who would get the last chicken nugget of a McDonald’s meal they had shared, Z had burst into laughter (Ryan had followed shortly after, realizing just how ridiculous they were being) and they had agreed that they would need to shop well if he was going to stick around her place) but usually just dicking around at her place.
For the most part, Z doesn’t mind. Tennessee’s been visiting, at strange hours when no one expects her, and really, things are going quite well - Z ignores the trash in the magazines and spends her time with her legs and arms and hair sprawled out on Ryan’s lap, him touching her skin with his long fingers and making her feel like everything’s okay. Because really, it is.
Z has her head in Ryan’s lap, eyes closed, and they’re both just sitting quietly on the couch, Ryan carding his fingers through Z’s short blonde bob, the TV buzzing quietly (the news) in the background. Neither of them are paying attention.
Z smiles a little as Ryan traces his fingers over her jaw line before sighing and leaning down to kiss her - she only kisses back a little, just enough that he knows she knows.
“Thanks,” she murmurs when he sits back up a bit, still hovering over her face in his lap. Her eyes are half-lidded as she tangles her fingers through his curled hair, and she actually looks like she could fall asleep, smiling up at him and touching him. “For everything,” she continues, and her voice is soft, it’s got a dreamlike quality. Ryan just breathes. “You’ve done amazing things for me.”
“I…” Ryan starts when she doesn’t say anything. “You’ve done some great stuff for me, too, okay? Thank you.”
Z laughs, quick and short, and touches their noses together. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” she says, and it comes out as if she’s kind of assuring herself, not Ryan (and of course, she really would be the one who needs assurance), “okay?”
Ryan laughs and bumps their foreheads as he kisses her, light and barely on the corner of her mouth. Z giggles again, uncharacteristically, and Ryan threads his fingers (sort of) through her short hair.
“Yeah.”
And then she finally relaxes. She lets go, and the tensions sinks out of her body with a long, shaky sigh. She lies down against Ryan’s chest and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her hair and everything is just fine.
Art and Mix
She knocks on his apartment door and then crosses her arms over her chest. She feels self conscious and a little nervous.
When Ryan opens the door, he’s wearing a brilliant smile, dark blue jeans, and a paisley button up. None of these things surprise Z - instead, she feels a wash of comfort from seeing him so casual, right in front of her. It’s odd.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and his voice is almost breathy - Z would blush except it sounds stupid, so she just laughs.
“Thanks,” she murmurs as he steps back and she walks into his apartment. She looks around, and it smells like Ryan - a little clean, but almost a little rough (and she thinks that might be his cologne, but she’s not positive), but again, it makes a sort of soft comfort wash over her. She doesn’t feel nervous about being here anymore.
“You’ve been staying clean,” she says quietly, peeking into the kitchen. She turns and gives him a questioning smile pointing at the frozen, microwavable boxed dinner sitting on the counter. “Is that dinner? Lean Cuisine?”
Ryan laughs and walks past her, touching her shoulder as he moves into the kitchen and sticks the box back into the freezer. “Not unless you want it,” he says, looking up at her, “do you want to go out for dinner?”
She looks at him, her heart skipping a beat. She wants to roll her eyes at herself. “I…only if you do.”
A date. That would be nice.
Ryan grins. “I think I’d like that. Wait - did you bring any clothes?”
Z blinks at him like he’s crazy. “What?”
“You’re staying. For the weekend. Right? I thought that was the plan. Well, that’s what I meant.”
“I…don’t live far away,” she says, frowning. “Unless you have clothes I can borrow? I guess I can deal with sweats and oversized t-shirts, if you’ve got that, for the weekend. As long as you don’t expect me to look beautiful all weekend. I didn’t bring any make-up besides my eyeliner, which is always in my purse…”
She stops talking when Ryan presses a long finger over her lips. “Hey. You always look beautiful.”
She does blush this time.
--
They do end up going to dinner, and there’s a lot of small talk - again, it’s surprisingly comforting, and Z feels warm the whole time. Protected. And she knows she hasn’t felt that way in a while. In a long time.
“Do you play music?”
Z blinks when he asks the question. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem like you would. And like you’d have a great singing voice.”
“R-really?” Z asks, frowning. She had always been afraid of her own voice, and that’s why she had never played her music for anyone else. “I mean, I do, kind of. I can hit notes well enough. It’s not a big deal or anything, but I play a little guitar and shit like that…but I’m a model.” She says it like it’s something that could prevent her from playing, and that’s how she’s always seen it.
Ryan chuckles, pouring some of the wine into his glass. He lifts it to his lip and then picks up the bottle again. With a crooked grin, he asks, “You like some?”
Z eyes the bottle and looks back at her Sprite in her glass. “No,” she says, shaking her head. Ryan shrugs and drinks down the wine.
“Just because you’re a model doesn’t mean you can’t play music,” he states blatantly, something Z has thought about but never let herself really think about. “I mean, I’m beautiful but I still play music, you know?”
Z laughs, shaking her head. “I’m too busy. It’s a miracle that we both had time off at the same time. Especially a weekend. But on Monday it’s back to work. I just have to push myself.”
Ryan tilts his head. “You don’t. You really don’t.”
Z shakes her head, not liking where this conversation is headed. “I do have to work hard. If I don’t, people will think I have money and fame for nothing, and that just isn’t true. I worked fucking hard to get where I am, and I don’t want people telling me I’m shit because I give up some of the things that make my life difficult. I’m kind of…stuck up, especially about my appearance. It’s why I have so few friends.” Z shrugs, looking down at what’s left of her dinner. She knows she shouldn’t have eaten everything, or she should have gotten a smaller portion, but it’s hard to give a fuck.
“You seem very real to me, in case you didn’t know. Come on, Z, give yourself a chance.”
She laughs again, but she’s not amused. “Whatever, Ryan. You don’t know me, stop acting like you do.”
Ryan laughs, and he, on the other hand, is amused. “Why do you think I’m here?”
--
Ryan’s hand hovers at her waist in the parking lot of the restaurant. In the parking lot of his apartment building. In the elevator. Down the hall.
She lets him.
They step into his apartment and her heart is beating too fast. She turns, just barely, and his hand moves to compensate, resting on her shoulder. She looks at him for a moment and smiles a bit, and then she rises on her toes, kissing him on the mouth. He does the same thing he did last time she kissed him, after the show - his lips move just barely, kissing her back dryly for a moment, as they both adjust in each other’s arms.
Z wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him harder, bruising almost. She’s tired of playing this back and forth game, and right now, she just wants someone to hug and to kiss and to make her feel like she belongs somewhere. And Ryan, with his bony fingers on her cheeks and her neck and her waist, right now he’s perfect for that.
Neither of them whisper ‘I love you’ or say anything stupid - Ryan fumbles with the zipper on the side of her dress and Z yanks the buttons open of his shirt, spreading her hands over his chest carefully.
She bites her lip and looks at him. He mouths down to her, ‘You’re beautiful,’ and the blood flushes to her cheeks. She kisses his Adam’s apple and he swallows - she laughs against his skin and squirms her way out of the little pale dress she bought from the kids department. He hooks her leg around his and presses closer to her as she pushes his shirt off.
“Not so fast,” she murmurs with a small laugh, kissing his throat. “You need to be at least as naked as I am before anything gets good.”
Ryan laughs too, and again, it’s comfortable. He takes off his belt and she unbuttons his jeans.
“I have a bedroom,” Ryan states with his pants hanging around his hips. “If you’d rather go there?”
Z blinks. “Oh. Hey. That works.”
Pulling his pants back a little more comfortably, Ryan takes Z’s hand and leads her down the hall - she feels weird, following him in her bra and panties, but it’s kind of fun, thrilling, almost.
She doesn’t expect it, but he grabs her into another kiss, and this time they’re both kissing with tongue. He spins her around and drops her onto the bed and Z laughs again, her entire body shaking with it and nerves. Ryan crawls on top of her, his shoes kicked off and on the floor. She smiles as he unzips her boots, pulling them off as she lifts a leg to make it more comfortable. They land next to his shoes.
“You,” Ryan begins, kissing the skin of her neck, “are,” he continues down her chest, to the curve of her breasts, “beautiful.”
“I’m nothing special,” she murmurs, if only to hear him tell her she’s wrong.
“Liar,” he says, and it really does make her feel good - she giggles.
He kisses down her stomach and rests his hands on her hips. Z can feel her breath catching as he looks at her, his eyes wide and hungry. “I don’t wanna fuck you,” he says, and his voice is suddenly rough and low. Z shivers. “Not tonight.”
“Y-yeah?” she says back, and her voice just shakes.
Ryan smiles at her a little, positioned between her legs. He puts his hands on her knees and pushes her legs apart gently - she bites her lip and forces her thighs to relax to give him more room - before dipping his head down.
Z gasps when he presses his nose against the cotton of her panties - she knows she’s damp and he can probably smell her, and she twists her head, closing her eyes. “Turn off the light,” she manages, an actual sentence. Ryan chuckles and she knows that he has control over her now, but somehow she’s not afraid. He does as she asks.
He settles between her legs and leans down again, this time pressing his tongue against her. Z suppresses a shiver as he pushes his tongue against her clit through her panties, teasing her with the soft warmth.
“Fuck, Ryan,” she breathes out, reaching a hand out to tangle in his hair. Ryan breathes against her and moves one of his hands from her inner thigh, moving between her legs to move her panties to the right.
Z gasps, harder this time, when Ryan pushes his tongue against her, licking slow and deliberate against her clit before slipping his tongue inside. Z groans shamelessly and tightens her fingers in his hair - if he keeps this up, she’ll be coming wordlessly in about two minutes.
And he does continue, though he actually pulls her panties off, throwing them along with their shoes onto the floor. He focuses on pushing his tongue against her, almost painfully, but there’s still that jolt every time he adds pressure, licking from her opening up.
“God, Ryan, Ryan, don’t stop,” Z murmurs, throwing her head back and moaning again. “So fucking good,” she babbles as he fucks her endlessly with his tongue, only pausing when he can tell she’s close (he can tell because she starts shaking and her back arches just barely and she clenches just a bit) to pull back and kiss up and down her thighs. She whimpers, pathetically, every time he does this, even though it kind of adds to the thrill.
With his tongue inside, Ryan rubs the pad of his thumb over her clit, moving his tongue as he jerks his finger until she is quivering all over, her fingers tight in his hair and pushing him closer. “Fucking fuck, Ryan, Ryan, oh God,” she manages before her hips buck up and then fall, twitching again with him still rubbing her and licking at her, more gently now that she’s come.
Z stays on her back, catching her breath - her feet fall over the edge of the bed as Ryan rolls off of her and she opens her eyes to look at him, tiredly.
He gives her a meek smile. “Sorry,” he says as he shoves his hand into his underwear, “but that really turned me on.”
Z hums in agreement and just closes her eyes - she’s very tempted to help him, but every muscle in her body feels tingly, like it’s on fire, and Ryan is already cursing to himself and moaning quietly, so she figures he’ll be okay by himself.
When he drapes his arm around her, she laughs. “Don’t touch me if your hand is covered in your own cum, idiot,” she mumbles, rolling over so that her back is to him. Ryan chuckles and rolls over to spoon her, wriggling his other hand under her to hold her.
“Don’t worry, I cleaned it up.”
“I won’t even ask.”
--
Z wakes up with Ryan’s face in her neck and she smiles, feeling relaxed and kind of perfect. She rolls over so that she’s facing him in his arms, and they haven’t moved since they fell asleep. She kisses the corner of his mouth, and his lips are dry, but as if he senses her thoughts, he licks them in his sleep.
“Ryan,” Z murmurs, pulling a hand free of his heavy arms and touching his face. “Wake up, it’s Saturday,” she murmurs, and she kisses his cheek. “Wake up, darling,” she says, and he begins to stir. She wonders if that was too much.
“G’morning,” Ryan mumbles sleepily, and he grins like an idiot when he sees her. He kisses her and she kisses him back, both of them happy. “Well, my memories of last night are pretty vivid,” he murmurs against her lips before spreading open mouthed kisses over her face and neck.
“Hmmm, yeah, and I’m still awkwardly naked,” Z laughs, twisting so that her bra actually covers both of her tits. “God, I need a shower.”
“Shall I join you?” Ryan asks, but he’s teasing so Z just laughs instead of taking his offer seriously. Ryan rolls off of her and Z sits up, frowning.
“Fuck,” she mumbles, looking at her panties on the floor. “I don’t have any clean panties.”
“Mmm,” Ryan groans, stretching as he sits up. “Boxers are in the bottom drawer on the right. God knows what you’ll find, maybe something interesting?”
“Oh, really?” Z murmurs, not expecting a real answer as she stands and rummages through the drawer, picking out a pair of boxers that will, undoubtedly, not fit - but at least they’re just plaid and look clean. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes. Make coffee or breakfast or something.”
Ryan grumbles something about it not being a bed and breakfast, but Z just makes a soft ‘pfft’ noise, heading into the attached bathroom.
As she showers, she thinks of Ryan’s mouth and she thinks of Ryan’s face - his words and everything. She thinks about Ryan in general, about the sweet things he told her and the way he was gentle and actually seemed to care. She sighs and washes her hair with his shampoo and conditioner, and she wonders if she’ll smell as good as he does.
--
They spend the rest of the weekend cuddling on the couch and watching bad romantic comedies, some that Ryan owns and some that are playing on PayPer View and just television in general. Z doesn’t mind wearing Ryan’s oversized shirts and polos and sweatpants, and Ryan says she looks beautiful no matter what she wears.
She kind of loves that about him. He wraps an arm around her on the couch and kisses her forehead and says, “Your eyes are beautiful,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
But Z can’t help it.
She doesn’t think it will last.
--
On Sunday night they fuck again, and Z comes harder than she has in ages and Z’s pretty sure the entire apartment can hear Ryan’s moans.
She holds him afterwards and kisses him, biting at his lips and licking into his mouth, pushy and demanding for a girl who just fucked harder than she has in ages, but she’s already beginning to miss him. She whispers, after they kiss for almost five minutes straight, both of them with swollen lips and lost breath, “I’m going to miss you, I don’t want to go.”
Ryan twines his fingers into her hair and kisses her, softer. “You don’t have to,” he tells her, but she shakes her head.
“You’re wrong. It’ll all go back to the way it used to be. I have to work again. We probably won’t see each other much. But at least this time you’ll know I don’t hate you.”
Ryan’s grip tightens and he shakes his head. It’s almost one in the morning and Z has a photo shoot that starts tomorrow at ten. She needs to go home and get the right clothes. She should just leave now. It would be easier, in the long run.
“No, no,” he says, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. “I can’t lose you again.”
Z laughs. “We’re not anything special, you know. I’m not anything special. You’ll find another, more flexible girl, in no time.”
“Stop,” Ryan growls, and his voice is actually sort of menacing. “Shut up, I don’t - I can’t. Don’t do this to me, Z. I was just getting used to this, this greatness, this…getting to hold you and kiss you and love you, and I might…I might be falling in love with you.”
Z squirms, beginning to panic. “What are you lying to yourself for?” she hisses, pushing her hands against his chest. “I’m nothing to love, fuck, get off of me.”
Ryan’s grip just tightens, and Z’s seriously beginning to get scared. “Fuck if you think you’ll get away with this, I am so fucking sick of being used, Ross, you fucking know what happened to my last boyfriend and I’m not going to let myself be used without you getting your fucking -”
Ryan kisses her again and then lets go, rolling over.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is shot, dry and weak.
Z sits up. “Ry…?” she whispers, and her voice is shaking.
She asks herself, What? and even in her head it sounds wrong.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to love you. If you’re too scared to commit, though - I, I understand that. It’s rough. But…” Ryan twists his head to look at her. “I’m not your ex-boyfriend, Z. I would never hurt you. I just want to protect you so much that it hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” Z whispers, and she sits up, grabbing her pair of panties which are still on the floor, unwashed but unused for the past 48 hours. “I’m going home.”
She dresses in her used clothes and feels dirty and unwanted.
She cries as she drives home.
And she only gets a couple of hours of sleep, anyway.
She was better off just letting it go, but she never did that very well.
--
“What do you really want to do with your life?”
Z rolls her eyes but shrugs.
Greta laughs. She has a laugh similar to Tennessee’s - full, but kind of like sleigh bells, because her voice twinkles - and Greta reminds Z of Tennessee in a lot of ways, in that manner.
“Is this really what you expect to do for years to come?” Greta asks, gesturing at the set. “I mean, modeling is great and everything, it’s a great way to start, but I don’t want to be caught here when my face starts to sag and they expect me to get lots of plastic surgery. I’m not perfect, and I’ll have to deal with that…and that’s okay, whatever, you know? I just wonder what you have in mind. You play guitar, right? You can sing, I’m sure. You have such a lovely voice.”
Z bites her lip (still raw and sore from kissing Ryan) and then rubs them together, spreading the lipstick lingering around. The shoot is over but she’s not sure what she’s going to do when she goes home. “Thanks,” she finally says, tilting her head back. She sighs. “I don’t really know. I guess I’d like to play music, you’re right, I do play guitar. But no one wants to read about the model who went rock star, or some shit. That’s so boring, so cliché. No one cares.”
Greta shrugs. “Do you care?”
Z frowns.
“Because then, someone cares. And I care.”
Greta touches Z’s shoulder and squeezes. “You’re amazing, Z. I just wanted you to know that.”
Greta kisses Z lightly on the lips and leaves with a smile on her face.
Z hesitates and watches her go, touching her lips.
She wonders if Greta could taste Ryan, leftover and still lingering on her mouth.
--
“You didn’t!” Tennessee gasps, and Z blushes. “You left him? Oh my God, oh my Gawd, Z, you can’t just leave a boy all alone after you…how could you do that to him? Z, he said he loved you. He wanted to love you. Oh dear Lord, you poor darling, you’re still afraid, aren’t you?”
Z stares at her lap and Tennessee wraps her arms around her. “Oh, baby, oh, honey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Tennessee kisses her hair and hushes her with soft strokes against her arm. “I know you’re just frightened, but if he told you that he wanted to protect you, you should have let him. Z, honey, you can manage a relationship…you know that, right?”
Z is shaking now, holding back sobs.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
Tennessee kisses her hair again.
--
Z ends up playing a lot of guitar and singing a lot of sad music about broken hearts and hating yourself.
She eventually gets tired of singing, though, gets tired of her own voice and making her fingers all calloused.
She has way too much time on her hands.
So she just starts murmuring to herself.
--
Z is so tired. So tired and sore and lonely. She doesn’t know who to talk to, or what to talk to them about. She wants to talk - but she’s afraid to talk, and she honestly doesn’t know what she’d say. She’s called Tennessee, asked Tenn to tell her about her day, just to hear someone’s voice because she’s so sick of her own. Z calls her on a Saturday night when she’s sick of getting voicemails from Ryan that she doesn’t check (one a day, at exactly 9:27 P.M. on the dot, though Z can’t figure out why) or answer, when she just wants a distraction.
When Tennessee picks up the phone, it’s not with a chipper, “Hey Z, how are you?” knowing just what she needs and providing it. Instead, Tennessee answers in a sharp voice, “Can I come over?”
Z can’t say no to Tennessee, and though she’s surprised (she blinks at her cell phone and frowns before being able to come up with a proper answer), so she just says, “Of course.”
Tennessee doesn’t give her a proper good bye, instead just hanging up.
Baffled, Z sits on her couch and stares out the front window, and she waits.
--
Tennessee shows up, looking a lot less ruffled than she had sounded on the phone. Z lets her in with a half-smile, but Tennessee doesn’t return it. Z is beginning to freak out - she’s going to get a lecture, she’s sure of it - but Tennessee doesn’t say anything, not immediately, at least.
“Do - do you want something to drink?” Z asks as they both hover in the kitchen. She knows it’s a stupid question (if Tennessee really wanted something to drink she would have said something and already have gotten it herself) but she needs to fill the silence.
Tennessee looks up at Z. “You’ve needed me in the past,” Tennessee states, but her voice cracks - Z blinks again. “You’ve needed me before - do you need me now? That’s why I’m here. You won’t stop calling me. I don’t know what to do for you except this. Is this what you want? I don’t know. But if it is…”
Tennessee trails off, frowning and biting her lip, and Z’s breath catches. It’s true, when she thinks about it. She’s always used Tennessee as a crutch, for when she’s hurt. Always leaned on her shoulder. And maybe that’s because that’s what Z thinks friends are for. Best friends.
Z shudders, feeling a sudden sob that doesn’t make sense as Tennessee shakes her head. Tennessee doesn’t react to Z’s blinking back of tears except to step forward, the heels of her shoes clicking slightly on the kitchen tile, cupping Z’s chin and kissing her.
Z kisses Tennessee back and it’s almost routine - they did this last time, after ex-boyfriend nearly broke Z’s face - just bittersweet warmth and the movement of Z’s raw and chapped lips against Tennessee’s butterscotch chap stick ones. Z likes the way that Tennessee kisses, maybe because it’s different than the way boys do it. Tennessee is so much softer, and she’s a lot more languid. Her lips actually make what seem to be pattern, like she actually enjoys kissing and isn’t just in it for afterwards.
Z tangles her fingers into Tennessee’s long hair, her other hand touching her back, kissing her more fiercely. It doesn’t last, because her entire body feels like it’s going to break as a sob cracks through her mouth, flooding into Tennessee. “Tenn,” she groans as the tears begin to slide down her cheeks, leaving tickling trails over her skin and under her chin. “Tenn, I’m so lonely.”
Tennessee pulls Z into her arms, tight and protective, pressing Z’s face into her shoulder. “I know,” Tennessee whispers, stroking Z’s short hair. They kiss again. Harder, this time.
--
Z’s mind is foggy when she wakes up. She stares at the ceiling and listens to Tennessee’s soft breathing beside her. She feels too warm, sweat making her bare skin stick to the sheets, but she can’t make herself move. She has an arm tucked under Tennessee, under her shoulder, and it’s almost like it belong there. So instead, she just sits and watches the ceiling and tries to breathe.
It’s odd, to an extent, because eventually Z’s circulation comes back and she can feel blood rushing to her head and all these alarms going off in her head that she’s fucking up again. Her heart rate increases but she doesn’t move. Her breathing doesn’t quicken. She doesn’t panic.
She tries to deal.
Z tilts her head and looks at Tennessee, her long hair splayed over the pillow and the bed, her pale eyes closed gently. She looks like a little angel, sleeping next to Z, and that’s kind of what she’s always been to Z (she knows that) - and it’s something she’s thought about, long and hard, but she’s never been able to come to the right conclusion. Something that makes sense.
Z strokes Tennessee’s cheek slowly with her spare hand, the other still gripping her around the shoulders. Tennessee doesn’t stir and Z begins to think. She thinks of all of the times Tennessee was just what she needed, the perfect constant in her life. How she’s always, every time, turned back to Tennessee - for advice, for compassion, for affection, for sympathy, for sex, for God knows, for every fucking little thing - and how Tennessee has always held her up.
Z bites her lip.
She kisses Tennessee in her sleep and slips out from under her. Tennessee rolls over, making a quiet noise in the back of her throat, but she doesn’t wake up. Z wants to kiss Tennessee again. Kiss her over and over. Tell her she’s the best thing that ever happened to Z.
But when Z looks up, sees her acoustic guitar leaning against the dresser on the other side of the room, lonely but waiting Z realizes something. Realizes that, while Tennessee has always seemed to be what she needed, Tennessee was just making up for what Z was missing. What Z was running from.
Z whispers, “I’m sorry,” and her voice cracks, unsure how to truly pronounce the words (they come out wrong and ragged, but it doesn’t matter - she doesn’t think Tennessee can hear her, anyway).
Z dresses quietly - clean underwear, a clean dress, a clean outlook - and then puts her guitar into the case. She shuts it as carefully as she can, looking back at Tennessee every couple of seconds to make sure she hasn’t woken her. Tennessee still doesn’t move. Z should have known - Tennessee’s always been a heavy sleeper.
Z knows she’s not leaving (not really). She’s just making the first decision for herself.
“Thanks, Tenn,” she murmurs and leaves her own house.
--
Z sits in her car in the parking lot of Ryan’s apartment building, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the clock for at least six minutes.
She tries to make herself believe that she’s just mustering up courage, but she knows that’s a lie. She’s nervous as hell and just - she doesn’t know what to do. In her head she has it all planned out, to each single step and movement and word, but when she tries to move it doesn’t work and when she really thinks about it, it seems pathetic and misguided.
She knows she’s not turning back (she can’t turn back now) so she just takes a breath.
“Now or never,” she tells herself, her voice husky and almost tired, and she gets out of her car. Closes the door. Stares at the brick building.
Z focuses hard on every step so she doesn’t concentrate on anything irrelevant or frightening and works her way to the elevator and up, down the hall.
She’s outside Ryan’s apartment before she can even really think about it. She stares at the door - it’s familiar to her, in a sense, with the number hanging over the eyehole. Ryan will look through it to see who it is and see Z near shaking and wonder What the fuck is she doing here? and then Z will cry.
Well. She thinks it could end up that way. But it’s not how she has it planned.
Z knocks. She notices her hand is shaking and shakes her head. She needs to get her shit together.
The moment she waits for Ryan feels like forever, but he does eventually open the door, and yes, he does look confused. “Z?” he asks, groggy - Z thinks maybe he just woke up because he rubs his left eye with his knuckle and blinks down at her. “What are you doing here?”
Z doesn’t know what time it is but she’s pretty sure she didn’t wake up that early so maybe Ryan just slept in. It doesn’t change the fact that now she feels like an idiot.
“I…wanted to talk to you,” she says slowly, composing herself. “And kind of apologize?”
Ryan raises an eyebrow but steps back. “Come in. You look shaken.”
Z huffs and shrugs her shoulder, stepping inside the apartment, which again has that strange familiar feeling. Ryan hasn’t cleaned since the last time she was over - she can tell by the used coffee mugs sitting by the dishwasher, the pair of jeans on the floor by the television. The little things - a used tissue in between the cushions on the couch, shoes gathering up near the door and strewn across the floor. She doesn’t know why though.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asks into the silence, and Z finally looks at him. She’s surprised to see that he doesn’t look suspicious or afraid - he’s not leaning away from her, but he’s not leaning into her - but simply, he looks honestly worried.
Z swallows.
“I’m a lot of things. I don’t know if okay is one of those.”
Ryan shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Are you saying something?” he asks, his voice suddenly hushed.
Z’s still holding her guitar. The guitar she had forgotten about, but had been her reason for coming here in the first place. That final push.
“I’m saying a lot of things,” Z responds tersely, setting the case down. She’s unsure if she should kneel besides it and take the guitar out first.
“You brought that for a reason,” Ryan says before she can make up her mind. She looks back up at him again.
“Yes.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath - it’s nice, it’s kind of like the stale air is escaping her lungs - before she begins to talk. Her voice is surprisingly steady for the way her heart and head are both going haywire.
“I slept with my best friend last night.” Eyes still closed, Z can feel Ryan tense. She thinks he’s going to say something so she waits a moment.
“And who would that be?”
Z smiles a little, recognizing the gentle hurt in his voice.
“Tenn. You know her. Tennessee. Jane. Bunny. Thomas. That’s her full name, something you probably didn’t know. She’s my beautiful best friend and she’s always, always been there for me. It’s kind of sickening, in all honesty, but I really do trust her. I garner all my sympathy from her. She’s protected me. Saved me, really.”
Ryan doesn’t say anything this time.
“It’s not the first time. Thus, it’s not the first time I’ve slept with a girl.” Z lifts her eyelids lazily (she’s gaining confidence) to see Ryan’s reaction on the outside. She smiles, a little weakly, because his shoulders are bunched up and he’s watching her warily. “If that surprises you, I’m sorry. It’s never really been a publicity issue, obviously. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Ryan smiles, just a little bit, at that. Z continues.
“It kind of snapped into place after that, this morning. I looked around and I felt empty - I was next to my best friend, the person I had dedicated myself to and who had dedicated herself to me, and yet I didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel the kind of love I wanted to feel. I know that’s selfish, but I know it’s wrong of me to make Tennessee deal with me all of the time, anyway.” Z chuckles a little, her voice rough. “And I’ve always loved music, I’ve loved playing and writing, and there was always something that…drew me in about it. I’m sure you know the feeling.”
Ryan is watching her with less wariness and more curiosity now. Z’s smile grows a little bigger, though her heart is still pounding. “I’m not a model, Ryan Ross.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Z laughs again, clearly. “Yes, you’ve told me that.”
“What do you want me to say? I can’t offer you anything but myself. I don’t even know if that’s what you want anymore…you’re a woman and it’s damned confusing the way your head works, I swear…”
Z laughs again, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She tries to stay calm when she wipes them away, but she’s sure Ryan sees anyway. “Yes, I am a woman, and yeah, I know, I’m confusing…” she admits, the words followed by a heavy sigh. “And yes, I want you.”
Ryan looks at Z, quizzical, and Z just shakes her head. “Do you…do you get what I’m getting at? Like, I don’t think even I do, but I’m trying, I’m really, really trying Ryan. It’s not fair to you, I know it’s not, and that’s why I’m so nervous, but I realized that she had done so much for me, Tennessee had, but what you had done affected me more over a shorter period of time and I just really like your voice and your fingers and your eyes and your smile and I think I might be kind of in love with you a little but I’m afraid to admit it? I don’t think I know what being in love means so I’m kind of fucked up, but I think you know that, if you’re okay with that than maybe we can make something out of it but…”
Z stops when Ryan presses his index finger against her lips. She stares up at him with wide eyes and he gives her a half smile.
Ryan says, “You have to stop tormenting yourself.”
Z nods.
“Will you let me help you stop tormenting yourself?”
Z swallows, and then nods. Her lips are burning where he’s touching her.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
He kisses her.
--
The way Z sees it, she has to give up all of the old things that made her life what she didn’t want. Ryan sees it another, more open minded way.
“Now you just have something to fall back on,” he explains, lacing his long fingers in hers. Z hesitates but then squeezes his hand, biting her lip. She leans forward and presses her forehead to his - Ryan meets her gaze with a quirk of an eyebrow and a tiny smile before pushing a little closer to kiss her. Z sighs. She still likes it a lot when Ryan kisses her.
“I don’t know if I want to model,” Z says, knowing it’s a stupid excuse. “Not anymore. But what the fuck else am I supposed to do for a living?”
Ryan grins, forehead still pressed against hers. “I have an idea. You need to play for me. Play me some of your songs…I feel like you could really get somewhere, musically. You have so much drive.”
Z snorts. “Are you being honest here…?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “I have no confidence in my musical ability…it was just for fun.”
Ryan tangles the hand that’s not entwined with Z’s through her short hair. “Maybe you just need someone to stand by you. I’m not suggesting you start a solo project or something…that’d probably be a bad idea, honestly…but like…a band…like…get together some friends? I don’t know. It’s something to think about, and I could definitely help you.”
Z smiles and laughs again, kissing Ryan. “I think that seems like it might be a good idea,” she admits, closing her eyes and letting out a heavy sigh, “but I’m pretty sure I still have a contract with my modeling agency and I have no idea how I’m going to get out of it.”
Ryan kisses her again (it’s something they’ve both grown very accustomed to - kisses, always, every day), smiling against her mouth as he adds, voice muffled, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
--
Z spends a couple of days thinking about what Ryan has said to her. She goes to a photo shoot that had been scheduled last month and feels nervous - she doesn’t do well and gets a lot of glares from her manager and the photographer - Greta talks to her afterwards, asking in a stern voice why she was so off. Z just shrugs, tells Greta it was a bad day.
It’s scary, because maybe leaving modeling means that Z has to leave Greta and Victoria and the other few wonderful people she’s met along the way. She doesn’t like the idea of that - of them not respecting her or feeling like she doesn’t respect them anymore, which just isn’t true.
Z finally confronts Tennessee, who, admittedly, she’d been avoiding since she had left that morning. She shows up at Tennessee’s apartment at about ten in the morning, shuffling and checking the laces on her boots nervously. When Tennessee opens the door, she loses her voice.
“Z?” Tennessee asks, blinking. “What are you doing here so early?”
Z doesn’t remember when Tennessee started being able to call ten in the morning early, so she ignores it - instead, she’s captivated by the fact that Tennessee is still wearing her pajamas, and how great she looks without lipstick.
“Uhm, I. I wanted to ask you something,” Z admits, not sure whether she should take a step forward or a step back. Before she has the chance to advance or step down, Tennessee takes her own step back, opening the door wider.
“Come in, Z.”
Z smiles, grateful, and enters the apartment. Tennessee’s a lot neater than Ryan and Z, something Z has always appreciated, and she doesn’t have clothes scattered all around or used coffee mugs waiting by the sink. Everything is in order, and that makes Z calm down a little, because it seems that some things can be made perfect.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Water? Something to drink?”
Z hesitates for a moment. “Yeah, coffee sounds good.”
Tennessee has always known how to make Z’s coffee, and Z’s always loved what she does with it, whatever it is…that she does.
They’re both quiet as Tennessee makes the coffee, and Z takes a seat at the tiny kitchen table, crossing her legs at the knee.
Tennessee sets down the mug of coffee in front of her and Z says a quiet, “Thank you,” as Tennessee sits across her with her own mug. Neither of them drink for a moment, both holding the mugs and waiting for the drink to cool down.
After about five minutes of silence, Tennessee asks, “What did you need to ask me?”
Z looks up at Tennessee, taking another sip of her coffee. It’s perfect, just as she knew it would be - Tennessee makes perfect coffee. “You’re my best friend,” Z begins softly, and Tennessee smiles a little, though she looks hurt. “I’m sorry for leaving you.” Z ducks her head.
Tennessee giggles. “Are you happy now, Z? Happy with your decision?”
“I…” she begins, biting her lip. She’s glad she’s not wearing lipstick - she’s not wearing any make-up at all. “I think I am. I talked to Ryan. He agreed. I…I want to quit modeling.”
Z looks up at Tennessee through her eyelashes, trying to read her reaction. Tennessee blinks a couple of times and then nods, swallowing.
“I can see why you’d do that,” she says, as if trying to keep her voice steady. “But you have a contract. And what will you do, anyway?”
Z shrugs but then shakes her head. “I know what I’d like to do. I guess. I’d like to…you know I’ve written music since we were teenagers, right? I mean. I have so much music. And. Ryan said he’d help, and he’d help me improve, and I know you play drums, Tenn, and I’d love if you…if you wanted to join me. And be in a band with me.”
Tennessee’s eyes widen with initial surprise and then her face splits into a grin. “Are you serious, Z? This is wonderful! I would love to! This is…this is fantastic. Are you sure? I mean, Ryan’s band…and wow, if we had a band do you think we could tour with them? That would be so fantastic, I can’t even imagine, and I love playing but I never get the chance…And oh, dear, I’m sorry, I’m babbling.” Tennessee giggles, high pitched and nervous, and Z can’t help the soft, warm smile on her mouth.
“You are babbling, but that’s okay. Thank you so much. Oh God, Tennessee, thank you so much.”
Z bites down hard on her lip as the tears before the roll down her cheeks, and her body shakes with sudden sobs.
Not soon after, Tennessee is crying too.
--
“What you really need to realize, Ms. Berg, is that you have a contract. A contract is a promise, and you have to keep to it, no matter what happens. Unless you’re dead, or seriously injured. We gave you enough leeway last year, and this was because you were seriously injured. Don’t tell me you’ve got another abusive boyfriend who won’t let you model.”
The man across from Z sneers, and she’s quite tempted to sit up and slap him, but she keeps her legs crossed at the knee and smiles at him, sickeningly sweet. “No, of course not. My boyfriend is anything but abusive, and it’s quite nice, actually - hopefully he won’t push me down the stairs this time, you know?”
The man stiffens and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough but not honest. “I’m just trying to get the point across. You have half a year left on your contract - you can’t just quit. There are agencies that are expecting you and planning on using you as a tool, and yeah, that sounds bad, but it’s true. They’ll surely sue, us and you.”
Z sighs. She doesn’t know if she can manage six more months of this. “Please?” she asks, giving the man her best sad puppy-dog face. He raises an eyebrow at her and she huffs, folding her arms over her chest. “Why can’t I just quit my job like a normal person?” she snaps. “What if I’m not good enough? Can I get myself fired by being a shitty model?”
The man across from her laughs. “It’d do shit for your rep, but you probably could. What, don’t show up for three shoots? I don’t know if that’s a good idea, my dear, but if you’re desperate.”
Z shrugs. “Pretty desperate,” she agrees. “Well, can I have my schedule?”
The man laughs, a lot more amused now, and nods. He hands her a small calendar book, and Z flips through it quickly - it lists off the next six months of already set up appointments and she grins.
Within the next two weeks, she’ll be out of a job.
--
“Oh, God, Tom, stop being such a pussy.” Z rolls her eyes at him through the phone and smiles at Ryan who is drawing patterns on her bare legs, slung over his lap. She pulls him in for a kiss, mostly ignoring Tom on the other end.
“Are you trying to get fired, for Christ’s sake, do you just really want to reschedule or what? We can’t do this without you, you’re the centerpiece, for God’s sake, you don’t think this looks bad for me?”
Z bites her lip and Ryan quirks an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Tom. You can put all of the blame on me, okay? It’s not your fault at all. I am trying to get fired, in fact, just so you know…please, don’t let them give you any heat, okay? Give them my home number, my cell number, they can do whatever.”
Tom huffs loudly on the other line. “Believe me, I will,” he growls darkly and Z laughs as they both hang up.
“This might end up more stressful than I had hoped. But I guess that’s what happens.” Z sighs and folds her legs, crawling over to Ryan and wrapping her arms around his waist. He squeezes her close and kisses her hair.
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
Z hums, pleased, and kisses his neck.
--
“I don’t know,” Laena says, strumming her bass slowly. “The Like? I mean, what does it mean? Is it a joke? Are we being sarcastic? I don’t get it.”
“It doesn’t matter, Laena,” Z scoffs, grinning at Tennessee who grins back at her. “We’re being sarcastic, we’re hilarious, come on, just go with it. At least it’s not something stupid, not really.”
Laena rolls her eyes but smiles. “I guess you’re right. So you have songs? What kind of songs are they?”
“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” Annie says with a tiny smile.
Z nods. “I have lots of songs.”
--
“I’m nervous,” Z admits, and Ryan smiles - he can tell by the way she’s twitching and wringing her hands together, twitching the ring on her right finger. “What if they hate us?”
“Hey,” Ryan says gently, kissing her once quick on the mouth. “They won’t hate you. They’ll love you. You have such a great, strong voice, and you are just such a great and beautiful group of girls. The crowd’s gonna be blown away. They’re gonna want you four to encore, fuck the Young Veins, those kids are shit…”
Ryan kisses her again, and Z can feel herself settling down, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “Okay,” she says against his lips before trailing her mouth over the stubble on his cheek. “Okay, I believe you.”
“Now go out there,” Ryan murmurs into her perfectly placed hair, “and rock those kids’ hearts and souls.”
Z laughs.
--
Z pulls off her guitar and Ryan thinks she’s going to throw up, but she just shoves it against his chest. He takes a breath of air, meaning to ask her what’s wrong, but then she lets out a long, shaky sob.
Laena shows up suddenly, touching Z’s elbow as she starts to cries. Ryan suddenly can’t find the ability to speak. “Z…” Laena murmurs, stroking her arm comfortingly - she glares up at Ryan as if he did this to her and he takes a step back, holding the guitar up as if in his own defense. Laena raises an eyebrow questioningly at him and he just shakes his head.
Z continues to cry quietly, her body quivering, and Tennessee and Annie both join her, flanking Laena. Tennessee looks the least concerned, simply wrapping her arm around Z’s shoulders and pressing the side of her face to her hair.
After a moment of sniffling, Z looks up, meeting Ryan’s worried gaze. She grins. “Thanks,” she says, licking her lips. “For making me do that.”
Laena and Annie both frown, obviously confused, and Tennessee just giggles, kissing Z’s hair and squeezing her shoulder. “That’s my girl,” Tennessee whispers, and Ryan is still bewildered.
“It felt good,” Z says, shrugging off Laena and Annie who step back. She’s grinning at Ryan now. “I feel more alive than I have in…in a while. It’s kind of amazing, uplifting - I’m like, having a revelation or something, and just…Well, thanks. For making me do this.”
She kisses him on the cheek, pushing herself on her toes, and Ryan’s reminded of the second night. He’s reminded of a lot of things.
Mostly he’s just reminded of the way Z smells and moves and rests her hands on his hips. She presses her face to his chest, and Ryan can kind of feel the wetness on her cheeks. He’s never seen her cry - never seen her like this - and he wraps his arms around her small body and he smiles. He smiles and he presses his face into her hair and murmurs, “You’re so very welcome.”
--
Z’s reputation is completely and utterly trashed. She ends up unplugging both her home phone and turning off her cell phone unless there’s a dire need for it, and for the most part, she stays at home. Ryan stays at home with her, usually driving and getting them groceries (they have both come to the realization that they are actually pigs, and when they were fighting over who would get the last chicken nugget of a McDonald’s meal they had shared, Z had burst into laughter (Ryan had followed shortly after, realizing just how ridiculous they were being) and they had agreed that they would need to shop well if he was going to stick around her place) but usually just dicking around at her place.
For the most part, Z doesn’t mind. Tennessee’s been visiting, at strange hours when no one expects her, and really, things are going quite well - Z ignores the trash in the magazines and spends her time with her legs and arms and hair sprawled out on Ryan’s lap, him touching her skin with his long fingers and making her feel like everything’s okay. Because really, it is.
Z has her head in Ryan’s lap, eyes closed, and they’re both just sitting quietly on the couch, Ryan carding his fingers through Z’s short blonde bob, the TV buzzing quietly (the news) in the background. Neither of them are paying attention.
Z smiles a little as Ryan traces his fingers over her jaw line before sighing and leaning down to kiss her - she only kisses back a little, just enough that he knows she knows.
“Thanks,” she murmurs when he sits back up a bit, still hovering over her face in his lap. Her eyes are half-lidded as she tangles her fingers through his curled hair, and she actually looks like she could fall asleep, smiling up at him and touching him. “For everything,” she continues, and her voice is soft, it’s got a dreamlike quality. Ryan just breathes. “You’ve done amazing things for me.”
“I…” Ryan starts when she doesn’t say anything. “You’ve done some great stuff for me, too, okay? Thank you.”
Z laughs, quick and short, and touches their noses together. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” she says, and it comes out as if she’s kind of assuring herself, not Ryan (and of course, she really would be the one who needs assurance), “okay?”
Ryan laughs and bumps their foreheads as he kisses her, light and barely on the corner of her mouth. Z giggles again, uncharacteristically, and Ryan threads his fingers (sort of) through her short hair.
“Yeah.”
And then she finally relaxes. She lets go, and the tensions sinks out of her body with a long, shaky sigh. She lies down against Ryan’s chest and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her hair and everything is just fine.
Art and Mix