Closer, a zoey 101 fanfic

'If you believe in love at first sight, then you never stop looking.'

He meets her for a second time (and it's just a coincidence) when she sits across from him at dinner. It's one of those special dinners where all of the office welcomes a new employee, talks to them for the night, and then ignores you for the rest of your unsuccessful career. He knows this; he had one last year. His boss welcomes the newcomer (and somehow that name seems familiar), but he doesn't look up from his empty plate; he's too busy trying to make his phone vibrate and make her name pop up on the screen (even though it was probably for the best because he's still angry and she still lied).

He's at the front of the table, and out of the corner of his eye he can see glittery and golden sequins on a dress, and small, brown hands that clutch a little red purse. Finally, everyone claps and he follows, and then the chair across of him moves and screeches, and now he's got the company he's been craving (after all, misery loves him).

'Well, hello. Long time no see, huh?' He looks up at a strangely familiar face, and smiles (even though all he really wants to do is throw a plate at the wall and go home and cry).

'Wow, fancy meeting you here. You're looking very…nice.' he says. He internally cringes at how lame and insincere that sounded, because really, she looks very pretty. Actually, more like gorgeous. But currently, he's having trouble even trying to talk because all he can think about is hands and blonde hair and moans and being sixteen and in love (liar, liar, pants on fire).

'Same for you.' she says, raising her eyebrows. 'So, where's the missis?' she asks, taking a sip of her champagne. He frowns, and instinctively brings a hand to his phone pocket (even though he's still angry about what she said and she's a liar and he's heartbroken. Again).

'I don't know, seeing she won't call me back.' he says. 'We broke up three days ago, by the way. Thanks for asking.' he says, giving her a grim smile. He leans his arms against the table, making them take most of his weight. He pretty much hasn't slept since then, and he's so goddamn tired.

'How very déjà vu.' she replies. He didn't even tell her who it was, and she's still able to guess. Is he really that fucking predictable? 'Well, at least that explains your second glass of champagne in the last two minutes.' He looks at the golden coloured liquid in his glass, sparkling and glittering in the light.

'Hey, it's French. I don't want it to go to waste.' he replies. She smiles a little at this, and it only breaks his heart a little more (because she used to shine and sparkle too, and she always had the most entrancing smile).

'To the recently broken hearted.' she says, holding out her glass. He can see the fingerprints and scratches and all the other little imperfections on the crystal as he holds his out too, smiling at her as the glasses clink together.

Later that night, he takes her back to his apartment kisses her. It's probably the alcohol and it's probably the fact that she reminds him of Zoey, but it almost feels second nature to him as he presses her body against the wall and lets his hands run up her thigh. So he sleeps with her anyway, and for the first time in three days, he's actually able to sleep in his own bed.

Two weeks later, he's back with Zoey because they both love each other very, very much and need each other to live (because Valentine's Day can get ever so lonely when you're on your own). So in the morning, she hugs and kisses him goodbye and he does the same because, after all, they're a couple and they're not going to mess with the rules.

He walks into the office and is all smiles, because what's the point of being happy if you can't show it? He gets a couple of knowing looks, and even a couple of hi-fives, because yes, he did just get laid. When he gets to his desk, he finally puts the photo-frame the right way up, after it had been laid flat against his desk for the past couple of weeks. It's a photo of him and Zoey, from when they were seventeen, kissing, and he can't help but smile at it (because thank-god someone has photographic proof that it actually happened).

'Oh, back with the missis, then?' says a voice behind him. He turns around and sees her with a cup of coffee in her hand, and for a moment he's able to fool himself into being sixteen again and completely in denial (because that was such a happy place). He smiles widely, and then nods. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head (when really, everyone's supposed to be disapproving her). She then sits down at her desk, which is right across from him.

'Why don't you just marry her? You'd probably break up less, seeing as you'd have to get a divorce to make it official.' she says, staring at the computer screen.

'Well, exactly, isn't that the point?' he asks, still looking at her. 'And I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you making remarks about my personal life.' he adds.

'Well, as you know, I have always been rude.' she says. 'And why are you fine with everyone else in the office knowing?'

'What other people? Only about three people know, and all they know about is that I'm getting laid. Don't ask me how they know, they can just tell. All men can.' he replies. She snorts at that.

'So basically, everyone male knows that you're back with Zoey, and that's because it's from a sexual point of view.' she asks. He nods his reply. She then rolls her eyes and pushes back against her desk, pulling her chair out. 'And no one who has actually had sex with you can make a comment?' she asks, facing him. He blushes and turns back to his computer.

'I find that statement irrelevant.' he says (because the past in the present hold's nothing over him).

'And it would be, too. If you hadn't fucked me again two weeks ago.' she says, stretching. 'Anyways, I win the argument. So, marry Zoey, get a divorce, and be happily bitter after.'

'That's a horrible idea, who would do that?' he asks.

'I did it.'

'Ok for one, I'm not entirely surprised. Secondly, you're twenty-four; isn't that a bit young?' he asks her, looking away from his computer screen and right at her.

'Wow, and you're the guy we were all betting on to propose right after graduation.' she replies. 'And yes I was young, that's the point. Anyway, it was fine for a couple of months, and then he dumped me.'

'I wonder why.' Chase replies. Gretchen just sticks her tongue out at him and returns to work. 'Always the charmer.' he mutters (but he smirks in spite of it).

He's not actually quite sure how it starts after that. All he knows is that his and Gretchen's conversations get a little more playful and a little more flirtatious, and that he starts to notice just how low-cut her blouses are, and just how short her skirts can get. But this is just an observation, and it doesn't mean anything at all (because he can deal with the pressure and words echo in his head and taunt him with their truth).

One month after Gretchen has been back (he finds it odd how he used to count the number of days when Zoey was away, rather than how long he'd been with Gretchen), he finds Zoey asleep on the couch. Her hair is messy and the brown highlights are fading, but it just reminds him of when they first met. The lip gloss that tastes like strawberries is slightly smeared across her lips, and the light bit of eye shadow she put on isn't as neat as the day before, but he hasn't seen Zoey this beautiful in a long time.

He notices a photo frame close to her chest, and isn't very surprised to see which photo it is. It's of the whole gang, including Dustin, after their graduation. Zoey's arm is wrapped around Dustin's shoulders and Chase's arm is around her waist. The rest of the gang are around them, and it's all smiles and hopeful futures, and an untouchable fantasy. He presses his lips to her forehead, and takes the photo frame and puts it on the table.

Ten minutes later when he's eating breakfast, she wakes up. She gets up and looks around, giving him a small smile. The light from the open window spreads across her face, revealing the large circles under her eyes and the little wrinkles around her mouth from smiling and frowning. She looks so much older and sadder than she did in that photo, and suddenly he doesn't feel very hungry anymore. He excuses himself to go and get changed, but she's still just looking at the photo on the table.

He leaves for work after that, but this time they just say goodbye and wave to each other.

In the past month, he's discovered that Gretchen has learnt some people skills (and this is just more proof that things do change). She can actually be civil when she needs to be (though he really wishes there could be more of those situations), and she's not dismissive of everyone…well, at least she'll do it silently. She even has a bit of a sense of humour, which is a definite change from when they were sixteen.

When he walks in, he sees her with another co-worker, and for the first time, he actually sees her laugh. He's not even sure if it's fake. Her eyes are sparkling like the sea, and the morning sun is casting a halo around her head. The co-worker makes another joke and she throws her head back and laughs, showing the silhouette of her neck (and he really, really hopes that it's fake). Suddenly, the image of Zoey sleeping isn't the best thing he's seen all morning, it's Gretchen (and that thought manages to scare the hell out of him). The co-worker then leaves, and Chase then starts to walk towards his desk again (he hadn't even realised his feet had stopped moving).

'What the hell was so funny?' he asks. His voice sounds sharp, and he can see a moment of hurt and surprise in her face, which in then covered up.

'Well I don't know, you're face for starters.' she shoots back.

'Wow, how very, very original.' he replies. He has no idea why he just did that, but he's not sure that he feels bad about it either. Not justified, just not guilty (and he's been feeling guilty for such a long time now, he barely knows the meaning of innocent).

'Well, if you must know, that was George and he knows my brother. He actually went on canoe camp with him.' Gretchen says, her arms folded over her chest. He stops just short of his chair from this, wanting to laugh at the irony and absurdness of it.

'I never knew you had a brother.' he says. 'Oh well. And seeing as I want to burst out laughing at the words, "canoe camp", I can see why even you would fine that humorous.' He sits down on his chair, only to feel a slap against the back of his head five seconds later.

'Thank you for that.' he says, rubbing the back of his head.

'My pleasure.' says Gretchen.

'So, basically, Dustin is so scared of that movie, that he wants to go back home?' he says, walking side by side with Zoey.

'Yeah, pretty much.'

'Wow. Zo, I'm really sorry for letting him watch that movie. I didn't think it would be that scary, or that it would leave him traumatised for life.' he says, frowning. 'Any more slaps to the back of my head would be justified. Just putting that out there.' She smiles a little at this, but that quickly fades.

'It's ok. After all, it's not entirely your fault. It's just, I don't want him to leave; I'd miss him too much.' Zoey says, looking down at the ground and biting her lip. 'What about if my parents say yes to him going home?'

'Zo, he probably won't even ask them. Even if he did leave, he'd be back within four days because he missed you so much.' he replies, nudging her shoulder gently with his own. 'He loves you too.' At this, Zoey hugs him and it makes his heart flutter, even though he doesn't love her anymore. Promise.

'Thanks, Chase.' she says into his chest. And before he knows it, the vulnerable side of Zoey has disappeared, and now she's filled with hope and strength. He knows it sounds corny, but that's what he loves about her (but not in that way, of course).

He works late that night. Of course, there's papers and files to read and write, and he needs to finish it because it's due soon. Well, this is at least what he tells Zoey (all liars are lovers, it's in the contract). The unfortunate thing is, Gretchen also works late-and yes, Michael and Logan, you were right. She is the most annoying person in the world.

'Could you please stop tapping the desk for one minute?' he asks, glaring over at her. Her face is illuminated by the white screen of the computer, giving her an almost supernatural glow. It's a stark contrast to the dark sky and blurred, twinkling lights outside. Turning to look at him, her eyes stand out from all of the landscape (and oh, he's fucked).

'It helps me think. We've been over this.' she states stiffly. 'And do you really have to yell at me about something every five seconds?'

'Get back to work.' he says, turning to look at his computer screen again. He can hear her reply of, 'you're not my freakin' boss', but he doesn't have the time or energy to fight back. He can smell smoke in the room, and looks again to see Gretchen smoking (and he doesn't even know why the fuck he's surprised).

'You are the grossest person I've ever met.' he says, and he can see Logan and Michael talking with him in his dorm room and him denying that exact statement (oh, the hypocrisy, it always comes back).

'Oh, fuck off.' Gretchen says. 'Just because you and you're pretty little girlfriend continue to live in this perfect fantasy-'

'Don't talk about Zoey.' he mutters (because she's too good for both of them). His head is in his hands, and he's just sogoddamntired that he just wants to go to sleep and never ever, wake up. 'I get the point, Gretchen. You're annoying, you're gross and you're a whole lot of other shit things, and worst of all, you think my life is perfect. But you could you at least try to not berate me about my personal life?' he says. He looks at her, and he can see her eyes dismissing him and see her prettylittlenblonde head testing him.

'Zoey's a weak and pathetic bitch.' she says finally, and he can see her smile when he feels himself breaking. Suddenly, he's run over to her desk, yanked her up by the arm, and shoved her against the closest wall. He kisses her roughly and grips her wrists tightly, putting them above her head.

'I love you.' he says, almost growling (and whoever said I love you had to mean something?). All he can remember after that is the feeling of the table digging into his thigh and bruising grips and nine year old memories that he thought he forgot. And all he feels is lust and pain and the adrenaline rushing through his veins and yes, yes, yes (he just loves a guilty fuck).

He remembers now. His stuffed giraffe never did get fixed.

He goes home with the smell of Gretchen lingering on his clothes and the taste of her still tingling on his tongue (she tastes like alcohol and smoke and leather and rain, and it's fucking fantastic). His skin still feels sweaty and dirty, and his work clothes are sticking to him and making him feel constricted. His hair probably looks even more of a mess than usual, and he wonders if Zoey is still awake and if he has time for a quick shower once he gets home.

He cringes as the door creaks open, the noise seemingly echoing against every wall and door in the apartment. He looks around, and decides that Zoey has already gone to bed, and relief floods through him. He's just about to go into the kitchen to eat some of his dinner, but the hauntingly familiar picture stops him. He stops just in front of it, and looks across each one of the faces, letting the smiles fill him with nostalgia and unfallen tears.

'I'm sorry.' he whispers. He's sorry about this whole damned and wretched thing, and he wishes he could just go backbackback to when it was happier and they weren't all doomed. But he can't, and it just feels him with despair.

Not feeling hungry anymore, he walks into his bedroom, looks at the sleeping figure of Zoey, and can only sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. His nails start to dig into his scalp, but it's just shallow pain and it does nothing for him except give him a headache. Finally, he's able to get changed and wishes for sleep to come and take him away from the fucking nightmare (it's called reality, and it's an absolute bitch).

He wakes up to the smell of smoke and sweat. He looks through bleary eyes to see blonde hair and tanned skin and an orange glow near him. He has a bit of a head ache and a foggy memory (and he notices that these are the symptoms of a hangover) and the feeling of déjà vu all around him.

'If you set the bed on fire, I'm not saving you.' he says finally, rubbing his eyes to look at a smoking Gretchen. She exhales, and he watches as the grey smoke disperses into the air around him.

'Never said you should. No obligations, remember?' And yes, actually, he does (because Gretchen doesn't need him, and he likes that). His back and arms are sore from the red scratch marks, and his hair is still recovering from the vicious tug she gave him last night, but he feels ok and it's always a relief to see Gretchen being her usual self and not shattered pieces of her spread across the room.

'We have to be at work in fifty-minutes, by the way.' she says. He groans, and then tries to recall what the story he told Zoey last night was, and a good back-up story about what happened (because really, he doesn't think 'I fucked my co-worker and it was good', is a reasonable reply). So finally, he gets up from the messy bed and changes into the extra clothes he packed last night (because yes, it has become routine; after all, everyone loves predictability).

'Are you ever going to tell Zoey?' Gretchen asks (no, because he currently can't believe it himself). He turns around to look at her, fixing his tie as he does so and all the while hoping it strangles him.

'Shouldn't you be getting dressed?' he asks, frowning. 'And no, I wasn't actually. It's not like she needs more things on her plate, and I don't think a cheating boyfriend would go down well.' he says.

'You could always not cheat on her.' Gretchen says, pointing her cigarette at him. He feels as if the embers are judging him, and it's as if the cigarette had touched his skin anyway (and the judgement hurts that much, but it's almost addictive). 'Then again, you could enjoy the power while it lasts and hope she stays oblivious forever.' (She's not so much oblivious but broken).

'I'll decide later.' he mutters (he's been telling himself this for a month, and he's already come to a conclusion).

It's been going on for two and half months, and when it finally happens, he thinks it's like a mirror shattering (only a lot more quiet and little less fortunate).

'Stop.' she says finally. He looks up from the newspaper he's reading with an adorable puzzled look on his face and a sweet reply. Her head is down, staring at the bowl in her hand, spoon still in her other. Her blonde hair falls across her face, covering her emotions from him (she was never good at hiding).

'You're gonna have to be more specific, Zo.' he says, grinning even though she can't see. She sees her take a deep breath, and notices her whole body shudder as she lets it out (and he's almost expecting to see grey smoke come out of her mouth).

'Stop.' she says again.

(No. I'm addicted to it.)

She looks up at him with glassy brown eyes, a thin lined mouth and an overall weak expression (because really, that's what she's become). He knows she's trying, god, he's know it so much, but the heartbreaking fact is that she's failing and breaking and he's not sure that he can do anything about it.

'Go back.' And that's all he can say. It's such an innocent little statement, but he can see one more tinylittlecrack in Zoey as she puts the bowl down and presses her hands to the cool bench, letting them take most of her weight (I'll hold you up, and I'll nevereverever let you fall). Her hair falls in front of her face again, but he can still clearly see what she's feeling (it's one of the things she always loved about him). She faintly hears footsteps, and then she can feel warmth on her back, and hands wrapping around her hips and hair tickling her ear and hot breaths on her neck.

'I love you.' he says. And then, she lets him find her lips and kiss her and promise her to try and make everything right, because after all, she loves him too and they've always needed each other.

(And even though there's nothing for him, barely any pressure against his lips except a flutter of a movement rather than a reaction, he'll continue to let her believe the lie. She's still innocent-or broken-enough to have that chance, and because he knows what it's like to lose it, there is no chance in hell that he'll let her lose it; even if it's him sucking it out of her anyway.)

He detaches his lips from hers, and then sneaks a finger into the bowl that contains the chocolate batter she was mixing before (she has always made the best chocolate cakes; Dustin would receive one every year for his birthday). He puts his finger in his mouth, and sucks it off, grinning at the familiar, sweet taste of it.

'Hey! At least wait until it's cake.' says Zoey, playfully hitting him on the arm and laughing lightly. He kisses her lightly on the cheek, trying to make her hazel eyes sparkle like they did onceuponatime (but he's not her prince, and he's not sure he ever was).

He wakes up and Zoey isn't there (and he wonders if she's finally left him). But then he remembers the date and it all makes perfect sense (and it has to be the only thing that does in his fucked up mind). Her side of the bed is cold, and it reminds him of all those times they broke up (and he's not sure whether that's relief of regret he's feeling). He doesn't want to even get up today, but the overwhelming need for distraction and escape finally motivates him to move.

He's tense for the rest of the day, the littlest of things getting into his mind and managing to distract him (and it's like the tick and tock of the bomb before it explodes). It's that co-worker two rows down from his clicking his pen, it's that nineteen year old intern chewing bubblegum, it's that squeaky chair belonging to the desk behind him, and it's the lingering smell of smoke on him and around him that he identifies as Gretchen (no, no I don't like you, but you're a good fuck so I'm going to keep you around).

He fucks Gretchen at lunch that day. It's the first time that he's really ever lost control (because he's so in control, and there's no possible way in hell that he can lose). He drags her roughly into a supply closet by the wrist (and he just loves the bruises he leaves), and fucks her up against the wall with his teeth on her neck and his hands pinning her wrists above her head with the smell of dominance and ownership in the air (or maybe it's just plain old angst). And all the while, he's trying to not remember and hold back tears and share his pain, and it's exactly the same as it was when he was sixteen, but a little more vicious and a little worse and a little more addictive (he's the king of his own failing empire, but it's still an empire).

The memories pour down on him like the rain in the sky as his shoe leaves an imprint in the mud. The flowers around him are either being beaten down by the rain, their petals drooping under the weight of the water droplets, or their looking beautiful and fairytale-esque as they glitter and sparkle and sparkle on the ground. Their beauty touches him, but it only makes his heart ache.

He finds Zoey, sitting in the rain with blonde wet hair and mascara running down her cheeks, both from the rain and tears that she'll only allow herself to shed once a year. He still thinks she looks beautiful though, almost like a fairy princess (when I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen).

He sits down silently beside her, bringing an arm around her shoulder to pull her close to him, her head resting on his shoulder (and no, it's not déjà vu, it's the fucking past and they both hate it). He feels her tears on his shoulder, soaking through the fabric of his shirt, and it's like little daggers stabbing through his heart. He doesn't know if he loves her any more, and he doesn't know how much he cares about her, but he sure as hell needs forgiveness and this is the only way he knows to receive it.

'I'm sorry.' he whispers. He says it to Zoey, he says it to himself, and he says it to the gravestone in front of him. Most of all, he's sorry to her brother, because he's done such a shitty job of looking after her, and he's not sure what to do next. So for now, he'll sit and let her cry, and hope for the best.

Sorry, Dustin.

In loving memory of,

Dustin Brooks.

Born November 15th, 1995

Died August 23rd 2012.

Rest in peace.

Tears are still running down Zoey's cheeks, even though she's asleep and he knows for a fact that she promised to herself that she'd stop (but she always had trouble keeping a promise). He tries to brush her tears away with the back of his hand, but she just flinches a little and frowns in her sleep. So he sighs, and goes to press a kiss to her forehead, before just finally willing himself to get up and leave.

Icy puddles of water still lie on the street, the light from cars and street lamps, making it look like glitter on the street. The wind is seeping into his coat and shirt, making him shiver and his hands dig deeper into his pockets at they try to find hidden warmth.

The green grass sparkles with tears and rain, and it's so suiting for such a beautifully tragic place. The thorns from the rose in his hand dig into his palm, and he can feel blood and a stinging sensation, but he continues to not care. He doesn't care as the mud dirties his pants as he sits down, or as the sting in his palm intensifies as the mud mixes with the blood. The only thing he can really focus on is the red rose in front of the grave, and the crushing sense of realisation that never gets any easier or more bearable with each passing year. He wipes the rain drops from the gravestone, even though it sparkles on the stone in a way that most would call beautiful (because death isn't beautiful or magical; it's heartbreaking and painful and horrendous).

He doesn't speak; he doesn't confess to all his sins to an unresponsive voice; and he doesn't expect forgiveness from the silence. He just stares at the words and tries to believe them and move on, just like he did five years ago (because the trails of tears on Zoey's face didn't tell him enough). He remembers though, because even he isn't that weak to make himself forget (and denial is just a way for one to keep themself sane).

He stays there for the rest of the night and the early morning, letting the morning sun caress his frozen face while his aching hands unclench themselves from the fists they made. He closes his eyes one more time, because this is his silent goodbye; this is the memorial for the broken. He thinks of Zoey with shards of tears in her eyes and how she told herself never to let them fall, he thinks of decaying happiness, he thinks of sleek and black coffins being lowered into the ground, and he thinks of the perfect future they had in the past.

Finally, he gets the courage to leave. He's cold, his clothes are damp, and he feels bitter with the taste of old memories, but he still can't help but smile at the thought of boyish laughter and ruffled blond hair, even though it breaks his heart a little more (and it's always the little cracks that manages to shatter someone).

He sends a text to Zoey, just to tell her that he went to work early and not to worry (which she will anyway, but that's her). He also puts in he loves her, because lies are always so much easy to say when written down-but it's the thought that counts.

He kisses her long and hard; soft and gentle. His hands move down from her face and hair, feeling her and tracing her lines and curves as they move down to her hips, where he grips them tightly. He pushes his body against hers, feeling her hip bones dig into his body and her hands move to his head and neck, nails digging into him. He presses his tongue against her lips, picking her up bridal style as he's granted access.

She barely makes an imprint on the bed as he lays her down (and he's right, she's w a s t i n g away). She's biting her bottom lip, and he can see the imprint her teeth are making on the flesh, while her hands are gripping the bed sheets. Worst of all, her eyes are closed and he's never wanted to see them -wide-eyed and beautiful as they always have been- as much as he does now.

So instead, he crawls onto the bed and hovers over her, making sure his arms take all the weight. He gently strokes a hand across her hair, moving some of the excess strands that had fallen there, and leaves a kiss on her forehead. She opens her eyes, and looks at him with surprise. He just grins, and crawls off the bed, sighing out a deep breath when his back is turned away from her.

The next day, it's rough and it's hard, and there are scratches and bites and screams and moans and groans, and it's no different from any other day. And there are bruises on her body and there are bruises on his, but he just smiles as he pounds into her, looking down at her as a sheen of sweat starts to cover her body. And he knows that she justhisclose to breaking point, but he keeps on testing her and just drives into her harder and harder; rougher and rougher.

And at the end of it all, he's absolutely glowing because no, she didn't break, and yes, she's still smiling (or smirking), and yes, she made him forget (and that's all she's there for anyway). So when he leaves to go home, he kisses her long and hard, with his tongue shoved deep into her mouth, tasting smoke and blood and everything else that is just so Gretchen, and he finds himself having a real smile on his face (and no, he doesn't love her; he just doesn't love Zoey either).

The frame hits the wall, the glass shatters, and Zoey cries (because it was such a perfect picture). He hears it from the bedroom and as soon as he sees the shards of glass glinting and hiding in the carpet, he realises what has happened (and that was the sound of her will breaking). She's hunched in a little ball, her arms over her knees and her head trying tucked in so tightly that he can only see the back of her head. She's rocking back and forth in the rhythm of a lullaby (rocka-bye-baby), and he realises that she's exactly like a child (she's not broken, she's just a baby).

He goes over to her, wrapping his arms around her small frame and putting her into his lap, continuing to rock her back and forth. She cries and cries, and that then turns into sobs, and soon his t-shirt is completely soaked and the material is even starting to stick to is skin. He tries to sooth her and touches her gently, holding her close to him and kissing the top of her head. And in the end, it works, and she stops crying.

And then there's silence.

'I can't do this anymore.' she whispers into his chest. He's known this for such a long time now, because for the past five years he's been able to see each one of the cracks appear in her, each one of her secrets tears fall and been able to taste them on her tongue (just like dirty little secrets), and been able to feel her shake and wither in his hands. But hearing that statement come from her own mouth brings a little more truth into it, and takes a little more hope out of the world (because what do you do when an angel falls?).

'I can't do it anymore.' she says again, and he knows that she's trying to make herself believe it to; make herself break through the denial that had enraptured her for so long and made her feel strong (and he successfully stripped that away from her). He sees fresh salty tracks on her flushed cheeks, and closes his eyes as he feels her start to sob again. He hears her choke a little on trying to stop her tears, and does the one thing that he knows will truly break her (because just five words can bring back all of your mistakes and empty choices and make you fall into the dark abyss of nostalgia).

'I'm in love with you.' he whispers. She starts to shake and sob, and he tightens his hold on her while he looks out the window, because he doesn't think that he can do it anymore either (but he'll continue to lie, because that's just ever so easy).

Zoey clutches at his shirt, and she knows she's trying to hold on to everything that she's lost and he knows that she thinks that he's the answer. But he still refuses to look at her, and slowly, she's able to stop crying and they're both content for her to keep her head buried in his shoulder and never make eye contact ever again.

She's broken, and there's only so much time for him to either escape or to shatter as well.

(Down will come baby, cradle and all).

'I don't love you anymore.'

Her hands are crossed over her chest, and she's staring at him with hard, brown eyes (but he can still see her knees shake). He puts down the newspaper and stares at her, taking her in and the feeling of familiarity that he gets just from the sight of her. And then he sees it; the rise of her chest as she breathes deeply and her hands clutching at her skirt (and this is a breaking point, they both know it).

'Are you lying to me, Zo?' he asks (and somewhere in his mind he's begging for the answer to be no, because at some point he did love and he did want her and he maybepossiblycould still need her to be in hell with him). He looks at her expectantly, waiting to hear her answer (because it's a fuck or break situation)).

'No.' she says finally. 'I don't love you anymore.' she repeats, lifting her head up defiantly (but she still hasn't looked him in the eye). He can feel himself grinning a little as he stands up and walks over to her, bringing himself so close that their hips are touching and he has to bend his head a little to look at her. He roughly pulls her chin up (and she doesn't even flinch) so that their eyes are looking straight at each other's and then there's no turning back. He grips her chin a little bit harder and puts his head a little closer to hers, and then he sees fire in her eyes (and it doesn't even burn him).

His lips are then on hers in a second, his tongue going straight inside her mouth as he shoves her against the closest wall, his leg between her thighs and his hands on her wrists by her sides (because she doesn't have a choice anymore, and he's in control). He continues to kiss her, dragging his teeth over her tongue and biting her lips until he can finally taste blood. He's just pulling away when he feels teeth on his bottom lips and blood on his tongue (and his grip on her tightens while his grip on sanity slips).

He presses his body even closer to hers, but pulls his face away from hers and takes a moment to look at her flushed face and dark eyes. He can feel himself panting and see her chest rise and fall while she tries to control her own breath. He takes both her wrists in one hand, bringing his other to cup her face and trace her cheek (because he's so scared that this is just a dream and she's going to leave any second now).

'I know I'm supposed to love you,' he says (and no, it's not a confession, but it's a lot more real than anything over a webcam ever was). 'So what do we do now?' he asks (and he's not sure whether this is a goodbye or another chance, but he's going to do something with it). But Zoey stays silent and he can see her eyes drifting away from his face and he can feel everything that just happened fading. So he fucks her up against the wall because he doesn't have any answers either.

The silver band on his finger feels a little bit cold and little bit unfamiliar, but he's sure it will get better (because they did, right?). The pressure on his cheek feels familiar, but it's blood red lipstick rather than sugary pink lip gloss (and this is a goodbye, and they both know it). The scratches have healed and the bruises aren't visible, but the memories are still there and they're not going to go any time soon (and sometimes he still thinks he can feel leather under his fingertips rather than silky soft skin). So with that, he stops having sex with Gretchen and they both wish each other a moderately happy ending (because it's always been real with them).

And it's a little better with Zoey now; the cheery hellos and slightly sad goodbyes are a little more real, the hugs may hold some feeling now, the kisses are a little more real, and the foreign 'I love you' is actually starting to hold some meaning now (but the lies are still there, and their just as real as the words). She's even starting to remind him of her hold self again, with her attitude getting stronger and her being just a little more in control (and if one tiny tear seems to trickle down her pretty little porcelain face, it's just a trick of the light).

He's different too. Warm grins and gentle laughs a more common now (because everything's perfect now, and it will be forever and ever), because he is actually happy, and no, he's not lying (he thinks). And even if he sometimes wakes up still smelling smoke around him, and even if the moonlight that sheds through his window over a sleeping beauty sometimes tricks him into believing it's someone else that isn't his, that's ok (because it still doesn't mean anything).

(They're even now. She cheated with him on James, and he cheated on her with Gretchen -his is just a secret. And they were both heartbroken and the little cracks in their relationship were already starting to appear, but it doesn't matter any more because they both love each other very, very much, and they need each other.)

And in one month's time, wedding bells chime and white dresses flow down a carpeted aisle on a beautiful and sunny day, and he smiles and kisses his one and only love (he can see their silhouettes on the wall, and for a moment he forgets who he's kissing. Lucky, someone takes a photo). And it's sweet and it's hopeful (and now he has his queen, and they can run their crumbling empire together).

Chase-1 Zoey-1

And they both

'You think because you don't love us, or desire us, or even like us, you think you've won.'

'It's not a war.'

(It's a game.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Zoey 101. This piece was very loosely based on the movie Closer and the song G.I.N.A.S.F.S by Fall Out Boy. It also contains quotes from those two things. I obviously don't own any of those.

PM me or review if you didn't understand the plot line or just have any comments about the story. f