Note: This takes place the morning after the Spring Fling dance, over a month after the events of "The Way We Get By". I wanted to try and write something from Zane's perspective, but his tendency to be a little too perfect didn't make it easy. And as long as the writers refuse to elaborate on Zane's life outside of Zileyland, I'll just keep making stuff up. Fic-wise, I would say this takes place in the same universe as "Spaces Between Clouds", but the existence of Thomas Faron complicates things.

Also, I've written a follow-up to "A Nice Greek Girl", but I won't finish it until Season 11 gets underway. Based on the recent spoilers, I thought it'd be best to wait. More material and all. :)

Zane always wakes before his alarm. It's a well-worn habit, and not really a bad one, he likes to think. Even on this morning, the start of Spring Break.

(Even with Riley fast asleep next to him, hogging up a little over half of his bed.)

Blinking into the blue dimness of early morning light, he nudges Riley's arm off of him so he can sit up and stretch, his spine popping delightfully in three places. Out of curiosity, he checks the clock to see just how much he beat his 6:00 a.m. alarm by.

Fifteen minutes. Pretty good for a Saturday, he decides, shutting it off.

Beside him, Riley makes these breathy little noises that are almost dainty, and looking down at him, Zane smiles. He enjoys waking up early enough to catch his boyfriend like this. Peaceful and unassuming and slightly delicate.

So very different from when he's awake.

Eyes narrowed, he trails a finger over Riley's collarbone, just to make sure he's still asleep. Because Riley can be a good faker, and Zane would rather not be caught staring at him. Again. It'd only fuel Riley's you're-kind-of-a-creeper-sometimes-and-also-you-should-really-learn-to-knock-you're-worse-than-my-mom argument. Really, he's not worried about waking him up—the guy can sleep through just about anything, which is only slightly unnerving. May there never be an in-house burglary or midnight emergency—Riley Stavros would dream right through it.

Pushing up from the mattress, he picks his way across the bedroom floor, avoiding the scattered dress shirts and socks and slacks that litter the carpet. Mentally, he makes himself a note to have Riley do the wash later.

(It's kind of been his mission lately to make Riley familiar with the wondrous concept called division of chores. Because if they end up at Eastern together, so help him, he will not become the maid.)

Kneeling down, he rummages through the pockets of his own slacks to get his cell and check his messages. There's a text from his father, apologizing for not being back home yet (Wednesday at the earliest, kiddo. Call your mother, you know how she worries…) and Anya (Hope you two had fun after the dance ;D. We should totally drag Riley to that new art exhibit this week!). And finally, there are blurry pictures of a pink, pudgy newborn sent to him by Chantay (Check out baby Middleton-Guthrie! Sooooooo cute!). Pictures that also include shots of Dave and Drew looking very out of place, and Bianca and KC apparently handcuffed together, with Jenna irritably looking on.

Well, he thinks. Should be an interesting story to tell the kid someday.

(Meanwhile, Anya intuitively knowing so much about his sex life with Riley no longer fazes him. So he ignores the implications of the first part of her text and happily considers taking her up on the second.)

He flips through his phone a bit more before setting it down on his desk, on the lone corner that isn't piled high with books and sketches. With a final glance back at Riley, who is still very much asleep, he makes his way into the adjoining bathroom.

.

Routines are important. They give a timeline to things, a sequence that's hard to break. If this was a school day, Zane would have already woken Riley up, because it takes Riley a full ten minutes after being told to get up for Riley to actually do so. It's something Zane knows well, after having Riley stay over long enough to learn it. It's something that's dependable. It's routine.

But today is a Saturday and Spring Break, so Zane lets him sleep in.

Somewhat.

He spits mint toothpaste into the sink and puts his toothbrush in the holder, next to the red one Riley uses.

In the shower, he avoids using Riley's shampoo, the one that makes his hair smell like an army of coconuts, and instead sticks to his own citrus-scented brand.

And when he pads back into his room for a pair of boxers and jeans, and pulls an old T-shirt over his head, he brushes past some of Riley's other things—his spare clothes, carefully tucked and folded in the second drawer of his dresser.

In the space Zane made for him there.

Zane knows it's not typical. Two eighteen-year-olds still in high school, somewhat living like they're already in college and sharing an apartment. But honestly, Riley stays over only once or twice a week at most, and really, everything of his—the toothbrush, the familiar shampoo, the clothes, the cranberry juice he keeps for him in the refrigerator—is left around purely out of convenience and comfort.

And it's not like his parents mind it—they love having Riley around, throwing out words like "sweet" and "kind" and "age-appropriate". Not like Thomas, who never managed to make a decent impression and was limited to sitting on the black leather couch in the living room.

(And watched very carefully.)

Of course, they've met Riley only sparingly, but then again, they only see Zane in a limited fashion too. Whenever they're not working late, whenever they have time. Whenever they come back from their business trips—the ones that, in Zane's opinion, always seem to take longer than they should. Or at least, that's how it always feels.

(Don't get him wrong, he's beyond grateful for everything he has. Truly, he knows how fortunate he is to have a roof over his head—and a very extravagant one at that. But sometimes, he's selfish. Because sometimes, he wishes he could trade in his parent's spending money for just…them instead. Their faces, their smiles. Their words of encouragement. Just them. With him.)

So yes, it's not typical, but it doesn't matter. Zane doesn't care. Because it's nice to have someone he loves hanging around, breaking up the quiet emptiness of the house with a goofy smile and tight embrace.

.

Observantly, Zane leans over the bed, fingers digging into the green quilted comforter. He watches Riley's face very carefully, and after a few seconds, he grins. "Stop pretending to be asleep."

The corner of Riley's mouth twitches, and with a sleepy sigh, he cracks open an eye. "Hey. How early is it?"

"Not that early. I've been really generous here, letting you sleep in. But c'mon. Carpe diem."

Groaning, Riley buries his face deeper into the pillow. "I need ten more minutes…at least. It's Saturday."

"Riley…"

"Fine, fine," he grumbles, sitting up and rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Sluggishly, he manages a smile. "G'morning."

Zane plants a quick, minty fresh kiss to his jawline. "Good morning. Now get up."

Sitting on the bed, Zane watches as Riley histrionically retreats to the bathroom after glancing at the clock. He hears the sound of Riley brushing his teeth, and in his head, he goes over the things he'd like to do for the day. Grocery shopping and the laundry, at least. He should probably call his mother. Maybe meet Anya at the Dot for lunch, and then goad Riley into going with them to that new showing. Or maybe they could go to a movie instead. They did have all week. Or…

"Scoot over."

Zane looks up, frowning slightly because Riley is still shirtless and un-bathed. Nevertheless, he still complies. "I thought you were getting up? We have stuff to do."

"Dude, it's Spring Break," Riley says, waving his hands like it's some kind of grand revelation. Easing back onto the mattress, he pulls Zane down with him so they're facing each other. "And it's only eight in the morning. Geez, you wake up so damn early."

Zane tries to look angry, really he does, but he knows that all he can manage is an expression of mild irritation. Like when a fly hovers around you during a picnic. It's just so difficult to stay consistently angry at Riley nowadays. Especially over such trivial things. "So you're just going back to sleep?"

"Nah. Doze for another hour, maybe," Riley says thoughtfully, smiling crookedly and eyelids already drooping a little. He splays a hand across Zane's waist, over his jeans, squeezing slightly and rubbing small, teasing circles with his thumb. "Stay with me?"

Rolling his eyes, Zane avoids shuddering and pulling away from the contact. Just barely. "Okay. But I'm not sleeping. Just so you know."

Riley smiles and shuts his eyes. Nods. "I know. Thanks."

By now, the sunlight has fully filtered through the blinds, painting the bed in thick, yellow stripes that undulate with the passing clouds. It makes Zane's skin feel heavy and overly warm, but he tolerates it. Only for him. With a shallow sigh, he brings a hand up to rest over the one Riley has on his hip. The minutes pass, and Zane can't help but think about how they couldn't get away with this sort of thing at Riley's place.

Ever since Mrs. Stavros had walked in on them making-out (with his hand on Riley's inner thigh, for crying out loud), she had been…distant.

Different.

Granted, Zane still came over. He would still have the occasional dinner or study session. He'd watch a game with Riley on the big screen. But truthfully, he felt a lot better on the days he knew Mrs. Stavros wouldn't be around. Because then it meant that she wouldn't be looking at him like she wished he would just disappear. Like he was a figment of her imagination, or something.

So it made it all the more strange that she still allowed Riley to go off with him. They hadn't had sex at Riley's house since The Incident (because paranoid, constantly-looking-out-at-the-driveway Riley wasn't an easy-to-fuck Riley), but they did go over to Zane's house often enough. And surely she knew they weren't just doing…whatever so-called "straight" activity she could come up with. Whatever didn't involve him running his fingers down Riley's spine and Riley kind of sobbing into the crook of his neck.

"Goofing off", as she called it.

So it occurs to him then, pressed under the heat of the sun and Riley's palm, that maybe Mrs. Stavros knows more than she's letting on. That maybe, the whole denial thing keeps her from saying anything. Like, if she does nothing, it will just all go away.

Though it would mean that she really wouldn't want Riley being here right now. With him. In his bed. Partially undressed.

"Hey Riley?"

"Mmm."

"Riley."

"Yeah?"

"Your mom is really okay with you staying over like this? She doesn't mind?"

"She never says that she minds. She doesn't stop me."

"But she doesn't approve," Zane prods. "Knowing what she does."

Riley opens his eyes. "What brought this on?"

"I was just wondering. I don't want her angry at me, and if she didn't like you coming over here, then…"

"Then what?" Riley asks, cupping his cheek. "Since when do you care what people think?"

Zane glares at him, moving his fingers to curl around Riley's wrist. "I care what some people think. She's your mother, she's important—and I wouldn't want her to think badly of me."

Riley laughs hollowly, looking away. "Oh, believe me, she already does."

"But…" Zane's hand falls back to the mattress. His eyes widen. The sudden realization prickles all over his skin, like he's just been doused in ice water. He's always had his doubts about where he's stood with Mrs. Stavros in the past, but…the truth still hurts more than he would've expected it to.

So all this time…

Riley looks at him ruefully, like he wishes he could take it back. "It's not you, it's just…the general idea of you. Of us. Together. It's weird—she doesn't like it, but she can't bring herself to say it. I guess that goes with the whole being-in-denial thing…or maybe she gets that I'm finally happy. It could be worse. At least she never tells you anything when you come over."

"Right. Because heated silence is my favorite kind of silence."

Riley shrugs. "But the fact that she still allows me near you, like, at all, is—"

"Progress," Zane finishes quietly. "She still needs time."

They stay silent for a while, listening to the birds fussing outside with their springtime melodies and the strong wind that rustles the leaves. Their own quiet breathing seems so wispy in comparison.

"But hey," Riley says warmly, finally, smiling in a way that makes Zane's stomach twist, "I'm not losing you. So Ma will just have to deal. Dad too."

"You mean, once he finds out," Zane reminds.

"Yeah. Not really looking forward to that conversation—I don't see him taking it any better. But it has to happen eventually. I want it to."

Zane inches closer to him. "Does it scare you? Even a little?"

Riley sighs. "Well, we can't all have accepting parents..."

"And we can't all have parents who are always around," Zane counters, slightly bitter.

(But only slightly.)

Riley looks at him apologetically. "Right. Sorry. But no, I'm not scared…much. I mean, it's scarier to think about what will happen after graduation when…uh. Wait. N-never mind."

Zane raises an eyebrow. It dawns on him where the conversation is heading.

"By after graduation," Zane repeats, not dropping the subject like Riley seems to be begging him to with his eyes, "you mean, at Eastern. On the football team."

Riley rolls over onto his back, folding his arms defensively. "Maybe."

"It still worries you," Zane says, trying to catch Riley's gaze and failing. Ever since shaking Matt Barnes' hand, Riley has always seemed upbeat about his prospects at Eastern. On the surface at least. Except that Zane knows Riley still reads certain website articles—the ones that talk about all of the possible repercussions of being an out player. The ones that mention the stigma. The danger. The series of disappointments. And whenever Zane confronts him, Riley always manages an okay, it freaks me out a little but really it's nothing don't worry and quickly changes the subject.

This time, Riley shuts his eyes and breathes deeply. "What did you expect? I can't be all optimistic like you. I just…everything's so unpredictable and I don't like it."

"Okay," Zane says, a little surprised that they're finally having this conversation. Surprised that Riley isn't automatically shutting him out. "But doubting yourself won't do any good."

"It's not just that. I don't…whether I end up playing great or I totally suck, it…it doesn't matter because…" Riley trails, waving a hand forlornly. And Zane swears he hears Riley mumble something about death threats amidst a series of unfamiliar Greek phrases, before quickly switching back into English. "Besides, I worry about you more than anything, what they might do to you because of…you know…but it's like, you might not even be going with me to Eastern, so I don't know. I want you there with me—I don't know if I could deal with it all without you, but…maybe you'd be better off somewhere else."

"Oh Riley," he says softly. There's a part of him that wants to yell at Riley for letting his imagination run rampant with so many terrible scenarios, for having such a flair for the ridiculously dramatic. But he suppresses that urge as best as he can, and tries to keep his voice even and steady. "I know you don't think so, but you're a lot braver than you give yourself credit for. You're strong. You…you have a real opportunity here; you have the talent and drive to do great things. Anything bad, you can handle it. I know it. I believe in you."

Riley finally opens his eyes, but keeps them trained on the ceiling. The corners of his mouth turn down ever so slightly. "If you get a better offer at another university—because I know you'll get into Eastern, no problem, you're amazing—I really want you to take it."

"I still won't know for a couple more weeks…"

"But when you do…I don't want to be a factor in your choice. Or at least, not the main one. Okay?"

Zane cracks a smile. "You're not trying to get rid of me just because you're scared, right?"

Riley shakes his head. "Course not. You just deserve the best and—"

"—I'll be the one to decide just what that is. But right now, that includes you. Like it or not."

"So you're saying…what, exactly?" Riley asks, glancing at him briefly before staring back at the ceiling. His arms curl more forcefully against his frame.

"For now, I'm saying that I hope to be there for you. And hey," he says, tilting Riley's chin so he'll look at him, "I need you too, you know."

Riley doesn't answer, but Zane still hopes the words sink in. Because he sincerely means them, every last one. Brushing his lips against Riley's temple, he sits up, crossing his legs. Already, he's feeling more rested than when he first woke up over two hours ago, which is a little weird for him. Usually, loafing around only makes him irritable—to him, it's a time-waster—but this is different. A calm, quiet energy surges through him. It's nice.

Reveling in the sudden power burst, he tugs the bed sheet off of him, ready to leave. And that's when he sees it.

There's the barest hint of bruising painted across Riley's hipbones, resembling odd ink smudges in the morning light. Finger marks. In a rush, the night before comes back to him frame-by-frame like some tattered flip book—Riley's hands twisting into the sheets, and how he kept holding onto Riley tighter, pushing him further into the mattress and—

It surprises him. Completely. Because he's never…done that before. He doesn't do that.

Frowning, he traces a finger across the damaged skin in a way that's clearly clinical above all else. "I'm sorry," he says faintly. "I didn't mean to be so rough with you last night."

Riley leers at him—while simultaneously looking like he's trying not to laugh. "You're apologizing? Dude, seriously? It's not like you haven't manhandled me before…"

"But this is different," he says, a tad insistently.

"Plus it's not like I haven't manhandled you before," Riley continues, pressing his thumb against a spot on Zane's shoulder, hidden by his T-shirt. Zane winces at the slight pain, and instantly Riley smirks at him like he's just proven a point.

(It's slightly noteworthy that Riley remembers exactly where he made a love bite on him the night before. Only slightly.)

Still, Zane glowers at him. "It's not the same. The bruises…I don't like the idea of hurting you. Like that."

"But you didn't…hurt me. Or couldn't you tell?"

"Riley…"

"Look, I don't mind you being rough sometimes…plus your idea of rough is like, beyond tame, anyways," Riley teases. He pushes himself up so they're back at eye level, merely inches apart. Close enough that Zane can see the precise shade of blue to Riley's eyes as Riley threads a hand through his hair. He lifts the strands and lets them fall, mimicking the non-existent spikes, because Zane's hair is still soft and un-gelled. Like it always is in the early mornings. "Besides," Riley says, kissing him lightly, "when you lose control it's kind of hot. Like, really hot."

"You're impossible," Zane murmurs, shaking his head. He forcefully pokes at one of the darker contusions on Riley's hipbone for good measure.

Yet Riley only beams at him. "And you love me for it."

"I love you in spite of it," he corrects, uncrossing his legs and swinging them around so his feet touch the carpet.

(An hour of dozing/overheating/conversing in bed is about as much as he can possibly stand.)

Riley cocks his head. "You're leaving?"

"It's stuffy in here," he says. "You still smell like sex—"

"Rough sex," Riley interjects with a lazy grin.

"—and you need to shower. We have things to do."

"Fun things?" Riley asks, almost hopefully.

"Fun things and chore things. Like you washing all of the clothes in the hamper. And the ones on the floor, too. So I'll go make breakfast."

He gets off the bed, grimacing at how his skin is slightly damp from the humidity, making his T-shirt cling and bunch uncomfortably. He'd still be clean and dry if he hadn't been coaxed into lounging on the bed.

Dammit Riley.

As if on cue, a large hand captures his wrist, and Zane watches as Riley places an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of it. Biting his lip, he tries to dial back the blush that he just knows is slowly crawling across his face. "What?"

Riley shrugs, still holding onto him. "You make things better," he says simply. "When you're not being too bossy, I mean."

He twitches slightly at the backhanded tail of the compliment, but still, he nods. And smiles softly. "Yeah. You do too."

It's not some grand, dramatic acknowledgement. It's not a statement of forever, a month from now, or even tomorrow. It's just the truth.

And it's more than enough for the both of them.

.

.