"I hear you don't have a date to the Pink concert on the 29th..."
He just appears out of nowhere, and she really thought her door was closed, but then again, maybe it was. He probably didn't care, to be honest. She brushes her hair to her side and spins her chair to look up at him expectantly. "Where did you hear that?" she asks, curious.
"It's all over Twitter," he shrugs cockily, crossing his arms. He leans against the wall by her desk.
She turns back to her schoolwork and purses her lips. "Talk is cheap," she says.
He chuckles. "Maybe, but tickets aren't." He pulls out two pieces of paper and puts them in front of her purposefully.
She grins and picks them up, eyeing them for a few seconds and laughs. "Wow, front row," she muses. "You're really trying to impress me, Ross Shor Lynch." She stands up and hands him one. "Well I'll go with you. I mean, it's Pink. And you know I love her."
"Yes I do," he nods triumphantly. "And I have a tiny break during everything so why not spend it with one of my favourite girls?"
She smiles one of those award-winning Laura smiles, where her tongue is set between her teeth and her eyes just glimmer, but her actions say something different when she continues to laugh and shoves him out of her room. "You're not very smooth, Ross." She stops at the door. "Granted, I've seen worse flirting, but man, you aren't subtle." She pushes him out as he turns to face her in protest. She closes the door and sits back at her desk, holding her ticket. She smiles to herself and tucks it in to her school binder before returning to her work.
She's sitting at the piano in the practise room on set one morning, practising the music that was written for her. More than that, she was just relaxing, because even though it's a wide open space, it's relatively remote from the rest of the set and no one works there until shooting begins. She's humming the lyrics and getting a feel for them, appreciating the lyrics and shamelessly comparing them to those of Pink's.
She's not really paying attention to her surroundings so when he's suddenly leaning on the piano and admiring her, she doesn't notice. She's facing away slightly, bobbing her head as she sings Blow Me (One Last Kiss) and he's smiling, because she's just a generally happy person and he's never seen someone so effortlessly content with life. And he's really excited to take her to the Pink concert, because she deserves to be that happy all the time.
"Blow me one last kiss," she sing-whispers to herself.
He laughs very lightly, but not at her, at himself, because he's such an idiot. And he's really sad, because they both know very well how much he likes her, and they both know that they can't be together at the moment, and they both know it's not fair to make her wait on him until he's able – until he's allowed – to be with her. He knows she deserves someone so much better than him but he doesn't want her with anyone other than him and he knows he's a selfish prick because he knew she already intended on getting tickets but he bought some so she would go with him and not anyone else.
She jumps about forty-seven feet in the air at the sudden outtake of his breath and her papers go flying. He crouches in an attempt to control his hysteric laughter.
"Ross?" she wonders, breathing frantically. He collects himself and stands up, showing himself.
"Sorry," he swallows. "I didn't mean to freak you out."
"I just didn't hear you come over," she says, picking up her papers.
He crouches down to help. "You were in your own little world," he tells her fondly.
"I just really love Pink," she replies sheepishly.
"I know. I guess you're excited for the concert then?"
They stand up at once. "Are you kidding?" she asks. "I'm beyond excited." She smiles up at him. "Thanks for buying them."
"You're welcome." He thinks for a moment. "I know I was being all stupid about it but I really do want to spend my time off with you. We don't hang out as much as we used to. You have a lot of charity things and I have the band so it's hard now. A year ago we hung out a few times a week. Now we never hang out at all."
She looks up at him, reminiscent. "I know," she admits. "And that's partly why I'm glad you invited me. It's good to go do something as friends for a change." She senses his distaste for those words. "Ross, I... Y-you know tha-"
"I know," he cuts her off. "It just sucks," he says. He shrugs off the pain. He looks away for a moment. "I better go get dressed. See you on set." And he walks away, biting his knuckle to refrain from punching something. He hates this.
She frowns and sits on the bench in a defeated manor.
She's scrolling through her photos that night in her room. She's wrapped up in a blanket and she's lingering on every photo of the two of them. Vanessa, fanning in and out of her room while she raids Laura's closet, helping her choose an outfit for the concert the following night.
"I don't see why you're suddenly so upset," she says, doing a once-over of the dresses.
"It's not suddenly," Laura sighs. "It's annoying that we can't be together, and it irritates me."
Vanessa rolls her eyes. "I know you like rules, Laura, but don't sacrifice yourself for the sake of of the media. That's not a rule," she says. "You're allowed to live your life."
"Vanessa, you don't get it," Laura protests. "I'm reputable for being this good girl with no boyfriend and I can't just change that."
"No, people know you for being this beautiful, sweet and charitable person, who happens to be single. You can change that whenever you want. Tomorrow, you're not an advocate for a thousand charities. You're a girl going to a Pink concert with a hot guy. And you need to embrace that, not fear it." She sits on the bed beside her younger sister. "You can afford to have fun for a night. Besides, Laura. It's a concert, not a strip club. And even if it was – you're not the stripper."
It took about three hours, but the girls finally decided on an outfit for the concert the next day, a simple black leather ensemble with a silver tank top, completed with straightened hair and smokey eye makeup. She looks gorgeous, and she's waiting for him to pick her up.
He arrives exactly on time, to her surprise, and actually comes to the door, saying hi to Vanessa and being put through a series of questions he didn't study for by Damiano. While he's slightly uncomfortable by the interrogation, he's also a little giddy that he was treated like a boyfriend.
He doesn't really see her until they arrive at the theatre, and when she steps out of the car, he takes in her whole look and finds that he has to physically force himself not to drool. She's the same soft, silly Laura that loves bad jokes and Go-Gurt, but instead she's wrapped in a deadly exterior, and he suddenly feels extra protective of her. He offers his arm and she links hers with him, and they head inside, the crowd's energy exciting them further.
"Just a second, we're not broken – just bent and we can learn to love again," she sings powerfully.
It's the final song of the night, much to their dismay, and she's singing Just Give Me A Reason, their favourite song on the album. The audience is singing along, and he's certain he hasn't seen Laura this happy ever. She's beaming up at her, smiling and singing, every care magically eliminated. And seeing her happy makes him happy, and he – without so much as a thought – wraps his arm around her shoulder. He realizes what he's done after the fact, and is immediately embarrassed (as well as sad), but makes no attempt to remove his arm. And moments later, he realizes she doesn't either.
"Just give me a reason, just a little bit's enough. Just a second, we're not broken – just bent," they all sing in unison. Ross and Laura look at each other and sing happily. "And we can learn to love again." They interlock fingers around her shoulder and they sway to the music, singing theatrically.
"Take a picture," she yells to him over the music.
"Of us?" he asks incredulously. She nods, grinning. "Okay." He pulls out his cell and they snap a selfie from their position before, grinning. He's about to take another but she reaches up and kisses
his cheek, leaving his reaction as one of utter shock as he takes it. She grins as he does a once over of them. He sets it as his lock screen.
"It's cute," she yells.
"We're cute," he corrects her.
They leave the venue laughing and gushing over the concert, not even noticing that they're holding hands until they get to the car and have to separate. They get in and sit quietly. He takes her hand again, rubbing circles softly in to her knuckles, as he's seen done in every romance movie ever. She's staring at their hands, unmoving.
"Thank you for bringing me tonight," she whispers. "It was incredible."
"Thank you for coming."
They're quiet for a moment. "Ross, I.. I just want to say that I'm sor-"
"Don't apologize," he says sternly. "It's not your fault. It's... it's the industry. It's our schedules. It sucks."
"All of it," she says, gesturing. "Nothing matters anymore. It's just.. All of this sucks."
"If I can't be with you," he adds playfully, sighing sadly at the end. She smiles slightly. "I know. But like I said, it's not your fault. One day. We'll be together... one day."
Turns begin to roll down her cheek. "I know," she whimpers.
He cocks his head to look at her, taken aback by her voice. He takes a thumb to her face and wipes them away softly. "I've never seen you cry," he whispers.
She looks away. "I'm sorry," she says, wiping her hand away. "I shouldn't be.."
He cups her face. "Stop. You can cry. I don't mind." He wraps his arms around her and she visibly melts in to his chest, tears flowing mercilessly down her face. She hugs him briefly and pulls away.
"I need to stop. You promised my dad I'd be okay and if I'm crying it doesn't look good," she jokes, wiping her eyes.
He just shakes his head solemnly. "I don't care," he whispers. He takes her hand again. "It's okay."
She smiles. "Thank you again. I had a good time, despite the last few minutes."
He turns on the car and puts it in gear and grins. "Best company ever."
The drive home is short and quiet. When he pulls in to her driveway they pull their hands apart and he brushes a hand through her hair. "Send me the pictures?" she asks, leaning her head in to his hand.
"I will," he says.
"Okay," she smiles. She grabs her bag and opens the car door. "See you at work-"
He cuts her off with a quick kiss, and it was far more passionate for her liking, because she sinks in to it eagerly and a mental 'red-alert' pops up in her head. She hesitates and pulls back, breaking it. He sighs and looks away. "Sorry," he mutters. "I shouldn't have."
"We can't..." she whispers. "I'm sorry." She leans up to kiss his cheek and he lets her, yearning for one last touch. "See you tomorrow," she says, getting out.
And then she's gone, and he's alone, and she's alone, and they're both alone. And all of this sucks.