A Different Fight

Slater snakes his arms around Zack's waist and kisses the back of his neck.

"Don't," Zack shakes him off.

"Excuse me?"

"Just, not today, okay?" Zack pretends to be engrossed in his calculus textbook.

"Did I miss something?"

"No. I'm just…not in the mood."

"So, you came here to study?" Slater laughs.

"I'm not in the highest of spirits."

"Yeah, I can tell," Slater grumbles, sitting with his hand on Zack's thigh.

Zack eyes the hand disapprovingly and sighs.

"I talked to Lisa."

"What did she say?"

"She's thrilled," Zack rolls his eyes.

"That bad, huh?" Slater bites his lip.

"No, I mean she's really thrilled. She thinks it's cute. She kept asking for details."

"No shit! What did you tell her?"

Zack shrugs and puts his calc book away, "Nothing, really. What's there to tell?"

Slater isn't sure how to answer that. He watches Zack walk around his room, examining this or that trophy, peering through the blinds.

"Alright, preppy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I should probably be getting home-"

Slater runs his hands through Zack's blonde hair and kisses him. Zack drops his backpack and grabs Slater's wife beater, pulling him closer. Slater moves to Zack's neck, enjoying the helpless noises his friend makes. It's not difficult to direct him back to the bed, where they tangle legs and fight for dominance, as always. Zack digs his fingers into Slater's back, rubbing desperately against his leg. They never talk (that would invite too much logic), instead Slater takes his cues. For example, Zack's looking at him, which means he can keep going. If Zack isn't making eye contact, he's about to back out.

"Wait."

There are exceptions to these rules.

"Zack," Slater whispers, knowing he can't win.

"I don't…"

"It feels like you do."

"No," Zack whines, sliding out from under Slater and standing on shaky legs. "I want to go home. I want…"

"What?" Slater punches his mattress in frustration. "What do you want?"

"I want to be alone! I want everyone to just leave me alone!"

"I really can't believe you sometimes. I mean, are you for real?"

"What?" Zack stumbles to his backpack, still flushed.

"Look at me, listen to me. You're Zack fucking Morris, okay? You're a legend. As far as Bayside is concerned, the goddamn sun rises and sets on you. I can't figure out what more it is you want."

Zack looks around Slater's room, laden with trophies and ribbons, thinking what Slater knows: in spite of all this, Zack is the golden boy, not him.

"Yeah. Yeah. You know, you're right!" Zack laughs loudly. "I'm Zack Morris and the world falls into my lap! You know what else falls into my lap? Girls. Lots of them. Enough to keep me busy, if you know what I mean."

The way Zack says "you" makes Slater clench his jaw.

"Look, preppy, you want to leave? Then you just say so, but I can think of at least one thing all those girls can't do for you."

"Well, then, I don't need it!" Zack pulls on his letterman jacket, smiling that sick fake smile that Slater hates. "I don't need this, and I definitely don't need everyone's bullshit best friend routines, so fuck you and goodbye."

"You've got some issues, man."

"Tell that to your girlfriend."

"I'd leave quickly if I were you."

"I'm already gone."