tear away at the mask
Pairing: Zack de la Rocha/GN!Reader
Summary: you go to zacks house after promising to help him with some songwriting, but soft glances and softer touches lead to feelings that spill over
Tags: Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Making Out, No Use of [Y/N], Gender Neutral Reader (No Pronouns + Readers Appearance is Not Mentioned), Drabble, One-Shot
Warnings: Light Sexual Content
A/N: this takes place around the early years of RATM, in 1992 when zack is around 20-ish
Word Count: 2.5k (not kidding it's exactly 2,500 lmao)
"So, how was it?"
Zack sat on the living room floor of his studio apartment, surrounded by scattered wide-ruled paper hastily stacked into vaguely organized piles. Some completely filled with writing, others with a word or two that had apparently not been good enough to elicit anything more.
Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. It fit the character, added a bit more charm. The kind found in the graffiti-scrawled bathroom of a local music venue; where the beer tastes like piss, and people are packed into a 600 square foot room like sardines to a tin. In the living room, which by the nature of studios was also his bedroom, a CRT TV stood atop a weathered black shelf. The neck of an all white Jackson guitar leaned against it, strings uncut. CDs lined along the inside, sorted alphabetically by artist and chronologically by album. A few feet in front of it, a coffee table stacked with all types of memorabilia— tour posters that there simply wasn't any room for on the walls, a used plastic bag from the corner store down the street, and empty mugs and plates you'd both been periodically stacking throughout the day. His couch laid back against the wall.
Which is where you were. You sat adjacent to him, cross legged on the sofa, watching as he absentmindedly drummed his pencil on a legal pad. The lead made small dots where it landed. This page was one of the luckier ones; nearly full of his messy handwriting. Lyrics had been written—and rewritten—down as they came to him. Certain verses were circled while others underlined, some crossed out altogether. To anyone else it looked like jumbled nonsense, but it made sense to Zack (and you, to a certain extent).
"Hey," Zack called your name, waving his hand in front of your face.
"Huh?" You blinked, completely forgetting what he'd asked for a second. "Oh, it was good! I liked it."
"That's it?" Zack asked, a blank sort of 'are you serious' expression plastered on his face as he scanned over the paper. "Just liked it?"
"Hey, that's a good thing isn't it?"
"I need people to do more than 'like' my music, you know." His eyes stayed glued to the paper as he spoke.
"I, uh, loved it?"
Zack stopped, hung his head and smiled to himself.
"You're no help at all."
"Hey! You asked me to help, so it's kind of your fault."
It wasn't a lie. He'd invited you over earlier in the evening, when the sun first began to dip below the L.A. city skyline, and shadows elongated with every passing second. You liked to think of yourself as his personal editor, although truthfully you acted as more of a thesaurus. You didn't mind. You considered yourself lucky to see him in this state. Baggy tee and sweats, surrounded by a concoction of his own thoughts. Writing surged through his veins and kept him breathing, and he excelled at it. You'd seen enough of his shows to know. As if a switch flipped in his brain, his persona molded into one of a lyrical guerrilla.
Molded was the wrong word— molded implies copying something, participating in some semblance of meaningless idolatry. He hadn't molded himself into anything. He already was that ungovernable force, it just took a stage to coax it out.
"What time is it?" Zack asked.
"Almost two."
"Fuck me," he sighed and set down his pencil. He raised his arms above his head and stretched; his t-shirt raised with his movement. You caught a glimpse of the small bit of skin that exposed itself.
'How terrible,' you thought, 'falling for your best friend like this.'
Zack finished stretching, and you quickly averted your eyes. He paused for a second, and tilted his head slightly.
Fuck.
"I- uh, I think the song could use a bridge," you deflected.
"...A bridge?"
"Yeah, you know, something there to contrast the verses."
"I know what a bridge is." He picked his pencil back up. "I mean, where would I put it? The song is basically done. If I put it after one of the verses it'll fuck up the flow."
"Put it at the end...?" You replied, although the infliction of your voice made it into more of a question.
"So, the outro?"
"I don't know! Whatever you want to call it, I just feel like it could work." You waited for Zack to make some dry sarcastic quip, but he was back to his notes. You could've distracted him from a car crash with the way he got lost in music, especially his own.
His hands worked quickly. You couldn't make out what he was writing, but you could see they weren't full sentences. More like standalone words, and something near the bottom that seemed to repeat.
"Alright, what about this?" Zack handed the notepad to you.
You skimmed the page, and read the final stanza.
"All of which are American dreams," you whispered, nearly inaudibly.
You looked up at Zack. He folded his arms, hunched ever so slightly, drawing his eyes from the paper to your own.
"It's, uh..." You couldn't contain the stupid smile that plastered your face. "It's perfect."
Zack's face lit up, letting out a relieved 'fuck yes!' Before getting up to envelope you in a bone-crushing hug, that lifted you quite a few inches off of your seat. You could barely get your arms back around him with how tightly he held you, chest pressed around you and arms awkwardly offset from yours (one under, one over). His scent wrapped around you like he did. It clung to your senses; days old cologne, and something else you couldn't quite pinpoint.
If you knew such accidental advice worked this well, you would've done it a long time ago.
Zack let go, still beaming with pride. You handed his notepad back to him, with the slightest crinkle where you held it.
"That's the only other song I needed done. It's finally ready for the studio tomorrow."
You were about to congratulate him, but the last part of his statement tripped you up a bit.
"Tomorrow?" Your eyes narrowed. "You waited until the day before you were supposed to be in the studio to finish writing this song?"
"Yeah, I-I guess." He averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What were you planning on doing if you didn't finish it?"
"I don't know," he shrugged, "probably just postpone the recording date until I finished."
"Are you allowed to do that?"
"Well..." He trailed off, then shook his head. "What are you, my mom?"
"Alright, alright, fine, I'll back off," you sighed. "What studio is it, exactly?"
"Sound City. It's like 40 minutes from here, somewhere off of I-101." He gestured down the street, although you didn't know if that was truly the direction or whether he simply pointed that way to articulate his point.
You stared blankly. "I've never heard of it."
"You're messing with me, right?" Johnny Cash, Elton John...?"
"You expect me, a regular person, to know where Elton John records his music?"
"Alright, fair point... You know," he began, "you can come with me to the studio tomorrow. Check it out."
"Really? I'm not gonna be, like, a distraction or anything?"
"Maybe..." He teased. "But I won't mind, and I don't think the guys'll mind either."
You tried your best to hide the smile threatening to give away your feelings. You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. Trying, and failing.
"Alright." You shook Zack's hand in a sarcastic over-the-top manner. "It's a date."
"A date," he agreed, and then yawned. "Man, we've been sitting here for, what, three hours now?"
"Just about... Fuck me." You fell back onto the couch, head pointed to the ceiling. Zack sat next to you. "I'm gonna pass out here."
"You alright with me putting something on the TV?" Zack asked, turning his head slightly to just barely face you.
"Go for it."
"It's not gonna keep you up?"
"It will, but I don't mind." You held your hand to your temple, shielding your eyes from the overhead light. "As long as I don't have to use my brain for anything, I'll be good."
"Probably not a first," he joked.
"Excuse me." You played along, letting out a scoff. "Who finished your song for you?"
He shrugged. "I would've come up with it eventually."
"Because you were doing so well on your own."
"I was, I just needed you here for moral support."
"And moral support deserves writing credits." You quipped back.
He shook his head. "Please, you weren't even paying attention half the time."
"Like when?"
"When you were gawking at me."
"I-I," you stumbled, "I was not gawking. I barely even glanced."
"Seemed like a pretty long glance to me." He grabbed the remote off of the table. Somehow he made something as simple as turning on the TV into a cocky display of victory.
"Okay, haha, very funny, you got me." You threw your hands up in a sarcastic surrender.
"It's alright, you don't have to be embarrassed. I understand" — he held his hand to his chest — "that I'm too fuckin' irresistible."
You rolled your eyes. "Sure, whatever," you scoffed.
You turned your attention back to the T.V.; a godsend, surely. The temperature in the room seemed to skyrocket, as your heart beat out of your chest. You fumbled with the bottom hem of your shirt, trying any self-soothing techniques your brain thought of.
"What's on?" You asked.
"Some bullshit F.B.I. show," he replied. "Nothing else on is any good, unless you'd rather watch the home shopping network."
"Copaganda'll work just fine, thanks."
Zack laughed. You adored that laugh. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled, how broad all of his smiles were. Anytime he laughed, it reminded you of all of the things you loved about him— It made you fucking melt.
"Man, they have a million of these damn shows." Zack said, bewildered.
"Probably for psychos who stay up writing song lyrics until two in the morning."
"Shit, I guess there's a market for everything."
The show continued as you settled into your spot, resting your head on Zack's shoulder. A bold move, absolutely, but he didn't mind. At least, he didn't seem to.
Despite lacking blankets, pillows, or pretty much anything to keep someone comfortable watching a show, it was the most relaxed you'd felt in a while. The rhythmic breathing of not just you, but Zack was tranquil. All in the midst of the busiest city in California. Ironic.
So whilst your eyelids got heavier, and your breathing became more mellow, you found yourself drifting off into a calm sleep.
***
"Hey, you awake?"
Zack shook your shoulder lightly. You stirred, your eyes blinking open slowly.
"The, uh, show's over," he spoke, voice barely higher than a whisper. He really didn't have to say it, considering the hum of the T.V. static was the only sound that you could hear. That, and the occasional passing of a car.
"Already?" You groaned, raising your arms in a deep and relieving stretch. "Fuck, I really don't want to move anywhere."
"We don't have to," he shrugged. "We can just stay like this. Talk or something."
"Sounds nice."
Only, neither of you knew what to talk about. For the first time in the entirety of your friendship, you had absolutely nothing to say. Nothing at all. At least nothing you wanted to admit in the early, early morning of a nearing Los Angeles dawn.
"Can I ask you something?" Zack asked, breaking the silence.
So much for nothing to talk about.
"Yeah, sure," you replied.
"I know I was fucking with you earlier, but I just wanted to know if... if you actually thought I was any good-looking."
"...You're seriously asking me that?"
Zack furrowed his brow, about to counter your question, but stopped. He shook his head. "No, you're right. It was a self-involved question."
Fuck. You hadn't meant to sound antagonistic, but the nature of his question was all but naive. It... caught you off guard, to say the least.
"N-no! It," you sighed, "it's not, it's just..."
Zacks arms crossed over his chest. Well, they'd actually been like that for a while, you just hadn't noticed prior. You had now, and you also noticed how he tapped his fingers rhythmically against his opposing upper arm; awaiting your response.
"You're... you just..." You tried to speak, but each time you fell short of a full sentence. "Christ, why is this so fucking hard to say?!" You huffed. "You're... beautiful."
"... Really?" He asked (rather doubtfully).
"Yes!" You let out. "I mean, god, you're probably the most attractive person I know."
Zack laughed, a mix of relief and nerves at the implications of your sentence. "Shit, I don't know what to say. You're... you're pretty beautiful too."
"You know you don't have to say it if you don't mean it." You laughed, dismissively.
"What makes you think I don't mean it?"
"You used the exact same phrase I used, after I told you..." You fidgeted with your fingernails. "...and you paused."
"That doesn't mean I didn't mean it."
"Doesn't it?" You narrowed your eyes.
"Alright," he sat up in his seat and turned towards you. "What if I could convince you I wasn't just bullshitting?"
"You can try," you huffed, and turned your head to the side.
Zack reached to hold the side of your face gently in his palm, and guided you to face him. Your skin was flush in his hand. Your breath hitched in your throat as you did your best to avoid his gaze.
"Hey," he spoke softly, as if reading your thoughts, "look up."
You did as he asked, hesitantly, and before you could meet his eyes he locked you into a kiss. You froze; your world completely turned in on itself, and your mind raced with a million thoughts all crossing you at the same time. As much as you wanted to pull away and give a disheartened lecture on the state of your friendship, all you could think of was how good his lips felt on your own. All of the convincing you needed.
His open hand rested on your thigh, while your hands made their way to his locs. The kiss deepened, as Zack started to loom over you. Your back hit the arm of the couch, suddenly, which managed to make you gasp. A gasp that he took full advantage of. A small moan left your lips, muffled by his own. As much as you wanted to make out with him until you suffocated, you didn't think dying was a particularly smart idea.
You pulled back for a breath of air, and rested your forehead on his; your heavy breathing both synchronized. You stayed like this for a while, not saying anything, until Zack broke the silence.
"So, uh... believe me yet?"
hope you enjoyed !! the ending is kinda rushed a bit, ive been sitting on this fic for ages and finally found the motivation to finish it so i hope you enjoy :>> and if there's any grammatical mistakes i missed, uh, oopsies :p