Oh my, I've been nervous about posting this for quite some time. But I must, because I still really love it.

p.s.- This is for whitelilly, who got the ball rolling, and Avecia, who was amazing and proofread/gave me the courage to post. Thanks both, you've been awesome!

p.p.s.- thanks to ALL my reviewers and readers, actually…

p.p.p.s- (I swear, this is the last one) Read 'The Closet' before you read this, or you'll miss a whole mess of references, and you probably won't understand why Ryan is acting the way he is…

Now, enjoy!

Ryan watches her.

He's not exactly sure what happened between them. They had a good thing going: emotionless sex, acquaintances with benefits. It was a total win-win, but she had to go and ruin it. He has no idea why. So he watches her, looking for some sort of clue as to why he isn't getting laid anymore.

She ignores him, walks by him in the hall and doesn't even look at him. But he looks at her – the way her hair swings, her hips sway, her lips curve into a smile when she talks – he watches. He watches as she talks to other guys, and it makes his jaw tighten and his fists clench. How dare they talk to her? Don't they know she belongs to him?

Of course they don't, because the rules had been very clear: no one can know. He told her that it was because it would be too complicated if people knew, but in truth it was because she's Taylor Townsend. Everyone hates her. His friends think she's annoying – although he's starting to think that Summer actually likes her, but is too embarrassed to tell anyone.

His train of thought is disrupted when he sees her again. She's talking to that water polo player – Vincent, or whatever his name is. The guy's sleazy. His one hand is against a locker, and he's leaning into her, smiling like he's actually funny. Ryan decides that she looks uncomfortable. He decides that he should help her.

He tells the guy to back the hell off. Vincent laughs at him, and walks away – whatever. Ryan turns back to her, expecting her thanks. She looks pissed. She wants to know why he did that. He tells her he saved her from that guy. He has no right, she says. He wants to yell at her, tell her that she is his, but people are starting to look at them funny.

He watches her walk away.

He is angry, although he knows he has no right. But being angry is nothing new. He's always angry these days – angry over Marissa, Trey, Johnny, Volchok, and now Taylor. Even Seth and Summer were starting to annoy him. Even Sandy and Kirsten. The person who annoys him the most, though, is himself, because he knows he's causing all of this.

He walks down the hall, passing their closet, and he flashes to thoughts of her –her naked body pressed against his and they way she makes those little noises when he fucks her. He never should have gotten involved with her in the first place - look what she's done. He pauses at their closet, and hears a little noise from inside. He knows that sound. It's her.

He wants to kill something. How dare she use their closet with someone else? How dare she fuck anyone that wasn't him in their closet? How dare she fuck anyone that wasn't him anywhere? He doesn't want to see it, but he has to stop it. He shoves the door open.

She's crying. She's alone in the closet, and she's crying. She wipes her eyes quickly, and glares at him. What does he want? Shouldn't he be off trailing after Marissa Cooper? No, he should be in class, he says, angry again. He should be in class instead of wasting his time with her. Screw you, she tells him.

He obliges.

He pushes her up against the wall, making sure the door is closed behind them. She tries to protest, but he's too angry to care. He loves when she wears skirts, it makes access that much easier. He pushes it up to her waist, and unzips his jeans so that they fall to his knees.

"No."

That word makes him stop. He's inches away from entering her, and he stops. He didn't think that was physically possible.

She shoves him away, and stumbles to the other side of their closet. He curses and pulls his pants up. What the fuck? His jeans are rubbing against him very uncomfortably, and he feels the urge to punch someone. He needs to calm down.

She's crying again, leaning into the wall on her side of the closet. He's clenching his hands tightly, trying to keep control of himself. She said no.

What the fuck? He asks again.

She tells him it's over. She tells him he knows this. She tells him he has no right to ever touch her again. He tells her to stop being such an emotional bitch. She gets up and slaps him. He resists the urge to try to fuck her again. She's fucking hot when she's angry.

He makes the mistake of telling her that.

Her anger drops and she slumps against the wall, defeated. She doesn't know what to do, she says. She tried to ignore him, but it didn't work. He tells her that he doesn't know why they can't continue like they did before, and she laughs a little. To be able to fuck in a closet, she tells him, there can't be any emotions involved. He tells her there isn't, and she laughs again. There are way too many emotions for just two people, she says. He's too angry, and she's falling for him.

She walks out, and, for the second time that week, leaves him stunned.

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