Oh dear. My first ever fanfic, The Problem With Love.
Alright. This is it. After ages of reading fanfictions and writing ones in my head, I've decided to bite the bullet and actually write one down. This idea was inspired by Brandywine's Arsonist Challenge. I'll admit it, I've been creeping some of your fanfictions, guys. I can't help it, you're all amazing writers. I must confess, though, that I only discovered The O.C. this year about halfway through the season (I know, terrible), so I don't really know everything that goes on in the first half. I think I saw the first episode or two and then started watching it again a few later. I've been trying to catch up though, and I've seen the entire first two seasons (AHH, so good) as well as part of the third. So if some things in here don't make sense, it's probably because I just haven't seen it yet. I still don't know how Summer and Taylor end up living together (or whatever goes on there), so bear with me. Anyway, here it goes. Gahhh, I'm scared. I can't believe I'm doing this, you're all such good writers...okay.
The Problem With Love
Rating: Err....G?
Disclaimer: I don't own The O.C. or anything to do with it. This right here is just me wasting my weekend before I have to go back to work.
Sitting on the sandy beach, the sky the navy-blue colour that it is while remnants of the sun still linger before giving way to complete darkness, Ryan reasoned that this was partially his fault. He had to stop with these unexpected drop-in visits. He’d tried them with Marissa on more than one occasion, and the results had never been good. Marissa. He shivered at the thought of her name, then angrily wrapped his arms around his chest. Marissa was gone and he loved Taylor now, although she had just made it clear that she didn’t feel the same way about him.
It was almost ironic, Ryan thought, that this had happened. After all, it had been Taylor who so desperately wanted Ryan to say those three words to her. The three words that seemed to doom any relationship he had ever been in. I love you. He did, too. He loved her. He didn’t just say it so that she’d shut up, not that it would have worked anyway. Taylor, like Seth, had the gift of the gab and Ryan’s confession had simply seemed to add to her rambling. Shaking his head at the mere irony of the situation, Ryan let out what may have started as a sarcastic chuckle, but ended up sounding more like a choked sob.
Taylor had rambled tonight, too. Sitting in the cold, wet, sand, Ryan’s mind reeled as he remembered his night. After having a delicious meal with the Cohens (thanks to a take-out menu, not to Kirsten’s cooking), Ryan had decided to stop over at Taylor’s house to see if she wanted to go out for ice cream. It was a beautiful spring night- perfect, Ryan had supposed, for a sunset walk along the boardwalk. Recalling the pure shock and horror that Taylor had expressed when Ryan had confessed two nights ago that he had never had an ice cream cone from the Crab Shack (“Oh my god, Ryan, they are absolutely delectable! You haven’t lived until you’ve had one, I’m not even kidding! How have you lived here for four long years without ever experiencing it?!”), he decided that tonight would be the perfect night to try it out. Hopping in the Range Rover, he had innocently driven over to Taylor’s house.
What he found when he got there, however, was not what he had been expecting at all. After letting himself into Taylor’s house, he climbed the staircase and knocked excitedly on her door. He heard a flustered giggle and then Taylor hissing, “Mom! Now’s not a good time!”
“No, Taylor, it’s me,” Ryan stated, already opening the door to his girlfriend’s room. Shock, anger, pain, and disappointment all flooded though his body simultaneously as he stood in the doorway, staring at his girlfriend as she frantically trying to cover up her naked body while lying beside a muscular, and also naked, man. Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to him. Taylor, it seemed, had the opposite problem.
“Oh my God. Oh my GOD! Ryan, this isn’t what it looks like. Vince was just teaching me the art of massage therapy. I swear! It’s just less restricting when you don’t have clothes on…Ryan, wait!”
Ryan had heard enough. Whipping around, he stalked out of Taylor’s house, punching a wall on his way out of the door. He wanted more than anything to punch in that bastard Vince’s smirking face. Shaking, he stumbled to the beach, where he sat now.
Glancing down at his hands, Ryan realized they were shaking as he clenched and unclenched them. The old Ryan Atwood would have punched that asshole into next week. The old Ryan Atwood wouldn’t be wallowing on a beach in Newport, he’d quite literally take matters into his own hands. But he was the new Ryan Atwood now. The new Ryan Atwood went to school and behaved himself and went to charity events with the Cohens without shoving Newpsies into pools. As he sat alone in the almost-blackness, though, Ryan wasn’t sure which Ryan Atwood he was anymore. It seemed to him that both Ryan Atwoods, the old and the new, were really the same. Was he not sitting here positively shaking with the desire to punch someone? Had everyone that he had grown to love in Newport not left him, just like they had left the old Ryan Atwood in Chino? His dad left. His mom left. Lindsay, Trey, Marissa, they had all left. Evidentally Taylor had left him, or at least chosen to be with someone else along with him. All that he had left was the Cohens, and who knew what might happen with them once he turned eighteen and was no longer their responsibility.
Horrified, Ryan realized that there were hot tears streaming down his face. Frustrated and angry, he swiped an arm across his face and stood up. He wanted to punch something, anything. Raising his eyes to the now black sky, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. The Cohens had saved him from cage fighting in a bar. They had brought him home and he had made a silent promise to them that he would reform himself yet again. And so, at that moment, Ryan started to run. His blue jeans and button up T-shirt were restricting and not proper athletic attire at all, but he didn’t care. At this point, any sort of physical release was welcome. He would not punch Vince. He would not punch Taylor. He would not go looking for a fight in a bar and go back to the pool house with bloody knuckles, facing once again the disappointment of Kirsten and Sandy. No, he would run. And so he did. He sprinted through the heavy sand and down the beach until his checkered shirt was drenched with sweat and his sandy-blonde bangs clung to his forehead. He thought of Marissa, of Taylor, of Taylor and Vince, of Dawn, of Trey. Every time he thought of them leaving, he ran faster. He had no idea how long he ran for, but eventually he found himself running up the street to the Cohen’s mansion, back to the people who were sure to leave him next. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found that they were gone when he opened the door.
Seth was sitting in the pool house. He had been there for the last two hours. Ryan had to come back at some point, he knew. Ryan always did. He had never spent the night with Lindsay, or with Marissa. No matter how late it was, he always came back.
Seth knew that he and Ryan had drifted apart after Marissa’s death. Ryan secluded himself one way or another, whether it was by moving into a bar or simply spending most of his free time in the pool house. He was drifting further and further away, and it scared Seth. The empty look in Ryan’s eyes and the significant effort it took the boy to laugh were not lost on his curly haired friend. Seth, usually a man of many words, had no clue what to say to Ryan anymore. He wanted to say, “Gee Ryan, I’ve noticed you seem really down lately. I know your life sucks and your sort-of girlfriend just died, but have you considered anti-depressants? Because I think you might need some.” Clearly though, that sort of comment wouldn’t go over well with Ryan. So when Ryan stumbled into the pool house at two in the morning completely drenched in sweat while still wearing his favourite pair of jeans, Seth was rendered speechless. There stood his first and best friend, looking devastated despite his guarded eyes, and Seth had no idea what to do. He wanted to hug Ryan like he hugged Summer, wanted to tell him that everything was going to be alright. He wanted Ryan to lie down on the bed and tell Seth everything that was horrible in his life so Seth could play psychologist and fix it, but Ryan Atwood didn’t work that way. So Seth chose his next best option.
Trying to look nonchalant, Seth stretched in the chair and then looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, I can’t believe you’ve taken up jogging now. What about our pact?” Then Seth found that he was holding his breath and his heart was pounding in his chest as he waited for Ryan’s response. He wanted more than anything for things to go back to normal between them, but he wasn’t sure that was even possible.
Ryan stared at Seth, almost in disbelief. His friend had obviously been waiting for him, for God knows how long, and it had to be clear because of Ryan’s appearance that his ‘date’ with Taylor hadn’t gone well at all. But Seth wasn’t going to talk about it. Seth could read him, he realized, like no one else could. And now, glancing at Seth, he realized that he could read Seth too. Seth was perched on the end of the chair in complete silence, which was a miracle in itself. His hair was skewed in every direction and Ryan concluded that he had probably dozed off during his wait. The biggest miracle of all, however, was what Ryan witnessed in Seth’s eyes while the smaller boy waited for him to respond. There was hope. There was concern. And, Ryan realized with a start, there was compassion. He and Seth weren’t blood brothers, but Seth was more of a brother to him than Trey had ever been. And Ryan knew in that moment that Seth would never be like Trey or anyone else in his life. Seth was not going to leave him. The Cohens were never going to leave him. Ryan felt his body droop with relief and exhaustion and he walked towards the bed, slumping on his back on it.
Seth felt himself begin to breathe again when he saw his friend walk into the pool house instead of leaving it. Glancing at Ryan, he noticed that the boy looked relieved, although he was still puffing slightly and was obviously upset. Seth started when Ryan spoke, breaking the silence between the two boys. “People really suck, Seth.”
Swallowing, Seth quickly considered what the right approach was to take. Ryan had just made a statement, although general, that related in some way to his awful night. The question was whether or not to continue this conversation now. Looking at his brother, soaking wet from either attempting to run off his anger or to run away from something that was bothering him, Seth knew that now was not the time to talk about this. This wasn’t just about whatever had or had not happened with Taylor tonight, Seth thought wisely. This was about everything. Sneaking another glance at Ryan, who was staring up at the ceiling, Seth knew that Ryan trusted him now. He could feel it. Ryan had entered the pool house, had commented on his own about the suckiness of people in general. For whatever reason, Ryan had developed a trust in Seth that had been missing for the many months after the accident. And since he had, Seth knew that this conversation would come up again soon. When it did, Ryan would have had time to think about it (because brooding was what Ryan did best), and he wouldn’t be so easily upsettable or fragile. Then they would talk about it. Until then, it was Seth’s job to do what he did best- provide comic relief.
“Yes they do, my friend,” Seth began. He felt Ryan’s eyes on him. “People really suck. But do you know two people who don’t suck? Hmm? Kid Chino and the Ironist. Yes, that’s right. Because together, they’re unstoppable. Divided, however…” Seth paused for what he hoped was suspense. Ryan was sitting up now. “…The Ironist kicks Kid Chino’s ass at Playstation every time. So what do you say, bro? Shall we see if that’s true?”
Ryan loved Seth, he realized. He had always thought that Seth just babbled aimlessly, but he realized now that that wasn’t true. There was a method behind Seth’s babbling, and he had it perfected. Allowing himself to smile the first real smile he had expressed in much too long, he whipped a pillow at his newfound brother’s face and picked up a controller. “Game on, bro.”
Seth beamed at Ryan, picking up a controller of his own. “Game on.”