[oc] Shadowboxing. Chapter five.
Tired, tired, tired. *sighs* A bit feverish and kinda like on my way to getting the flu. *grumbles* And because of that, and I just got the beta back, I'm updating. I need the love. *g*
Title: Shadowboxing.
Author: M. F. Luder
Pairing: Ryan/Seth.
Rating: PG-13.
Category: Future fic. Drama. Me being evil. *nods*
Spoilers: Up to "The End's not Near, is Here", but with selective spoilers. *g*
Challenge: From fanfic100 and 20. colorless. The rest of the stories can be found at Big Damn Table.
Author's note: Betad by storydivagirl, who totally rocks. I have two betas working on this story because, apparently, I write too much and too fast and people have lives. *nods*
Special thanks to popmusicjunkie, who I totally adore and love and she must know this, or I'll hurt her. *winks* You put up with me while I was writing this, and you nudge and pushed and threatened with bodily harm when it was mostly needed, and for that, I will love you forever. *nods*
one | two| three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve
Shadowboxing
V.
This room, Ryan knows. This house, he's familiar with. He knows it takes twenty-nine paces from the elevator to the door. He knows how the door feels beneath his touch, his fingers. He knows this. He knows this place, his second home, because Newport will always be his first home.
His head hurts, but he has gotten used to it. He can feel tightness at the corners of his eyes, but he has gotten used to that too. His vision is blurry, like when he isn't wearing his glasses, like he's losing his sight one day at a time. Peripheral vision hasn't worsened but it takes longer to adjust to the changes in light, seconds ticking and his breath catching and he doesn't count them, he's conscientious about not counting them. He doesn't want to know.
He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his mouth. His hands are loose at his side, fingers opened and relaxed, and he takes his next breath without a problem.
He can hear someone walking down the hallway, outside the apartment. He hears those heavy steps until he hears them no more, and imagines it's Mr. Carter, across the hall in 404, using his key and walking into his apartment. He can hear the music in Sandra's apartment, from 401, their next door neighbor. He can picture her running on the treadmill, black hair pulled back, the music so very loud in her ears, if he can hear it from here.
And then he hears another set of footsteps and he thinks he recognizes them, but he isn't sure. The footsteps are coming closer and closer, until they pause and Ryan thinks they have paused in his own door until he hears the sound of a key in the lock and the door opening.
A backpack falls down onto the chair next to the bookcase, the keys skid to a stop on top of the counter. Ryan swallows. These sounds he knows, he recognizes. These sounds he's very familiar with. These sounds--
Ryan opens his eyes, slowly, blinking into the darkness that's slowly falling around him. He blinks a couple more times, his eyes narrowing, and he can see the outline of Seth's body, hand on the edge of the counter, head tilted to the side. He can't see Seth's brown eyes, or the frown that he knows Seth's wearing. He can't see the tight grip of Seth's hand on the counter, or everything Seth wants to say and can't quite force himself to.
He lets the seconds tick by, doesn't count them, can't count them. When his eyes finally allow him to see the difference in light and shade, he sighs, forcing his hands to stay loose on either side of him.
"How was the sign up?" His voice isn't rough in his ears, but it does sound disembodied, unfamiliar and almost unnatural.
Seth blinks, and Ryan knows a million and one things flicker across Seth's eyes, but his own eyes don't know that language anymore, can't read that language in this dim light. He doesn't turn, but he can imagine the afternoon slowly turning twilight through the window, the orange leaves falling from the trees in the park across from the apartment building. The wind has probably picked up, summer long gone, already giving free reign to autumn.
Seth doesn't answer and Ryan wants to push him back, place his hands on Seth's chest and shove him back. Do this for me, he wants to tell Seth. Pretend everything's fine. Pretend it means nothing that I didn't go to campus with you today. Pretend I'm going to study this semester. Pretend this isn't happening to me.
"I ran into everybody," Seth says, his voice low.
Ryan nods. Seth ran into his friends. Totally understandable. Sign up day, people meet for the first time since the beginning of summer. Students make their way back to their dorm rooms.
Eve is probably sharing a dorm room with Lara, like she has the past two years. Lara, an old friend of Eve's, met in elementary school as far as Ryan knows, stayed best friends and chose to go to college together, even though Lara is majoring in Biology. Claire and Emily in their usual, very small, one bedroom apartment. Ryan hopes they invite him and Seth to the wedding. Tatiana and Patrick in the penthouse of a high class apartment building, Patrick's father's gift to them, even if the guy wanted his son to go to Yale like him. Patrick always says he traded down, and Tatiana always hits him on the shoulder.
If he had gone to sign up for this semester, he would have run into them there. He would have seen at least one, maybe all of them, and they would have talked about their respective summers. He can't help but want to know about Charlie's internship, if Tatiana found anything and what the rest did. He's only known them two years, and he can't believe he misses them already.
"You should tell them."
Ryan sighs at Seth's voice, glancing over his shoulder at the window. The sun is slowly setting, nothing but oranges and pinks and yellows in the sky.
"Ryan--"
"Kirsten called," Ryan says, not turning back. He likes those colors. He really likes those colors. He remembers, sitting by the side of the pool, watching the sun go down. He remembers, sitting on the catamaran, nothing but ocean wherever he could turn, and watching different shades of oranges and pinks and yellows filling the sky.
"Oh. What did she say?"
He shrugs. "Asked about us, about things." Mentioned the Orange County Braille Institute Center. Again. Mentioned moving back home. Again.
"She asked?"
He knows what Seth's talking about. Of course she had asked. Ever since the last day of their summer in Europe, all Kirsten had talked about was blindness and Braille and guide dogs and a driver and surgery and--
"I take it you--?"
"I'm not moving back home," Ryan says through gritted teeth. He thinks he can take a lot of things -- he knows he can take a lot of things -- but he could never handle going back to Newport, moving there after this, after having all this and not--
"I know."
Silence falls around them, and it seems to fit, in a way. To fit them. To fit him.
He doesn't know why, but he remembers standing there, in that very same spot, the day Kirsten showed them the apartment. She had chosen it from a list her real state agent gave her. It was the best apartment of them all: two bedrooms, nice size living room area and kitchenette they never used except for the fridge. He stood in that very same spot, folded his arms and gazed out into the park, very much like he is doing right now.
"Ryan, I'm gonna--"
His jaw clenches effortless and his nails dig into his forearms. He knows what Seth's trying to tell him. "Yeah," he hisses, and he can feel his temples start to hurt by the pressure on his jaw. He consciously opens his mouth, feels his teeth tingle.
He closes his eyes in preparation for the change of light. He hears the click of the light switch in the living room, and then dots and rays of light shining brightly even against closed eyelids. His head starts to pound and his hands move to his eyes, heels digging as hard as they can.
He breathes through his mouth, his chest starting to hurt. Fuck, that hurts. He rubs his hands over his face, his eyes closed so tightly shut, he can feel the pulse in his temples. There's another click, and that's probably the light in the kitchen. Might as well just turn on both.
"Ryan--?"
"Call for pizza, will you?" He's going to be useless for long seconds, seconds he refuses to count, to acknowledge in a number. He wants nothing more than to step back until he can feel the wall against his shoulder blades, against his back. He wants something to hold onto, something--
A hand on his left shoulder, the other on his right elbow. "Hey, hey. It's okay."
Something in the back of Ryan's mind wants to push Seth away, to jerk back and move away, move away, out, out OUT--
But he's weak and pathetic and he can't help but be grateful at Seth's touch, at him somehow righting his axis once again. He takes in a shaky breath, a sound familiar on the back of his throat, and his body wants nothing more than to take a step forward and hide his face in the hollow of Seth's neck and breathe in and forget and let go--
His hands fall to his sides, curling into a tight fist, but Seth's hold stays, solid and strong.
He turns his face away, away from Seth, toward the window. He can feel his face contorting in a grimace, in pain, and of all the things that's happening to him right now, he doesn't want Seth to see him like this.
"Ryan--"
Seth's voice is low and understanding, reassuring and comforting, and God, Ryan can feel his body shivering with the need for physical contact. He's not this person. He's never been this person, and he has no idea why he's become this person now.
Seth's hand moves from his shoulder to where his neck meets his chest, thumb on his collarbone, and Ryan bites his lower lip. He doesn't lean into the touch out of sheer force of will.
"Ryan--"
Seth's voice makes his chest feel warm and cold at the same time, and all Ryan can do is shake his head. "Call for pizza," Ryan repeats, needing the time, the space, the buffer.
Seth doesn't answer, but Ryan can imagine him nodding, and with one squeeze of his hand on his neck, the hand falls away. A second later, the one on his elbow is gone as well. Ryan breathes a sigh of relief -- relief for what, he doesn't want to know -- and forces his fingers to uncurl.
Ryan turns around as he hears Seth moving in the kitchen, and this time he faces the window. The sky is still commanded by pastel colors. He sighs, folding his arms across his chest.
He hears Seth placing their order and then the soft click as the phone is placed back on the cradle. He waits by the window, not sure what he's waiting for, not sure what he expects.
He still doesn't know what it is he wanted when he hears Seth sit down on the couch, and then the low volume of the TV. He sighs once again, his hands digging into his forearms for a second before letting go, and turning around. He sits next to Seth, his knee touching Seth's, and tilts his head back, his eyes closing.
They have dinner in silence, still sitting on the couch, something on the TV Ryan doesn't recognize.
"You should tell them," Seth says to break the silence. "You should tell them." A pause, and Ryan's about to say something, anything, when Seth finishes, "They're your friends."
You are my friend, he thinks, and they are my classmates. But Ryan knows that's not true. That stopped being true long ago. Seth's more than his friend, has always been; and they became his friends sometime in the two years they've studied together, and he didn't even noticed.
He swallows tightly, his hand gripping the slice of pizza until he feels the grease oozing over his skin. He nods. "Yeah," he says, his voice low, seeming to match the pace of the night. "I will."
And he will. And he knows this, he just-- He just doesn't think he can do it now.
"Soon," Ryan adds with a breath.
Seth nods, Ryan can almost see the movement out of the corner of his eyes. Or he can't see it and he just knows it's there, he isn't sure. His peripheral vision is going to hell much faster than the rest of his eyesight.
Ryan turns around, tries to watch the TV, but he knows the only reason it's on is because Seth knows he doesn't want to talk. He realizes he can't quite see the faces on the screen in between one breath and the next. His chest goes cold, and this is also something he's getting used to, this feeling of pain and aching that comes from his veins to the air over his skin.
He thinks about his dark tinted glasses, lying on his desk, on the other side of the living room. He thinks about them, about how they are supposed to help with the change of light, make it easier for him. How they lasted a good week before they became useless, not strong enough, and how he's changed them five times in the three months before going to Europe, how he doesn't want to change them again. They'll be just as useless in another week, so why the hell bother?
He swallows, leans back against the couch, and takes a bite of the rapidly cooling pizza. He thinks about college, about the Berkeley campus only five minutes from there. He thinks about how he would have been taking Structural Analysis II this semester, Soil Mechanics, Construction materials, two labs. He thinks about everything he won't ever learn, about the two years he wasted wanting to be something he was never meant to be.
He bites hard into the pizza, feels his jaw hurt, his temples pound with his heartbeat, and pretends he can see the outline of the faces in the screen.
They pause for a second inside of the building, the wide glass panel doors before them, the optometrist's office on the second floor. They pause, mostly because Seth notices the way Ryan clenches his jaw, the tightness at the corners of Ryan's eyes. Seth sighs, his hold on Ryan's elbow tightening for a second.
"We can wait," Seth says with a small smile, squeezing Ryan's elbow for a second.
Ryan shakes his head. "No, I'm fine."
Seth swallows. You're anything but fine, he wants to say, but knows better. "Ryan--"
"I'm fine," Ryan hisses through his teeth, turning around and glaring at Seth. "I'm fine, lets just--"
"We can stay back," Seth insists, wanting nothing more than to take a step back, and another, until they are back in the first floor waiting room.
Ryan shakes his head. "No, lets get this over with."
"Ryan--"
"I said no."
Seth sighs, Ryan's tone more than enough to stop any other words that might come from his lips. Ryan said "no", and that's all there is to it. "Okay," he says reluctantly. "Okay, yeah. Whatever you say."
He swallows once again before nodding, squeezing Ryan's shoulder. He wants to ask if Ryan's ready for him to push open the doors, for the two of them to step outside, into the too bright mid afternoon light, but he knows his words will not be kindly received. He squeezes again, and Ryan nods, and that's enough of a cue for Seth.
Seth pushes open the glass doors, and the light blinds him for a second, his left hand -- the one not holding tightly at Ryan -- goes to shield his eyes. He turns around, glancing at Ryan. Ryan puts on his dark tinted glasses, but Seth knows from previous experiences that they are very little help with such harsh changes in light.
Taking in a shaky breath, he moves his left hand to Ryan's right shoulder at seeing Ryan's lips form nothing but a thin pink line. He turns his body around, trying to shield Ryan from the relentless sunlight. "Ryan--"
"How far away is the car?"
Far enough, Seth knows, and so does Ryan. And he could have brought the car around, but Ryan refused. And they could have stayed for a little while, even if it was pointless because the change of light would have been the same. He could be of more help to Ryan than a single hand on his elbow.
"I can--"
Ryan shakes his head, cutting off Seth's offer, again, to bring the car around. "No, no, I remember. The parking lot is to the left."
Seth nods, even if Ryan can't see him. "Yeah, it is." His left hand, the one on Ryan's shoulder, wants nothing more than to move down to Ryan's hand, take the curled fist in his and let loose the fingers. Instead, Seth bites back the desire to touch, to protect.
"Okay. Good."
Seth's certain he can hear Ryan's mind ending that line with I can do this.
Watching with nothing but apprehension, Seth sees Ryan swallow thickly before nodding, slightly, nothing but the barest movement of Ryan's chin. Ryan takes a step forward, Seth matching it. They are a good three steps from the end of the porch, and Seth tells Ryan so.
"One more step," Seth whispers under his breath, Ryan's forearm taut under his touch.
Ryan nods, taking one hesitant step before lifting his other foot, his right foot, and holding it there, in mid air, in between the floor they are on and the step down. Seth feels like something might break inside him at the uncertainty in Ryan's every movement.
When Ryan places his right foot down, he stumbles, and Seth pulls him back by the arm, steadying him, until Ryan has his other foot down. Seth breathes through his mouth as Ryan's lips thin even more. Ryan miscalculated, that's all. He miscalculated, but still all Seth can hear is the beating of his heart in his ears, in his temples.
"Ryan--?"
"Where's the car?"
Seth sighs, his hand on Ryan's forearm moving down to the inside of his elbow. The parking lot is on their left, and their car can't be more than fifty feet. "Come on, I'll--"
But Ryan jerks his arm away, seeming to want to take a step back but stopping himself from doing so. Seth can feel his chest tightening, fear making its way from the pit of his stomach to his throat. He wants nothing more than to reach out and take Ryan in his arms and, God, just make it better, make it okay, make it right once again but he can't, just fucking can't--
"Ryan," Seth pleads with his voice, and after a moment, the fight in Ryan seems to seep away, and he sighs, letting his left arm fall down to his side.
"The car," Ryan says with a soft voice, nothing but a whisper, and Seth nods.
Seth reaches forward, his hand hesitant until it connects with Ryan's soft skin and Ryan's almost pliable in his arms, letting Seth take hold of his forearm and steer him to the left, covering the fifty feet to the car.
Seth unlocks the doors, and Ryan moves forward with more confidence this time, his hand reaching for the handle as if he can actually see it there. Seth hopes Ryan can see it there. Seth stands by Ryan's side until Ryan's seated comfortably and is pulling the seatbelt on. Only then does Seth sigh in relief and make his way around to the driver's seat.
He starts the engine, and when he glances at Ryan out of the corner of his eyes -- like Ryan used to do, all those years ago; like Ryan used to until seven months ago -- Ryan's looking out the window, encased in his own world.
Seth focuses on his breathing throughout the drive back to the apartment, on his breathing and the road and not turning around or glancing at Ryan. Because Ryan might not be paying attention to him, but God, this is Ryan, and Ryan knows when Seth's being an idiot and looking at him.
The ride home passes quicker than Seth would have thought, and when he parks in their space in the basement parking lot, he can't help but sigh and look around the dim place. God, it's going to be hell on Ryan.
Seth turns around, expecting to see Ryan with his lips in a line, but instead, Ryan already has his dark glasses on and is opening his door even as Seth blinks and fumbles with the car keys.
He wants to call out for Ryan, but somehow, Seth knows that if he does, it will not be well received either. He locks the car in a hurry, clicks on the alarm and makes his way around, reaching for Ryan but stopping himself on the way.
Ryan's walking almost steadily, pausing only every five or six steps, before looking around and continuing on his way. Seth closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and finds his place by Ryan's side, ready to reach out if Ryan stumbles.
They don't say anything until they reach the elevator, and Ryan presses the button with confidence, even if Seth can see the tightness in the back of his shoulder, the set of his jaw.
"You okay?" Seth asks, finally, because the curiosity is too much for him, because concern is too much for him.
Ryan's jaw seems to contract slightly, a tendon making its presence known. Ryan nods. "I'm fine," he hisses, and Seth can almost hear the grinding of Ryan's teeth against one another.
And yeah, of course Ryan's fine. Of course. No other way around. Just dandy, right, Seth thinks bitterly, because it's not an everyday occurrence that you're told your visual field is seventeen in one eye and twenty one in the other. And it wouldn't fucking sting so much if Seth didn't know that twenty is legally blind, literally blind.
But Seth doesn't say anything, knows that anything he does say will come up short and fall into thin air, into the waves he can almost see in the background when he glances at Ryan.
They wait in silence until the doors slide open and Ryan walks inside, hand shielding his eyes, even with the dark glasses and the not so bright light in car. Seth leans back against one of the walls, head tilted back, and does not look at Ryan with every other breath until they reach the fourth floor.
When the doors slide open once again, Ryan takes an almost confident step out, hesitating only for a second before he turns left. Seth hovers by Ryan's side and doesn't care if Ryan lashes out at him, as long as he can fucking touch him.
He can see the way Ryan's mouth is slightly parted, and though he can't really hear the words, Seth thinks Ryan's counting his steps. Ryan pauses before their door and turns around, taking his glasses off as he does so. Seth can see the tightness in the corners of brilliant blue eyes before Ryan takes out his keys and pushes the door open.
"Ryan--"
Seth's words end there, in his throat, on his tongue, because even with the change of light, Ryan darts inside with long strides, turns right and two seconds later Seth can hear the bedroom door slamming close.
Seth sighs, sagging against the kitchen counter. He throws his keys onto the counter before turning around and closing the front door. Doorknob still in hand, Seth closes his eyes, tight, nothing but pressure in between his eyebrows and acid burning behind his eyes. He leans forward, forehead against soft wood, and tells himself to breathe.
He can see the map, nothing but lines and latitude and longitude, nothing but blue and oranges and pinks, names and places he was supposed to go to, to see. He can see the Tahiti map and feel coldness in his chest.
His fingers dig into his palms, into the creases of his skin.
He can see the state line in his mind, the line dividing Newport and Chino, his past and his present, and his future is dying a slow death in his hands, in between his fingers, through the sand he can't quite catch.
The laughter penetrates the silence of his mind, nothing but laughter. Kirsten's high pitched chuckles, the way her eyes shift and clear, Sandy's smile that can turn into laughter in a second, and the way Seth seems to laugh with his whole body, how Sophie has that too, how beautiful she is when she's laughing. And the very memory is nothing but joy he can't keep, it's being inches and miles away from it, from nothing but cold ground under him and feeling himself being picked up and left alone in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of darkness, in the middle of what's now his life.
He presses his lips so tightly in between his teeth, his jaw hurts, his eyes sting and his head pounds. He can hear the numbers in his mind, again and again, numbers under twenty and just over, and it whispers of distant dark truths, of nothing but blindness that has come too quickly, that falls as silence in between voices.
Sound and touch and taste and smell are all he has, sight has long ago died and he watched it die a slow and painful death in between Italy and Spain. He can see nothing but shades and shadows and everything is blurred, as if he has been crying, crying and crying, like he wants to do at the moment. He shoves a fist into his mouth, legs extended on the floor, and he leans forward until his forehead touches his thigh.
Too fast, too fast, he knows. The doctor said it himself. Too fast, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
You can have years, she said. You can have two, three, five years. Don't worry. It won't happen overnight. It'll give you time to adjust.
Too little time. It was too little time. It was...
Kirsten's laughter and Sandy's smile and Sophie with her thumb in her mouth and the way Seth talks with his hands and fingers, and those memories are nothing but that, memories, ghosts without voices he used to know, used to be able to see. Their words in his memory are like music in between Polaroid shots of his life, of every thing he has ever seen. Sunsets shared with Theresa when he used to love her, with Marissa when she was everything there was to think about, with Lindsay when she used to smile at him like he was the only thing in the world.
Sunsets spent in the backyard, feet dangling in the pool, day turning into night, warmth going away to bring a chilly breeze with the smell of boats and catamarans and the dream of Tahiti, one day, not soon enough, not too far away.
It's all a dream, a memory, a nightmare. It's everything he never did, everything he ever saw. And he wonders if he'll ever forget the fall of Kirsten's hair around her face, the movement of Sandy's hands as he cuts bagels and spreads cheese inside, the way Sophie used to fit in the crook of his elbow, small and fragile, how Seth looks lying down on his bed in Newport and staring at his ceiling. How--
He shakes his head and memories are nothing but noise, darkness and coldness and his arms used to be warm, once upon a time. Now, it's all noise. Noise, noise, noise, noise, noise--
Memories and shots are noises and sounds look like colors and everything is wrong, nothing is right anymore. There is no top or bottom, there is nothing but the cold floor beneath him, a wall against his back, his dresser to his right shoulder, the door somewhere to his left, his bed ten feet from him, and dark and dark and dark while rays of light play tricks on his mind, on his brain, with his eyes -- pointless worthless fucking muscles that don't know the difference between light and shade.
His eyes are closed and his face is hidden in between his hands and memories are running free because this is all he has now, all he has now, memories and miles and thoughts and houses and colors and ground and warmth and coldness.
And he's dreaming, he's dreaming, he has to, because these kinds of things don't happen to people. It happens in the movies and stupid afterschool specials but it doesn't happen to people you know and it specially doesn't happen to you, you motherfucker.
The last place he left off, the last place he visited, a mixture of Italy and Spain and France and Berlin and Europe and Kirsten laughing and Ryan finding out her French is not as good as her Italian and Sandy knowing more than just a few words in Spanish and Ryan remembering the insults Theresa and Arturo taught him, Sophie trying to copy the words she heard around her, not quite a language, not one they knew of, and Seth pouting because his high school French is pretty pointless and his Spanish is even worse.
He finds the map of Tahiti in his mind -- a promise, a compromise, his past and his present -- and draws a straight line, over rivers, farms and state lines, the distance from where he was and where he is now, and it's only finger lengths that he can see. He touches, he thinks, he dreams, he touches Tahiti and the promise and the pledge, and finds Seth's face and it hurts, God, it fucking hurts because he has to give up, give in, he's not winning this fight, he's only finding flaws in his plan, nothing but ghosts without voices and colors and dreams and memories and he thinks, he thinks, he dreams and he sees, only he doesn't see, but he sees, God, he can almost see and reach out and touch--
Until exhausted, Ryan closes his eyelids.
Ryan blinks, he knows this, he blinks. He knows the action and the reaction, he can feel the fluttering of his eyelids, the touch of skin against skin, but even as he does, as he keeps on blinking, there's nothing. There's nothing there for him to see. Nothing but pitch black and black and darkness.
He opens his arms wide at his side but he can't see them, and he can barely feel them and for a second he wonders if they are there, if along with his sight he has' lost his limbs as well and fuck, where the hell is the light?
He reaches forward, hoping to feel something, anything. He tries to remember where he was the last time he was anywhere and he remembers sitting on a chair with an armrest and Seth sitting somewhere to his right and hearing words, words and words but they were meaningless, they all were, except for the fact that their meaning cut him to the bone. He remembers, fuck, he remembers sitting there and hearing Dr. McKay, hearing her and blinking and not turning around because he knew he would die if he saw Seth's face, or not see Seth's face, so he didn't. He didn't turn around, he only sat there and heard Dr. McKay sentence him to twenty to life without light.
And then, and then... then is nothing but a blur of feeling and desperation and fear and knowing the time has come to an end, that it wasn't going to happen overnight, but fuck if it hasn't happened already, you're done, you're done, you're done.
He turns his head around, trying to see something that's not pitch black, and for a second he's reminded of sitting on the edge of the pool and looking up at the already dark sky and feeling alone, so alone, so fucking alone, and then Kirsten would turn on her light and Seth would make his way out of the kitchen to the pool house and catch him in between, and he wasn't alone anymore, not anymore and God, he wants that. He wants that, right now, this second.
He takes a step forward, thinks about taking a step forward even as he does so, because where the hell is he and where the hell is he going and where would he--
He can feel his heart beating in his throat, not knowing what's on his right and to his left and behind him and before him. Not knowing where he is or where he's going, not knowing anything because he can't fucking see--
He never knew feelings could be entities, things that breathed and lived and pulsed along with the movement in your veins, but they are. Fear is a presence of mind and body, is a being that stands right behind him, breathing down his neck and ears, making itself known. It almost speaks to him, but if it does, Ryan doesn't hear it, or can't hear it, or refuses to hear it, he's not sure.
And then there's Despair, of course, second cousin of Fear. They used to hang out together when they were young, when humanity was starting to develop, but then, of course, The Stone Age came around and they decided to go their separate ways, they'll talk to one another when they run into the mass murders.
He can feel Despair standing somewhere to the side, waiting for its turn, waiting for Ryan to--
Waiting for something, that's for sure, but not even Ryan is certain of what that is.
He takes another step forward, hands outstretched, trying to reach but always coming up short, like his eyes against a fight it was impossible for them to win but they tried still, God, how they tried to fight the change in light and dark.
And he can start feeling Despair taking over, slowly and so very slowly, because there's nothing there, wherever he is, there's only nothingness around him, and fuck if he doesn't know what is top or bottom, and then he takes another step forward and hits something--
And the next thing he knows he's falling forward until he hits something with his hands and knees. His hands ache and sting, and he must have a cut because, shit, that fucking hurts. And he wants to take another step, to find something, something to touch that's not the fucking floor and know where he is and where he went and what happened after hearing his sentence and---
But he's on the floor and Fear and Despair have become one with him and God, he wants nothing more than to call for Kristen and Sandy, for Sophie, for Seth, his body shaking with the need to be taken in arms and comforted and lied to when they tell him that everything will be okay, everything will be just fine. But he cant, no, no, he can't, and he shakes his head because he's not ten, damn it, he doesn't need to crawl into his parents' bed. He stopped that when he was seven and his dad gave Ryan the back of his hand before pushing him out of the room. No, no, he can find his way through this -- whatever this is -- before two seconds tick by and he thinks, well, fuck it.
"Kirsten!"
And that's when Panic makes its presence known, because he can't hear his very own words in his very own ears. He can't hear anything and he can't see anything and for a second, for a breath, he wonders if this is how it feels to be dead.
That's when Panic takes over and decides nothing is good enough, nothing is small enough, and he starts screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands aching as they clutch at the unforgiving floor and his temples hurt from the exertion of screaming at decibels unknown to mankind and yet, and yet he can't hear a fucking thing he's saying.
But he screams. God, he screams.
"Kirsten! Sandy! Kirsten!!! Kirsten!! Sophie! Sandy!! KIRSTEN!!! Seth! Seth!!! Seth! Kirsten! SETH!!!!"
And he'd keep on screaming his head off, his eyes off, if there suddenly weren't hands on his shoulders, on his face, at his side, on his body, touching and pulling and touching and voices, voices, God, he can almost hear voices around him and then it's just one voice, one voice, and one touch and he sags as the fight leaves his body and Panic shrugs and takes a step back and then it's nothing but hands on him and somewhere boney to rest his face, to hide his face, and cloth under his hands as he clutches with everything he has.
He thinks that he breathes, he doesn't know, he thinks that he blinks, but he doesn't know that either. A few breaths and blinks later, he can lift his face from where its hidden and he can search in the distance of where he was and reach out this time and touch something solid, realize he isn't falling anymore, that he was caught.
He looks up and he knows what he's seeing, Seth's face barely even inches from his even if it's nothing but dark shades and silhouettes and a touch that lingers on his cheek as it moves down to his chin.
"Hey, there," Seth says and Ryan can hear it this time, and he can hear the catch in Seth's voice, the disbelief and something that brushes by without quite pausing.
Ryan breathes in again, and he blinks, and he looks around him and it's only then that he notices that he's kneeling on his bed, his bed, and Seth's kneeling beside him and he has one arm around Ryan's waist, hand resting on the small of Ryan's back, fingers spread wide.
He breathes in and something is tight in his chest, in his arms and hands and he tries to remember the drunken memories he has, nothing but scattered thoughts and flashes of light and dark.
He believes he awakes only when thought claims him in desperate need and the words resound through his mind, not in rightness, in anything but that--
Visual field of seventeen in your left eye and twenty-one in your right one. I'm sorry, Ryan, but you know twenty or under is legally blind. We can--
-- and he can understand the words he hears, even accept them in a way, because he knew this was coming. God, he knew, from the moment he stood before the Piazza and looked up and felt his eyes sting and accept that his peripheral was shot to hell, the blinders were on for real this time.
"Ryan?"
"How--?" But his voice is rough against his ears, and for a second he wonders if it's because they lost the habit of hearing anything but he shakes his head at that.
No, no, that was a dream. A nightmare. That was his personal hell in stark blankness, nothing but darkness and silence.
Ryan clears his throat and tries again, and this time his voice doesn't feel like sandpaper on his skin. "What--?" He pauses, trying to understand.
Dr. McKay, he remembers. Dr. McKay and the way to the car, feeling his jaw hurting all the way to his temples, it was so tightly clenched. Looking out the window of the passenger seat and remembering a time when he could drive, when he could hold his thoughts in his hands as he held the steering wheel with practiced ease. Counting his paces to the elevator, down the hallway and into his shelter, into his home. Making his way to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him and then...
Then... He remembers maps and state lines and laughter and feeling so very tired, he thinks he must have fallen asleep sitting down on the floor.
He turns to look at Seth, and Seth's looking back at him, blurriness of black and white and maybe some grays in between. He swallows, sighs, sitting down on his heels, once again noticing that he was kneeling on his bed, his legs a tangle in between the sheets, and Seth very much kneeling before him.
He tries to turn his legs around, straighten them before him, but he's in between the sheets and Seth's kneeling on top of them and it just seems like too much effort. He frowns, thinking about last night -- last night? earlier tonight? -- and coming up short right after state lines of where he was and where he would be.
"I--" don't remember, he wants to say, but sighs instead.
Seth shrugs, shifting until he's sitting on the bed, legs crossed before him and how Seth does that with a grace he didn't use to have, Ryan doesn't dare question.
"I came looking for you," he says shrugging again, "for dinner. You were in bed, fast asleep. I only helped with your clothes."
And it's then that Ryan looks down at himself, in nothing but boxers, and he glances at Seth, who's wearing boxers and undershirt. "Oh."
"I didn't want to wake you. I asked you if you were hungry, you said no. I don't know if you really heard me--"
He probably wasn't even paying attention. He probably wasn't even in his right mind, in his body at the time, he was too tired from having an almost break down.
Because, yeah, he knows that wasn't even close to him breaking down. Hell, no. When he does, because come hell or high water, he knows he will break down before the end of his sight, when he breaks out, he'll know. Everyone will know.
He'll break down. I'll break down, he wants to say to Seth. I came close today. But it's gonna happen. I'm going to breakdown. Please don't be here when it happens. Ryan sighs, shaking his head, one hand still clutching at the side of Seth's shirt.
He swallows, lets his hand fall loose and to his side, and blinks and tries to think, to remember. Fear and sound and silence and black and that's all he can remember from his dream, even if he can still feel his heart pounding in his chest and his palms sweating.
"I..." But Ryan has no idea what he wants to say, what he was about to say, and closes his mouth with a sigh.
Seth shifts, pulling the covers from underneath him and to the side, making it possible for Ryan to pull his legs around and stretch them before him, and then lie down on his back. And in a second he's back in nothing but blackness, nothing but a sense of loss and no top or bottom, no right or left, vertigo is all he knows. He's exhausted and woozy and so very confused, and he gropes out for the one thing that can make it all right, make it all settle around him, make him belong.
"Seth?" He gasps in sudden panic, his hands bumping Seth's chest, gripping a tight fistful of white undershirt, his other hand reaching for something and then being clasped in a sure fingers.
"Hey, hey," Seth says, and Ryan can hear the words, feel the breath leaving soft lips and make its way to his ears before he can feel pressure against his side, on his left arm and he can breathe in and out. "I'm here, I'm right here. I've got you."
Ryan makes a broken sound in the back of his throat and this he remembers from his nightmare, the feeling of loss and disassociation and helplessness and loneliness. He breathes in but it comes out in short pants, right hand clutching tightly at Seth's chest, at Seth's shirt, and his hold is so tight, so close to his own chest, that Seth's half lying on his side to be able to cover him and hold him and have him.
And then Ryan blinks and the light is kind to him and his eyes remind him that sight is a gift to him, a gift that has an expiration date that's soon approaching. He can see Seth for a second, for a blink and the next, and he exhales through his mouth, loving the way Seth smiles at him, the way Seth's hands reach out holding in, holding out, just holding him.
Ryan just lies there, on his bed, with his hand clutching tightly at Seth's shirt and Seth shifting but not pulling away, not saying a word, waiting for Ryan to find his footing, to find his axis and his compass on his own. When he does, when he recognizes the edges and corners of his bedroom and knows that the dim light coming in is from the pulled curtains of his window that look out to the park, his fingers loosen, but don't let go entirely.
Seth nods, and Ryan can feel the bed shifting and dipping at the movement, or the shifting of Seth's legs, of his weight, until he's not so much lying over Ryan and Ryan's not on his back but on his left side. Seth still has Ryan's left hand in his, and Ryan still has Seth's shirt in his right one.
"It's okay," Seth whispers softly, words out of his mouth and Ryan nods, because it is. Because he might forget the words and the sights and even the sounds, but it's okay because when he fell, he was caught. Seth caught him.
They lie on the bed, quietly, in silence, and they are so close, Ryan can almost breathe in the air leaving Seth's lungs.
The minutes tick by, and Ryan can almost feel himself starting to relax, to breathe easier, his heart no longer pounding in his chest. He can feel the warmth from Seth's body, not five inches from his, t-shirt still held loosely in his hand.
"Ryan?"
"Hmm," he whispers as he sighs, eyes closed, and this time, when the darkness comes, it doesn't feel as if he's being stabbed
"This is the third nightmare in a week."
Ryan swallows painfully, his throat closed, and he knows Seth and he knows exactly where Seth's going with this. "Seth--"
"Maybe mom was right," Seth finishes before Ryan has time to speak over him.
"Seth--" Don't do that, don't tell me that. I can't... Ryan can't help but think. "I'm not going back to Newport," he hisses through his teeth, letting go of Seth's shirt and pulling his hand back from Seth's touch, even if the action pains him, makes something inside him turn cold and whimper.
Seth groans in the back of his throat, a sound Ryan's familiar with, has heard it as many times as he's heard Seth whine. Then there are hands pulling his own away from his chest, and covering them, caressing them, in between fingers and touch and Ryan can't help but sigh and close his eyes in content.
"Third nightmare, Ryan." Seth says, squeezing his hands, holding them tight even though Ryan's not going to pull away again. "Three. Count them--"
Ryan grimaces, turning his face away because he doesn't remember his nightmares, he never tends to. But he wakes up knowing he didn't sleep right, itching somewhere on his back and knowing he dreamt something he doesn't want to remember.
"--and don't give me that face. Of course I heard you, I'm across the hall and we leave our doors opened, you idiot."
He doesn't want to smile, really doesn't, because he's pissed off and two minutes ago he was on the verge of the abyss that has a name and it's called Nervous Breakdown. But God, Seth has always made him smile, even when he doesn't want to, even when Seth's actually pissing him off, Seth can make him smile at the oddest of times.
And the you idiot at the end of that sentence? That's Seth, through and through.
Seth laughs, a sound that Ryan relates with laughter through his whole body, laughter in his eyes and cheekbones and lips. Ryan sighs, reminded that he has to cherish these memories, that he has to stack them up as high as they can go, that he was to watch carefully, with the right light, so he can remember.
When Seth stops laughing, when Ryan can feel Seth squeezing his hands in his, and he blinks, trying to see Seth's face and seeing nothing but outline --
And be grateful for that, Ryan, because that's all you can hope to see, now, isn't it? Nothing but outlines. Be grateful for that much.
He swallows, wanting nothing more than to pull his hands away from Seth's, but he can't, because he desires the touch, the human contact, more than anything at the moment.
"I'm just saying," Seth says, and his voice is sober and serious and that sobers Ryan up faster than his inner voice ever could. "I heard you screaming, Ryan. Let me worry, okay?"
Screaming? God, he doesn't remember that. He doesn't remember much of his-- dream, nightmare, whatever -- but he certainly doesn't remember screaming.
-- maps and state lines and Tahiti and Kirsten and Seth and Sophie and Sandy and Seth --
Right. No wonder. He remembers the feeling of Seth's name on his tongue, the disassociation of feeling it rolling off his lips and yet not hearing it--
Oh. Okay. Now he remembers.
Ryan swallows, feeling his cheeks heat up at the embarrassment, picturing Seth lying on his bed, totally asleep, and being awakened by the sound of his own named screamed from Ryan's lips and-- Fuck, yeah. Cheeks heating up, alright.
"I'm s--"
But Ryan can't finish his words, his hand squeezed tightly, Seth shifting on the bed. Ryan holds still in mid word, almost waiting for Seth to lean forward, to bring their bodies together, and yet not waiting for it at the same time. His breath is in his throat and, waiting, waiting--
"Don't," Seth says, finally, and Ryan sighs, something in his chest and stomach not quite uncoiling. "I'm just, you know, worried."
Ryan nods, even though he doesn't know, doesn't quite understand. He wants to say, I'm fine, but he's never lied to Seth's face, not like that, and he doesn't want to start now.
"It's just--" Seth starts, and ends there, and Ryan doesn't have to hear the rest of the words.
He remembers Kirsten's case, he remembers her words about how the Braille Institute has a center in Orange County, not five minutes from Newport and how Ryan could move into the spare room that never quite became his, the one next to Seth's bedroom. How he could stay there while he studies and adapts to everything, how they could find him the best optometrist in the county and how--
But it didn't matter. All the things Kirsten thought, knew, were best for him because Ryan wasn't giving up his house, his life, as well as his sight.
"Maybe, you know, just maybe, it'd be easier--"
But Ryan shakes his head, hands clenching into tight fists even in between Seth's own. "No, no. I can't--"
And his words end there because that's all he can say. He can't-- He just can't. He can't give up what little control he has over what he has left of his life. Fuck, he won't. Even if... even if he has to take a fucking bus to wherever he has to go, fuck, he won't surrender.
He swallows. "I can't."
Ryan can only see the outline of Seth's face when he nods, and he sighs, relieved, because Seth gets him. Someway, somehow, he gets it. And just like that, the conversation ends there.
"Dr. McKay called."
Ryan blinks, narrowing his eyes, trying to force his sight but he can't, he can't, they have given up-- "Oh," he says after a moment.
"Yeah, hmm." Seth shrugs, that much Ryan can see, the shift of one shoulder. "Called around seven." He pauses, and Ryan thinks the good doctor can't possibly have worse news than what she delivered today. It's not fucking possible. "We have an appointment at one of the community centers of the Braille Institute. Tomorrow. Early morning. Hmm. Well, you do."
And Ryan nods, even as he can feel Seth shifting on the bed, and not for the first time he wishes he could see Seth's face, know what the other is thinking, what's happening. Seth's eyes have always said so much, too much to Ryan and--
Ryan sighs, swallowing thickly and with difficulty, his throat suddenly tight and closed and he has to close his eyes, breathe out through his mouth not to take another step toward his fucking abyss.
"Nine a.m.," Seth says, his voice low and ending in a yawn. "I can drive you."
Ryan sighs once again, thinking about Kirsten's proposal of a driver and remembering the way his hands had clenched at the thought of never driving again.
"Okay," Ryan answers after a moment, and Seth nods, a small movement, and Ryan breathes out through his mouth, low and deep, and close his eyes.
Sleep comes easy, as if the hours before had been so plagued with memories and dreams it was anything but sleep, and just as he can feel his consciousness sleeping, one of Seth's hands let go of his own. Ryan feels a second of panic, blinks his eyes rapidly and in desperation, wanting to clutch at Seth's shirt, at Seth's body, before the hand falls down on Ryan's shoulder, down his neck, to cradle the collarbone, thumb resting on his pulse point.
Ryan breathes in softly, comfortably, safe and secure, and falls asleep between one breath and the next.
They don't talk on the way back to the apartment, after the meeting. There's no need. Seth did the grocery shopping while Ryan met with one of the guys in charge at the Braille Institute, figured, well, he should let Ryan have his time with the guy. But God, Seth thinks, glancing at Ryan out of the corner of his eyes as the elevator doors close from the parking lot. There was nothing more difficult than standing there and saying goodbye to Ryan, if only for two hours.
They've spent all summer together, always either him or one of his parents with Ryan, but leaving him with some stranger? Afraid something could happen, Ryan could fucking trip because he just didn't see-- Seth opens his mouth, loosening the tight pressure of his jaw and tells himself to breathe.
The elevator pings and they step outside, Seth's hands itching to reach forward, find its way to Ryan's elbow, steer Ryan right, not allow him to tumble, to fall--
"Well, hello there. Long time no see, huh?"
Seth blinks, thinking he's hallucinating, really, because that can't be Tatiana standing up from where she was sitting by the side of their door, swiping at the bottom of her jeans.
Tatiana smirks, one eyebrow raised in that way of hers that's almost like Ryan used to do, looking in between him and Ryan.
Seth glances at Ryan, standing straight, next to him, back so tensed, it's gotta hurt all the way to Ryan's temples. And fuck, because he knows Ryan never called his friends, never told them, and of course they'd make their way here, with Tatiana as their representative. It's the Friday before the start of classes, they should have known one of them was coming.
"Tatiana."
"Oh, you remember me," Tatiana says with so much sarcasm, it makes Seth feel guilty and he didn't do anything. "At the very least--"
"Cut the bullshit, will you?" Ryan says through his teeth, and Seth blinks because, fuck, that's not his friend either.
Seth can't see Ryan's eyes with the dark glasses he's wearing, and they are supposed to help with the change in light, but he knows for a fact that they don't. And Seth might not be able to see Ryan's eyes, but he can imagine him rolling them at Tatiana right about now.
Ryan shakes his head once, making his way to the door, and Seth's heart can't stop beating in his throat.
"Well, since you put it so nicely." Tatiana takes a step back as Ryan makes his way to the door. "I wanted to see you."
"I'm here, you saw me. The elevator is that way," Ryan says with a wave in the general direction of down the hallway.
Seth rushes to his side, trying to get out his keys even as he reaches Ryan, who already has his keys out. And he stands there, like an idiot, watching Ryan hesitate, miss once, twice, before cursing under his breath.
Seth swallows, hand reaching to touch Ryan's elbow. "I've got it."
Ryan nods, lips in a thin line, and takes a step to the side, to let him reach the lock, back still to Tatiana.
"Ryan, what--?"
"I'm blind, okay?" Ryan hisses through his teeth, and Seth's fingers go numb, the keys clattering to the floor.
Okay, that done. Let me know what you think. *g*
God, so very tired. This is the flu from hell. My head hurts, my whole body hurts, and I already took the fucking pill. *grumbles* Going to watch Criminal Minds (last week's, don't ask) and then I'm going to bed. *nods*
Title: Shadowboxing.
Author: M. F. Luder
Pairing: Ryan/Seth.
Rating: PG-13.
Category: Future fic. Drama. Me being evil. *nods*
Spoilers: Up to "The End's not Near, is Here", but with selective spoilers. *g*
Challenge: From fanfic100 and 20. colorless. The rest of the stories can be found at Big Damn Table.
Author's note: Betad by storydivagirl, who totally rocks. I have two betas working on this story because, apparently, I write too much and too fast and people have lives. *nods*
Special thanks to popmusicjunkie, who I totally adore and love and she must know this, or I'll hurt her. *winks* You put up with me while I was writing this, and you nudge and pushed and threatened with bodily harm when it was mostly needed, and for that, I will love you forever. *nods*
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Shadowboxing
V.
This room, Ryan knows. This house, he's familiar with. He knows it takes twenty-nine paces from the elevator to the door. He knows how the door feels beneath his touch, his fingers. He knows this. He knows this place, his second home, because Newport will always be his first home.
His head hurts, but he has gotten used to it. He can feel tightness at the corners of his eyes, but he has gotten used to that too. His vision is blurry, like when he isn't wearing his glasses, like he's losing his sight one day at a time. Peripheral vision hasn't worsened but it takes longer to adjust to the changes in light, seconds ticking and his breath catching and he doesn't count them, he's conscientious about not counting them. He doesn't want to know.
He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his mouth. His hands are loose at his side, fingers opened and relaxed, and he takes his next breath without a problem.
He can hear someone walking down the hallway, outside the apartment. He hears those heavy steps until he hears them no more, and imagines it's Mr. Carter, across the hall in 404, using his key and walking into his apartment. He can hear the music in Sandra's apartment, from 401, their next door neighbor. He can picture her running on the treadmill, black hair pulled back, the music so very loud in her ears, if he can hear it from here.
And then he hears another set of footsteps and he thinks he recognizes them, but he isn't sure. The footsteps are coming closer and closer, until they pause and Ryan thinks they have paused in his own door until he hears the sound of a key in the lock and the door opening.
A backpack falls down onto the chair next to the bookcase, the keys skid to a stop on top of the counter. Ryan swallows. These sounds he knows, he recognizes. These sounds he's very familiar with. These sounds--
Ryan opens his eyes, slowly, blinking into the darkness that's slowly falling around him. He blinks a couple more times, his eyes narrowing, and he can see the outline of Seth's body, hand on the edge of the counter, head tilted to the side. He can't see Seth's brown eyes, or the frown that he knows Seth's wearing. He can't see the tight grip of Seth's hand on the counter, or everything Seth wants to say and can't quite force himself to.
He lets the seconds tick by, doesn't count them, can't count them. When his eyes finally allow him to see the difference in light and shade, he sighs, forcing his hands to stay loose on either side of him.
"How was the sign up?" His voice isn't rough in his ears, but it does sound disembodied, unfamiliar and almost unnatural.
Seth blinks, and Ryan knows a million and one things flicker across Seth's eyes, but his own eyes don't know that language anymore, can't read that language in this dim light. He doesn't turn, but he can imagine the afternoon slowly turning twilight through the window, the orange leaves falling from the trees in the park across from the apartment building. The wind has probably picked up, summer long gone, already giving free reign to autumn.
Seth doesn't answer and Ryan wants to push him back, place his hands on Seth's chest and shove him back. Do this for me, he wants to tell Seth. Pretend everything's fine. Pretend it means nothing that I didn't go to campus with you today. Pretend I'm going to study this semester. Pretend this isn't happening to me.
"I ran into everybody," Seth says, his voice low.
Ryan nods. Seth ran into his friends. Totally understandable. Sign up day, people meet for the first time since the beginning of summer. Students make their way back to their dorm rooms.
Eve is probably sharing a dorm room with Lara, like she has the past two years. Lara, an old friend of Eve's, met in elementary school as far as Ryan knows, stayed best friends and chose to go to college together, even though Lara is majoring in Biology. Claire and Emily in their usual, very small, one bedroom apartment. Ryan hopes they invite him and Seth to the wedding. Tatiana and Patrick in the penthouse of a high class apartment building, Patrick's father's gift to them, even if the guy wanted his son to go to Yale like him. Patrick always says he traded down, and Tatiana always hits him on the shoulder.
If he had gone to sign up for this semester, he would have run into them there. He would have seen at least one, maybe all of them, and they would have talked about their respective summers. He can't help but want to know about Charlie's internship, if Tatiana found anything and what the rest did. He's only known them two years, and he can't believe he misses them already.
"You should tell them."
Ryan sighs at Seth's voice, glancing over his shoulder at the window. The sun is slowly setting, nothing but oranges and pinks and yellows in the sky.
"Ryan--"
"Kirsten called," Ryan says, not turning back. He likes those colors. He really likes those colors. He remembers, sitting by the side of the pool, watching the sun go down. He remembers, sitting on the catamaran, nothing but ocean wherever he could turn, and watching different shades of oranges and pinks and yellows filling the sky.
"Oh. What did she say?"
He shrugs. "Asked about us, about things." Mentioned the Orange County Braille Institute Center. Again. Mentioned moving back home. Again.
"She asked?"
He knows what Seth's talking about. Of course she had asked. Ever since the last day of their summer in Europe, all Kirsten had talked about was blindness and Braille and guide dogs and a driver and surgery and--
"I take it you--?"
"I'm not moving back home," Ryan says through gritted teeth. He thinks he can take a lot of things -- he knows he can take a lot of things -- but he could never handle going back to Newport, moving there after this, after having all this and not--
"I know."
Silence falls around them, and it seems to fit, in a way. To fit them. To fit him.
He doesn't know why, but he remembers standing there, in that very same spot, the day Kirsten showed them the apartment. She had chosen it from a list her real state agent gave her. It was the best apartment of them all: two bedrooms, nice size living room area and kitchenette they never used except for the fridge. He stood in that very same spot, folded his arms and gazed out into the park, very much like he is doing right now.
"Ryan, I'm gonna--"
His jaw clenches effortless and his nails dig into his forearms. He knows what Seth's trying to tell him. "Yeah," he hisses, and he can feel his temples start to hurt by the pressure on his jaw. He consciously opens his mouth, feels his teeth tingle.
He closes his eyes in preparation for the change of light. He hears the click of the light switch in the living room, and then dots and rays of light shining brightly even against closed eyelids. His head starts to pound and his hands move to his eyes, heels digging as hard as they can.
He breathes through his mouth, his chest starting to hurt. Fuck, that hurts. He rubs his hands over his face, his eyes closed so tightly shut, he can feel the pulse in his temples. There's another click, and that's probably the light in the kitchen. Might as well just turn on both.
"Ryan--?"
"Call for pizza, will you?" He's going to be useless for long seconds, seconds he refuses to count, to acknowledge in a number. He wants nothing more than to step back until he can feel the wall against his shoulder blades, against his back. He wants something to hold onto, something--
A hand on his left shoulder, the other on his right elbow. "Hey, hey. It's okay."
Something in the back of Ryan's mind wants to push Seth away, to jerk back and move away, move away, out, out OUT--
But he's weak and pathetic and he can't help but be grateful at Seth's touch, at him somehow righting his axis once again. He takes in a shaky breath, a sound familiar on the back of his throat, and his body wants nothing more than to take a step forward and hide his face in the hollow of Seth's neck and breathe in and forget and let go--
His hands fall to his sides, curling into a tight fist, but Seth's hold stays, solid and strong.
He turns his face away, away from Seth, toward the window. He can feel his face contorting in a grimace, in pain, and of all the things that's happening to him right now, he doesn't want Seth to see him like this.
"Ryan--"
Seth's voice is low and understanding, reassuring and comforting, and God, Ryan can feel his body shivering with the need for physical contact. He's not this person. He's never been this person, and he has no idea why he's become this person now.
Seth's hand moves from his shoulder to where his neck meets his chest, thumb on his collarbone, and Ryan bites his lower lip. He doesn't lean into the touch out of sheer force of will.
"Ryan--"
Seth's voice makes his chest feel warm and cold at the same time, and all Ryan can do is shake his head. "Call for pizza," Ryan repeats, needing the time, the space, the buffer.
Seth doesn't answer, but Ryan can imagine him nodding, and with one squeeze of his hand on his neck, the hand falls away. A second later, the one on his elbow is gone as well. Ryan breathes a sigh of relief -- relief for what, he doesn't want to know -- and forces his fingers to uncurl.
Ryan turns around as he hears Seth moving in the kitchen, and this time he faces the window. The sky is still commanded by pastel colors. He sighs, folding his arms across his chest.
He hears Seth placing their order and then the soft click as the phone is placed back on the cradle. He waits by the window, not sure what he's waiting for, not sure what he expects.
He still doesn't know what it is he wanted when he hears Seth sit down on the couch, and then the low volume of the TV. He sighs once again, his hands digging into his forearms for a second before letting go, and turning around. He sits next to Seth, his knee touching Seth's, and tilts his head back, his eyes closing.
They have dinner in silence, still sitting on the couch, something on the TV Ryan doesn't recognize.
"You should tell them," Seth says to break the silence. "You should tell them." A pause, and Ryan's about to say something, anything, when Seth finishes, "They're your friends."
You are my friend, he thinks, and they are my classmates. But Ryan knows that's not true. That stopped being true long ago. Seth's more than his friend, has always been; and they became his friends sometime in the two years they've studied together, and he didn't even noticed.
He swallows tightly, his hand gripping the slice of pizza until he feels the grease oozing over his skin. He nods. "Yeah," he says, his voice low, seeming to match the pace of the night. "I will."
And he will. And he knows this, he just-- He just doesn't think he can do it now.
"Soon," Ryan adds with a breath.
Seth nods, Ryan can almost see the movement out of the corner of his eyes. Or he can't see it and he just knows it's there, he isn't sure. His peripheral vision is going to hell much faster than the rest of his eyesight.
Ryan turns around, tries to watch the TV, but he knows the only reason it's on is because Seth knows he doesn't want to talk. He realizes he can't quite see the faces on the screen in between one breath and the next. His chest goes cold, and this is also something he's getting used to, this feeling of pain and aching that comes from his veins to the air over his skin.
He thinks about his dark tinted glasses, lying on his desk, on the other side of the living room. He thinks about them, about how they are supposed to help with the change of light, make it easier for him. How they lasted a good week before they became useless, not strong enough, and how he's changed them five times in the three months before going to Europe, how he doesn't want to change them again. They'll be just as useless in another week, so why the hell bother?
He swallows, leans back against the couch, and takes a bite of the rapidly cooling pizza. He thinks about college, about the Berkeley campus only five minutes from there. He thinks about how he would have been taking Structural Analysis II this semester, Soil Mechanics, Construction materials, two labs. He thinks about everything he won't ever learn, about the two years he wasted wanting to be something he was never meant to be.
He bites hard into the pizza, feels his jaw hurt, his temples pound with his heartbeat, and pretends he can see the outline of the faces in the screen.
They pause for a second inside of the building, the wide glass panel doors before them, the optometrist's office on the second floor. They pause, mostly because Seth notices the way Ryan clenches his jaw, the tightness at the corners of Ryan's eyes. Seth sighs, his hold on Ryan's elbow tightening for a second.
"We can wait," Seth says with a small smile, squeezing Ryan's elbow for a second.
Ryan shakes his head. "No, I'm fine."
Seth swallows. You're anything but fine, he wants to say, but knows better. "Ryan--"
"I'm fine," Ryan hisses through his teeth, turning around and glaring at Seth. "I'm fine, lets just--"
"We can stay back," Seth insists, wanting nothing more than to take a step back, and another, until they are back in the first floor waiting room.
Ryan shakes his head. "No, lets get this over with."
"Ryan--"
"I said no."
Seth sighs, Ryan's tone more than enough to stop any other words that might come from his lips. Ryan said "no", and that's all there is to it. "Okay," he says reluctantly. "Okay, yeah. Whatever you say."
He swallows once again before nodding, squeezing Ryan's shoulder. He wants to ask if Ryan's ready for him to push open the doors, for the two of them to step outside, into the too bright mid afternoon light, but he knows his words will not be kindly received. He squeezes again, and Ryan nods, and that's enough of a cue for Seth.
Seth pushes open the glass doors, and the light blinds him for a second, his left hand -- the one not holding tightly at Ryan -- goes to shield his eyes. He turns around, glancing at Ryan. Ryan puts on his dark tinted glasses, but Seth knows from previous experiences that they are very little help with such harsh changes in light.
Taking in a shaky breath, he moves his left hand to Ryan's right shoulder at seeing Ryan's lips form nothing but a thin pink line. He turns his body around, trying to shield Ryan from the relentless sunlight. "Ryan--"
"How far away is the car?"
Far enough, Seth knows, and so does Ryan. And he could have brought the car around, but Ryan refused. And they could have stayed for a little while, even if it was pointless because the change of light would have been the same. He could be of more help to Ryan than a single hand on his elbow.
"I can--"
Ryan shakes his head, cutting off Seth's offer, again, to bring the car around. "No, no, I remember. The parking lot is to the left."
Seth nods, even if Ryan can't see him. "Yeah, it is." His left hand, the one on Ryan's shoulder, wants nothing more than to move down to Ryan's hand, take the curled fist in his and let loose the fingers. Instead, Seth bites back the desire to touch, to protect.
"Okay. Good."
Seth's certain he can hear Ryan's mind ending that line with I can do this.
Watching with nothing but apprehension, Seth sees Ryan swallow thickly before nodding, slightly, nothing but the barest movement of Ryan's chin. Ryan takes a step forward, Seth matching it. They are a good three steps from the end of the porch, and Seth tells Ryan so.
"One more step," Seth whispers under his breath, Ryan's forearm taut under his touch.
Ryan nods, taking one hesitant step before lifting his other foot, his right foot, and holding it there, in mid air, in between the floor they are on and the step down. Seth feels like something might break inside him at the uncertainty in Ryan's every movement.
When Ryan places his right foot down, he stumbles, and Seth pulls him back by the arm, steadying him, until Ryan has his other foot down. Seth breathes through his mouth as Ryan's lips thin even more. Ryan miscalculated, that's all. He miscalculated, but still all Seth can hear is the beating of his heart in his ears, in his temples.
"Ryan--?"
"Where's the car?"
Seth sighs, his hand on Ryan's forearm moving down to the inside of his elbow. The parking lot is on their left, and their car can't be more than fifty feet. "Come on, I'll--"
But Ryan jerks his arm away, seeming to want to take a step back but stopping himself from doing so. Seth can feel his chest tightening, fear making its way from the pit of his stomach to his throat. He wants nothing more than to reach out and take Ryan in his arms and, God, just make it better, make it okay, make it right once again but he can't, just fucking can't--
"Ryan," Seth pleads with his voice, and after a moment, the fight in Ryan seems to seep away, and he sighs, letting his left arm fall down to his side.
"The car," Ryan says with a soft voice, nothing but a whisper, and Seth nods.
Seth reaches forward, his hand hesitant until it connects with Ryan's soft skin and Ryan's almost pliable in his arms, letting Seth take hold of his forearm and steer him to the left, covering the fifty feet to the car.
Seth unlocks the doors, and Ryan moves forward with more confidence this time, his hand reaching for the handle as if he can actually see it there. Seth hopes Ryan can see it there. Seth stands by Ryan's side until Ryan's seated comfortably and is pulling the seatbelt on. Only then does Seth sigh in relief and make his way around to the driver's seat.
He starts the engine, and when he glances at Ryan out of the corner of his eyes -- like Ryan used to do, all those years ago; like Ryan used to until seven months ago -- Ryan's looking out the window, encased in his own world.
Seth focuses on his breathing throughout the drive back to the apartment, on his breathing and the road and not turning around or glancing at Ryan. Because Ryan might not be paying attention to him, but God, this is Ryan, and Ryan knows when Seth's being an idiot and looking at him.
The ride home passes quicker than Seth would have thought, and when he parks in their space in the basement parking lot, he can't help but sigh and look around the dim place. God, it's going to be hell on Ryan.
Seth turns around, expecting to see Ryan with his lips in a line, but instead, Ryan already has his dark glasses on and is opening his door even as Seth blinks and fumbles with the car keys.
He wants to call out for Ryan, but somehow, Seth knows that if he does, it will not be well received either. He locks the car in a hurry, clicks on the alarm and makes his way around, reaching for Ryan but stopping himself on the way.
Ryan's walking almost steadily, pausing only every five or six steps, before looking around and continuing on his way. Seth closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and finds his place by Ryan's side, ready to reach out if Ryan stumbles.
They don't say anything until they reach the elevator, and Ryan presses the button with confidence, even if Seth can see the tightness in the back of his shoulder, the set of his jaw.
"You okay?" Seth asks, finally, because the curiosity is too much for him, because concern is too much for him.
Ryan's jaw seems to contract slightly, a tendon making its presence known. Ryan nods. "I'm fine," he hisses, and Seth can almost hear the grinding of Ryan's teeth against one another.
And yeah, of course Ryan's fine. Of course. No other way around. Just dandy, right, Seth thinks bitterly, because it's not an everyday occurrence that you're told your visual field is seventeen in one eye and twenty one in the other. And it wouldn't fucking sting so much if Seth didn't know that twenty is legally blind, literally blind.
But Seth doesn't say anything, knows that anything he does say will come up short and fall into thin air, into the waves he can almost see in the background when he glances at Ryan.
They wait in silence until the doors slide open and Ryan walks inside, hand shielding his eyes, even with the dark glasses and the not so bright light in car. Seth leans back against one of the walls, head tilted back, and does not look at Ryan with every other breath until they reach the fourth floor.
When the doors slide open once again, Ryan takes an almost confident step out, hesitating only for a second before he turns left. Seth hovers by Ryan's side and doesn't care if Ryan lashes out at him, as long as he can fucking touch him.
He can see the way Ryan's mouth is slightly parted, and though he can't really hear the words, Seth thinks Ryan's counting his steps. Ryan pauses before their door and turns around, taking his glasses off as he does so. Seth can see the tightness in the corners of brilliant blue eyes before Ryan takes out his keys and pushes the door open.
"Ryan--"
Seth's words end there, in his throat, on his tongue, because even with the change of light, Ryan darts inside with long strides, turns right and two seconds later Seth can hear the bedroom door slamming close.
Seth sighs, sagging against the kitchen counter. He throws his keys onto the counter before turning around and closing the front door. Doorknob still in hand, Seth closes his eyes, tight, nothing but pressure in between his eyebrows and acid burning behind his eyes. He leans forward, forehead against soft wood, and tells himself to breathe.
He can see the map, nothing but lines and latitude and longitude, nothing but blue and oranges and pinks, names and places he was supposed to go to, to see. He can see the Tahiti map and feel coldness in his chest.
His fingers dig into his palms, into the creases of his skin.
He can see the state line in his mind, the line dividing Newport and Chino, his past and his present, and his future is dying a slow death in his hands, in between his fingers, through the sand he can't quite catch.
The laughter penetrates the silence of his mind, nothing but laughter. Kirsten's high pitched chuckles, the way her eyes shift and clear, Sandy's smile that can turn into laughter in a second, and the way Seth seems to laugh with his whole body, how Sophie has that too, how beautiful she is when she's laughing. And the very memory is nothing but joy he can't keep, it's being inches and miles away from it, from nothing but cold ground under him and feeling himself being picked up and left alone in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of darkness, in the middle of what's now his life.
He presses his lips so tightly in between his teeth, his jaw hurts, his eyes sting and his head pounds. He can hear the numbers in his mind, again and again, numbers under twenty and just over, and it whispers of distant dark truths, of nothing but blindness that has come too quickly, that falls as silence in between voices.
Sound and touch and taste and smell are all he has, sight has long ago died and he watched it die a slow and painful death in between Italy and Spain. He can see nothing but shades and shadows and everything is blurred, as if he has been crying, crying and crying, like he wants to do at the moment. He shoves a fist into his mouth, legs extended on the floor, and he leans forward until his forehead touches his thigh.
Too fast, too fast, he knows. The doctor said it himself. Too fast, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
You can have years, she said. You can have two, three, five years. Don't worry. It won't happen overnight. It'll give you time to adjust.
Too little time. It was too little time. It was...
Kirsten's laughter and Sandy's smile and Sophie with her thumb in her mouth and the way Seth talks with his hands and fingers, and those memories are nothing but that, memories, ghosts without voices he used to know, used to be able to see. Their words in his memory are like music in between Polaroid shots of his life, of every thing he has ever seen. Sunsets shared with Theresa when he used to love her, with Marissa when she was everything there was to think about, with Lindsay when she used to smile at him like he was the only thing in the world.
Sunsets spent in the backyard, feet dangling in the pool, day turning into night, warmth going away to bring a chilly breeze with the smell of boats and catamarans and the dream of Tahiti, one day, not soon enough, not too far away.
It's all a dream, a memory, a nightmare. It's everything he never did, everything he ever saw. And he wonders if he'll ever forget the fall of Kirsten's hair around her face, the movement of Sandy's hands as he cuts bagels and spreads cheese inside, the way Sophie used to fit in the crook of his elbow, small and fragile, how Seth looks lying down on his bed in Newport and staring at his ceiling. How--
He shakes his head and memories are nothing but noise, darkness and coldness and his arms used to be warm, once upon a time. Now, it's all noise. Noise, noise, noise, noise, noise--
Memories and shots are noises and sounds look like colors and everything is wrong, nothing is right anymore. There is no top or bottom, there is nothing but the cold floor beneath him, a wall against his back, his dresser to his right shoulder, the door somewhere to his left, his bed ten feet from him, and dark and dark and dark while rays of light play tricks on his mind, on his brain, with his eyes -- pointless worthless fucking muscles that don't know the difference between light and shade.
His eyes are closed and his face is hidden in between his hands and memories are running free because this is all he has now, all he has now, memories and miles and thoughts and houses and colors and ground and warmth and coldness.
And he's dreaming, he's dreaming, he has to, because these kinds of things don't happen to people. It happens in the movies and stupid afterschool specials but it doesn't happen to people you know and it specially doesn't happen to you, you motherfucker.
The last place he left off, the last place he visited, a mixture of Italy and Spain and France and Berlin and Europe and Kirsten laughing and Ryan finding out her French is not as good as her Italian and Sandy knowing more than just a few words in Spanish and Ryan remembering the insults Theresa and Arturo taught him, Sophie trying to copy the words she heard around her, not quite a language, not one they knew of, and Seth pouting because his high school French is pretty pointless and his Spanish is even worse.
He finds the map of Tahiti in his mind -- a promise, a compromise, his past and his present -- and draws a straight line, over rivers, farms and state lines, the distance from where he was and where he is now, and it's only finger lengths that he can see. He touches, he thinks, he dreams, he touches Tahiti and the promise and the pledge, and finds Seth's face and it hurts, God, it fucking hurts because he has to give up, give in, he's not winning this fight, he's only finding flaws in his plan, nothing but ghosts without voices and colors and dreams and memories and he thinks, he thinks, he dreams and he sees, only he doesn't see, but he sees, God, he can almost see and reach out and touch--
Until exhausted, Ryan closes his eyelids.
Ryan blinks, he knows this, he blinks. He knows the action and the reaction, he can feel the fluttering of his eyelids, the touch of skin against skin, but even as he does, as he keeps on blinking, there's nothing. There's nothing there for him to see. Nothing but pitch black and black and darkness.
He opens his arms wide at his side but he can't see them, and he can barely feel them and for a second he wonders if they are there, if along with his sight he has' lost his limbs as well and fuck, where the hell is the light?
He reaches forward, hoping to feel something, anything. He tries to remember where he was the last time he was anywhere and he remembers sitting on a chair with an armrest and Seth sitting somewhere to his right and hearing words, words and words but they were meaningless, they all were, except for the fact that their meaning cut him to the bone. He remembers, fuck, he remembers sitting there and hearing Dr. McKay, hearing her and blinking and not turning around because he knew he would die if he saw Seth's face, or not see Seth's face, so he didn't. He didn't turn around, he only sat there and heard Dr. McKay sentence him to twenty to life without light.
And then, and then... then is nothing but a blur of feeling and desperation and fear and knowing the time has come to an end, that it wasn't going to happen overnight, but fuck if it hasn't happened already, you're done, you're done, you're done.
He turns his head around, trying to see something that's not pitch black, and for a second he's reminded of sitting on the edge of the pool and looking up at the already dark sky and feeling alone, so alone, so fucking alone, and then Kirsten would turn on her light and Seth would make his way out of the kitchen to the pool house and catch him in between, and he wasn't alone anymore, not anymore and God, he wants that. He wants that, right now, this second.
He takes a step forward, thinks about taking a step forward even as he does so, because where the hell is he and where the hell is he going and where would he--
He can feel his heart beating in his throat, not knowing what's on his right and to his left and behind him and before him. Not knowing where he is or where he's going, not knowing anything because he can't fucking see--
He never knew feelings could be entities, things that breathed and lived and pulsed along with the movement in your veins, but they are. Fear is a presence of mind and body, is a being that stands right behind him, breathing down his neck and ears, making itself known. It almost speaks to him, but if it does, Ryan doesn't hear it, or can't hear it, or refuses to hear it, he's not sure.
And then there's Despair, of course, second cousin of Fear. They used to hang out together when they were young, when humanity was starting to develop, but then, of course, The Stone Age came around and they decided to go their separate ways, they'll talk to one another when they run into the mass murders.
He can feel Despair standing somewhere to the side, waiting for its turn, waiting for Ryan to--
Waiting for something, that's for sure, but not even Ryan is certain of what that is.
He takes another step forward, hands outstretched, trying to reach but always coming up short, like his eyes against a fight it was impossible for them to win but they tried still, God, how they tried to fight the change in light and dark.
And he can start feeling Despair taking over, slowly and so very slowly, because there's nothing there, wherever he is, there's only nothingness around him, and fuck if he doesn't know what is top or bottom, and then he takes another step forward and hits something--
And the next thing he knows he's falling forward until he hits something with his hands and knees. His hands ache and sting, and he must have a cut because, shit, that fucking hurts. And he wants to take another step, to find something, something to touch that's not the fucking floor and know where he is and where he went and what happened after hearing his sentence and---
But he's on the floor and Fear and Despair have become one with him and God, he wants nothing more than to call for Kristen and Sandy, for Sophie, for Seth, his body shaking with the need to be taken in arms and comforted and lied to when they tell him that everything will be okay, everything will be just fine. But he cant, no, no, he can't, and he shakes his head because he's not ten, damn it, he doesn't need to crawl into his parents' bed. He stopped that when he was seven and his dad gave Ryan the back of his hand before pushing him out of the room. No, no, he can find his way through this -- whatever this is -- before two seconds tick by and he thinks, well, fuck it.
"Kirsten!"
And that's when Panic makes its presence known, because he can't hear his very own words in his very own ears. He can't hear anything and he can't see anything and for a second, for a breath, he wonders if this is how it feels to be dead.
That's when Panic takes over and decides nothing is good enough, nothing is small enough, and he starts screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands aching as they clutch at the unforgiving floor and his temples hurt from the exertion of screaming at decibels unknown to mankind and yet, and yet he can't hear a fucking thing he's saying.
But he screams. God, he screams.
"Kirsten! Sandy! Kirsten!!! Kirsten!! Sophie! Sandy!! KIRSTEN!!! Seth! Seth!!! Seth! Kirsten! SETH!!!!"
And he'd keep on screaming his head off, his eyes off, if there suddenly weren't hands on his shoulders, on his face, at his side, on his body, touching and pulling and touching and voices, voices, God, he can almost hear voices around him and then it's just one voice, one voice, and one touch and he sags as the fight leaves his body and Panic shrugs and takes a step back and then it's nothing but hands on him and somewhere boney to rest his face, to hide his face, and cloth under his hands as he clutches with everything he has.
He thinks that he breathes, he doesn't know, he thinks that he blinks, but he doesn't know that either. A few breaths and blinks later, he can lift his face from where its hidden and he can search in the distance of where he was and reach out this time and touch something solid, realize he isn't falling anymore, that he was caught.
He looks up and he knows what he's seeing, Seth's face barely even inches from his even if it's nothing but dark shades and silhouettes and a touch that lingers on his cheek as it moves down to his chin.
"Hey, there," Seth says and Ryan can hear it this time, and he can hear the catch in Seth's voice, the disbelief and something that brushes by without quite pausing.
Ryan breathes in again, and he blinks, and he looks around him and it's only then that he notices that he's kneeling on his bed, his bed, and Seth's kneeling beside him and he has one arm around Ryan's waist, hand resting on the small of Ryan's back, fingers spread wide.
He breathes in and something is tight in his chest, in his arms and hands and he tries to remember the drunken memories he has, nothing but scattered thoughts and flashes of light and dark.
He believes he awakes only when thought claims him in desperate need and the words resound through his mind, not in rightness, in anything but that--
Visual field of seventeen in your left eye and twenty-one in your right one. I'm sorry, Ryan, but you know twenty or under is legally blind. We can--
-- and he can understand the words he hears, even accept them in a way, because he knew this was coming. God, he knew, from the moment he stood before the Piazza and looked up and felt his eyes sting and accept that his peripheral was shot to hell, the blinders were on for real this time.
"Ryan?"
"How--?" But his voice is rough against his ears, and for a second he wonders if it's because they lost the habit of hearing anything but he shakes his head at that.
No, no, that was a dream. A nightmare. That was his personal hell in stark blankness, nothing but darkness and silence.
Ryan clears his throat and tries again, and this time his voice doesn't feel like sandpaper on his skin. "What--?" He pauses, trying to understand.
Dr. McKay, he remembers. Dr. McKay and the way to the car, feeling his jaw hurting all the way to his temples, it was so tightly clenched. Looking out the window of the passenger seat and remembering a time when he could drive, when he could hold his thoughts in his hands as he held the steering wheel with practiced ease. Counting his paces to the elevator, down the hallway and into his shelter, into his home. Making his way to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him and then...
Then... He remembers maps and state lines and laughter and feeling so very tired, he thinks he must have fallen asleep sitting down on the floor.
He turns to look at Seth, and Seth's looking back at him, blurriness of black and white and maybe some grays in between. He swallows, sighs, sitting down on his heels, once again noticing that he was kneeling on his bed, his legs a tangle in between the sheets, and Seth very much kneeling before him.
He tries to turn his legs around, straighten them before him, but he's in between the sheets and Seth's kneeling on top of them and it just seems like too much effort. He frowns, thinking about last night -- last night? earlier tonight? -- and coming up short right after state lines of where he was and where he would be.
"I--" don't remember, he wants to say, but sighs instead.
Seth shrugs, shifting until he's sitting on the bed, legs crossed before him and how Seth does that with a grace he didn't use to have, Ryan doesn't dare question.
"I came looking for you," he says shrugging again, "for dinner. You were in bed, fast asleep. I only helped with your clothes."
And it's then that Ryan looks down at himself, in nothing but boxers, and he glances at Seth, who's wearing boxers and undershirt. "Oh."
"I didn't want to wake you. I asked you if you were hungry, you said no. I don't know if you really heard me--"
He probably wasn't even paying attention. He probably wasn't even in his right mind, in his body at the time, he was too tired from having an almost break down.
Because, yeah, he knows that wasn't even close to him breaking down. Hell, no. When he does, because come hell or high water, he knows he will break down before the end of his sight, when he breaks out, he'll know. Everyone will know.
He'll break down. I'll break down, he wants to say to Seth. I came close today. But it's gonna happen. I'm going to breakdown. Please don't be here when it happens. Ryan sighs, shaking his head, one hand still clutching at the side of Seth's shirt.
He swallows, lets his hand fall loose and to his side, and blinks and tries to think, to remember. Fear and sound and silence and black and that's all he can remember from his dream, even if he can still feel his heart pounding in his chest and his palms sweating.
"I..." But Ryan has no idea what he wants to say, what he was about to say, and closes his mouth with a sigh.
Seth shifts, pulling the covers from underneath him and to the side, making it possible for Ryan to pull his legs around and stretch them before him, and then lie down on his back. And in a second he's back in nothing but blackness, nothing but a sense of loss and no top or bottom, no right or left, vertigo is all he knows. He's exhausted and woozy and so very confused, and he gropes out for the one thing that can make it all right, make it all settle around him, make him belong.
"Seth?" He gasps in sudden panic, his hands bumping Seth's chest, gripping a tight fistful of white undershirt, his other hand reaching for something and then being clasped in a sure fingers.
"Hey, hey," Seth says, and Ryan can hear the words, feel the breath leaving soft lips and make its way to his ears before he can feel pressure against his side, on his left arm and he can breathe in and out. "I'm here, I'm right here. I've got you."
Ryan makes a broken sound in the back of his throat and this he remembers from his nightmare, the feeling of loss and disassociation and helplessness and loneliness. He breathes in but it comes out in short pants, right hand clutching tightly at Seth's chest, at Seth's shirt, and his hold is so tight, so close to his own chest, that Seth's half lying on his side to be able to cover him and hold him and have him.
And then Ryan blinks and the light is kind to him and his eyes remind him that sight is a gift to him, a gift that has an expiration date that's soon approaching. He can see Seth for a second, for a blink and the next, and he exhales through his mouth, loving the way Seth smiles at him, the way Seth's hands reach out holding in, holding out, just holding him.
Ryan just lies there, on his bed, with his hand clutching tightly at Seth's shirt and Seth shifting but not pulling away, not saying a word, waiting for Ryan to find his footing, to find his axis and his compass on his own. When he does, when he recognizes the edges and corners of his bedroom and knows that the dim light coming in is from the pulled curtains of his window that look out to the park, his fingers loosen, but don't let go entirely.
Seth nods, and Ryan can feel the bed shifting and dipping at the movement, or the shifting of Seth's legs, of his weight, until he's not so much lying over Ryan and Ryan's not on his back but on his left side. Seth still has Ryan's left hand in his, and Ryan still has Seth's shirt in his right one.
"It's okay," Seth whispers softly, words out of his mouth and Ryan nods, because it is. Because he might forget the words and the sights and even the sounds, but it's okay because when he fell, he was caught. Seth caught him.
They lie on the bed, quietly, in silence, and they are so close, Ryan can almost breathe in the air leaving Seth's lungs.
The minutes tick by, and Ryan can almost feel himself starting to relax, to breathe easier, his heart no longer pounding in his chest. He can feel the warmth from Seth's body, not five inches from his, t-shirt still held loosely in his hand.
"Ryan?"
"Hmm," he whispers as he sighs, eyes closed, and this time, when the darkness comes, it doesn't feel as if he's being stabbed
"This is the third nightmare in a week."
Ryan swallows painfully, his throat closed, and he knows Seth and he knows exactly where Seth's going with this. "Seth--"
"Maybe mom was right," Seth finishes before Ryan has time to speak over him.
"Seth--" Don't do that, don't tell me that. I can't... Ryan can't help but think. "I'm not going back to Newport," he hisses through his teeth, letting go of Seth's shirt and pulling his hand back from Seth's touch, even if the action pains him, makes something inside him turn cold and whimper.
Seth groans in the back of his throat, a sound Ryan's familiar with, has heard it as many times as he's heard Seth whine. Then there are hands pulling his own away from his chest, and covering them, caressing them, in between fingers and touch and Ryan can't help but sigh and close his eyes in content.
"Third nightmare, Ryan." Seth says, squeezing his hands, holding them tight even though Ryan's not going to pull away again. "Three. Count them--"
Ryan grimaces, turning his face away because he doesn't remember his nightmares, he never tends to. But he wakes up knowing he didn't sleep right, itching somewhere on his back and knowing he dreamt something he doesn't want to remember.
"--and don't give me that face. Of course I heard you, I'm across the hall and we leave our doors opened, you idiot."
He doesn't want to smile, really doesn't, because he's pissed off and two minutes ago he was on the verge of the abyss that has a name and it's called Nervous Breakdown. But God, Seth has always made him smile, even when he doesn't want to, even when Seth's actually pissing him off, Seth can make him smile at the oddest of times.
And the you idiot at the end of that sentence? That's Seth, through and through.
Seth laughs, a sound that Ryan relates with laughter through his whole body, laughter in his eyes and cheekbones and lips. Ryan sighs, reminded that he has to cherish these memories, that he has to stack them up as high as they can go, that he was to watch carefully, with the right light, so he can remember.
When Seth stops laughing, when Ryan can feel Seth squeezing his hands in his, and he blinks, trying to see Seth's face and seeing nothing but outline --
And be grateful for that, Ryan, because that's all you can hope to see, now, isn't it? Nothing but outlines. Be grateful for that much.
He swallows, wanting nothing more than to pull his hands away from Seth's, but he can't, because he desires the touch, the human contact, more than anything at the moment.
"I'm just saying," Seth says, and his voice is sober and serious and that sobers Ryan up faster than his inner voice ever could. "I heard you screaming, Ryan. Let me worry, okay?"
Screaming? God, he doesn't remember that. He doesn't remember much of his-- dream, nightmare, whatever -- but he certainly doesn't remember screaming.
-- maps and state lines and Tahiti and Kirsten and Seth and Sophie and Sandy and Seth --
Right. No wonder. He remembers the feeling of Seth's name on his tongue, the disassociation of feeling it rolling off his lips and yet not hearing it--
Oh. Okay. Now he remembers.
Ryan swallows, feeling his cheeks heat up at the embarrassment, picturing Seth lying on his bed, totally asleep, and being awakened by the sound of his own named screamed from Ryan's lips and-- Fuck, yeah. Cheeks heating up, alright.
"I'm s--"
But Ryan can't finish his words, his hand squeezed tightly, Seth shifting on the bed. Ryan holds still in mid word, almost waiting for Seth to lean forward, to bring their bodies together, and yet not waiting for it at the same time. His breath is in his throat and, waiting, waiting--
"Don't," Seth says, finally, and Ryan sighs, something in his chest and stomach not quite uncoiling. "I'm just, you know, worried."
Ryan nods, even though he doesn't know, doesn't quite understand. He wants to say, I'm fine, but he's never lied to Seth's face, not like that, and he doesn't want to start now.
"It's just--" Seth starts, and ends there, and Ryan doesn't have to hear the rest of the words.
He remembers Kirsten's case, he remembers her words about how the Braille Institute has a center in Orange County, not five minutes from Newport and how Ryan could move into the spare room that never quite became his, the one next to Seth's bedroom. How he could stay there while he studies and adapts to everything, how they could find him the best optometrist in the county and how--
But it didn't matter. All the things Kirsten thought, knew, were best for him because Ryan wasn't giving up his house, his life, as well as his sight.
"Maybe, you know, just maybe, it'd be easier--"
But Ryan shakes his head, hands clenching into tight fists even in between Seth's own. "No, no. I can't--"
And his words end there because that's all he can say. He can't-- He just can't. He can't give up what little control he has over what he has left of his life. Fuck, he won't. Even if... even if he has to take a fucking bus to wherever he has to go, fuck, he won't surrender.
He swallows. "I can't."
Ryan can only see the outline of Seth's face when he nods, and he sighs, relieved, because Seth gets him. Someway, somehow, he gets it. And just like that, the conversation ends there.
"Dr. McKay called."
Ryan blinks, narrowing his eyes, trying to force his sight but he can't, he can't, they have given up-- "Oh," he says after a moment.
"Yeah, hmm." Seth shrugs, that much Ryan can see, the shift of one shoulder. "Called around seven." He pauses, and Ryan thinks the good doctor can't possibly have worse news than what she delivered today. It's not fucking possible. "We have an appointment at one of the community centers of the Braille Institute. Tomorrow. Early morning. Hmm. Well, you do."
And Ryan nods, even as he can feel Seth shifting on the bed, and not for the first time he wishes he could see Seth's face, know what the other is thinking, what's happening. Seth's eyes have always said so much, too much to Ryan and--
Ryan sighs, swallowing thickly and with difficulty, his throat suddenly tight and closed and he has to close his eyes, breathe out through his mouth not to take another step toward his fucking abyss.
"Nine a.m.," Seth says, his voice low and ending in a yawn. "I can drive you."
Ryan sighs once again, thinking about Kirsten's proposal of a driver and remembering the way his hands had clenched at the thought of never driving again.
"Okay," Ryan answers after a moment, and Seth nods, a small movement, and Ryan breathes out through his mouth, low and deep, and close his eyes.
Sleep comes easy, as if the hours before had been so plagued with memories and dreams it was anything but sleep, and just as he can feel his consciousness sleeping, one of Seth's hands let go of his own. Ryan feels a second of panic, blinks his eyes rapidly and in desperation, wanting to clutch at Seth's shirt, at Seth's body, before the hand falls down on Ryan's shoulder, down his neck, to cradle the collarbone, thumb resting on his pulse point.
Ryan breathes in softly, comfortably, safe and secure, and falls asleep between one breath and the next.
They don't talk on the way back to the apartment, after the meeting. There's no need. Seth did the grocery shopping while Ryan met with one of the guys in charge at the Braille Institute, figured, well, he should let Ryan have his time with the guy. But God, Seth thinks, glancing at Ryan out of the corner of his eyes as the elevator doors close from the parking lot. There was nothing more difficult than standing there and saying goodbye to Ryan, if only for two hours.
They've spent all summer together, always either him or one of his parents with Ryan, but leaving him with some stranger? Afraid something could happen, Ryan could fucking trip because he just didn't see-- Seth opens his mouth, loosening the tight pressure of his jaw and tells himself to breathe.
The elevator pings and they step outside, Seth's hands itching to reach forward, find its way to Ryan's elbow, steer Ryan right, not allow him to tumble, to fall--
"Well, hello there. Long time no see, huh?"
Seth blinks, thinking he's hallucinating, really, because that can't be Tatiana standing up from where she was sitting by the side of their door, swiping at the bottom of her jeans.
Tatiana smirks, one eyebrow raised in that way of hers that's almost like Ryan used to do, looking in between him and Ryan.
Seth glances at Ryan, standing straight, next to him, back so tensed, it's gotta hurt all the way to Ryan's temples. And fuck, because he knows Ryan never called his friends, never told them, and of course they'd make their way here, with Tatiana as their representative. It's the Friday before the start of classes, they should have known one of them was coming.
"Tatiana."
"Oh, you remember me," Tatiana says with so much sarcasm, it makes Seth feel guilty and he didn't do anything. "At the very least--"
"Cut the bullshit, will you?" Ryan says through his teeth, and Seth blinks because, fuck, that's not his friend either.
Seth can't see Ryan's eyes with the dark glasses he's wearing, and they are supposed to help with the change in light, but he knows for a fact that they don't. And Seth might not be able to see Ryan's eyes, but he can imagine him rolling them at Tatiana right about now.
Ryan shakes his head once, making his way to the door, and Seth's heart can't stop beating in his throat.
"Well, since you put it so nicely." Tatiana takes a step back as Ryan makes his way to the door. "I wanted to see you."
"I'm here, you saw me. The elevator is that way," Ryan says with a wave in the general direction of down the hallway.
Seth rushes to his side, trying to get out his keys even as he reaches Ryan, who already has his keys out. And he stands there, like an idiot, watching Ryan hesitate, miss once, twice, before cursing under his breath.
Seth swallows, hand reaching to touch Ryan's elbow. "I've got it."
Ryan nods, lips in a thin line, and takes a step to the side, to let him reach the lock, back still to Tatiana.
"Ryan, what--?"
"I'm blind, okay?" Ryan hisses through his teeth, and Seth's fingers go numb, the keys clattering to the floor.
Okay, that done. Let me know what you think. *g*
God, so very tired. This is the flu from hell. My head hurts, my whole body hurts, and I already took the fucking pill. *grumbles* Going to watch Criminal Minds (last week's, don't ask) and then I'm going to bed. *nods*