[oc] August of 2003
I wrote this story in a ... I don't even know the right word. Just a spur of the moment, kind of thing, maybe? Being weird, maybe *shrugs*
The thing is, it's here, and I hope you like it. *nods*
Title: August of 2003
Author: M. F. Luder
Pairing: Ryan/Seth, though not quite.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5'800 words.
Category: Okay, this is where it gets tricky. Lets think: Pre-slash. Not really future fic. Drama? Yeah. Pretty much. *g*
Challenge: For fanfic100 and 56. breakfast. The rest of the stories can be found at Big Damn Table.
Author's note: This is me being weird, okay? This is the very definition of me being weird. Just so you know.
August of 2003
Fiction is the truth inside the lie, and the truth of this fiction is simple enough: the magic exists.
Stephen King - IT
His bed is in a weird angle, it always has been. But the room, for all its expanses, isn't well proportioned. Years later, Seth still hasn't been able to find the right place to put the bed so the stupid sun in stupid sunny California doesn't hit it first thing in the morning.
His mother slaps his feet through the covers, tells him it's almost eight and she's going to visit a construction site, I'm running late, and Seth, are you really going to spend all day hiding in bed?
He would, if the sun would let him. He grumbles something -- smart ass and cocky, of course, but he's too half-asleep to get the words out correctly and the sentiment gets lost in between the sheets and the pillow. He hears her snort -- or sigh, actually, because ladies of society don't snort -- and then leave his room. Good. He could probably get another couple minutes of sleep until the sun literally kicks him out of his bed.
It's a little after eight when the sun gets to the right angle where his feet feel like they are either inside the stove or on the frying pan. He groans and pushes back the sheets with his feet, pushes them down until he hears them clearly falling off the bed. He sits up and glares at his bare feet, pajama pants and 69 t-shirt.
He rubs his face with both his hands, because he hates the feeling of sleep all over his eyes. He could take a shower, of course, but showering would mean actually taking off his clothes and getting under the shower head and that's just too much work.
Instead, instead, he swings his leg off the bed, feet planted on the ground. He feels his shoulders slumping forward, his whole mood taking a plunge off the deep end and he had never been one for high spirits, but still.
It's pointless, Seth can't help but think. It's fucking pointless. He hates it here. Has hated it since he was six and was forced to leave a town that’s as weird as he is to come to this place where he will never fit in because he's not butch enough, blond enough, blue-eyed enough, stupid enough. He can't fit in here, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he doesn't even want to.
He doesn't want to spend the rest of his days looking at what he'll never be and hate himself for it.
He swallows, looks around him, at the walls of his very pretty prison cell, at the invisible sun hitting the edge of his bed like weird rays of hell. He glances down at his hands, almost green lines protruding out very white skin, no matter how many hours he spends under the sun.
There has to be a way, he thinks, bitterly and with as much hate as he can muster, and he shouldn't feel. There has--
He swallows, closes his hands into a fist, watching the tendons in his wrist straining, the veins becoming a little bit more visible. He sighs, lets his hands fall open and rest against his knees.
He shakes his head and stands up. He makes his way down the hallway, cereal and Playstation on his mind.
Cereal is easy to find. He opens the cupboard, takes out a bowl. He retrieves the milk from the fridge, closing it with his elbow before reaching for the box of cereal and pouring himself a good amount. His dad is probably out, surfing or shopping or whatever -- it is rather late -- and Rosa knows how to clean and pretend he isn't here, so he won't be bothered until his mother arrives and tries to force him to have a life, get friends. He'd explain it to her if he knew he could make her understand. People like her will never understand.
He gets a spoon from the cupboard, takes a large bite of still crunchy cereal before drinking a bit of the milk straight from the carton. Bowl in one hand and milk in the other, he makes his way to the den. He places the bowl on the coffee table, the milk on the floor. He picks up the controller from the top of the TV, snatches a handful of discs from his collection, and moves them down to the edge of the carpet. He sits down on the carpet, a few feet from the TV, back to the center table. The couch is for losers and waterpolo players. He turns on the console. It's easy to get sucked into the game, to forget about his life.
He's playing Ninja Warriors IV when he thinks about Grand Theft Auto, about how the moment he's done with this game he'll change the disc for GTA, because that game is way cooler. Stealing cars, now, that's something he could get behin--
There's the sound of someone jiggling the handle of the French doors before opening them.
Seth turns his head around. There's someone standing there. A boy. His age. Everything he's never been, he could never be. He's blond and has blue eyes, with white skin that easily tans, muscles defined and visible under a tank top that's almost too small for him. He has the posture of someone who knows how to defend himself in a fight, who would punch back, not let himself be called names without hitting someone on the jaw, insulting them back in a loud voice. Who would even give the first punch.
He has a record, one that the kids in Seth's school would fear, would think twice before crossing. He's handsome, in a strange and mysterious kind of way that girls like Marissa or Summer would notice, look over their shoulders at, whisper and giggle about, ask out to parties, throw themselves at while drunk.
He's misunderstood. His family doesn't like him. He's better than the rest of them, but he doesn't really know. He's humble, nice. He wouldn't tease Seth if he were to meet Seth in the street. He's a good kid. His grades are not so good, but decent enough to get him into college with the right help. He's the kind of kid Seth's dad would reach out to, find something in common with. He's the kind of kid Seth's dad would like, and his mom would mistrust but warm up to, eventually.
He knows how to talk to a girl, how to look at her and make her feel beautiful and sexy, knows how to talk them into bed, into sex. He's had sex before. Many times. He's experienced.
He has a past, bad enough that he'd rather hide it, not tell anyone about it. He'd rather not even talk, if he can help it. He'd rather let Seth talk, fill the silences with words. He'd smile when Seth speaks too much, nudge Seth on the side and laugh with, not at, him.
He has an older brother, but they are too different to find common ground. He has a bitch for a mother, who could never understand him like Seth could, and Seth can understand that too. His dad has had problems with the law while Seth's is a little too perfect.
He wants to let go of his family. His family wants to let go of him.
He needs someone who understands him. He's almost desperate for a friend as Seth is.
He is-- he is-- he is--
(Ryan atwood brother trey mother dawn dad name not given just yet cars cars cars his brother stole a car and he was there but he didn't want to do it because he's good he is he is he is he is)
(perfect)
the kid his dad picked up from a case yesterday, the kid his mom told him about this morning when she woke him up from the bed this kid is--
"Hey." Seth says, face open and calm and hoping he's expressing the same stoic presence the kid seems to ooze.
Hey, the kid answers back, almost hesitant, not sure of his place in the house, in the very room. Seth can understand that.
Seth doesn't know his name but he feels like they might understand each other very well.
He glances down at the controller in his hand, then at the TV that's turned on and says, "Do you wanna play?"
The kid doesn't smile, but he doesn't glare at him either. That's a battle won.
Ryan shrugs.
Seth shows Ryan the beach, the dock and the boat. He tells Ryan about Summer, about the name of the boat. Ryan nods in all the right places, almost like he understands. But it's okay. Seth knows Ryan doesn't understand, because Ryan's not the kind of kid -- the guy that doesn't get the girl. Ryan has experience.
They make their way up the dirt road on the side of the shore; Seth taking a couple of steps in front of Ryan. Ryan picks up a stone, throws it over the bushes, and trots to catch up with Seth.
Seth doesn't think he's ever enjoyed a morning quite like this one.
When they get back his dad is in the kitchen, putting away the groceries. Seth doesn't ignore him, just kinda pretends he doesn't have to say hello. He shows Ryan his bedroom, his comics, and his life. Ryan nods and smiles and says a word or two, what little he's comfortable with.
It's okay. Seth can talk enough for the two of them.
"Your mom picked up your tux for you yesterday," his dad says as soon as Seth walks into the kitchen. His dad is sitting at the table, paper in hand, sandwich on a plate in front of him.
Seth glances at his dad's lunch, tells himself he doesn't mind not being asked to have lunch with him.
"We'll head over to the fashion show about seven."
Seth snorts. "Yeah, have fun," he says over his shoulder. Ryan leans against the threshold of the kitchen while he pilfers the fridge.
"Come on, it's a whole new school year, Seth."
His back still to his dad, Seth glances up at Ryan. Ryan gives him a small shrug, an encouraging smile. "It's also the same kids, dad. Why do they need a fashion show? Everyday is a fashion show for these people."
His dad says something else, something Seth doesn't make out because he's getting the jam and the cheese from the fridge; the bread from the cupboard. He'd ask Ryan to help, but he knows Ryan doesn't feel comfortable enough in the house to get anything from anywhere.
Ryan takes a step toward him until he's standing back against the kitchen island, hands around the edge. Ryan looks at him sideways. Seth glances at him and smiles.
Ryan smiles back, turns around, leans forward, stomach against the counter. We could go, he says.
Seth stands there for a second, wants to ask Ryan why he would want to go there, when all those people--
He glances at Ryan, at Ryan who's looking back at him with half a smile on his lips. An encouraging smile. Ryan wants to go there for Seth, not for himself. He could try it. With Ryan, he could try it.
Seth turns around, looks at his father, eyes still down on his paper.
"Seven?" Seth asks, and his father agrees. Seven.
Luke insults him, as usual, but Ryan nudges him on the side, lifts his chin slightly, and Seth nods and smiles and watches Ryan duck his head, turn away, give him a glance from under bangs of hair.
Seth could get used to this.
They sit at the same table as the kids Seth teaches sailing to. Ryan doesn't mind.
At the end of the show, his mother stays back discussing charities and whatnot with her friends, his dad by her arm, smile on his lips. Seth hears the girls from his class, Marissa and Summer, passing him by; Luke and his waterpolo players talking about a beach house and a party. Seth rolls his eyes.
It's okay, Ryan says, nudges him on the side again. Let's get out of here. Let's go home.
Seth nods. He couldn't have put it any better.
They play video games until later than Seth would have thought possible, they find a haven in the pool house. They chuckle as they fall on the futon, side by side.
Seth turns his head, looks at Ryan who is looking back at him, ghost of a smile on Ryan's lips. Seth swallows; wonders if it's safe and smart to do this, to let himself feel this.
And then the smile on Ryan's lips blossoms, and Seth knows he's right. It's right.
They fall asleep shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, the sheets pushed down to the bottom of the futon, clothes still on.
Seth knows his parents don't like Ryan much. His dad does, has to. Seth's almost certain his dad sees something like a kindred soul in Ryan, in the way his dad kinda, almost, looks at Ryan. But that's okay. Seth doesn't mind. He has never found common ground with his dad, he doesn't think he'll start now. It's just not happening.
He knows his mom hates Ryan. She outright ignores him. She did last night, not looking at Ryan once during the fashion show. She could get Ryan kicked out of here. She could ask his dad to kick Ryan out.
Seth wouldn't let her. He wouldn't. Not when he's finally found someone who gets him, or at least is willing to try to, to give him a chance.
His mom sets three plates for breakfast the following day. Seth glares at her, but she ignores it, like she ignores everything that has to do with him.
It's okay, Ryan says, lowly, as if a whisper, a secret. Seth turns around to Ryan, sitting at his side, always at his side. Ryan gives him a curl of his lips. I'm not leaving, Seth. I'm not leaving you.
"Good," Seth says, smiles, feels happiness bubbling inside him, a feeling so alien to him, he almost doesn't recognize it for a minute.
"What?" His dad asks, confused, but Seth ignores him too. They don't matter. He's found Ryan.
School becomes bearable, because Ryan takes every subject with him, now that his parents have agreed to adopt Ryan. They haven't said it in so many words, but Seth's seen the papers, filled in the blanks for himself.
Seth broke the news to Ryan, who smiled and ducked his head in answer. Seth was showing enough happiness for the both of them.
They are always together, every day, every week, every month, every year for the next three years. They speak in whispers and in silences; with looks and smiles. They talk more when they are alone. Ryan really opens up to him when they are in Seth's bedroom, or in the pool house, or sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in, just the two of them.
Seth tells Ryan everything he could never share with another soul, everything no one would care to listen to. Ryan nods and listens and is there, and is more than enough.
Ryan is Seth's sanity. He wonders if Ryan knows that.
Seth gets into Brown, and Ryan gets into Berkeley.
"I could stay," Seth says, shrugs his shoulders, head down. They are in Seth's bedroom, Seth sitting on the edge of his bed, the backboard almost against his right shoulder. He can feel something tight in his throat, something not letting go.
There's a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up, Ryan's there. Ryan's there, smiling at him, encouragingly, like all those years ago. Here's the person that made school -- life -- bearable for Seth.
Seth finds it in himself to smile back.
It’s okay, Ryan says, confidence a wall around them. I'll be here. I'll be waiting.
I'll come back, Seth wants to say -- opens his mouth to say -- but when he looks at Ryan, he sees in Ryan's eyes that Ryan already knows.
They talk on the phone, every day, every single day. Seth calls Ryan when he knows he's not in class, moves away from the friends he's managed to make. He ducks his head and presses the cell phone close to his ear, answers with smiles and soft words the others couldn't hear.
When he gets back to their table in the small café, Jennifer gives him a long glance. It reminds him of Ryan, and Seth blinks back at her and lifts an eyebrow.
"What?" Seth asks, and Jen chuckles, shrugging as she does so.
"I don't know," she says, takes a sip of her coffee. Claire and Lara are looking at him now, and he can feel the tips of his ears starting to turn red from the attention. "I was wondering who you were talking to, all secretive and lovey-dovey."
Seth laughs, in embarrassment and nervousness, and then Lara half whispers, "Oh my God! A girl! You were talking to a girl!"
It's late November and they've only been friends for two months -- Jennifer found him first, sitting all alone in the corner of their American Author's class, and declared he shall be her friend. It was a done deal from that point on. But they know him too well, and they know he's a bit of a loner, not counting them three.
He chuckles again, shakes his head. "It wasn't a girl."
"Then who was it?" Claire asks with determination, her kohl rimmed eyes narrowing at him.
He sighs, figures he might as well just bite the bullet. "Ryan. He's my--" His words end there, because there isn't a word strong enough to define what Ryan is. His friend. His family. His world.
Jennifer looks at him, long and hard, and she knows too much, like Ryan-- "You like him, huh?"
Seth blinks at her, and then he can't help but let a small smile play on his lips and nod. He likes Ryan too much. That has always been one of his flaws.
"How long have you known him?" Claire asks next, her head tilted to the side, the tip of her finger touching the edge of her lips.
Never. Always. Forever. Everything. Endless.
"Sometimes it feels like I've known him my whole life," Seth says, words low as a whisper. It sounds stupid coming from him, but it's right and fitting. He couldn't deny it even if he wanted to, even if he physically could.
Jennifer gives him a big grin, like she understands, maybe because she has an older sister and he knows Jen loves her more than life itself. Lara presses her lips into a thin line, like Ryan does, before giving him a small smile. Claire just rolls her eyes, but Seth can see happiness in the corners of them.
Seth ducks his head and enjoys the feeling of a blush on his neck, on his cheeks.
Seth snorts, folds his arms over his chest and leans his head back. It's bad enough being back in Newport for the holidays, having to put up with his so called family. He's only doing it for Ryan. Ryan wanted him back in Newport. Ryan wanted him to come back, so he came. But just because his parents are having marital problems, he doesn't understand why he has to submit himself to an ass of a psychiatrist.
It's okay, Ryan told him this morning, leaning against the threshold of Seth's bedroom. He was wearing loose jeans, a dark t-shirt and an opened shirt on top. He looked just as he had when Seth first met him.
It's okay, Ryan said, smile on his face. You just finish talking with him, and then we can go out, to the IMAX, maybe. Sail out until nightfall.
"Seth, hello."
Seth looks up, at the man making his way into the den through the kitchen. He has short, dark brown hair, glasses perched on his nose, a small smile on his lips. He looks friendly and open minded and Seth would probably buy that whole persona if he didn't know the man was a shrink.
Seth gives him a tight smile that pulls at the muscles on his cheeks. "Hi."
The man takes a seat on the single armchair opposite to the couch Seth's on. "I'm Jonathan Jackson. JJ to friends."
"And patients, apparently," Seth says, bitterness in his tone.
JJ gives him a ghost of a smile. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Tell me a little about you, Seth."
"What do I have to do with anything?"
JJ smiles again, and Seth realizes that's gonna get boring very quickly. "Your parents say you're going to Brown."
Seth nods, doesn't say a word. He glances at the kitchen, the island and cupboard he can see from this angle. He wishes Ryan were here, standing against the table, instead of waiting for him out in the pool house. He wishes--
"What are you majoring in?"
Seth rolls his eyes, doesn't really see the point of it. It's his parents they should be talking about, isn't it? Are they here for--
"Seth?"
Seth blinks, turns to look at a JJ. "English," he says, finally, and JJ gives him what should be an encouraging smile but falls short.
JJ nods, glances at Seth, probably hoping Seth will elaborate. Good luck with that.
"How long have you known Ryan?"
Seth narrows his eyes, not quite understanding. At the very least, his parents have spoken about Ryan. He doesn't know why Ryan didn't tell him he has a session too, probably because that's to be expected but--
"Seth?"
Seth blinks, nods as he does so. That's such a stupid question. "Since we were fifteen." It's impossible his parents haven't told JJ a little about their history. That'd be too bitchy of his mother.
"You were fifteen, and he was?"
Seth snorts. Asshole. "Fifteen, what else?"
"You're the same age?"
Seth feel his jaw tightening, something he picked up from Ryan. "What, of course. We went to school together."
"Yes, your parents told me about that. That he went to school with you."
"He did." They took every subject together. It was easier. For them both.
"What about college?"
"Where are you going with this?" Seth says, finally, tired and pissed off. "What does Ryan have to do with my parents' marriage?"
JJ blinks at him twice before giving him the same ass smile. "Ryan's a part of your family, isn't he? Shouldn't we talk about him?"
"Of course he's a part of--" Seth sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache starting in between his eyes, behind them. "What do you want to know?"
"What's his last name?"
Seth blinks again. If his mother is-- "Atwood."
"That's a nice name." And you're a moron, Seth thinks, but doesn't say. "Does he have siblings?"
"Yeah, sure. Trey. He's in jail."
"Trey's in jail? How old is Trey?"
"What does--?"
What does Trey have to do with this, and if someone knows more about Trey being in jail it should be his dad. He was Ryan's attorney.
Seth rubs his eyes with the back of one hand. He can feel the headache as it pounds on his brain. "I don't... Trey. He's... he wasn't nice. He wasn't nice to Ryan."
"I see. What about his parents? What do you know about Ryan's parents?"
Seth places the back of palm against his forehead. Ryan's parents. That's easy. "Dawn and... Frank. Ryan doesn't talk much about them. He doesn't like to."
"That's interesting."
He has no idea why that would be interesting. His parents were horrible to him. Ryan hasn't told him much about them, but Seth can fill in the blanks.
"Were they nice to Ryan?"
Seth snorts, curls his right hand into a fist and hits his forehead lightly with his knuckles. "Not even close. Frank's in jail, too. And Dawn took off."
"Did Ryan go with you to Brown?"
Seth groans, sinking his thumb in between the hollow of his eye and his eyebrow. Stupid fucking headache. "No, he didn't. You know he didn't. He got into Brown but he didn't want my parents to have to pay for it, he didn't want to be a burden. He goes to Berkeley."
"Oh. That's nice to know."
You knew that, Seth wants to say, but doesn't. Doesn't know why not.
He places both hands over his face, digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard. He sees shades of gray on his closed eyelids, but the pain doesn't recede.
"Seth, are you okay?"
"Fine," Seth hisses through clenched teeth. "Headache. That's all."
JJ leaves him after that. Excuses himself, tells Seth he should have a glass of water. He pours himself one, takes a long swallow. He closes the fridge with his elbow, turns around to look at the pool house. The curtains are drawn, and Ryan's probably inside, hiding himself, book on his lap. He should--
"It doesn't make sense, Sandy!"
"Kirsten, please. Keep your voice down."
Seth frowns, turns around, looks past the den into the hallway that leads to the study. He frowns. He glances over his shoulder at the pool house, and the curtains are still drawn. He makes his way down the hallway, stands right outside his father's study.
He can hear them talking inside, but can't hear the words. He swallows, and his hand tightens on his glass. He leans forward enough to make out the words.
"--bad enough when he was fifteen. He's twenty, Sandy. That's a long time to have an imaginary friend."
Seth frowns, not understanding what they are talking about. What? Ryan has an imaginary friend? No, no, not possible. Seth would have noticed.
"Mrs. Cohen--" JJ's voice, obviously. "I don't think it works like that. I think he created this abstract persona, very real to him, to a fill a need inside him."
That just does not make any sense at all. Ryan doesn't have a "need" inside him. Seth fills every need Ryan might have.
"But I think my questions have brought something to light. Seth hasn't only made Ryan up. He's made a whole family for Ryan. That speaks of a deep seeded delusion--"
"Of course it's a deep seeded delusion, you idiot. My son thinks his imaginary friend goes to Berkeley!"
Seth takes a step back, and then another. He can hear his dad trying to calm down his mom, JJ arguing about psychological illness and delusion. He can hear them talking but doesn't hear a word they say.
It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't. Ryan isn't-- he can't be--
His hand falls open, both palms to his forehead. The glass crashes to the ground with a very loud sound, a cracking sound, very similar to the one coming from inside him. He swallows, hears movement behind the door and turns around and runs.
He makes his way down the hallway to the living room, left to the front door.
"Seth! Seth, wait!"
His dad, calling out for him. Seth doesn't answer. He pulls the door open and runs outside. The sun hits him on the face, blinding him for a second. His hand goes to shield his eyes, and he looks around frantically, like a trapped animal.
His car. His car. It's parked right there in the driveway. He rushes toward it, pats his pockets as he reaches it. He takes out his keys and opens the door, throws himself in and he's driving off before he thinks twice about it, not caring about his father running out of the door, his mother calling him as well. They both call out for him. He doesn't listen.
He drives out of the community, down the street to the pier. He lowers the window on the passenger seat, needs to feel the air against his face, against his neck. Everything inside him is burning up. He can feel his skin, sticky with dried sweat; back and front and arms itching from it. He wants to take a shower, but he can't go home. He can't go home because...
He swallows, shakes his head again. His headache is pulsing against his temples, again. Anger and frustration and consternation are nothing but a white flame on his neck, in his throat. He doesn't understand. He heard the words but he doesn't understand. He can't.
He'd go to the beach and a take a dive, if he liked swimming. That's just not his thing. Sailing, he can do. But not swimming. He can lounge around in the pool on a raft-- Ryan on the other one, talking about nothing at all-- but he can't do swimming.
His head aches from the inside out, heat making him see yellow dots on the street before him. He closes his eyes as he reaches a red light, covers his face with his hands. Something's happening to him. Something he ate, maybe? Something’s not sitting well with his stomach. That doesn't make sense. He had the same thing for breakfast than Ryan did, Ryan should be sick as well--
Ryan. Where is Ryan? Did he leave Ryan behind? No, no, never. He'd never do that. He'd never leave Ryan behind. Then where--? Seth feels a second of pure childish terror. Where they supposed to meet somewhere? Is that it? Did they agree to meet somewhere and Seth just forgot?
He groans against the pain, it feels like someone's giving him a very rudimentary lobotomy while he's still awake, God damn it. He's heard about people wanting to gouge their eyes out with a fork -- probably read it in a very weird book -- but he never thought he'd be one of them. He groans again, leans his head forward against the steering wheel. If the pain doesn't stop, he might end up trying that trick with the fork.
Someone honks at him, and glancing briefly up Seth notices the light is green. His eyes pound, and he sees purple and yellow around the edges, and the last thing he wants to do is wrap his car around a pole.
He makes a right turn, and then a left; parks his car in the parking lot of a drugstore not two blocks down.
He sighs, the inside of his sedan hot from the early afternoon sun hitting the windows. It's like a fucking furnace in here. He pushes the door open, takes a step outside. The sun hits him straight on his face. He places his hands over his eyes to cover them, looks around. His breathing is harsh in his chest, like he's run a marathon. His skin feels tight around his body, too tight, like it's too small for him.
He makes his way into the drugstore, the air conditioning hitting him face first. He sighs as the cool air hits his face, his neck, his hands. He makes his way slowly down the aisle, trying to remember what he wanted to buy here in the first place. It takes him a moment but he remembers, analgesic. Tylenol, something that will stop the stupid pounding in his head.
He picks up a box in one of the aisles, notices the fridge in the corner of the place. He walks toward it, takes out two cans of cold soda. He makes his way to the register. There's a young girl there, painting her nails a very dark electric blue. He glances at her name in the tag, Theresa.
"Is that all?" She asks as she blows at her painted fingernails, dark skin a contrast against her white uniform. Her hair, dark long and wavy, is pulled back in a high ponytail.
He glances at the cigarettes that lay on the small shelf by her side. "A pack of Winston Red's, please. And a lighter."
The girl nods, reaches for the cigarettes and the lighter with her still unpainted hand. She runs it across the scanner, along with the box of Tylenol, before placing them all in a white plastic bag. She keeps on blowing at her fingernails.
Seth pays for it and thanks her, though he has no idea why he should. He makes his way out of drugstore, the sun hits him in the face like a brick wall. He walks to his car, opens the driver's side and gets inside.
Ryan's sitting on the passenger side with his arm bent at the elbow, resting against the frame of the open window. He gives Seth a sideways glance, a small smile on his lips.
Seth places the plastic bag on his lap, takes out the pain pills and one of the cans of soda before handing the bag to Ryan.
Ryan smiles and takes it from Seth's fingers. He takes out the soda and pops the top, takes a long swallow. He places the can in between his thighs before reaching for the pack of cigarettes, opening it and lightening one. He blows the smoke out the window.
Seth watches Ryan with devoted fascination, pure childish joy bubbling up in his chest for a second before he breathes out and smiles.
"Where to, Ryan?"
Ryan tilts his head to the side, short blond hair falling over his ears, blue eyes bright and focused solely on Seth. He grins, wide and pleased, loving, beloved.
Anywhere you want, Seth. Ryan takes another long drag off the cigarette. Seth hasn't seen him smoke since their high school days. Anywhere you want.
Seth grins back at him, nods as he does so. He throws the bottle of pain pills onto the dashboard, his headache suddenly gone. He opens his can of soda, takes a long swig. It has never tasted as sweet.
He places it in the cup-holder in between both seats, turns the keys in the ignition. The car roars under them, wanting nothing more than to please.
Seth drives out of the parking lot, head clear and focused; Ryan sitting by his side, always by his side.
There. You know how I say that I'm weird sometimes? I think this is one of those times. *nods* I feel, like I was talking with E, that this is the ultimate rather fucked up version of the show. This isn't, they just never met, no, this is Ryan never existed. *giggles* I'm sorry, but I'm weirdly proud of this story. See? I'm as weird as it comes. *nods* Reminds me of "Look over here", in a way.
That said, now let me know just how weird you think I am. Also, this story is as close to GEN as I might ever get. That, and the Too Much universe. *nods*
Okay. I'm here. I'm waiting. Click that, right there. Yes, yes, that one. You know you want to! *bounces*
The thing is, it's here, and I hope you like it. *nods*
Title: August of 2003
Author: M. F. Luder
Pairing: Ryan/Seth, though not quite.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5'800 words.
Category: Okay, this is where it gets tricky. Lets think: Pre-slash. Not really future fic. Drama? Yeah. Pretty much. *g*
Challenge: For fanfic100 and 56. breakfast. The rest of the stories can be found at Big Damn Table.
Author's note: This is me being weird, okay? This is the very definition of me being weird. Just so you know.
August of 2003
Fiction is the truth inside the lie, and the truth of this fiction is simple enough: the magic exists.
Stephen King - IT
His bed is in a weird angle, it always has been. But the room, for all its expanses, isn't well proportioned. Years later, Seth still hasn't been able to find the right place to put the bed so the stupid sun in stupid sunny California doesn't hit it first thing in the morning.
His mother slaps his feet through the covers, tells him it's almost eight and she's going to visit a construction site, I'm running late, and Seth, are you really going to spend all day hiding in bed?
He would, if the sun would let him. He grumbles something -- smart ass and cocky, of course, but he's too half-asleep to get the words out correctly and the sentiment gets lost in between the sheets and the pillow. He hears her snort -- or sigh, actually, because ladies of society don't snort -- and then leave his room. Good. He could probably get another couple minutes of sleep until the sun literally kicks him out of his bed.
It's a little after eight when the sun gets to the right angle where his feet feel like they are either inside the stove or on the frying pan. He groans and pushes back the sheets with his feet, pushes them down until he hears them clearly falling off the bed. He sits up and glares at his bare feet, pajama pants and 69 t-shirt.
He rubs his face with both his hands, because he hates the feeling of sleep all over his eyes. He could take a shower, of course, but showering would mean actually taking off his clothes and getting under the shower head and that's just too much work.
Instead, instead, he swings his leg off the bed, feet planted on the ground. He feels his shoulders slumping forward, his whole mood taking a plunge off the deep end and he had never been one for high spirits, but still.
It's pointless, Seth can't help but think. It's fucking pointless. He hates it here. Has hated it since he was six and was forced to leave a town that’s as weird as he is to come to this place where he will never fit in because he's not butch enough, blond enough, blue-eyed enough, stupid enough. He can't fit in here, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he doesn't even want to.
He doesn't want to spend the rest of his days looking at what he'll never be and hate himself for it.
He swallows, looks around him, at the walls of his very pretty prison cell, at the invisible sun hitting the edge of his bed like weird rays of hell. He glances down at his hands, almost green lines protruding out very white skin, no matter how many hours he spends under the sun.
There has to be a way, he thinks, bitterly and with as much hate as he can muster, and he shouldn't feel. There has--
He swallows, closes his hands into a fist, watching the tendons in his wrist straining, the veins becoming a little bit more visible. He sighs, lets his hands fall open and rest against his knees.
He shakes his head and stands up. He makes his way down the hallway, cereal and Playstation on his mind.
Cereal is easy to find. He opens the cupboard, takes out a bowl. He retrieves the milk from the fridge, closing it with his elbow before reaching for the box of cereal and pouring himself a good amount. His dad is probably out, surfing or shopping or whatever -- it is rather late -- and Rosa knows how to clean and pretend he isn't here, so he won't be bothered until his mother arrives and tries to force him to have a life, get friends. He'd explain it to her if he knew he could make her understand. People like her will never understand.
He gets a spoon from the cupboard, takes a large bite of still crunchy cereal before drinking a bit of the milk straight from the carton. Bowl in one hand and milk in the other, he makes his way to the den. He places the bowl on the coffee table, the milk on the floor. He picks up the controller from the top of the TV, snatches a handful of discs from his collection, and moves them down to the edge of the carpet. He sits down on the carpet, a few feet from the TV, back to the center table. The couch is for losers and waterpolo players. He turns on the console. It's easy to get sucked into the game, to forget about his life.
He's playing Ninja Warriors IV when he thinks about Grand Theft Auto, about how the moment he's done with this game he'll change the disc for GTA, because that game is way cooler. Stealing cars, now, that's something he could get behin--
There's the sound of someone jiggling the handle of the French doors before opening them.
Seth turns his head around. There's someone standing there. A boy. His age. Everything he's never been, he could never be. He's blond and has blue eyes, with white skin that easily tans, muscles defined and visible under a tank top that's almost too small for him. He has the posture of someone who knows how to defend himself in a fight, who would punch back, not let himself be called names without hitting someone on the jaw, insulting them back in a loud voice. Who would even give the first punch.
He has a record, one that the kids in Seth's school would fear, would think twice before crossing. He's handsome, in a strange and mysterious kind of way that girls like Marissa or Summer would notice, look over their shoulders at, whisper and giggle about, ask out to parties, throw themselves at while drunk.
He's misunderstood. His family doesn't like him. He's better than the rest of them, but he doesn't really know. He's humble, nice. He wouldn't tease Seth if he were to meet Seth in the street. He's a good kid. His grades are not so good, but decent enough to get him into college with the right help. He's the kind of kid Seth's dad would reach out to, find something in common with. He's the kind of kid Seth's dad would like, and his mom would mistrust but warm up to, eventually.
He knows how to talk to a girl, how to look at her and make her feel beautiful and sexy, knows how to talk them into bed, into sex. He's had sex before. Many times. He's experienced.
He has a past, bad enough that he'd rather hide it, not tell anyone about it. He'd rather not even talk, if he can help it. He'd rather let Seth talk, fill the silences with words. He'd smile when Seth speaks too much, nudge Seth on the side and laugh with, not at, him.
He has an older brother, but they are too different to find common ground. He has a bitch for a mother, who could never understand him like Seth could, and Seth can understand that too. His dad has had problems with the law while Seth's is a little too perfect.
He wants to let go of his family. His family wants to let go of him.
He needs someone who understands him. He's almost desperate for a friend as Seth is.
He is-- he is-- he is--
(Ryan atwood brother trey mother dawn dad name not given just yet cars cars cars his brother stole a car and he was there but he didn't want to do it because he's good he is he is he is he is)
(perfect)
the kid his dad picked up from a case yesterday, the kid his mom told him about this morning when she woke him up from the bed this kid is--
"Hey." Seth says, face open and calm and hoping he's expressing the same stoic presence the kid seems to ooze.
Hey, the kid answers back, almost hesitant, not sure of his place in the house, in the very room. Seth can understand that.
Seth doesn't know his name but he feels like they might understand each other very well.
He glances down at the controller in his hand, then at the TV that's turned on and says, "Do you wanna play?"
The kid doesn't smile, but he doesn't glare at him either. That's a battle won.
Ryan shrugs.
Seth shows Ryan the beach, the dock and the boat. He tells Ryan about Summer, about the name of the boat. Ryan nods in all the right places, almost like he understands. But it's okay. Seth knows Ryan doesn't understand, because Ryan's not the kind of kid -- the guy that doesn't get the girl. Ryan has experience.
They make their way up the dirt road on the side of the shore; Seth taking a couple of steps in front of Ryan. Ryan picks up a stone, throws it over the bushes, and trots to catch up with Seth.
Seth doesn't think he's ever enjoyed a morning quite like this one.
When they get back his dad is in the kitchen, putting away the groceries. Seth doesn't ignore him, just kinda pretends he doesn't have to say hello. He shows Ryan his bedroom, his comics, and his life. Ryan nods and smiles and says a word or two, what little he's comfortable with.
It's okay. Seth can talk enough for the two of them.
"Your mom picked up your tux for you yesterday," his dad says as soon as Seth walks into the kitchen. His dad is sitting at the table, paper in hand, sandwich on a plate in front of him.
Seth glances at his dad's lunch, tells himself he doesn't mind not being asked to have lunch with him.
"We'll head over to the fashion show about seven."
Seth snorts. "Yeah, have fun," he says over his shoulder. Ryan leans against the threshold of the kitchen while he pilfers the fridge.
"Come on, it's a whole new school year, Seth."
His back still to his dad, Seth glances up at Ryan. Ryan gives him a small shrug, an encouraging smile. "It's also the same kids, dad. Why do they need a fashion show? Everyday is a fashion show for these people."
His dad says something else, something Seth doesn't make out because he's getting the jam and the cheese from the fridge; the bread from the cupboard. He'd ask Ryan to help, but he knows Ryan doesn't feel comfortable enough in the house to get anything from anywhere.
Ryan takes a step toward him until he's standing back against the kitchen island, hands around the edge. Ryan looks at him sideways. Seth glances at him and smiles.
Ryan smiles back, turns around, leans forward, stomach against the counter. We could go, he says.
Seth stands there for a second, wants to ask Ryan why he would want to go there, when all those people--
He glances at Ryan, at Ryan who's looking back at him with half a smile on his lips. An encouraging smile. Ryan wants to go there for Seth, not for himself. He could try it. With Ryan, he could try it.
Seth turns around, looks at his father, eyes still down on his paper.
"Seven?" Seth asks, and his father agrees. Seven.
Luke insults him, as usual, but Ryan nudges him on the side, lifts his chin slightly, and Seth nods and smiles and watches Ryan duck his head, turn away, give him a glance from under bangs of hair.
Seth could get used to this.
They sit at the same table as the kids Seth teaches sailing to. Ryan doesn't mind.
At the end of the show, his mother stays back discussing charities and whatnot with her friends, his dad by her arm, smile on his lips. Seth hears the girls from his class, Marissa and Summer, passing him by; Luke and his waterpolo players talking about a beach house and a party. Seth rolls his eyes.
It's okay, Ryan says, nudges him on the side again. Let's get out of here. Let's go home.
Seth nods. He couldn't have put it any better.
They play video games until later than Seth would have thought possible, they find a haven in the pool house. They chuckle as they fall on the futon, side by side.
Seth turns his head, looks at Ryan who is looking back at him, ghost of a smile on Ryan's lips. Seth swallows; wonders if it's safe and smart to do this, to let himself feel this.
And then the smile on Ryan's lips blossoms, and Seth knows he's right. It's right.
They fall asleep shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, the sheets pushed down to the bottom of the futon, clothes still on.
Seth knows his parents don't like Ryan much. His dad does, has to. Seth's almost certain his dad sees something like a kindred soul in Ryan, in the way his dad kinda, almost, looks at Ryan. But that's okay. Seth doesn't mind. He has never found common ground with his dad, he doesn't think he'll start now. It's just not happening.
He knows his mom hates Ryan. She outright ignores him. She did last night, not looking at Ryan once during the fashion show. She could get Ryan kicked out of here. She could ask his dad to kick Ryan out.
Seth wouldn't let her. He wouldn't. Not when he's finally found someone who gets him, or at least is willing to try to, to give him a chance.
His mom sets three plates for breakfast the following day. Seth glares at her, but she ignores it, like she ignores everything that has to do with him.
It's okay, Ryan says, lowly, as if a whisper, a secret. Seth turns around to Ryan, sitting at his side, always at his side. Ryan gives him a curl of his lips. I'm not leaving, Seth. I'm not leaving you.
"Good," Seth says, smiles, feels happiness bubbling inside him, a feeling so alien to him, he almost doesn't recognize it for a minute.
"What?" His dad asks, confused, but Seth ignores him too. They don't matter. He's found Ryan.
School becomes bearable, because Ryan takes every subject with him, now that his parents have agreed to adopt Ryan. They haven't said it in so many words, but Seth's seen the papers, filled in the blanks for himself.
Seth broke the news to Ryan, who smiled and ducked his head in answer. Seth was showing enough happiness for the both of them.
They are always together, every day, every week, every month, every year for the next three years. They speak in whispers and in silences; with looks and smiles. They talk more when they are alone. Ryan really opens up to him when they are in Seth's bedroom, or in the pool house, or sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in, just the two of them.
Seth tells Ryan everything he could never share with another soul, everything no one would care to listen to. Ryan nods and listens and is there, and is more than enough.
Ryan is Seth's sanity. He wonders if Ryan knows that.
Seth gets into Brown, and Ryan gets into Berkeley.
"I could stay," Seth says, shrugs his shoulders, head down. They are in Seth's bedroom, Seth sitting on the edge of his bed, the backboard almost against his right shoulder. He can feel something tight in his throat, something not letting go.
There's a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up, Ryan's there. Ryan's there, smiling at him, encouragingly, like all those years ago. Here's the person that made school -- life -- bearable for Seth.
Seth finds it in himself to smile back.
It’s okay, Ryan says, confidence a wall around them. I'll be here. I'll be waiting.
I'll come back, Seth wants to say -- opens his mouth to say -- but when he looks at Ryan, he sees in Ryan's eyes that Ryan already knows.
They talk on the phone, every day, every single day. Seth calls Ryan when he knows he's not in class, moves away from the friends he's managed to make. He ducks his head and presses the cell phone close to his ear, answers with smiles and soft words the others couldn't hear.
When he gets back to their table in the small café, Jennifer gives him a long glance. It reminds him of Ryan, and Seth blinks back at her and lifts an eyebrow.
"What?" Seth asks, and Jen chuckles, shrugging as she does so.
"I don't know," she says, takes a sip of her coffee. Claire and Lara are looking at him now, and he can feel the tips of his ears starting to turn red from the attention. "I was wondering who you were talking to, all secretive and lovey-dovey."
Seth laughs, in embarrassment and nervousness, and then Lara half whispers, "Oh my God! A girl! You were talking to a girl!"
It's late November and they've only been friends for two months -- Jennifer found him first, sitting all alone in the corner of their American Author's class, and declared he shall be her friend. It was a done deal from that point on. But they know him too well, and they know he's a bit of a loner, not counting them three.
He chuckles again, shakes his head. "It wasn't a girl."
"Then who was it?" Claire asks with determination, her kohl rimmed eyes narrowing at him.
He sighs, figures he might as well just bite the bullet. "Ryan. He's my--" His words end there, because there isn't a word strong enough to define what Ryan is. His friend. His family. His world.
Jennifer looks at him, long and hard, and she knows too much, like Ryan-- "You like him, huh?"
Seth blinks at her, and then he can't help but let a small smile play on his lips and nod. He likes Ryan too much. That has always been one of his flaws.
"How long have you known him?" Claire asks next, her head tilted to the side, the tip of her finger touching the edge of her lips.
Never. Always. Forever. Everything. Endless.
"Sometimes it feels like I've known him my whole life," Seth says, words low as a whisper. It sounds stupid coming from him, but it's right and fitting. He couldn't deny it even if he wanted to, even if he physically could.
Jennifer gives him a big grin, like she understands, maybe because she has an older sister and he knows Jen loves her more than life itself. Lara presses her lips into a thin line, like Ryan does, before giving him a small smile. Claire just rolls her eyes, but Seth can see happiness in the corners of them.
Seth ducks his head and enjoys the feeling of a blush on his neck, on his cheeks.
Seth snorts, folds his arms over his chest and leans his head back. It's bad enough being back in Newport for the holidays, having to put up with his so called family. He's only doing it for Ryan. Ryan wanted him back in Newport. Ryan wanted him to come back, so he came. But just because his parents are having marital problems, he doesn't understand why he has to submit himself to an ass of a psychiatrist.
It's okay, Ryan told him this morning, leaning against the threshold of Seth's bedroom. He was wearing loose jeans, a dark t-shirt and an opened shirt on top. He looked just as he had when Seth first met him.
It's okay, Ryan said, smile on his face. You just finish talking with him, and then we can go out, to the IMAX, maybe. Sail out until nightfall.
"Seth, hello."
Seth looks up, at the man making his way into the den through the kitchen. He has short, dark brown hair, glasses perched on his nose, a small smile on his lips. He looks friendly and open minded and Seth would probably buy that whole persona if he didn't know the man was a shrink.
Seth gives him a tight smile that pulls at the muscles on his cheeks. "Hi."
The man takes a seat on the single armchair opposite to the couch Seth's on. "I'm Jonathan Jackson. JJ to friends."
"And patients, apparently," Seth says, bitterness in his tone.
JJ gives him a ghost of a smile. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Tell me a little about you, Seth."
"What do I have to do with anything?"
JJ smiles again, and Seth realizes that's gonna get boring very quickly. "Your parents say you're going to Brown."
Seth nods, doesn't say a word. He glances at the kitchen, the island and cupboard he can see from this angle. He wishes Ryan were here, standing against the table, instead of waiting for him out in the pool house. He wishes--
"What are you majoring in?"
Seth rolls his eyes, doesn't really see the point of it. It's his parents they should be talking about, isn't it? Are they here for--
"Seth?"
Seth blinks, turns to look at a JJ. "English," he says, finally, and JJ gives him what should be an encouraging smile but falls short.
JJ nods, glances at Seth, probably hoping Seth will elaborate. Good luck with that.
"How long have you known Ryan?"
Seth narrows his eyes, not quite understanding. At the very least, his parents have spoken about Ryan. He doesn't know why Ryan didn't tell him he has a session too, probably because that's to be expected but--
"Seth?"
Seth blinks, nods as he does so. That's such a stupid question. "Since we were fifteen." It's impossible his parents haven't told JJ a little about their history. That'd be too bitchy of his mother.
"You were fifteen, and he was?"
Seth snorts. Asshole. "Fifteen, what else?"
"You're the same age?"
Seth feel his jaw tightening, something he picked up from Ryan. "What, of course. We went to school together."
"Yes, your parents told me about that. That he went to school with you."
"He did." They took every subject together. It was easier. For them both.
"What about college?"
"Where are you going with this?" Seth says, finally, tired and pissed off. "What does Ryan have to do with my parents' marriage?"
JJ blinks at him twice before giving him the same ass smile. "Ryan's a part of your family, isn't he? Shouldn't we talk about him?"
"Of course he's a part of--" Seth sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache starting in between his eyes, behind them. "What do you want to know?"
"What's his last name?"
Seth blinks again. If his mother is-- "Atwood."
"That's a nice name." And you're a moron, Seth thinks, but doesn't say. "Does he have siblings?"
"Yeah, sure. Trey. He's in jail."
"Trey's in jail? How old is Trey?"
"What does--?"
What does Trey have to do with this, and if someone knows more about Trey being in jail it should be his dad. He was Ryan's attorney.
Seth rubs his eyes with the back of one hand. He can feel the headache as it pounds on his brain. "I don't... Trey. He's... he wasn't nice. He wasn't nice to Ryan."
"I see. What about his parents? What do you know about Ryan's parents?"
Seth places the back of palm against his forehead. Ryan's parents. That's easy. "Dawn and... Frank. Ryan doesn't talk much about them. He doesn't like to."
"That's interesting."
He has no idea why that would be interesting. His parents were horrible to him. Ryan hasn't told him much about them, but Seth can fill in the blanks.
"Were they nice to Ryan?"
Seth snorts, curls his right hand into a fist and hits his forehead lightly with his knuckles. "Not even close. Frank's in jail, too. And Dawn took off."
"Did Ryan go with you to Brown?"
Seth groans, sinking his thumb in between the hollow of his eye and his eyebrow. Stupid fucking headache. "No, he didn't. You know he didn't. He got into Brown but he didn't want my parents to have to pay for it, he didn't want to be a burden. He goes to Berkeley."
"Oh. That's nice to know."
You knew that, Seth wants to say, but doesn't. Doesn't know why not.
He places both hands over his face, digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard. He sees shades of gray on his closed eyelids, but the pain doesn't recede.
"Seth, are you okay?"
"Fine," Seth hisses through clenched teeth. "Headache. That's all."
JJ leaves him after that. Excuses himself, tells Seth he should have a glass of water. He pours himself one, takes a long swallow. He closes the fridge with his elbow, turns around to look at the pool house. The curtains are drawn, and Ryan's probably inside, hiding himself, book on his lap. He should--
"It doesn't make sense, Sandy!"
"Kirsten, please. Keep your voice down."
Seth frowns, turns around, looks past the den into the hallway that leads to the study. He frowns. He glances over his shoulder at the pool house, and the curtains are still drawn. He makes his way down the hallway, stands right outside his father's study.
He can hear them talking inside, but can't hear the words. He swallows, and his hand tightens on his glass. He leans forward enough to make out the words.
"--bad enough when he was fifteen. He's twenty, Sandy. That's a long time to have an imaginary friend."
Seth frowns, not understanding what they are talking about. What? Ryan has an imaginary friend? No, no, not possible. Seth would have noticed.
"Mrs. Cohen--" JJ's voice, obviously. "I don't think it works like that. I think he created this abstract persona, very real to him, to a fill a need inside him."
That just does not make any sense at all. Ryan doesn't have a "need" inside him. Seth fills every need Ryan might have.
"But I think my questions have brought something to light. Seth hasn't only made Ryan up. He's made a whole family for Ryan. That speaks of a deep seeded delusion--"
"Of course it's a deep seeded delusion, you idiot. My son thinks his imaginary friend goes to Berkeley!"
Seth takes a step back, and then another. He can hear his dad trying to calm down his mom, JJ arguing about psychological illness and delusion. He can hear them talking but doesn't hear a word they say.
It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't. Ryan isn't-- he can't be--
His hand falls open, both palms to his forehead. The glass crashes to the ground with a very loud sound, a cracking sound, very similar to the one coming from inside him. He swallows, hears movement behind the door and turns around and runs.
He makes his way down the hallway to the living room, left to the front door.
"Seth! Seth, wait!"
His dad, calling out for him. Seth doesn't answer. He pulls the door open and runs outside. The sun hits him on the face, blinding him for a second. His hand goes to shield his eyes, and he looks around frantically, like a trapped animal.
His car. His car. It's parked right there in the driveway. He rushes toward it, pats his pockets as he reaches it. He takes out his keys and opens the door, throws himself in and he's driving off before he thinks twice about it, not caring about his father running out of the door, his mother calling him as well. They both call out for him. He doesn't listen.
He drives out of the community, down the street to the pier. He lowers the window on the passenger seat, needs to feel the air against his face, against his neck. Everything inside him is burning up. He can feel his skin, sticky with dried sweat; back and front and arms itching from it. He wants to take a shower, but he can't go home. He can't go home because...
He swallows, shakes his head again. His headache is pulsing against his temples, again. Anger and frustration and consternation are nothing but a white flame on his neck, in his throat. He doesn't understand. He heard the words but he doesn't understand. He can't.
He'd go to the beach and a take a dive, if he liked swimming. That's just not his thing. Sailing, he can do. But not swimming. He can lounge around in the pool on a raft-- Ryan on the other one, talking about nothing at all-- but he can't do swimming.
His head aches from the inside out, heat making him see yellow dots on the street before him. He closes his eyes as he reaches a red light, covers his face with his hands. Something's happening to him. Something he ate, maybe? Something’s not sitting well with his stomach. That doesn't make sense. He had the same thing for breakfast than Ryan did, Ryan should be sick as well--
Ryan. Where is Ryan? Did he leave Ryan behind? No, no, never. He'd never do that. He'd never leave Ryan behind. Then where--? Seth feels a second of pure childish terror. Where they supposed to meet somewhere? Is that it? Did they agree to meet somewhere and Seth just forgot?
He groans against the pain, it feels like someone's giving him a very rudimentary lobotomy while he's still awake, God damn it. He's heard about people wanting to gouge their eyes out with a fork -- probably read it in a very weird book -- but he never thought he'd be one of them. He groans again, leans his head forward against the steering wheel. If the pain doesn't stop, he might end up trying that trick with the fork.
Someone honks at him, and glancing briefly up Seth notices the light is green. His eyes pound, and he sees purple and yellow around the edges, and the last thing he wants to do is wrap his car around a pole.
He makes a right turn, and then a left; parks his car in the parking lot of a drugstore not two blocks down.
He sighs, the inside of his sedan hot from the early afternoon sun hitting the windows. It's like a fucking furnace in here. He pushes the door open, takes a step outside. The sun hits him straight on his face. He places his hands over his eyes to cover them, looks around. His breathing is harsh in his chest, like he's run a marathon. His skin feels tight around his body, too tight, like it's too small for him.
He makes his way into the drugstore, the air conditioning hitting him face first. He sighs as the cool air hits his face, his neck, his hands. He makes his way slowly down the aisle, trying to remember what he wanted to buy here in the first place. It takes him a moment but he remembers, analgesic. Tylenol, something that will stop the stupid pounding in his head.
He picks up a box in one of the aisles, notices the fridge in the corner of the place. He walks toward it, takes out two cans of cold soda. He makes his way to the register. There's a young girl there, painting her nails a very dark electric blue. He glances at her name in the tag, Theresa.
"Is that all?" She asks as she blows at her painted fingernails, dark skin a contrast against her white uniform. Her hair, dark long and wavy, is pulled back in a high ponytail.
He glances at the cigarettes that lay on the small shelf by her side. "A pack of Winston Red's, please. And a lighter."
The girl nods, reaches for the cigarettes and the lighter with her still unpainted hand. She runs it across the scanner, along with the box of Tylenol, before placing them all in a white plastic bag. She keeps on blowing at her fingernails.
Seth pays for it and thanks her, though he has no idea why he should. He makes his way out of drugstore, the sun hits him in the face like a brick wall. He walks to his car, opens the driver's side and gets inside.
Ryan's sitting on the passenger side with his arm bent at the elbow, resting against the frame of the open window. He gives Seth a sideways glance, a small smile on his lips.
Seth places the plastic bag on his lap, takes out the pain pills and one of the cans of soda before handing the bag to Ryan.
Ryan smiles and takes it from Seth's fingers. He takes out the soda and pops the top, takes a long swallow. He places the can in between his thighs before reaching for the pack of cigarettes, opening it and lightening one. He blows the smoke out the window.
Seth watches Ryan with devoted fascination, pure childish joy bubbling up in his chest for a second before he breathes out and smiles.
"Where to, Ryan?"
Ryan tilts his head to the side, short blond hair falling over his ears, blue eyes bright and focused solely on Seth. He grins, wide and pleased, loving, beloved.
Anywhere you want, Seth. Ryan takes another long drag off the cigarette. Seth hasn't seen him smoke since their high school days. Anywhere you want.
Seth grins back at him, nods as he does so. He throws the bottle of pain pills onto the dashboard, his headache suddenly gone. He opens his can of soda, takes a long swig. It has never tasted as sweet.
He places it in the cup-holder in between both seats, turns the keys in the ignition. The car roars under them, wanting nothing more than to please.
Seth drives out of the parking lot, head clear and focused; Ryan sitting by his side, always by his side.
There. You know how I say that I'm weird sometimes? I think this is one of those times. *nods* I feel, like I was talking with E, that this is the ultimate rather fucked up version of the show. This isn't, they just never met, no, this is Ryan never existed. *giggles* I'm sorry, but I'm weirdly proud of this story. See? I'm as weird as it comes. *nods* Reminds me of "Look over here", in a way.
That said, now let me know just how weird you think I am. Also, this story is as close to GEN as I might ever get. That, and the Too Much universe. *nods*
Okay. I'm here. I'm waiting. Click that, right there. Yes, yes, that one. You know you want to! *bounces*