Fic: Dynamics In Architecture (The OC; Seth/Ryan)
Title: Dynamics In Architecture
Author: Devil Piglet
Disclaimer: All characters of The OC are used without permission.
Pairing: Seth/Ryan
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1300
Author’s note: This story has no timeline, purpose or redeeming social value. It was written solely as a "Thank You" for responses to my recent post on The OC_Slash.
"...Says she thinks I'm kinda gay." Seth's tone demonstrates how utterly preposterous he finds such a statement. "I've crushed on this girl since I was wearing Underoos, I experienced all my requisite sexual milestones with her, I had lunch with her dad and she thinks I'm into dudes?" He prods Ryan with one foot. "Dude? Dude. Are you listening to me?"
"Even when I don't want to be."
"So, then, what? What, Ryan? What do I say to that?" The living room is fraught with Seth's inner turmoil; Ryan loosens his collar.
"What did you say to that?"
"Um. I think I made a sound like a badger choking, and then I left."
"Smooth."
"Yeah, she didn't seem to be having second thoughts." Seth flops down on the bed beside Ryan, who continues to read Dynamics In Architecture (fourth edition). "Man, I think I really screwed things up."
"No, you didn't. You can't screw up just by being yourself." It comes out more sharply than Ryan intends. He frowns at a diagram of load-bearing columns.
"Are you kidding? Of course I can. In fact, that's...pretty much all I do."
Ryan slams the book shut with an emphasis that makes Seth jump. "I can't listen to this."
"But you just said -"
"Seth. You are not a screw-up. You're a great guy and great friend and even Summer knows that, she knows you deserve to find the right person even if it's not her or a - a - her at all. Okay?"
Seth gapes at him; Ryan looks away. He usually doesn't say so much in one conversation. Or in one day. He stands. "I have to go. Help. Your mom." And he leaves Seth there, staring, impossibly speechless.
***
For the next two weeks Ryan throws himself into his job. Kirsten's gotten him an apprenticeship on the site crew of the new community center, and it's a relief to exhaust himself so thoroughly that all he does is collapse into unconsciousness when he does make it home.
It's not like he's avoiding Seth. They see each other each morning; grunt at each other over bowls of cereal to the soundtrack of the Cohens' easy chatter. Breakfast is one of Ryan's favorite times in this house, up there with late-night Playstation and sunny afternoons drifting on the pool while Seth outlines plans for world domination and backstage access to the next Decemberists show.
"Atwood! These joists have your name on 'em. Get moving!"
Ryan blinks, yanks down his hard hat and goes to work.
***
He wakes up swinging.
There's movement just beyond the shadows, and he transitions from asleep to awake to at bat within seconds. His fists hit flesh, a little off-center, and he hears "Ouch!" and then a stumble and then a crash. He really liked that lamp, damn it.
On the floor, Seth gropes beneath the mangled lampshade for the cord until the poolhouse is unevenly illuminated. Ryan scrubs a hand through his hair, grimaces. "Were you watching me sleep?"
"Why?" Seth counters immediately. "Would that be gay?"
"Mostly, it would be weird. Seth, why -"
"So, I've been thinking."
"Please don't do that." Ryan sits up, tries to calm his racing heart.
"About what Summer said. And what you said."
"Look, Summer was sad about the breakup, and you know how she deals with sadness."
"Intimately," Seth nods. "With anger."
"Right. And I..."
"You?"
Ryan sighs. "I just want you to be happy, man. That's all."
"Um. Yeah. Which is why I'm here, not watching you sleep, because I think we need to talk. Because I think I am happy, but only when I'm with you. When we hang out. When we're apart I'm just...waiting. For us not to be apart anymore. And I'm pretty sure of this - I've given it a lot of thought - what with you being MIA lately. Lots of time. To think. Thoughts."
"That doesn't always end well."
"No! No, it does not. And hence my point -"
"Which is?"
"That you're the person who drags me, kicking and screaming, back to reality. That you cut me off before I can go too far down the rabbit hole. And, okay, yes, I like to believe that in my own small Seth Cohen-way I help you out, too. Like, it's hard to brood when we're out on the boat together, right? Or when we're marathoning very poorly dubbed Kaju. Or even when we're arguing over who's hotter, Mila Kunis or Naomi Watts, and buddy, I get that you have a type and everything but that's a little obvious, and also, she sort of looks like my mom. And now you're glaring so I'll redirect. My point is, we make each other happy." Seth pauses, maybe to breathe. "At least, I think we do. I hope."
"We do, Seth."
"Yeah." It's quiet for a few moments, and Ryan wonders idly how many midnight conversations this room has witnessed. Seth clears his throat. "So. Um. What does that mean, exactly?"
Before Ryan can answer, Seth barrels on. "And you should already know this by now, but sometimes you don't, or you forget, or whatever. But nothing you say...there's no wrong answer, man. You're not going to lose me, or the 'rents, no matter what. It won't happen."
Ryan's almost convinced of that. Almost. It's still nice to hear.
"I want..." he begins. Words feel strange on his tongue, strange but not unwelcome and strange in a better way than when he'd use them to reassure Marissa or Theresa or any other girl who'd needed so much more than he could give.
"I want...us. To be happy. Together."
Seth scratches behind his ear. "Not that I don't love obscurity as much as the next recently bi-curious guy, but that's not clearing things up for me. Can you give me a little more to go on?"
And Ryan looks down, to where Seth sprawls at his feet, honest and apprehensive and so out in the open that Ryan wonders how the kid's survived this long. Except he's not a kid anymore, not really; they both grew up while Ryan wasn't looking.
He doesn't know how to explain it - the tenderness he feels toward Seth, the devotion that he's certain goes beyond the norm. And, at the same time, the terrible desire to bruise him, mark him up, leave a trail of Ryan was here across his skin. He's studiously ignored both for years, and now Seth is calling them out.
He shakes his head. It's too much. He can't. "I can't."
"Oh. That's...that's cool. I get it. I totally get it. And, seriously, no hard feelings." Seth stands up jerkily, a puppet on broken strings. "If you don't mind, I gotta go...be mortified. Somewhere else. I just..." He's backing away now, sneakers bumping the edge of the door and hands scrabbling for the knob. "See you tomorrow. Or, today. But later. So. Yeah. Bye."
He's almost gone, almost (out in the open) left for good when Ryan finds himself at the doorway, hauling Seth back in and pinning him there with a forearm against Seth's shoulderblades. Ryan's panting, like he's just run miles along the beach, like he's waking up from a nightmare. But Seth has to know - the violence that always hovers around the edges of Ryan, the love that suffocated those who came before.
Beads of sweat pool at the nape of Seth's neck. Ryan presses his lips there, hears Seth's sharp intake of breath.
"I'm not like you," Seth whispers. "I don't know what to do. But if you show me I'll -"
Slowly, Ryan shifts so that they're face-to-face, counterparts in confusion. And Seth has bent his forehead to rest against Ryan's, and the warmth from that single point of contact spreads. He feels some sort of internal frigidity dissolve.
"Just be you, Seth."
And Seth is smiling, Seth is laughing even through the kiss. "That. That I can do."
Author: Devil Piglet
Disclaimer: All characters of The OC are used without permission.
Pairing: Seth/Ryan
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1300
Author’s note: This story has no timeline, purpose or redeeming social value. It was written solely as a "Thank You" for responses to my recent post on The OC_Slash.
"...Says she thinks I'm kinda gay." Seth's tone demonstrates how utterly preposterous he finds such a statement. "I've crushed on this girl since I was wearing Underoos, I experienced all my requisite sexual milestones with her, I had lunch with her dad and she thinks I'm into dudes?" He prods Ryan with one foot. "Dude? Dude. Are you listening to me?"
"Even when I don't want to be."
"So, then, what? What, Ryan? What do I say to that?" The living room is fraught with Seth's inner turmoil; Ryan loosens his collar.
"What did you say to that?"
"Um. I think I made a sound like a badger choking, and then I left."
"Smooth."
"Yeah, she didn't seem to be having second thoughts." Seth flops down on the bed beside Ryan, who continues to read Dynamics In Architecture (fourth edition). "Man, I think I really screwed things up."
"No, you didn't. You can't screw up just by being yourself." It comes out more sharply than Ryan intends. He frowns at a diagram of load-bearing columns.
"Are you kidding? Of course I can. In fact, that's...pretty much all I do."
Ryan slams the book shut with an emphasis that makes Seth jump. "I can't listen to this."
"But you just said -"
"Seth. You are not a screw-up. You're a great guy and great friend and even Summer knows that, she knows you deserve to find the right person even if it's not her or a - a - her at all. Okay?"
Seth gapes at him; Ryan looks away. He usually doesn't say so much in one conversation. Or in one day. He stands. "I have to go. Help. Your mom." And he leaves Seth there, staring, impossibly speechless.
***
For the next two weeks Ryan throws himself into his job. Kirsten's gotten him an apprenticeship on the site crew of the new community center, and it's a relief to exhaust himself so thoroughly that all he does is collapse into unconsciousness when he does make it home.
It's not like he's avoiding Seth. They see each other each morning; grunt at each other over bowls of cereal to the soundtrack of the Cohens' easy chatter. Breakfast is one of Ryan's favorite times in this house, up there with late-night Playstation and sunny afternoons drifting on the pool while Seth outlines plans for world domination and backstage access to the next Decemberists show.
"Atwood! These joists have your name on 'em. Get moving!"
Ryan blinks, yanks down his hard hat and goes to work.
***
He wakes up swinging.
There's movement just beyond the shadows, and he transitions from asleep to awake to at bat within seconds. His fists hit flesh, a little off-center, and he hears "Ouch!" and then a stumble and then a crash. He really liked that lamp, damn it.
On the floor, Seth gropes beneath the mangled lampshade for the cord until the poolhouse is unevenly illuminated. Ryan scrubs a hand through his hair, grimaces. "Were you watching me sleep?"
"Why?" Seth counters immediately. "Would that be gay?"
"Mostly, it would be weird. Seth, why -"
"So, I've been thinking."
"Please don't do that." Ryan sits up, tries to calm his racing heart.
"About what Summer said. And what you said."
"Look, Summer was sad about the breakup, and you know how she deals with sadness."
"Intimately," Seth nods. "With anger."
"Right. And I..."
"You?"
Ryan sighs. "I just want you to be happy, man. That's all."
"Um. Yeah. Which is why I'm here, not watching you sleep, because I think we need to talk. Because I think I am happy, but only when I'm with you. When we hang out. When we're apart I'm just...waiting. For us not to be apart anymore. And I'm pretty sure of this - I've given it a lot of thought - what with you being MIA lately. Lots of time. To think. Thoughts."
"That doesn't always end well."
"No! No, it does not. And hence my point -"
"Which is?"
"That you're the person who drags me, kicking and screaming, back to reality. That you cut me off before I can go too far down the rabbit hole. And, okay, yes, I like to believe that in my own small Seth Cohen-way I help you out, too. Like, it's hard to brood when we're out on the boat together, right? Or when we're marathoning very poorly dubbed Kaju. Or even when we're arguing over who's hotter, Mila Kunis or Naomi Watts, and buddy, I get that you have a type and everything but that's a little obvious, and also, she sort of looks like my mom. And now you're glaring so I'll redirect. My point is, we make each other happy." Seth pauses, maybe to breathe. "At least, I think we do. I hope."
"We do, Seth."
"Yeah." It's quiet for a few moments, and Ryan wonders idly how many midnight conversations this room has witnessed. Seth clears his throat. "So. Um. What does that mean, exactly?"
Before Ryan can answer, Seth barrels on. "And you should already know this by now, but sometimes you don't, or you forget, or whatever. But nothing you say...there's no wrong answer, man. You're not going to lose me, or the 'rents, no matter what. It won't happen."
Ryan's almost convinced of that. Almost. It's still nice to hear.
"I want..." he begins. Words feel strange on his tongue, strange but not unwelcome and strange in a better way than when he'd use them to reassure Marissa or Theresa or any other girl who'd needed so much more than he could give.
"I want...us. To be happy. Together."
Seth scratches behind his ear. "Not that I don't love obscurity as much as the next recently bi-curious guy, but that's not clearing things up for me. Can you give me a little more to go on?"
And Ryan looks down, to where Seth sprawls at his feet, honest and apprehensive and so out in the open that Ryan wonders how the kid's survived this long. Except he's not a kid anymore, not really; they both grew up while Ryan wasn't looking.
He doesn't know how to explain it - the tenderness he feels toward Seth, the devotion that he's certain goes beyond the norm. And, at the same time, the terrible desire to bruise him, mark him up, leave a trail of Ryan was here across his skin. He's studiously ignored both for years, and now Seth is calling them out.
He shakes his head. It's too much. He can't. "I can't."
"Oh. That's...that's cool. I get it. I totally get it. And, seriously, no hard feelings." Seth stands up jerkily, a puppet on broken strings. "If you don't mind, I gotta go...be mortified. Somewhere else. I just..." He's backing away now, sneakers bumping the edge of the door and hands scrabbling for the knob. "See you tomorrow. Or, today. But later. So. Yeah. Bye."
He's almost gone, almost (out in the open) left for good when Ryan finds himself at the doorway, hauling Seth back in and pinning him there with a forearm against Seth's shoulderblades. Ryan's panting, like he's just run miles along the beach, like he's waking up from a nightmare. But Seth has to know - the violence that always hovers around the edges of Ryan, the love that suffocated those who came before.
Beads of sweat pool at the nape of Seth's neck. Ryan presses his lips there, hears Seth's sharp intake of breath.
"I'm not like you," Seth whispers. "I don't know what to do. But if you show me I'll -"
Slowly, Ryan shifts so that they're face-to-face, counterparts in confusion. And Seth has bent his forehead to rest against Ryan's, and the warmth from that single point of contact spreads. He feels some sort of internal frigidity dissolve.
"Just be you, Seth."
And Seth is smiling, Seth is laughing even through the kiss. "That. That I can do."