A/N I also miss writing R/M scenes in Coming Home, believe me, so here is this one shot dedicated only to these two. It's set post Chrismukkah in Season 3. Idea came from the song "Buy Me a Rose" by Kenny Rogers.

Ryan Atwood walks aimlessly along the pier, his hands stuffed deep in his leather jacket as he walked passed all the shops and restaurants lost in thought. He is thinking about his girlfriend – again – and her growing closeness with her newfound best friend at Newport Union. He may have gone through a Bar Mitzvah to raise money for the guy, but he by no means likes him.

Ryan doesn't quite know when he started losing Marissa. Probably after the shooting, or maybe starting at the time of the attempted-rape. He blinks quickly to rid his brain of the images, the images that blur with the shooting and keep him up at night. He hates his brother, he does – and he hates himself, perhaps more, for ever introducing Trey to Marissa in the first place.

Ryan feels as though he has lost Marissa sometimes, that he is living in a doomed relationship waiting for the inevitable argument that will push one of them over the edge into just calling it quits, maybe this time for the last time. And he hates this – this feeling of imminent doom in the pit of his stomach that is permeating every aspect of his life and distracting him from everything other than this looming sense of dread.

Marissa needs a Johnny in her life, someone to talk to, and it makes Ryan hate her and Johnny and himself because he wishes he could be that person, wishes Johnny wasn't that person, wishes she didn't need that person.

The problem is Ryan learned from a young age not to talk. It started with his dad, the abuse, the drinking and fighting, the purpled bruises on his stomach and back from nights when he caught his dad's eyes when he was drunk. The threats, the you better fucking keep your mouth shut or I swear to god I'll shut it for you for good, the slouching in his desk and ignoring the gnawing hunger at school, because if he complains, if he tells the truth, his dad will only hit him harder, he knows.

It progressed to his mom, who stopped being a mom and listening to his cries because it only drove her to drink more and care less; and to Trey, who was angry and hostile and told him that only babies cried and only stupid brats talked and only girls cared about stupid things like feelings and hurt and sadness and pain.

He could have told Theresa, but by the time he met the dark haired girl he had stopped talking, and he didn't have to tell her that his mom whored around for booze and food on the table because she was there and she saw it and she let Ryan pretend it didn't happen.

And really it is no wonder that by the time he reaches Marissa, he is too broken and lost to even know where to begin. He has such a vault of secrets in his chest, and somewhere between the drunken screams and purpled ribs he lost the key.

She deserves more, he knows, and she always did, really. He knew this from the moment he met her, from the moment he told her the truth and she laughed in disbelief and he became the cousin the Cohens never knew they had. Even learning how broken she is, how lost she has become, he does not have the words to empathize with her simply because he doesn't know where to even begin or even if he wants to open this vault inside him after all this time. He's alive, after all. He's survived without the words.

Marissa needs more. Marissa needs 2am talks in the dark staring at the ceiling, all the words of the world between them, and most nights he wants to give it to her – he wants to speak, but he never has, he doesn't know how, he doesn't fucking know how.

Marissa, she's too broken for her own good, and she's so fragile, and he wants to hold her in his arms and tell her she's this beautiful, breathtaking princess and he's her knight, he is, and he'll save her every time. The thing about Marissa is she's spent her whole life being told how she isn't enough by her mom, and she needs someone to tell her she is, and he wants to, god he wants to, but he's not a poet or a philosopher or orator or any of that. He's just Ryan, and she's Marissa – to him, she's like the shining stars, she's hope – and he can't tell her this cause he was never taught how, and that's not him, even though he wants it to be.

And he hopes he can just look at her and she'll just know, that she can just see it in his eyes, but these days they don't even always look at each other anymore because it's so stifling all these things neither of them has said. And he knows it's his fault, it is, cause he never told her about Trey and Chino and his dad and the vault in his chest; he knows she's got her own vault, and her own key, and she's willing to let him in, but he's scared. He doesn't know what comes after everyone knows all his secrets. The only people who know them all have left, and he can't lose her, he can't.

He is torn from his thoughts when he nearly runs into a guy bending over a display on his cart on the side of the pier. "Sorry," he mutters, lifting his eyes to the display in front of him. It is a florist cart, one he has never seen before, or maybe never noticed. He sees a variety of flowers – lilies, carnations, roses.

"Girlfriend?" the guy asks, surprising Ryan. At Ryan's dazed and confused stare, the man quickly adds, "Or maybe a boyfriend?"

At that, Ryan shakes his head. "Girlfriend."

"Trouble in paradise?"

Ryan presses his lips into a thin line. "Something like that."

"Nothing says 'I'm sorry, please don't leave me' like a dozen roses," the guy offered with a smile. "For you, only $25."

Ryan knows this isn't a discounted price – the prices are all located right on the cart. "I don't know. We're not really that kind of couple."

Ryan is prepared to turn and leave – he has to meet Marissa at the pool house in twenty minutes – but the florist surprises him and says, "Maybe that's the problem."

Maybe it's the superior salesman, or maybe it's the way the color of the rose reminds him of the blush in Marissa's cheeks whenever he stares at her like she is the most beautiful thing in this whole world, but he finds himself pulling out his wallet and saying, "I'll take a single rose."

He finds Marissa already in the pool house sprawled across his bed when he arrives, and he smiles at the sight of her chewing on her bottom lip as she reads her textbook. "Hey," he says, walking over to his bed and sitting on the edge, reaching out and brushing some hair from her face.

She doesn't glance up at him at first, still stuck on whatever sentence she's currently reading. "Hey," she replies absent-mindedly, still chewing on her bottom lip.

"I, um." He pauses, suddenly embarrassed. There is a reason he doesn't do things like this, put himself on the spot. The room feels like it's a thousand degrees and he is very aware he's still wearing his jacket. She finally lifts her gaze from the book, her eyes meeting his curiously. "I sort of bought this for you."

He pulls the single long-stemmed rose from its hiding place behind his back, and he watches as her eyes absolutely brighten at the sight. He would have bought her a rose every day since he knew her if he had known she would smile like this, if he had known she would look at him like he was the center of her whole world. "Ryan," she breathes, and it makes his heart beat harder against his chest just cause he loves her so damn much.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and she thinks it's a ridiculous question.

"Of course, it's beautiful," she says, positively beaming as she stares at the rose that is now in her hands. "Where'd you get it?"

"At the pier. I went for a walk after school, and I saw it and I thought of you." He rubs the back of his neck, this attention making him feel embarrassed.

"Thank you," she murmurs, lifting her gaze back to his. She leans in and kisses him softly, and he relaxes at the feeling of her lips against his.

When she pulls back, she stands and makes a comment about going to ask Kirsten for a vase. He almost wants to tell her not to tell his family that he succumbed to buying her a rose, but the happiness in her eyes makes the inevitable teasing seem so worth it. While she is gone, he pulls off his jacket and kicks off his shoes, preparing himself for a night of studying with his girlfriend.

Marissa returns with the rose in a vase, her soft smile still on her face. She places the rose on the nightstand, and walks over to the bed and plops herself down again. "Thank you," she says again, her gratitude overwhelming.

He wants to tell her that he's trying, at least, but the look in her eyes lets him know that she knows. She appreciates it. She leans in to kiss him again, and her lips linger longer this time. "I'm just glad you like it," he murmurs.

"Of course I do." Her hand finds itself tangled in his hair, and soon he's hovering over her, her back pressed against the bed, his fully clothed body blanketing hers. She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes and playfully ask, "How much do you really need to study for this Physics test?"

Ryan grins, and leans in to kiss her again, deeper this time.

XXXXX

They eventually get to studying, him in a pair of sweats and his wife beater, her in a pair of boy shorts she keeps over here and one of his t-shirts. He occasionally gets distracted by the way her lips press together when she's deep in thought, and she's just so irresistible that he can't help but lean in and kiss her every now and then. Sometimes this leads to their clothes once again scattering across the floor. Sometimes, it is just a quick peck.

He is on the last page of his study guide when he realizes she's fallen asleep. He glances over and sees she is facing him on her side, head on his pillow, books scattered around her. She breathes evenly and deeply, and he thinks he could watch her sleep all night. She still amazes him, just like she did the night of the fashion show when he carried her to his room and took care of her. He smiles softly as he watches her. She has always seemed so content when sleeping.

He picks up their mess, throwing away their paper plates and bottles of water from dinner. He stacks the books on his chair, and stacks all his paper on top of them. He is tired from school and a long afternoon of studying and making love to his girlfriend. He is happy. Today was a good day. He wishes more were like it.

After brushing his teeth and getting ready, he climbs into bed next to Marissa and reaches to turn off his lamp. He catches sight of the rose sitting there in the vase, and he smiles, glad that he bought it for her. Maybe small steps like this are good for him. Maybe it's these small steps that will lead him to emptying the vault. Maybe if he does, he will have more room for Marissa in his already overflowing heart.

He switches off the lamp, and scoots closer to Marissa. He settles next to her, and she fits her head into the crook of his neck, her hand coming to rest in its familiar place on his chest. "Goodnight," she murmurs sleepily, her breath tickling his neck.

"Goodnight," he says just as softly. He presses a kiss to her temple, and he feels her lips smile against his neck. He smiles himself, and holds her just a little bit tighter to him.

He doesn't know how to say it. He's not great at showing it. But he loves her. God, he loves her.