Title: The Random Thought Process of a Drunken Mind.

Rating: T+

Genre: Slash. (slightly angsty.)

Beta: ctoan

Pairing: Seth/Ryan.

Disclaimer: I don't own The OC.

Note: Written for Silverweaver, This is the first time I've ever done a 'Seth' fic and I'm not sure I've got his 'voice' right.

The Random Thought Process of a Drunken Mind.

So I'm sitting on a bar stool drinking again. I'm slumped down with my head about four inches from the sticky counter top nursing a pitcher of beer. The condensation on the glass is holding my gaze – watching the small beads of water run down the smooth surface has become fascinating to me, their erratic journey downwards is symbolic of my life at the moment. I don't know when things became so muddled for me. Actually, that is a lie; I know exactly when my life became complicated. It was four years, two months and sixteen days ago and if I wanted to be precise, I could probably break it down further into hours, minutes and seconds but the beer is clouding the more exact figures from my mind at the moment. When I'm sober again, I'll be able to tell you.

The smell of skunked beer is kinda making my stomach turn, and the unpleasant smell of rank armpit sweat from the guy sat next to me is making my nostril hairs burn. I would say something normally but the guy looks in a worse shape than I do, so I leave him and his odor alone. Misery loves company.

Where was I? Oh yeah…when my life got complicated. So… four years, two months… yadda yadda… Anyway, it was when I looked up and saw my dad's ex con walk through the kitchen door. I'd been expecting a tattooed gang member with grease under his fingernails, unfeasibly long arms hanging down by his sides and a swastika on his forehead. Okay, so in the two hours since my dad had told me of his existence, he'd mutated several times and each time he had become scarier. I'll be the first to admit that I have an overactive imagination, so when that door opened and Ryan walked in looking all apprehensive in a chewing gum grey vest, his hair neat and not a sniff of a swastika tattoo anywhere, my heart jumped. I mean, I literally felt it jump. Not in an 'I'm so gay I love you' way but in an 'I don't think he's going to kill me' way.

It was strange, but from the moment that I offered him some cereal thirty seconds after meeting him and he said thanks in that soft voice of his, I knew that Ryan was different. He sat next to me smiling that Mona Lisa smile of his as I rambled on, and I knew that he wasn't just tolerating me – he liked me. That was a whole new experience for me….being liked.

My life became a rollercoaster ride after Ryan came to live with us. I gradually realized that Ryan came with baggage – baggage that was the full set, complete with that little case with the wheels that stewardesses pull around. He was complicated; his family was complicated. I wished I could make things better for him but the cosmos kept throwing things Ryan's way. Just as one crisis would leave him wrung out, another would come along like a freight train and derail Ryan again. I felt for him and I wanted to make these things go away. He was my friend and he'd always been there for me. At least that's what I first thought.

My pitcher was empty now so I signaled for another. The barkeep sized me up, but eventually nodded. Obviously, I passed the 'is he going to be trouble' test. The sweaty guy next to me had switched to scotch now. He caught my eye and gave me the international look of the loser, and I returned it. A brief moment of solidarity passed between us before we both turned back to our drinks.

So my first thought was that I wanted to make things better for my friend. It was only as Ryan began to take up all my free moments when I was alone and thinking that I began to worry. I was spending a lot of my spare time thinking about Ryan when I should have been thinking about Summer's boobs and that made me nervous, especially as I was experiencing the same… err… sensations as I usually experienced when thinking about Summer's body…getting tight pants whilst thinking about your male best friend was more than a little unnerving. I mean, I liked girls; I'd spent years lusting after Summer and Lara Croft. I was not gay. Ryan just brought out my protective side and that had confused my teenage hormones. Ryan was just a boy crush - I'd been drawn to his compact body and bulging muscles like he was a Siren. It wasn't real.

And then Zach had happened. He temporarily replaced Ryan for a while. I fell asleep to the image of his soft silky hair, I awoke thinking about his limpid, puppy dog eyes and I knew I was sunk. I was gay. The Zach crush phase hadn't lasted long and it wasn't long before I focused all my attention back on Ryan. I jerked off thinking about my pseudo brother. I'd always refrained from doing that in the past but now I felt liberated.

I was gay or at least bi because I still thought of Summer's boobs and Lara Crofts ass.

And I could never tell Ryan. Here was a guy so straight that he could be used as a ruler. So although I'd felt liberated by my internal revelation, I was also terrified that Ryan would find out. I knew that he would be cool with the general idea of it – what he would not be cool with was knowing that scrapbooks of random snapshots of him had overtaken Playboy as my relaxation 'read' of choice. I seriously wanted to get into Ryan's pants and the knowledge that I would never even get close depressed the hell out of me.

So I ignored my feelings for Ryan, pushed them right away and only dwelled on them when I was alone so to speak. We continued with our easy friendship. I managed to keep my secret from him. I'd split from Summer the second year of college and had embarked on a couple of gay episodes but Ryan never suspected anything. I was stealth…so very stealth I surprised even myself.

As the years went on and I watched Marissa and Ryan replay all their high school dramas time and time again, I wanted to shake Ryan. I wanted to tell him that I'd be 'there' for him in ways that Marissa never was. In all the years she'd known him, she still didn't understand him. Hell, I didn't fully understand the inner workings of Ryan's brain, but at least I tried. Marissa seemed to enjoy playing the game of push-me-pull-me with Ryan. One minute she'd cling to him; the next she'd be driving him away. After all the shit his family had put him through, it was his girlfriend that was tipping him over the edge and there was nothing I or my family could do about it. Ryan shut down at any mention of Marissa. He told me not to go there whenever I tried to persuade him that he needed to ditch her for the sake of his sanity. They were in the middle of seriously heading for a meltdown - over what I didn't know - and Ryan was becoming more reclusive. He wouldn't even speak to me and that meant it was time to panic. I could see Ryan slipping further and further away from us all and that was why I sat here and drowned my sorrows night after night.

I could do nothing…I wanted to do so much. This sucked.

The beer has made its way down into my bladder and as I get up from my stool, I veer into sweaty guy and he grunts at my apology. I am wasted again and it's only ten thirty – this is becoming my natural state. I have a piss and decide that if I can, I'll try to finagle something stronger from the barman when I get back to my stool. I'm not anyway near numb enough to go home and face the empty answer phone machine….another night where Ryan fails to return my calls.

I open the can door to return to the bar. I stand up as straight as I can, trying to appear to be the soul of sobriety in my quest for more hooch. I focus on my stool and make an effort to reach it without wobbling too much, though I haven't figured on anyone stepping into my path and compromising my mission. I collide with a mass of black leather and make a stupid comment about not realizing that this is the Pink Flamingo club; there may be mention of The Village People as well. I think I'm being witty and charming but as a fist rams itself into my face with the hissed word 'queer', I realize that I just come across as very gay. I bet Oscar Wilde never had this trouble. I stumble backwards and knock over a chair with my backwards decent. Several people look my way, even sweaty guy. For a second I think he might leap to my aid but he turns away and goes back to his bottle – so much for drunken solidarity. The leather clad ape grabs at my polo shirt and yanks me to my feet. I feel like a rag doll as he pulls me up close to his face. Shit, I'm in trouble. I shut my eyes and wait for his head to connect with mine, since this guy looks like the sort who would head butt. That's when I hear the voice call out. It's like the angel Gabriel has floated down from heaven or Spiderman has swung into the room on a glossier thread to save me - only this is a million times better.

"Hey, leave him alone."

Biker boy sneers at Ryan and continues his strangle hold on my neck. People always underestimate Ryan – he's short and for some reason he looks almost skinny when clothed… Damn, now is definitely not the time to start thinking about him unclothed… Anyway, Ryan must know this because he takes his jacket off and casually slings it over a chair. He folds his arms and takes a step closer to us.

"I said leave him alone."

He doesn't shout. He uses what I called his 'controlled voice' and it's fucking scary if you don't know him; it's fairly intimidating if you do know him. He's like an inmate from 'One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest' when he uses that voice and as he's gotten older he realized that he doesn't have to fight – scare your opponent shitless is Ryan's new strategy and it works very well. Biker boy and his friends obviously think so too. It takes one look at Ryan's straining tee and the cold look in his eye to set off the warning bells that they might just have a psycho on their hands and although they out number Ryan, they know it would be stupid to tangle with a nut job. And Ryan does look like one right now.

Biker boy drops me with one last parting shot of 'faggot' and stalks off with his minions. I land in a messy heap as my legs buckle under me. Ryan helps me up – not very gently either I might add – by putting one hand under my armpit and pulling. I can't figure out if he's mad at me or just pissed that he's had to intervene again in one of my fights.

I feel myself being dragged up the street before I can blink. Ryan has my coat in his hand…when had he picked that up? …and he's striding along with a purposeful look on his face. Okay, so he is pissed at me. The glare he gives me silences any drunken ramblings before they could escape. I'm propelled along as fast as my uncoordinated legs will carry me. He's being so domineering and my pants jerked at this. I find it incredibly hot in the state I'm in and spend the next god knows how long fantasizing about Ryan ordering me to 'do' things to him. I must be seriously wasted to think this in Ryan's presence. I blame the fact that Ryan's hand is around my waist steadying me as we walk, the heat radiating off his body and literally burning into my skin. I just hope Ryan doesn't look down because if he does, he'll notice that something is definitely up. That would be a tad awkward.

We must have entered a worm hole or something because the next thing I remember is finding myself sitting down on the closed lid of my toilet with Ryan kneeling before me. He has a cotton ball in his hand, dabbing at my face with something that stings, and it's coming away pink …hmmm come to think of it my nose does hurt like a bitch. Jeez I must be gay or just very drunk because I suddenly feel like crying at this act of kindness on Ryan's behalf. Maybe it's because after weeks of ignoring me, Ryan is finally acknowledging my presence.

Ryan sits back on his heels and utters the words 'all done'….I don't want him to be finished with me. I don't want to break this tiny crumb of intimacy between us.

I foolishly lunge.

My mouth connects with his, our noses mashed together – ouch, I think I might have broken mine when my face collided with leather boy – but it's the best feeling in the world. I'm kissing Ryan. I'm finally kissing Ryan Atwood….I'm….

Oh shit…I'm kissing Ryan!

I pull back and stare at him. I think I must look like Bambi when he was told his mother had been shot. I am so dead…I just kissed my straight best friend on the lips in a very most definitely non-brotherly lip lock. I see Ryan's hand move very quickly towards me and I flinch. Being hit twice in one night is a record even for me, but instead of the feel of Ryan's knuckles against my cheek I feel the palm of his hand at the back of my neck and his face zooms in towards mine. Now I might be very drunk and this might be a beer mirage but it does appear that Ryan is going to kiss me. My brain short circuits as his lips find mine; my brain explodes as his tongue pushes past my lips and into my mouth.

Holy fuck! Ryan is kissing me…French kissing me no less…tongues are involved, hands are on thighs.

Hands are on thighs?

Ryan's hand is on my thigh. I think I've died and gone straight to heaven.

We break from each other as the necessity to breath becomes a must.

I look at my friend and ask what had just happened. My heart is thumping in my chest. I'm just waiting for Ryan to do his bolting thing, waiting for him to run out the door muttering that this was a mistake. I hold my breath as I wait for a reply from him.

After a pause he breaks into a smile. "What's happening, Seth?"

He places his hand back on my thigh.

"Something that should have happened a long time ago." He completes the statement by winding his hand into my hair and pulling me back towards his face again.

Who am I to argue with logic like that?

Fin

R+R...please...I'll be ya friend forever.