Disclaimer: I don't own The O.C., but my best friend's boyfriend does. She's also the best beta ever.
So, yeah, also, it says very plainly in the summary line that it's Ryan/Seth slash, but just in case, IT'S SLASH. If that's not your bag, and you still read, don't blame me, okay?
Ryan misses emo. Arturo and all his friends listen to rap, or old school metal. Teresa's mother listens to Elvis. A lot. Teresa doesn't listen to music much, but when she does, it's usually top 40.
The guy behind the counter at the CD store looked at Ryan like he was on crack when he asked if they had any Death Cab. "What, that's a band name? Yeah, we don't have none of that." He thought better than to ask about The Postal Service or Bright Eyes.
He hadn't really noticed how much information he had absorbed from Seth's rambling about music. He wants to hear "Passenger Seat." He wants to hear "Nothing Better." He wants to hear white guys with guitars, songs with lyrics like poetry. He hums now, quietly, at work. No one can hear him, anyway.
He doesn't have any of the CDs Seth made him. When he was packing, it seemed wrong to take anything back to Chino that he hadn't brought into Newport with him. Most of his clothes, his laptop, his iPod—he left it all behind. He was pretty sure he wouldn't need it anymore. He wishes now, though, that he had kept the CDs.
He borrows Teresa's car. He tells her he's going to run some errands. He thinks about turning around a dozen times during the drive, but he heads straight to Been Around Records. He walks around aimlessly for a little while, flipping through CDs, and he thinks that if CDs had a smell, it would remind him of Seth. There's a used copy of Transatlanticism. He grabs it, and copy of Give Up.
The guy at the counter is the same guy that was always there when he came with Seth. This would be the perfect job for Seth. Sitting behind a counter, reading comic books, educating new customers on the subtle but vast differences between the lyrical styles of Ben Gibbard and Conor Oberst. Ryan wonders when he learned the names.
The guy smiles at Ryan, one of those "I remember you, you used to come in here all the time" smiles. Ryan tries to smile back. "Good stuff," he says. Ryan nods. "Have you heard these before?" Ryan nods again. Yeah. I've heard them all a hundred times. I need to hear them again.
He stops in an empty parking lot halfway between Chino and Newport, unwrapping one of the CDs and skipping ahead to number eight. He turns the volume up until the speakers reverberate and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.