Smoke
Disclaimer: I don't own The OC, or have anything to do with it. Just an obsessed fan. Aren't we all?
A/N: That's "Author's Note", as they hip kids know. Well golly gee, looks like this is my first Anna/Ryan, which is funny, because I love those two but I barely ever publish any of my stories that have them really interacting.
Anna knows how people see her. When they look at her they see choppy and dyed blonde hair, funky and bright clothes, an emo girl, a warning that she's different from the preppy-Abercrombie-wearing girls, one of those teens that hates smokers.
There's more then what they see. Maybe she likes experimenting with her hair. Maybe she likes bright colors. Maybe she doesn't even like emo all that much. Maybe she used to want to be like the preppy girls but wasn't accepted. Maybe she actually buys cigarettes and smokes in her backyard or whenever she goes outside to "read in peace".
Yeah, cigarettes make her breath smell and teeth a little less white, and she's completely aware of the health risks. But they remind her of Newport. Not as much Newport as they reminde her of Ryan and the time he kissed her.
They were at the beach. Their shoes were off and they walked near the water, shallow enough to get only their feet wet. Seth and Anna were over. Ryan and Marissa were over. Ryan told Anna to stop paying attention to Seth because there was more out there. Anna told Ryan to stop trying to save Marissa because he didn't deserve that. They talked about how they understood each other. Ryan told Anna stories about his childhood. She knew she was possibly the only person who he told that to, and that let her know how much he trusted her. That was good, because she told him she trusted him right back.
He inhaled and exhaled the smoke and together they stopped walking. He offered her the cigarette. She took a brief inhale and coughed. He laughed a little and took back the cigarette.
Ryan, with his cigarette in his left hand by his side, opened his mouth a little and slipped his tongue into Anna's mouth. She slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeper, savoring the taste of his tongue, his lips, his breath, his mouth.
So, on some days in Pittsburgh, once or twice a month, she takes out a cigarette, slips off her shoes, dangles her feet in her cold pool, and tastes Ryan.
She wishes he had tasted like something besides smoke.
Maybe next time, he would. Maybe like mints or fruit, something not addictive and something she likes. She did, however, like his kiss.
Anna's determined to have a next time. But until then, she has her smoke. Their smoke.
