Summary: They'll work this out. Stopping is the hard part. SethSummer short oneshot.

Disclaimer: I do not own The O.C. No cleverness this time.

Author's Note: Takes place after most recent episode…ish. It's a bit AU. Hey, by the way, what does AU stand for? I've never known. What a bad fanfic-er I am. If someone could tell me, that'd be great. This piece is very schizophrenic and weird. And angsty. I was just so bored. And I told myself I wasn't going to post for a while, but that didn't last long. So here it is. Yeah, wow, it's really short.

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They'll work this out.

She's stretching breaths into his cheek, wet O's on his skin, and the tingling begins, a spreading circle of nerves. She's forming something, tiny words, but her reading lips on his face are too light to distinguish. Glittering skin, the flesh under her collarbone, when he breaks to touch the shimmer.

I'm sorry is so soft, and so late, and just a spark of his anxious mouth. It's nothing but a reaction, chemical, maybe, and they've probably learned this in school.

Stopping is the hard part.

Tragic eyes, beams on her face from blind-interrupted sun, the winter sort with blue undertones and snow shadows. They're slipping towards spring.

No, maybe this can't be fixed. Maybe they're broken. He's afraid that trying is out of the question, this time. He's relapsing.

Snapshots seem to keep her happy, for now, a jagged piece of his eyes on her wall, pausing lips, a premature smile. She won't call, so his faltering speech is on hold.

Emergency, emergency, and he's lying on the floor. She's impossibly sick. A parting mouth, and this is good. Shaking hands, and this is better. Fluttering eyelids, and she's ecstatic, and she can breathe. Promise me, promise me, and this will never end.

He's normal today, in any sense of the word, and her forehead rests against his. Talk. They exchange oxygen, and their lips rest together in silent agreement. He tries his hand at an apology, again, but it's so dead to her, so she waves her fingers as a signal to stop.

Ryan checks in, but he's too far gone in the blonde's messy heart to sit for a while. Best friends, and they shake hands. Best friends, and Seth drags his hand across his face. She catches his fingers and presses them to her blurry jaw line.

Eighteen, the calendar says, and he smiles when she comes over, lingering in the doorway until he invites her in. She pushes a bracelet to his palm, thick, black rubber with letter incisions. Insisting it's nothing, she's gazing at bruised veins in his arms. He struggles to get it over his wrist. The rubber pinches at his skin when he moves, sharp reminders, thinking maybe this was calculated. Love is patient.

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Final A/N: Please review. I'd appreciate it so much. Thanks!