Author's Note: Um. I love the OC. It doesn't belong to me. And. Here's my fic about it. It's too short. And. Nothing happens. That's about it. Oh-- except for unfulfilled boy-love. If that icks you, then prepare to be icked.

Every time I see him, I want to run away. Not in a bad way, like an 'ohmigod there he is, I think I hear my mom calling gotta run' sort of way, more of an 'uh. right. well. Ryan. and. uh. Hey, wanna read my comic books?'

I wish that was a metaphor for something, because it's the question I ask him the most. That and 'hey, I got this new video game,' and let us not forget the all-time favorite, 'how're you and Marissa?'

Like I care. Like I want to know. Like I don't want to push her away from him every time they're together and pull him towards me, like I'm Batman and he's Robin and he was in danger, bewitched by the M-Witch and I'll pull him into my arms and okay, so maybe he's the heroine and I'll lean him down like those really good dancers do at the end of songs and kiss him.

Ryan Atwood has gorgeous lips. Heavy eyelids, straw-blond hair--not the most romantic of descriptions, fine, but that's my Ryan. Beautiful. Quiet, broody, strong. He arm-wrestled me once, and let me win.

Here I am, yet again knocking on his glass door and 'it's raining out, dude, let me inside before I melt!' he doesn't make eye contact with me, and I don't know why.

I don't think Seth gets it. He talks all the time, his voice fills the air and makes forget Chino days, silence and breaking bottles and boy get down here punctuations. He talks and slurs his words together, and neither of us really cares about what he's saying, but I listen anyway.

I don't think Seth gets it. His hands fly around him when he talks, if he were mute he could just talk with his arms and be fine. If he were holding sparklers, he could write his full name in cursive with one expansive throw of his arm.

I don't think Seth gets it. He took me sailing, once. Sun-screen and homework in the back of my head, red shoulders and the Cohen eyebrows. I didn't want to love him, and so I thought about Marissa and home and video games, all of which makes me think of Seth. Everything makes me think of Seth. Food and breathing and slurred words, sun-screen and lips and tv.

Seth Cohen has taken over my life, and I like it.

"Hey, Ryan, me and Summer were gonna go to Olive Garden for dinner--do you and Marissa wanna come?"

"No, she's busy. I'll just hang out here, catch up on some work."

"You could come anyway--unlimited breadsticks and salad, dude, and the BEST sweet tea this side of Texas."

"I'll be fine. Go, have a good time. I'll be here when you get back."

I will always be here when Seth comes home. I wish he'd never leave. I wish I were Summer, and he would drape his arm around me and not notice that his fingers were playing on my arm, I wish he were Marissa calling me and asking me to come over and looking helpless.

I know how to handle helpless. Be strong, do what they can't, give them what they need but for God's sake, don't give them what they want, because it's probably how they got in the mess in the first place.

I'll be here when you get back, Seth, lying on my bed waiting for you, the tv will be off but I'll set the controllers on the floor where you can see them and casually suggest a game. Maybe I'll pretend to be asleep, and let you think you're being stealthy.

Maybe you'll come home and walk in, tall and gawky and unsure, beautiful as anything I've ever seen (which isn't much, ring of smoke on the walls, beer can towers instead of paintings, couch rescued from the dumpster). You make me feel beautiful, Seth. You make me feel cool, Chino-cool with my wife- beaters and that name makes me wince, you make me feel desirable with the way you'll copy the way I hold my head and I saw you eying a wristband at the mall that looked like mine. I'd buy it for you, but I like you best the way you are now. Pure, undiluted Seth.

Let me know what you think! Thanks!