(Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all. So don't sue me. Please.)

A Note from the Author: Last week's episode was so incredibly cute with the power tools, so I just had to reference it by taking one of the funniest lines in the ep (and there were so many to choose from – like the stud-finder, I think I snorted when I laughed at that one). Here's more Seth/Ryan angst, isn't that fun? And yes, Samantha, I am so anticipating a Summer/Marissa showdown myself, although no word yet on when that will actually be. (Heh.) Anyway, onwards to the new chapter! (Btw, apologies for the lateness – fanfiction.net just went all kablooey when I tried to update – and also because I'm not sure I'll be able to get in a new chapter on Monday, since I have an exam on that day, nor Wednesday, since it'll be my birthday – yay, 17! But I guess we'll see.)

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was like he had stepped into an alternate dimension, where everything was backwards. The sky was green, the grass was blue, cows gave chocolate milk… And Seth Cohen had not spoken a word in an entire day, let alone to Ryan. That meant that it was beyond serious, that if serious was a line, the situation had surpassed any feasible expectations and serious was now a dot on the horizon.

Now, Ryan had dealt with a lot of angry people before. Sometimes, when he got Trey pissed off about something, the two would duke it out in a brotherly fistfight that bordered on violent and dangerous. His mother liked to deliver a daily quota of pain by hurling insults at him, words that she knew would wound him deeply.

But silence was a new one. It was the worst of the evils; it made him blow things out of proportion and believe in the most horrific of possibilities. He couldn't really understand what was going on in Seth's mind right now, and it scared him, because unlike Trey and Dawn's short bursts of rage that burned out quickly, this type of anger seemed like it would turn into something that lasted, into a grudge, and eventually hate. He had seen this happen before.

It was how he came to hate his deadbeat dad.

Dinnertime at the Cohen household was another tense moment, for everyone involved. Sandy and Kirsten could pretty much guess at what had transpired between the two boys, but tried to pretend nothing had really happened and that everything was normal. It was just too hard to do so when Seth had seemingly regressed in age to hold the attitude of a five-year-old.

"Mother," he began, finally breaking his vow of silence over Chinese food, "please tell Ryan to pass me the sweet and sour pork."

Kirsten almost rolled her eyes at this, half-expecting him to stick out his tongue next. "Tell him yourself, Seth," she scolded, adopting the most motherly tone she could.

"No, I can't. If he knows that I love the pork, then he'll just steal the pork," Seth said pointedly, giving Ryan a hard glare.

Sandy, seemingly oblivious, naïvely commented, "I thought you loved chow mein the most."

"Sandy, now is not the time –"

"No." He cut her off. "This is the time," he announced cryptically, "and I'm telling you all that nothing should change." He continued on a lighter tone with, "I love spring rolls, and Kirsten, you like the garlic chicken, right? I have it all memorized, so I think I should know what my son likes." He glanced at Ryan, then corrected himself. "Sons."

At this, Seth pushed his chair back, scraping the floor loudly. "I'm full."

His parents expressed obvious surprise, with Kirsten gaping at him and Sandy remarking in disbelief, "Seth Cohen, unless you got your stomach stapled overnight, there is no other reason why you only ate about half of what you usually have on Chinese Takeout Night."

Seth only responded with a scowl directed at Ryan. "I'm full." He deposited his dishes in the sink, then headed for his room.

Ryan hurried after him, trying to keep his distance yet stop him at the same time. "Seth, I'm sorry, okay? Would you please talk to me?" he begged. They reached the second floor, stopping in front of Seth's bedroom door. The Cohen boy briefly faced him for a moment as he tried to explain himself. "Please believe me; I didn't purposely do this to hurt you. Summer and I, we just happened. When you were gone –"

Ryan's cell phone rang abruptly from his front pocket, and he was tempted to let it ring. Frustrated at the noise, and at his inability to continue, he angrily answered the call. Who the fuck…?

From the way Ryan's voice immediately softened and his features relaxed, Seth quickly deduced that it was Summer calling.

"Ryan, get your ass down here. You said you were going to help me redecorate my room, and you're late," Summer yelled through the phone, unaware of who else could hear the conversation. She tried to sound indignant. Truthfully, she didn't really give a damn about what colour the walls of her room were, or that she was in dire need of a shoe rack. All she could think about or remember was the last time she had truly been happy with Ryan, and that was when he proposed the renovations.

She wanted that moment back.

However, Seth didn't know that, and what he knew was that Summer was phoning Ryan. Because they were dating. And they had been together since the summer, when, technically, Summer and Seth had still been Summereth. He mulled over this, shot Ryan a hurt look, and then slammed the door in his face.

Seth's pained expression, followed by the sudden shutting of the door, was an image that stayed with Ryan as he drove to Summer's house. All of that was his fault, he decided, like everything else used to be his fault. This time, however, Seth really had a valid reason to blame him, and he didn't know how to make things right again. He was preoccupied with this thought as he pulled up in the Roberts driveway, and even later when he was really supposed to be concentrating on painting. His movements were mechanical, unfocused, and he was pretty much unaware of his surroundings.

He didn't even know Chino was missing. (Summer had moved it into the living room so it could avoid breathing in fatal paint fumes.)

Ryan was good with power tools, and he and Summer took turns wielding the drill, but by the time they were done with the room, he was so out of it that heavy machinery should be out of the question. His mind was on something else.

And she noticed. She asked him what was wrong, knowing what he would say. Duh. It was exactly what had been preying on her mind ever since yesterday. But it would be nice to hear the words coming out of Ryan's mouth, reassuring her that he was still her boyfriend enough to tell her the truth, and that she wasn't alone in her thoughts.

"It's just that…" he replied, frustrated. "I think I regret telling him. Maybe we should've waited."

"Oh, no, Chino, you did not just say that. I don't regret anything at all. Did you want to, like, keep our relationship a secret forever?"

"No, but…" Then he remembered Seth's hurt expression, and the familiar sound of a door slamming. Summer was standing right in front of him, and he avoided her eyes. "I don't know," he countered, stone-faced.

"Do you blame me?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," he repeated in a vague reply.

"If you blame me," Summer asserted, getting upset, "you're more of a jackass than I ever thought you could be." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

Foot, meet mouth, she mused.

"Oh God, sorry." She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts, then realized that: "Ew! These nasty paint fumes are disgusting! Let's go downstairs and, like, get out of here… come on, I think my dad hid some tequila in the cabinet. Let's get totally wasted," she suggested.

Ryan thought about alcohol, then about its effects on people. Dawn (and, briefly, Marissa) used it to forget about their everyday problems and indecisions. They could get totally drunk, wreak havoc in other people's lives, and then wake up the next day unaware of what they had done, with only a bad hangover. He didn't want to be like them, self-centred and cowardly. Furthermore, he didn't want his relationship with Summer to be just another alcohol binge. Sure, what they were doing could be considered completely selfish, and it very well could ruin existing friendships and sibling bonds. But he didn't want it to end, didn't want to wake up one morning with only a couple of good memories that had already begun to fade like any good dream.

"No, I'm just gonna go," he said, turning to leave before he was tempted. He was addicted, really. To alcohol or to Summer, though, he couldn't decide.

Summer grabbed his arm, expecting the worst. He was running away from her again, perhaps even from people in general. "Don't do this, Ryan, don't push me away; it's not going to work."

"That's not what I'm doing," he assured. If only Summer knew…

"Then why don't you stay?" she urged, her eyes pleading.

Ryan relented, and she slowly let go, not until she was sure that he wasn't going to bolt. They tentatively left for downstairs to check on Chino, but not before Summer had a last look around her room, admiring their handiwork. She nodded in approval.

"Oh yeah. Bob Vila's your bitch, Chino."