No one gets it. Not his parents. Not Summer. Not really. They say they understand. They say Chino isn't that far away. He can go and visit Ryan anytime. Right. Like that's the same thing. That might not be so bad during the summer but come September, he'll be in Harbor hell once again. Who will have his back? Who will he talk to? Who will he do brotherly stuff with? Yeah, he might have Summer but like he told her at the wedding, it isn't the same thing. She should understand. She has Marissa.
He's pretending to listen to music, all the while knowing that the official time of Ryan's departure is drawing near. He almost wishes the guy never came to stay with them in the first place. He's used to being a loser. Being alone. Then Ryan entered his Newport bubble and for one year, he experienced an awesome friendship. Only to have it yanked away from him. He wouldn't be in such agonizing torment right now if he never knew Ryan at all. Maybe it's his own damn fault for getting attached to the outsider. That's what he is, after all. An outsider. Just like Seth Cohen.
Ryan ambles into his room and mumbles, "Hey, man."
"Hey," Seth responds.
"Uh, I've gotta jet."
He nods, affecting a detached demeanor. It's easier to pretend he doesn't care, even though he really wants to scream, 'Why? Why do you have to jet? Why do you always have to do the right thing? Be like me and be selfish for once in your life. Can you do that? Huh?' But he says nothing like that, of course. Instead, he nods and says, "Cool. You really gotta go?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you need a hand, I'll take the graveyard shift."
"I think we'll manage."
He exhales bitterly. Even that lame attempt at trying to hang onto their friendship gets brushed off. Right. Sure. He'll just visit Ryan in good ol' Chino anytime. "I was afraid you'd say that."
"You can come down and visit me."
He nods. Barely. Ryan's just saying the right thing, of course. Throwing his old friend a bone. As if he means it.
Silence.
"Right, so I, uh, got you something. It's yours, you know, it's good for ideas."
He glances at the paper passed to him. "Map of Tahiti." He looks to the far wall and tosses it aside. "Cool man." He can't stand the torture. Just leave, already.
Long, stretched out moment of awkwardness.
He's barely acknowledged Ryan's presence thus far. This must be achingly uncomfortable for the guy. Good. He deserves it.
Seth finally gives in and looks up at him. Their gazes connect.
"So I'll see you, then," Ryan says at last.
He puts the earbuds back in place. "See ya." With hands folded in his lap and eyes focused into the distance again, he pretends Ryan is dismissed. See ya. Have a fucking great life.
Then he's alone once more.
He sits there, not moving, music pulsing through his ears. That's it then. Welcome to your Ryan Atwood-less life.
He rips out the earbuds with one hand, grips the iPOD unit with the other and prepares to hurl them both across the room. At the last second, common sense prevails and only the white cord of the ear phones sail through the air. Hardly satisfying.
With his right hand, he grabs the map and heaves it with all his might. It lands with a soft thunk on the floor.
"Fuck!" he yells, feeling only marginally better.
He realizes he's behaving like a two-year-old. Well, maybe except for the swearing. Ryan will probably never want to talk to him again.
Sliding off the bed, he retrieves the map. Stares at it. Stares through it. An idea starting to brew in his brain. It's something he should have done a long time ago. He just never had the guts to go through with it. But now, nothing is stopping him. He'll do it. Tahiti has always been his dream.
"Thanks, Ryan."
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Something's wrong. He's always talked about this. Planned for it. Dreamt about it. Now, he's actually doing it. Out on the ocean with a compass and map to guide him. He should be ecstatic, right?
The salty breeze rifles his hair as he tries to figure out what's bothering him. He's only been on the open water for an hour. He doesn't regret the decision to leave. In fact, he feels giddily carefree. He'll go back eventually. But for now, he just wants to ride out the waves and pretend his Newport life doesn't exist. So what's his damn problem?
Tahiti. Alone. The 'Summer Breeze'. He must be fucking insane. Sharks. Storms. Even the relentless rays of the sun. Who is he kidding? He'll never make it alive. And the purpose of this little getaway isn't to kill himself. But that's exactly what will happen if he continues on this crazy course across the Pacific Ocean. So what now? He's not ready to go home yet.
He consults the map. Checks his compass. Swings the sails around until he's heading back towards the coastline.
That's what he'll do. Sail north up the coast of California and beyond. See how far he can get. He's always wanted to visit Washington state. It's supposed to be beautiful up there.
As he bobs up and down with the waves, it lulls him into a dreamy state. His mind starts to wander and he finds himself thinking about Summer. Despite the letter he wrote, he worries that she'll take his absence hard. Take it personally, even though his leaving had nothing to do with her. Maybe he should have told her face-to-face. Hell, no maybes about it. That's what he should have done. It's what Ryan would have done. But he took the cowardly way out.
Because he would have taken one look at her and crumbled. He wouldn't have been able to leave. And he has to. He has to get away or he'll lose his mind.
He prays that one day, she'll understand. And forgive.
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That's the last memory that Seth had regained a week ago. Since then – nothing. The flashbacks had been coming back to him fairly quickly and then just seemed to stop cold. He talked it over with his parents and they told him that often with head injuries, memories just prior to the incident are never recovered. But in his case, he couldn't seem to remember anything past setting out on the first day of his adventure. What about the whole month that he'd sailed up the coast? What had he done? It was all a big mystery. Frankly, it just annoyed him that those memories seemed out of his reach. He could only hope that someday, it would all come rushing back to him.
It was rather ironic, actually, that he had changed course to keep himself safe and yet it hadn't seemed to make any difference. He'd still managed to smash his boat and his head along with it. It tended to freak him out when he thought about how close he'd really been to getting himself killed. Life had granted him a second chance and so had Summer. He couldn't afford to mess things up again. Not that he'd never make mistakes, mind you, but he'd try his best. That's all he could do.
It had been almost three weeks since the grounding was lifted. A month since he'd last seen the detention hall. Though they would never be friends, Justin had actually apologized to him on the last day of their forced confinement. And although Seth still considered the guy to be an asshole, perhaps it wasn't with a capital 'A'. He remained on speaking terms with Tanya but just in a 'hi, how are you' type of way. No more in-depth conversations and definitely no more going to parties at her house. Although she wasn't an evil person by any means, he didn't want to get any closer than that. At least, not anytime soon. She seemed to understand his unspoken feelings and kept her distance.
But the main reason for his happiness the last few weeks was the memories he'd regained since the time of Ryan's entrance into the Cohen household. His father's impulsive act had been the catalyst for literally changing his life. Ryan had become a best friend and brother. And while he'd heard about this miraculous event from his parents and even Summer, he'd never really got it. Never fully understood the significance of it until he'd actually remembered everything that had happened last year. Now he felt like a total shithead for how he'd treated Ryan after coming home from the hospital. And yet the guy had never given him any grief about it. But that was Ryan.
One other thing to be grateful for where Ryan was concerned? In a roundabout way, he had led to Seth's involvement with Summer. Now he remembered everything that he'd been through with her too, in vivid colour. Their first kiss, the Anna fiasco, the Vegas mess, the misunderstandings and the fierce, undeniable attraction. He imagined their souls were like magnets. No matter how far circumstances pulled them apart, they managed to find their way back together. Summer would accuse him of being cheesy again and rightly so. But he knew that deep inside, she would secretly agree with him.
As per Summer's wishes, they were taking things slowly. Talking on the phone, hanging out at school whenever they had the chance, even reverting back to video game nights at his house. The last couple of weekends they'd went to the movies – still her choice, of course. And yesterday, he'd finally made good on that promise to go shopping with her. They'd gone to Fashion Island and the day hadn't been that bad, really. Maybe because he'd spent a good portion of the time quietly mocking people. She had rolled her eyes at him at first but then got into the spirit of the game herself. While he had always prided himself on his mockability skills, he had to admit she was right up to par, matching his verbal shots with her own caustic brand of wit and humour. All the more reason to love her.
Today, they were planning on heading to the pier for some dinner. It was late afternoon and the house was eerily quiet. Ryan and Marissa had gone out somewhere. Sandy and Kirsten had left a half hour ago to an obligatory dinner party at his grandparents' house. Well, his grandfather and Julie's house. Even though he'd almost fully regained his memory, he still couldn't think of Julie as his grandmother. Besides, he was pretty sure she didn't appreciate the thought either.
At the sound of the doorbell, he tossed aside the comic he'd been perusing and ran to the door. Summer beamed up at him and they leaned in for a quick kiss.
"You're early," he commented, drinking in the sight of her. She was wearing the new dress he'd helped pick out yesterday. That wasn't entirely true. He hadn't actually picked it out, per se. He'd merely given a thumbs up sign to indicate it was a keeper when she'd flounced out of the dressing room. Approximately one quarter of the twenty-five outfits she'd tried on had ended up on her father's credit card.
"Yeah, I had to get out of the house. The step-monster is off her rocker today. More so than usual, I mean. Okay, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes."
Only at that command did he notice she had one hand behind her back. "Oooh, what is it? A new video game? Pudding? A CD to add to my collection? Just please don't let it be Jessica Simpson."
Summer's lips pursed out, one corner dipping downwards. "Hey, don't diss Jessica. She's a lot better than Looney."
"Rooney."
"Whatever. No, smart-ass, it's none of the above. Just close your eyes and hold out your hand," she demanded impatiently.
He did as he was told and felt something with a cool, smooth surface being pressed into his palm. His fingers reflexively curled around the object. It felt oddly familiar. "Can I open them now?"
"Yes."
Looking down at what he held, his face broke into a grin. "Hey! Captain Oats!"
"I thought you might be missing him. I think he's been a little homesick."
"Is that right, buddy?"
He thought he was past talking to plastic horses but apparently old habits died hard. He motioned for Summer to come in. "It's still early. We'll hang out here for a bit."
They went up to his room. While he set the Captain down in his rightful place, Summer sat down on the bed. "It seems quiet," she observed. "Your parents aren't here?"
"No. Over at my granddad's."
"You weren't invited?"
"It's an adults only thing. That means lots of wine and boring conversation. My dad was coughing and pretending he had a sore throat but my mom dragged him out of here anyway. He needs to work on those improvisation skills."
"They're really sweet. Your parents."
She sounded almost wistful but he had to scoff. It was his duty. "Please, they're my parents. No sweetness there. Uh uh."
"You're full of it. They are sweet and you know it. But I get it, they're your parents, so I guess that's kind of ew for you. But when I'm that old and married, I hope we're still that much in love."
He stared at her, not sure of his footing on that particular statement. "And when you say 'we', you're talking about…?"
She swung her head around to regard him directly. "I'm speaking metaphorically, of course," she said crisply.
He raised an eyebrow, not sure which was more weird – this entire topic of conversation or the fact that the word 'metaphorically' so easily rolled off her tongue. "Yeah, okay," was the best response he could come up with.
Her gaze slid away and glanced around the room. "So this is looking better. Did you put all the posters back?"
"Yeah. Even the ones that were in the undecided pile. I might change things around a bit later but for now, it's basically back to the way it was."
"Put on some music," she said abruptly.
"What?"
She flushed slightly, looking almost uncomfortable. "I mean, would you please put on some music?"
"Uh, sure."
What in the world was wrong with her? She was definitely acting strangely and it was rather unsettling. He started walking towards the CD player.
"No!" she burst out.
Coming to a halt in mid-stride, he stared at her. "Not the CD," she said, lowering her voice. "The record player."
"Why?"
"Just do it, Cohen."
Her request had a pleading tone to it. With a half shrug, he turned it on and set the needle in place. As the music came to life, she got to her feet.
"What's going on, Summer?" he had to ask.
"Now you can ask me to dance."
"Okay." Wisely deciding to take the hint, he held out his hand. "Would you dance with me?"
She quickly closed the distance between them and nestled into his arms. He said nothing for almost a minute, which was probably some sort of record. "Didn't you think this was cheesy last time?" he asked softly. Not that he minded the slow swaying in time to the music. But he was still curious.
"Yeah," she murmured. "But I also kind of liked it. Remember?"
He nodded. He actually did remember, which was saying a lot. A month ago, he would have been asking her to tell him what had happened. She continued on, her voice so quiet, he had to strain to hear her over the music. "I liked kissing you and dancing with you. I didn't understand why. I couldn't explain it, even if I tried. But that night, when you asked me to dance? That's when I started falling in love with you. The funny thing is, I didn't know it back then."
She'd been resting her cheek against his shoulder but now tilted her head up to look at him. "What I'm trying to say is…I love you. I'm just sorry it's taken me this long to say it. I'm, like, the biggest coward ever. But now you know the truth."
He was stunned. If he wasn't holding on to her, he might have fallen straight to the floor. "Summer, God, I don't know what to say except…I love you too."
An expression of uncertainty flashed across her features. "Do you? Do you really? Not just the idea of me?"
He mentally cursed himself, wishing those words had never escaped his lips. "No, honey, I love everything about you. Just forget I ever said that, okay?"
She smiled, running one hand up his neck to tease the base of his curls. "Say that again."
"Which part? I love you?"
"Well, you can say that too. But no, the part where you called me 'honey'. You've never called me that before."
"Did I say that?" He honestly couldn't recall. Maybe he was experiencing selective amnesia now.
"You did."
"Okay, hon…"
The endearment became muffled when Summer eagerly threw both arms around his neck, pulling his head down for a full-on, open-mouthed kiss. Since agreeing to take things slowly, their kisses could best be described as chaste. But this, however, was anything but. It at least rated a 10.5 on the Richter scale.
When they finally came up for air, she took his hand and started walking backwards, leading him towards the bed. "Are you sure? What about taking it slow?" he asked.
"It's been slow enough. I'm ready for the mambo now." She grinned at him, her tone sly and teasing. Her dark eyes had that come-hither look that had been haunting his dreams lately.
But he wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn't getting his signals crossed. "You mean the horizontal mambo, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "Ye-ah!" The word was stretched out into two syllables, Summer-style. "I like the slow dancing but I'm not about to fox trot with you. Let's have sex, Cohen."
"You're so romantic," he said dryly. Not that he cared, really. He'd always admired her way of getting right down to it. "Wait a second." He stopped, as a sudden thought came upon him.
She pouted. "What?"
He couldn't help the slow smile that spread across his face. Dipping his head down, he whispered into her ear. "I remember where hot spot number two is."
Covering her mouth with one hand, she giggled and swatted at his arm. "Seth Cohen," she exclaimed.
While she pretended to be shocked, he could see the excited gleam in her eye. Probably because it was the mirror image of what reflected from his own eyes. With a mock growl, he pounced on her. She emitted a half-squeal, half-laugh, as they tumbled backwards onto the bed.
As he leaned in for another kiss, he was struck by another stray thought. He was happy. Truly happy. His life wasn't all that bad, really. Not perfect, but what was? What he had right here, right now, was pretty damn good. And he had no intentions of wasting his life the second time around.
THE END
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A/N: sigh> So that's all, folks. Thanks once again for hanging in there 'til the end. Special thanks to those reviewers who mentioned they liked the characterization and dialogue in this fic - two elements of writing that I'm kind of picky about so when it's praised, it really means a lot to me. I wish I could say I have another fic I'm working on but alas, that's not the case. Hopefully my muse will hit me soon.