"Come on," Ryan urged under his breath, pressing repeatedly against the 'black coffee' button. It had been almost three weeks, yet the machine still seemed to stick to its habitual routine. Ryan would slip a coin in the slightly blocked slot, forcing it in with the bottom of his palm. He'd click that one, worn-out button and the machine would clink. You could hear a jiggle from inside, as though there was a loose metal in there, but then it would steady, and the button would need about 13 more hard presses for the coffee to finally pour into the white paper cup.

Ryan thrust his finger against the button about three more times before he heard the soothing sound of coffee slithering down the metal nozzle of the machine and into the stark white cup, hitting against its walls and twirling at the bottom until the black colored liquid came in contact with the rim of the cup.

Ryan slid his weary fingers around the cup, gripping it tightly enough for it not to slip, but loosely enough for the burning heat to escape from beneath his hand. He unenthusiastically inched towards the pale-blue plastic waiting chairs that ironically seemed to depress him. He hated the term 'waiting room'. It added to the negative anticipation that eats through your insides while you're thinking of the endless painful possibilities that you know someone you love might have to face. Yet, they never failed to remind you that you're 'waiting' for the devastating news that will turn the moist in your hands from nervous sweat into endless tears of sorrow.

But Ryan was beyond that stage. He was not 'waiting' for the devastating news anymore. He was now living through it each second of the day. The endless painful possibilities were no longer possibilities but harsh realities he will have to face behind closed eyes in his consistent nightmares. Even when his eyes soot open, hoping that she would be there to hold him, they'd realize that the nightmares were just a kinder reflection of reality.

He settled down on the chair, letting out a deep breath of relaxation. It was funny how the plastic chairs once known as 'a pain in the a.ss' were now one of the most soothing remedies for his aching back that never seemed to rest. He would stand by her everyday, too anxious to sit, except for those few moments where he would escape for the only thing that kept him sane – caffeine.

He threw his head back over the edge of the chair, twisting his neck from side to side, feeling his muscles flex underneath his sensitive skin. He enjoyed the faint aroma of coffee mixed with the vague scent of cleaning detergent that hospitals seemed to worship. All he smelled in her room was the residue of particles that snapped off the doctor's plastic gloves as he stretched them up to his wrist and then released, allowing them to slap onto his skin tightly. It was nice to smell freshness for a change.

Ryan lifted the smoking cup of coffee to right beneath his chipped lips, sniffing in the strong scent of plain, black coffee. Ryan wasn't one to enjoy his coffee plain, dark, and tasteless except for that bitter flavor of ground beans mixed with slightly tainted tap water. All his life he would drink it with extra milk and two cubes of sugar. But who would've known that coffee was just like life? And at this point in his life he needed the strongest bitterness possible and the darkest black available.

He brought the brim of the cup into contact with his rough, dry lips, allowing them to scrape the white material as he tilted the cup upwards and waited eagerly for the fluid to spill upon his tongue and make him, if even for a split second, forget what was going on two doors left in the 3rd hallway to the right.

"Mr. Atwood," the nurse's voice called out, ringing in the air, stopping the coffee from flowing into Ryan's longing mouth. Ryan sighed, the edge of the cup still placed securely between his lips. Opening his eyes, he released the cup from his lips' tight grip and looked over at the nurse. "She's awake," she informed him, shooting him a warm, sympathetic smile. He hated the pity that was always covering their eyes when they looked at him. They didn't understand that even though he's losing her, he was lucky enough to have her in the first place.

Ryan nodded vaguely in acknowledgement, and receiving this signal, the nurse turned on her white heels and trotted back to the room, clutching her clipboard tightly to her chest as though she was afraid someone would snatch it away from her any second. But, truthfully, he didn't want to know what was written on those medical papers. They just made what she has seem a lot more complicated. Just when you think you comprehend what they're going through, a bunch of medical terms are thrown at you to make you feel like you're underestimating the hurting they're experiencing.

Ryan sat up, his hands on his lap, gripping the coffee cup tightly. Looking down at the untouched liquid, he shook his head and slowly stood up, careful not to hurt his stiff body by too much movement. He edged towards the coffee machine, and with a sad smirk, he tilted his cup over and spilled its contents in the liquid deposit slots at the bottom of the metal machine, watching the coffee he was yearning for seconds ago slip away.

He walked the familiar route towards her room, and for a second, when a nurse passed by him, it felt nosy, but then he entered her room, and everything went silent again, the way he had gotten used to it. Anything louder than a silent whisper seemed deafening to him.

Summer's weak body flinched, sensing his presence, and Ryan's tired expressions broke ever-so-slightly into a sincere smile that seeing her always created. Gradually, Summer's head rotated towards Ryan, and the warm smile she always had was thankfully still plastered upon her lips, speaking silent words to Ryan.

"How are you?" he asked gently, inching towards the bed. She nodded at him feebly as he placed his finger softly on the side of her face, tucking a stray strand of hair away from her dying eyes. She raised her frail arm and ultimately reached his hand, which was still stroking the hair behind her ear. She gripped it as tightly as she could, which was not very tightly at all, in fact, Ryan could barely feel her touch lingering on his skin.

"I'm good," she replied softly, tracing his fingers with the tips of her nails, enjoying the warmness Ryan's hand was radiating onto her face. She reached the base of one of his fingers, and her pale face cringed slightly, her shallow breaths being released with difficulty. She removed her fingers from his momentarily before wrapping her delicate hand around that single finger which she realized was empty. She looked up at him, struggling with her breathing tubes. "Where's your ring?" she whispered, looking up at him with confused eyes.

Ryan looked down at their entwined fingers, her colorless, cold hand tracing his finger that was clear of their wedding band. "I left it in the bathroom when I was washing up," he admitted, looking back at her face. "I'll go get it when you're asleep," he reassured her, leaning in and kissing her barely moist forehead. She nodded gratefully, a small, warm smile creeping onto her face. She focused all her energy on tightening her grasp on his hand. Once she had a good grip on it, she eased their tangled fingers towards her lips, kissing the back of his hand weakly.

Ryan unlocked their apartment door, swinging it open and throwing the keys onto the side table in the hallway. He smirked at the pictures Summer had chosen to put on the surface of the table; every single frame had a picture of them wrapped around eachother, their eyes glued to one another, as though the camera wasn't even on them. He pushed the door shut absently, scanning the apartment for Summer.

"Summer," he called out, stepping out of his shoes. He began walking towards the living room, but paused, stretched his muscles out and twisted his back, relieving himself of the throbbing pain all the hard work at the construction sight had created in his tense body. "I could use one of those massages," he stated, rolling his shoulders as he entered the living room.

He stopped, spotting her sitting on the couch, her knees hugged tightly to her chest – which was heaving with sobs – her eyes were looking fearfully into space, a tissue box lying next to her. His face was overcome by worry and he could actually feel the color slightly drain from his skin.

"Summer," he called to her gently. "What's wrong?" he asked, not moving from his spot. His eyes slowly scanned the floor and noticed a number of pink, scrunched up, already-used tissues resting lifelessly next to a few wrappers of chocolate bars. Oh God. Chocolate meant something serious was going on.

He walked up to the couch – clearing the littered floor with the side of his foot – and sat down next to Summer. He placed a hand on her knee, rubbing it reassuringly as he looked at her eyes which were directed at empty space, cringing severely with the constant flow of tears.

From the hint of dry mascara that had run-down her cheeks, he knew she had been crying for a while now, and he knew what it was about. Every other day almost, this would happen. He'd come home from work to find her isolating herself from him, weeping into her knees or into a pillow, her eyes looking anywhere but into his.

"He called again, didn't he?" Ryan asked, sighing tiredly at this repetitive pattern that was suffocating Summer. Seeing her suffer gave him a feeling of being helpless, and to Ryan Atwood, that was a handicap.

Summer blinked at his question, sniveling silently, and then moved her eyes further away from him, focusing them on the flower vase that was in the opposite direction of Ryan. The hurt look in her eyes – which she chose to avert from him – confirmed his worrying speculations.

He continued to rub her knee comfortingly, but his eyes found their way back to the ground. Every time her dad would call she would end up distressed and completely lost, as though she was a child who wanted to get an 'A' to please her parents but couldn't.

"I can't keep lying to him, Ryan," she declared in a whisper, rocking herself nervously back and forth. A soft sniffle escaped her before she continued. "It would kill him if he found out we're living together."

"Summer, you're 23. He's not in control of your life anymore."

"Ryan, you know how much dad means to me!" she replied defiantly, her tone filled with pain. Ryan sighed and regretted his words, knowing that Mr. Roberts was the other man in Summer's life, and that he would have to be supportive of that. But Ryan couldn't stand seeing Summer this hurt with nothing he could do about it.

The thing with Mr. Roberts was, well, he wasn't the nicest guy on the block. Sure he treated Summer like a rose, but he didn't understand that there were thorns he had to deal with. Boyfriends, decisions, stress, it all came with the territory of being a woman as beautiful as Summer, and her father wasn't willing to admit to that.

When Mr. Roberts found out about Summer and Ryan, he laughed it off and told Summer that she had to 'realize her own mistakes'. What made it worse was that Mr. Roberts was against Summer living with men; since she was a teenager the number one rule was 'never let a boy stay in your room overnight'. Because of this Summer would have sleepless nights, wrapped in Ryan's arms.

"He says he wants to come down to visit me…" Summer managed, her voice trembling along with her body. "Says he wants to check up on his 'little princess'," she continued, scoffing at the title that she didn't feel she deserved.

"What if this was dignified…?" Ryan interrupted, his eyes concentrating on the table in deep thought. "What if I wasn't just a boy, sleeping in your room overnight," Ryan suggested all of a sudden, looking up at Summer. "What if I marry you, Summer?"

Summer's weeping softened, her sobs fading into soft whimpers. Her body was still rocking back and forth, the side of her head rested on her knees, looking away from Ryan. But eventually the rocking of her body slowed down until it came to a complete stop. She lifted her head from her knees and turned to him, her eyes blood-shot and her under-eyes growing darker from all the weariness. "Ryan…"

"No, Summer, come on, who are we kidding? We know we're in this for the long run, and I know I want you for life." He looked into her eyes, penetrating them with the passion in his. "Marry me."

Summer was speechless for several moments as the guilt that had settled in the pit of her stomach turned into nervousness. Her mind went into overdrive as she prepared herself to blurt out a million reasons why they shouldn't get married, but the words never escaped her mouth, because Ryan stopped looking at her and pressed his lips against hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth and kissing her with all the emotions her had for her, leaving her breathless and with only one answer to his previous question.

"Yes."

The faint beeping sound of the monitors had become a lullaby to Summer. Every night she would sleep to the sound of them fading in the distance, and her mind would go blank, but she would still feel Ryan's hand in hers.

Her lids were getting heavier, and eventually, things went pitch black. Her eyes were shut, her eyelashes fluttering the slightest bit, and her chest heaving peacefully with every heavy breath she took. But she felt it. She felt Ryan's hand gingerly setting itself free from her loose grip, and she felt his dry lips grazing the smooth skin of her forehead, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

She wanted to whisper 'I love you' to him but her lips were too weak, and by the time they'd part to say the words, he'd be long gone. And it was true, within minutes he was in his car, driving past the slowest vehicles, or was it just him driving slightly faster than he usually did? Either way things seemed to be rushing by, including the campus where him and Summer shared the best night he could ever remember.

"Are you sure it's not scary?" she asked him, gulping down the invisible lump in her throat that had been created as a result of growing anxiety. She turned to him for reassurance, but all she saw was the image of him trying to conceal the laughter in his eyes by sipping on his coke. She glared at him worriedly and then slapped his arm with the back of her hand, clenching her teeth tightly. Unable to hold back, Ryan burst out laughing; the coke from his straw splattering his hand.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, smirking up at her. "You said you wanted to do one of 'my' things, well, this is one of my things," he explained, still smirking as he gazed up into her terrified eyes.

"Yeah, okay, but the exorcist is supposed to be really scary, and if you haven't noticed, the most scared I've been was when Jamie found out she had cancer in A Walk To Remember!" she hissed at him, leaning in close so that only he heard. It only made him laugh harder, and he received another sharp slap from Summer before she groaned and crossed her arms against her chest, flinging his arm off from around her waist.

They sat there, on a single, thin blanket above the grassy ground, gazing up at the large, outdoors screen that was setup in their campus. Every Sunday night they'd play a movie and students would cuddle up on the ground, enjoying the simpler things in life.

But this time Summer's hands were coated with sweat and her heart was beating fast. Ryan had seen the exorcist three times already, but he enjoyed it more every time he watched it. But today was different. He couldn't restrain his laughter when he occasionally glanced over at Summer, who was almost crying from the anticipation for the movie to begin and end all together.

An hour later, Ryan wasn't just laughing anymore – he was hysterically laughing his head off. Summer's hands clenching tightly onto the material of his shirt, her head buried as deep inside his shirt as it could go. He could feel her hair brushing against his bare chest and her shallow, horrified breaths hitting against his skin.

"Ryan, get me out of here!" she pleaded in a whisper, her hands still tightly holding his shirt around her head, afraid that someone would pull it off of her and she would have to face the movie again.

Ryan sat up with difficulty, his body aching from the excessive laughter, Summer still hidden beneath the material of his shirt. Every one was too absorbed to notice them, and to Ryan, it was only her and him that night.

He wrapped his arms around her body, her upper half still stuck under his shirt. "Summer, it's just a movie," he whispered to her, rolling his shirt from above her and allowing the now-stretched material to fall back onto his body.

Her hair was messy and her chest was falling up and down rapidly with her quick breaths. She pursed her lips and gathered all her energy, thrusting her hand against Ryan's chest in a severe slap. "I hate you!"

Ryan grinned at her and slid his hand towards hers, entwining them slowly, making her peek up at him with her pouting eyes. Her lip was flipped and the look in her eyes made him melt. He moved his smiling lips forward until they met hers, embracing them in a warm kiss. She acted like she wasn't in to it, still upset about the movie incident, but when he slipped his tongue inside of her lips, she grasped the back of his neck and deepened the kiss aswell.

The kiss broke, and Summer was still looking at Ryan with her condemning eyes.

"You know you love me," he teased her, a smug smirk still on his face.

"I don't."

"You do, too."

"Do not."

"Admit it."

Silence took over as Summer rolled her eyes heavily. "I love you but I don't like you right now."

Ryan smirked and held her by the collar of her jacket, pulling her on top of him as he reclined onto the ground, and their lips met once again.

Ryan swerved the car to the parking of their apartment home, putting it into park, and pushing his door open. He stepped out and slammed the door behind him. He glanced at the slight silver scratch above the left tire that, he once thought, tainted the whole red car.

He smirked sadly as he fingered the scratch. He squatted in front of the car, staring into his distorted reflection, holding back a torrent of tears that would release any second if he let it.

"I wanna test drive it!" Summer pleaded. "Come on, Ryan, you always get to do cool stuff. Please?" she asked, her eyelashes fluttering in his face.

Ryan sighed. "Summer, no, come on, gimme the keys. I have to know how the car feels before we get it."

"Kinda like when we started dating."

"Ha ha, very amusing. Gimme the keys."

"No."

"Summer, please, it's a guy thing."

"I don't care, it's my car too," she retorted, extending her hand behind her back, making the keys as far away from Ryan as she could.

"You women can't drive," he admitted.

Summer stopped abruptly, staring at him intently. "Excuse me?"

Oh crap. Rewind, rewind, rewind!

"I didn't mean it that way, I meant, nothing, just give me the car keys, please?" he whispered, the retailer staring at the couple as they bickered.

"You think you can drive better than me?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him threateningly.

Ryan shrugged his shoulders slightly, stuttering on his words. "I – I just – It's just that I don't want a scratch on my car for a few years."

"Okay, yeah, I can get that."

"Thank you." He held his palm out for the keys.

Summer forced a smile and then turned on her heels, crouching down next to the car, and with one swift movement, she scratched the paint off of the area right above the left tire. She stood up and walked back to Ryan, smiling at his blank expression and dropped jaw, and dropped the keys in his hand, turning around and looking at the car, satisfied.

The retailer looked at Ryan with a worried frown, studying his expressions.

Ryan forced a smile. "We'll take it."

Ryan entered the apartment, throwing the door shut behind him. He walked into the bedroom and straight to the bathroom. He searched the top of the sink for his ring, but he couldn't find it anywhere. He checked the rim of the bathtub but still no sign. He glanced over his shoulders, trying to remember where he'd placed it. His eyes caught the mirror-covered bathroom cabinet.

Walking over to it, he clicked it open, searching its contents for his ring. His eyes scanned the several containers of medicine bottles that the many doctors subscribed Summer. He fingered the orange bottles and stopped at one, flipping it into his hand, and eyeing it, he shook his head.

"So it's basically lung cancer?" Summer had asked ever so casually, narrowing her eyes at the doctor, trying to understand his unclear statements.

The doctor nodded. "I'm afraid so."

Summer nodded at him vaguely, looking down at her lap. She felt Ryan's once-tight grip on her hand loosen, making her eyes turn to him. His face was paler than hers, his lips parted as he tried his best to hold back his sorrow. But his eyes told stories only Summer could read. The glistening moisture that was now turning his ocean blue eyes into an ocean of his own.

"You can't die," were the first words to escape his colorless lips, his eyes staring at the doctor's desk, burning it with all the pain they contained. "You can't leave me, okay?" he told her, looking up at her through his tears. He held her hand so tightly that it was painful, but Summer couldn't feel it as warm tears trickled down her cheek. "Okay? You have to promise you're not gonna leave. You have to promise."

Summer nodded at him, a stream of tears rolling down her face, their eyes piercing into one another. "I promise."

Ryan sniffed quickly, holding back tears, and placed the medicine bottle back into the cabinet. He removed a tear from the rim of his eye with his index finger. He sighed deeply and then a shining circle caught his eye. He squeezed his fingers in the closet and pulled the ring out, gazing down at it for a few moments before slipping it on his finger.

He quickly slammed the cabinet shut and turned around, shutting off all lights in the apartment before returning to the car and driving as fast as he could back to see her.

"Ryan, what are you doing?" Summer asked, peeking in from the porch, gazing at him with raised eyebrows. "The kids are waiting outside, the barbeque is getting cold."

Ryan looked up from the album of pictures, his eyes sparkling with tears.

"Oh my God, what's wrong?" she asked worriedly, walking towards the couch he was sitting at.

"I'm just going through old pictures…"

She looked down at the album he was holding and gave him a warm smile. She placed her hands on his shoulders, kissing the top of his head. She bent down and wrapped her hands around his neck loosely from behind, placing her chin on his shoulder.

"Come on, Jake and Rachel are hungry, and I know you are too." She smiled, patting his stomach. He smiled back at her, turning his head so that there lips were parallel, and they both leaned in at the same time for a perfect kiss.

He closed the album, setting it aside. Standing up, he walked around the couch to Summer, placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her outside onto the porch. His 13 year old twins were sitting on opposites sides of the porch table, a feast of food lying on the table in front of them.

"Okay, why aren't we eating here?"

"Waiting for you," they replied, glaring at eachother for speaking at the same time.

"Well get eating cause if we finish early enough we get to go to the beach and play some volley ball. Girls verses boys. Eh? What do you think Jake?" He smirked, holding his hand out for a high five.

"Yeah, and with mom and Rachel trying not to break their nails, we'll win in seconds."

"Hey!" Summer retorted, throwing her son a mock-offended look. "I pay 10 bucks for these nails," she teased.

"Well, actually, I pay, but whatever you want to believe," Ryan teased back.

"Ha ha. Very amusing. I made coffee, you want it black?" she asked him absently, glancing at him from over her shoulder.

Ryan smiled at her and shook his head. "Nah. Extra milk. Two cubes of sugar."