Disclaimer: I do not own The OC.
Author's Notes: I wrote this a rather long time ago, but since my computer has been stupid, it's taken me a bit longer than expected to post it. Thank you to those who reviewed for the first chapter, and enjoyed it. Here is the second part. Feedback is greatly, greatly appreciated!
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Chapter Two: Munificent
Sometimes, Ryan wishes he was selfish.
Self-centered, egotistic, vain.
The kind of person who didn't know the meaning of guilt, of sympathy. The kind of person who didn't understand self-sacrifice, heroism. The kind of person who didn't hear the soft voice in the very back of their head, steering them away from evil and sin and mistake, towards a path more righteous, more peaceful, more heartfelt.
He wishes that he had fallen into the stereotype, the pattern, of kids from places like he was from; the kids who didn't worry about anything but themselves, the kids that didn't give a second thought about right and wrong, as long as they were taken care of. He wishes that he could have developed a Newport sense of snobbery, like the trust fund kids on every corner; the kids who felt superior, who used their narcissism to give them confidence in taking whatever they thought they deserved.
He wishes that he was cruel, cold, just a little bit heartless. Just so he can know the feeling, the exhilaration, of saying whatever came to his mind, throwing punches left and right whenever he felt the urge, being brutally honest when it opened a wound and lying through the teeth when it twisted the situation to his advantage. He wants to know what it's like to have that feeling of pure ice ruthlessness running through him, of snapping and lashing out at anything and never giving it a second glance.
He wishes that he could just take a breath and feel something, with no strings attached. Watch without being jealous, need without feeling pain, speak without trembling fear, want without the jealousy and the uncertainty and the unnerving desires attacking him in his dreams and nagging in the back of his mind during the day. He doesn't want every emotion he has to be another monster he has to fight. He just wants a moments peace where he can believe something, love someone, without it blowing a million jagged edged pieces back into his heart.
He wishes that he wasn't such a coward, such a pushover. Not on the outside, of course, because on the outside he's Ryan Atwood the hero, the one everybody can turn to, the one everybody can count on to fight for them. But on the inside. Underneath tough, calloused skin and breaking bones, where courage really counts, he's nothing but a scared little boy lost. He can't seem to find a way to reach out for anything he wants, to call upon one ounce of bravery in order to be honest when the time comes.
He doesn't like admitting to having such very lonely, pathetic wishes. Not to anyone, especially not himself. It's not easy looking deep in the recesses of your mind, only to discover that you want nothing more than to give up playing the role that Fate pushed forward and become the things you've always hated, always fought against.
He's always believed that people should do the right thing, no matter what. Do what's best for those around you, put your loved ones first, not to always think about yourself. He's always thought that anyone who just took what they wanted or only watched out for number one was someone he could never understand, never care about or know, and most certainly never be.
But he guesses that somewhere, deep down, he's always wanted these things; these twisted, malignant things. He's always fought so venomously to be right and do what is necessary to be a good man, and maybe the real reason behind his struggle is because he was keeping himself from falling over to that side of people, from being swept up in a world promoting, demanding, you look after yourself, you never give unless your getting, you take and take and take until there's nothing left.
It's easy sometimes, to just pretend that he's not always trying to keep the world in strictly black and white categories, and allow things to fall into the grey for a bit. Allow himself the pleasure of playing make believe, just like when he was younger, when he pretended he had a different family and a different house and a different wardrobe.
But he knows that he couldn't ever really let himself slip beneath the middle ground and wade his way through life, giving and taking in accordance to whatever self-serving whim he had.
He just can't stop wanting to help people, wanting to fix everything that was broken. It's in his nature to want to build things, help them along; not destroy and violate them, not the way he had witnessed everything back in Chino, by his mother, his mother's various boyfriends, his brother, his friends.
Ryan wishes that he was the one kissing Seth in the pool.
Wishes that he was the one Seth can't seem to keep his hands off of, the one who gets to feel Seth warm and loving trapped between himself and the tile, the one who seems to know Seth's taste inside and out.
And he's not.
Wishing isn't going to change that.
But it's not going to stop him from pretending. From closing his eyes, for just one millisecond, allowing his thoughts to turn and shift, slide himself into the situation, let his brain believe that those lips are against his. The moment passes, though, and Seth is murmuring a name that isn't his, and the soft, breathless word, "Trey", is enough to shatter the pretense of fantasy and make him feel weighed down and guilty and rejected all over again.
His first instinct is to scream. It's to jump into the water, fully clothed and fully aware, pull his brother off of his best friend, and use Trey's head to start breaking off pool tile. It's to beat Trey senseless, to the point all either of them can see is red. It's to leave Trey just coherent enough to explain how he could do this, how he could be kissing Seth in the fucking pool when he knew Ryan might be watching.
His second instinct is to run. It's to turn around and stumble to the living room, fall on the couch, and bury his head into the pillows, hoping that maybe if he just ignores it and pretends it never happened he won't remember. It's to walk to Marissa's and take her out to the mall, faking his way through pleasant conversation and getting-to-know-you-again touches, use the familiarity and fakeness to make him forget what he's seeing. It's to take a drive, clear his mind, and hit something, and feel something, and do anything to make his memory clear, clean again.
The kid from Chino, the part of him that wants to not be guilty, the side that is sick and is tired of always believing in Trey and giving him second chances, is rallying strongly for the first option. The kid who learned to trust someone, the part of him that wants to be good, the side that is still holding out hope that maybe one day Trey will turn around and be the brother he always promised he would be, is…actually kind of agreeing with the rest of him.
Ryan's jaw clenches, and he wants to say something, say anything. He wants to let them know that he's here, that he knows now, but he's too afraid that if he tries to talk, his voice is going to falter, sound heavy and dry and broken, and the only thing he will be able to manage is a choked sound of betrayal and rage before he falls.
So he turns around and walks back inside, trying to be quiet even though he slams the door with as much force as he possibly can.
He walks to the couch and sits down, slowly, because his legs feel numb and it takes him a little bit to realize when he's actually stopped standing.
Breathe.
His eyes drift close, and he clenches his fist, and Ryan doesn't know how to handle this.
Breathe. In.
His eyes open again, and he flexes his fingers, and Ryan doesn't think he'll ever be able to handle this.
Breathe. In. Out.
In. Out.
In.
Trey told him, Trey assured him, that there was nothing going on. Trey stood there, in the kitchen that's not twenty feet away from where he sits, and said he was not sleeping with Seth. Said that he was not with Seth. Said that he wasn't going to be with Seth. Trey said… God, Trey said…
Ryan wants to throw something into a wall when he realizes, Trey says a lot of things.
When Ryan was five, Trey said that if he super glued feathers to his arm, he could fly.
Ryan broke his arm.
When Ryan was ten, Trey said that it didn't matter how hold the steak was, because steak was still steak, even if it was kind of green around the edges, and if Ryan was a real man, it wouldn't matter what color the meat was, because he would eat the damn thing.
Ryan missed school for a month.
When Ryan was sixteen, Trey said that no one would notice if they stole a car and went out for a little joy ride.
Ryan got arrested, and he gained a new home, a new family, and a new life.
He gained Seth.
Seth was a little jittery, a little weird, and his hands were always moving, and at first Ryan thought maybe Seth was tweaking, from lack of caffeine or cocaine, he wasn't sure. Seth was sarcastic and had a humor that was drier than Ryan's throat when he first saw Seth sitting in front of the TV with the most innocent look on his face. Seth was just a little jagged around the edges, not so much broken as cracked in a few places, and he was dependent in a way where he could do everything himself and do anything for Ryan and still make Ryan feel like he was needed. Seth was gorgeous in a way that wasn't like the girls back in Chino or anyone else Ryan had ever seen, because Seth had hair that stuck out in odd angles and plain brown eyes that Ryan was almost painfully used to.
Seth was different.
Seth was what made Newport home.
Ryan is angry and he can't do anything to stop rage and betrayal and jealousy and a thousand different things he always secretly thought he was too good of a person to think and feel from building. Every time he tries to breathe or close his eyes, images are there, pretty little pictures with burning edges of Seth and Trey, words that he repeated to himself over and over so many times he was close to actually believing them are whispering and screaming and banging on the insides of his head, and he can't stop them. One flash of Seth with his mouth open and Trey's tongue shoved much too far down his throat and it's just another line of black smoke that's working it's way around Ryan's throat.
And Ryan knows he's not going to be able to keep this down.
He'll scream and kick and smash his head into a wall and this feeling of something he can only think to describe as dying will still be there.
This anger is malignant, he can feel it, and no matter what he does it will reappear and he'll be burning from the inside out again.
God, their kisses are like acid inside his mouth, bubbling down his throat and clinging to his skin. He can't help feeling like he's dirty, like there's mud and sweat sticking to his cold skin and clothes, like there's blood underneath his fingernails. He wants to swallow some sort of cleaning detergent, bleach away this sick thing crawling in him and take a shower and tear something into so many pieces the bones in his fingers start to show.
And Ryan…he knew this would hurt. He told himself too many times, made himself close his eyes and picture the scene, made himself break a little piece of trust from his insides, just so he could be strong enough. He prepared himself, got himself ready before he first approached Trey about Seth, for the fact that his brother and his best friend might be sleeping together. He told himself how much it would hurt and how much it might destroy him and made himself promise that he would not let it cut him too deeply. He made himself strong and calloused enough to deal with the impact of this explosion.
Apparently, it wasn't enough.
Because he still doesn't have his breathing in complete control and there are so many thoughts going at the speed of light behind his eyes and every single part of him is sore.
Ryan grabs a pillow from the end of the couch and grips it so hard his knuckles turn white because it's the only thing he can think to do. He wants to smash something, hurt someone, see bruises forming somewhere, let someone hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay and believe them because is so wrong.
Trey.
Trey does coke and steals cars and lies to his brother. Trey sleeps with girls who get found floating in a pool and breaks peoples noses into concrete and lets people down as a pass time. Trey is cold and doesn't care and has no conscious or thought process to the way in which he does things.
Trey is a destroyer.
Ryan knows this, because Ryan's lived it. Ryan sat back and watched Trey get weaved in and pushed out and pulled in so many different directions that everyone's head spun, then bounce right back with a cocky grin and ask when he can do that again. Ryan understands the way Trey's mind works, because you can't live with someone like that for so long and no learn to get them.
And that's why Ryan feels so inconceivably stupid.
He's always known Trey as a liar, as someone who will hurt and lash out, as a person who is cruel and unforgiving, and he's always loved him regardless. Because it was the right thing to do. It's right to love one's brother and forgive them and hug hem and believe them, so that's what Ryan did. Ryan took Trey back, time and time again, because Ryan knew it was what he should do.
Even though there were a few fleeting moments when, admittedly, Ryan thought maybe Trey would change like he promised to. There were times when Ryan forgot that it was duty to care about his flesh and blood, and just loved and forgave because a part of him really did believe it when Trey said he would change. Sometimes, when he was up in the middle of the night, starring up at the ceiling, letting his thoughts wander, he would picture Trey driving him to work or taking him for pizza or doing other civil, brotherly things that Ryan has always secretly wished for.
When Trey told Ryan that he was indeed not sleeping with Seth, Ryan had believed him. Not because he knew it was the right thing to do, or because he knew that as a brother he did have obligations, even if Trey didn't follow them, but because Ryan still had this small, semblance of a thing called hope that maybe Trey would turn his life around, that maybe Trey wasn't lying and manipulating for once.
Why hadn't he been able to see it for the flimsily veiled lie it was?
Had Ryan really been so pre-occupied with the compulsive need to do the right thing, be the good son to a mother who would never be there, be the righteous brother to a man – to a boy who thought righteousness was something to be broken down and cut to pieces, that he ignored the obvious and believed Trey? Was his hindsight and common sense being blinded by the white hot, bright pressure to constantly prove, prove, prove his worth and his trust and why he had the right to be there? Could it be that, simply because every cell in his body buzzed with a need to curve his path to the right and never let himself slip on the temptation, he totally missed every screaming sign and blinking arrow that indicated Trey and Seth's involvement, showed so clearly what Trey lamely attempted to hide?
And that's really the only thing Ryan can come up with. Because how else could he have let Trey's manipulations slide past his radar for so long?
He thinks it's easier to just believe he was caught up in a world full of white and good and honesty than to second-guess himself, wonder for a moment if maybe it was the little boy with scraped knees and adoration filled eyes that pushed away reason, that made him believe Trey. He refuses to believe that there is any other emotion fused to his rash decision of idiocy other than a want for self-righteousness.
Because he doesn't want to be as pathetic as he knows Trey thinks he is.
Trey will lie, Trey will play pretend, Trey will tell Ryan that he's brave and strong and smart when on the inside Trey is laughing because he's always the one pulling the puppet strings. To Trey, Ryan is made of fabric of cotton and it's a terribly twisted amusing pass time for Trey to dig his way underneath the stitches and pull until the thread is loose.
Trey sees Ryan as a little boy who wants to be a hero and wants to look up to his big brother, and will do anything to achieve both of those things. Even though the movements to get to the podium and truly love Trey are similar but not quite the same, the paths to both still get tangled and there's no way Ryan can follow a straight line and get to both of them. And Trey knows that, and he depends on it, and Ryan knows that he absolutely can't get enough of the fact that Ryan seems to always want to be able to be a brother more than a hero.
Ryan doesn't want Trey to be right.
Ryan doesn't want to be the one always trying to morph into some sort of human superglue and paste the pieces of dysfunction back together again. He doesn't want to try and fail and try and fail and keep repeating the same vicious, fucked up cycle, the cycle that will never get Trey to see him as a person instead of a plaything, the cycle that will never get Trey to want to be brothers or know loyalty or family ties.
He wants to believe, he wants to feel, that the only reason he has ever tried to be a brother to Trey is because of his need to be honorable, his need to be the good guy. He wants to believe that he only tries to help Trey because it's what his conscious tells him to do.
And that way, Trey is wrong and Ryan is right and good triumphs once again.
Of course, Ryan realizes as he sits on the couch and clenches his jaw and stares at the carpet, none of this matters anymore. It doesn't matter if Ryan wants to be a good person more than he wants to be part of a family, and it doesn't matter if Ryan is right, and it doesn't matter if Ryan is selfish or selfless because Trey is the one who was kissing Seth and Ryan wasn't.
And Ryan just doesn't understand why.
Good things are supposed to happen to good people, to those who wait, and Ryan has given up a lot of things and stood in the back of the line for what feels like a few good millennia, and he doesn't have anything other than scars on his heart from unrequited love and marks on his hands from where he tried to re-form a brotherhood that was never there out of dirt and blood.
At this, Ryan sighs and forces his eyes to shut and lets his head loll back onto the couch.
This isn't the reason he does the right thing.
He doesn't soothe Marissa to sleep when he wants nothing more than to just fall into his bed and dream so that he can get a reward. He doesn't help less-than-popular kids with glasses pick up their books in the hallway when he's late for class so that he can get paid back. He doesn't say no to drunk girls and high boys and politely guide them to a place where they'll be much safer when all he wants to do is wrap his arms around them and pretend their someone who they never will be so that he can get good karma in a next life.
He does it because it's just the right thing, and even though sometimes he might wish he's not, he's a good person.
But, well, that really doesn't count for anything anymore, does it?
Saving lives and letting go and giving to protect those around him never got him Seth, so those things never really had purpose.
And, God, Trey is so right in his opinion that Ryan is pathetic.
Doing the right thing, trying to help has gotten him so many things, so many people. All those years of never straying off the sidelines, of never getting high with the rest of the guys, came into full play when he and Trey stole a car and instead of jail he got a pool house and a mother and a father and a Seth. It's given Ryan a feeling of calm and peacefulness for so long. It's given Ryan a way to be able to look in the mirror every morning and every night and not hate what he sees starring back at him.
And somehow, the forever burning image of Trey kissing Seth in the pool makes it all seem little more than scratches on a piece of black paper or specks of white dust on the beach.
The fact that Trey has Seth makes every good thing Ryan has ever done, every good thing that has ever happened to Ryan, somehow evaporate and disappear from the Earth's atmosphere, and Ryan is a little shaken by that.
He hadn't really grasped the concept of 'too far gone' until this.
He hadn't really understood just how deeply his feelings for Seth were now embedded into his personality, into his existence.
Not until he realized that the fact that Seth was kissing Trey could make him ungrateful for an entire life of being able to do good and golden moments.
Ryan really doesn't know what to do with himself at this point.
He's just a sad, lonely boy, whose in love with someone he will never have, who wants to be the best human being he possibly can be, who wants to have a brother he can trust, who has secrets lurking that are vicious and vile and tempting, who has thoughts of being great and being heartless that blue into one until it's hard to tell what the difference is between hero and villain.
And, wow, it's taken nearly fifteen minutes of painstaking brooding to figure out what he could sum up in a short paragraph.
Right now, he just wants to feel better. A little less miserable and pained and burning.
He can't go to the pool house, but there's not anything there that could make Ryan feel a little less like he was being eaten alive. He can't go see Marissa, because she will kiss him and he'll forget to see her and feel only a mouth on his own and he'll think about Trey and Seth and kisses, and that might make his head explode. He can't take a walk or go for a drive because there's no where in this place he can go that could make him feel less rotted.
He wonders if maybe he's just hurting too much inside to move, anyway. He wonders if maybe he broke his pinky he could distract himself long enough to make it down the street without thinking of Trey and Seth.
Pretty soon, his feet are carrying him to the stairs, and he feels laughter bubbling in the back of his throat, which he notes is a sign of insanity.
Ryan hates his feet and thinks about banging them on something with a sharp corner when he opens the door to Seth's room and starts heading for the bed. Seth's room smell nice, like apples and water. Which Ryan thinks is a weird combination, weirder because Seth smells nothing like either an apple or water, but he doesn't question it, because it's comforting.
The simple exercise of breathing in and out the scent of Seth's room is taking away a little bit of the dynamite digging into his brain, and his head is starting to not throb as much as his hands and heart and ankles.
He wants to lay in Seth's bed. He wants to curl up on warm comforters and feel safe, because he knows that Captain Oats is watching him and that this is where Seth sleeps.
But now his common sense is coming back, and he wonders if maybe Seth and Trey have…on Seth's bed, and that would just be wrong. Captain Oats didn't deserve to have his eyes plastic eyes scarred by such a sight.
And, God, neither does he.
He shouldn't have to deal with this, just like he shouldn't have had to deal with a mother who drank too much and he shouldn't have had to deal with Theresa leaving Eddie, getting pregnant, just like he shouldn't have had to deal with Marissa's one too many drinks. He shouldn't have to feel like this.
No one should.
No one with blood and bones and a heart should have to watch the person they love giving in to something as twisted and wicked as Trey.
Because it hurts too much, and it brings up too many questions and what if's that will nag and scratch at the ever breaking, ever thinning layer of flesh between his head and heart, until all Ryan can think of is Seth kissing someone else and Trey lying again and, and…
Why did it have to be him?
Ryan falls onto Seth's conveniently placed computer chair and thinks that maybe if he uses enough will power, it will all have been a dream.
He closes his eyes and it's Marissa, it's Summer, it's anyone who doesn't spout pop culture references as easily as they breathe and doesn't read Teen Titans obsessively; it's anyone Ryan might be able to live through losing, who Trey went after, who caught Trey's fancy, and who ended up giving in.
Trey would tear Marissa apart. He would coax her into trusting him, let her believe he was like Ryan, and he would give up anything he ever touched for her, and she would depend on him. She would let herself relax and try to confide in him. And when he pulled it all out from underneath her, she would be so confused and jaded, she might not be able to pull herself back together.
Ryan would hate himself if he let that happen to Marissa, because Marissa is sweet and good, and just a little girl who never really learned how to deal with pain, but she's learning, and she's trying so hard to keep everything together. And Trey could destroy it with a flick of his wrist if he really wanted to.
Ryan doesn't think about Trey and Summer, because Summer is too smart to be fooled by anything Trey would tell her.
There's a whole town full of gorgeous shattered people here in Newport, and if Trey got loose, he would have a field day slipping inside each and everyone of them. But Ryan doesn't know the rest of those people, and he doesn't want to think about how much self-loathing or anger would build up if Trey got a hold of some poor stranger and royally twisted them.
It wasn't anyone else, though, it was Seth, and Ryan is going to have to figure out a way to deal with that.
But he just doesn't get it.
He knows Seth and Summer are having problems, but how do a few arguments over a comic book turn into a torrent affair with Trey? Why would Seth risk everything he had with Summer, the girl he's loved since he was ten-years-old, risk the friendship he had with Ryan, the only real friend Seth's ever really had, to have sex with Trey?
It doesn't make sense. Not at all. Ryan knows it has to be deeper than that, there just has to be more than meaningless, casual sex to make Seth risk so much, but he just can't make his mind fit around it, and he doesn't want to.
Or maybe, maybe it really is that simple, and Ryan is just the one making it complicated.
Maybe Seth has had to deal with too many things that held the weight of the world. Every move he made with Summer seemed like life or death, every conversation he had with Ryan was somehow laced with angst and past pains that scarred and never went away, every moment with his mother and father was estranged and maybe Seth just wanted something that didn't mean anything. Maybe Seth just needed something that was flippant and careless and fun, something that Seth could just not care about.
But, no, Ryan tells himself, because Seth might be a little self-centered sometimes but he's not that selfish. He can't be, or else he's not really the person that Ryan knows so well.
And doesn't Ryan know Seth?
Ryan feels his throat constricting because he's presented with the fact that he doesn't know anything.
Ryan Atwood does not know a damn thing.
Not about Seth, not about Trey, not about himself or anything that's crumbling down around him.
Seth could be completely different. Seth could be a trillion shades darker than the white light Ryan's always seen him in and Ryan doesn't even know it. Seth could be more absorbed in his own happiness than Ryan ever realized. Seth could be one of these Orange County snobs, one of these self-serving kids from Chino, who only accepted Ryan because there was nothing better to do.
Which is really, really sad, because even as Ryan thinks this, tries to bend Seth into a mold of someone Ryan didn't think Seth could ever be, Ryan still can't picture himself not loving Seth, not wanting Seth, not needing Seth by his side and in his life.
Unconditional love, Ryan thinks bitterly to himself and he doesn't want to be bitter about this, but it's not like he can stop himself. Unconditional love is the harshest, most pure, most pathetic kind of feeling Ryan can think of. Because unconditional love means that someone can cut off your ear and stab you in the back and French kiss your brother right in front of you and tell you that they aren't sleeping with your best friend with their fingers crossed and you are still willing to fucking die for them because you love them that much. And Ryan must be consumed with this feeling, because he can still feel undeniable hope and undiminished affection beneath the rage and hurt and betrayal.
Ryan slides of the chair and lays down on the floor, not really sure what he's doing but lacking the motivation to fight it. He curls on his side and pulls his knees to his chest and breathes in shakily. It occurs to him that he can smell wood and chemicals, the scent of Trey's cruelty and lies, coating and mixing in with the smell of Seth's room. He thinks he's going to throw up so he wraps his arms around his stomach and tries to stop his stomach from turning. He thinks of things that are calm and safe and steady, like the sky and the sand and the snow. He feels less like throwing up but more like crying, so he bites his lip and closes his eyes and tells himself to go to sleep. In the back of his mind, he starts a soothing beat, hymns and lullabies and soft tunes, trying to lull himself to sleep.
He ends up in a place in between, not sleeping and not awake, and he's glad for this middle ground. If he was awake he would be hurting, and if he was asleep he would probably be dreaming about hurting and wake up even worse. So he lies there, his neck craned uncomfortably and his legs starting to get tingly, being totally blank and liking the feeling of not having to feel.
Sooner or later, Ryan really isn't sure which of the two it is, the door is opening and he realizes that the time for laying on the floor and pretending the world doesn't exist is over. He knows his duties as a decent person and he knows he can't just slink out of the room without giving Seth an explanation. So he turns over on his back and looks up to see Seth shutting the door.
And it's so hard.
Because Seth's back is a bit red and there are little finger prints that are probably going to turn a nifty color of purple in a few days on his shoulders and it's Seth, and Ryan can't be angry at him but he doesn't know what else to feel.
When Ryan confronted Trey, it was easy, because there's never been anything that isn't out in the open between them. When Ryan asked Trey if he was having sex with Seth, it was easy, because he knew Trey would answer him.
"Dude," Seth says when he sees Ryan lying there. "Um, is there a reason you're on my floor?"
'Yes', Ryan wants to say, but instead he just pushes himself up into a sitting position.
Seth blinks at Ryan's lack of response and moves towards him. He plops on the floor in front of Ryan, and his face is a perfect picture of curiosity. It's so familiar that Ryan has to look down, because he's afraid if he doesn't he'll break down.
"Ryan?" Seth questions again. "Are you all right?"
"M'fine," Ryan answers lamely.
Seth raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head. "Uh-huh. Yeah, of course you are. Because you always lie on my floor curled up into the fetal position when you're fine. In fact, you being on my floor is the epitome of being fine. Seriously, if you lie down again, I can take a picture, then we'll get someone whose good with graphics to blow it up, and you passed out on my carpet will become the new poster for being fine."
'Maybe you can go make out with Trey and we can take a picture and you can be the new poster for betrayal,' Ryan thinks, but doesn't say it, because it will cause too much pain in this little room and there isn't enough space to hold all the tears they can't shed.
"I was tired," Ryan explains, feeling detached.
Seth picks up his hand and points to the bed. "See, that's why they made these things. Their called beds. People sleep on them when their tired. And it's much more comfortable than the floor." He pulls up the comforter and the sheet, and tugs at the remaining cover. When it's loose, he pulls out the mattress and pokes it. "See, mattresses are soft. And they've got foamy stuff."
"Foam is…foam is good," Ryan agrees. He's feeling breathless again, and his heart is beating too fast, and he thinks it might be dangerous, because he feels like the blood and oxygen is being pumped far too slow through his body to keep up.
"Foam is good like paper cuts are painful, dude."
"And you're sleeping with Trey."
There.
He did it.
Ryan finally broke something, like a part of him has always wanted to, but he doesn't feel superior or disaffected or justified, and he wants to take it back. He wants to breathe in so deep he takes back five little words that made the quiet, easy lie they'd all fallen into shatter.
But he can't, and he wants to apologize, and it wasn't his fault because he wasn't thinking about what he was saying and the words just came out and he wasn't planning on bringing it all out in the open so stupidly.
Seth gets this look that tells Ryan he's not even going to try and deny it.
"Well," Seth says, and Ryan can tell that it's just as difficult for him to try to breathe. "I guess you could… Well, yeah. If that's…" Ryan can tell that Seth is trying to think of something sarcastic and witty and gentle to say, but he's not coming up with anything and Ryan is glad. Ryan is glad because if Seth says something sarcastic and witty and gentle then he might cry, and he might punch Seth in the jaw, and he might try to kiss him, and he might just die. Ryan can't handle sarcastic and witty and gentle and he can't handle Seth, and he needs to leave, now.
Ryan gets up and turns to his side, doing an awkward shuffle/walk thing to try and get to the door without stepping on Seth. He jerks his arm upwards so quickly he thinks he may have dislocated his shoulder when Seth reaches for his hand, but Seth's fingertips are gentle and warm, and Ryan's brain skips for a second and he forgets that those fingertips were tracing there way over Trey's back, forgets just long enough for his body to stop moving while Seth scrambles up to his feet.
"No," Seth says, his voice is dry and something Ryan doesn't want to place, because it would make it easy if this could be cold and harsh, if Ryan could just leave and if Seth could pretend like he didn't care. "Please, Ryan, you can't – This just can't happen like this."
Ryan turns, and his jaw is clenched and his nails are digging so hard into his skin he thinks his palms may go numb, and he asks, in the calmest voice he can achieve, "Then how the hell is this supposed to happen?"
Seth is dumbstruck, because he obviously wasn't expecting the response. Slack jawed and totally lost, he stands there and watches Ryan with an expression that is much too young to be dealing with this, and Ryan feels guilty for being angry. Then, Ryan remembers, remembers that they are here because Seth is sleeping with Trey, and his guilt is effectively crossed out with more anger.
"I don't…I don't know," Seth answers after an eternity of hesitation. "We were going to…like, because…"
Ryan shakes his head, and he needs Seth to stop. "What, you were going to what? Tell me? Sit me down at the kitchen table so you and Trey can give me a little talk about how…" He trails off, because Ryan realizes there isn't enough oxygen for him to keep going on like this. Breathing in so much to keep himself from hurting something and never letting it out.
Seth looks down at his shoes, stares at the carpet, lets his shoulders slump and Ryan knows that even though Seth doesn't have anything to say or do right now, Seth isn't going to let him leave.
Ryan leans against the door, resting his weight on the wooden frame, and rubs his hand over his eyes. 'Why, why, why in the hell?' is the mantra being repeated in his mind, but he can't say it. Can't bring himself to make this anymore real than it already is.
"Ryan?" Seth asks delicately, as if he's afraid of speaking to loud, as if he's afraid that the sound waves of his own breaking voice are going to make little pieces of Ryan's heart crash in.
Ryan can't look at him. Can't look at that face. Because if he looks up at Seth, then he'll want to forgive him. He'll want to, and he won't be able to find it in him, and he'll hurt more.
And Ryan doesn't think that would be healthy.
"He is…he was my brother," Ryan murmurs, almost to himself, almost as an afterthought. "My brother."
Seth is approaching Ryan now, and one hand is stretched out, shaking, unsure whether it should try to ease Ryan or rest on his shoulder or go back to Seth's side. Seth is a few feet away, and he wants to say something, anything, find a magic word that will make everything okay again. But he fails, because when he opens his mouth nothing comes out, and he has to close his eyes. Hesitantly, he starts reaching forward, his hand trembling even more but headed straight for Ryan's shoulder.
As soon as Ryan sees the hand at out of the corner of his eye, he just wants to reach out and snap Seth's wrist between his fingertips. Instead, he whips it away in a fast, furious motion, before snapping his gaze up. And he wants Seth to be afraid, to be regretful of every moment he ever had with Trey, so he puts in every single feeling of sadness and heartbreak, and hopes to God that Seth feels it.
"Don't," he says sharply, angrily. "Don't…don't ever think you can touch me after you…after you touched him." Ryan spits out the last word like it's edged with razors and dripping with acidic substances.
Seth takes a step back, and his breathing is becoming more rapid. Ryan wonders if maybe the gravity, the full reality of the situation is finally falling on his pretty little head.
"How the hell could you?" Ryan questions, and he goes on, because he doesn't want to wait for a response and he isn't exactly sure that he could handle one. "My brother. You're my best friend, man. You're… God, I've done fucking so much and you…" He shakes his head, stops himself, and he realizes he doesn't know what he wants to say. He doesn't know at all.
"Ryan," Seth says, and the word is panicked. "Ryan, Ryan…he said…he said it wouldn't hurt you."
Ryan nods, the motion quick, so fast his neck pops and he ignores the discomfort. "Right, yeah. No, it's not that I don't think he didn't tell you that Seth…" He pauses for a moment, taking in a little breath. "I'm…I'm sure he told you a lot of things." He thinks Seth winces, and he's not sure why, because he doesn't think his tone is that accusing. It's kind of…flat, twisted, still in the frequency of his aftershock. "But I thought you were… I thought you were smart enough to realize he was lying… How could you…?"
Ryan stops and feels something inside him tighten, something cold that seems to just be getting colder, and his eyes narrow as he starts sliding down to the floor. He hears Seth saying his name, 'Ryan, Ryan?', but it's not exactly getting through.
"Don't you know me better than that?" he mumbles.
Seth nods his head, and crawls down to his knees, directly in front of Ryan, trying to catch his eyes. "Yes, I do, I do, I mean…I do," he says quickly. "I shouldn't…I don't know why I trusted him, Ryan, I don't, and I… I just didn't know."
"Didn't know that you fucking," and he manages to put a lot of malice into that word, "Trey was going to bother me?"
Seth looks down for a moment, as if he's actually trying to think. "Yes," he says. "I mean, I mean, no. I mean…I don't…I don't know what I mean. I just…I thought you would…worry."
Ryan almost laughs. "Worry? Why? 'Cause Trey's a druggie and a liar and bastard and about a million other horrible things? God, Seth, why would I worry about you letting someone like that into your life?"
"He's your brother," Seth murmurs. "You can't… How can you say stuff like that about your brother?"
And that's it.
Ryan just can't deal with it, not right now, not anymore. He can't deal with being the good brother, the one who always looks out for everyone. He can't deal with doing the right thing. He can't deal with forgiveness.
God, he can't, he can't, he just can't anymore.
"What the hell do you know about my brother, Seth!" Ryan practically screams. "You've known him for how long? I grew up with him, man. Okay? I saw how he got this way. Do you think it's because he had a tough home life, Seth? Think it's because he grew up around bad people, without a proper father figure to guide him? I grew up the same way, didn't I? And I became a decent human being. Trey didn't. And do you have any idea why that is, Seth? God, have you ever even stopped to think about it!" His voice is harsh, and it's accusing, and he just doesn't care anymore, because this whole situation is so ridiculous and so stupid, it's not worth it. It's just not worth it.
Seth is shaking his head, murmuring something, looking like he wants to hold Ryan, looking like he wants to do anything to make Ryan be able to breathe again okay.
"Because he didn't want to," Ryan says, his voice soft and rough. "He saw the way kids who did drugs and stole cars grew up. And he knew what happened to the kids who stayed out of the trouble, the people who might've actually made it. And you know…he never…he never cared. He liked stealing and drinking and hurting people. It was how he got his little… Damn it, Seth, you think you get him and you don't. You just…you just don't. He wasn't made to be like that…he chose it."
Seth sits back, looking like he might actually be soaking up the information, understanding it.
Ryan doesn't know if it will make a difference, and he decides quickly that no, no it won't. Because Seth…Seth slept with Trey, and nothing is going to make that go away. Not if Seth realizes it was a mistake, or breaks it off, or apologizes, because Seth…
Seth belonged to Trey. Seth belonged to Trey first.
No matter if Ryan saw Seth for the first time, no matter if Seth loved Ryan first – and Ryan knew he had, Ryan could stake his life on the fact that Seth loved him once, loved him as more than a best friend and a brother and a life line. None of that was relevant, not anymore, not since the first time Trey kissed Seth, Trey touched Seth.
And, God, it's gonna be so twisted if Ryan still wants Seth after this. Can still somehow not bring himself to stop loving Seth, even as disgusted and betrayed as he is with what Seth has done.
"Do you think…I was with Trey because I felt sorry for him?"
Ryan wants to slam his fist into a wall. "You know what, Seth?" he says, angry. "Fuck you. Fuck you and Trey and this whole damn…ridiculous…stupid thing!"
He starts pushing himself up, ready to storm out of the room, ready to tell Trey to get the hell out of Newport and ready to erase his memories of Seth's very existence. Seth follows him, though, and starts moving in front of Ryan, starts talking and trying to reach out to Ryan, anything to get him to stay, to listen.
"No, Ryan – really," Seth says, hurt and angry and conversational. "I want to know, is that what you think? You think I'm…I'm sleeping with Trey because I felt bad for him? Because I pitied him?" He moves in front of Ryan, just a centimeter closer. "You think I slept with Trey because I wanted to make him feel better?"
Ryan is so tempted to just push Seth – to just make Seth fall back into the books and just scream at him, just let out every single thought that doesn't make sense and hurt him somehow. But he doesn't.
He doesn't say anything.
"You know, if that's what you think then – then how do you know it wasn't just Trey? God, maybe I was fucking Luke too! Maybe Oliver, or Donny, or Theresa – Gosh…maybe I was just a regular fuck-for-pity machine!"
Ryan glares, and he manages his coldest voice, and it's possibly the cruelest thing he's ever said. "Wouldn't doubt it."
He can tell Seth is hurting now.
Seth is feeling guilty, Seth is wanting to take it back, Seth is wishing that Ryan didn't know, Seth is getting flooded with all these things he's never understood how to handle, Seth is trying and failing to think of anything to say.
Ryan puts his hands on Seth's shoulders – warm, warm, but Trey touched them first and he just can't want those eyes to shatter for him anymore and for those lips to open for him anymore or for those words to be directed at him anymore, because he can't put himself through that, he can't, and he won't let himself, and he just can't seem to stop his fingertips from wanting to wrap around Seth's shoulders and pull that body closer anyway – and pushes Seth, just a little, getting the body out of his way.
Ryan puts his hand on the door knob and turns, and he has to make himself walk out of here.
"I'm…" he begins, and his heart is beating faster than it should, and his eyes are stinging with all sorts of salt and wet and tingles that are not tears, not tears, he just can't let them or afford for them to be tears. "Seth, I'm not sure that everything is okay between us." His eyes are hooded, looking down to the ground, and he doesn't want to say anything else, but he knows he needs to. He knows that he has to make Seth understand that this changes them, forever, for always.
Seth is just standing there, not three feet away from him, starring at him with eyes that he wants to forgive, but won't let himself.
Because right now, stupid little wishes, stupid little childish fantasies of things he thinks might make his life easier, being selfish or cocky or not looking out for other people, are not worth it. Being selfish would mean letting himself forget that there was such a thing as pain, would mean closing his eyes and leaning forward and kissing Seth. Being cruel and being careless would mean grabbing Seth by the arms and pressing him against the wall and shoving his hand inside Seth's zipper. Being heartless would mean letting Seth think that apologizes and fake-tender love would make everything okay. Being all these things that he never was would mean allowing Seth to feel safe for a little bit, would mean trying to find someway to make this blow back in Trey's face.
Yeah, right now, Ryan knows that doing the right thing will, in the long run, save him from breaking himself, letting himself be dragged down by things like a brother who he would have – until maybe forty five minutes ago – given anything to have see him as a brother to, and by a boy who he would – and maybe if he wasn't as weak as he's always been told he was, this could be 'would have'; this would be past tense – give anything to have see him as anything but a brother.
"I'm sorry," Seth says, forgetting that he too is hurt, is caught in the crossfire, the aftermath of something he caused. "Ryan, just don't – don't leave, yet." Seth is saying this, Seth is asking him to stay, because Seth… God, Ryan doesn't even know.
Seth is sorry, Ryan knows that. Ryan knows that Seth really didn't want to hurt him.
But it doesn't change the fact that he did.
No matter how many times Seth says 'I'm sorry' in that little broken, pleading voice of his, it's not going to change the fact that he let Trey touch him; that he touched Trey, too.
"Things aren't going to be okay between us for a long time, Seth," Ryan tells him, in the most neutral voice he can muster. "And I just, I just think you should be aware that…that I kind of hate you right now."
Oh, and Ryan can't believe he just said that. Ryan doesn't know if it's even true, but he thinks he might be.
Thin lines, and all that.
"No, Ryan please – " Seth says, and Ryan really isn't sure if Seth can deal with this.
"You need to…you need to not be around me, for a while, okay? I just need to not see you."
"Ryan…"
"I also…kind of want to hurt you, right now. I just – How could you feel if I...?" Ryan stops himself. "No. No, Seth, this isn't…this isn't gonna get better. I thought I knew you better than to think… I thought you were better."
"Better than Trey, you mean?"
Ryan doesn't know how the question is spoken; if Seth's offended or hurt or sad or empty or what. And it doesn't matter.
It doesn't change his answer.
He walks out of the room, and shuts the door behind him. Seth just opens it again, and starts talking, pleading for Ryan to come back. He's not moving, not leaving his room, so Ryan just keeps on walking.
Ryan thought – Ryan knew - that Seth was better than Trey, better than him, better than the life they stood for.
And now he's thinking, maybe not. Maybe Seth wasn't better – maybe Seth was just different. Damaged in a way he and Trey weren't.
It's funny, really, because Ryan thinks that maybe he and Seth are on the same level – just perfect for each other. And now, well, that's absolutely hilarious. Because it was the only thing that kept Ryan from Seth. The only thing that stopped Ryan from reaching out to smooth those curls, only thing that stopped him from giving in when those bland brown eyes were on him with a look practically screaming adoration and affection; the fact that Seth was too good, the fact that Ryan would just hurt him.
And now, well, that's all cleared up – Seth was never too good, never fragile, just twisted at a different angle, bleeding in different places.
And now Ryan gets it, he does; he understands it all perfectly, now that Seth has moved on and gotten over him and sees him as a hero, someone he wants to admire and idolize, not as someone he wants to hold and love and touch.
Ryan doesn't wish to be selfish, or empathetic, or stereotypical, or unkind.
Ryan just wishes he learned to see things that were right in front of him.
He just wishes he weren't blind.