Shadowboxing
by M. F. Luder
II.
Ryan sighs, walking out of the elevator slowly, his left hand reaching for the wall. He takes in a deep breath as he hears the elevator doors closing behind him. He turns around, touching his left shoulder to the wall. The apartment is down the hall, the second door to his right, but the shift in lighting has screwed up his eyes. He blinks, feeling them worthless, his left hand closing into a fist, nails digging into skin.
When his breathing calms and his heart isn't hammering in his chest, he blinks once again trying to focus on the hallway. He can see with difficulty, the colors dull and the light above dim. It's late, he knows it's almost seven and his eyes have been acting up all day and he has a fucking headache that makes him feel like his brain will ooze out of his nose. He grinds his jaw, his right hand closing into a fist and he pulls away from the wall and walks down the hallway.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven--
He doesn't know when he started, if he'll ever stop
-- eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen--
but counting his paces in familiar places, from the elevator to the door, from his door to the bathroom, from the living room to the kitchen, makes him feel like he knows his way, like he's finding himself once again.
It's seventeen to the door and he pauses before it. It's dark brown wood and he touches it with his fingers, soft and sturdy at the same time, and it feels weird, to be doing this. He never has before, has never cared how the door felt to him, but it's important now, all of a sudden, it's so fucking important his throat seems to close up.
He shakes his head, getting his keys out of his pocket, slowly, like he has all the time in the world
I'm running out of time--
even though he knows better. He has another appointment with Dr. McKay later this week, to get another look at his eyes. Ryan couldn't help but call her last Friday when it took him a good half a minute for his eyes to adjust to the light outside the classroom. He had clenched his jaw so tight, his molars and cheek had hurt for the rest of the afternoon.
It's happening, he tells himself as he turns around the key and unlocks the door. It's happening and there's no stopping it now.
There never was, actually, there never was any stopping of this, but the doctor herself had said that the time span would vary, but he'd have time. And two months of time is just not fucking enough.
He shields his eyes with his hand, but the change in light again, leaves him breathless for a moment. The kitchen and living room are in darkness and for him, they might as well have cut off his eyes, for all the fuck he sees. It's nothing but pitch black, and his right hand is shaking with fear as he pulls the door closed behind him.
Seth should be here, he thinks, because it's Tuesday and Seth only has class until four on Tuesdays. He sighs looking around, blinking furiously, wishing his eyes would work. He wishes this wasn't happening.
Then there's light, in the corner of what peripheral vision he still has, bright and unexpected and it feels like trying to see the sun with bare eyes, and it hurts, all of a sudden, it hurts. He grimaces, turning around, covering his eyes with his hand.
"Ryan? Dude, you okay?"
He nods, his throat tight for a second at hearing Seth and knowing Seth's seeing him like this – weak and blind. He tries to face Seth steadily, on his own two feet -- stoic, like that doesn't fit. He blinks, looking at Seth looking back at him, even though Seth is nothing more than dark shape in an otherwise bright background.
"Yeah, yeah," Ryan says, a little breathless, "just caught me by surprise."
Ryan looks around after a moment, when his eyes start working again and he can see the windows on the other side of the living room letting in dim light, the curtains wide open. He can almost imagine Seth, sitting on the couch, illuminated by the light from the outside as darkness falls around him.
His grip on his the strap of his bag tightens and he moves past Seth and to his bedroom, noticing that there's the laundry basket in the corner before the hallway. He frowns. He should have done laundry this weekend, but the light in the laundry room hurts his eyes too much and he had that paper to give in yesterday and he knew that if he got a headache then he'd never finish the paper.
It's the hand on his elbow that stops Ryan from making his way down the hallway and to the safety of his bedroom. It's that hand that makes Ryan turn around and face Seth, blinking, and Seth's so close he can see sadness in the brown eyes.
"I think we need to talk."
Seth's voice drops, matching his eyes, letting Ryan know that something's wrong. It's Seth's voice that makes Ryan's heart lodge in his throat for a second before letting out a long sigh.
"Seth," Ryan says with a small smile, a shake of his head. "I'm tired. I had one hell of a fucking day and whatever it is--"
His words die in his throat along with the bitching he was gonna start, when Seth's left hand comes from behind him and shows Ryan a page he recognizes. From this angle, from the way Seth's clutching at the page, wrinkled and almost torn in one corner, Ryan can only see
initis pigm
in bold letters, but that's enough for words to turn meaningless and his breathing to stop. Nightmares have never felt this real.
They don't say anything for a moment, Ryan can't, at least. He can barely even make himself breathe, let alone speak. He sighs, and Seth lets go of his elbow. He feels something cold coiling into him, slowly, as if afraid of what this could mean.
he knows
And of course Seth knows, because Seth might be many things, many things, but stupid he is not. At least, most days.
Ryan wants to speak up, to open his mouth and say something, start with an apology for not coming clean with this, when it was so obvious that this wasn't something he could sweep under the rug. But how could Ryan start that conversation? How does Ryan open his mouth and say, yes, I'm going blind. Right in this fucking moment, Seth.
He hears a sound and for a moment he thinks it comes from the apartment, the neighbor, and then he recognizes it as a whimper, low and barely there. Ryan wonders if it's coming from Seth. And then, when Ryan breathes out and his throat makes that same sound, he knows it's coming from inside him.
"Seth--"
When he looks up, Seth's looking at him, eyes bright. This close, even without his glasses, Ryan can recognize what Seth's feeling. His breath catches in his throat and he reminds himself that soon he won't be able to tell the different shades of brown in Seth's eyes. Even now, the colors seem dim and hollow, not as bright as Ryan remembers them. He takes in a shaky breath, and something inside him breaks because Seth has always been an open book to him, and Ryan only needs to open his eyes and see Seth to know what the boy is thinking.
"Seth--"
The words end there because then Seth has his arms around Ryan, holding on tight, almost hurting him, and Ryan can only sigh. Seth breathes in, seems to want to say something as well, but this time the whimper is loud in the otherwise silent room and that breath turns into a sob and his arms tighten around Ryan even more.
Ryan nods, trying his best to hug Seth back, even with his arms pinned to the sides of his body. "It's okay," he whispers, not knowing what else to say, how else to explain. "It's--"
"Don't."
Ryan sighs, hearing the strength in Seth's only word, and nods, knowing Seth's right. Those are lies, coming from his lips, lies neither of them need.
Ryan has no idea how long they stand there, half hugging, half just breathing, but when they do pull apart, it's nothing but darkness around him, the light coming from the small lamp on the living room seeming to blink in and out, and Ryan has to close his eyes as his head starts to pound.
There's Seth's hand on his shoulder once again, nothing but a slight touch, but it's enough. For Ryan, it's more than enough, and it feels better, in a way, to know that he doesn't have to hide this from Seth anymore.
Maybe there's something we can do
Ryan sighs, craning his neck to the right, then the left, and hearing something pop just under his nape.
some doctor we can talk to. There has to be a specialist somewhere, Ryan, fuck, you can't just give up
There's nothing to give up, Ryan can remember himself saying, as he watched Seth pace the small living room from one end to the other. There's nothing to do, Seth. Really. I know. I've researched.
Yeah, well, maybe you didn't research enough.
And yes, he can understand Seth's frustration, he has felt it himself, but right now, that's not what he needs. When he blinks and focuses his eyes on the whiteboard, the projection from today's class on top, he notices that he's a good page behind. He grumbles under his breath and starts copying as fast as he can. After another page, he gives up, and nudges Tatiana on the side and asks her for her notes.
Not even five minutes later, the professor says that that's enough for today, study up until page 115 for Friday's test, kids, come on, I really want you all to pass the subject.
The projector is turned off, the lights in the room are turned on and then Ryan's world turns black for long moments. He can hear Tatiana moving around, putting her things back in her bag probably, but he only sits with his lips pressed in a thin line.
He hears Tatiana asking the guy who was sitting on her other side, Walter, about the class, about something Ryan doesn't pay attention to. He blinks and takes a deep breath and when he can feel the pain over his eyes lessening, he starts putting his books into his backpack, shoving them inside angrily.
"Hey."
It's the hand on his shoulder, the voice close by that takes him by surprise and one of his books fall landing with a loud sound that makes him jump.
He blinks, and slowly, his eyes having adjusted to the change in light. His peripheral vision has shortened, he reminds himself, to the point where he can't quite see the edge of his shoulders when he looks from the corner of his eyes. He looks up, and Seth's standing there, right before him, the book that had fallen in his hands, a small but sad smile on his lips.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Seth apologizes softly.
Ryan shakes his head. It's a pointless apology, because lately all he can seem to be is startled.
"Hey, Seth."
"Hi, Tatiana."
The exchange is sharp and clear to Ryan, even though his eyes are tired and he can’t see them very well. He turns to Tatiana, looking back at him with her eyes narrow and confusion in her face. But she shakes her head, shrugging as she does so. "I've got Fluids in ten minutes. See ya in Procedures, okay?"
"Sure," he says under his breath, watching her walk out of the classroom. He sighs, and turns back to his bag.
"You done?"
Ryan nods, not quite looking up from zipping his bag very slowly. When he looks at Seth, he still has the book in his hands and Ryan takes it from Seth before placing it in his bag.
"You free until four, right?"
It's Wednesday, and since his eleven to one Structural Analysis class is done, he doesn't have Construction Procedures until four. He really doesn't feel like going to that class since the professor likes projectors too and his head's hurting like a bitch already. "Yeah, but I might skip it."
Seth's tone changes in a second, and Ryan can almost see him bouncing on his step. "Oh, really?"
They walk out of the classroom and the bright spring light shining through thin clouds, reflected in the high windows of the hallway take him by surprise. His eyes sting, from the very inside out, and his hand moves to cover them, freezing in the spot as they stop working all together, nothing but darkness around him, pitch black, dark and dark and dark and --
"Ryan? Dude?"
His breathing's loud in his ears, the very sound of his heart racing in his chest seems to silence everything around him, from the sound of students coming and going to Seth, saying something next to him.
"I'm fine," Ryan says through clenched teeth because this is the first time Seth has seen this happen, the first time it has happened with Seth next to him and Ryan doesn't have to hide it anymore. God, how in the world did he used to hide it? How in the world--? "Just-- just give me a sec, okay?"
He can't see Seth, but he knows Seth's nodding, next to him, just standing, waiting for Ryan to let him know when it's safe for them to move, when Ryan's eyes have decided to grace them with the ability to see, even as little as they can at the moment.
His breathing starts to quicken and he can feel his hands beginning to sweat when the seconds tick by and he doesn't count them, can't count them because if it's longer than a minute, he doesn't know how he'll cope with that. Still, seconds keep on passing by, and he doesn't know if they move too quick or too slow. All he can see is shades of light in his eyes. He blinks, frustrated beyond belief, with Seth standing next to him, and he clenches his jaw and--
Seth's hand on his elbow, fingers around the inside on the soft skin, and then Seth's forearm against his own and Seth's breath close to his ear.
"Ryan, are you--?"
"I'm fine," he says, whispering, and takes a step back. Seth follows easily, and he takes another and another, until he has the wall against his back. He seems to have found his axis again and he no longer feels as if he’s floating in a sea of nothingness. "I'm fine," he repeats.
Seth doesn't answer, and it's only seconds before he can see the outline of Seth's eyes and there's no need for his eyes to be working properly to know there's concern in them. He sighs, and the hand around his forearm tightens.
"I'm not going to Procedures," he says after a moment, his voice tight and sharp.
"Okay. Sure." A pause, a small smile that barely reaches Seth's eyes. "Let's go home."
Ryan nods, following Seth down the hallway, and Seth's arm only moves from his forearm to the low on his back, never wavering, and Ryan can't help but feel like he's standing on solid ground, for the first time in a long time.
Later that day, after Seth has blown his five afternoon British Authors class, they sit before the TV, not quite watching it. Just sitting there, together, not really thinking.
"We're gonna have to tell the parents."
It's not a question, it's barely even a statement, but Seth says it still, and it does seem to take the wind out of Ryan's lungs. He needs a minute for his brain cells to rearrange enough for him to be able to think, let alone speak.
"I know."
He knew he couldn't keep this secret for long, for longer than it was entirely necessary, but that doesn't mean he's willing to reveal it yet.
They'll know, his mind whispers. They'll know that something's wrong with you, something has always been wrong with you. It's the Atwood in you, Ryan. It's the fucking dirt under your fingernails, it's the shit in your fucking DNA code because you're fucked up, have been since birth, and now--
He shakes his head because whatever happens now will happen, and there's nothing he can do now to stop it. Nothing he can do, except wait and breathe and see what little he can see for as long as he has.
"We've got spring break coming up."
Ryan sighs, looking down at his hands in the dim light that comes from the TV and the lamp on the other side of the couch. Right, spring break, from the 23rd to the 28th, five days of doing nothing but relaxing and enjoying going to the beach. Now those days will be tainted with the fucking truth that Ryan Atwood has done it again, has found yet another way to fuck up everything he has, everything he has ever tried to get.
"I don't think I can--"
tell them,his mind whispers, but the words end there, because there's no need to finish that sentence. Seth knows, not for anything they have known each other so freaking long, goddamnit, at least long enough for the guy to know what the fuck Ryan's talking about.
"We have to tell them, Ryan. God--" Seth takes in a deep breath, and when it comes out, it sounds more like a whimper than a sigh. "We can't not tell them, you gotta know that, right? We can't not tell them."
And yes, he knows, thank you very much, Ryan thinks, but I'd like to pretend for just ten more minutes that next time I see your parents I'm not going to have to tell them that I'm going become a burden to them, okay?
Then again, Seth's hand is on his forearm, his thumb touching the inside of Ryan's elbow. His skin tingles under the touch. Seth has touched him more in the last two days than he has in the previous month. And Ryan can't quite deny it, lie to himself, and say that he doesn't like the attention.
"Ryan--"
He closes his eyes briefly. "We'll tell them," he says, cutting Seth's sentence off.
Just not now. Not yet. He wants, he needs this, the parents not knowing yet. And it might be stupid and it's the same reason he didn't tell Seth in the first place, because if he tells... He snorts, somewhere in the back of his throat, because it does sound stupid, but he thinks that if he tells them, it'll be more real. More real than right now, than the way he can't quite see his shoulders in his peripheral vision anymore, he doesn't how that could be possible. He can't tell them yet. He's clinging to this stupid idea, and he might even come to regret it later one, but right now, he can't. He can go and face them and tell them, when he's barely handling it himself.
He has to turn his head fully around to be able to see Seth's face, the outline of his cheekbones and the contour of lips. He blinks and looks at Seth in a blur of details because he's not wearing his glasses, they only seem to make his eyes hurt a bit worse. "We'll tell them."
Seth nods, his fingers tightening around his arm. "Good."
Seth should let go now that the conversation has been done, and he should turn around and pay attention, or not pay attention, to the TV once again. But he does neither. Instead, he leans forward, barely an inch, and Ryan wouldn't know except that he can feel the air leaving Seth's lungs touching him on his cheek.
Seth reaches out with his right hand the one not holding onto Ryan tightly, and they fall to Ryan's cheekbone.
Ryan notices, in a way that he hasn't before, that Seth looks pained, as if this, whatever this is, might hurt him more than that it should hurt Ryan.
"Your eyes look the same," Seth breathes out, slowly and carefully, and Ryan closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again. Seth's fingertips move to the corner of Ryan's right eye, not quite touching, not needing to. "They look the same. I don't... how can they be different now?"
Ryan gives him a small smile, a sad smile, that he knows doesn't reach his eyes, and it doesn't matter now, because there's nothing that can explain that, that can make it better once again. "I don't know."
"It's the change of light, isn't it? I read--"
Ryan doesn't nod, too afraid to move because Seth's fingers fall from his eyes, to his temple, his cheek, but it's the silence that answers. "It's like walking into a dark room from a bright morning. Everything's dark-- for a moment. It just--" He sighs, not knowing how to phrase this. "My eyes take longer in getting used to the change."
"And one day, they won't."
Ryan makes a low sound in the back of his throat, something between a whimper and a sob, but it's the truth. He turns his face away, Seth's hand falling from his cheek. Ryan hasn't been able to say aloud, not even to himself. And it seems to fit that it's Seth who says it to Ryan, because words have always come easier to Seth. "Yes."
And here lies the difference, Ryan recognizes. This place he has been living in for the last two months, this private hell is not just his any longer. Now Seth's hereto help him, or at least keep him company, and Ryan has to admit to himself that in those months he never felt more alone.
"How could I not know?"
Seth's not asking him, Ryan knows, Seth's asking himself.
Seth sighs, a soft and painful sound to Ryan's ears. "How is it possible that this was happening and I didn't know? God, Ryan, how could I have been so bl--?"
Seth's words end there, and Ryan gives him a rueful smile. "I'm not going to take it personally, if you say blind, Seth." Seth doesn't say anything, but he shakes his head once, a hard shake, and Ryan sighs, not knowing what else to do. He pauses, thinking about Seth's question. "I didn't want you to know, so I hid it."
Seth snorts, not mad but only saddened. "You did one hell of a job."
And it wasn't easy. It could have very well been one of the most difficult things Ryan has ever done, to stand before Seth and look at him in the eye and convince himself that he wasn't seeing the world in blotches and shades of blur. It might have almost have cost him what little sense of self Ryan had.
There might be more left to say, knowledge to be taken to heart and let go, but today is not that day. Seth sighs once again, reaching to touch Ryan's eyebrow briefly, his temple and cheekbone, before falling to his side, and Ryan can't help but notice that the absence leaves him somewhat empty.
They both turn around and face the TV, and say nothing, as darkness falls on everything in it’s path, more so for Ryan than for Seth.
There are classes that are easy, easier to handle, and Ryan has a predilection for them above the rest. Difficulty in tests or papers or projects notwithstanding, it's a matter of which professor uses the old projector, the one that requires the transparent slides, or PowerPoint. PowerPoint is better, by far, as the room doesn't need to be entirely dark for the numbers and letters to be seen, which of course means it takes less time for his eyes to adjust.
Adjust. Ryan has grown to hate that word in a way, because adjusting to what feels like changes every day, in every minute, has turned his life from easy and comfortable to harsh and problematic.
Railroads is a good class, all things considered. They don't have weekly tests, nor papers to give in, only lab reports. Those are easy since it means filling data in up to his neck. The class ends when the hour has run its course even though the presentation has not been finished. What once filled the whole pull down screen is nothing more than a recount of all the diapositive there are in the file and Ryan's eyes only take a moment for him to adjust.
He's wearing his contacts, even though it makes his eyes and head hurt a bit, because if he doesn't, everything is just a blur and blotches of color and he can't handle that now. When he looks up, he see Seth's shadow under the frame of the door before someone leaves the classroom and Seth takes that as his cue to walk in.
"Hey," Seth says, a smile on his lips, having noticed obviously, that Ryan saw him there.
Ryan grins, not being able to do anything but. "Hey."
Seth greets Tatiana and Claire, before turning to look at Ryan. "Good class?"
Ryan doesn't know if that question has to do with the class itself or his eyes during the class, or maybe even a little of both them.
Still, he answers, shrugging as he does so. "It was fine." And just like the question, Ryan's not sure his answer refers to the class alone.
Tatiana and Claire have stopped waiting for him. Tatiana grins, Claire nudging her on the side, before she jerks her head toward the door, and they leave without another word.
Seth stands while Ryan finishes putting everything in his bag before sliding it over his head and draping it across his chest. With something akin to apprehension, which has become second to breathing Ryan makes his way to the door.
There are no unchangeable truths, not anymore, at least not concerning his eyes. One day he can walk outside and blink and only take two deep breaths before his eyes are working fine, even if they sting with the aftershock. Others, he can walk outside and feel nothing but fear gripping his throat tight. He'd stumble back then until he has a wall against his back, enough to give him a sense of direction in the ever increasing darkness that seems to become his world.. And there are others, when his eyes seem to be at their weakest, when even though he can see, after seconds have long ago ticked by, they sting with such force that they are worthless, making his head pound with pain and tiredness in his very pores.
It's the not knowing, the difference in one minute to the next, very much like the wind blowing at his face as he steps outside. He has to place one hand over his eyes to shelter them against it. It's darkness right now, darkness and the fear again gripping his heart in an iron fist and when he takes the first step back, there's a hand on his forearm, tight and unrelenting.
Ryan half turns around, wanting to see Seth's face, to see what he's saying with his eyes, what can't be voiced, but there's nothing but black and black and more black in his eyes that aren't even worth the muscle they hold. He can feel his eyes narrow with frustration and he clenches his jaw. "Seth--"
The hand tightening on his forearm, so tight for a second that it hurts. "It's okay," Seth says, whispers, against Ryan's left ear and the breath warm on skin makes him shudder. "It's okay. I've got you."
Ryan breathes in and out until he can feel his center returning, his axis finding its way into his body and he knows which way is up and which one is down, and he can stand, even if not against a wall, and wait. He can wait, because Seth's there, and if he were to fall, if he were to fall, Seth will catch him.
There are things he needs to get done, books that he needs to read for papers that need to be finished, and he knows this, he really does, it's just a matter of him getting over this thing that has taken over his brain and to be able to actually think about something other than retinitis pigmentosa.
RETINITIS PIGMENTOSA
Seth can imagine the words, in big bold letters, in the top of the page that changed his present, less than two weeks ago. It has changed his very world, and he knows with a painful certainty that darkness will one day cover Ryan's own and not let go.
He swallows thickly and can't help but remember Ryan yesterday, walking out of the classroom. He remembers the tightness in his features, the crinkles around the corners of eyes, the way his hand had clenched into a fist and his lips pursed into a thin line. He'd do anything to take that back, to be able to change it, to take a piece of his DNA and switch it for the Atwood in Ryan's gene pool.
We have to tell them, he remembers his words. And they have to be able to put everything into words, when they seem to be running out of them. God, how in the world could Ryan have hidden that? How could he--?
Seth snorts, a sad and frustrated sound in the back of his throat. They’ve known each other for so very long so Seth should have known something when Ryan kept going places and wouldn't tell Seth, no matter how much he pushed. Though he didn't push much, but—
Fuck.
A hard shake of his head, nothing but anger inside him. Anger at himself, for not noticing, at fate for being so unfair to Ryan, at Dawn for not choosing bed partners better, at the very air he breathes and the muscles in his corneas that work--
The apartment door opens harshly and is slammed closed. Seth looks up, watching Ryan throw his messenger bag on top of the kitchen counter before pausing by the island that divides the kitchen and the living room. Seth notices the way Ryan stands up, shoulders slumped slightly, left hand gripping tightly the edge of the island as his right one pinches the bridge of his nose.
Not only a headache, Seth can see as he stands up, letting the book on his lap fall down onto the couch, but also his eyes, the way Ryan's holding onto that island as if for dear life. Can't see anything, probably, vertigo maybe, if things are too bad.
Seth rushes to Ryan's side, catching Ryan by the elbow before Ryan pulls away with a grimace.
"Ryan--"
"Don't touch me."
Seth gasps, as if burned. "Ryan?"
"Don't you fucking touch me," Ryan hisses through his teeth, taking a step past Seth and into the living room. But his feet touch the edge of the carpet and it might have been the change in his footing, Seth doesn't know, but Ryan stumbles forward, hand trying to catch his fall. His hand falls onto the back of the couch, where Seth had placed three books when he walked in and they fall to the floor, over his backpack, and something inside shatters in the silent room.
"Ryan, damn it," Seth says, trying to get a hold of Ryan but Ryan shakes his head, taking another step away from Seth, and Ryan's eyes must not have gotten used to the change of light yet because he can hear the loud crack of Ryan's shin against the center table.
"Fuck--"
Seth watches with pain and fear as Ryan tries to take another step back, around, anywhere, and hits the edge of the armchair. Seth can feel despair taking hold of him, tears in his eyes, and he reaches forward with more conviction this time, holding onto Ryan's arm so tight he must be leaving bruises. "Ryan, please--"
"Let go of me!"
"Ryan--"
"Leave me the fuck alone!"
"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself."
But it doesn't matter what Seth says because Ryan still wants to get away from him, not giving his eyes the time to adjust and Seth fears this time Ryan might get really hurt, so he places both hands on Ryan's forearms and holds on with everything he has.
Ryan pants, breathing harshly, and after a moment he shakes his head and Seth waits only a second before letting him go. This time, when Ryan takes a step, it's slow and controlled, and it seems his eyes have finally adjusted, because he sits down heavily on the couch without hurting himself in the process.
"What happened?" Seth asks, his head tilted to the side, his eyes following Ryan's every move.
"I'm fine."
Seth snorts, and if it hadn't been for little display of less than controlled nature that Ryan always seems to exude, Seth might have believed him. "Right, sure, and you just forgot your way around the apartment because it's fun? Right. Whatever, just tell me what happened?"
"Nothing."
"Damn it, Ryan." He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, and he opens them, he notices the way Ryan's looking out the window and to the sky, darkening slowly as the sun starts setting. No wonder the change in light in the darkening hallway to the bright living room, at least until a minute ago, totally threw Ryan off.
He reaches out slowly, making sure Ryan knows he's going to be touched, and then his heart forgets how to beat in his chest for a moment when he remembers that Ryan's slowly losing peripheral vision. Ryan wouldn't know Seth's hand is close to his shoulder, unless Seth was standing right in front of him.
"Ryan," Seth can only whisper, and he believes Ryan knows him enough to see this coming. When his hand does touch Ryan's shoulder, Ryan only stiffens under his touch for a moment before the muscle relaxes.
They don't say anything, Seth too afraid to break the spell, but then Ryan breathes in loudly and Seth lets his hand drop and thinks, well, this is as good a cue as he's ever going to get.
"Talk to me."
"I broke a pictometer."
"A what?" Seth blinks, more confused than before. He goes over Ryan's schedule quickly in his head and remembers he had Mechanic of Soils lab just four hours ago. He wanted to pick Ryan up, but Ryan refused, said he could take a cab because Seth was supposed to be doing his paper. Oh, fuck. "What is that? How--?"
"It's this glass thing that you put soil in, for it to sediment." Ryan sighs, shaking his head once. "I broke it against a hydrometer, which, of course, also fucking broke."
"Okay, okay. But how did you--?"
"I didn't see Charles coming around." Ryan says with a grimace, an anger and frustration in his face that Seth isn't sure he's ever seen before. "I didn't see him."
"Oh, Ryan--"
Ryan pulls away, not moving from the couch, but jerking his right arm away, as if certain Seth was going to touch him again. Well, he was, Seth sighs, watching Ryan turn his face away from him.
"Ryan--"
"Don't. Just--" Ryan shakes his head once, a hard shake and his lips are pressed even tighter against one another. "Just don't."
Seth nods, though he doesn't know if Ryan can see him, or wants to see him, so he just sits there, next to Ryan, not saying anything -- which really, really costs him -- and not touching him, which turns out to take more out of Seth than he would have thought possible. He just sits, and figures, when Ryan wants to talk about it -- fat chance but one can't lose hope -- then he's going to be right here, sitting, waiting. He's going to be right here, no matter how long it freaking takes.
The last rays of light go away slowly, around them, and it's Seth the one who stands up from the couch to see what they can have for dinner, which is pretty much nothing. He orders Thai takeout, because he knows Ryan likes Thai and right now Ryan's not about to agree or disagree. It's only when he has finished the two chapters of the book he was supposed to be reading while waiting for Ryan to arrive, paid the delivery guy and putting the containers in the kitchen island that Ryan stands up slowly, almost doubtfully. Seth has to bite down on his lower lip to not to go to Ryan's side and help.
He can do it, Seth tells himself. He can do it. He has lived here for two years and not once have they moved anything mom put in here after the summer of 2007. Ryan knows his way around this place with his eyes closed and the lights off, so he doesn't need my help.
And if he does, well, Seth can always rush to his side as fast as humanly possible.
Ryan stands up almost wobbly, but once he's moved away from the couch and he turns around, he makes his way to the kitchen with certainty, not once doubting himself, and Seth's certain his eyes are feeling better now. They sit at the table, Seth not hungry but knowing he has to eat, and watches Ryan from the corner of his eyes, only pushing his food around the plate.
"I didn't see him."
It's Ryan who breaks the silence, and that surprises Seth the most. Not the words, the admission, but that Ryan is actually volunteering personal information.
Ryan lifts his eyes from his plate and when he meets Seth, for a moment, a second, it feels like Ryan's not looking at him but past him, through him. But then the second is gone and the coldness around him seeps into the air, like condensing breath, and Ryan looks right at him.
He shrugs, slowly, tiredly. "I didn't see him."
Seth holds on his breath, worried that if he so much as sighs, Ryan might not say another word.
"I was drawing the air out of the pictometer, and just swirling it for the thing to work, and when I'm done I turn around--" Ryan pauses, eyes narrowing, darkening. "I just turned around and then Charles was there and we crashed against one another and then both pictometer and the hydrometer he was holding fell down." He shrugs, his voice low. "It was my fault, I know. I should have-- I should have been able to see him." Another pause, in which Ryan glances at Seth for only a second before looking down at his hands. "I told him not to worry, I'd pay for them both. I didn't want him making a big scene, I just wanted--"
And Seth can hear the words not said there, right there.
I just wanted to forget it happened. I didn't want him to wonder why I didn't see him. I didn't want him to know. I didn't want everyone to know.
There's silence there, thick and heavy around them, until finally, Ryan sighs, his voice so low, Seth can barely hear him. In his mind, Seth completes the half heard sounds and translates them into words. "I didn't see him."
Seth doesn't know what to say to that. What does one say to that? "How bad is it now?"
Ryan doesn't answer for a moment, a long and almost heavy moment, before he sighs and whispers, "bad."
"How bad?"
Ryan grimaces, a shake of his head, before his voice lowers even more. "I can't see my shoulders anymore."
Seth can't help but close his eyes before turning to look at Ryan not looking at his plate, but down at his hands, as if pained. "We have to go to that ophthalmologist of yours." His voice sounds rough, too deep, and he clears his throat. "We have to talk with her--"
"I'm gonna call her tomorrow."
It’s the right thing to say but there's a tangible exasperation to the reality Ryan has to face now. He's agreeing, Seth knows, because he doesn't have any other choice.
Seth wants to ask Ryan about telling the parents, about maybe just calling them and telling them or asking them to fly here and telling them. But he falls quiet because he knows Ryan, and he knows Ryan doesn't deal well with pressure, or expectations. Last time they tried to help him cope with something -- summer of 2006, graduation night, Marissa, the car -- Ryan ended up leaving the house and taking a beating for pleasure, so Seth's not going to risk that now.
And Seth knows Ryan, knows him enough to go all detective on him, and he keeps coming up with the same answer. And it doesn't make sense, and he's supposed to be the one that doesn't make sense, not Ryan. So he doesn't know why it feels like Ryan's pretending everything is fine as long as they don't tell the parents. It makes no sense, because things aren't fine and not telling them isn't going to help that.
But this is Ryan, and Seth has learned when to keep his mouth shut when it comes down to Ryan.
A pause, a breath, and Seth wonders when it's safe to say this, and realizes it might never be. "I want to go with you."
Ryan looks up at that, eyes blinking and Seth can see the ocean in them, can see Ryan laughing, head thrown back against the base of the couch when they used to sit on the floor; he can see Ryan on the catamaran, propped up by his hands, grinning; he can see Ryan in the chair in his small desk in his bedroom, a shake of his head; he can see Ryan on his bike, Seth on his skateboard, making their way down the pier; he can see Ryan, and he can't help but wonder if Ryan can see him.
"I really want to go with you." Seth's voice is thick and low, and he's certain he can hear the tears in his tone.
Ryan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's tired beyond words, beyond understanding. He's so tired Seth wonders if it's something that one can move past, that can be slept off, that can be forgotten.
"Okay," Ryan says with a finality that Seth feels in his very bones.
"Okay."
They don't talk about it after that.
A week later, they've already gone to see Dr. McKay -- it's progressing faster than I had anticipated -- and that day Ryan arrived home to lock himself in his bedroom, he keeps on pretending he can do this, he can deal with this. He can handle it.
He grits his teeth as he walks out of Mechanics of Fluids, hands tight around the strap of his satchel. Tatiana's with him, shoulder against his, and it's her hand on his forearm that stops him before taking a step back until he can feel the wall against his back.
"Hey, what are you doing right now?"
His eyes sting and he can feel the beginnings of a headache in between his eyebrows. He can't see shit, not for a second, and there's a bubble of panic in his throat that doesn't make it way to his mouth out of sheer will.
"Nothing," he says with as much control as he can manage. Seth has a late class, otherwise he'd be here, picking him up, driving him home. "I was just--"
"You were just going to come with me to look for Eve's birthday present, right?"
Ryan blinks. Eve? Birthday. Right. Ryan's own birthday was last week, fell on a Thursday. Everyone wanted to go out, do something, but all Ryan wanted was to hide in his house, sit on the couch, Seth by his side, play a few games while they still can. They were supposed to go to see the parents that week, and as much as Ryan would have liked -- they are the Cohens, the Cohens, the Cohens -- he didn't think he could face Kirsten and not tell her, not let it all show in his face. So he didn't. He said he had papers to give in Monday morning, tests for which to study. They understood, of course, because that's how they are, and it hurt Ryan even more for lying to them.
It's only Tuesday and Eve's birthday is this Saturday, 28th, but spring break starts on Friday, so she'll end up spending her birthday with Barbara and Claire and Emily at wherever it is they are going, truth be told. He should at least get her something.
"What are you getting her?"
He turns to look at Tatiana, his eyes blinking and he can see the shadows her silhouette casts. He takes in a deep breath and blinks again and his eyes adjust slowly and he can see her smile, her hand around his forearm and pulling him down the hallway. "Well, I'm sure we can find her something cool."
Tatiana doesn't believe in buying anything that won't make the person bounce with happiness. Maybe that’s the reason why Ryan now owns a first edition Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, Volume I, by Edgar Allan Poe, of 1940, which contains "The Fall of the House of Usher". He doesn't even want to know how much it cost, even though he knows Tatiana has no problem spending Patrick's money. "My money, his money, our money. We're practically married," she says. Still, it's a first edition. He wonders if it should be in a museum or something.
He likes his present, but it can't stop being bittersweet thinking about it now. He wonders if he'll be able to finish it before... before. If he'll manage a second read. If he'll get a third one. He wonders when it will all come tumbling down around him and the book will be nothing but silent printings in a page that he can't read, can't find with his fingers, and it makes his throat ache and his chest cold, but this is him now, this is his reality, and he has to live with that.
They walk down the aisles of the bookshop -- apparently, Tatiana has a thing for giving people books -- and Ryan tries to remember if he ever heard Eve mention a favorite author.
He can feel the headache pounding in between his temples, the bright light of the bookshop hurting his eyes. He leans against one of the long wooden shelves, closing his eyes tight, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opens them, something crystal clear and translucent catches his eyes. He frowns, making his way down the aisle to the small table where a chess set sits. The chess set is amazing, of course, crystal clear and cut as a diamond, but it's the hourglass that seems to draw his attention.
The base and the top are made of crystal as well, and he reaches with a tentative hand, but stops himself before touching it. This is an antique and collectibles place, maybe from where Tatiana bought his own gift, and he can almost see how expensive this thing must be.
"Do you like it?"
He looks over his shoulder, a young lady, smiling at him. He nods. "Yeah." He has no idea why, he's not the one to buy things just for the hell of it, but he wants this piece of time in his hands, sands through his fingers. "How much?"
"Oh, one hundred and eighty five dollars. It's from the early nineteen hundreds. It's made from one blow of crystal, cut with--"
But he doesn't care about it, he doesn't care about its history at all. He picks it up, feeling it feeble and resilient in his hands at the same time, nothing but time in his fingers. He swallows past the tightness in his throat and nods. "I'll take it," he says, holding it in his left hand while he reaches for his wallet with his right one.
"We'll give you an authenticity certificate."
"Yeah, sure." Whatever. He looks at it once again before pulling out his Platinum AmEx. "Could you put it in a box? I wouldn't want it to--"
"Of course, sir, no problem."
He smiles at the girl before a hand falls on his shoulder. Not Seth by a long shot. He turns to look at Tatiana, grinning from ear to ear. "What did you find?" Ryan asks, with a smile on his face.
She bounces on her feet, showing him a leather book on her hands. "Emily Dickinson. Selected Poems. Second edition, but it's in perfect condition and freaking amazing, really. 1924." She shrugs. "Eve has a thing for poetry."
Ryan nods. "Joint present?"
"Sure. I'll tell the woman to wrap it up."
By the time Seth arrives, Ryan's already made stir fry, not really in the mood for more than a quick something. He places the plates on the kitchen table, and they sit to eat almost silently before Seth starts talking about the book he has to read for British Author's class and Ryan mentions that Tatiana and him went to get Eve something for her birthday.
Ryan jerks his head in direction of the bookcase in the den, the crystal hourglass sitting in between two silver frames.
Seth frowns, standing up and making his way to the den. Ryan watches him with tired eyes, something tight in his throat. He won't understand, he thinks, he won't understand. He'll mock. He'll think I'm depressed. He'll read too much into it or not enough. He'll--
"Hourglass?"
Ryan nods. He doesn't know how to explain, doesn't even know if there's an explanation for him spending almost two hundred bucks in a piece of crystal, but God, he needed to have it. He needed something he can't even put into words.
"I just... I don't know." Ryan shrugs, looking down at his plate, suddenly not hungry anymore. He swallows.
I'm running out of time, Seth, Ryan thinks, and this goes to show you just how little I have.
He sighs, looking up at Seth. Seth, who turns it around in his hand, placing it on the bookshelves once again, the sand making its way down the small neck of the hourglass. Time passing by that Ryan will not get back, that will be forgotten, that keeps ticking by with no respect for the fact that he's slowly going blind. And everything changes, yet everything stays the same, and his hands shake even as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
"It's nice."
Ryan nods, eyes still closed. He hears Seth take his seat once again, pick his fork and scratch the plate as he takes a mouthful. He can hear Seth breathing, not picking up the conversation anymore. He can hear him reaching for the glass of orange juice. He can hear--
And that's all he can do, hear, that's all he'll be able to do soon enough. Hear and feel and taste and smell, but see, fuck, see--
Ryan blinks, slowly opening his eyes, and Seth's looking back at him, something deep in his eyes, words that don't make their way to Seth's lips but end in the mind, in brown eyes that speak so loud Ryan can almost hear him. He used to read so much in those eyes, and how will he read them now? Later, will he hear them? Could he hear them when all Seth says is carved in muscle and sinew and brown and shades in between? Ryan used to translate everything that was never said into a language he knew by heart. He used to know another language, Seth's language in his eyes, and now he's run out of words.
I can't read you, Seth, he hears the words in his mind, wonders if they make their way to his eyes, if they are carved in blue as clear as he used to see them in brown. Wonders how much he's showing on his face and how much he should conceal.
Seth reaches for Ryan's hand, takes it in his for a moment before squeezing softly, tenderly, lovingly, and Ryan can read another set of words in Seth's touch, and thinks maybe, maybe, the transition won't hurt physically, if Ryan can read Seth by touch alone.
It's the hectic movement of people, the loud talk in the large space that is the airport, that makes Ryan feel a little bit edgy. It's Friday night of March 27th, the end of the week before spring break. Every single student has plans for the following week that includes a beach, tons of girls or boys, drinking until one of them, or all of them, passes out, and relaxing. For Ryan and Seth, the week brings nothing but uneasiness.
There are no harsh changes in light once he's inside, but Seth stays close by, his elbow touching Ryan's every other step they take. They check their luggage, and half an hour later, their flight is being called. Five people in the queue, giving in their tickets, and Ryan can feel his hands starting to damp and something in the back of his neck, something cold and holding onto his throat in an iron grip.
He breathes in, slow and deeply, but it's not enough. His eyes play games with him, and everything around him dims for a second. The signs all around the airport are nothing more than the colors they have in the background. He can't see the words anymore, and it's like when he was in school and words were nothing but a blur of black that had no meaning. All the colors around him are dull, the person before him is nothing more than brown over a splotch of blue that Ryan's certain is a coat.
"Ryan?"
A hand on his arm, and this has turned into something of second nature in Seth apparently, to catch Ryan's attention by touching his forearm or his elbow. Ryan's grateful, though he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to voice it, but he is. He can't see over his shoulder, he can barely see his shoulders as it is. It's like he has his hands on either side of his face, covering everything around him. That's what his sight has been reduced to, nothing more than looking before him, and nothing but blackness on his sides.
"I'm fine," he breathes out.
He turns his head around, to his right, and it's only when his chin is over his shoulder that he can actually see Seth, standing there, not smiling but frowning instead in worry. Brown eyes are almost shapeless, but he can imagine them dark, darker than they usually are, and he can't see Seth's hair as separate strands of curls, but just almost black hair on his head. He can't see deeper into Seth's eyes, like he used to. He can't see Seth's feelings in those eyes, he can't see what Seth's thinking and it's like there's nothing but fear in his chest, in his body, in his soul, in his very breathing.
I can't see you, Seth. My God, I can't see you anymore.
And the words are too much, too truthful for him to bear. He can't see Seth like he used to, he can't see Seth like he did that Saturday morning in the kitchen of a large house that was so alien to him. Ryan has known this man here for six years and he can't see what Seth's thinking.
Surprising himself, maybe almost as much as he surprises Seth, he reaches out, fingers touching Seth's chin, nothing but fingertips over soft skin. He can feel Seth tensing under his touch for a second before relaxing and Ryan breathes out with Seth, their breaths mingling and becoming air together, and Ryan has to close his eyes and feel Seth under his touch.
Seth, nothing but soft skin and touch and warm and familiar. Seth, breathing over his knuckles each time he breathes out. Seth, lips still as Ryan touches them as well. Seth, letting himself be known to Ryan in this new way, and not pulling away, not refusing. Seth, being Seth, and being here, with him. Seth, touch and person and body and life under his fingers.
Ryan lifts his hand from Seth, to let go of the person that makes his world take shape, that gives him direction and sense of belonging, that gives him north and south. Still, the hand on Ryan's shoulder doesn't hesitate, doesn't abandon him as one of his senses is, but seems to hold onto him even tighter.
"Let's go," Ryan says now, his voice steady, as he turns to look at the queue before him, nothing but empty space between them and the flight attendant. Ryan can guess that she's giving them a weird look, wondering what two people their age are doing touching each other in the middle of San Francisco airport. "Let's go see the parents."
Seth squeezes his hand on Ryan's shoulder and says, "whatever you say, dude." Seth's tone is light and happy and thrilled and just a little bit scared, all in one.
Ryan can't help the sigh of relief that leaves his lungs, finding comfort in the knowledge that he can understand Seth by his voice as much as he could by sight.
Together they walk forward, to the boarding desk, to the see parents in Newport Beach.