Trying
by M. F. Luder
07. days
could you let down your hair
and be transparent for a while
just a little while
see if your human after all
honesty is a hard attribute to find
when we all want to seem like we've got it all figured out
let me be the first to say that I don't have a clue
I don't have all the answers
"Trying" -- Lifehouse
He wraps his hands around the hot cup of coffee. He sighs, leaning forward, forehead against the glass of the French doors. He sighs again, because, somewhere inside him, it feels like the right thing to do. The one thing that fits all this.
Eleven days. Eleven day since graduation. Nine days since the funeral. Eight days since breaking up with Summer. And all he has been able to think in those horrible, horrible days, is how Ryan's coping, how he could help, and how inadequate he feels each and every time he comes face to face with haunted blue eyes that speak of more sorrow Seth could ever imagine.
He sighs again, pushing himself off the glass and toward the sink. He places the cup there, hands gripping the edge tightly, and closes his eyes. He wills himself to breathe in through his mouth, let it out slowly, and tells himself that Ryan's stronger than this. Stronger than him. Stronger than Seth could ever hope to be. That loss is something Ryan is familiar with, and it hurts Seth's very soul that it is so. Something, God, Seth wishes Ryan wasn't.
The house seems haunted, in ways Seth never thought could be possible. No one speaks much, and when they do, it feels as if they are whispering, as if afraid that their voices too loud would destroy the weak balance they have seemed to achieve. Dinners are tense affairs. Ryan barely eats, those few days that Ryan can be coaxed out of the pool house Seth has taken to watching Ryan not eat. Instead he pushes the meal around in his plate. His dad doesn't push Ryan anymore. His mother tries to reach out and always seem to come up short. All of them seem to come up short.
And it had been exactly that, the darkness that seems to follow Ryan everywhere, that made Seth face the irrefutable truth that, when it came down to it, Ryan would always be first on his list. That night, the night of graduation, Seth should have wanted nothing more than to put his arms around Summer's shoulders and bring her to his chest, comfort her, whisper sweet nothings in her ear and let her know that it was okay to cry. Instead, all he knew was this incredible pain in his chest at knowing that Ryan was aching behind his unyielding demeanor and stoic face was showing. He shouldn't have wanted to comfort Ryan ten times more than he wanted to see how Summer was dealing.
In a way, it hadn't come as a surprise for Seth. Ryan was always first for Seth and his parents. Because, well, God knows that Ryan hadn't had that position within his own family. Breaking up with Summer had been easy, in the face of wanting nothing more than to stay by Ryan's side, even if all they said was nothing.
Sighing once again, he pushes away from the sink and back to the French doors. The curtains in the pool house are drawn closed and he wants nothing more than to reach out, touch Ryan's cheek, and tell him that everything will be fine. That Seth will make it okay. Stupid, really, considering Seth can neither make it alright, nor reach out.
"God," Seth groans, hitting his forehead lightly against the glass.
In a sudden, desperate rush he pushes the doors open and walks across the backyard to the pool house. He stands before the door for a second before he pulls them open.
Seth blinks at the change of light, and frowns, tilting his head to the side, as he watches Ryan sitting on the right edge of the bed, letter in his hands, head hung low. His chest seems to constrict even more, and he wonders how his heart can keep on beating.
Ryan doesn't look up. He doesn't have to. He knows Seth's here, standing here, feeling like an idiot. Seth wonders if Ryan knows just how much he's hurting for him and decides he really doesn't want to know.
Only silence greets him and after a moment's doubt, he takes a tentative step forward. Then another, and another, until he's standing against the low bed, kneecaps touching the bedspread. Ryan doesn't move so Seth tells himself that's as close to an invitation to sit down as he's going to get. He takes two more measured steps and sits down next to Ryan, their legs touching, their shoulders bumping against one another.
Seth's certain he can feel Ryan leaning slightly against him, the pressure against his left shoulder increasing, but he doesn't mention it. He barely even breathes, afraid to break the moment. Because Ryan might not be talking, but he's not pulling away either, and for Seth that's half the battle won.
After a moment, his lungs complain about the lack of oxygen and he takes a shallow breath in, afraid too much movement might scare Ryan. His gaze is fixed on his hands in his lap, afraid to look to his left should he catch a word on the paper Ryan is clutching. At times, Ryan might feel to be miles away even though he's on the other side of the room, but Seth can still know some things only by looking at Ryan. And right now, he's certain that the letter Ryan's clutching painfully is the one his mother left behind in that apartment in Chino. He doesn't know how he knows this, but he does.
And so, he sits, breathing in and out slowly, unable to see anything but his fingers clenching into fists.
Minutes tick by, and the mood around them seems to lessen, seems to relax, and the next breath Seth draws is deep and painless. The letter, he notices from his peripheral vision, is folded almost reverently, until it's nothing more than a small square that would fit in the palm of his hand.
The silence between them isn't heavy, but comfortable, and it's that very silence that allows him to finally speak. "Do you want to me leave?" He wonders if he'd leave, if Ryan asked
"No."
"Do you want to me to--?"
The question ends there, because Seth has no idea of what he could do, or not do, but sit here, next to Ryan, their shoulders and legs touching.
"Stay," Ryan whispers back after a blink of Seth's eyes, a beat of his heart.
Seth lets out a long sigh of relief and nods. "Sure. I can do that."
Later, the small square that used to be a letter not long enough to explain why a mother would leave her child behind, is placed inside the top drawer of the nightstand. Seth's certain that letter wasn't there before, hasn't been there in the three years Ryan has made this house, his home.
Silence falls over them once again, and though neither explanations nor answers are forthcoming, Seth does the one thing he knows he can do. He reaches out tentatively, taking Ryan's right hand in his own. He waits a second, a heartbeat, and intertwines their fingers together. The hand clutches his back, tightly, so hard that his hand aches for a moment, but Seth doesn't let go. He knows this is what Ryan needs, what little Seth has to offer.
Moments later, he can't tell where Ryan’s hand begins and his ends and the thought makes him smile. When he looks up from their joined hands, Ryan's looking back at him. There is no smile on his lips, not yet, but the blue eyes aren't as dark as Seth remembers them being that horrible night in the harsh light of the hospital, nor are haunted as the following days.
Things might not have been resolved, the situation might not be close to comfortable enough to be talked about, but they are on their way now. They have taken the first step, and Seth squeezes Ryan's hand in his. They both know that Seth will be with Ryan for every step following this one. No words need to be said.
Finished: September 1st. 10pm