you can zing your arrow into my buttocks any time. (bluesunsets) wrote in depthsoffire,
you can zing your arrow into my buttocks any time.

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fic: why can't we just fall in the sea?

title. why can’t we just fall in the sea? (aka. five moments shared between ryan atwood and summer roberts that lead to the end.)
fandom. the oc.
pairing/character. ryan. summer. | ryan/summer. seth/summer.
spoilers/warnings. post-season five.
disclaimer. not mine.
word count. 1492.
rating. g.
written for. pretty_stickersround six. | prompts (the quotes) are underneath the cut.
summary. he kind of comes back for her. five moments that try to raise the past; raising the dead has never been successfully done outside of the zombie movies — and you’ve got to admit that even those are unsuccessful.
notes. just note that this kind of sprouts off something au (a ryan/summer previous relationship). downloadable music included. feedback is ♥.

o1. when a person gets kissed for the first time, they fall down and they don’t get up for at least an hour.
He kind of comes back for her.

He gives it a day, though; he’s got to make sure Google’s up to par and that she’s here, Newport instead of Berkley. So he finds a place that’s almost like a second pool house to him with a shadow of a ghost that used to claim it as ‘her space’ and he sits there, in front of the lifeguard door that isn’t locked and the beach is deserted.

It shouldn’t surprise him that she finds him there. An hour and forty five minutes; her hands are in her pockets as she slowly ascends the ramp towards his seated figure. She sits next to him, close and shoulders pressed together like the waves hitting the sand, “Atwood,” he hears the smile in her voice, “did you forget you had a phone?”

A faint grin hits his lips, “Kind of didn’t know if you had one,” he hits back, and she smiles, smacks his shoulder. There’s been a few articles about her (and Che, but he kind of tunes the guy out with all his leaf smelling quotes) and she’s Summer Roberts, the known activist who doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer; he knew she’d never use it as a response in regards to a cell phone.

“Stop being so stereotypical,” she laughs. Summer looks at the waves, the moon’s highlighting the calm ripple effects and there’s a small breeze that almost unsettles the slow waves as it rests on the sand. “How is Flapjacks?”

He grins, hand finds its way at his neck, “He’s great,” and she’s smiling, “been kissed for the first time.”

“Is he okay?”

He nods, “He fell down for about an hour, though.”

o2. one way is to take the girl out to eat. make sure its something she likes to eat. french fries usually works for me.
Ryan remembers a piece of advice Sandy had once given him; seventeen and completely oblivious as to where to take a girl out for lunch, French fries had been the answer.

He calls Summer a day after he arrives, and they’re at the Bait Shop, a plate of French fries sitting in between them and an awkward slice of tension simmers in the air. She’s rubbing her hands, her fingers hidden and she’s looking down quite a bit; he tries not to blink, there’s a feeling in his feet and he’s kind of accustomed to this — young workers quitting on him because they’ve got something ‘better’ to do than build a future and some sort of financial backbone. “Are you okay, Summer?” he finally asks.

She swallows, doesn’t touch her fries, and she rubs her fingers. With a sigh, “No, Ryan,” she keeps looking down, doesn’t risk to glance in his direction, and she doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t question her, doesn’t really give himself the chance because the answer is sort of sparkling right in front of him as her hand leaves her lap and there’s something silver and round glinting off one of her fingers as she reaches for a fry.

He can’t stop looking at the ring. “Seth?” he manages to wrap his tongue around it. She keeps her eyes down; there’s his answer. He should’ve known; they’re Seth and Summer and there’s no room for anything else. Time apart can’t change the fates, not even a piece of advice about taking a girl out to have French fries and she’ll instantly fall for you, forget everything else, and you’ll end up as the Sandy and Kirsten Cohen of your generation.

Maybe that doesn’t work for people like him — or anyone. Plans like these don’t simply work.

Proof: it worked for Sandy. (Jimmy and Kirsten were a meant-to-be.)

o3. love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never... never forget it.
The house at Berkley doesn’t have a pool house, and he immediately feels like a stranger (there’s no place to run). Ryan lingers in the kitchen, tries to avoid the smiles and glasses of champagne because it’s going to be way too easy to pull a Dawn Atwood with the tables set out the way that they are with white cloths and a happy couple. “Ryan,” Sandy’s grin is wide, voice loud, “you’re missing the party.”

He shrugs, “I kind of like it in here.” He looks over his shoulder, sees Seth and Summer and his arm is wrapped around her, and it’s enough to make him look away.

Sandy catches on; looks outside the window and the picture outside is almost framed by the glass. “Let me tell you something,” Sandy rests against the counter beside him, “love is as much of an object as an obsession. Everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it. Those who do will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never,” he pauses, “never forget it.” He pats Ryan on the back, grabs something from a cupboard, and he’s at the door, looks over his shoulder, “It’s nice to have you home, Ryan.”

o4. love makes the time pass. time makes love pass.
He’s too late; it comes crashing down on him like waves on sand and there’s that old metaphor again. He doesn’t really get it — doesn’t understand why his timing is always wrong and out of focus, and he’s always losing. She’s falling out of his grasp like sand sliding through the gaps of his fingers and he’s trying so desperately to control it.

She’s back at the beach, feet kicking the sand and she’s moving in an almost dance. He slowly approaches her; he’s not sure what to do and this is all been thrown to the wind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he says once she’s spotted him, face calm and the wind is cool.

She inhales, “I didn’t know how to.”

“You should’ve told me,” he squints against the sun, against the anger that’s boiling in his stomach. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling this, the acid in his limbs, because it’s not her fault. There’s always been an hourglass clocking their time together, the sand threatening to run out if he didn’t constantly keep twirling the antique on its head and starting the time again.

“I’m sorry,” she offers, a small shrug and the wind almost carries her voice away from him.

He looks down, “Did I ever have a chance?”

“I waited for you,” she says, looks out at the water and the ocean crashes in with her voice, “but one can only wait for so long before giving up.” Summer looks back at him, she’s squinting like him. The ring glares at him as she pushes her hair out of her face, the wind has turned violent and it’s hard to hear, almost hard to stand, “Love makes time pass, Ryan,” and there’s another ugly crash of water, “time makes love pass.”

o5. love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.
Chino is his armour, and he can’t find anything that’ll make him invulnerable to what’s been circled on the Cohen’s calendar with red marker in Berkley or Newport.

Ryan finds himself on her doorstep, the urge to run away is tingling in his feet and he’s pressed the doorbell when all these thoughts of escaping what’s to come thump in his head. She opens the door, he speaks mid-way through, “Hey Ryan —” with “Are you happy?”

She blinks, “What?”

“Are you happy?” He says again, his voice is shaking a little and this is completely awkward. He’s meant to be the opposite, unable to articulate his feelings and he’s usually not as bold as this. “With Seth. Are you happy?”

She looks at him, over his shoulder, and at his feet before her eyes meet his, “Yeah,” she nods, and he wants to tell himself that she’s trying to convince herself, but he feels his nose growing a little too long and his arms and legs feel a little wooden, “Yes, I am happy.”

He nods, and he should’ve expected this. “Okay,” he looks down at a pot plant by the door, “That’s all I needed to know.” He looks up at her, the confusion on her face seems forced as her eyes seem a little sad, her mouth droops at the sides and her eyes are swallowing him whole.

He takes a few steps, leans forward and presses his lips to hers, hand on her neck, and it’s like a breeze. It’s slow and it’s almost unfelt; a whisper shared between two people, and he’s pulling away, “Bye Summer,” is said against her skin and he turns away.


dido - white flag
i know you think i shouldn't still love you or tell you that.
/ i will go down with this ship and i won't put my hands up and surrender.
bloc party - waiting for the 7.18
we cling to bottles and memories of the past.
unkle bob - swans.
you tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again.
eskimo joe - from the sea.
the world repeats itself some how.

Tags: challenge: pretty_stickers, character: ryan atwood, character: summer roberts, fandom: the oc, rating: g, ship: ryan/summer
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