Disclaimer: I own nada.

He felt a weight settle down at the foot of the bed and figured that it must have been Seth come to try to get him out of the poolhouse for the upteenth time. Sighing, he began, "Seth, not now, okay? I just-'" and apruptly stopped when he realized he had the wrong brunette.

"Oh. I... oh." He wanted to muster a greeting but couldn't seem to find the appropriate way to say it. Instead, he stuck with his near incomprehensible muffles.

"Mm," she said in response, kicking off her shoes and shimmying up the bed beside him. When he finally cast her a good, long look, he realized for the first time in the past three years, Summer Roberts looked like shit.

Eye makeup smudged everywhere and heavy, dark rings were imbedded underneath her eyes. Lips dry and chapped - Ryan subconsciously licked his own - and face sullen, sunken in. In fact, she looked thinner which was near frightening considering how thin she generally was. If this kept up, she'd be near skeletal. Hair that was usually impeccably cut and styled was long, fringy and messy. Thrown into a careless ponytail that had been pulled up within a moment.

That was the look of a broken woman.

Ryan should now- if he looked in the mirror, he was thinner, shaggier with weary eyes as well. That's why her look didn't shock him much. It was to be expected after all. She'd lost her best friend.

Summer reached for his blanket and lazily pulled it up, letting it settle ontop of her, obscuring her ancient, baggy sweatsuit. She was completely stiff. Body streamlined, arms straight against herself.

Like Marissa, laying in her coffin.

Marissa, the girl that once had been the most promising girl at Harbor.

Marissa. All either could think about and these thoughts left a hollow silence lingering through the air. Finally, Summer broke it.

"Still think she's coming back sometimes. I know she's not." There came the inevitable tears that were so sickeningly familiar since it had happened. "I saw her... but it's almost too hard to believe that two weeks ago, I was hugging her goodbye, thinking I'd see her in a year and talk to her in a day."

Sympathy stained his eyes. It was the look, he knew, that everyone gave him all the time. Everytime he walked by, there was the look. Sympathy.

"And now..." Sobs caught her throat and her hand snaked out, squeezing Ryan's tightly, letting him know she was unable to go on.

"I know," he said awkwardly, trying to be as comforting as he could. "It doesn't seem fair."

"Doesn't seem fair?" she repeated, once she could speak again. "It isn't fair. She was only eighteen... she had everything to look forward to. Ryan, she died in your arms. Why aren't you more upset?"

His way of dealing with this had been to not deal with it at all. To block out all thoughts, all signals from his mind and simply sit or lay or sleep or whatever. Click off his brain and stop thinking, stop dealing, just ... stop.

"I'm upset," he said quietly.

"Are you?" Her voice sounded sharp. "You don't look it."

Like she knew a thing. "I feel it." Voice had dropped several more octives and had reached a point where it was barely detectable. "Every fucking second of every day."

"Then show it! Marissa is dead, Ryan. She's DEAD. There's no one to impress with your oh-so-macho hardcoreness or whatever you're trying to pull. No one is going to judge you or think less of you. There's no way you're trying to be strong for us. Marissa is dead. And now we're all dying with her so just show what you're feeling for once in your goddamn life!"

Silence.

"You're hopeless." Disgust tangled in her voice.

He got up abruptly, turning so he was nearly on her.

Suck in breath. Fear? Had she pushed Ryan's buttons enough?

"Don't sleep. Barely talk. God knows how long it's been since I've eaten. Haven't stepped out of the poolhouse in days. Stop trying to get mad at me too feel better about yourself, Summer."

"What? That's not it at all."

"If you're mad at me, you don't have to be mad at Marissa."

He had a lot of nerve. "Why the hell would I be mad at Marissa? She's dead!" She'd said it several times already but it never got easier.

"You just said it."

Too much nerve. He was chockfull with stupid things to say. Why did she come here anyway? Closure, or something?

"As if."

Ryan was helping. Ryan wasn't helping. Nothing was working anymore because Marissa was dead and it all just seemed like some goddamn bad dream that she'd wake up from but not in Ryan's bed, like she was right now.

"Summer..."

"Jack ass!"

Eyes were going blurry, throat closing up. Oh, God. And the tears came once more. They never left, even when she was trying to be a hard ass. Ryan had a lot of nerve, going around assuming. But Ryan was right. Was it right to blame Marissa for being dead?

"Come here." His voice is calm, almost too soothing. She felt herself being lured into the security of his arms and when they draped around her, it was like a warm blanket. And then she choked. On her grief, on her anger, on everything she felt and she cried and cried and screamed and started to pull off Ryan's shirt.

"Summer?" Such question. She was easily the hottest thing in the town- why deny her?

(Because you're dating Seth?)

... And you're so damn "Vulnerable. This wouldn't be right." Maybe. But... he wanted it- she could feel it. She knew it. Knew that he didn't love her, would never love her in that way and she didn't love him either. But she wanted an escape, no matter how temporary. Wanted to do something wrong and sinful and dwell over that instead to at least fill that dull, dull void that had existed ever since she heard about Marissa. Wanted to create a mountain of fucking mistakes so all night long she could cry about those instead of over her best friend and she wanted to be so illogical, so deliriously fucked up beyond repair so she'd just never have to think again and reach a point where she wouldn't have to cry.

Wanted to be a living hypocrite and party all night and get high and drunk and pretend it was tenth grade all over again. Screw Brown, screw Seth. Screw Marissa for dying and just screw so she could concentrate on something else.

"I don't care." She attempted to lift his shirt again but he stopped her. What was she doing? She was going insane. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her words. Marissa had left her broken. Now she was lost... but this was not the way to find herself.

"I do. Summer, go find Seth."

"I don't wan't Seth!" She was hysterical again, her voice raising to an unnaturally shrill level. "Ryan, please..." She was trying so hard to maintain her seductive tone but now she sounded the grand total of ten and her voice was so desperate it made her heart ache.

"Summer, think clearly."

"I don't want to." Voice raspy, chest heaving, eyes flooding with tears.

"It won't bring Marissa back."

That cut. Like a knife. Cold and hard and final. "It's not fair," she whispered again, collapsing against his chest, soaking his wifebeater. A broken woman falling, crying. A broken woman almost beyond repair.

"I know." He stroked her hair, eyes falling idly on the ceiling. This was all so unreal. But Summer had been wrong- he couldn't let down pretenses. Couldn't cry. Marissa was dead. Summer was dying. Everyone, including her, including him, were lost in a psychotic haze. But he had to keep his head, had to keep it as strong as he could muster. Because if he collapsed, among the rest of them, neither of them could ever go back to a point of return.

Strength.

Stop thinking. Stop feeling. But he had to keep it together and cradle the fragments of the person left in his arms.

All he could do.