Seth's window

by Sherry Peach (shelbecat@hotmail.com)

Summary: Seth enjoys the view from his window.

Seth likes to stand at his bedroom window and stare out at the chance of possibility.

He can see the ocean from his window, the beast with its untapped power surging and churning unsuspecting surfers and swimmers alike along the path of its choosing.  They always crash through its waves thinking they have a choice in their destination, but they don't.

They never do.

And Seth knows this.

He stands at his bedroom window and thinks of how the view from this window is so much better than the view from the last window.  The room doesn't look or feel like him; it has beige walls because he wouldn't let his mother paint them before he moved in and his tiny, single bed is dwarfed in the massive space-for-a-king-size' room.  It has a bathroom with a stand-up shower that he never uses because he likes the space the one in the outer hallway provides and the two gigantic walk-in closets hold all of Seth's clothes on one rack and five shelves but he told his mother he could 'grow into' the space.

The room screams 'GUEST BEDROOM' but he doesn't care because he didn't choose it for its color or size or facilities or storage, he chose it because it has a great view and Seth really wanted to be able to look out his window and see that view whenever he wanted.

Like he is doing now.

The sun catches the crest of a wave and he watches as the light beam is grabbed by the cerulean monster, held tight within its grasp until the force is too much to remain in peak form and it crashes against the amber sand, the brilliant yellow flicking back into invisible form as it catches Seth's eyes and he blinks.

And when his eyes open he is no longer looking at the water in the ocean, but at its separated sibling in the pool.  From his new window he can see directly onto the slate-covered deck, he can watch as his father stands by the barbeque brushing teriyaki sauce on the salmon filets they will eat for dinner and his mother sits at the table pretending to toss a salad that he knows she bought already prepared in a plastic container.

And he can watch as Ryan exits the house and stops to talk to them both.  He can see the sun caressing Ryan's hair and watch as his whole face brightens when he smiles.  He can follow Ryan's path as he continues towards the pool house and drops his backpack on the floor inside.  He can observe Ryan stop to check the answering machine connected to his separate phone line and track his movements as he kicks off his shoes and hurries up the steps to the bathroom.

From his new window he can see an entirely new side of the Cohen house.

From his new window he can see the side that has the chance of possibility.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Ryan!  Dude!"

Plumes of sand rose up from Seth's heels, his actions churning a path through the shifting floor as he hurried away across the beach, his body half turned in anticipation of the catch he had to make.

"I'm open, I'm open. Throw it!"

Ryan's arm reached back behind his shoulder, gripping the Frisbee just perfectly between his thumb and finger before cocking his wrist and flinging the whole contraption forward, the disc released just at the perfect moment to soar through the air towards Seth.

"Oh, oh, oh!"

Seth stumbled as he moved into position, darting left and then right as his feet slipped beneath him and he commanded the sand to obey and not let him look like a complete idiot where even this simple physical task was required.

His arms stretched upwards, his back arching as he leapt from his feet and chased the disc through it's final inches, fingers colliding with plastic for a brief, breathless second before the idea of actually gripping it avoided his brain and he fell, hard, back into the sand while the Frisbee continued it's trek, finally stopping, half-buried in the sand at least 20 feet beyond him.

"You… you o-o-okay?"

Seth was vaguely aware that the sound coming from Ryan's mouth was laughter but he was yet unsure as to what he could possibly find so funny about the situation.

Then he opened his mouth to speak and a wave of sand spewed forth.

"Ugh, oh, yuck, spsst."  Seth spat the grains off his tongue, the action pointless as more shifted in to take their place.  "Fwees ike san-pwaper."  He stuck his tongue out to show off the mess he had created, frowning at Ryan's side-spitting laughter before raising his hand to his mouth and finding the entire thing, teeth and all, completed coated.

Then he laughed.

"Sstop," he slurred as he crawled to his feet, pushing Ryan lightly on the arm as he wiped away some of the sand with his hand.  "Or awt weast get wawer."

"What now?" Ryan cocked a hand to his ear as he pretended not to understand.  "You want `wawer'?  Hmm, can't help you friend.  All's I got is this handy Gatorade."  He opened the bottle to take a large swig, spitting it out on the sand when Seth grabbed after it.

His move took Ryan by surprise but the relative puney-ness of Seth's boney arms was no match for Ryan's muscular form and he avoided the attack easily, spinning away, bottle in hand to continue chuckling deeply.

Seth frowned at his movement, paused for a minute, then leapt as hard as could into a flying tackle.

Ryan didn't even blink, grabbing Seth's wrists mid-flight as he spun away, taking the boy flying with him into a sprawled heap on the sand.

Ryan panted as he came to a stop on his knees, on leg on either side of Seth who had received another face full of sand and was now lying on his back futilely trying to rescue his mouth from the Sahara.

"You about done?"

Ryan was looking down at him like an amused parent, his face twisted into a wry smile as he teased the smaller boy with his eyes.

Seth shook his head, sand spraying outwards from the action.  His groin pulsed where it lay inches from Ryan's leg, his hips heating up from the touch of Ryan's knees.  On either side of his head, Ryan's hands were buried wrist deep in the sand and Seth wanted nothing more than to reach up and bring Ryan's shoulders down to his.

But he didn't.

Instead, he watched, frozen, as Ryan leaned down all on his own accord, stopping inches from Seth's mouth to smile.

"You know what I just realized?"

Seth shook his head, eyes wide as he lost himself in the cobalt sea of Ryan's gaze.  Sand slid into the back of his throat, the urge to cough choking him.  He fought it off; he fought off every urge that was surging through his body.  The hardest was the one where he grabbed Ryan's shoulders and did a spectacular somersault through the air until Ryan was the one lying pinned and it was he who had the advantage.

He blinked quickly as he realized Ryan was still hovering above him, taunting him with the corner of his drawn lip.  Then Ryan moved and Seth swore he was on the verge of exploding.

Ryan's breath scraped the side of Seth's cheek as he chased a path to his ear.  His voice burned into Seth's brain as he whispered, "Full contact Frisbee has definite possibilities."

Then he was gone, leaping to his feet to retrieve the Frisbee from the sand, turning to toss it up the beach to where Luke waited impatiently.

Still lying on his back, Seth opened the bottle of Gatorade Ryan had left beside him.  One mouthful, two, three, he spit the last of the sand onto the ground before finally taking a long drink.  Ryan was running past him then, muscular legs churning through the sand as he and Luke played a much better matched game of one-on-one.

And Seth was happy to be left out, the bulge in his pants was hid only by his left leg cocked into the air and from this viewpoint he could watch every curve in Ryan's body as he chased the Frisbee, jumping, falling, and even sometimes flying in pursuit of the elusive goal.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sometimes when Seth lies in his tiny bed next to his new window, he thinks about what the view outside used to look like and closes his eyes to imagine himself back in the blue room with the window over his desk that always made it impossible to look through and which peered directly into a cluster of trees hiding Marissa Cooper's house from peeping-tom-teenage-boy eyes.

He can see the leaves shimmering in the moonlight, the glowing beams gracing everything they touch with silvery magic.  He pictures the swatch of illuminated carpet on his floor, the reflection of the outside light on the silver desk lamp near his computer.  His thoughts flow easily out of the window and around the house to the deck as it once was, only one inflatable pool chair bobbing on miniscule ripples, the pair of scuffed boots stained with mud from a walk on the beach that afternoon missing from the spot they are supposed to lie in outside the glass doors.  The pool house is dark, as it should be at this hour, but there is more than the absence of light from its interior, there is the absence of life.

In this view of the world, Ryan does not live beneath Seth's window and no matter how hard he imagines he cannot transport him into the image.

Then Seth always sits straight up in bed and, panting, has to walk to the window to verify that the view isn't the same as it used to be; that far below in the glass-enclosed room that is supposed to be for guests and Aunt Hailey when she is on a particularly bad bender, Ryan lies on his back, breathing the deep slumber of one who is at home in this place.  He is dreaming about flying and riding and of one day owning a motorcycle that he will drive across the country, he is living and loving and making his place in the view from Seth's window and it is only then, when Seth is sure that his chances still lie within the realm of possibility, that he can crawl back into his bed and sleep.

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