post for psls;

[threesecrets]

 

✞ m/m only
✞ no invitation needed

✞ feel free to just drop an idea
✞ if you wanna do adam & ronan chat me up first
✞ safeaslife#0150 or PM, at your leisure

Comments

for Kavinsky; your ghost was my first forgery

[threesecrets]

[Ever since the Forth of July, Ronan sees Kavinsky in his dreams.

He doesn't tell anyone, because it's just a dream, and he likes to pretend that makes it meaningless. But he knows it's more than that, it's the secrets whispered in the liminal spaces of his mind, the way that Kavinsky is still sharp, still knows Dreaming better than Ronan does.

He tells himself that this specter with whom he shares beer bottles of liquid gold is just the world's most fucked up psychopomp. K makes a sly comment over teeth about how fucked his mental state is, and they both grin. It's nothing to fucking worry about, and he lets his heart sing that like a song.

So Ronan doesn't tell anyone. Like he thinks this is a secret he gets to keep, something that will stay in the dark, like he can't see it's too big to hide. Sometimes he doesn't know if he comes for the dreams or for the sharp knife of a boy that seems nestled in this reflection of Cabeswater, kept in his favorite places: among the thorns.

These days it's always summer in his dreams, and his skin is hot and slick, and there's always the sense that there's something burning somewhere, like cars or molotovs. But maybe they were really the same thing. He wonders if that's just Kavinsky's eyes, the way he watches him as they stand under the trees.

They touch, sometimes. Not lips to lips- but fingers to tongue. Kavinsky passing him a pill orange as the Pig that tastes like a sunset and leaves him reeling for days/minutes/hours/no time at all. Ronan cutting open a pomegranate and feeding him the seeds one. by. one. until their hands and their mouths are red and hungry. He kneels and makes an old joke about dogs, and this time neither of them smiles. Kavinsky feeds him a dream, a whole world, makes him devour it from his hand. It's something he eats from his fingers slow- something to savor. Ronan looks into his eyes until there's nothing but this. Fingers heavy on his tongue, and Kavinsky grins as they shift into snakes: Ronan swallows this too. It tastes bitter. It tastes like bliss.

Careless fingers trace the curves of his tattoo and remind him he turned this into a dream, too. Ink and skin to the shifting potential of dreams, back again. Reality- memory- dream.

Kavinsky seems more real, more like himself, and that realization makes Ronan vibrate with a frustration he doesn't know how to say. This is different from chasing each other from stoplight to stoplight, breathing exhaust smoke, K's shitty sunglasses, and the way Ronan's brand of sentiment had been carved to a permanent fuck you. He hadn't known how to want him then, when K had still been alive. Maybe he wouldn't have died, if Ronan had.

When he wakes, he looks at himself from above, that disconcerting feeling of hovering over his bed at the Barns, with two bodies where there should be one. But he doesn't say it, doesn't make a lie of it even if the truth is damning. Near his shoulder, Kavinsky's breath feels as sure as the purr of an engine.

The dream had been so warm and heavy. They'd been warm and heavy. Like taffy and honey, syrup and soft caramels. Ronan knew he was dreaming. He was a King. Dream- memory- reality. Just like K taught him. He took his hand.]

[burnyoudown]

[Kavinsky opened his eyes. Alive. He was alive. He hadn't thought Lynch would do it. He'd thought he'd spend the rest of his existence inside of his head. Never mind how he'd gotten there in the first place; that didn't matter in the end. What mattered was that he was alive. He felt electric, lying there next to Ronan. Spending the rest of eternity inside Ronan's head wouldn't have been too bad, really; he'd felt like he'd had Ronan all to himself.

He pushed himself up onto an elbow, observing Ronan quietly. He knew that look; he'd seen Ronan wake up from dreaming more times than he could count. That in absolutely no way stopped him from rolling over to straddle Ronan, hands on his chest. His cruel mouth curled into a grin, hands creeping up to curl his fingers around Ronan's jaw.]

Don't you fucking regret this.

[He murmured before leaning down to kiss Ronan almost sweetly. Every kiss became less sweet though, more insistent, filthier, as he waited for Ronan to regain control of himself.

Part of the thrill was that Ronan couldn't stop him right now, but the other thrill was being plucked from Ronan's dreams. Clearly, he wanted Kavinsky, didn't he? Ronan was good enough at what he did that he hadn't just made a mistake. And if he had? Too fucking bad. After the things they'd shared in the dreamspace, Kavinsky wasn't going to let this opportunity pass him by. He took what he wanted or he made it himself.]

[threesecrets]

[Ronan doesn't regret it. He should, but Ronan did not always want the things that other people thought were best for him. There's been too much time, too many words, too many impossible things that passed between them in dreams until want became an ache under his skin, desire like a fever.

The only real regret is that he hasn't figured out how to unleash dreams from their dreamers yet, which ties them together as surely as Matthew. He doesn't really know what Kavinsky is: a forgery, a ghost, an echo in the ley line. He doubts he'll ever really figure it out- isn't sure Kavinsky would want him to. He rolls over and straddles Ronan's body, hands on his chest that he can feel without being able to do anything about.

He doesn't regret this. Or not yet, at least. Doesn't know if he can temper his worse urges, or even just be here to ride them with him. And he doesn't know if it's enough to keep him from wanting to burn the world.

But for the moment K is kissing him, contact that's warm and almost sweet, fingers pressed into his jaw. It takes minutes, where the other teen can shift those kisses from sweet to filthy, insistent, lust instead of just desire. And then he can move, and all he can think about is touching him. One hand coming up to curl at the back of his neck, a shiver running through him as he was suddenly an active participant.

He kissed him back, want that was like a wildfire. Not a mistake. Maybe not an entirely coherent desire, but it had been real. The way that the touched was different than in dreams. Rarely this literal, and the passage of time always strange and amorphous.]

Fuck, K-- [A curse gasped against his mouth in between kisses that almost bruise his mouth.

He should push him away, collect his thoughts until he can get his bearings. But he can taste him on his lips, feel his heartbeat against his ribs. It's almost overwhelming, the idea of having made him, or even just pulled him from a dream like this. All his best creations had been when he'd been young, when anything had been possible. But Kavinsky is real and here and vital. He's sure it's a sin, but it feels worth it. They'd shared too much for him to pull away.

At some point he'll have to explain him, and he wont have the words. But that's fine. A problem for later. Right now he had Kavinsky on top of him and his skin felt molten.]

[burnyoudown]

[There was his boy, finally back to himself. He was glad when Ronan didn't push him away; Kavinsky didn't know what he'd do with himself if he had. He didn't handle rejection very well, the Fourth of July had been clear evidence of that. He'd wanted Ronan for so long, biding his time until he'd wandered into Kavinsky's web. He could forgive him for rejecting him before. Probably. Maybe.

He wanted so much in this moment. He wanted to sink his teeth into Ronan, mark him, bury himself in him, make him his. He was used to having everything he wanted, and to have had to wait so long for this- He was almost dizzy with lust and want, he felt like he was burning up.

Rolling his hips down, he bit Ronan's bottom lip before pulling back enough to speak.]

Yeah, sweetheart? Something I can do for you?

[His tone danced the line between kind and unkind, an edge of cruelty but not as sharp as normal. It was as close as he got to tender. No one had ever taught him the gentler side of life. He knew he was a fucked up mess, and he swung wildly from accepting and embracing it to hating himself. He found he didn't hate himself in this moment, with Ronan beneath him, hands on him. He could forget about everything but the shape of Ronan's mouth, the feel of his hands.]

For Kavinsky; Mister Impossible Spoilers;

[threesecrets]

This was the other Ronan. Not a dream.

Maybe it had been the wrong choice, maybe it was why Hennessy had been able to win, to fuck the ley line. Maybe he'd been arrogant and the borders between reality and dreams had gotten too blurry. But it meant he was in Lindenmere when it happened. It was fading, but he thought it would have the power for what he needed. Whatever Hennessy had done took time to travel down the line, but it sapped its power. He didn't know what had happened to Bryde, and he couldn't do this alone. And who could he call?

When he steps into the dream it's on fire. Burning. Anything burns if you hit it hard enough. He needed someone that understood. Reality is just what other people dream for you; back then, Ronan had been the one that hadn't understood. He did now. It's a bomb, just like you-- when the molotov shapes itself into his fingers it's not really a conscious thought, it just is. This is his best shot at what he needs. Kavinsky, who had seen the truth before Ronan could face it. The other boy had wanted him, and Ronan had used him to fix Gansey's car.

His best dreams were so often memories.

"Please," he says to Lindenmere. Trying to shape his intention, what he needs, into a weapon. Like with the sundogs, except better. More honest. It has to be here, where the ley line had touched him, where Kavinsky had dreamed. The way when he'd died it had seemed like he was pulled from himself. If there was any spark of him, it was here. He layers memories on memories. A dragon made of fire, the moonlight white of a Mitsubishi, asphalt and stoplights and adrenaline races, the knife-sharp grin of a boy with white sunglasses sprawled on its hood.

"Hey," Ronan says, grinning merrily. He doesn't ask him if he still wants to burn the world; he lets the dream do the complicated talking for him, the fire in his eyes. He had to do this right. He needed Kavinsky, his only shot at being able to change the world, fix what Hennessy had ruined, make this place somewhere he could live, where people like him and Matthew could live.

"It's just us," he says, like an echo.

[burnyoudown]

Of course, he did. Death couldn't stomp out the flame burning in his chest. Kavinsky wanted what he always wanted; to be entertained. But more than that, he wanted to set fire to the corners of the world. This dream was already burning and he took a moment to appreciate it. He appreciated the flames, the fire in Ronan's eyes, the fact that they were both standing here.

He was itching, restless, desperate to bust out of the confines of the dream, but he wasn't the one with that power right now. So he held steady instead, grinning right back at Ronan. Kavinsky had wanted him before. He wanted him now. Some things didn't change and he was nothing if not a creature of habit.

"You've gotta be desperate, coming to me." But he didn't say it meanly. If anything, he was almost giddy. He'd never thought he'd see Ronan again, but here they were. Ronan looked good; a little older while Kavinsky remained the same as the memories that shaped him. That suited him just fine.

"Unless you've changed your mind." He could see that Ronan had changed his mind; it was rhetorical. Ronan had been fire before, but he'd been contained. Kavinsky'd tried to break him loose; he'd been denied. Now things were different. The dream told him as much. A lot of things were different.

[threesecrets]

"A little of both," he admits. If he was still the boy from that summer, he would have lied about it, even if he would never have admitted that he was lying. But he wouldn't have known how to admit to being this desperate, or that he'd changed enough to take back something that had seemed as obvious as it will never be you and me. Gansey was on the other side of the country, or maybe sliding down into Mexico, or on a plane heading for someplace else filled with history and old things and old trees.

Ronan was alone, right now. The idea of trying to fix the ley lines with just Bryde had been intolerable when he'd thought Hennessy was going to leave them. And she had. He knows now that he'd understood that being with just Bryde would be just like being alone. He needs to not do this alone.

He's technically only a year and a half older, but it feels like so much more than that. He feels like he had in the nightwash dream, curled in Ilidorin, greying at the temples.

"I want to change the world. I want it to be someplace we can live, and I don't care if I have to burn it down first. And no one else understands because they're not the ones the world hates." He can't do this alone. And K might be dead, but it wasn't the same as Bryde, who was fully a dream that Ronan had made himself, a response to his own needs and desires. Kavinsky at least-- it might take dreams to drag him back into the world, but he wasn't the same.

"I don't have time. If I wait too long there wont be enough energy for me to bring you through right. So- will you come with me? I need you, K." He knows there are other things he needs to say, like sorry I was a shithead that broke your heart but in the dream thoughts carry too.

He holds out his hand: like an invitation, like a promise.

[burnyoudown]

They were on a time crunch. Kavinsky was aware of it. Maybe it was part of why he was so restless, desperate to escape the dream. It might be his last chance. If he'd had all the time in the world, he might have taunted Ronan for coming to him, of all people, but he also didn't want Ronan to change his mind. He'd come to Kavinsky for a reason, something that was bigger than just the two of them. He could respect that, but even more, he appreciated that they might have to burn the world down to do it. It spoke to his primal aspect, the part of him that craved destruction.

More importantly, though, he latched onto one thing Ronan said; I need you. It meant just as much to him as the unspoken apology. He wanted to be needed, he wanted to be important. He also wouldn't like Ronan as much as he did if he wasn't some kind of an asshole. Kavinsky just didn't want him to be the kind who pushed him away again. He'd been there, done that, and he wasn't eager for a repeat performance.

He had questions, too, but he let the dream carry them instead. What happens when this is all over? Am I just a means to an end?

Closing the distance between them, he didn't hesitate before taking Ronan's hand. A dozen different sarcastic things cycled through his mind, but what he actually said was, "When do we start?" And what, he wondered vaguely, was going to happen if the ley line went down?

Dream pack shenans

[obedientdog]

[Sometimes, Skov got bored. Sometimes, hanging around with Swan and smoking didn't really cut it. Not even the worry of getting caught smoking on campus was a thrill anymore. He'd gotten over that a long time ago. Besides, no one gave a shit--at least, not the other students. No one was going to tell on him. He needed a different kind of excitement, maybe something that was chemical, maybe something that wasn't. Maybe both.

When Swan finished his cigarette and headed back into their shared dorm room, Skov stayed outside the building, leaning against the wall as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He didn't think for one minute that Ronan Lynch would willingly give him his number, which was why he'd swiped it from K's phone one drunken night. He considered things for a moment, the late afternoon/early evening sun, the fact K was having a party later that night. Mostly, he considered that he had a few hours to kill.

That done, he started typing, firing off a series of texts.]

hey
hey
r u busy?
it's skov

[He didn't know if he expected an answer or not, but it never hurt to try. If push came to shove, he could annoy almost anyone into answering him just to get him to shut up.]

ohmygosh im sorry ive meant to tag this for too long and it festered and this happened

[threesecrets]

[Things have been strange since last weekend, since Ronan realized Kavinsky had slipped a collar around his throat and he didn't mind the weight.

Some drunk asshole had been hassling Kavinsky; couldn't find his drugs or something. You drinking anything decent? Ronan had asked, stealing Skov's plastic cup and taking a drink. As if he wasn't paying attention to the red-faced idiot who was dangerously close to trying to put his hands on the boy that certainly wasn't Ronan's boyfriend -- neither of them would use the word, anyway.

Anyone that knew Ronan or had seen him around Kavinsky in the last few months, would know better. But so much of him was pretense- brittle lies he told himself. Ronan couldn't help but notice the tension, the way the other kid pushed into K's space. Taller, broad shoulders, held himself like the typical Aglionby entitled dickhead. He thought he'd been on the Crew team with Gansey, but wasn't entirely sure. Not the sort of person he thought was worth remembering.

Ronan's never really hurt someone for Kavinsky before, but he always watches when things start to escalate these days, white-knuckled and his jaw tense. Recently he simmers as fast as the other boys, as defensive as everyone but Proko, or maybe Skov when he's spoiling for a fight. But K's dream boy had raced Swan in their twin Golfs, and they were still out front of the fairground, drinking on their cars and watching the collisions. And tonight, Skov seemed more interested in the potential fireworks.

So Ronan stepped up to Kavinsky, Skov's stolen drink still in hand, close enough it looked almost carelessly intimate for a moment. Close enough to put his body between a kid with something to prove and the other Dreamer- but he only looks at K, like he's drunk enough to be oblivious. But Ronan's smile is dark and vicious, the apples of his cheeks flushed with fury and the other teen with his sharp but delicate Slavic features just smiles back.

There's a moment where they look into each others' eyes, and it says more than Ronan could ever put into words. If he's anyone's dog, it isn't Gansey's anymore. And Kavinsky doesn't see the need to keep Ronan on a leash, to pull him back from the edge. To make him play nice and civilized, retrain him as Adam had said to Blue one afternoon as he walked in Ronan's dreams.

Skov's drink is nothing but a dirty lie, a cheap excuse. The Aglinbro jostles into Ronan from sheer proximity as he pushes K, spilling whatever it was Skov had been drinking into Ronan's ripped tee-shirt. It was clumsy but colorful; something he'd spray painted with Jiang when they were particularly high one night. A spilled drink is an easy excuse for the way that Ronan pivots with a snarl, bared teeth, his fist like a spring sprung as it slams into the boy's face, bloody knuckles yielding a bloody face.

Ronan gets a few swings in before it clicks that no one is going to drag him back, click a leash around his neck, say the magic words. So the kid stumbles back, and makes the decision to leave rather than go another round. Kavinsky seems like he rides a high that isn't just chemical, and later he slowly bleeds the adrenaline from Ronan's body; pulling a different sort of prayer from devoted lips.


The next morning Ronan vanishes. He stops answering K's texts. The realization finally catches up to him, but later than for everyone else- as usual. It's not the fight the night before that hits him. Instead, it's something about the sight of his BMW parked neat next to the Mitsubishi, in a line with the Supra and the rest of Kavinsky's pack of dogs. Like he was one of them.

Ronan had never thought of himself as one of Kavinsky's pack before. He doesn't even quite know when it happened... but it dawns on him that he belongs with them more than he does back at Monmouth. Going back, juggling his two worlds, was becoming impossible- and Ronan was losing track of reasons why he wanted to try. Even if he wont say it out loud, he knows which one burns anticipation in his heart.

There's no cruelty to how Ronan disappears though, and Kavinsky knows Ronan's mercurial moods -- he'll show at the party, at least. The fact that Gansey and Adam stop by the Barns, all disappointed looks it just makes him long for it that much more. When Skov texts, Ronan still almost throws his cell into the wall, but it's more reflex than true aggravation. The fact that it only takes him a few minutes to answer is the true sign of how he feels about it.]

no
the fuck do you want anyway?

[Which is actually sort of cordial, by Ronan Lynch standards. The truth is that he's glad to see his name.]

This tag was worth the wait

[obedientdog]

[Maybe Skov had been wrong about thinking Ronan wouldn't want to hear from him. He was wrong plenty of times, after all--usually in World Hist. Maybe someday the combined power of Swan and Jiang studying with him could get him to remember the right shit. Or maybe he'd just fail out of Aglionby. He was sure that would make his family proud. They already thought he was a loser.]

u want to hang out or something?
Swan's around too
we cud have a ménage à trois

[Look at him putting his French classes to good use. Actually, he'd never been taught that in class. He'd learned it on his own. He was also joking about that part, though he might have been the only one who found it funny.]

i've got weed
or we cud do something else
break some shit

[He knew an abandoned old shop in Henrietta where one of the windows in the back wasn't boarded up as well as everyone assumed it was. But also just getting high sounded good, too. Anything that would help pass the time until K's party.]

[threesecrets]

[At least this way when Ronan fails, he'll have company -- even a matching set of disappointment.

He considers the questions. He also considers how inebriated he is -- mostly hungover, he decides. Not nearly as intoxicated as he'd been on some nights he'd driven back home, and he wasn't going to lie to use it as an excuse. Driving to Henrietta was hardly a problem for him, if arguably ill-advised.

He didn't know what he wanted.

But company sounded better than not. And weed wasn't a bad idea- a little bit, anyway, to kill the headache. Better than getting black out drunk again out of frustration with the idea of losing things. That he had to make choices, decisions. No one to take responsibility for them except himself, and that was the fucking worst thing.]

yeah count me out for spin the bottle
you two can go for it tho

but fuck
sure
bring your weed
and i guess swan too

ive got drinks and stuff

[Declan would probably punch him for this idiot idea hard enough to make his face snap- it'd be one of the rare moments when Ronan remembered he was a Lynch. But Declan was in DC, and it was Wednesday which gave him plenty of time to clean shit up before he showed up for church on Sunday. Of course, Ronan's brother scarcely needed to entertain the idea of other people being involved for Ronan to have made a wreck of things. What Declan really wanted was for Ronan to clean himself up, and that wasn't happening any time soon.

He wasn't expecting Matthew to stop by, and he wouldn't honestly be as fond of the boys as he is if he thought they'd do anything too much worse for the kid's health than Aglionby dorm life achieved already.

There's something happening here, even if Ronan isn't the sort to put a label on it or spell it out. An attempt at something. His fingers twitch and he wants to text Kavinsky, but instead he sends Skov a GPS ping for the Barns.]

idk what I'm doing /o\

[dreamedboy]

[He felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Prokopenko had moments, whole days, like this sometimes. It'd been months since his 'rebirth' and yet he still struggled with it at times. How did he know he was still the same? How did he know if he was missing anything? Missing parts of who he was? What if there was something more than the day Skov had freaked out upon seeing him eat a peanut butter sandwich, claiming Proko was allergic to peanuts? Proko had no recollection of any allergy and the peanut butter hadn't done him any harm.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was still human.

His grandmother, when he'd visited her, hadn't seemed to think he was any different, but it hadn't done much to reassure him. She knew him better than maybe his own parents did, but... things could still slip through the cracks. What if she was wrong? What if he was wrong?

The thoughts twisted around and around in his head until his stomach felt just as tangled and he desperately needed to get out of his own mind. That was how he'd come to be at a party--not one of Kavinsky's, surprisingly--doing his best to get drunk. The Fourth of July was approaching, K was neck-deep in planning for that, and Proko...was here by himself. It was a house party, thrown by an Aglionby boy, and Aglionby boys didn't usually disappoint.

Proko didn't even care how good the alcohol was; it was enough to get him drunk and that was what he needed. Except somehow, it wasn't helping. He felt worse even if his thoughts were more...all over the place. Maybe he should have gone for getting high instead. Instead of being stomach lurchingly drunk, still clutching a cup of alcohol. He probably wasn't going to throw up, but it was never a guarantee when he was drinking; he was a sloppy drunk and sometimes couldn't handle it.

He was torn between focusing on not puking and lost in thoughts about whether or not he was human or if he was still the same as before when he bumped into someone, sloshing his drink. He turned, not to apologize, but just to see who he'd walked into, when he stopped, blinking slowly.]

Lynch.

[Proko hadn't expected to see him here. He hadn't been expecting to see any familiar faces, honestly. Last he'd heard, Skov and Swan were doing whatever they did when they had time to themselves, probably fucking, and Jiang was out getting high. He wasn't friends with Ronan Lynch, not really, but he'd seen him around enough that it would've been impossible not to recognize him, even with how drunk Proko was.]

What are you doing here?

[Lame. That was lame. Proko had been told (mostly by Kavinsky) that he had a resting bitch face, but even that couldn't mask the troubled expression in his eyes. Again, he was torn. This time between being angry about what Kavinsky had told him about things that had happened, and being strangely relieved to see a familiar face.]

1 dream magic boy for a dreamer / apparently I like party starters, whoops

[horasomni]

[Raz had only been in Henrietta for a few days. He wasn't there for Aglionby; he was too old, to start with. For another, he had no money and no one to care about enrolling him. He'd already dropped out of high school at sixteen, more out of necessity than because of a dislike of learning. It was hard to go to school when you were on the run, but Virginia was across the country from California and maybe Valkyrie Productions wouldn't think to look for him this far away. Maybe he could finally stop looking over his shoulder all the time.

Barely twenty, he was a little older than most of the other people at the party he was attending, but he suffered from a babyface anyway. It would be easy for him to pass as eighteen or nineteen. The only thing he couldn't do was pretend to be a local. He was new and his West coast accent betrayed that. It didn't stop him from becoming just another face in the crowd though, accepting a pill when he was given one. He'd never done drugs in his life and nothing could have prepared him for the high.

It started off slow, easing him into it, making him feel warm and floaty and content in ways he'd never experienced before. 'Content' was foreign to him, above all else. His life had been rough and done him no favors, but he was a survivor.

By the time the high really came for him with a vengeance, he was making a fool of himself, laughing at anything that was even remotely funny. Eventually, he laughed at the wrong thing and a tall Aglionby boy got in his face, telling him to shut the fuck up. Obviously, Raz responded with make me, and the boy decked him in the face.

Though he was equally tall, Raz was skinny and not at all accustomed to fighting with his own body, so he staggered back, bounced off the side of a parked car, and hit the ground hard. His spine ached. His face ached. He inhaled some dirt from the field. Anger and adrenaline coursed through him and he unleashed his power without so much as a second thought.

From around the side of the car came low, ominous growls, nearly undetectable over the loud music. The sources followed quickly as two black dogs the size of wolves stepped into view. They looked like they were made of shadows, dripping, sinuous, lips pulled back to reveal teeth as white as their blank eyes.

The boy, who'd previously been moving to kick Raz, immediately scrambled backward. A few other people nearby realized the dogs were there and backed away too, shouting in either alarm or excitement--it was hard to tell.

Pushing himself up to his feet, Raz held onto the side of the car like he was worried he was going to get sucked off into space if he didn't--and he kind of was. Concerned, at least. He wasn't really going anywhere, but his high was still intense.]

If you know what's good for you- [He said, barely audible over the music as the dogs put themselves between him and the Aglionby boy.] -you'll leave me the fuck alone.

[He was making a scene, he knew he was. It was what had gotten him into trouble four years ago, but- he couldn't help it. He was impulsive; he acted on emotion, not logic. And besides that, he was too fucked up on whatever he'd taken to think anything was a bad idea right now.

He was still tempted, really tempted, to make an example of the guy, but decided he wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he wobbled his way through the crowd, dogs following him, to a slightly quieter part of the field. There, he leaned against the side of a BMW and sank to the ground, head in his hands. His nose was bleeding, just a little, but he was way more concerned with feeling like he was about to puke. It would be the icing on the cake though, so he was trying hard not to.]

an au idea;

[threesecrets]

[Moving into the Aglionby dorms had felt like a death sentence. And it almost is, would have been. Except that Prokopenko just saved him, helped him kill a night horror. One of Kavinsky's pack of dogs, and he hasn't exactly been pleasant to the other teen. But now he's running fingers through his curls as he paces while Proko calls Kavinsky, and all Ronan can think about is his dead father's commandment not to tell. He hasn't, not technically. But sometimes dreams spoke louder than words.

Proko meets K out in the parking lot. And then the three of them stuff the creature into the VW Golf, drive out to the fairgrounds, and they bury Ronan's nightmare.

They go to Kavinsky's afterwards without any discussion, shower off the grime, have a couple drinks in something almost like a companionable sort of quiet. Ronan should sleep, but he doesn't. He has class in the morning, but he can't bring himself to care enough to worry about it. It's Friday anyway, still early in the semester, and Whelk's Latin class is all he can be bothered to care about. And Kavinsky had looked at him and said you're a dreamer too and the words are still on a loop in his mind. The awe, the fascination, the feeling that maybe, maybe, he wasn't alone.

He should sleep, but instead he's curled on the couch next to Kavinsky, a respectable hands-width away to keep their shoulders from touching. The other boy watches Ronan, probably wired on something, and he feels almost intimately exposed. Known. Feels like he hasn't since his father died and his mother went into a coma. Like there was someplace in the world that could hold his secrets.]

I've never talked about it. I've hardly said it outloud before.

[It's not thank you, but it's something. It's a start. It's reaching out and trusting Kavinsky of all people to catch his hand.

K is the one that helps him shave his head for the first time, and Proko goes with him when he gets his dreams inked into his skin. But for now he's still pushing his curls back from his face, trying not to say thank you because he feels like he's forgotten how. Still trying to not admit that his dreams hate him because he hates himself.]

[burnyoudown]

[Kavinsky had spent his entire life until this night thinking he was the only one. Now everything had been tipped on its side in some sort of chaos and he welcomed it. He'd been desperate to not be alone, to have someone else like him in his life.

How close they'd come to losing Ronan, but here he was, alive and whole and sitting on Kavinsky's couch, looking as perfect as he could considering what he'd just been through. It took all of Kavinsky's willpower not to reach over and touch him, put a hand on his knee or brush his fingers through his hair. They weren't exactly friends, not yet, but he wanted them to be. He wanted to pull Ronan to his side and keep him. He was broken, just like his other boys, but he was something more, too. Who knew what they could accomplish together.

He looked away briefly when Proko sat down on Ronan's other side, watching the other boy exhale in a sigh.

Prokopenko didn't usually go around saving people's lives--just Kavinsky's. He wasn't sure how he felt about all of this. He had a bad feeling that things were going to get complicated, but maybe he was wrong, maybe everything would be...he didn't know, not easy but something like it. He also felt some sort of kinship with Ronan, something he wouldn't be able to explain in words. Maybe it had something to do with Ronan being a dreamer, maybe that was what Proko felt from him.

He looked over, locked eyes with Kavinsky for a moment, shrugged helplessly, and leaned his head back.]

I know the feeling. [Kavinsky said.] I've spent most of my life keeping it quiet. [His dad called him a freak. His mother treated him like he was a burden.] But you're safe here.

[He didn't usually do the comfort thing, especially not with people outside of his pack, but he was trying. Ronan was safe here, his secret was safe. Kavinsky didn't usually have the same troubles, didn't usually dream nightmares to life, but he knew how to handle them. There was more than one reason why he had a gun.]

I know, I'm probably the last person you'd think would keep you safe, but-

[Kavinsky spread his hands.]

We've gotta look out for each other, right?

ninja switch because i wanted icons with curls :3 :3

[beochaoineadh]

[Ronan's shoulders shake for a moment, but he tries to hide it, to pretend that he's fine. But there's something about this, about the whiplash from nearly dying, to the terror of being revealed, to finding out Kavinsky's a dreamer too, and now.. whatever this is. The way that the other teen tells him that he's safe here and it hits him in his chest, a tight tangle of emotions that Ronan hardly knows how to feel. He almost wants to fucking cry, but he's not about to breakdown.

Even if he hasn't felt safe since his father died. He hasn't felt like he was safe in longer, but it's been worse at Aglionby. Instead he just swallows, tries to breathe, and makes a wry sound of something like sharp-edged amusement. He's trying to not seem over-affected, especially in front of Kavinsky and Prokopenko. They've both been here for him when Ronan thought he had no one, but it's still a difficult thing.]

Guess burying a body makes for fast friends. But no, I.. I didn't think I had anyone anymore. Who was I going to call? You're- I don't fucking know. The safest thing that I've got.

[His voice is more affected than Ronan entirely realizes, shakes a little as he shrugs his broad shoulders. Blue eyes looking slowly over at Kavinsky, and then to Prokopenko. He'd thought he was going to die, and in his worst heart hadn't been entirely upset at the idea. It's still not quite thank you, but it's a sort of admittance despite that. He's still saying that it matters, that they matter, that this feels safe, even if he'd never thought he'd find someplace that felt like that ever again.

With his family, his brothers, he'd never been lonely. But now it's been eating at him- he hadn't realized how desperate he was for it until Kavinsky had said it. He wants to hold onto one of them honestly, but he'd rather die than seem like a child, even if he's still a bit overwhelmed with it all. He isn't quite as unflinching as stone just yet.]

[makingbaddecisions]

[Jiang was pretty in a way that some people found unfair but others took as an invitation to start trouble. He'd been called slurs before, beaten up, picked on--most of it was before he'd gotten pulled into Kavinsky's orbit, but sometimes Aglionby boys still saw him as an easy target. Maybe it wasn't his face this time. Maybe it was how short he was--barely 5'6"--or maybe he'd just said the wrong thing. He did have a habit of rambling or talking too much in general. Kavinsky had told him more than once that the only good use for his mouth was blowing him.

It'd been months since someone had decided to kick his shit in, but today had been the day. He'd been jumped after his last class of the day, two against one, and though he'd fought back, he'd been outmatched. The other boys had been both taller and stronger than him and he'd gotten a few good hits in but in the end, had been the one worse off. Aside from his very visible black eye, split lip, and busted open cheek, his phone had also been a casualty. The screen was cracked, glass splintered, and the display was flickery at best and downright glitching out at worst.

As if that wasn't enough, his car broke down along the side of the highway. Without a working phone and with no idea how the insides of his candy red Supra actually worked, he was stranded. On top of all of that, it was ungodly hot out and he felt like he was going to melt if he had to deal with the heat too much longer. It was incredibly inconvenient that the one day he was left without a phone was the one day he really needed it. He couldn't call Skov or Swan to pick him up. He couldn't call a tow truck. He couldn't do anything but sit there or pace around his car, peering into the engine compartment like it would magically reveal its secrets to him.

When he heard another car coming, he perked up, lifting his head and stepping halfway out into the road. He waved his arms, trying not to come across as too desperate, but he was pretty frantic. And frazzled enough from his day that he didn't immediately recognize Ronan Lynch's BMW. Given a few more moments though, he would, considering all the times they'd raced.]

Between TRC and the Dreamer Trilogy

[kindlepitch]

[Life had not been kind to Baz recently. In fact, it most decidedly had been very unkind. Most notably, Snow had broken up with him. I hate the sight of you, he'd said. Baz had threatened to snap his own wand if Snow left him, to prove they didn't need magic to be together. He had known Snow had a complicated relationship with magic since losing his own but thinking he didn't belong in the world of mages anymore- thinking Baz wouldn't want him- or maybe more importantly it was that Snow couldn't look at him without being reminded of everything he'd lost-... It would have been easier if Baz hated him. Easier if he could just wash his hands of Snow and be done with things. But nothing was ever that easy. Especially not for him.

He leaped at the chance for a distraction when he'd become aware of something happening in America. A lot of magic, something different. Not the sort of things the Humdrum had caused but- something similar to it, on a power level? It was enough to get Baz off the couch and onto a plane, though he was well aware this wasn't his problem. The American mages could handle it, whatever it was. And yet that knowledge didn't stop him.

Hours after being crammed into a plane and then hours more on the highway, he found himself in Virginia. Henrietta, specifically, a little town he'd never heard of and was sure a lot of people hadn't. At least it wasn't Kansas though or Illinois. There were at least mountains instead of nothing but flat land and fields. And he declined to rent a convertable this time so he didn't end up sunburned or with windblown hair. His hair, sleek and dark, was long enough to curl around his collar instead.

Henrietta didn't look like it should be a place capable of holding as much magic as Baz had felt- as he could smell, now that he was here. It was subtle but it was everywhere, in a different way than magic normally was. He couldn't explain why it was different, just that it was. It seemed to concentrate in one place, so he followed his nose. Out of Henrietta proper, out into the countryside and forests beyond, until he reached the source. Or well, until he reached as far as he could go by car. Then he parked along the side of the road and started walking.

He was more or less mostly dressed for a brief excursion into the woods, at least; dark, snug jeans, boots, and an admittedly expensive navy floral shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His wand was tucked into his back pocket, in case there was trouble ahead. He had no idea what he would be facing at the actual source of the magic. There were any number of American creatures that could be responsible for this, both ones he was familiar with and ones he wasn't.

The forest grew deeper and more- not menacing, exactly, but more present, like it was almost aware of him- as he continued forward. He'd faced things much worse than uneasy feelings in a forest though; he wasn't about to let that stop him. He was expecting much worse inside of it though, but that wasn't what he got. What he got was- a young man? Baz couldn't tell if he was older or younger but it really didn't matter, he didn't think.

He noted, more than briefly, that the young man was strikingly handsome. But that didn't really matter, either. Not if he was a threat. Baz wouldn't be swayed by good looks when there was potential danger here. Clearing his throat, he lifted an eyebrow and said-]

You wouldn't be plotting now, would you?

Baz!!!! :D

[threesecrets]

[The boy in question is probably in his late teens, and he's topless, just in black jeans and a pair of leather boots. The jeans are slim cut and sit just above the crest of his hips, Baz can probably tell that despite the slightly scuffed nature of what he wears, it's all expensive. He holds himself rather carelessly, sharp blue eyes looking him over like he doesn't know what to make of him. The truth is more that Ronan's a little shaken, both because he's gorgeous, and because he found him here in Lindenmere, and he doesn't know who he is.

He doesn't look like a threat, though. And Lindenmere doesn't seem to think that he's a threat. So his body language is cautious, not threatening. Mostly, he's curious. Helplessly interested, even if he tries to hold himself with an edge of studied disinterest.

At the first, he almost wondered if it's something he dreamed, an errant wish for a beautiful boy that wanted him. He'd almost had that, for a couple days. But then Gansey died- and he's not dead now, but Ronan still watched him die, touched his corpse. So he's been a ball of emotions that he doesn't known how to talk about or deal with, and there's nowhere for them to go. They still talk, they're still friends, but- there'd been the idea that they could be something more, that night on his birthday. They probably still could be, if Ronan knew how to fucking talk about it, but he doesn't- it's easier to pretend that it never was.

So Adam reaches out, and Ronan doesn't know how to meet him halfway. But he always knew- it's not surprising that he fucked things up. He just.. he'd wanted to try anyway. Adam left for Harvard, and they've talked a couple times, but never about the ghost between them. He seems happy; he has friends there already, and Ronan teased him about about being popular now.

He wont wait for him.

Ronan- the best part of him knows he shouldn't. The worst part of him wishes he would. But that's just because he's lonely, alone, prone to anxiety and jealousy. Gansey and Blue are off on their gap year, so all he has is when he drives up to DC to see his brothers. The Barns and its memories. His dreams. So he dreamed himself this, instead. Not Cabeswater, but something like it. More dangerous, more wild -- more like Ronan.

He laughs a little at the question- what the fuck sort of an introduction was that, anyway? But he shrugs his shoulders, muscles making his skin ripple with the curves and thorns of his tattoo.]

Nah. Not anymore.

[There's a pause, and he grins, lifting an eyebrow. If you knew him before senior year, he seemed a little bit hollow by comparison, but he's still a sharp thing. Not cruel, though. But he had been plotting, practicing. He'd wanted to get it right, before he realized that if he did he'd just doom this place to the came fate as Cabeswater. He wanted it to be dangerous enough to protect itself. To be able to survive knowing him.]

How did you find this place?

:3

[kindlepitch]

[If Baz was being honest with himself (it was a toss-up on if he was or wasn't), the other boy was painfully handsome. He was attractive in a different way than Snow. Sharper, like a knife's edge. He could only see scraps of the boy's tattoo, but Baz wondered what the rest of it was- he'd never been interested in tattoos himself but he was curious about what other people deemed fit to be on their skin forever.

There was something especially telling in the answer of not anymore, and Baz wondered what he had been plotting. If he'd been plotting anything at all or if he was just being sarcastic. People buried bodies in the woods or hatched plans to take over the world. The boy didn't look particularly like he'd been doing either of those things but looks could be deceiving.

Before he answered, he took a breath. There was more than just the scent of the magic in this place. There was the scent of the magic in the other boy. It was relatively subtle right now but it was still there enough for Baz to detect it. he could hear his heart beating, too- he was the only one of them here with a pulse.]

I followed my nose.

[It was an honest enough answer, something he didn't feel like he needed to lie about considering how chock full of magic this place was.]

Where are we?

[And for the love of all that was good and decent in the world, the answer had better not be 'Virginia' or 'the woods'.]

TRC/Fallout-ish thing. cw: war and stuff

[burnyoudown]

[The world had gone to shit and it'd gotten better. It'd done both at the same time. Mostly though, it'd gone to shit. Kavinsky considered himself lucky to have survived with his boys but he knew there were plenty of other people who weren't as fortunate. Aglionby graduates had been guaranteed a spot in Henrietta's vault, which he hadn't even known had existed until a few days before the announcement.

But they'd needed vaults for a very important reason; the third world war. It'd been sparked by the existence of Dreamers. As a Dreamer himself, he felt like he should have done something to help but he also hadn't wanted to bet his survival against nuclear weapons.

To back it up even farther, to the very beginning, he'd survived the Fourth of July. Skov had pulled him down from his car when Lynch had done nothing. Skov had talked sense into him and convinced him to give continued living a try. Kavinsky owed a lot to him. Though his dragon had died in the fight against Ronan's night horror, it wouldn't be the last dragon he dreamed up.

After graduating Aglionby with the rest of his boys, he'd taken a solo road trip to try and clear his head. He needed it after Lynch had fucking ghosted him after the Fourth of July. For some stupid reason or another, Kavinsky was still head over heels in love with him despite everything. But he had Prokopenko in his life and his dream was- well, a dream. Perfect and wonderful and for a while he was enough. It was a good thing Proko hadn't gone with Kavinsky on his road trip though; the Moderators tracked him down. Dreamerkillers who wanted nothing more than to see him dead. He'd dreamed a new, better dragon to deal with them, one that didn't hate him.

With the Moderators eliminated, he'd gone back to Henrietta with his dragon, keeping it hidden from everyone except his boys. It hadn't been long after that that chaos had broken out. Ley lines had started waking up, the world had started to change, and dreamers rose up against those who wanted them dead. Old dreams started to wake up, some of them kind and gentle, some of them dangerous and aggressive. Of course, all of that had led to another war.

Which was why people were ushered into vaults to be able to survive the nuclear weapons and the fallout that would follow. The best and the brightest were guaranteed spots in the vaults. Boys from Aglionby, people attending prestigious universities like Harvard, scientists, engineers, etc and so forth. The rest of the population had a raffle for any leftover spots, which went over as well as one would imagine. The cryogenic technology was good though and everyone who made it into a vault was frozen for the next two hundred years. Meanwhile, nature was left to twist and warp from the fallout, humans turning into ghouls, animals mutating into monsters, plants twisting into strange versions of what they'd once been.

After those two hundred years passed, the first round of survivors from the vaults were awakened to try and rebuild the world, setting up towns and recreating lost technologies. Fifty years later, Kavinsky and the rest of the vault survivors were automatically awakened by the settings on their cryochambers.

With most of the dangerous radiation gone, the world was left a mess. Henrietta had been partially rebuilt though thanks to the efforts of those who'd been awakened fifty years previously, and most surprisingly, the Kavinsky mansion still stood. The rest of the neighborhood didn't fair as well but there was a house here and there that had escaped total destruction.

Kavinsky hadn't wasted much time dreaming up solutions to the problems he faced. The Moderators were no more and dreamers could be a precious resource, though one not everyone was eager to trust. He turned his mansion into a home for his pack, setting it up with dreamt electricity and running water, sharing some of his dreamed objects with people in town who didn't treat him like a thug or a monster.

He also made sure to dream up security and defenses for the mansion- not because he was that worried about other people but because he was worried about the creatures. He dreamed a dragon-dog to guard the house in addition to his dragon from the summer the Moderators had attacked him, which had survived somehow (he didn't know how but he wasn't going to question it).

Some of his boys helped out where they could. Swan helped in the fields to aid in growing food. Jiang lended a hand cooking here and there when he could. Skov assisted with patrols of the town to make sure ghouls or other nasties hadn't crept in. Proko- Proko spent most of his free time racing down the empty streets, but so did Kavinsky. They were alike in that way.

Things were rough sometimes, especially when it came to food and clothes, but they all managed to make do. There was always something to do, something to keep them busy. It wasn't as bad as it could have been; they were all alive and together, K's boys. He didn't have to rage against the world alone.

The neighborhood was dark at night but Kavinsky's place was always lit up, a beacon in the blackness. All of his boys were in, the driveway crammed with cars, and they were drinking and laughing, having a good time. Skov and Jiang were roughhousing while the other three watched like it was a sporting event. Eventually, though, Kavinsky realized someone was at the door. Not because he heard knocking but because his still-unnamed dragon-dog was barking its head off outside.

Putting his drink down, he slipped away from Proko on the couch and went to answer the door. He opened it, expecting to see someone from town, someone needing a favor, not- Lynch. His heart and stomach both lurched. For a moment he felt numb, then the surprise and other emotions slid in. Kavinsky hadn't talked to Lynch since the Fourth of July, hadn't seen him since- fuck, he didn't even know when.

His dragon-dog was in the driveway, a healthy distance away from the other dreamer, and its barking had dissolved into low, menacing growls. The security system around the mansion was designed to keep out monsters and ghouls, not people. That was what the dog was for, to deter and potentially attack anyone who meant them harm.

Kavinsky was staring. He hadn't known Lynch was still alive, didn't know what'd happened with Parrish and Bryde and Hennessy and everyone else. Didn't know that Lynch was more or less responsible for starting this war. Didn't know that he'd slept under Ilidorin's roots, the magic of the ley line and the great tree protecting and preserving him all of this time. Two hundred and fifty years. Two hundred and fifty years and Lynch had found his way back here to show up on Kavinsky's doorstep- for what reason? He looked good, not wasteland-wanderer-chic but- he looked like himself. A little older than the last time Kavinsky had seen him.

He was still staring. Finally, he rearranged his face into a sneer, trying to play it off like he wasn't as affected by Lynch's arrival as he really was.]

The fuck are you doing here? I thought you were dead.

[threesecrets]

[Ronan Lynch.

Words that had echoed down through the dreams, through the strange paths that he has walked as he slept with his body tangled in the roots of a tree that loved him, old as some of the dreams that had so terrified the Moderators. He hadn't quite known what it meant at first the words running together, and it had been so long since he'd heard his name. Since any creature had called him something other than Greywaren, even if it felt like he'd been shit at it.

Ronan Lynch. Sweetheart. Dog. Princess--

Eventually the words started to make sense, the voice started to make sense. Dreamer. His Dreamer. He was so much a dream himself, so heavy with the energy of Illidorin's Ley Line, he'd been a King here for so long..

And then he was Awake.

There was a forest here now. Trees not as old or as wise as Illidorin, but they knew him. They whispered greywaren on their chill breaths, and Ronan found his way out from the forest, back to a world that felt strange and like it was someplace he didn't quite belong to. He almost thought that he'd stumbled into a nightmare at first, but nothing he did changed it, and he finally remembered what reality was like. A very large white night horror ambled after him, tongue lolling from its mouth as its eyes looked around in all directions to take in their surroundings and nuzzled into his shoulder.

Ronan shook his head, putting fingers to its skin. Was it the one from the 4th, or had he dreamt it? They were the same answer, in the end. He just shook his head, jerking his head back toward the forest. Stay-- He thinks it like he would in a dream, but one way or another it seems to get the intention and it ambles unevenly back between the tree trunks flapping its wings to shake them out.

He doesn't really remember how he gets to Kavinsky's. He just- followed the pull. Almost like a dream, but not quite. There's a long moment where he just looks at the other boy, like he's waiting for him to respond to the words he's thinking, and doesn't quite understand why he isn't. But eventually he frowns and slowly works his lips, a flick of pink tongue against his mouth. But it's guileless, like he hasn't spoken to anyone than trying to get his attention. His voice is a little strange, breathy and soft, like a whisper through the leaves. He pauses to try and make his words sound more like how he thinks his voice used to sound.

It's not that he seems older, but he seems tired, overwhelmed, almost confused. Out of sorts, someone who knew him might say, but it's different than that. Of course, for over two hundred years he isn't really doing badly. But it both has and hasn't been that long for him. In some ways it's been even longer. Time was a circle, moments were dewdrops on spider's thread. When they merged together -- when Ronan held them in his hands -- it was every moment and none of them. It was dreaming.

He frowns softly, a slight tilt of his head as he looks at Kavinsky standing in the doorway, like he thought that he knew the answer.]

I was.. you called to me. So I came to you.

[He says it simply, like truth, but like there's weight to it this time. How many times had Kavinsky called to him or reached out to him before, and Ronan had flinched from it? Scared or guilty or terrified? But Ronan had so many more dreams than he had before. And he doesn't have the same walls that he had before, like he was all sharp teeth and he'd bite first just to make sure no one hurt him. He's all soft edges and wide blue eyes, like just the world around them is sharp on his pale skin.

But he'd wanted something. Wanted it enough to burn the whole world for it. And Kavinsky had been part of that, not that Ronan intended to tell him.

What was the point of the world if the boy he wanted still felt like dying? He had thought he could apologize if he fought hard enough. Do whatever it took to give him a world where he could breathe. But that had been so long ago. Now... it was something different. Like something tied them together now. Like being awake came with a price; something he couldn't deny.

He's reminded strangely of Gansey's old dead Welsh King -- what would Kavinsky wish for?]

I was sleeping. For- a very long time. You woke me.

[burnyoudown]

[Kavinsky's face scrunched. What, was he capable of putting out a siren's call now that could draw in Ronan from however far away after however many years? Ronan had to have been in a vault, that part seemed simple enough, but the rest- Kavinsky didn't know. He'd dreamed about Ronan over the weeks since he'd been released from Henrietta's vault but dreaming about someone wasn't the same as calling to them or waking them. Then again, they were dreamers.

Oh fuck, he hadn't dreamed this Ronan who was standing on his doorstep, had he? That idea alone was enough to make his stomach lurch. Trying to play it cool, he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.]

Okay. You know, I haven't been out of Henrietta since I woke up, so...

[So he had no idea what the fuck was going on. But something was different, off, and...he couldn't stay angry at Ronan. Shit had been fucked before and it was easy to point fingers, but that'd been several lifetimes ago. Even if it felt like just a few months.]

Do you want to come in? We could talk about what exactly's going on.

[Inside was better for so many reasons, the main one being it was safer. The secondary one was they could go somewhere private where his boys wouldn't eavesdrop. Probably. Assuming they didn't kick up a fuss upon seeing Ronan. Kavinsky would be able to rein them in if they got out of hand, no matter what happened.

After a moment, probably belatedly, he shifted to the side and opened the door wider so there was actually room for Ronan to come inside.]

[dreamedboy]

[Prokopenko's arms were bruised and there were patches of stickiness on his skin from the various machines he'd been hooked up to. He was surprisingly healthy besides that and he looked good, bruised arms aside. It was a miracle, according to the doctors and nurses; they'd expected him to never wake up. The real miracle was the simple hooped earring he had in his pocket. He was going to have to get his ear pierced, he figured. It would be a better alternative than worrying about losing this thing. He didn't understand how it worked but he didn't have to for it to do its thing.

It didn't feel like a miracle. He felt...he didn't know how to put it into words. He was told months had passed, a year, more or less, but it felt like literally just yesterday he'd been at Kavinsky's Fourth of July party. He could remember the dragon and the bird thing, he remembered the flames and the crowds and the fighting. And then he remembered nothing.

He knew without being told that Kavinsky was gone. That was the part he didn't know how to put into words. It was the single most crushing feeling he'd ever experienced. It wasn't just that Kavinsky was a dreamer or that he was his dreamer, it was that they'd been best friends first. Kavinsky had literally brought him back from the grave; Proko'd never had to question how much Kavinsky'd cared about him. Just like Proko's loyalty and friendship had been wholly unwavering. Without Kavinsky- Proko almost wanted to take the earring out of his pocket and hurl it away from him so he'd fall back asleep.

What was the point of living?]

What happened to him?

[They were barely out of the hospital, still in the parking lot, but Prokopenko had to ask. No matter how much he knew the answer was going to hurt. Not knowing hurt more, leaving his imagination to run wild, thinking up all of the worst possibilities. At least the truth would quiet his rampaging thoughts. It felt like a snarl of thorns in his chest, like it hurt to inhale too deeply and it had nothing to do with his physical health.

The idea that Kavinsky had done this to himself hadn't even crossed his mind. Not on purpose. Proko wanted to find whoever was responsible for hurting Kavinsky and beat them until- he shuddered, raking his fingers through his hair. He knew he wasn't the most morally upstanding person but he didn't think he was really capable of murder, either- but this concerned Kavinsky and that made it different.

He just wanted things to be okay. He wanted to know that his best friend was waiting for him somewhere, in that familiar car, for the two of them to get up to some trouble. And speaking of cars, Proko's was not accessible right now, considering how long he'd been asleep. He was at Ronan's mercy as far as transportation went.]