[It isn’t the answer that Gansey expects. Ronan fights authority constantly. He flaunts breaking the law, adding each speeding ticket to the ever growing collection on his bedroom door. He snaps at Gansey if he tries to keep Ronan’s wilder impulses under control. He brawls with Declan whenever the elder tries to force Ronan into the expected, acceptable path. He should hate being referred to as anyone’s dog.
Even without that wildness, Ronan should hate what it implies. They both should. Blue would say it’s demeaning. Degrading. Adam would have a few carefully worded comments that would lead to another argument. Gansey knows it’s insulting. He knows he should hate it. They both should.
Except he can’t. Especially not on a night when tension winds his nerves tight. When his carefully created masks keep being stripped away by the possibilities that hum in the air. By the way Ronan keeps looking at him.
Jesus, he hadn’t had to deal with this for months. Actually, he had, but he’d always carefully contained those impulses and emotions, boxing them up and storing them away with the regrets and grief that he’d kept to himself for months. Now it’s like one of the punches he’d caught during one of the many Lynch brothers’ brawls he’d refereed. Leaving him aching and trying to catch his breath.]
Everything Joseph says bothers me.
[But he knows that isn’t what Ronan meant. This isn’t about Kavinsky, not really, at least not about his narrow minded insults. And neither is Gansey’s answer. Kavinsky bothers him. The way he can capture Ronan’s attention causes anger to simmer whenever his best friend disappears into the night. The way Ronan seems captivated - bewitched - by Kavinsky. Jealousy fuels hours of cardboard construction as he waits for Ronan to return. Each night he wonders if Ronan will return to what has to seem like a cage instead of whatever exotic endeavors Joseph promises.
He might have lied about it, about the yearning that he’d zealously quelled for months if Ronan hadn’t moved. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward, gaze briefly moving to teeth and lips before focusing on Ronan’s eyes, still trying to translate what was going on between them.
The barely contained energy that had snared him since their trip to the party demanded that he take another step closer. He’d never been able to resist Ronan. Not really. Not in any way that truly matters. Which is why he knows he can’t lie. Ronan will never forgive a lie, even if the turth might shatter everything between them. His breath seems to heavy in his chest, a struggle simply to turn thought to words.]
I hated him calling you a dog, but I liked the idea of you being mine.
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Even without that wildness, Ronan should hate what it implies. They both should. Blue would say it’s demeaning. Degrading. Adam would have a few carefully worded comments that would lead to another argument. Gansey knows it’s insulting. He knows he should hate it. They both should.
Except he can’t. Especially not on a night when tension winds his nerves tight. When his carefully created masks keep being stripped away by the possibilities that hum in the air. By the way Ronan keeps looking at him.
Jesus, he hadn’t had to deal with this for months. Actually, he had, but he’d always carefully contained those impulses and emotions, boxing them up and storing them away with the regrets and grief that he’d kept to himself for months. Now it’s like one of the punches he’d caught during one of the many Lynch brothers’ brawls he’d refereed. Leaving him aching and trying to catch his breath.]
Everything Joseph says bothers me.
[But he knows that isn’t what Ronan meant. This isn’t about Kavinsky, not really, at least not about his narrow minded insults. And neither is Gansey’s answer. Kavinsky bothers him. The way he can capture Ronan’s attention causes anger to simmer whenever his best friend disappears into the night. The way Ronan seems captivated - bewitched - by Kavinsky. Jealousy fuels hours of cardboard construction as he waits for Ronan to return. Each night he wonders if Ronan will return to what has to seem like a cage instead of whatever exotic endeavors Joseph promises.
He might have lied about it, about the yearning that he’d zealously quelled for months if Ronan hadn’t moved. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward, gaze briefly moving to teeth and lips before focusing on Ronan’s eyes, still trying to translate what was going on between them.
The barely contained energy that had snared him since their trip to the party demanded that he take another step closer. He’d never been able to resist Ronan. Not really. Not in any way that truly matters. Which is why he knows he can’t lie. Ronan will never forgive a lie, even if the turth might shatter everything between them. His breath seems to heavy in his chest, a struggle simply to turn thought to words.]
I hated him calling you a dog, but I liked the idea of you being mine.