[There's dozens of reasons why he should let go of Ronan and step away. But if he'd never had the resolve to say no to Ronan, then he'd never find the willpower to let him go. Even at Ronan's worst, when the drinking and rage would have driven most sane people away, Gansey had stayed. He'd cared too much for Ronan to leave him at his worst. Why would he leave him now when so much potential lingered between them?
But he would leave, he realizes, pain razor sharp through his chest. Tomorrow he had to go to D.C. For the first time in years, he'd be away from Ronan for more than a day. The realization nearly stops his breath, his heart. It isn't permanent. He'll return after the weekend of deadly dull socials was over, but it feels like something will be irrevocably lost if Gansey stepoed away now, and then left for D.C.
The thought claws through him, fire and jealousy and want slamming his heart against his ribs, the rhythm painful, determined. His smile falters for a moment, then Ronan's answer careens through him. Something hot and possessive burns at the edges of his mind, tightens his fingers in the fabric beneath his hands. An entreaty more than a demand. The smile steadies, turnes into something nearly wicked at the word 'fuck'. It shouldn't effect him so much. Ronan swears constantly, but in this context, it seems more a possibility than an example of coarse language.
He feels something like the freedom he'd felt at Kavinsky's party. No masks. No Gansey III lies. Nothing but the two of them, the versions of themselves that no one else is allowed to see. The version that Gansey had never thought he'd be allowed to be, the one that might be able to have one of the things he'd wanted most.
Which is why he says what might be the most un-Gansey-like thing he'd ever put into words in his entire life.]
Usually, I don't do that on the first date, but I'd break that rule for you.
no subject
But he would leave, he realizes, pain razor sharp through his chest. Tomorrow he had to go to D.C. For the first time in years, he'd be away from Ronan for more than a day. The realization nearly stops his breath, his heart. It isn't permanent. He'll return after the weekend of deadly dull socials was over, but it feels like something will be irrevocably lost if Gansey stepoed away now, and then left for D.C.
The thought claws through him, fire and jealousy and want slamming his heart against his ribs, the rhythm painful, determined. His smile falters for a moment, then Ronan's answer careens through him. Something hot and possessive burns at the edges of his mind, tightens his fingers in the fabric beneath his hands. An entreaty more than a demand. The smile steadies, turnes into something nearly wicked at the word 'fuck'. It shouldn't effect him so much. Ronan swears constantly, but in this context, it seems more a possibility than an example of coarse language.
He feels something like the freedom he'd felt at Kavinsky's party. No masks. No Gansey III lies. Nothing but the two of them, the versions of themselves that no one else is allowed to see. The version that Gansey had never thought he'd be allowed to be, the one that might be able to have one of the things he'd wanted most.
Which is why he says what might be the most un-Gansey-like thing he'd ever put into words in his entire life.]
Usually, I don't do that on the first date, but I'd break that rule for you.