[Ronan laughed a little as Kavinsky stole another kiss before pulling back, and even if his ass was freezing and it felt like he couldn't feel his feet, there was a warmth in his chest just from this -- this boy that he'd been too much of a coward to let himself care for. But thankfully it wasn't far to the boardwalk where Ronan was quickly situated with a pair of robes (which he adjusted Kavinsky's hoodie over, unwilling to part with the garment or give it back just yet). But he bundled up with blankets and furs, which Chainsaw was happy to perch on, although she took a minute inspecting Ronan, seeming a little bit distressed, and Ronan seemed a little emotional to discover that she was okay-- well. Or maybe okay was inaccurate, but she was here with him, anyway.
Which was better than the alternative.
He was happily charmed by the lamp friends, even if they were strange -- likely because of it. Ronan quickly remarking that he'd have to dream them some outfits. Chainsaw eyed them suspiciously, but Ronan was quick to admonish her that they were not snacks, at which point she seemed to lose interest.
Ronan hadn't been here long enough to mess around with the magic he could feel thrumming under his skin to try manifesting his omen, but it was like he could feel it; almost as instinctive as dreaming. The knowledge that he could, if he chose to. But somehow doing it in Kavinsky's living room felt a little bit impolite. He laughed a little when he saw Kavinsky's house, but it wasn't mockery. It was more like surprise, like he had to catch his breath to be able to process the things that the place made him feel. He takes his boots off by the door out of habit, the ones that had been stuffed at the bottom of the dufflebag that was his welcoming bag.
Just socks on the hardwood floors and worn-in carpets and it twists something in his chest so that he almost wants to cry. But he shrugs his shoulders and tries not to think of his dreamt mother in a place like this. Tries not to remember the last time he'd seen her.]
No, it's-- it feels like home. Not Monmouth. My parents had this farmhouse in Singer's Hills just outside of Henrietta. It was sorta like this. A little weird but comfy, more than just a house.
[He drags a hand over his face, trying to put himself back together and just curls his fingers into Kavinsky's hoodie while he tries to breathe like there weren't things just under his skin that Ronan was trying to not talk about. He takes a shaky breath and turns to Kavinsky with a smile, even if it's a little bit unsteady.]
Sorry. I like it, really. And Illya is pretty cool, too.
[He doesn't comment on the name, since he knows where it comes from, understands why Kavinsky might name it after his best-friend.]
no subject
Which was better than the alternative.
He was happily charmed by the lamp friends, even if they were strange -- likely because of it. Ronan quickly remarking that he'd have to dream them some outfits. Chainsaw eyed them suspiciously, but Ronan was quick to admonish her that they were not snacks, at which point she seemed to lose interest.
Ronan hadn't been here long enough to mess around with the magic he could feel thrumming under his skin to try manifesting his omen, but it was like he could feel it; almost as instinctive as dreaming. The knowledge that he could, if he chose to. But somehow doing it in Kavinsky's living room felt a little bit impolite. He laughed a little when he saw Kavinsky's house, but it wasn't mockery. It was more like surprise, like he had to catch his breath to be able to process the things that the place made him feel. He takes his boots off by the door out of habit, the ones that had been stuffed at the bottom of the dufflebag that was his welcoming bag.
Just socks on the hardwood floors and worn-in carpets and it twists something in his chest so that he almost wants to cry. But he shrugs his shoulders and tries not to think of his dreamt mother in a place like this. Tries not to remember the last time he'd seen her.]
No, it's-- it feels like home. Not Monmouth. My parents had this farmhouse in Singer's Hills just outside of Henrietta. It was sorta like this. A little weird but comfy, more than just a house.
[He drags a hand over his face, trying to put himself back together and just curls his fingers into Kavinsky's hoodie while he tries to breathe like there weren't things just under his skin that Ronan was trying to not talk about. He takes a shaky breath and turns to Kavinsky with a smile, even if it's a little bit unsteady.]
Sorry. I like it, really. And Illya is pretty cool, too.
[He doesn't comment on the name, since he knows where it comes from, understands why Kavinsky might name it after his best-friend.]