[He says it as pointedly as he can, smiling at K like he can force that sentiment into his heart if he believes it enough.
But then he's talking about dying, and it's difficult for Ronan to remember that he's just been thinking about there being hope in the world given how black everything feels. Like it's inside of him. And he feels-- he doesn't know. There's a desperation that beats in time to his heartbeat, a need that he doesn't know how to put words to, even when it feels like a coil tightening inside of him.
There's this mix of relief and something unpleasant for having said it, having the weight of it off of his shoulders, so the question isn't hanging in the air between them. But none of it was pleasant to say, even if it did answer why Ronan had been so intense about retrieving Chainsaw. Because he'd thought that she was gone, that he'd lost her, and then she was here. Of course, given who Ronan is, he knows that its possible he dreamt her, but he thinks that he'd be able to tell the difference. And Kavinsky just hugs him tighter, and Ronan clings to him, his cheeks wet and he doesn't even know what he wants.]
I know. I'm just- I'm glad that I'm here with you.
[It sure beat the fucking alternative. Maybe it meant that he never got a chance to see if he could have made things work with Adam, but it also meant not having to figure out what to do with himself. He didn't have to find out if there was a life in the waking world that Ronan could tolerate, or if he was only made for dreams. He didn't have to see what he could tolerate pushing himself through without wanting to throw himself into the sea, and try not to feel like a loser.
Kavinsky says he'll protect him, that he'll break someone's fingers if they hurt him, and it makes Ronan-- fuck, he doesn't know the words. He just knows that he wants him. It takes him a few moments to catch his breath, to try and scrub the tears from his face. So that when he looks up at him, when he smiles at him he can at least try and aim for something sensual -- although his eyelashes are still wet and his blue eyes are glassy.]
What if I want you to put your hands on me?
[He says it like he means it, not like a secret. Here there was no reason to hide it, to feel bad about it -- if there ever had been. He thinks it's the closest he's ever come to actually asking for something he wanted, needed. Where it was words and not just kissing Adam, not just the other boy answering in kind. He couldn't explain the details, but he can feel it. Something to anchor him, to make him feel real and alive. Asking for something because he needed to believe that there could be good things like this, too. That dead didn't have to mean hopeless.]
--Kavinsky. I need you more than the alcohol. I should've asked for it before.
[He slips a hand under Kavinsky's shirt. Not enough to be lewd, not groping against his chest, but he touches him all the same. His fingers tentative and exploratory, drifting up against muscle and then fingers splaying against the other boy's ribs. Ronan sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, his heart racing, so alive and awake and coiled up inside of himself that he couldn't imagine ever sleeping again. But it was okay, it was fine: did he really need dreams when his body felt charged like this? There existed the potential for pleasure and euphoria, like he could feel good if he let himself.
He forgot. He always forgot. Kavinsky made him remember.]
no subject
[He says it as pointedly as he can, smiling at K like he can force that sentiment into his heart if he believes it enough.
But then he's talking about dying, and it's difficult for Ronan to remember that he's just been thinking about there being hope in the world given how black everything feels. Like it's inside of him. And he feels-- he doesn't know. There's a desperation that beats in time to his heartbeat, a need that he doesn't know how to put words to, even when it feels like a coil tightening inside of him.
There's this mix of relief and something unpleasant for having said it, having the weight of it off of his shoulders, so the question isn't hanging in the air between them. But none of it was pleasant to say, even if it did answer why Ronan had been so intense about retrieving Chainsaw. Because he'd thought that she was gone, that he'd lost her, and then she was here. Of course, given who Ronan is, he knows that its possible he dreamt her, but he thinks that he'd be able to tell the difference. And Kavinsky just hugs him tighter, and Ronan clings to him, his cheeks wet and he doesn't even know what he wants.]
I know. I'm just- I'm glad that I'm here with you.
[It sure beat the fucking alternative. Maybe it meant that he never got a chance to see if he could have made things work with Adam, but it also meant not having to figure out what to do with himself. He didn't have to find out if there was a life in the waking world that Ronan could tolerate, or if he was only made for dreams. He didn't have to see what he could tolerate pushing himself through without wanting to throw himself into the sea, and try not to feel like a loser.
Kavinsky says he'll protect him, that he'll break someone's fingers if they hurt him, and it makes Ronan-- fuck, he doesn't know the words. He just knows that he wants him. It takes him a few moments to catch his breath, to try and scrub the tears from his face. So that when he looks up at him, when he smiles at him he can at least try and aim for something sensual -- although his eyelashes are still wet and his blue eyes are glassy.]
What if I want you to put your hands on me?
[He says it like he means it, not like a secret. Here there was no reason to hide it, to feel bad about it -- if there ever had been. He thinks it's the closest he's ever come to actually asking for something he wanted, needed. Where it was words and not just kissing Adam, not just the other boy answering in kind. He couldn't explain the details, but he can feel it. Something to anchor him, to make him feel real and alive. Asking for something because he needed to believe that there could be good things like this, too. That dead didn't have to mean hopeless.]
--Kavinsky. I need you more than the alcohol. I should've asked for it before.
[He slips a hand under Kavinsky's shirt. Not enough to be lewd, not groping against his chest, but he touches him all the same. His fingers tentative and exploratory, drifting up against muscle and then fingers splaying against the other boy's ribs. Ronan sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, his heart racing, so alive and awake and coiled up inside of himself that he couldn't imagine ever sleeping again. But it was okay, it was fine: did he really need dreams when his body felt charged like this? There existed the potential for pleasure and euphoria, like he could feel good if he let himself.
He forgot. He always forgot. Kavinsky made him remember.]