I dunno, man. I don't think I could do better than you. And even if I could-- I don't want to.
[Kavinsky was what he'd wanted. He didn't know how to explain it. But after his father died.. it was like he said, he'd lost everything. The idea of wanting anything had been laughable, impossible. And then he'd run into Kavinsky, with the parties and the racing, and it had been like a gasp. Like blood rushing back into the chambers of his heart, like coughing back to life. Wanting something.
He was what happiness felt like. Kavinsky was what pulled the agony out of his chest. He just didn't-- he hadn't known how to say it, how to work through his own feelings. And so he'd fucked everything, it seemed like.]
But yeah. You're worth it to me.
[He doesn't know it he loves Kavinsky yet, but he knows that he did before. Loved him so much he thought that he'd burst with it. And he can carry the weight of knowing that the other boy loves him, at least. Even if just the thought of it makes his heart race. He leans in, touches their foreheads together as Kavinsky's fingers rest at the back of his neck.
But he wants-- he wants to make this work. He wants what they had before, even if he doesn't know how to be that boy anymore.]
[Heat flared through Kavinsky's body. A warm feeling, something akin to pleased or flattered or- he wasn't sure. Ronan wanted him and even if he didn't love him, that was...something at least. It was better than nothing.
Twisting around a little more, he threw his legs over Ronan's lap, pressing as close to him as he could get. The other boy wasn't pushing him away, so he just- he assumed he could do this. He wanted to feel close to him for as long as he could. He wanted to commit every moment to memory.]
You're a flatterer.
[He murmured. Because saying something like that was easier, for the time being, than saying how much that meant to him.
Taking Ronan's hand, Kavinsky pressed it over his chest.]
My heart beats for you.
[He didn't think of himself as a romantic, usually. He wasn't a flowers and chocolate kind of guy; he displayed his affection in similar ways, showering loved ones in presents, that sort of thing. It was harder to express with words, but sometimes he had his moments. Moments when he let himself be open and soft. It had to be with the right person though, someone he trusted wouldn't take advantage of the moment to ridicule him or otherwise hurt him.]
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[Kavinsky was what he'd wanted. He didn't know how to explain it. But after his father died.. it was like he said, he'd lost everything. The idea of wanting anything had been laughable, impossible. And then he'd run into Kavinsky, with the parties and the racing, and it had been like a gasp. Like blood rushing back into the chambers of his heart, like coughing back to life. Wanting something.
He was what happiness felt like. Kavinsky was what pulled the agony out of his chest. He just didn't-- he hadn't known how to say it, how to work through his own feelings. And so he'd fucked everything, it seemed like.]
But yeah. You're worth it to me.
[He doesn't know it he loves Kavinsky yet, but he knows that he did before. Loved him so much he thought that he'd burst with it. And he can carry the weight of knowing that the other boy loves him, at least. Even if just the thought of it makes his heart race. He leans in, touches their foreheads together as Kavinsky's fingers rest at the back of his neck.
But he wants-- he wants to make this work. He wants what they had before, even if he doesn't know how to be that boy anymore.]
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Twisting around a little more, he threw his legs over Ronan's lap, pressing as close to him as he could get. The other boy wasn't pushing him away, so he just- he assumed he could do this. He wanted to feel close to him for as long as he could. He wanted to commit every moment to memory.]
You're a flatterer.
[He murmured. Because saying something like that was easier, for the time being, than saying how much that meant to him.
Taking Ronan's hand, Kavinsky pressed it over his chest.]
My heart beats for you.
[He didn't think of himself as a romantic, usually. He wasn't a flowers and chocolate kind of guy; he displayed his affection in similar ways, showering loved ones in presents, that sort of thing. It was harder to express with words, but sometimes he had his moments. Moments when he let himself be open and soft. It had to be with the right person though, someone he trusted wouldn't take advantage of the moment to ridicule him or otherwise hurt him.]