He'd known at the time, really. When Kavinsky had tried to talk about something real, about them, about what this thing they were doing together meant- and Ronan had flinched from it, walked away like it didn't matter because he was scared and uncomfortable, and on him that was always written like anger.
But he'd thought that it would blow over like every spat they had. He'd even texted Kavinsky for the past three days to no response, which made his stomach twist with a sick sort of feeling, panic starting to crawl through his insides.]
man at least let me know youre alive im not dragging your ass to the morgue
[It wasn't quite a joke. Because Ronan didn't think Kavinsky was actually dead. He figured he just had him blocked or was specifically ignoring him; that he'd finally burned the only bridge he thought was immune to his bullshit. It's a Wednesday night, school in the morning, and only a scant hour and a half from midnight, cuts from his fight earlier having turned to a low ache, but the pain is an almost welcome respite.
Ronan shrugs his shoulders carelessly to Gansey's worried question as he heads to the door with his keys in hand. I dunno, Gans; maybe the morgue, he quips back bitterly as he heads down to the BMW. It's pouring rain, but still hot, that way it gets when the August weather starts to shift further into September.
Ronan isn't drunk yet, but he certainly doesn't want to be sober. Maybe he'll go to the church and drink himself stupid waiting for texts that wont come.
It doesn't even occur to him that he's driving to Kavinsky's house until he pulls into the suburban hell cul-de-sac where his house is. He almost considers turning around, but instead he parks sloppily, halfway in front of one of the neighbor's driveways with a screech and and the smell of his tires burning tread as he gets out, slamming the door.
He walks to his front door, standing in the rain as he knocked obnoxiously on the door. He looks angry, but Ronan always seems angry. But in his heart he whispers: please please please. He just needed another chance. He knew he didn't deserve one, but he needed it all the same.]
no subject
He'd known at the time, really. When Kavinsky had tried to talk about something real, about them, about what this thing they were doing together meant- and Ronan had flinched from it, walked away like it didn't matter because he was scared and uncomfortable, and on him that was always written like anger.
But he'd thought that it would blow over like every spat they had. He'd even texted Kavinsky for the past three days to no response, which made his stomach twist with a sick sort of feeling, panic starting to crawl through his insides.]
man at least let me know youre alive
im not dragging your ass to the morgue
[It wasn't quite a joke. Because Ronan didn't think Kavinsky was actually dead. He figured he just had him blocked or was specifically ignoring him; that he'd finally burned the only bridge he thought was immune to his bullshit. It's a Wednesday night, school in the morning, and only a scant hour and a half from midnight, cuts from his fight earlier having turned to a low ache, but the pain is an almost welcome respite.
Ronan shrugs his shoulders carelessly to Gansey's worried question as he heads to the door with his keys in hand. I dunno, Gans; maybe the morgue, he quips back bitterly as he heads down to the BMW. It's pouring rain, but still hot, that way it gets when the August weather starts to shift further into September.
Ronan isn't drunk yet, but he certainly doesn't want to be sober. Maybe he'll go to the church and drink himself stupid waiting for texts that wont come.
It doesn't even occur to him that he's driving to Kavinsky's house until he pulls into the suburban hell cul-de-sac where his house is. He almost considers turning around, but instead he parks sloppily, halfway in front of one of the neighbor's driveways with a screech and and the smell of his tires burning tread as he gets out, slamming the door.
He walks to his front door, standing in the rain as he knocked obnoxiously on the door. He looks angry, but Ronan always seems angry. But in his heart he whispers: please please please. He just needed another chance. He knew he didn't deserve one, but he needed it all the same.]