hey dickbag is it cool if i bring some stuff over?
[The text could be innocuous, but it's the fastest that Ronan has probably ever sent messages in a row like that in his life. That slight edge of his nerves betray him, give away the hint of vulnerability. Not to mention that he brings stuff over all the time, and has probably never bothered to fucking ask about it -- if Kavinsky protested he'd probably just laugh. But it didn't matter, because everything left with him in the shark-silhouette of the BMW however many days later, when he eventually defeated the magnet of attraction. No matter if it was a small dragon or blooming plants that grew chocolate peanuts, or something else that had caught his interest -- either dreams or a joke or occasionally even something that meant something.
But the truth was that was a pain in the ass. If he stayed for more than a night, he'd end up stealing shirts and pajama pants- which was fine. The prospect of stealing Kavinsky's toothbrush or having to drive down to the corner store when all he wanted was pancakes and to look like he wasn't affected by how K looked first thing in the morning- it was a lot less charming than kissing him. He could try and dream it, but he didn't trust his own dreams to give him something so mundane. The idea of asking K to help him was fucking demeaning.
So eventually, Ronan broke down, and it looked like this: a small innocuous black bag with necessities and a few pieces of clothes. Things he could leave there. Ronan sitting on the edge of his bed, teeth scraping his lip raw. He's been letting Kavinsky pull him in closer but this was -- he didn't know. New. The sort of thing he doesn't talk about, but that he couldn't not talk about.
It felt like something concrete, like a choice. Something concrete. He knows Declan would disagree, but it doesn't feel like he's making the wrong choice.]
more dream pack ronan | some point after the skov thread idk what im doing
is it cool if i bring some stuff over?
[The text could be innocuous, but it's the fastest that Ronan has probably ever sent messages in a row like that in his life. That slight edge of his nerves betray him, give away the hint of vulnerability. Not to mention that he brings stuff over all the time, and has probably never bothered to fucking ask about it -- if Kavinsky protested he'd probably just laugh. But it didn't matter, because everything left with him in the shark-silhouette of the BMW however many days later, when he eventually defeated the magnet of attraction. No matter if it was a small dragon or blooming plants that grew chocolate peanuts, or something else that had caught his interest -- either dreams or a joke or occasionally even something that meant something.
But the truth was that was a pain in the ass. If he stayed for more than a night, he'd end up stealing shirts and pajama pants- which was fine. The prospect of stealing Kavinsky's toothbrush or having to drive down to the corner store when all he wanted was pancakes and to look like he wasn't affected by how K looked first thing in the morning- it was a lot less charming than kissing him. He could try and dream it, but he didn't trust his own dreams to give him something so mundane. The idea of asking K to help him was fucking demeaning.
So eventually, Ronan broke down, and it looked like this: a small innocuous black bag with necessities and a few pieces of clothes. Things he could leave there. Ronan sitting on the edge of his bed, teeth scraping his lip raw. He's been letting Kavinsky pull him in closer but this was -- he didn't know. New. The sort of thing he doesn't talk about, but that he couldn't not talk about.
It felt like something concrete, like a choice. Something concrete. He knows Declan would disagree, but it doesn't feel like he's making the wrong choice.]