[Torn between want and fear, Ronan doesn't bring back Gansey's Camaro, perfect as memory. All he brings back is a pair of white sunglasses, clutched in his fingers. He swallows, tries not to think of what it means, if Kavinsky can read what Ronan was dreaming.
Once he has his body back, once he can move his fingers again, he unfolds them and with a sly smile that's full of razors, Ronan slides them onto the bridge of his nose. His heart pounding in his chest, leaning into the other boy's space, grinning something wicked, kicking his legs playfully. Wouldn't take much to be close enough to kiss, and Ronan can't help being painfully aware of it.
But he doesn't say it.]
Now we can both look like douchebags.
[What do you want, Ronan Lynch?
Knowing was almost worse. He almost wanted to punch Kavinsky just to prove something to himself or whatever God was watching. But maybe God didn't care, or didn't matter. And maybe that was okay because he did. Care. Kavinsky might be a Bulgarian Jersey Trash piece of shit, but Ronan cared about him, wanted him in every way he'd been trying to convince himself he didn't want anyone. Or at least not other boys.
Running feels too much like cowardice so he stays. Instead he laughs, shoves against K's bare chest in a way that could almost have been starting a fight if they weren't too close for comfort, a cocktail of sweat and cocaine and wanting. Two boys topless on the sizzling hood of a car under the summer's morning light, with the same stupid fucking sunglasses.]
good end AU!!!!
Once he has his body back, once he can move his fingers again, he unfolds them and with a sly smile that's full of razors, Ronan slides them onto the bridge of his nose. His heart pounding in his chest, leaning into the other boy's space, grinning something wicked, kicking his legs playfully. Wouldn't take much to be close enough to kiss, and Ronan can't help being painfully aware of it.
But he doesn't say it.]
Now we can both look like douchebags.
[What do you want, Ronan Lynch?
Knowing was almost worse. He almost wanted to punch Kavinsky just to prove something to himself or whatever God was watching. But maybe God didn't care, or didn't matter. And maybe that was okay because he did. Care. Kavinsky might be a Bulgarian Jersey Trash piece of shit, but Ronan cared about him, wanted him in every way he'd been trying to convince himself he didn't want anyone. Or at least not other boys.
Running feels too much like cowardice so he stays. Instead he laughs, shoves against K's bare chest in a way that could almost have been starting a fight if they weren't too close for comfort, a cocktail of sweat and cocaine and wanting. Two boys topless on the sizzling hood of a car under the summer's morning light, with the same stupid fucking sunglasses.]