Ronan didn't know how to save him, but then he didn't even know how to save himself, how to stop dying. It feels ugly, but Kavinsky's death is part of what saves him. The other half is this: Declan, with his things mostly moved out of his dorm room, destined for a townhouse in DC that didn't feel far enough away for them to look each other in the face.
Pleasant goodbyes weren't what Lynch boys were made of.
So they fight, of course, because they're breathing, because they don't know how else to say it. Declan grabs him by his jacket, Ronan hits him, his brother curses, spitting blood into gravel. He actually snarls- like something wounded, like a creature that lashes out, hurts because it's hurting. Something ugly in Ronan thrills at the feeling.
Don't you get it, a question hurled like bullets. And Declan pulls out Ronan's ribs so easily he knows his brother could have done it all along. Because Matthew is one of his. Always has been. And dying- it's a luxury he can't afford. He didn't realize how close he'd been to wanting it, until it was no longer an option. He exhales in a uneasy gasp, shrugs it off like he isn't bleeding from the words. Bitter words of how Ronan had dreamed himself a better brother, and it's hard to blame him, for once.
He goes back to the Barns. He does not dream.
It starts with Adam, over headlights and tarot cards- the Devil. And he exhales a breath rich with guilt, so thick with memories he can taste it. And Ronan finds himself staring at dark eyes and white sunglasses. He shudders with shame under Adam's blue eyes, tries to laugh it off. He asks himself if he's dreaming, and he isn't.
It gets worse after that-- or maybe better. Ronan isn't sure anymore. Gansey died and came back. Cabeswater died and Ronan hasn't figured that out yet. Death seems less than it did before. He can smell Kavinsky's cologne and the slow curl of the weed he smoked in the car with him when he races Jiang. When his dreams start to crumble he knows it isn't his hands that put them back together.
Ronan doesn't just pull things from his dreams. Sometimes his dreams are a door, a space where living and dying are almost the same thing. It's someone else's fingers that put the green pills on his tongue, passes him the beer he uses to drink it down. Maybe it isn't the only thing he takes -- he stops checking. It feels like a summer he can't forget and can't fix. He told Blue and Gansey about the Camaro but he didn't go with them. He couldn't stand to see that place without Kavinsky there.
Adam checks in on him, but Ronan knows it wont last. Another month or two, he guesses. He's leaving for Harvard, because of course he is: he always has been, in his heart. There was always something he wanted more than magic.
Ronan sleeps, but he doesn't dream. But he still feels trapped when he wakes. It takes him long minutes to identify it as touch, hands on his skin, like the weight of a boy that doesn't eat enough. Like the ghost of a boy that he loved.]
gimme ghost kavinsky? :3 :3
Ronan didn't know how to save him, but then he didn't even know how to save himself, how to stop dying. It feels ugly, but Kavinsky's death is part of what saves him. The other half is this: Declan, with his things mostly moved out of his dorm room, destined for a townhouse in DC that didn't feel far enough away for them to look each other in the face.
Pleasant goodbyes weren't what Lynch boys were made of.
So they fight, of course, because they're breathing, because they don't know how else to say it. Declan grabs him by his jacket, Ronan hits him, his brother curses, spitting blood into gravel. He actually snarls- like something wounded, like a creature that lashes out, hurts because it's hurting. Something ugly in Ronan thrills at the feeling.
Don't you get it, a question hurled like bullets. And Declan pulls out Ronan's ribs so easily he knows his brother could have done it all along. Because Matthew is one of his. Always has been. And dying- it's a luxury he can't afford. He didn't realize how close he'd been to wanting it, until it was no longer an option. He exhales in a uneasy gasp, shrugs it off like he isn't bleeding from the words. Bitter words of how Ronan had dreamed himself a better brother, and it's hard to blame him, for once.
He goes back to the Barns.
He does not dream.
It starts with Adam, over headlights and tarot cards- the Devil. And he exhales a breath rich with guilt, so thick with memories he can taste it. And Ronan finds himself staring at dark eyes and white sunglasses. He shudders with shame under Adam's blue eyes, tries to laugh it off. He asks himself if he's dreaming, and he isn't.
It gets worse after that-- or maybe better. Ronan isn't sure anymore. Gansey died and came back. Cabeswater died and Ronan hasn't figured that out yet. Death seems less than it did before. He can smell Kavinsky's cologne and the slow curl of the weed he smoked in the car with him when he races Jiang. When his dreams start to crumble he knows it isn't his hands that put them back together.
Ronan doesn't just pull things from his dreams. Sometimes his dreams are a door, a space where living and dying are almost the same thing. It's someone else's fingers that put the green pills on his tongue, passes him the beer he uses to drink it down. Maybe it isn't the only thing he takes -- he stops checking. It feels like a summer he can't forget and can't fix. He told Blue and Gansey about the Camaro but he didn't go with them. He couldn't stand to see that place without Kavinsky there.
Adam checks in on him, but Ronan knows it wont last. Another month or two, he guesses. He's leaving for Harvard, because of course he is: he always has been, in his heart. There was always something he wanted more than magic.
Ronan sleeps, but he doesn't dream. But he still feels trapped when he wakes. It takes him long minutes to identify it as touch, hands on his skin, like the weight of a boy that doesn't eat enough. Like the ghost of a boy that he loved.]