burnyoudown | Open RP Post

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Open RP Post

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🔥 General squick/trigger list.
🔥 m/m for anything shippy.
🔥 General headcanon for Kavinsky. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
🔥 Kavinsky's kink list.
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[ooc: from here.]

[He thought about texting back while he waited, but it took a lot of effort to coordinate his fingers right now, so he didn't. He pocketed his phone and leaned his head back instead.

When Adam approached, Kavinsky struggled to sit up better, mostly so he wouldn't make a fool of himself by spilling water everywhere whenever he got around to opening the bottle that he accepted.]

No. [He hadn't asked. He didn't usually need to ask. Maybe that had been a mistake on his part.

But, despite how off he felt, he still smirked.]

Why, worried I'm gonna kick it?

No.

[It's an easy answer, with only a brief flicker of something sharp in his expression. But Adam softens it after only a moment, turns it into a curl of an uneven smile, something different than he wears around his friends.]

You're too stubborn to just die, aren't you?

[He arches an eyebrow at Kavinsky, almost rhetorical. He doesn't open the bottle in his hands, but lets his fingers leech the cool perspiration on the glass neck.

Not long ago, he said he hated Kavinsky, but the truth was more like this: Kavinsky was everything Adam wasn't, couldn't be. Rich and gorgeously exotic and with a car made for racing, that could do a quarter mile in thirteen seconds on factory specs. It would have been jealousy if he let himself admit that he wanted things.

Adam should feel out of place here, with a cellphone in his pocket and a bottle in his hands. Instead the colored lights and music he doesn't speak the language to are almost a strange sort of balm to all the open wounds.]

But I'm not sure you'll be able to drive me home.

[Kavinsky grinned, opening the water bottle and taking a sip.]

Damn right.

[It'd take more than this to put him in the grave.

On the subject of being able to drive Adam home though... he shrugged a shoulder, grin only dimming just a little.]

Probably not. Guess that means you'll have to spend the night with me.

[He'd be lying if he said he wasn't hitting on Adam. Kavinsky saw opportunities and he took them, simple as that. Of course, he might have been hitting on him from the start, since inviting him to a party in the first place.]

[Adam considers, a slight tilt of his head. His blue eyes slide over Kavinsky's face. He means it to be casual, but it's something a little bit more than that. A touch of intent, almost appreciation where his gaze catches on his jaw, the curl of his mouth.

Part of him almost wants to say okay, because Adam craves so badly to be wanted. But Adam is bad at letting himself have the things he wants. And he doesn't really know what the other boy sees in him. If this is a performance, or if he thinks Adam is just this needy-- even if he is, he doesn't much like the idea of someone being able to see it. Especially Kavinsky.

He steps in closer, sits against the edge of the coffee table, most of his weight in his legs so he can lean into his space. He closes the distance with intention, so it makes the air tense, so the music dims as he watches K and his blown pupils, the way his pulse races in his throat.

Adam was not the saint Gansey liked to pretend he was, that teachers saw him as. But then Gansey was a teacher for lessons he had yet to catch. And Adam had known he liked both boys and girls for basically as long as he'd known he wanted to kiss someone. But this was rural-nowhere fucking Henrietta, Virginia. So he didn't say it too loud. But he doesn't flinch like this says something about himself, like it's a crisis he needs to work through.

It just is. K's hitting on him, and Adam doesn't want him to stop. He doesn't trust him enough to be sure it's not just to get a rise out of the trailer trash kid, not just for the punchline. So he flirts back, but it's all sharp edges. Kavinsky isn't someone like Declan or one of the other boys- someone charming enough to sell can you believe he thought I was serious?- and that makes it a little bit safer.]

Or maybe I'll just take your car and drive myself. You can just buy another, right?

[There's something to how he says it- like buy was something else, only switched in at the last moment. The very idea of the words are daring in the worst way. What if someone saw, what if he didn't want to give it back?]

[He wasn't bothered in the slightest when Adam got into his space. In fact, he leaned forward a little, his grin fading down to a smirk. Adam had a nice everything as far as he was concerned, from his eyelashes to his ass, and everything in between. Sometimes, he wondered why more people didn't flirt with Adam. Maybe it had something to do with Adam coming across as aloof, usually.

Kavinsky himself was many things, cruel included, but not quite as cruel as people thought sometimes. He didn't get any fun out of stringing people along. He liked his intentions to be pretty clear, most of the time.]

Go ahead. I don't give a shit.

[He actually did, sort of, but not enough to put up a big fuss about it. He could just get another car, pluck one out of his head.]

But you'd have to fight me for the keys.

[Not literally. Probably. Maybe. But they were in his pocket and he wouldn't just hand them over.]

[Usually he was aloof, honestly. He didn't have the time or the effort to spare, between the jobs he worked and classwork. Most people didn't understand why he lived on his own or why he used to miss school only to come back with bruises. Typically he liked it better when people didn't understand, when he could smudge out the truth, but it meant he was always invisible.

Kavinsky had made an effort, invited him, and hasn't seemed to get bored of him. He still has his focus, and Adam doesn't want to give it up. And sure, he's a jerk and a ]

And Evo's use transponder keys. Even if I wanted to spend the rest of the night disassembling the steering column to get to the pin, it wont run power to the engine without them.

[Which is a fancy way of saying that Kavinsky is right, and he really would need the keys. His Henrietta accent creeps into the edge of his voice, and he might be talking about the other boy's car, but the words still sound like flirting. Or maybe a little bit more. Adam's fond enough of that car he wouldn't actually take it apart just to hotwire it - but it makes a sweet sort of threat to breathe into the space between them.

He leaves the bottle on the table, and his eyes flick over the other boy. What do you want, Adam? Physical contact is always charged for him. So often it meant pain and hurt and that numb feeling where he pulled every piece of himself into a ball where his father couldn't touch it. But it also made him vulnerable to the opposite: pleasure, contact, heat- anything that felt good, that meant something.

He reaches out, carefully splays fingers against Kavinsky's shoulder like he's anchoring himself, pressing against fabric. It's a terrible idea, of course, and Adam has no excuses. He skipped all the intoxicants except for Kavinsky himself. But there's no school and he doesn't have work until late afternoon, and technically it's been his birthday since midnight. He's close enough he could shift and press knees into his hips, or press up next to him, but he doesn't. Just that one touch, fingers soaking up the heat, pressed against his too-bony shoulder, leaning in close.]

Uh-huh.

[He didn't give a flying fuck if Adam could hotwire his car or not, but he appreciated a man who knew cars. It was hot, if he was being honest.]

Sounds like you're stuck, then.

[But he didn't say it like it was a bad thing, because he wasn't thinking of it as one.

He took another sip from his water bottle before putting the cap back on so he could set it...somewhere. The floor, the table, whatever he could reach without actually moving. Not just because he didn't feel like moving but because Adam was touching him and it felt like something. Something he didn't want to disturb.

Sighing, fighting the urge to let his head lean back and close his eyes, he reached up--slowly, so Adam wouldn't spook--and cupped the side of the other boy's face. Because he wanted to, and because Adam had a fine face.]

Has anyone ever told you you're hot?

[He had a feeling the answer was no, which was a shame. Everyone was probably too busy forgetting Adam even existed, but not Kavinsky.]

Sure does look that way.

[Adam doesn't sound particularly broken-up about it, either. He didn't want to go back to 300 Fox Way, and he doesn't want to go home alone- he hadn't wanted to be anywhere, if he was honest. He should argue the point more, but he feels like Kavinsky has already seen through him to the point that he can't bring himself to mind.

He's certain enough that if this was a punchline that Kavinsky would have backed out by now. Because instead he's carefully setting down the water bottle and letting his fingers cup against the side of his face, slowly. Like he's noticed the way Adam tensed at fast movements, loud noises, contact he didn't expect. And it's that hint of care that undoes the last of his paranoia. He trembles, tilts into the touch like he's greedy for it, blue eyes watching the other boy as heat slides through his veins.]

No. You have very distinctive features, Mister Parrish, is about the closest I've got.

[Blue had called him pretty once, but the last thing he wants to do is talk about her. He can still hear it if he lets himself: it's not going to be you and me. He'd felt colorless and ugly, angry, untethered. Now he felt-- he didn't quite know. But it feels like Kavinsky wants him- wants Adam Parrish- when no one else does, and that's good enough. And maybe it should be impossible, but he can't bring himself to care.

He reaches out and lets his other hand slide up against the line of the other boy's jaw, gentle at the back of his neck and then curling fingers in the dark strands of Kavinsky's hair. Even with the hand clinging to his shoulder, Adam feels unsteady, like he's coming undone just from fingers searing against his skin.]

Fucking- [He shook his head.] Blind. They're blind.

[Distinctive was one way to put it, he guessed, but Kavinsky preferred 'hot'. Were people intimidated by Adam? Did they think he wanted to be ignored? If he hadn't already been snapped up by Gansey and Ronan, he was exactly the type Kavinsky would take under his wing. A lonely boy who needed someone to empower him. Maybe it wasn't too late.

Normally, he would hatch a plan. Right now, he was so high he just wanted to indulge himself--and Adam, if the other boy was willing. Kavinsky wasn't touch starved by any means, but he was hyper-aware of Adam's hands on him, feeling his fingers against his skin. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was just the moment, his own desire. He also didn't think Adam touched just anyone like this. That meant it wasn't something to be wasted.

He slid his hand around to the back of Adam's neck, tugging him closer, close enough to nudge their mouths together, to kiss him, assuming Adam didn't pull away. Kavinsky might not have liked taking no for an answer, but he was softer right now, edges not as sharp from the drugs he'd taken. He'd let Adam pull away if he wanted to, but he hoped he wouldn't.]

[Most people seemed to think Dimitri and Kavinsky should be rivals, but he doesn't get close enough to him for that, and actually tries to avoid getting on K's bad side. They were both drug dealers, but Dimitri actually had a certain sort of manners where Kavinsky was concerned-- he never tried to sell at K's parties, and just generally kept his head down where the other boy was concerned.

Dimitri's father had been Russian mafia, wealthy with a successful life of crime that had long run in the family. And then one night he never came home. A man with a smile like death told the blond that his father had disgraced himself, and he's been in over his head ever since. He's a scholarship student like Parrish, although he lives in the dorms rather than a trailer. His family had gone from living in luxury in a house in St. Petersburg, and now rented an apartment on the rough side of NYC. Dimitri only attended prep school out of his mother's hope that it would make it so that he could give her back her life of expensive dresses and weekend spa trips.

So the rumor about K's father being mafia is enough to keep him playing nice, to not get too close, and to keep him out of the other boy's dreams.

The rumor that circles about Dimitri is this: he should be dead. The summer before he transferred to Aglionby he crashed during a race, and the airbag didn't deploy. Blood and broken glass and the scream of warped metal. There was nearly a funeral -- or so the story goes. He grins like a joke he isn't telling and shows off the inked sleeves of his tattoos, shows off where he says it covers up scars, lets people feel for them. But it's still a lie.

So he never tells the Dreamer that for Dimitri even reality is colored by dreams, that he walks in the dreamforest, shapes castles and impossible racetracks, every desire that kindles in his heart. He couldn't see any reason to say it-- Kavinsky seemed to be fine, even if he had enough of his own sort of trouble.

But the other boy looks at Ronan the way that he used to look at Elijah: like the only fucking thing that matters. Like he would burn the world just for his attention, and he knows it'll end in flames. Dimitri remembers the feeling, and he knows how losing that can turn you inside out, how it burns. It sparks something in him, maybe even empathy. Or maybe it's just thinking that Kavinsky deserves better than being left alone with the bitterness.

Which is how they get to this moment right here: Dimitri pulling up in his bright red Mustang, all after-market parts and LED lights amidst a hundred white Mitsubishis. He doesn't so much as bat an eye at the dreamt cars, just gets out and pockets his keys in his cargo shorts. His tee-shirt on the other hand declares "my sexual preference is often" because he's seventeen and thinks shitty tee shirts are amusing.

He figures anyone that actually knows Kavinsky probably is smart enough to avoid him in the mood he's in. Instead here he is, playing the world's biggest idiot. He wouldn't be entirely surprised if the other teen started off by punching him in the face. But well, there's a certain familiarity, a certain catharsis in violence, and Dima's never turned down a fist fight. And he figures that even a fight might be better for K's mood than just leaving him alone with it.]

Hey. Kavinsky?

[He calls his name and there's an urgency to it. After a pause, he curses under his breath as he drags a hand through his blonde hair, because he doesn't really have a plan. He isn't even entirely sure which of the cars he's in, and there's too much here for him to feel it out. So he looks for him the old-fashioned way: walking among the cars, letting his fingertips drag against the spoiler of the cars he passes, that jolt of dream on dream at every touch.]

[Kavinsky was not in a good mood. His mood was so sour, in fact, that he hadn't even mustered up the energy to leave the dreaming field yet. Just a little while ago, things had been good, hadn't they? He'd had Ronan. He'd had everything. It hadn't even been like he'd wanted to turn Ronan against Gansey, he'd just wanted to feel like he mattered to him, too. He'd wanted to feel important to Ronan, for Ronan to choose him. Instead, Ronan had tossed him aside the moment he wasn't useful anymore.

He'd always figured that Ronan would take a newly dreamed Pig back to Gansey, but he'd thought-- He'd thought Ronan would come back to him, too. It was all he'd wanted and it didn't feel like it'd been much to ask for. Ronan wasn't that much different than him, really, and yet...

He turned his head to the side when he heard his name, a familiar voice that broke the silence hanging over the field. He didn't know how he felt about Dimitri being here--here, of all places. Despite knowing that Dimitri was looking for him, Kavinsky didn't budge from where he sat in the passenger seat of one of the Mitsubishis, window rolled down and pale arm hanging out.

He felt dead inside but this shit was far from over. He'd get Ronan, one way or another. He just had to figure out how. Unfortunately, his brain was running on empty, chasing itself in circles going over and over again how Ronan had left him.

Drumming his fingers on the outside of the car door, he sighed, then heaved himself over enough to lean out the window, squinting despite his sunglasses.]

What. [He said slowly, loud enough to be heard even though the other boy was still a few rows of cars away.] The fuck. Are you doing here?

[He wanted a smoke. He wished he was high. Anything to dull the pain. But both of those things required getting out of this car and going to his other car and that felt like far too much effort right now.]

Here to put me out of my misery?

[He was going for joking but his tone fell short and there wasn't even a hint of a smile on his face.]

Looking for you, of course.

[He follows the sound of the other boy's voice, and seems rather unconcerned by the tone that Kavinsky takes. He'd known that he would be in a black mood- the fact that he's only mildly snapped at him feels like a better result than he was expecting. He looks him over; assessing for damage, even if he tries to hide it under something casual and only mildly interested. He leans against the passenger side of his car, rests his left arm lightly against the roof.]

Nothing like that- not even if you said please. Just thought I'd make sure you weren't going to set yourself on fire.

[It's what the dream felt like, but he doesn't say that- dreams were liars sometimes too, anyway.

Dmitri means for it to come off as a joke in return, but his tone is a little strained as well. Tinged with a flicker of something genuine; like somehow he knows that Kavinsky might be more serious about that then he wants to admit to. And he's willing to not point it out, but he's also not here to put a gun to his head. So. Subject change.]

Oh. You meant how I found this place?

[He shrugs his shoulders, rakes fingers through the messy strands of his blond hair. It's a brief pause, the reflexive instinct to lie, to shape the truth into something easier for people to swallow, easier to sell. Of course, Kavinsky is a Dreamer, so maybe that didn't mean normal in the first place. He hadn't exactly planned on giving away something as complicated as an honest answer to that question, though. The one that at its heart asks: what are you? The temptation is to slip away from the subject, dodge the question, as reflexive as a kneejerk.

Instead he slips his cigarette case from the back pocket of his jeans-- something to do with his mouth that isn't saying shit he doesn't really want to talk about. Or that he might want to talk about, but doesn't quite trust. Despite the case, he smokes shitty Marlboros; he has it mostly so he can tuck a few pills, a small baggie of coke, and a few joints in it too. He holds it out to K along with the lighter, and it's at least not the one that says if you want to get lucky smile.

The silence hangs for a few moments, a tension in what Dimitri isn't saying. But Kavinsky is a Dreamer, and the point in coming here wasn't to lie to him, even if that's who he is. Lies and smiles, stories -- he's a Dream that normal people can understand. A secret given skin once, and then dreamt back to life. He sees dreams when he's awake, too, so he's sensitive to them.]

Fuck it. This place- there's so many dreams here, I can feel it from just about anywhere in Henrietta.

[Kavinsky's face scrunched up. He was torn between wondering why the fuck anyone would be looking for him and semi-disappointed that he was going to have to stay alive and miserable like this.]

Why? What's it to you if I did?

[Setting himself on fire...alright, it sounded like a bad idea. A bad way to go about things if only because it'd hurt like a bitch. There were better ways to go, and he wasn't a stranger to trying them, if the faint scar on the inside of his left wrist said anything.]

Yeah, no shit that's what I meant.

[He wasn't patient, not today, but he waited without fussing all the same, if only because he was being offered exactly what he'd just wished he had. It took him a moment to decide what he wanted, hand outstretched, before he plucked a joint and the lighter, leaning back into the car. He was just about to light up when Dimitri spoke again, and he froze.

He didn't need this shit today, he didn't need...whatever this was. He was assuming it meant bad news for him; it usually did. There weren't a lot of bright points in his life that weren't chemical.]

The fuck's that mean?

[He leaned forward again so he could peer out the window. He wasn't playing stupid, but he wanted to know what the other boy knew before he potentially damned himself. He'd only brought Ronan to this place, a place for dreamers, a secret for the two of them. But apparently, it wasn't secret at all. He didn't know how he felt about that just yet; he was still deciding.]

If you weren't around this place would suck even more.

[Which is honest, without being vulnerable. It's saying that K matters without saying it in words he probably wouldn't know how to explain anyway. Because they might not be close, but Kavinsky is still worth it. Worth more than being left alone. In truth something about him caught Dimitri's interest- distance had felt safer, but he's always been reckless and now it feels like there's a reason for it.

He lets Kavinsky take the joint and the lighter easily, and doesn't even comment when he pauses at the blond's answer. Instead Dimitri just considers a moment before plucking out a cigarette and tucking the case back into his pocket, banking on the fact that he'll get the lighter back eventually.

Things like empathy aren't exactly his strong suit; kind is probably at the bottom of how people might describe him. But Dimitri gives a bit more for the right sort of person. And Kavinsky is a complicated mix of abrasive and brittle he finds interesting, despite everything. So he's actually making an effort here- and that's probably why he actually tells him. Because he's one of the few people that might understand what it's like.]

I can feel dreams, even when I'm awake. I'm sort of... [His voice is soft and he hesitates. The other teen can probably tell that he doesn't say this shit often, if ever. There's a wobble to his breath, a certain sort of vulnerability in the space before he smooths it over and picks up the words again.]

Fuck. I dunno how to explain this shit. I'm one foot still in dreams even when my eyes are open. So even like this, dreams are--

[Instead, he drags his fingers against the attractive line of the Mitsubishi to make the point that he can't quite put into words. He can feel it even like this, even when he's awake. He doesn't say: yes, it sucks every bit as much as you think it does, but there's a touch of it to the tone of his voice.]

You're too good at it to be subtle.

[Kavinsky snorted. He was pretty sure a lot of people would breathe a sigh of relief if he wasn't around. The rich boys would get by just fine without him. The addicts would get by just fine. The people who looked down their noses at him would be happy. The number of people who actually wanted him around felt like it got smaller every day.

He listened quietly to Dimitri's explanation, rolling the joint back and forth between his fingers before sighing heavily. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. Something terrible, probably, for someone else to have another reason to be against him. After a moment, he lit the joint and held the lighter out to Dimitri.]

You're a flatterer. [Normally, he'd make a joke. 'Go on, don't stop now' or 'compliment me some more', but he wasn't in a joking mood. This didn't feel like a joking matter. And yet-] And you're a freak. Just like me.

[Did he really think of himself as a freak? It depended on the day. He was either a freak or a god; there was no in-between when it came to his moods. Right now was the former, where not even someone else like him had wanted to be around him once he was done being useful.

What did he say to someone who could feel dreams all the time? What had he wanted someone to say to him, once upon a time? He'd already blown that; he'd wanted to not be called a freak. To be accepted. To know he wasn't alone.

He had questions--of course, he did--but he hardly felt like asking any of them. He wanted to know more, to know if Dimitri had been born this way too, to know what else he could do except feel dreams.]

So, that explains the how you found me, but- [He made a frustrated noise.] What, does half of Henrietta already know Lynch left me high and dry?

[Or did he radiate some kind of sad dream energy bullshit or something? In a way, he was touched that Dimitri seemed to care, but it also felt almost too good to be true--having someone care.]

[He took the lighter back, lighting his cigarette and inhaling the smoke before he slipped the zippo back into his worn jeans. But he watches Kavinsky, looking to see how he takes it all. He's a Dreamer, so it's not disbelief, at least. The only time he'd ever told someone like this they'd been in a dream, so this felt like a different thing altogether. But he takes a drag off his cigarette and tries to look nonchalant about the whole thing, even if he isn't.]

Oh, c'mon. We're surrounded by cars you pulled from your dreams. It's not just flattery, Ioska.

[He thought there were probably exactly two people in Henrietta that would understand what he meant, but Kavinsky was one of them. It's the familiar version of the way you say Joseph in Russian, but easy enough to understand for most of the Slavic languages.

There's a slight tilt of his head, a twitch of his expression as he watches him. He's more accepting of the way that Kavinsky says you're a freak like me than he'd like to be- the way that it touches against his worst insecurities. He'd been alone for so long, struggling to fit into a world he wasn't made for any more than Kavinsky was. Before he met Elijah he hadn't known anyone else that could touch dreams like he could. And Elijah had known so little about dreams, and Dmitri had been so glad to show him.

But the rejection broke pieces of him- because it was a rejection of who he was, too. Those are things he doesn't say out loud, but they're there- the sharp parts he hides behind his green eyes.]

If you're gonna go there, might as well go all the way-- say we're monsters.

[There's a touch of vulgar innuendo to the way he says the words- reflexively coarse. His teeth flash white as he exhales the smoke of his cigarette, but it's a complicated thing. Something that speaks to brittle bitterness and suffering as much as it does to edges that cut like a weapon. A fight against the world.

They were strange, dangerous creatures. But they were similar: they were the same, in the ways that mattered. Boys tangled in dreams, in the crushing weight of the world around them. It's part of why he's here, if he's being honest. Selfishness. Because without Kavinsky, who does he have? Ronan and Eli? Boys who it seemed like were made for ruin? He might not have taken the risk of saying it before, but he'd known since he saw him. And it might not be good enough, but it was something to just know that someone else like him existed.]

Nah. It's just me, I think.

[He knows what Kavinsky is really asking, but he takes a breath off his cigarette, all acrid smoke. Through his eyes the world echoes with dreams- and right now it burns. But he doesn't really know how to explain that with his feet on solid ground, so he doesn't.]

Dreams are bad at keeping secrets. But I saw the way you looked at him for months.

[He almost says: I always knew he'd burn you, but he doesn't, because it sounds like jealousy. Instead his voice softens just a little, because it's empathy, not judgement. They might not have ever been close before, but he does care that Ronan doesn't break Kavinsky with carelessness.]

I thought you deserved better than being alone.

[Ioska. There was something about it that made him latch onto it. It felt... he wasn't sure, but there was something about it, something that made his pulse flare. People called him a variety of things, but usually nothing so simple and yet so almost-intimate. Out loud, he'd only ever fess up to being pleased with the compliment, though. He was good at what he did, and he took pride in it. Most of the time, anyway.]

You're not a monster. [He took a hit, pausing for a moment more to put thoughts together than to appreciate his joint.] I might be, but not because of what I am.

[But rather who he was. He wasn't ashamed of it, either. He was awful and he knew it and the only way to not be swallowed alive by guilt or depression or self-hatred was to own it. But he'd never think of anybody as a monster for what they were, especially not if they dealt in dreams.

He almost bristled when Dimitri said he'd seen the way Kavinsky'd been looking at Ronan. It wasn't like it was a secret, but clearly, it'd been a surprise to Lynch. Clearly, he'd missed the memo where Kavinsky was a complete and utter fool for him. He still didn't think he'd asked for much from Ronan, yet here he was, sitting in his dreaming field with Dimitri instead of the other boy.

There were a lot of things he could have said, snide comments he could have made, jokes, something to deflect, but he didn't say any of the things that initially came to mind. His brow furrowed and, very earnestly, asked-]

Why?

[Why did Dimitri care? Why did he think Kavinsky didn't deserve to be alone? Most people didn't care and he'd gotten used to that.]

[He can't entirely help being affected by it when Kavinsky says that he's not a monster. Dimitri laughs it off, his gaze sliding off to the side, a curve of his mouth in something that isn't quite a smile. There's something to how he holds himself that says he's heard it too often on other peoples' tongues. He's learned to own it too, but it's not as flawless as it is with Kavinsky. It's a sharper thing, still a little raw, still holds pieces of how cruel reality is to a boy that doesn't live in it.

Dimitri doesn't know what he's expecting Kavinsky to say, but it's not what he gets- that question of why, the way that he looks at him so earnest that he doesn't know how to misdirect or push the truth to the side. He'd stupidly thought he could do this without having to expose himself, to give away his own vulnerability.]

Selfishness, I guess. I mean-- even if I was too chickenshit to say something to you about it, I still needed you.

[He doesn't look at Kavinsky as he says it, just kicks his foot against the dirt, sighs through the smoke his cigarette leaves in the air. These are the sort of words they could cut each other with- but Dimitri at least doesn't seem inclined to use the vulnerability of the moment like a weapon. He lets his shoulders curl, and when he looks at the other boy it's a quiet thing. A look that's soft and genuine in a way he never lets most people see.

And sure, Ronan's a Dreamer too. But he has his brothers and his Gansey-- he's sure that his whole life, he's never felt what it's like to really be alone. And that's a different death than the one that ate at Dimitri. But then maybe that's why he's here and Ronan isn't.]

Without you, what am I? I'm just- alone again.

[Last time it had killed him, but he doesn't say that part out loud.]

[Kavinsky was well acquainted with thinking of yourself as a monster. No one deserved to be called one just because of what they were. Some things couldn't be changed or controlled, and what you were was one of them. Who you were was a different matter entirely, and he was much more willing to judge people based on it.]

You need me?

[He was about to ask 'why' again when Dimitri continued. Oh. Being alone and not wanting to be alone was something that resonated with him. It was--it was why he was so determined to bend Ronan to his side, why his rejection hurt so much. Maybe Ronan didn't need to be around another dreamer but Kavinsky did. He was a freak of nature, he didn't know where he came from, what had caused him to be born the way he was, and he just... he was so tired of being alone. So tired he could feel it in his bones.

He'd struggled for so many years with the feeling, grappled with depression that stemmed from it. He felt alone even when he was surrounded by people, in the middle of a party, in the middle of class. He only felt like he wasn't really alone in certain moments. Sharing a bed with Prokopenko or the rest of his boys, racing with Ronan, dreaming with Ronan...doing anything with the other dreamer, really. More than that, Ronan had made him feel alive. But Ronan wasn't here right now and Dimitri was.

There was something intimate about their vulnerability, the fact that either of them could easily ruin the moment with sharp words. Kavinsky didn't like feeling vulnerable, but he was already raw, almost to his core. Ronan had hurt him, left him feeling unbalanced.

Fuck it.]

Let's not be alone, then. You and me, we could be... fuck.

[He pushed a hand under his sunglasses, pressing his fingers against one eye while he sucked in a breath.]

Stick with me, you'll never have to be alone again.

[He didn't know exactly what he was suggesting. Some sort of friendship, some kind of bond. He wasn't sure if Dimitri needed to be pulled under his wing, if he was as damaged as the rest of Kavinsky's boys were, but... The offer was there, if Dimitri wanted to take it. There was only one drawback, besides the fact Kavinsky didn't handle rejection well; he didn't accept social breakups. If you were in, you were in for the long haul.]

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.]

[The fact Ronan was asking made Kavinsky pause. He always brought shit with him and K never minded. Why did he suddenly have to ask? What exactly was he planning on bringing?]

yeah y wouldn't it be?

[And then, a few moments later, because Kavinsky couldn't help himself, he added;]

should I clear out a drawer for you?

[He was joking but he wasn't. Did Ronan want to make staying over a more permanent thing? Did he want... fuck, just the idea of Ronan wanting something more made Kavinsky's pulse spike. He tried to tell himself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe this was nothing and Ronan had just finally found some manners. Not that his lack of them would ever bother K--it was one of Ronan's charms.]

yeah

[Somehow, it doesn't feel like a good enough answer to the question that Kavinsky had asked, but he doesn't really know how to explain or justify it. He types and erases words a few times and bites the inside of his cheek just to repress the urge to throw his fucking phone, to throw something just to release the tension that feels like it'll explode from his ribcage. He's never done this. He doesn't know what he's fucking doing, and for as much shit as he gets from Gansey and Declan, he actually does give a shit once in a while.]

maybe just part of one?
its just a few things really

your shirts are a bit tight on me sweetheart

[Ronan had found some manners, but Kavinsky also wasn't wrong. It was tentative, a footstep into standing on the same ground, into the idea that they could be an us, two dreamer Kings, Kavinsky-and-Ronan. But the asking is nerve-wracking, and K can probably read the tension in between the lines. Even if Ronan tries to make it sound casual, for him it's anything but.]

u deserve an entire drawer doll

[Ronan deserved more than a single drawer if Kavinsky was being honest. Ronan deserved the world, the moon and stars in the sky, and a dozen other sappy things he wouldn't be inclined to say out loud. He also deserved to feel comfortable and welcome.]

yeah but they look good on u

[Ronan was right though; Kavinsky was so much skinnier than the other boy. He could easily wear Ronan's shirts but the other way around was a little harder. Not that he'd ever complain.

After a moment, he texted again-]

u could have an entire room if u wanted

[He knew the appeal was sharing a bed, a room, but he was willing to give Ronan space, too.]

[After ghosting Kavinsky for the better part of a week, the first contact he gets is this:]

ive kidnapped skov & swan
& were gonna have a party without you

hope youre prepared to pay ransom
else im not giving them back

[It's a good sign, even if it is an odd way to say hey ive missed you. But the sentiment is there, behind the threat that's a joke and true all at the same time. Kavinsky can probably tell that he's certainly high.

But it means that Ronan is with Skov and Swan, by his own choice, and apparently enjoying their company enough that it somehow has him in a pleasant mood. Enough so that he actually texted Kavinsky first without provocation, in what might be a brand new turn for their relationship. Ronan's mood always skews dark when he stays away, which usually means he's sharp as a blade when he slides back to Kavinsky's side. Even after their worst fights, eventually he's so miserable he can't help himself, can't keep denying what he wants. So he ends up responding when the other boy baits him with cars or drinks or the prospect of something on fire.

Ronan's even polite enough to pull this when there's still an hour or so before the earliest of party-goers starts showing up for Kavinsky's revelries. Although, that's probably just fortune rather than Ronan developing a sudden affliction of good behavior.

He isn't seem at all inclined to admit to what it was that scared him off in the first place. But that's just Ronan; no matter the day or the hour. He never acknowledges it without pressure, without some clever application of charm. It's easier for them both to just let it fade away into the night. Just accept that he's as mercurial as Irish weather, but that he always finds his way back.]

[Kavinsky went through a couple of emotions upon first reading Ronan's text. First was surprise--Ronan never texted him out of the blue without some kind of push. Next was confusion over the idea of Ronan willingly hanging out with Skov and Swan--maybe he should have had Skov wedge his way into Ronan's life in the first place. He'd always had a gentler touch than Kavinsky, though not as gentle as Jiang. Last came amusement. It was startlingly easy to imagine the three of them somewhere, getting high and having a good time. Kavinsky almost felt jealous that he wasn't there.]

thank fuck
it's about time someone kidnapped Skov
you can keep him
just remember to take him for walks

[Ronan wasn't the only one who had to deal with Kavinsky's dog jokes.]

what do I have to do to get Swan back?

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Open RP Post

for Adam

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at the dream field;

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more dream pack ronan | some point after the skov thread idk what im doing

great things is what you're doing

yesss im glad i thought it had potential :)

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/during/ the skov thread ahem

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