It feels like everything stops for a moment. Ronan inhales, blue eyes looking at Kavinsky as he tries to find the words to say, find anything to say. The other boy's words feel like they bounce around inside of his head, his heartbeat caught on his ribs. There's something about the moment that's a little like when Kavinsky had brought Ronan to his house after he wrecked the Pig. It's that sense of being so stunned that he gets a little bit lost inside of himself. But it doesn't last nearly as long. It's not that sort of edged thing, the way he looks at Kavinsky with a sort of awe that felt somehow dangerous and enticing.]
No one's ever said it out loud before.
[His voice is a low murmur, reflexively uncertain about talking about it, like everyone else has always been with him. With all the things that Ronan's head is swirling with, it's not really what he means to say to Kavinsky, but it's the first thing that comes tripping over his tongue. No one has ever said dreams to him, and meant the things that Ronan woke with in his hands. He doesn't know that his mother is a dream, or his younger brother. No one in his family talks about it.
His father told him to never tell, but this wasn't telling because Kavinsky already knew. His mother told him to bury it, to keep it secret forever. But this wasn't really giving up the secret; it was shifting the lines so that it was their secret. Part of him wants to ask if he's a dreamer too, but it's mostly just because he wants to hear him say it.
His heart is racing, his pulse rabbit-fast against his ribs. But he nods at the question, fidgets for a moment, bites at his lip again, but then a moment later seems to have come to a decision.]
Everything feels weird here. And when I did manage it, I pulled something from a nightmare. It just- makes it that much harder.
[There's a flutter of something awkward to his blue eyes, a little like shame, a little like hurt. But he nods, dragging fingers through the curls of his hair to push it back from his face as he looks at Kavinsky. He's younger here, even a little more clumsy with dreaming than the Ronan he'd taught the first time. This is Ronan before living in Monmouth with just a closed door as insurance for Gansey's safety, where he'd had to learn control.
He's shifted how he was sitting so he's turned toward the other boy. There's no ruins of an orange car, but it's still K offering a branch when Ronan needs it.]
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It feels like everything stops for a moment. Ronan inhales, blue eyes looking at Kavinsky as he tries to find the words to say, find anything to say. The other boy's words feel like they bounce around inside of his head, his heartbeat caught on his ribs. There's something about the moment that's a little like when Kavinsky had brought Ronan to his house after he wrecked the Pig. It's that sense of being so stunned that he gets a little bit lost inside of himself. But it doesn't last nearly as long. It's not that sort of edged thing, the way he looks at Kavinsky with a sort of awe that felt somehow dangerous and enticing.]
No one's ever said it out loud before.
[His voice is a low murmur, reflexively uncertain about talking about it, like everyone else has always been with him. With all the things that Ronan's head is swirling with, it's not really what he means to say to Kavinsky, but it's the first thing that comes tripping over his tongue. No one has ever said dreams to him, and meant the things that Ronan woke with in his hands. He doesn't know that his mother is a dream, or his younger brother. No one in his family talks about it.
His father told him to never tell, but this wasn't telling because Kavinsky already knew. His mother told him to bury it, to keep it secret forever. But this wasn't really giving up the secret; it was shifting the lines so that it was their secret. Part of him wants to ask if he's a dreamer too, but it's mostly just because he wants to hear him say it.
His heart is racing, his pulse rabbit-fast against his ribs. But he nods at the question, fidgets for a moment, bites at his lip again, but then a moment later seems to have come to a decision.]
Everything feels weird here. And when I did manage it, I pulled something from a nightmare. It just- makes it that much harder.
[There's a flutter of something awkward to his blue eyes, a little like shame, a little like hurt. But he nods, dragging fingers through the curls of his hair to push it back from his face as he looks at Kavinsky. He's younger here, even a little more clumsy with dreaming than the Ronan he'd taught the first time. This is Ronan before living in Monmouth with just a closed door as insurance for Gansey's safety, where he'd had to learn control.
He's shifted how he was sitting so he's turned toward the other boy. There's no ruins of an orange car, but it's still K offering a branch when Ronan needs it.]
Okay. Show me.