[There's a slight glimmer of something in his eyes when K mentions his parents; anger, but he smooths it down. Ronan had struggled so much just because of the inability to speak of it, and he had been his father's favorite. He can't imagine what it must have been like growing up like that. No wonder everyone saw Kavinsky as a blade.
He laughs a little, a slight shrug of his shoulders as the boy declares that he has fucked up shit in his head. And he's not wrong, not even a little bit. But the thing that makes it light is the way that he says mistakes happen like it's okay. Like he understands.
He's never had someone like K before. He loved his brothers- they had been his closest friends until he'd met Gansey. But they didn't dream, not like Ronan did. Flaming swords and so many strange and impossible things clutched in his hands as he woke. There's a strange sort of happiness that flutters in his chest as he shakes his head at the question. The sort that comes from kinship, from belonging.]
Only with dreams. I didn't know you could.
[There was Orphan Girl, but she wasn't a dreamer. She wasn't like him; she was an odd little girl with goat legs and a fondness for fried chicken that stayed in his dreams. Kavinsky was a real boy here with him in a world that was alien, but somehow still real. There's a flicker of curiosity at the pills, gaze slipping against K's fingers before he looks back up to meet his eyes.
The idea of dreaming with someone else is electrifying in a way that's entirely new. A thrill that warms his skin as he reaches out, takes one of the pills in the tips of his fingers.]
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He laughs a little, a slight shrug of his shoulders as the boy declares that he has fucked up shit in his head. And he's not wrong, not even a little bit. But the thing that makes it light is the way that he says mistakes happen like it's okay. Like he understands.
He's never had someone like K before. He loved his brothers- they had been his closest friends until he'd met Gansey. But they didn't dream, not like Ronan did. Flaming swords and so many strange and impossible things clutched in his hands as he woke. There's a strange sort of happiness that flutters in his chest as he shakes his head at the question. The sort that comes from kinship, from belonging.]
Only with dreams. I didn't know you could.
[There was Orphan Girl, but she wasn't a dreamer. She wasn't like him; she was an odd little girl with goat legs and a fondness for fried chicken that stayed in his dreams. Kavinsky was a real boy here with him in a world that was alien, but somehow still real. There's a flicker of curiosity at the pills, gaze slipping against K's fingers before he looks back up to meet his eyes.
The idea of dreaming with someone else is electrifying in a way that's entirely new. A thrill that warms his skin as he reaches out, takes one of the pills in the tips of his fingers.]
What do they do?