[Ronan shakes his head, a lift of an eyebrow as he looks the older teen over, like he's judging Kavinsky's choice in sunglasses. But it's playful, and it dissolves with a laugh as the other boy reaches over to drag fingers against his curls. Ronan shakes his head and scowls as he tries to look indignant. But he hasn't spent the past several years isolated and angry, so he's more accustomed to contact, being touched. He doesn't flinch, he just reaches over to shove the other boy's arm away from the curls of his hair.
There's something to it, the way it feels being here in a dream with someone else. Having it be Kavinsky of all people should probably make it strange. But instead it just feels like something that Ronan hadn't even had the words to ask for. His world has always been small and insular, Gansey the only friend he didn't share blood with.
And now this. A first for both of them. Part of him wants to take K's hand and never let go, but he is still a teenaged boy raised where Boxing was a better form of communication with his brothers than words. So he doesn't say it.]
I'm pretty sure yours is nicer than mine.
[It's a joke, but it also isn't. It wasn't just the nightmare from the other night; Ronan's thoughts and his dreams tended toward the wild and untamed. Thorns and briars and impossible blue flowers, acid butterflies, horrors, even if all he woke with was a bauble or a whisper, his dreams themselves were rooted in the stories he'd grown up on: grand magic, and haunting green hills and misty forests, but also deadly bargains and doomed heroes.
Ronan didn't know what he wanted.
Kavinsky's dreamspace was.. different. It felt less frantic, more malleable, like taffy. He didn't have that sense like he did sometimes that there was something searching for him. Maybe it was the difference of having someone with him like this, maybe the other boy was just better at it.
He focuses on the dream, on pulling out something he can bring back. Something small. Something as familiar as Kavinsky's sunglasses. And slowly five leather bracelets appear on his left wrist. Borrowed from his father on one of his month-long trips, because there was nothing Niall appreciated so much as a thief and a liar. But Ronan hadn't been wearing them when he ended up here.]
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There's something to it, the way it feels being here in a dream with someone else. Having it be Kavinsky of all people should probably make it strange. But instead it just feels like something that Ronan hadn't even had the words to ask for. His world has always been small and insular, Gansey the only friend he didn't share blood with.
And now this. A first for both of them. Part of him wants to take K's hand and never let go, but he is still a teenaged boy raised where Boxing was a better form of communication with his brothers than words. So he doesn't say it.]
I'm pretty sure yours is nicer than mine.
[It's a joke, but it also isn't. It wasn't just the nightmare from the other night; Ronan's thoughts and his dreams tended toward the wild and untamed. Thorns and briars and impossible blue flowers, acid butterflies, horrors, even if all he woke with was a bauble or a whisper, his dreams themselves were rooted in the stories he'd grown up on: grand magic, and haunting green hills and misty forests, but also deadly bargains and doomed heroes.
Ronan didn't know what he wanted.
Kavinsky's dreamspace was.. different. It felt less frantic, more malleable, like taffy. He didn't have that sense like he did sometimes that there was something searching for him. Maybe it was the difference of having someone with him like this, maybe the other boy was just better at it.
He focuses on the dream, on pulling out something he can bring back. Something small. Something as familiar as Kavinsky's sunglasses. And slowly five leather bracelets appear on his left wrist. Borrowed from his father on one of his month-long trips, because there was nothing Niall appreciated so much as a thief and a liar. But Ronan hadn't been wearing them when he ended up here.]
How do you make sure you bring it back with you?