[Kavinsky says that if anyone else doesn't like it they can fuck off, and Ronan grins. A little bit wicked, but not cruel, not for the boy he's looking at, at least. He knows this can't be easy, because it's not easy for Ronan. And the other boy seemed like he was made of more bitter armor. Dark king of Henrietta, loathed and loved and feared. And he might not be self-destructive in a way that draws him to Kavinsky's worst impulses yet, but he still finds him impossibly attractive.
He thinks he understands it more, though. What Kavinsky had grown up with, lived through- survived.
The other boy's hand settles on top of Ronan's, and he shivers with the feeling of it, the warmth, the closeness, the idea of someone that understands not just who he is, but what he is. Maybe even in ways that Ronan himself doesn't. Someone that he can learn from.]
Well. Fuck him.
[There are nuances there in the tone of his voice, things he means but doesn't quite know how to say out loud. Things like you aren't and you deserved better. Not that the Lynches were perfect by any means, even if Ronan adored Niall too much to see his faults. He didn't yet have the insight to imagine how different things were for his brother. Ronan only saw the love his parents had for him, even if it wasn't always enough.]
The two of us. Together.
[And he smiles at him, fierce and heated and bright. He hadn't known how much he needed this until someone had offered it to him. He wanted more than secrets and the boxes the world wanted him to fit into. More than Aglionby and the talk of prestigious futures in politics and finance.]
I want you-- I want that too. To make it ours, fill it with all the dreams we want.
[He stumbles over the words, burning from standing too close or wanting too much, or just the sheer thought of all they could have. He couldn't quite have explained why it was the theater, but it seemed as good a place as any. A little like Monmouth, a little like home, a little like something new altogether. The feeling of being alone had gnawed at his insides, tipped him over into anger, all stormy temper. But with Kavinsky's hand in his, here in this dreamspace together it felt almost more like possibility. Ronan was still greedy, hasn't had it stolen by loss, where all his wants feel criminal.]
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He thinks he understands it more, though. What Kavinsky had grown up with, lived through- survived.
The other boy's hand settles on top of Ronan's, and he shivers with the feeling of it, the warmth, the closeness, the idea of someone that understands not just who he is, but what he is. Maybe even in ways that Ronan himself doesn't. Someone that he can learn from.]
Well. Fuck him.
[There are nuances there in the tone of his voice, things he means but doesn't quite know how to say out loud. Things like you aren't and you deserved better. Not that the Lynches were perfect by any means, even if Ronan adored Niall too much to see his faults. He didn't yet have the insight to imagine how different things were for his brother. Ronan only saw the love his parents had for him, even if it wasn't always enough.]
The two of us. Together.
[And he smiles at him, fierce and heated and bright. He hadn't known how much he needed this until someone had offered it to him. He wanted more than secrets and the boxes the world wanted him to fit into. More than Aglionby and the talk of prestigious futures in politics and finance.]
I want you-- I want that too. To make it ours, fill it with all the dreams we want.
[He stumbles over the words, burning from standing too close or wanting too much, or just the sheer thought of all they could have. He couldn't quite have explained why it was the theater, but it seemed as good a place as any. A little like Monmouth, a little like home, a little like something new altogether. The feeling of being alone had gnawed at his insides, tipped him over into anger, all stormy temper. But with Kavinsky's hand in his, here in this dreamspace together it felt almost more like possibility. Ronan was still greedy, hasn't had it stolen by loss, where all his wants feel criminal.]