[Noah has felt loved before, and he has felt cherished, and adored, and marveled over. Ronan's love is different than Matthew's though, not in quality or in strength, but in tone. There's something raw and stark behind his gentle touch; a motor sighs and groans under his skin. Noah slides his hands down Ronan's shoulderblades, over his back, flat palms and small fingers feeling each bone through his shirt.
When he pulls away next, it's with a sort of confused expression. He blinks, then wriggles just a bit, and then- ]
[Ronan blinks in confusion, too, when Noah pulls away. Then he bursts into laughter, not sure if Noah really means that or if he's just trying to get Ronan to take off his shirt. It's hilarious either way, if only for the relief of broken tension.]
That's what happens when you wanna make out in the dirt, man.
[And he reaches down, gently tugging at Noah's shirt and slipping his hands under to search his skin.]
[Noah sits up enough to make room for Ronan's hands, underneath his T-shirt and hoodie. And sure enough, there's a small, steadfast beetle clinging to the fabric, thoroughly traumatized.]
There! [He tries to direct Ronan's fingers, sitting up flush against his chest.] It's the round thing.
[Still snickering, Ronan gropes around to find the damn thing.]
You're not scared of bugs, are you?
[Gansey has an excuse, at least, but Noah? Well, Ronan captures the beetle and flicks it away, hoping it has the good sense not to return. Then his hand settles against the bare skin of Noah's back, not quite ready to leave the warmth beneath his shirt.]
[Ronan is absolutely certain of it, because he's tried. He would have loved to stop caring about Noah the moment they found out he was dead. He'd locked himself in his room and done his very best to drink away the memory of Noah, burying his grief down and down and down. But there Noah was, all the same.]
I mean, that's crazy. Even if I ever...
[He can't even say the words. No one is going to love him. The only person who's really ever been interested in him is Kavinsky, and Ronan can't fathom feeling that way about Kavinsky.]
[The thought of it sends a sharp pang to Ronan's heart.]
Even then.
[His arms tighten around Noah, pulling him closer, as if talking about this has suddenly increased the chances that his spirit will slip right out of his living body and Ronan can somehow contain him.]
[Noah wishes that it was true, that someone could just hold him into this body and make him permanent. He wraps his arms tighter, buries his face more firmly into Ronan's neck, imagining that he could hide inside of him.]
... You aren't going to hurt me this time. I can feel it.
[Ronan isn't so sure. He suspects he's more likely to hurt the people he cares about than anyone else. He has never been tender. But he'll try his best, do what he can to be a safe place for Noah. Cradling Noah up against him, Ronan brushes kisses into his hair and murmurs:]
[Noah sighs against the comforting grip, feeling safer than he has in months. More than anything he wants to take Ronan back up to the house, crawl into the sofa bed next to him, and fall asleep next to his warmth. But he knows Ronan would startle at the implications, the gentle Catholic boy that he is, and the suggestion dies on Noah's tongue.]
... I can't believe you just dropped it in the grass.
[In regards to the discarded joint, now cold and damp between tall patches.]
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When he pulls away next, it's with a sort of confused expression. He blinks, then wriggles just a bit, and then- ]
Hold on, I think there's a bug in my shirt.
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That's what happens when you wanna make out in the dirt, man.
[And he reaches down, gently tugging at Noah's shirt and slipping his hands under to search his skin.]
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There! [He tries to direct Ronan's fingers, sitting up flush against his chest.] It's the round thing.
[Really helpful.]
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You're not scared of bugs, are you?
[Gansey has an excuse, at least, but Noah? Well, Ronan captures the beetle and flicks it away, hoping it has the good sense not to return. Then his hand settles against the bare skin of Noah's back, not quite ready to leave the warmth beneath his shirt.]
We could've just done this in your room.
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[He didn't want to smoke in his room. It's about 6' x 8' and the smell would never come out - his pillow might not smell like Matthew anymore.
... The jury's out on the bug thing.]
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[What a little scaredy-cat. Ronan regards him with the most affection a Ronan Lynch face is capable of mustering up.]
Well, you're all safe now.
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... You had someone, last time. That's why you didn't care.
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I... what?
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One day he's going to matter more than anything, and you'll be happy. [A deep, quiet breath.] I just... I want you to know why we never...
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[Ronan is absolutely certain of it, because he's tried. He would have loved to stop caring about Noah the moment they found out he was dead. He'd locked himself in his room and done his very best to drink away the memory of Noah, burying his grief down and down and down. But there Noah was, all the same.]
I mean, that's crazy. Even if I ever...
[He can't even say the words. No one is going to love him. The only person who's really ever been interested in him is Kavinsky, and Ronan can't fathom feeling that way about Kavinsky.]
It's not gonna happen.
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[The nudge of his nose is replaced with a kiss, barely there against his pulse.]
Even when I'm not there anymore?
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Even then.
[His arms tighten around Noah, pulling him closer, as if talking about this has suddenly increased the chances that his spirit will slip right out of his living body and Ronan can somehow contain him.]
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[Noah wishes that it was true, that someone could just hold him into this body and make him permanent. He wraps his arms tighter, buries his face more firmly into Ronan's neck, imagining that he could hide inside of him.]
... You aren't going to hurt me this time. I can feel it.
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I'm sorry that I ever did.
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[Noah sighs against the comforting grip, feeling safer than he has in months. More than anything he wants to take Ronan back up to the house, crawl into the sofa bed next to him, and fall asleep next to his warmth. But he knows Ronan would startle at the implications, the gentle Catholic boy that he is, and the suggestion dies on Noah's tongue.]
... I can't believe you just dropped it in the grass.
[In regards to the discarded joint, now cold and damp between tall patches.]