[Miracle of miracles. Ronan actually notices his phone buzzing. Of course, he's in his room, so it's weird that Noah didn't just come and get him in person. That sort of implies this could be urgent, so Ronan gets his boots on and hikes down to the lake pronto.
He slows his pace some once he gets near enough to see the lighter. Heaven forbid he look rushed.]
[Noah looks almost ethereal for a moment, through the sweet haze from the joint, but once it clears he's as solid as can be. The tip of his nose is pink, and his knees poke through the holes in his jeans. He grins lazily at Ronan.]
Want some?
[He means the weed. There's a playful edge to his voice that hasn't been there before, not since Ronan's known him. He's trying his best to channel the spirited, wild boy who had never been beaten down.]
[Something is certainly strange about this night, though Ronan assumes it's more to do with his own head than anything particularly off about Noah. The haze of smoke might as well be in his own mind. He's been feeling hazy and disoriented since his arrival.
It's just that Noah looks beautiful in a way he's never really looked before. He's always been cute, and Ronan's always loved him, but the various pieces of these impressions are rearranging into something new tonight.
Or maybe he's confused. Kavinsky confused him a lot on Valentine's Day.]
Just what I needed.
[He'd ask "How did you know?" but it's a silly question to direct at a telepath. Ronan reaches for the joint.]
[Ronan's thoughts put a nervous thrill through Noah's stomach. He swallows, passing the joint over.]
I have my ways of knowing.
[It's response to the spoken words, and the unspoken ones. Noah runs a hand through his hair, trying to ruffle it up, give it life. It's been so long since he tried to flirt with someone who actually noticed these things. But then, thinking of Matthew makes him think of Kavinsky, which makes him think of that awful memory he saw, of Ronan and Kavinsky locked in a kiss on Valentine's Day, and he remembers why he's doing this. He's trying to protect Ronan. Steeling his resolve, Noah leans back into the tall grass.]
[It doesn't even occur to Ronan that Noah's doing any of this on purpose. He's embarrassed by himself, really. He thinks there's a good chance Noah knows what he's thinking right now, even if the thoughts are sort of nebulous and inconclusive. He doesn't expect Noah to like him. He knows what happened before, after all. So every part of it is awkward, right?
He'd had a crush on Noah before he knew Noah was dead, too, but that feeling had felt very far away and impossible. More like an idle fantasy. He had not thought about Noah's lips back then.
Ronan sucks at the joint, taking a deep hit. He has to look away from Noah to exhale, which is probably for the best.]
[Feelings weren't supposed to be a part of this. They weren't included in Noah's panicked, midnight equation. He just wanted to give Ronan somewhere to focus his frustrations, somewhere that wouldn't get him hurt or killed. But still, he reaches to loop his fingers around Ronan's wrist, giving the gentlest tug.
God, he has loved all of his friends for so long. In the core of his half-decayed heart, all he wants, more than anything, is to be with them and see them happy.]
[Ronan's heartbeat skips beneath Noah's fingers. He looks at Noah again, offering the joint back. If they were going by looks alone, there would be nothing revealed in Ronan's features. He looks the same amount of gloomy and withdrawn as always.]
That's just my face.
[His skin shouldn't be feeling this tingly already. The drugs don't hit that quick.]
[Noah takes the joint, perching it lightly between his lips, but his fingers don't move. He gives Ronan's wrist another pull, as if to say, No, get down here.]
There's nothing wrong with it. Batman's pretty cool.
[Are they really just going to sit here in the chilly night? Ronan relents, dropping down beside Noah, even if there's a part of him screaming to run in the other direction and stop embarrassing himself.
It's pretty, though. This whole place is beautiful and familiar in the dying evening light. And there's Noah.]
[He smiles around the joint, huffing out smoke into the space between them. His brown eyes look orange; his collarbone catches the stretching shadows. Sucking in a second hit, he stretches out his legs and eases back onto the forest floor.
He's doing this for Ronan - to ease him away from Kavinsky, out of trouble and pain - but after months alone, after so much loneliness and fear, he's wondering if he isn't doing it a bit for himself as well.]
... I bet Batman could have anything he wants, too, if he asks.
[Ronan follows Noah's movement out of the corner of his eye, almost scared to fully face him. He's imagining that, right? What Noah's implying? Because there's no way.
...Right?
Fuck. Fuck, Noah's in his head, though. And none of this is helped by the haze of weed that's now taking hold. Ronan's cheeks burn as he forces himself to unfurl, stretching out beside Noah, scrubbing at his eyes as if that can clear his mind or something.]
Look, man...
[He doesn't know what to say next, so he trails off into silence.]
[Noah breathes out smoke, and the canopy up above trembles. The last stretches of pink bleed through the sky overhead. He passes the joint back over, letting their hands bump in the grass.]
You don't have to say anything. We can just lay here.
[Ronan accepts the joint a little too eagerly, taking another hit. It has the weird effect of making his heart beat faster while easing some of the anxiety out of that feeling, leaving him with the sensation of butterflies in his chest.
Noah knows. Undoubtedly.]
I just...
[Rolling onto his side, Ronan props himself up on one elbow so he can look down at Noah's face. It's still strange to look at him and see him completely, without all the mental confusion that used to accompany the illusion that was his ghost body. Sometimes Ronan's scared he'll blink and find Noah lifeless again. The revelation was terrible enough the first time. They buried him. They fucking buried him. He was never really there.
Ronan bows down and presses his forehead against Noah's shoulder.]
I'm gonna fuck this up again.
[He doesn't even remember what happened when he was here before. He just knows he's bound to mess it up.]
[Maybe that's true. Maybe Ronan will suddenly remember how he was before, concerned only with Adam, ignorant to Noah's existence. Maybe that's how their friendship was destined to end. But right here on the forest floor, it's all in the future. This Ronan still cares, and maybe - just maybe - Noah wants a taste of that before it's lost.
He tilts his head, pressing warm lips against Ronan's temple. His voice is quiet.]
You deserve better than you think. [Better than fire and anger and caustic words. Better than hot rubber and adrenaline.] You are better.
[What would have once been cool, ghostly whispers are now hot breath, spoken from real lungs. He reaches up to touch Ronan's sleeve, solid fingers through thick fabric.]
[Ronan's pretty damn sure he isn't. He's a fucking freak of nature. He's an abomination. He's found his equal in Joseph Kavinsky, a creature just the same as him. As much as he'd tried to deny it, the truth is painfully apparent without Gansey's rose-colored input. Ronan does not, in fact, matter.]
I can hurt you now.
[That's what it means, that Noah is so warm and solid and present. In this world, Noah can actually feel pain. Pain of every kind, and Ronan is an expert in delivering it.]
You're not stuck with me anymore. Why the fuck would you want me back here, man? You could be living with anyone.
[I don't have anyone else, Noah doesn't say. Maybe he's a little desperate, but that isn't on the menu right now. Besides, he's never been desperate for Ronan Lynch. Ronan isn't sloppy fifths. He's top tier, always has been. Right next to everyone else Noah could never have.
For a moment, Valentine's Day disappears in Noah's mind, and all he can think about his the pit in his own heart.]
I'm not stuck with you.
[He tugs at Ronan's arm, absent and directionless. His lips meander down to his cheekbone.]
[Ronan shuts his eyes as if he's steeling himself, trying to find some part of him that doesn't care. But it's impossible. He's loved Noah for as long as he's been aware of Noah, and he can't pinpoint the moment they met, so that love feels eternal. It has been a constant truth. And now that feeling is connected to the warm lips brushing against his skin.
It all feels so fragile, so tentative. If anyone could break this spell, it's Ronan.
He drops the joint in the grass, both hands reaching for Noah. His palms brush Noah's cheeks, slipping down the curve of his neck and over his shoulders. He feels so small, but he is so there. Ronan turns his head, seeking out Noah's lips for a kiss that's more like a question. Is it okay if he does this? Are they really going to be okay?]
[Noah sighs at the first touch. He hasn't felt warm hands on his skin in so many months, and the urgency shows in his movements, in the way his grip tenses around Ronan's arm, in the quickening of his breath. His answer to the question is clear, as soon as he feels Ronan's mouth on his own - he parts his lips just slightly, just enough to tug Ronan's between them, warm and slow.
This is exactly what he asked him down here for. He's kissing Ronan Lynch. He's kissing Ronan Lynch, and maybe, just maybe he won't lose him again. Maybe he won't be left alone this time.
Yes, it's fine, he presses into Ronan's mind, like the softest stroke of a hand.]
[The smallest encouragement is all he needs. It comes rushing out of him now, an avalanche of everything he's buried since the moment he realized Noah was dead. Noah had been his constant companion until he was suddenly nothing at all, and no one at Monmouth had come close to understanding how that felt for Ronan, to have that ripped away.
He's kissing Noah now. Not the mere memory of Noah, but the boy himself, and Ronan sways as he pushes into the kiss, like he's being physically propelled by everything he's feeling. He kisses Noah as if that will somehow ground him to the Earth. Noah will not lose him. And he refuses to lose Noah.
Once they're locked in the kiss, he doesn't want to break it. He gasps for breath and presses in again, gentle but desperate for him, again and again.]
[Noah skates his palm up Ronan's arm, smoothes it across his shoulder, up into the peach fuzz of his neck. He drags a gentle pattern there, in sync with the strokes of his tongue. Maybe, if the two could meet in the middle, something of his touch could stay imprinted in Ronan's mind. Maybe he could live there, just a little part of him, the memory of two boys breathing into each other on the forest floor.
Their knees bump, and Noah's teeth come down on Ronan's lip, entirely on accident. Something in the action sparks a muscle memory, the ancient, distant memory of backseat trysts, and he makes himself pull back a bit. Ronan isn't some girl from swim team. He isn't Barry. And Noah was trying to be gentle, after all. This is about giving, not taking.
He looks up with leaves in his hair, red in his cheeks. His chest rises and falls against Ronan's.]
[Ronan doesn't mind it, of course, when Noah gets overeager with him. He might be having trouble keeping up, because despite his sexy bad boy image, he's got significantly less experience than Noah when it comes to intimacy. But he doesn't mind it. When Noah catches his lip between his teeth, Ronan only purrs in surprised pleasure.
He understands, though, why Noah stops. Or he thinks he does. This is all a lot to deal with. Ronan touches his cheeks, caressing them slowly, feeling the heat there. He's flushed, too, and dizzy from the weed. It's hard to follow the moment-to-moment. Everything feels a little bit like it's all blending together. Including him and Noah.]
What are we doing?
[He doesn't mean this as a complaint. It's not like he's instantly regretting it. It just feels like it should mean something, but he's afraid the meaning's flown right over his head. Did Noah call him out here just for this? How long has he been wanting it?]
[And the thing is, Noah doesn't really know anymore. At the root of it all, he called Ronan down to the lake because he was scared of losing him - to Kavinsky, to himself, to a future that happened in the past. He called him down because they have such little time left, because he wants to believe that he deserves some more happiness before it's all over.
All he can do in the face of that is look up into Ronan's eyes, letting out a low, keening breath at the hands on his cheeks.]
It doesn't have to be anything. [As long as we can maybe do that some more, he lets slip through, unbidden.] It's... whatever you want.
[It's going to be something. Ronan Lynch doesn't have nothings with people. He doesn't know what name to put to it, though. Or whether it needs one. He kissed Kavinsky the other night, too, but that obviously didn't make them boyfriends.
So Noah is, for now, the person Ronan loves most in this world. The closest friend he has. And the boy he's kissing.
In fact, he's pressing in again, thumbs stroking along Noah's cheekbones as he meets Noah's lips for another slow kiss. He doesn't want to stop touching, now, either. Despite the chilly night air, Ronan's burning up.]
[Noah may be warm now, full of flowing blood and a beating heart, but his hands are still cool next to Ronan's constant fire - he soothes them over Ronan's shoulders, over the back of his neck, fingertips edging past the collar of his shirt.
I've got you. I'm not going away. He speaks like a soft wind into Ronan's thoughts, no voice, just simple thoughts. It isn't that he minds the building heat, or the shortening of their breath - he just wants this to be a safe haven between them, less like a battle and more like a home. Something easy, that Ronan doesn't have to hide from.]
[But he'd been so afraid Noah hated him. Resented him, at least, for everything that happened. Ronan had been practically tiptoeing around the place since he got here, making a ghost of himself this time, feeling as if all he could possibly do was retread the same steps that would eventually lead him to leave their home altogether.
It's been painfully lonely.
Noah pushes into his mind with reassurances that make Ronan's heart ache with acknowledgement of feelings he was trying to ignore. He must know, of course, how scared Ronan is. How much it seems like he'll make one wrong move and everything will shatter.
While one hand remains to cup Noah's cheek, the other slides to his chest, palm resting over Noah's beating heart. Fucking miracles have happened here, and as long as it keeps beating, Ronan intends to be with Noah. He doesn't say it out loud, his mouth too engaged in deepening the kiss, but Noah surely knows it.]
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He slows his pace some once he gets near enough to see the lighter. Heaven forbid he look rushed.]
Hey.
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[Noah looks almost ethereal for a moment, through the sweet haze from the joint, but once it clears he's as solid as can be. The tip of his nose is pink, and his knees poke through the holes in his jeans. He grins lazily at Ronan.]
Want some?
[He means the weed. There's a playful edge to his voice that hasn't been there before, not since Ronan's known him. He's trying his best to channel the spirited, wild boy who had never been beaten down.]
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It's just that Noah looks beautiful in a way he's never really looked before. He's always been cute, and Ronan's always loved him, but the various pieces of these impressions are rearranging into something new tonight.
Or maybe he's confused. Kavinsky confused him a lot on Valentine's Day.]
Just what I needed.
[He'd ask "How did you know?" but it's a silly question to direct at a telepath. Ronan reaches for the joint.]
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I have my ways of knowing.
[It's response to the spoken words, and the unspoken ones. Noah runs a hand through his hair, trying to ruffle it up, give it life. It's been so long since he tried to flirt with someone who actually noticed these things. But then, thinking of Matthew makes him think of Kavinsky, which makes him think of that awful memory he saw, of Ronan and Kavinsky locked in a kiss on Valentine's Day, and he remembers why he's doing this. He's trying to protect Ronan. Steeling his resolve, Noah leans back into the tall grass.]
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He'd had a crush on Noah before he knew Noah was dead, too, but that feeling had felt very far away and impossible. More like an idle fantasy. He had not thought about Noah's lips back then.
Ronan sucks at the joint, taking a deep hit. He has to look away from Noah to exhale, which is probably for the best.]
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God, he has loved all of his friends for so long. In the core of his half-decayed heart, all he wants, more than anything, is to be with them and see them happy.]
You're brooding again. You look like Batman.
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That's just my face.
[His skin shouldn't be feeling this tingly already. The drugs don't hit that quick.]
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There's nothing wrong with it. Batman's pretty cool.
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It's pretty, though. This whole place is beautiful and familiar in the dying evening light. And there's Noah.]
He's kind of an asshole.
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[He smiles around the joint, huffing out smoke into the space between them. His brown eyes look orange; his collarbone catches the stretching shadows. Sucking in a second hit, he stretches out his legs and eases back onto the forest floor.
He's doing this for Ronan - to ease him away from Kavinsky, out of trouble and pain - but after months alone, after so much loneliness and fear, he's wondering if he isn't doing it a bit for himself as well.]
... I bet Batman could have anything he wants, too, if he asks.
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...Right?
Fuck. Fuck, Noah's in his head, though. And none of this is helped by the haze of weed that's now taking hold. Ronan's cheeks burn as he forces himself to unfurl, stretching out beside Noah, scrubbing at his eyes as if that can clear his mind or something.]
Look, man...
[He doesn't know what to say next, so he trails off into silence.]
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[Noah breathes out smoke, and the canopy up above trembles. The last stretches of pink bleed through the sky overhead. He passes the joint back over, letting their hands bump in the grass.]
You don't have to say anything. We can just lay here.
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Noah knows. Undoubtedly.]
I just...
[Rolling onto his side, Ronan props himself up on one elbow so he can look down at Noah's face. It's still strange to look at him and see him completely, without all the mental confusion that used to accompany the illusion that was his ghost body. Sometimes Ronan's scared he'll blink and find Noah lifeless again. The revelation was terrible enough the first time. They buried him. They fucking buried him. He was never really there.
Ronan bows down and presses his forehead against Noah's shoulder.]
I'm gonna fuck this up again.
[He doesn't even remember what happened when he was here before. He just knows he's bound to mess it up.]
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He tilts his head, pressing warm lips against Ronan's temple. His voice is quiet.]
You deserve better than you think. [Better than fire and anger and caustic words. Better than hot rubber and adrenaline.] You are better.
[What would have once been cool, ghostly whispers are now hot breath, spoken from real lungs. He reaches up to touch Ronan's sleeve, solid fingers through thick fabric.]
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I can hurt you now.
[That's what it means, that Noah is so warm and solid and present. In this world, Noah can actually feel pain. Pain of every kind, and Ronan is an expert in delivering it.]
You're not stuck with me anymore. Why the fuck would you want me back here, man? You could be living with anyone.
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For a moment, Valentine's Day disappears in Noah's mind, and all he can think about his the pit in his own heart.]
I'm not stuck with you.
[He tugs at Ronan's arm, absent and directionless. His lips meander down to his cheekbone.]
I never stopped loving you, asshole.
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It all feels so fragile, so tentative. If anyone could break this spell, it's Ronan.
He drops the joint in the grass, both hands reaching for Noah. His palms brush Noah's cheeks, slipping down the curve of his neck and over his shoulders. He feels so small, but he is so there. Ronan turns his head, seeking out Noah's lips for a kiss that's more like a question. Is it okay if he does this? Are they really going to be okay?]
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This is exactly what he asked him down here for. He's kissing Ronan Lynch. He's kissing Ronan Lynch, and maybe, just maybe he won't lose him again. Maybe he won't be left alone this time.
Yes, it's fine, he presses into Ronan's mind, like the softest stroke of a hand.]
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He's kissing Noah now. Not the mere memory of Noah, but the boy himself, and Ronan sways as he pushes into the kiss, like he's being physically propelled by everything he's feeling. He kisses Noah as if that will somehow ground him to the Earth. Noah will not lose him. And he refuses to lose Noah.
Once they're locked in the kiss, he doesn't want to break it. He gasps for breath and presses in again, gentle but desperate for him, again and again.]
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Their knees bump, and Noah's teeth come down on Ronan's lip, entirely on accident. Something in the action sparks a muscle memory, the ancient, distant memory of backseat trysts, and he makes himself pull back a bit. Ronan isn't some girl from swim team. He isn't Barry. And Noah was trying to be gentle, after all. This is about giving, not taking.
He looks up with leaves in his hair, red in his cheeks. His chest rises and falls against Ronan's.]
... So.
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He understands, though, why Noah stops. Or he thinks he does. This is all a lot to deal with. Ronan touches his cheeks, caressing them slowly, feeling the heat there. He's flushed, too, and dizzy from the weed. It's hard to follow the moment-to-moment. Everything feels a little bit like it's all blending together. Including him and Noah.]
What are we doing?
[He doesn't mean this as a complaint. It's not like he's instantly regretting it. It just feels like it should mean something, but he's afraid the meaning's flown right over his head. Did Noah call him out here just for this? How long has he been wanting it?]
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All he can do in the face of that is look up into Ronan's eyes, letting out a low, keening breath at the hands on his cheeks.]
It doesn't have to be anything. [As long as we can maybe do that some more, he lets slip through, unbidden.] It's... whatever you want.
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So Noah is, for now, the person Ronan loves most in this world. The closest friend he has. And the boy he's kissing.
In fact, he's pressing in again, thumbs stroking along Noah's cheekbones as he meets Noah's lips for another slow kiss. He doesn't want to stop touching, now, either. Despite the chilly night air, Ronan's burning up.]
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I've got you. I'm not going away. He speaks like a soft wind into Ronan's thoughts, no voice, just simple thoughts. It isn't that he minds the building heat, or the shortening of their breath - he just wants this to be a safe haven between them, less like a battle and more like a home. Something easy, that Ronan doesn't have to hide from.]
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It's been painfully lonely.
Noah pushes into his mind with reassurances that make Ronan's heart ache with acknowledgement of feelings he was trying to ignore. He must know, of course, how scared Ronan is. How much it seems like he'll make one wrong move and everything will shatter.
While one hand remains to cup Noah's cheek, the other slides to his chest, palm resting over Noah's beating heart. Fucking miracles have happened here, and as long as it keeps beating, Ronan intends to be with Noah. He doesn't say it out loud, his mouth too engaged in deepening the kiss, but Noah surely knows it.]
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