[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.]
[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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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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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.]