[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.]
[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.]
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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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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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