[ It isn't that he doesn't believe Ronan. He does. But he doesn't know how to accept it. He doesn't know how to exist as something accepted and welcomed, when everything he has built behind him is a mountain of evidence to the contrary.
He doesn't know how to be anything other than angry at having been chewed up and spat out. He doesn't know how he can have given everything he had in the futile, desperate struggle to be enough - twice over - only to be standing here with Ronan's hands cradling his face like he understands he'll fracture into pieces without them.
He is received. Without having any idea what, if anything, he did to earn it.
And all he has left to say is the same thing he told Ronan the first time he let him inside. ]
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He doesn't know how to be anything other than angry at having been chewed up and spat out. He doesn't know how he can have given everything he had in the futile, desperate struggle to be enough - twice over - only to be standing here with Ronan's hands cradling his face like he understands he'll fracture into pieces without them.
He is received. Without having any idea what, if anything, he did to earn it.
And all he has left to say is the same thing he told Ronan the first time he let him inside. ]
It's ours. Or I don't want it.