ok but consider: apparently on some (all? idk) phones you can set personalized voicemail messages so specific things play for specific people and what if, since gansey knows (HE KNOWS) he’s going to die, he records different ones for his friends
Noah’s vanished, Gansey’s gone, and Ronan quietly continues paying Gansey’s phone bill, just in case they ever need to hear his voice again, because that’s all they have left. that’s all there is.
Blue’s the first one to realize what he left for them.
she’s been sitting in the phone/sewing/cat room every night since he died, staring at the phone and trying to build up the courage to call him. she knows he won’t answer, he can’t answer ever again, she’s sensible, after all, but she can’t stand the thought of having heard his voice for the last time.
she just wants to listen to his voicemail. she presses the phone to her ear and waits to hear the familiar: This is Gansey, I’m busy right now – BUSY FUCKING HIS BOYFRIEND GLENDOWER – quiet, Ronan, Glendower is a king, he is not my boyfriend. I’m busy right now, but leave a message.
the message doesn’t come. the phone rings, and rings, and rings, and just when Blue thinks the number’s been disconnected and she really has heard his voice for the last time, it comes across the line.
Jane
for one impossible, breathless moment, she thinks he’s cheated death, again, and he’s back, he’s here, with her, but then the voice, his voice, continues unprompted, and she realizes it’s a recording. he left something behind. Jane, I want you to know that I don’t regret a second with you. If I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing.
it keeps going, but at this point Blue’s shaking and crying too hard to hear what he’s saying (she hears the rest later, she calls him until her fingers are raw from pressing redial and his message is etched into her brain)
she calls Adam and Ronan, too, choking out through her tears that they have to call Gansey, because if he left something for her he must’ve left something for them as well. it’s the middle of the night, but she knows they’re awake.
the first time Ronan calls to hear the voicemail, Gansey’s voice mixes with the sound of the bottle Ronan threw out the window shattering into a million pieces in the parking lot below Monmouth
it’s not like he hasn’t heard Gansey’s voice since he died. of course he has, every night when he was busy trying to dream him the world and all that showed up was the other boy, convulsing on the ground, again, and Ronan failing to save him, again.
but this time, this voice isn’t just an echo in his dreams, a poor shadow of a boy who had been so much and was now nothing. this the real Gansey, his Gansey, and it makes Ronan want to break everything he owns. his cheeks are hot with tears, and he can’t stop calling and listening.
You’ve always been my brother, Ronan. Keep dreaming me the world. (Ronan does, eventually.)
Adam calls Gansey’s cell from the landline at St. Agnes, hoping that’s the number Gansey’s saved under his name. he rests his forehead on the wall when he hears the voice, trying not to fall over.
Adam, you beautiful tropical sunfish, you deserve better. he can see vines beginning to wind their way around his arms, Cabeswater trying to comfort him, but all he cares about is Gansey’s voice.
I know we fought, but I’ve always wanted what was best for you. Never give up. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. (Adam’s on the way. he’s got acceptance letters from five different colleges upstairs. Gansey didn’t even get to see him open them. )
all the messages Gansey left are different. they’re personal, from Gansey before he died, from when he knew he would lose everything but hadn’t, not yet. they’re Gansey saying. not goodbye, exactly, but thank you. they all end the same way.
they can hear the other Gansey as he says it, the Gansey they saw in the cave that day, when he’d fallen in that pit and they had changed the hornets into ravens, the Gansey who finally let himself break, who was terrified. they can hear the fear in his voice as he says that last word, his voice barely a whisper. excelsior, he breathes.















