“Noah, what if I hurt you…”
Ronan heard his voice cracking, but Noah hummed again, serenely. Or maybe it wasn’t Noah, Noah was just there, watching down steadily, but Mum used to hum and smile when Ronan was upset. Ronan’s forearm throbbed in sympathy of the additional pain.
“You won’t,” Noah seemed very sure of himself, especially for a scaredy cat. This wasn’t even a skateboard matter, and they they could probably do it.
Noah was playing with Ronan’s fingers, slowly, and suddenly the thought of losing him was overwhelming. Irrational, if it weren’t for the crazy screeches of his own nightmares, thirsty for blood after they caught a glimpse of it — on the driveaway, under Dad’s head — and got a taste of it, from Ronan himself.
“What if I do. What if — if I kill you, if…”
“It’s a bit late for that, Ronan.”
Tired by Seek_The_Mist
