⋆⭒˚.⋆Quand le Directeur n'est pas là ( les acteurs dansent )⋆.˚⭒⋆
> ACT 5
[ it's over. ]
Loop says they try not to look the Fighter's way, and that he's never going to see them anyway, so it doesn't matter. Well... What happens when he does look their way?
Sometimes I just remember that François one day felt in the mood to choose this song to put on his IG.
I'd just wish the world could be kinder. He never deserved nor an inch of the hate he is receiving. With the whole world going to hell, a genocide being streamed under our nose, the world war III knocking at the door, every day more countries falling under far right repressive government... With all of this going on, still there are people who choose to spend their time harassing, bullying and hating on a kind, sweet, unproblematic gentle smart man who did nothing beside loving the wrong (according to them) man. Choosing to ignore or simply not caring that there is a human being who suffer reading the shit they throw at him.
I wish I could do more besides spreading love, but I know I can't so I just wanna tell François that he is love and appreciated by so many of us, hoping this love could reach him someway.
Sensei Wu: *to the ninja* If you can’t change your circumstances, change yourselves.
Sensei Garmadon:
Sensei Garmadon: *aside* What is that supposed to mean?
Sensei Wu: Not sure. I just say whatever mumbo jumbo comes to mind, and they eventually pull a really inspirational lesson out of it. Works every time.
Sensei Garmadon: You do realize the fate of the world is at stake?
The Isle of the Lost is Neverland, or what was left of it. It has twisted and twisted and twisted, until it couldn't be recognized anymore. But it still lives: In the Lost Boys and in the Fairies of Neverland, in Jane Darling and Tiger Peony. In mad Captain Hook and his children who laugh in the face of danger and have their hands tinted red, because there is nothing else left to do.
Harriet is Neverland, CJ is the Isle.
Harry is caught in between. Always in the middle of the change, stumbling through the confusing twists of fate. For him, everything is real and fake at once.
He desperately clings to anything that offers stability: Harriet, his hook, Uma.
He refuses to let go.
His older sister accepts that responsibility with grim determination, just as she always does.
The hook might be an actual part of his body by now.
And finally, Uma, his Captain. She accepts that honour as an offering and doesn’t let go either.
She has always been there, ever since they were little, unwavering. She never minded him following around and never went back on her word.
„You are my anchor,“ he tells her one time because he is a sailor and because it is true. With her, he could recognize what was real and what was not, or he could just ask and know she would answer truthfully. She grounded him into reality and sometimes, just her touch was enough to bring him back.
„You are my northern light,“ he tells her another time, „You give me direction, purpose.“
Uma doesn’t answer: She doesn't know how,and how could she? But she switches her colours from the dark purple and black that blend with the shadows which she inherited from her mother to vivid turquoise, just inches shy of his own blue eyes.
Harry can find her easier the the crowds like that.
The first time Adam and Ronan share a bed they're both a little hesitant at first because of the enormity of everything: their feelings for each other but also everything they've just gone through. They're lying next to each other not quite touching but almost. Adam wants to reach out to him but is overthinking it when Ronan just lets out a small breath and pulls Adam to him. Adam, secretly pleased, takes a moment to himself with his face tucked in Ronan’s neck but he reaches for Ronan’s hand and links their fingers together, and it grounds him enough so he can pull his face away from Ronan’s neck and kiss him and he thinks about how he's never had someone to kiss goodnight before.
"Bedtime, Parrish."
Ronan kicks at Adam's ankle with his barefoot. The sudden, unexpected touch jolts him awake from where he's been dozing on the couch for an undeterminable length of time. Last Adam remembers, the late afternoon sun was still up, spilling in through bay windows and keeping him warm much the same way a blanket might. Now, however, the living room at the Barns is dark and the only light is artificial, fluorescent, providing no comfort whatsoever.
"Mm," Adam responds, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes but his vision is bleary, spotty. His lids are heavy from the sort of exhaustion that is not only physical but mental, too. "Don't wanna move."
The other boy tsks and, though Adam can't see it, he knows there is a scowl on Ronan's lips.
"C'mon, you need a good night's sleep," he says, voice still hoarse despite it having been days since the terrifying predicament that nearly tore their lives apart. "Can't get that on the couch, so get your lazy ass up. Not gonna carry you."
Adam considers the benefits and disadvantages of refusing. On the former, curling up right here is easy, he wouldn't have to stumble upstairs to Ronan's bedroom, and he'd be a safe distance from the boy he so desperately wants to touch but is still scared of breaking into a thousand tiny pieces after everything that has happened. The latter would be how the couch is old, cushions a little too broken in, there's no warmth to be had down here, not anymore, and no Ronan. There's not enough space for both of them to sleep, at least not comfortably.
"M'getting up." Even though Adam says this, it still takes him a lot longer than it probably should to slowly, clumsily peel himself off of the couch and stand with a stretch-yawn combo. He rubs his still cloudy eyes, his weariness seemingly neverending.
Yeah, maybe Ronan is right. Maybe Adam does need to sleep properly.
Ronan gently puts his palm to the small of Adam's back, the ghost of a touch, and still, despite that he can still feel heat through the thin fabric separating them.
He allows himself to be led upstairs, going through the motions of brushing his teeth while Ronan makes himself scarce. Leaving his jeans and socks in a sloppy pile on the bathroom floor, Adam finds his way into the familiar childhood bedroom where they'd shared their first kiss what feels like an eternity ago yet hasn't really been much time at all.
They haven't spoken about that night, not yet, whatever they are is still undefined. Adam wants to ask, but he's scared. Not of Ronan, no, he knows Ronan would never hurt him on purpose. What Adam is scared of is himself; he's scared of how much he wants Ronan, of taking too much, devouring everything because his desires are insatiable, until Ronan has nothing left to give and Adam is left still wanting for more.
"Be back. Better be comfy before I get back, or else." It's a fake threat, a Ronan Lynch specialty. He waits for Adam to nod his assent before he excuses himself.
Alone now, Adam stands there awkwardly, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom, the crickets chirping outside, and his own, wavering breathing as his nerves grow. He doesn't know how much time passes, the only answer is enough, because he soon hears the bathroom door slam shut and Ronan stomping down the hall. Remembering the not-threat, Adam scurries onto the bed, just managing to pull the heavy comforter over himself when Ronan walks through the threshold.
Adam holds his breath as Ronan crawls on the mattress to join him, holds his breath when Ronan grabs a corner of the same blanket to cover himself, holds his breath as they settle close enough for the other's presence to be apparent but not overbearing. Ronan is there, so close all it would take is for one, or both of them, to shift just an inch, maybe two, and bridge the distance. So close it would be nothing at all, yet is somehow everything to him.
He squeezes his eyes shut, forces the thoughts down. This is fine, for now, because Adam doesn't know where the line is drawn between them. Best to let Ronan decide, he's the one who initiated this, after all, and he's the one that has some semblance of self-control. Laughable, really, how Lynch is the mature one in this situation. Really says a lot about Adam, how he can't restrain himself when he thinks there is even the slightest thing to be gained and hoarded.
But, God, he wants to just touch Ronan, and is that so bad? Is that so selfish of Adam? To demand the affection he's so desperately wanted his entire life?
Ronan lets out a soft breath and, suddenly, strong arms wrap around him. He tugs Adam until their ribs fit together like matching puzzle pieces and a surprisingly muscular leg nudges between his, limbs tangling. It's everything Adam has wanted and more, his head spins from a mix of exhilaration and nerves, the potential between them paralyzing.
Adam tilts until his face is buried in the crux of Ronan's neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of pine and lemongrass and sweat. It's familiar, soothing, but not quite enough. Underneath the blanket, the hand not smushed between them reaches, searching, until he finds Ronan's hand and twines together slightly trembling fingers.
Warmth radiates from one calloused palm to another, spreading through Adam, filling him with enough confidence to pull away and offer a shaky but cheery smile. He catches a glimpse of the look being returned right before swooping up, capturing Ronan's lips with his own. There's a spark and Adam can't tell if it's really there, if he's imagining it, if Ronan can feel it, too. Adam hopes it's not just him, prays to a God he's not even sure exists, because now that he finally has someone to kiss goodnight, he never wants to go without.
Like air, water, food, shelter, kissing Ronan is a need, not a want.
Adam pulls back but not far, his lips brushing Ronan's as he whispers, "'Night," and brushing as Ronan returns, with a reverence Adam could grow used to, "'Night."
