#kavinskyronan

[thdreampack]

—  I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything

kavinsky/ronan + the torn up road

[thdreampack]

TRC SHIPS + RICHARD SIKEN

The Torn-Up Road + Kavinsky/Ronan

I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything, without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something, that he didn't love me, that I wanted to be thrown over, possessed. I want to tell you this story without having to be in it: Max in the wrong clothes. Max at the party, drunk again. Max in the kitchen, in refrigerator light, his hands around the neck of a beer. Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more. I'm surprised that I say it with feeling. There's a thing in my stomach about this. A simple thing. The last rung. 

Dirty Valentine + Adam/Ronan

There are so many things I’m not allowed to tell you. I touch myself, I dream. Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands-

Little Beast + Kavinsky/Prokopenko

Everyone could see the way his muscles worked, the way we look like animals, his skin barely keeping him inside. I wanted to take him home and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his like a crash test car. I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. You could drown in those eyes, I said, so it’s summer, so it’s suicide, so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool. 

We still groped for each other on the backstairs or in parked cars as the roads around us grew glossy with ice and our breath softened the view through a glass already laced with frost, but more frequently I was finding myself sleepless, and he was running out of lullabies. But damn if there isn’t anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, a bottle of pills.

Litany + Adam/Gansey

Hello darling, sorry about that.                                                       Sorry about the bony elbows, sorry we lived here, sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell                                    and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.            Especially that, but I should have known.

Saying Your Names + Gansey/Ronan

All night I stretched my arms across him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe. Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces. Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars. Names of heat and names of light, names of collision in the dark, on the side of the bus, in the bark of the tree, in ballpoint pen on jeans and hands and the backs of matchbooks that then get lost.

Road Music + Gansey/Noah

You wonder what he’s thinking when he shivers like that. What can you tell me, what could you possibly tell me? Sure, it’s good to feel things, and if it hurts, we’re doing it to ourselves, or so the saying goes, but there should be a different music here. There should be just one safe place in the world, I mean this world. People get hurt here. People fall down and stay down and I don’t like the way the song goes. You, the moon. You, the road. You, the little flowers by the side of the road. You keep singing along to that song I hate. Stop singing.

You Are Jeff + Noah/Ronan

O how he loves you, darling boy. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you. Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. It’s beautiful.