I’m rewatching old Minecraft’s, and landed on Hit List from 2013. Gavin asked Ray if he thought he’d ever have a wife and in a competely serious voice Ray responded ‘I don’t think so’. Look at him now:
for my wonderful partner @thisiswhatmylifehasbecome ! i love you so so much ryan, thank you for always being by my side through everything ♡ have some birthday angsty raywood bc i’ve never let these boys go
read it here on ao3!
Grey haze, filling Ryan’s vision for just a split second. That familiar, acrid scent. It’s almost as easy to breathe as oxygen by now. Ray kicks his legs against the brick below, eyes transfixed on the slow crawl of pedestrians through darkened streets. Mostly drunk. What else was a Friday night in the middle of summer for?
“I’ll come visit,” he hums, non-committedly.
Ryan doesn’t bother to answer. Holds his hand out, and Ray presses the blunt between his fingers. Doesn’t speak, because there’s nothing to say.
“You won’t,” Ryan mutters, taking a hit from the blunt. Neatly rolled, tight. Ray has a signature way of rolling, the same every time. Occasionally, Ryan watches him do it, the same every time. Well-practised. Consistent.
There’s nobody else quite like him.
“I will,” Ray answers, quiet and steady. No clear emotion in his voice, because he’s lying, and they both know it. But he won’t give up the game that easily. “It’s only Puerto Rico. ‘m not moving to Mars, Ryan.”
He might as well be, for all Ryan cares. Won’t show his face in Los Santos ever again, because that would only blow his cover.
Ray wants out. Talks to himself quietly, about changing his name and running away yet again. He can speak Spanish. South America is practically calling his name. Pretends like Ryan is asleep, like he can’t hear him, but Ryan doesn’t sleep on those nights. There’s an imminent fear that one morning he’ll wake up to a cold bed, and Ray will be halfway out of the city before he’s even aware of what’s happening. He can’t stop Ray, and maybe that’s what frightens him the most.
This is the first time he’s dared to broach the topic as a real conversation. Ryan thinks he hates it more.
“Are you really going to Puerto Rico?” he finally asks.
“For now,” Ray answers, shrugging. Reaches a hand back out for his blunt. “Dunno if I’ll stay there. I’m not gonna tie myself down.”
He doesn’t give straight answers. Never has, and Ryan could easily bet that he never will. Speaks in riddles, though he doesn’t really mean to, it’s just how his words come out. Ray doesn’t try to lie, but telling the whole truth isn’t really an option anymore.
“What are you gonna do?”
“Fuck if I know. I’ll find something.”
“Sniping.”
“Nah. I’m done with that shit. I’ll get a real job.”
Ryan laughs. It’s hollow. “You could never.”
“Is that a challenge?” Ray shoots back. Always quick on the uptake. Brown eyes flash dangerously, challenging. Ryan knows just how much he hates to be underestimated.
But instead he shrugs, presses the blunt back into Ray’s waiting hand. Watches how the smouldering embers eat away at the thick brown paper. Burnt out. Lifts his head, and crystalline blue meets honeyed brown. The challenge hasn’t died down yet.
“Maybe it is,” Ryan answers, with a tiny flick of his wrist. An offhand gesture. “You never finished high school.”
“Don’t need a high school diploma for everything,” Ray reminds him, although it’s a little too idealistic for someone like Ryan. He’ll remain in the real world for now, and his reality involves bullets and bloodshed and novocaine.
Ray comes off more pessimistic than he really is. It’s just simpler to keep your ideals to yourself. Safer. Kid has dreams, Ryan knows that. Prematurely shot down, hidden quietly somewhere beneath the surface. Not dead. Never dead. They keep Ray up. He clings to those dreams, a final lifeline.
They won’t save him, but Ryan can’t save him either. Can’t really stake a claim in a boy who was never really there.
“And when that doesn’t work out?”
“It will,” Ray answers, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You really don't have much faith in me.”
Ryan shrugs, gazing out across the cityscape. Los Santos comes alive at night, bright lights blurring together on the horizon as his eyes flicker from building to building. It’s a clear night. He can see the ocean from here. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You’ve given up before I even try.”
Because he doesn’t want Ray to try. It’s an unspoken truth between the pair of them. He wants to wake up tomorrow with Ray in his arms, the younger boy groaning as sunlight hits his tired eyes, the constant thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat. Listen to the way he breathes, little slower than usual, heavy with sleep.
Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. Won’t allow himself to consider what they have too deeply. Ray’s too casual for romance, doesn’t like the commitment. But friends don’t wake up with each other, limbs tangled together beneath thin sheets. Maybe it’s a nightmare, but that’s a realisation he won’t make until a few years pass and he’s alone again, flesh stained by the blood of his teammates.
Ray is a ghost, passing through his life. A flicker of light for just a moment, glowing the dark, capturing his every sense. Look away for just a moment too long, and he’s gone again, off to haunt his next victim. Feels crude, makes Ray sound worse than he is, but he doesn’t have the strength to sugarcoat his emotions.
“I will come back, y’know,” Ray mutters, dropping the burnt out end of his blunt off the side of the building. “Jus’ might be a while.”
Ryan shakes his head. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Not a lie.”
“You know it is.”
“You’d do it.”
Of course he would. Ryan would leave Los Santos in a heartbeat if he could. If he could. If he could function for just long enough to make it in a ruthless society, maybe. They both know he’s not capable of that, not anymore.
It’s a bold move for Ray to try it, honestly.
“Why d’you want me to stay so bad?” Ray asks casually. Intelligent to the very end.
Ryan could answer that question a million times over and still come up with a new reason. Because he needs Ray, needs him in a way he can’t quite comprehend. They’ve never been the type for labels — never could quite find a label that fit the strange back-and-forth of their relationship.
“What kind of question is that?” Ryan responds, face carefully schooled into a perfectly neutral expression. Guarded.
“Dunno. Just thinking.”
“You’re stupid, you know.”
“Nah, I’m the smart one. You’ll figure it out one day,” Ray finished, getting to his feet. Worn-out Vans nudge a small tin towards Ryan. There’s a smile on Ray’s face, warm as the day they met. “Keep ‘em. For when I visit.”
