💥💊 @xronanlynch
kavinsky is walking.
he’s walking to ronan’s and he isn’t sure why, because it would be quicker to drive. maybe it’s because he doesn’t quite trust himself behind the wheel right now, and maybe it’s because for once in his life, kavinsky actually cares what might happen if he crashes. maybe he just needs a few minutes – streetlights passing S L O W, the absence of a car’s engine creating SILENCE – to prepare. because if kavinsky gets there, and lynch has changed his mind … it’ll be ugly. painful. almost unsurvivable. but he is prepared now; he doesn’t think it will be like last time.
he’s learned his lesson. when it comes to ronan lynch, kavinsky is always braced for impact.
because all ronan had said was come and get it and kavinsky had thought he should put up a fight even though they both knew who’d win, and then ronan had said please. there was no fighting that. K HATES it: hates how easy he is; how desperate. but fuck, it’s so easy to just give in. to text ronan back simply to say ok & leave his apartment without a moment’s hesistation. it’s a release, and if kavinsky can keep on feeling this relief that will be — good.
he’s at ronan’s door and he’s knocked and this is it, the last moment to turn back though he knows he won’t. ronan takes his time answering but then he’s there and kavinsky realises he hasn’t planned this far ahead. “lynch.” mouth quirked into a smile, eyeing the other boy, cautious. god, ronan is wasted, but he looks so … kavinsky is looking at what he wants. maybe he should be more concerned about how drunk ronan is; how much will still be here once he’s sober – but K figures if he sticks around he can argue any doubts ronan might wake up with. keep him drunk if that’s what it takes to make him want you, a small depraved part of his mind whispers. another part, that sounds oddly like liv, argues back: you’re better than that. K doesn’t know if that’s true. he guesses they’ll find out.
“what, we gonna stand here all night?” quickly, before he has the chance to DOUBT himself, kavinsky reaches out to take ronan’s hand, pulling himself closer with the momentum. fuck. fuck, this is weird. it’s just palms & wrists & curling fingers, and kavinsky knows he’s touched ronan’s hands before, but this is different, this is c l o s e r. “or are you gonna invite me in?”
the texts had taken an unexpected turn. ronan had wanted a FIGHT, to argue with kavinsky until one of them said something so hurtful that the burning in ronan’s chest would turn into something else. he didn’t want the longing, the ache. he wanted to be mad. because that he could deal with. and he had been mad. at least at first. at gansey, for leaving him to go meet that girl at the library. what intellectual bullshit did she and gansey share that ronan couldn’t be part of?
he was also permanently mad at joseph kavinsky and michael munroe. at kavinsky for making ronan want him. and munroe for wanting kavinsky. of course, ronan had no right to be mad at munroe. but he WAS. and ronan hated him even more because kavinsky seemed to want him back. so he’d gotten himself a bottle, made the mistake of keeping his phone by his side, like some sort of relief for the loneliness that ate at him.
it would’ve been easier to text kavinsky, tell him to meet somewhere, fuck in his car, leave him there afterwards.
confessing his feelings had not been a part of ronan's plan. yet here he was now. cold darkness spreading from his belly to the toes on his feet. telling kavinsky he wanted to hold his hand in public had been bad enough. he hadn't meant to say i love you. but that seemed to be the truth, plain and simple: at least to some degree, ronan lynch loves joseph kavinsky.
ok. comes kavinsky’s reply. the small word makes ronan’s anxiety quiet down for a second, because despite all the ways in which he has wronged kavinsky, this is not a rejection. and then the hurricane hits. now that he's put himself out there, ronan has to actually go through with it. the problem is, he has no idea what IT even is. they are not soft touches and gentle kisses. they are not sweet whispers. they are car crashes and fireworks and ronan is not sure how they could ever be anything else.
there's a knock at his door, though ronan almost misses it with the way his heart is pounding in his chest. he takes his time, using the distance between his couch and the door as middle ground where he can consider his options. what happens if he opens that door and kavinsky looks at him and then ronan doesn't want him to look away?
is it possible that maybe somewhere exists a world where ronan and kavinsky could be… he doesn't let the thought finish. not ready yet. as his hand finds the doorknob, ronan thinks he might play hard to get. too fucking late, lynch. but when the door opens, kavinsky is there and the bastard is smiling at ronan. a small part somewhere in ronan's brain — a part of his brain that ronan is sure will remember everything when he's sober — decides that if there isn't a world where he and kavinsky can just be, then he's going to fucking dream one.
"kavinsky." even this is different. ronan takes his time with each syllable, he makes each one matter. or at least he hopes that's how it comes out. maybe he's just speaking like a drunk usually does. ronan blinks and he's not sure how but K's hand is in his.instinct begs him to pull away, but there's something else that keeps him exactly where he is. close, TOO close. for once there's nothing angry or confrontational about their closeness. it just is. ronan has a feeling that K might be as uncertain of what they’re doing as ronan feels. he doesn't answer K's question, simply presses a quick kiss to the other's lips before pulling him inside. he doesn't let go of k's hand.
"gansey's out. it's just us." he says when they're inside. slowly, he frees his hand, but he doesn't turn around to meet kavinsky's eyes. he simply gets himself a beer, offers one to the other boy. there is silence as ronan takes an excruciatingly long sip from his beer. finally, he puts the bottle down, resumes his position on the couch as he figures he might as well just get it out of the way. "i meant it. everything i wrote. you can do with that whatever the fuck you want. i just need you to know that it's the truth."
