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Ronan hadn't been home that night at Monmouth Manufacturing. Gansey hadn't checked the church or anywhere else, because he knew what was currently going on between Kavinsky and Ronan as clear as day. Ronan would no longer be getting drunk alone in a church pew, but be getting drunk with Kavinsky, surronded by high douche bags and cars on fire.
But Gansey searched to no accord. He searched up and down, asked a very tall, skinny boy with stick n' poke tattoos for Ronan Lynch and got spit at, asked a topless girl and got shrugged off. This really wasn't his scene. He didn't fit in with his polo and chinos and brand new boat shoes. He didn't fit in when he coughed out his lungs whenever he inhaled smoke.
Gansey needed to locate Kavinsky. He hated Kavinsky, no doubt. But he also cared about Ronan's well being.
"Joseph," Gansey called pleasently at a smirking Kavinsky, who was smoking a cigarette while sitting on the hood of the Mitsubishi, two scantily clad girls under each arm, each girl heavily stoned. Kavinsky cracked a smile. The kind of smile that scared away small children, and the Gansey's of the world alike.
"Dick," Kavinsky growled, "Gansey." He took a slow, seductive drag of his cigarette. The girls beneath his arms looked like puppets. Gansey wondered what Blue would have to say about that.
"Where's Ronan?" Gansey snapped, knowing full well he was about to be verbally lacerated. His stomach lurched, and his blood pulsed.
Kavinsky's smile grew bigger. He tipped his white sunglasses down his nose to shoot Gansey a deadly look in the eye, a devils glare.
"Sorry, sweetheart," Kavinsky crooned, "Your boyfriend ain't here, probably getting fucked by some other guy, right now, so you better scurry off now, darling."
Gansey could not take his bullshit. Darling. Sweetheart. Boyfriend. He did a very un-gansey-like thing, and grabbed Kavinsky by the front of his white wife-beater. He could count the bruises and tiny scars on Kavinsky face, now.
"Seriously, where is he, Kavinsky, be serious with me!" Gansey shouted. Kavinsky's smile simply grew bigger, and now his teeth were showing. He plucked each of Gansey's off of him.
"Not here, Dick-three. Check Saint Agnes." Gansey wondered why Kavinsky knew the name of the church. He wondered why Kavinsky knew Ronan might be at said church.
Gansey stepped back slowly. He felt stupid, beyond stupid. Idiotic. Gansey on fire was not Gansey. However, he was still angry at Kavinsky, his flippance, his inexplicable bond with Ronan, the girls under his arm, the cigarette between his lips.
"Good bye, Joseph," Gansey sighed, a little passive agressive. "Now," he said, "Do me a favor and leave Ronan alone. You're killing him, you know."
Gansey found the Camaro, which happened to be only a few paces away from the Mitsubishi. Kavinsky tore himself away from the girls. Gansey got into the Camaro and slammed the door shut. Kavinsky called out, so he, begrundigly, rolled the window down.
Kavinsky rushed towards the Camaro, sporting a super villian like look on his face.
"I'm killing him?" Kavinsky gawked. Then: "For someone who doesn't matter, you sure care about me a whole lot."
Gansey understood this more than he wished he would. Gansey didn't say anything, he could've driven away, but that was cowardly.
"I heard, you know," Kavinsky laughed, "The difference between us and Kavinsky is that we matter. Get fucked."
Gansey sighed.
"I'm sorry, it was immature and rude and-" Kavinsky put a finger to his lips.
"Uh uh. Let me finish." He removed his finger and ran a hand through his hair. "You're right, Gansey boy. I don't matter. What do I do? I do dumb shit. I blow stuff up. I don't matter. But here's a little something, Dick, you don't either."
Kavinsky saying this did not shock Gansey in the slightest. It was a very Kavinsky thing to say.
Kavinsky pressed on.
"You're gonna be some Republican politican with a sex scandal. You're gonna have a nice, pretty wife and live in a big ol' Virginia mansion and have a bunch of little babies named Bethany or Ethan or some shit. You're gonna die of old age and the world is going to forget you in a century, just... like... me. As much as I hate to admit it, Dick Dick Dick, we're quite similar."
"There's nothing similar about us."
"I just said what was similar about us. But, then again, that's how it is for most people, huh?"
Gansey scoffed, and turned on the Camaro, put his foot on the gas.
"I apolgize to you, and you insult me." And it was quite a hard hitting insult for Gansey, as well.
"Oh, but you're not sorry." Gansey wasn't sure if he was. Kavinsky's face read a thousand different emotions, enraged and amused being the top two.
Gansey began to pull out of the field. He wanted to go home. He wanted to find Ronan.
Kavinsky threw a beer bottle at the Camaro. It shattered into a million pieces, and amber liquid poured. Gansey winced, and thought of the scratches.
"Good!" Kavinsky shouted. "Get the fuck out of my party! And hey, if Lynch isn't dead, give a kiss for me!"
Gansey rolled up his window. He didn't want to unpack that.