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The door of Monmouth snapped shut, the noise louder in the nighttime darkness. The light was on at Gansey’s desk, but the boy himself was lying on the floor, poking at his model town.
Ronan shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on the chair of Gansey’s desk. He had gone out, in theory, to get chips, although more truthfully he had gone out because he was restless. Gansey finally looked up, glasses slipping down his nose momentarily.
“Ronan,” Gansey said by way of greeting, voice rough-edged with the late hour or his own tiredness. Ronan didn’t reply, just stepping over to where the other boy was spread out and crouching down to observe his work.
Gansey held out a hand. Ronan gave him the chip bag.
Biting into a chip, Gansey looked at Ronan with mild shock. “These are not good,” he declared, then finished the chip. Ronan barked a laugh, watching Gansey continue to eat the chips. There was something, Ronan thought, about the nighttime or the silence or the closeness, that made him wish he never had to stop watching Gansey.
The silence lasted for several minutes, broken only the sounds of nighttime bugs outside, and the crunch of chips. Noah was not around, the door to his room hanging open listlessly. When the chips were finished, Gansey crumpled up the bag, and shot it with precise aim into the trash can besides his desk. Ronan had managed to sprawl out besides Gansey, observing the miniature town with less disinterest than anyone else’s creations would’ve merited.
“It’s late,” Gansey muttered, implying you should sleep. Ronan snorted, implying not likely. Gansey placed his hand on Ronan’s shoulder, palm pressed to skin, deliberately casual.
Don’t move.
Ronan was familiar with how the boys of Aglionby expressed comradery. Shoulder pats, fist bumps, solemn handshakes. There was a whole language, a code, to expressing the masculine affection of the wealthy. There was something about a quiet chuckle and clap on the shoulder that said “we’ll do business, once we’re old enough to be CEOs”. Ronan had never been much good at this language; it was all too stuffy and subtle for his taste. Gansey though, he was a master.
The hand on his shoulder didn’t move. Ronan didn’t move. He wanted to move. He shouldn’t move.
Ronan was not good at these types of affection because he had never learned how to do things without giving them his all. If he was disdainful, he was utterly haughty, completely disinterested. If he cared about someone, he adored them with all of his soul. In his family, physical affection was commonplace, it was accepted, it was I love you. A quick hug, a brush of the hand, running his fingers through Matthew’s shining hair, they all meant the same thing: you’re my family.
Gansey moved his hand away, starting to fiddle with model roof that needed gluing. Ronan felt the absence with a visceral wanting, but Gansey had made the motion seem so nonchalant. He watched Gansey fuss with the glue bottle, frowning when at first it didn’t work.
Since his father’s murder, Ronan had lost that affection. Sure, he saw Matthew and Declan on Sundays, but no longer did they lie in the grass together, wrestle, hold hands when they crossed an unbalanced rock path over a stream. He got the same greetings from them that Gansey got from schoolmates daily – fist bumps, arms slung over shoulders, friendly bumps in passing. Ronan ached for that closeness again, but he did not know if he could do that with Gansey – or rather, if he could convince himself to let go once he had that.
“Damn,” Gansey swore, the glue making a sticky mess of his tiny rooftop. “Pass me the...” he started to ask, but Ronan had already handed him the scrap fabric he knew was used for paint-glue messes.
He smiled his thanks, and Ronan watched as he got the glue off his fingers and crumpled up the roof, preparing to make a new one.
Don’t
Gansey noticed.
“What is it?” he asked, looking concerned by Ronan’s concentration. He had asked, so Ronan had to answer.
“I – ” what, exactly? Want to know you care? Want to feel less lonely? Want to remember what it feels like to be held when you’re sad?
Ronan growled, frustrated, and grabbed Gansey’s hand. Fuck it. It wasn’t exactly holding hands, too desperate and forceful, but it was something of that vein. Gansey looked surprised, but curious, not angry. He squeezed Ronan’s hand, and that knocked something loose inside him.
Scrambling, Ronan moved until he was besides Gansey, pressed against him with furious intensity. He buried his face against the other boy’s shoulder, in the soft spot between neck and back, eyes shut, praying he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
Gansey inhaled, sharp, and now he was the one not moving.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Gansey turned, rolling onto his back, sitting up. A split second of panic, as Ronan thought he was about to leave, but then Gansey used their still-linked hands to pull Ronan closer, hastily pulling him onto Gansey’s lap. Ronan nestled his head under Gansey’s chin, jostling them both awkwardly. It wasn’t very comfortable, and he was still buzzing with that chaotic, restless energy, but now it was better, directed.
Ronan wrapped his arms around Gansey, pressing one hand flat to his back, using the other to trace meaningless patterns through the fabric of his shirt. Gansey was holding him tight with one hand, but the other moved to Ronan’s neck, scraping fingers through the stubble at the base of his skull. Ronan’s heart was on fire.
Gansey’s heartbeat pounded, transferring its rhythm to Ronan in all the places they pressed together, and Ronan’s own heart skipped along besides it. There was something tangled up in all this wanting and loneliness, some small part of him that warned of the mistakes this could incur, but now wasn’t the time to care.
With unusual tenderness, as though he was something breakable, something worth protecting, Gansey shifted Ronan closer, his chest pressing into Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan countered, running his hand up Gansey’s back, along the smooth lines of his neck, tracing the edge of his cheek with gentle fingertips. Gansey let out a breath, relaxing slightly, and ducked his own head so it was on level with Ronan’s, pressing his forehead against Ronan’s neck. His breath was warm and uneven on Ronan’s collarbone. Allowing himself the luxury of believing that this was okay, Ronan squeezed Gansey with the arm still wrapped around his back. A contented hum escaped Gansey, and he moved away slightly to grin, goofy and unencumbered, at Ronan, glasses crooked from their movements. Ronan smiled back, using his free hand to reach up and remove the other boy’s glasses, folding them carefully and sliding them across the floor, out of the way.
Gansey giggled – giggled, a soft surprised sound – and God, Ronan was so in love with him. This was his brother, his friend, his protector, his king. There was no life Ronan could live in which he wouldn’t pledge fealty to Richard Gansey III.
Looking Ronan dead in the eyes, Gansey moved his hand, trailing down to rest on Ronan’s hip. Something close to fear squeezed at Ronan’s heart, no, he didn’t want – Gansey wasn’t – he hadn’t explained his movements, and something like this would be too easier to misinterpret. He looked away from Gansey, unable to meet his eyes any longer.
In Aglionby, in everywhere, there was a clear line of what was considered appropriate for friends to do, how much affection they were allowed to show. Ronan had broken that boundary, and now they were in uncertain territory, the space usually reserved for those romantic evenings after dates. But Ronan didn’t want that, he just wanted Gansey, his friend, he wanted to know he was wanted back, he wanted to be held by someone who felt like safety.
Before Ronan had time to pull away though, Gansey’s gaze caught his own. Something in his look said wait. And if Gansey said so, Ronan would do so. Skin tingling with worry, he didn’t move, acutely aware of the position of Gansey’s hand. Instead of what he dreaded, though, Gansey just keep steady, one arm curved around Ronan’s back, rubbing soothing circles with the thumb of the hand resting on Ronan’s hip. After a moment, Ronan dared to relax again, trusting that Gansey understood. Gansey flickered a smile in his direction, and adjusted so his palm was covered the small of Ronan’s back, tracing the shape of his spine.
Steady now, breaths beginning to even out again, Ronan brought his right hand up to hold Gansey’s face, using the other arm still around Gansey’s waist to keep them both stable. Ronan traced the shape of Gansey’s jawbone, the impression where his forehead dipped to meet his cheek, his ear, marveling at the loveliness of this human, his friend. Gansey moved into the gesture, pressing his face against Ronan’s hand, murmuring something too quiet to hear. Normally, Ronan would have asked what had been said, but now he was too hesitant to break the careful, deliberate environment they had built with their own movements. Gansey was resting his hand entirely on Ronan’s hand, giving him power, making Ronan his only means of support. This was obviously intended, from the way Gansey blinked slowly at Ronan, watching his reaction.
Although Gansey had pulled Ronan onto his lap, Ronan was a fair deal bigger, and neither of them were all that balanced, so their legs had ended sprawled out, Ronan sitting nearly sideways to be close to his friend. It felt as though every place Gansey touched was burning, his skin alight with love, with being able to trust another person enough to show them his vulnerabilities. Gansey, for his part, seemed perfectly pleased to trade in this friendly affection, and suddenly Ronan wondered the last time that his parents had held him – probably, the way a child should be held, not the formal, picturesque greetings he’d seen exchanged.
Spurred by that thought, Ronan pulled Gansey close again for a hug, trying to tell him how much he cared. He tried to press all his feelings out, holding onto Gansey like his life depended on it, probably because it did. Gansey hugged him back just as hard, fingers digging into Ronan’s back in a way that was steady and grounding instead of being painful.
Ronan would’ve happily stayed that way forever, all tangled up with his friend, but he felt Gansey stifle a yawn, curling his face into Ronan’s neck, trying to hide his exhaustion. The protective side of Ronan warred momentarily with the selfish side, but finally he pulled back slightly, interlinking his fingers behind Gansey’s back so he could lean away enough to see his face.
“You need sleep,” he muttered, feeling himself scowl slightly at the thought of how little sleep Gansey would end up getting tonight.
“Can’t sleep,” Gansey mumbled, but the tail of his sentence was cut off in another yawn.
Ronan arched an eyebrow, and Gansey rolled his eyes, an insolence Ronan would not have tolerated from anyone else.
Disentangling was an unfortunate process, with a fair few elbow bumps, but Gansey was standing soon enough, on his way to the bathroom to get prepared for sleep, leaving Ronan properly alone. He ached for Gansey to come back, to never have left, but this time was different – it was a warm, comfortable sort of wanting instead of the hidden, angry wanting of before; it was different because he knew Gansey might want him back, because he was finally remembering what joy it was to be held with love.
Ronan fussed around, trying to at least prepare himself for sleep even if he doubted it was attainable. He didn’t expect to see much of Gansey again for the remainder of the evening, but as he was in his room Gansey stepped into the open doorway.
Ronan glanced up from the garbage he was collecting off the floor, curious. Gansey looked – unusual. Not his normal polished self, but more raw, determined but maybe also…scared?
“I told you,” Gansey said, as though they were continuing an argument, “I can’t sleep.”
Ronan straightened up, not sure what response was expected. “So?”
Gansey held out a hand silently, and Ronan took it, confused but trusting. Gansey walked back into the main room, carefully not looking back at Ronan.
Oh
The realization hit, perhaps later than it should’ve.
Gansey flopped down onto his mattress, patting the space besides him and then rolling until he was curled on his side, arms tucked around himself.
Hesitantly, Ronan sat down next to him, then laid down when Gansey made no indication of moving. There was a minute of silence, then Gansey muttered “c’mon, make yourself useful”, reaching backto grab at Ronan’s hand and wrap it around himself.
Ronan carefully kept his breathing steady, scooting closer until he was right next to the smaller boy, nearly encompassing him. Gansey had closed his eyes, and his pulse was slow, even, mismatched with Ronan’s racing one.
Before, Ronan had gone to sleep like this once or twice – besides his brothers, or his parents. It had been ages since then.
It was hard enough trusting himself with sleep, Ronan could barely consider falling asleep besides Gansey, precious Gansey. If anything were to happen he wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Just for tonight.
Ronan closed his eyes, allowing his own breathing to match Gansey’s, allowing himself to revel in the comfort of being so close to his beloved friend. Just for tonight, it would be okay.