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“I’m just sayin- If I dreamt up the right tool, I think it could be possible to give you a tattoo.”
Noah bites back a smile, which Ronan decides to take as victory.
“I don’t know…”
“Come onnn,” he wheedles. “It’s not like you have to worry about it aging badly, since your body can’t age anyway.”
His friend snorts at the joke. Before, Ronan had been nervous about making light of Noah’s predicament- but he’d slowly found making light of it is exactly what Noah needs. His friend hates being the center of attention, hates having pity and sympathy piled up on top of him. He’d rather Ronan poke at his condition, acknowledging it’s there but not seeing it as something to tread lightly on.
“I have always wanted a tattoo,” Noah slowly concedes. “Something small. On like, my wrist or something.”
“Basic and safe,” Ronan says with a nod. “I can respect that.”
As usual, they’re lounging together on Ronan’s bed, laying side by side as they stare up at the ceiling. Noah’s head is resting on Ronan’s stomach, and one of Ronan’s hands is carefully brushing through the ghost’s soft blonde curls.
Chainsaw squawks from her perch on the headboard, her only warning before she takes flight, circling the room before landing on Noah’s knee. The boy laughs, and fuck is that sound music to Ronan’s ears. He wonders sometimes, if Noah used to laugh more when he was alive, or if laughter was something that has always come rarely to Noah.
He wonders, as usual, if alive Noah was even the same person. He wonders if he’d still be someone he gets along with so well.
He wonders if he’d still be someone he cares so deeply about. Someone he… likes.
“You’re not actually serious about the tattoo, are you?”
Noah’s words drag Ronan back into the present. He snorts. “Hell yeah- you’d look so fucking sick with a tattoo man. So sick.”
Noah hums, and Ronan lets the conversation drop, letting a comfortable silence fall between them. He doesn’t want to push Noah into something he doesn’t want to do, though the thought of a ghost-tattoo gun has been something on his mind for a while now. Assuming Noah is on board, all that’s left to do is dream it.
The thought brings a smile to his lips, his brain already whirling as he thinks through all the mechanics of it.
After a moment of laying in silence, Noah shifts, pulling away from Ronan as he shoos Chainsaw away from the blankets- the raven has been having a craving for fabric lately, something that Ronan can’t exactly explain, but something that he’s been bad at discouraging. So the bird wants to chew up his bedsheets- who is he to tell her no?
With a disgruntled squawk Chainsaw takes flight again, landing back at her place on Ronan’s headboard. Content, Noah lays back down, this time with his head beside Ronan’s on the pillow.
After a moment Ronan turns to face him, and finds the other boy’s expression clouded with thought. He wonders for a moment when Noah’s mood had turned somber, wonders when Noah’s thoughts had trailed away from the present. He looks a million years old just now, centuries worth of worry looming in his face.
“Do you think,” Noah starts, then cuts himself off. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, thinking for a moment before starting again. “Do you think I’ll still be here? After Glendower is found?”
Ronan frowns. “Why wouldn’t you be?”
Noah glances aside, giving a half shrug of his shoulders. “I dunno,” he murmurs. His tone is casual, as though they were still discussing hypothetical dream-tattoos. As though he weren’t bringing up something that clearly haunts him late at night, when he doesn’t have the mercy of sleep to turn to.
Ronan sees right through it.
”I mean,” Noah shifts onto his back and continues. “Why even am I here? Am I even here?”
“You’re here because the line gave you another chance,” Ronan replies easily. “And anyway- once we find Glendower, I’m gonna ask him to make you whole again.”
Noah’s eyes widen. He glances back at Ronan. “You are?”
Ronan grins his lopsided grin. “Of course. What else would I ask for?”
Noah bites at his lip but doesn’t answer. Some of the anxiety seems to bleed from his expression though, which Ronan takes as a small victory.
He gives it a second, and when Noah still doesn’t reply, he keeps talking. Something inside him is daring him on, and like always- he gives into the call.
“As for the other part?” He props himself up on one elbow, gazing down at Noah’s contemplative face. “If you’re here?”
Slowly, he reaches his hand out. He carefully places it on Noah’s cheek, gently cupping his face in his hand.
His skin is cold, but Ronan has always run warm.
“Can you feel this?” Ronan asks. Noah lets his eyes flutter shut, and Ronan smooths his thumb over his cheek.
“Yeah. Sorta,” Noah murmurs. “It’s not as… solid as it felt. Back when I was…”
He peters out, and Ronan lets him. Overtime, he’s learned that Noah can’t be pushed to speak when he doesn’t want to, and that sometimes, thoughts can drift away from Noah’s mind like vapors leaking from a steaming pot. He might stop talking because he simply doesn’t want to speak anymore, or he might genuinely have forgotten that he was talking at all.
“If you can feel it, even a little, then you’re here.”
Noah doesn’t reply, so Ronan lets the matter drop. But he keeps his hand on Noah’s cheek, gently tracing at the lines of his face.
After a moment he shifts himself closer, reaching out to push a stray stand of hair from Noah’s face. Words bubble to his lips before he can stop them. “You’re beautiful, you know.”
Noah’s eyes snap open. He looks over at Ronan, his expression wary. Ronan holds his gaze, half kicking himself for blurting what was on his mind- what’s always been on his mind- and half relived that it’s finally out in the air.
He and Noah have been dancing around things for far too long.
A moment of silence passes, and then Noah turns his face away, out of reach of Ronan’s hand. He pulls it back to himself, trying not to feel scorned.
Noah swallows thickly, his gaze up at the ceiling. “You don’t have to do this Ronan. I’m not a charity case.”
What?
“You know I don’t lie,” Ronan says with a frown.
Noah’s eyes stay trained at the ceiling as he replies. “I know.”
Confusion swirls in Ronan’s head. “Then… you know I wasn’t lying, right?”
With a sigh Noah props himself up too, turning to gaze at Ronan. His features are a bit fuzzier than usual, his eyes doleful and deep.
”Yeah. I know.”
Ronan reaches out again, but Noah leans away. He lets his hand drop onto the bed.
“Then why-?”
“Ronan, I’m dead.” He says it flatly. A fact, not a regret. A reminder, not a sympathy garner.
Ronan rolls his eyes.
“Oh fuck- really? I’d completely forgotten.”
Noah huffs, his nose scrunching. “I’m serious.”
“Yeah… I know.”
Noah’s brow furrows, a frown tugging at his lips. His already smudgy form grows even hazier, and Ronan reminds himself to tread gently. He doesn’t want to make the guy completely disappear.
“I mean, you don’t wanna be doing this with me. I can’t- I can’t be with you Ronan.”
Ronan raises a brow. “Ghost sex isn’t possible?”
Noah’s cheeks flush, which only ends up making his snowy skin turn a more- well, healthy shade. But still, Ronan can see it. He’s spent enough time with Noah to have his complexion memorized- so he knows a flush when he sees one.
“I-I’m not talking about that-“
“Then what’s the problem?” Ronan asks, then quickly back pedals. “That sounded bad- I’m not trying to say that I wouldn’t want you if sex wasn’t an option, I just meant-“
Noah groans, flopping down onto the bed before slinging an arm over his eyes. Ronan stops talking. After a moment, he carefully lays back down on his side, facing Noah.
“It’s not that,” Noah says, his arm still covering half his face. “It’s- I’m dead Ronan.” His voice is hollow. Empty. “I had my chance at everything. You deserve to be with someone who can still… breathe.”
Ah. There we go.
Ronan scooches closer, reaching out to lift Noah’s arm off his face. He leans over him, gazing down at Noah’s fragile expression.
“You’re wrong,” he murmurs, laying Noah’s arm on the pillow above his head. He slides his hand onto his cheek again, leaning in so that his nose bumps Noah’s. The boy doesn’t turn away, doesn’t push Ronan away, and so he doesn’t stop.
“You’re still here,” he says gently, because Noah has always brought out his most gentle side. “So you haven’t lost your chance at anything.” Ronan looks between his eyes, searching to see that Noah understands. His friend’s expression is open, unguarded. If Noah could breathe, Ronan is certain he’d be holding his breath.
“And as for me?” Ronan continues. “You’re all I want. And I don’t think I’m a saint or anything- but why wouldn’t I deserve the person I want?”
Noah wets his lips. Ronan’s eyes hungrily follow the movement, his pulse quickening in his chest. Fuck he wants Noah so bad. So, so bad.
He wishes Noah could see it. Could see his want and desire as a tangible thing, and not just something that rests heavily in Ronan’s chest.
“I can’t be everything that living people are.”
“I don’t want everything that living people are. I just want you.”
And with that Ronan closes the tiny gap between them, carefully pressing his lips over Noah’s own. Noah seems to freeze beneath him, and for a moment Ronan panics- he’s always been one to leap before he looks, never worrying about consequences until it’s too late- but then Noah is kissing him back, and Ronan’s heart starts beating again.
“I want you too,” Noah confesses into his lips. And Ronan thinks he might just explode. ”It’s a bad idea. But I want it.”
Ronan pulls back just a hair, smoothing his thumb over Noah’s cheek. “I love bad ideas. But this isn’t one of them.”
”You sure?”
Ronan leans back in, pressing his lips back into Noah’s. “When am I not?”
Noah makes a strange noise in his throat in response. Ronan can feel the desperation bleeding from the boy beneath him, can feel the sudden urgency in his motions. Noah’s hands reach up to wrap around Ronan’s neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer. Their lips crush together, their noses bumping as they try to get the angle right. There’s a wetness on Noah’s cheek, and it takes a moment for Ronan to realize that he’s crying- he hadn’t known the ghost could cry. It’s almost enough to make him stop, but Noah’s hands are still pulling him closer, his grip impossibly tight. And when has he been one to tell Noah no?
So he slides a leg over Noah’s waist, blanketing him as he presses him deeper into the mattress. His hand splays across Noah’s ribs as his mouth slides on Noah’s own.
He doesn’t know who opens their mouth first, but before long they’re deepening the kiss, Noah’s tongue tentative and exploring, Ronan’s harsh and claiming. He so terribly wants to nip and bite and suck at Noah’s lips- Noah’s sinfully soft lips- but he refrains, not wanting to scare the boy off so easily. Instead he keeps himself in check, keeps his desires tame as they continue trading kisses.
Besides- he’s content with just this. He’s been wanting to kiss the guy for months- anything else can wait a while.
He can be patient, when he so chooses.
After a moment he pulls away, sliding his head over to bury his face in Noah’s neck. His core is tight and hot, and he knows too much longer and his mind would be too clouded to think clearly. He places a soft kiss at a place just under Noah’s jaw, feeling the cold boy shiver beneath him.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he mumbles into Noah’s neck. “So fuckin long.”
“I wanted you to do it for a while too.”
Ronan feels his lips pull into a grin. He wraps his arms around Noah’s midsection, hugging tight as he gets himself comfortable.
It’s only then he realizes that Noah feels more… solid beneath him. As if whatever energy they’d created through their shared moment, Noah had absorbed into his very soul.
Ronan makes a mental note of it for future. He doubts it’ll be permanent- energy is such a fickle thing after all- but still. It’s worth keeping an eye on.
Neither of them speak after that. Ronan takes the moment of peace to focus on breathing in and out, basking in the feel of Noah’s hand tracing the shell of his ear. After a while he rolls himself off of Noah, reaching out to pull the boy close, his chest pressed against Noah’s back.
He wraps his arms around Noah’s waist, and Noah’s hands cover his own.
“Stay?” Ronan asks. He isn’t sure what he’s asking- for Noah to spend the night? For him to remain solid and tangible just now, for him to not dissolve and go wherever it is he goes when he’s not visible? Or for Noah to commit to something more?
“Ok,” Noah softly agrees, and in his answer Ronan somehow finds what he’d been asking. Or at least the start of it.
“Ok,” he repeats, warmth flooding his chest. And after a gentle kiss to the back of Noah’s neck- he closes his eyes, letting himself drift off into sleep. For once not afraid about the dreams and what they’ll bring.