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Ronan Lynch thought that he had known Gansey better than even Gansey knew himself, but this move had come out of left field. Of course, it was a perfectly Gansey-like action, but Ronan still couldn't believe he had actually done it.
Gansey had traded Monmouth Manufacturing for Ronan's high school diploma.
Today was Moving Day, technically. Ronan had nearly moved out of Monmouth already by staying at the Barns every other night, so he had very little to pack. Gansey, on the other hand, had papers strewn across the floor, overflowing boxes of miscellaneous historical goodies spilt in the corners, and mountains of documents that had been read, reread, and memorized stacked up on his desk. Gansey hadn't made any packing progress yet- but then again, a month ago he hadn't needed to. After all, what was the point in packing when you weren't going to be alive long enough to move into a new place?
Ronan and Gansey had dedicated this particular Saturday to clearing out that second floor dorm- papers, clothes, miniature towns, the whole lot. Gansey had just left Monmouth and was driving into town to pick up lunch, leaving Ronan to tackle Gansey's historically large mess of a bedroom.
Ronan dragged a black plastic trash bag across the floor as he hunted down trash, rolling his eyes even though nobody was there to see it. The bright summer sun shone through Monmouth’s floor-to-ceiling windows and illuminated the floating dust in the air that never seemed to disappear and spread across the floor in stark bright lines of light. Ronan dropped his plastic trash bag in exasperation and knelt down next to Gansey's wire trash can by his unmade bed. Ronan snatched up the loose papers and empty chip bags scattered around the trash can; Gansey had once bet ten dollars that Ronan wouldn’t be able to shoot fifteen consecutive pieces of trash into their makeshift hoop, and Gansey’d won- but only because Noah had silently popped into existence behind Ronan right before the final throw and scared the living daylights out of him.
Ronan shoved the trash into his plastic bag with unnecessary malice. “That fucker better get back soon. I'm not picking up all of his shit," he grumbled. In all honesty, he wasn’t really mad that Gansey had left him to clean. Ronan actually liked cleaning- he’d clocked up hours at the Barns remodeling and tidying that house up- but it was the reason why he had to clean today that put him in a sour mood.
Ronan had called Monmouth his home for so long now; it felt wrong that some stupid freshmen were going to move in and trash the place once Headmaster Child opened it up to new Aglionby applicants. Monmouth was where he and his friends had confronted Noah about his death, where Ronan had dreamt and killed dream demons, where he had spent a solid couple of months bonding with Gansey as they rebuilt and furnished the old warehouse into an odd but charming apartment. They couldn’t just… give it away.
Ronan stretched out onto his stomach in order to grab a bundle of paper hidden underneath Gansey’s bed, the cold wooden floor shocking his skin where his black tee-shirt had ridden up.
His sharp blue eyes glanced up at the trash can next to his head, the crumpled papers balancing precariously on top of each other reaching well higher than the trash can’s rim. His mind briefly flashed back to the memory of a dead hornet bouncing off of those discarded writings. Ronan shook his head to erase the image and pulled the paper out into the light.
Shifting into a criss-crossed position, he examined the paper with interest. Most of the papers he’d found so far had one or two words scratched down, a few doodles of no significance, or grocery lists scrawled on the back. In other words, shit that could be thrown away without a second thought.
This paper, however, was different. It was crumpled and crushed into a ball with more direct intent, the number of wrinkles double that of all the others. And it was covered in writing. Ink blots, sentences written then crossed out, then rewritten and crossed out again.
"What the hell is this, Gansey?" Ronan muttered, turning the paper over and back again. It looked like the work of a madman.
Ronan slowly unwrapped it, careful not to rip it, and flattened it softly against his leg before lifting it into the sunlight in order to make out what it said.
His heart climbed into his throat when he read the title, scrawled carefully across the top in deliberate, thick handwriting. Handwriting meant to make a point.
“The Last Will and Testament of R.C. Gansey III”
Ronan’s hands felt cold holding the paper. When had Gansey written this? How many times had he written this? The only other will Ronan had ever read was his father’s, and now seeing such a similar document with his best friend’s name written at the top was almost too much to handle. His mind supplied the image: Gansey’s dead body lying in Ronan’s lap while he cried by the side of an empty road, black goo drying on Ronan’s face and rain drying on Gansey’s. Ronan struggled with his inner conscience over whether or not to read the will, but his curiosity won out. Wills were supposed to be read.
“I, Richard Campbell Gansey III, am writing this will and testament in order to state my final good-byes and assign my possessions in the case that I do not have the chance to do so in person before I pass on.”
The first paragraph dealt with family matters, wishing his mother good luck on her campaign, thanking his father for all that he had given him, and apologizing to Helen for being, at times, difficult to handle, what with his secret dealings with headmasters and obsessions with dangerous quests. He had an arrow after that pointing to the margins, where he had quickly jotted down “Also thanks for the helicopter rides.”
Next, Gansey addressed Malory, to whom he promised his collection of artifacts and his research on Glendower.
“I’ve collected enough material over the years to perhaps be of some use to your historian friends in England as well as supply any history museums with some new exhibits.”
Ronan looked up and over at the boxes shoved haphazardly against the wall and wondered just how valuable those old trinkets, medallions, and statues actually were.
“I also want to thank you, Malory, for being there for me. You were the first one to take the time to listen to my story about Glendower with any real interest besides that of it possibly being a psychological hallucination. Glendower meant the world to me, and you understood that. (Gansey’s hand had accidentally smudged the next few words too much for Ronan to make out what they said) –whenever I broke down. I regret leaving you so suddenly. I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye, and my cowardice and stupidity made my final decision the worst possible way I could have left. I hope you can forgive me. Excelsior, my friend.”
Ronan felt like he was invading Gansey’s mind, reading his thoughts and thumbing through his memories. He felt like he should stop. He felt like he should throw the will away. He felt like he could never let this fragile piece of paper go.
He really felt like he couldn’t let the paper go when he saw his name in the next line.
“And finally, I wish to give the rest of my belongings to the most important people in the world: Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish, Blue Sargent, and Noah Czerny. My magicians. You four gave my life direction and purpose, and I firmly believe that fate led us all to Henrietta- whether we were born here or reborn here. There’s no such thing as a coincidence."
"Ronan Lynch: I give you the Pig.”
Ronan nearly choked on his own spit.
“I know you’ve always wanted to drive it. Don’t think I don’t see that look in your eyes whenever there’s an empty stretch of road in front of us and all you want to do is go fast enough to break the sound barrier. Don’t crash this one.”
Ronan couldn’t help but laugh, but it quickly faded out as he kept reading, the handwriting getting more frantic. At some point, Gansey had switched pens because the writing was no longer in black but in a bright blue ink. The second half of Ronan’s passage had been written on a different day.
“I wish there was a way I could stop this from happening. You have lost so much in life, and I don’t want to think about what my death will do to you. Jesus, listen to me. I’m making myself depressed just writing this. Please, let the others help you. Don’t shut them out. The other day, I found a new EpiPen hidden underneath one of the floorboards; I then proceeded to find three more in your closet, one under the sink in the bathroom, and one at the bottom of the staircase. I had no idea that you had spent so much dream energy in order to protect me, and I can’t explain how much that means to me- and you know me. If I’m speechless, it’s significant. Never stop dreaming, Ronan. I knew the man you were before, and I know the man you are now, and I hope that the man you will become is someone to be proud of, you magnificent creature.”
Ronan paused for a long minute. He quickly rubbed his watery eyes with the back of wrist, as if someone was watching and he didn’t want them to know he was tearing up. Gansey had noticed, and Gansey had cared. What confused Ronan, though, was that Gansey sounded genuinely stunned that Ronan had been trying to save him all this time. Did Gansey not realize how much he meant to Ronan? Of course Ronan had been trying to save Gansey. If Gansey had actually died that day-
Ronan looked up at the ceiling, trying to prevent his tears from slipping from his eyes. Gansey did not die. Gansey is alive. There’s no need to be upset. Still, the What If of the situation was enough to get to Ronan.
He kept reading.
The next paragraph was written in black, tidy letters. Gansey had been calmer when he wrote this part.
“Adam Parrish: I give you all my research about Cabeswater and my journal. Make sure to separate it from the rest of the research before all those papers are sent to Malory. I hope that whatever I’ve written helps you take care of Cabeswater and maybe learn more about the place. I would have given you money for college, but I know you won’t take it- but if you need it one day, I hereby declare that Adam Parrish is to receive enough money to pay for his college tuition. I wish there was more I could think to give you, but I know how picky you are about your gifts- so I’ll just leave that research. Adam, I’m immeasurably grateful that we met and that you befriended Ronan and I. You deserved so much more in life, but I know that your ambition will take you far. In all honesty, I don’t fully comprehend your Cabeswater connection, but I want you to be safe. Be careful. And Adam, don’t break Ronan. All of this is taking a toll on him- he won’t admit it, but I know he’s hurting- so please take care of him.”
“Jane Sargent: Since Adam probably won’t take my donation, I’d like you to have it. I give you four years of college tuition to any university you want. I want my parents to use the money we saved for my own tuition to pay for yours, since I won’t be needing it. Thank you for being patient with me. I admit, I am not always aware of the effect of my words and oftentimes come off as rude and privileged and snobby- well, you get the idea. I apologize for all the times I insulted you, and I swear that those instances were all accidental- especially our first encounter. I’m not always sure how to put my thoughts into the appropriate words, but I know for a fact that I mean every word when I tell you 'I love you,' Blue. You make me feel calm, which is a rarity in my life. I am always anxious and stressed and high-strung, and I wish I was indefatigable, but that is not the case. When I am around you, Blue, I am at ease. After you told me about your curse and we grew closer, I figured that the probability of my fate being sealed by your kiss was very high. If your kiss is the last thing I ever experience, know that I will die happy and at ease.”
"Noah Czerny:"
Ronan noticed some ink dots surrounding Noah’s name. If Gansey had been using his fountain pen at this point, the dripping ink would mean that he had paused and thought about what to write for a long time. Seeing their deceased friend’s name sent a pang through Ronan’s heart. Noah had disappeared the same day that Gansey had died and lived again, but at the time this will was written, Noah was still very much there- well, as "there" as a ghost boy can be.
“Noah Czerny: I wish I could give you my life.”
Ronan read and reread that line. The scariest part about that single simple sentence was that Gansey meant it sincerely.
“The only reason I am alive is because you were sacrificed. It was unfair. I want you to know that I know that. I was a privileged ten-year-old who was stupid enough to go traipsing through hornet-infested woods. You were murdered by your friend and sacrificed against your will. My life should have been the sacrifice to save yours. I don’t know why Cabeswater chose me.
I am sorry that I took your chance at life.”
“I’m not exactly sure how to end a will and testament. I may’ve died before, but I’ve never done this part. I guess that’s all there is.”
Then, at the bottom of the page in an overly-flourished signature full of swirls and quick swishes,
Richard Campbell Gansey III
Ronan felt like Chainsaw was digging her talons into his heart. Gansey had known his time was limited, and he had poured his heart out onto this old, crinkled, splotchy piece of paper. Such a light thing to hold such a heavy message. Ronan’s heart beat in mourning of a friend that was not actually dead.
Ronan jumped to his feet when he heard the door to the room creak open and reveal the very friend whose privacy he’d just invaded. Gansey had on his aquamarine polo shirt and khaki shorts- typical Gansey summer wear. He held a bag of Subway sandwiches in one hand and the Camaro’s car keys in the other.
“Lynch, I was gone long enough for you to make some progress in here, but-” Gansey faltered, seeing Ronan’s expression. “Is everything okay?”
Gansey noted Ronan’s defensive stance, legs bent and shoulders tense as if preparing for an attack.
“What happened?” Gansey asked, then, visibly tensing, continued in an urgent whisper, “Is- Is there a dream demon here?”
Ronan’s eyebrows furrowed, and suddenly he took three large, rushed steps towards Gansey, still clenching the will in his hand.
Gansey dropped the sandwiches and took a step back, but before he could say anything, Ronan grabbed Gansey’s shoulder and pulled him into a tight, meaningful hug. Gansey was stunned, not sure why any of this was happening. Hesitantly, he hugged Ronan back.
After a good ten seconds, Ronan loosened his tight grip on Gansey and instead ran his hand through his friend’s soft and tousled hair.
“Ronan, this is unusual, even for you. What’s going on?”
“You’re alive, you magnificent bastard, and I’m glad.”