(no subject)

[thedreamthief]

It's a familiar scene: Ronan on a park bench with a bottle of whiskey dangling the fingers of one hand.

On his back with one foot perched on the arm rest, Ronan can stare up at the stars. He's clueless enough about astronomy to pretend it's the exact same sky as the one back home, that he's still there laid out in his favorite a field at The Barns, the one with the duck-shaped pond in the middle of it, instead of stuck in some strange city-slash-prison populated by wizards and werewolves and fucking fictional people. A prison where his bank account is no longer inflated by the Lynch family money, where the trees don't talk to him, where Glendower is just a name in a history book and his friends look at him like he's constantly missing something, constantly a step behind.

A prison where he's living in a tent and can't get a fucking job and his friends are all learning how to survive without him.

Back in Henrietta, Ronan never let himself think about life after Aglionby. There never seemed much point when there were more pressing things to consider. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew things would change once they all graduated (or if, in his case) but the specifics were never considered. Their lives were going to change once they found Glendower anyway so what did it matter?

Here there is no Glendower and no favor to be granted.

So what now?

Ronan takes another drink and rubs the back of his wrist across one eyes. He's tired because he's always tired. He hurts because he always hurts.

He hears footsteps, slow and steady as they walk the park path, and then stop. Ronan doesn't look to see if they've stopped for him or for some other unseen reason. He doesn't particularly care. But he pulls in a breath just in case and murmurs, "Just keep walking, man."

Comments

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire isn't, actively, looking for Ronan, or looking for someone else who provides the same relationship that Ronan does to him. He's actually in a relatively decent mood, coming out from a late shift at Tintern feeling relatively accomplished. He's got a bottle in hand, and he's feeling awake enough not to want to go back to the apartment just yet. The cat was fed in the afternoon; he'll be all right for a few hours yet.

He does stop when he sees Ronan, though, staring morosely at the sky. And as Grantaire is always contrary and doubly so with Ronan, he ignores his exhortation to move on entirely to perch on the arm of the bench. "Last I checked, this park bench is public."

[thedreamthief]

Ronan is all too familiar with that voice and, brow furrowed, he raises his head to see Graintaire perched on the arm of the bench, grinning. Something about the sight of him makes Ronan's blood warm for more than one reason and he growls before shoving at Grantaire's shin with one booted foot.

"And last I checked, no one fucking asked you," Ronan points out, fully aware of how weak of a comeback it is. But he's drunk and tired and Grantaire's stupid grin is pissing him off. "Why the fuck do you look so happy anyway? It's unnerving."

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire takes a drink and regards him, less grinny now and more thoughtful. "Is a man not allowed to be happy, without a reason?" He's fully aware it is actually somewhat rare in his case. This feels, nicely, like something that might not just be the prelude to a fit of whimsy or insomniac creativity, the brief respite of total nonsense that he spirals into sometimes before crashing back down. This feels more solid than that. But he always thinks that.

He shoves his foot with one hand. "What's got you in a mood?" Ronan's not often sweet, but this seems different.

[thedreamthief]

"Is a man not allowed to be in a shit mood without reason?" Ronan asks, his tone mocking as he throws the words back at Grantaire. It's probably the closest Ronan will get to lying. He has reason; he just doesn't want to fucking talk about it.

There's a part of him, even now, that sparks when Grantaire touches him, but he resolutely shoves it aside and keeps his foot where it is. He takes another sip of his drink, eyes locked on Grantaire's in challenge. He could steer this into normal territory, pull Grantaire to lay over him and chase his demons away like they've so often done together. He could take and Grantaire may even be willing to give, but...

It seems sort of fucked, for reasons Ronan doesn't particularly want to examine too closely.

So he wipes at his mouth again instead, gives a upward tilt of his head. "You've got friends from home here, right? Those men you said you'd die for."

[pylades_drunk]

"In my experience," he says, "there's always a reason to feel awful." It might not start that way, but melancholy begets melancholy, and he's never short of something to feel sad about.

He keeps his eyes locked on Ronan's, not willing to back down from a challenge; not pushing it further, either, and when he finally says something, Grantaire tilts his head.

"Yes," he says, and thinks about how he hasn't been spending enough time with them, lately, given that he unexpectedly has them back. "Some of them." He glances at Ronan, waiting for the other half of the question.

[thedreamthief]

Question confirmed, Ronan waits for Grantaire to throw out one of his own. He's never been good at bringing up shit like this and usually finds ways of evading even when he is outright asked.

He takes another drink of his beer and then pulls in a breath.

"I've got some here too," he finally says. "You know about Gansey already, but there's more now." It feels strange to mention Adam's name for some reason so he doesn't. And he isn't entirely sure yet whether to consider Blue a friend at all so he doesn't say her name either. "Just weird, I guess. It's not the same, you know?"

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire nods; he's sure from the way that Ronan's avoiding saying names that it's not Gansey that's provoking the mood. "I do know," he says, and takes a drink. Somehow it feels like releasing something. He's probably seen Ronan for longer stretches of time lately than he has some of his friends, and he hasn't quite explained that to himself. The less he can justify it, the more he's inclined to stay away, though, unless someone comes to find him.

"It's a new place. And the circumstances have changed so much. When we were last all together half of us were about to die. Here, we're in a different time, we aren't collected around a purpose. Some of the roles we all played then have disappeared, and we have to find where we fit."

He tilts his head, considering that it's possible that Ronan and his friends have all been jostled out of the gears that make them run, too. "Is that what you mean?"

[thedreamthief]

Not for the first time, Ronan wonders at how much he doesn't know of Grantaire. For the amount of time they've spent together, he still knows next to nothing. That had been by design, of course. Ronan isn't in any way adept at one night stands, but he's fairly sure that the whole point is to not know too much.

Then again, they've definitely exceeded the 'one night' qualification by quite a bit.

"Maybe," Ronan says eventually, still frowning. He takes another drink. Then, "They're all from ahead of me. Their memories, I mean. They remember a different version of me." A better one, he doesn't say, but he can't help thinking it. Still holding his drink with one hand, he tugs at the bands around his wrist with the other, twisting hard enough to feel them cut into the skin of his wrist before releasing and starting again. He adds with a dark grumble, "They know shit they shouldn't."

[pylades_drunk]

"Is it shit they shouldn't?" Grantaire repeats, never the one with the easy line instead of the hard truth. "Or that they earned from you, but you don't remember?"

He watches Ronan twist at the bands around his wrist, his eyes fixed on the nervous movement of his fingers. For most of the time he's known Ronan, he's thought of the young man as -- something other than a friend, a very particular sort of acquaintance satisfying a very particular urge.

It's not that he's quite out of that category, but Grantaire finds himself concerned about him with an understanding he doesn't allow for his own pain.

[thedreamthief]

"They didn't earn it from me," Ronan argues, fixing his irritation on Grantaire. It's easier this way, actually, having a focus on which to funnel this energy instead of letting it spill out everywhere. "I don't remember because it wasn't me. It was some other version of me, some guy who made choices I haven't."

Maybe it shouldn't make a difference and maybe it doesn't for Grantaire. But for Ronan, it does.

Then again, he wonders if it matters so much that they do know. They're his friends and, Gansey at least, has witnessed far worse of him. If he's honest, it's not Gansey knowing that worries him. Or Blue. It's absolutely all tied up in Parrish, in facing the humiliation of constant, quiet rejection every single day.

He scowls down at his wrist, tugging hard at the bands. Grumbles, "I don't even fucking know how he found out."

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire just lets him glare; he's used to Ronan's hard looks and he just raises an eyebrow back. "But it was you," he proposes philosophically. "That you has made choices, but he's made from the same stuff as you, the same background, the same friends he would die for."

Still, he's being a devil's advocate because that's what Grantaire does well - be the thorn in someone's side. If he'd had the same experience he's sure he'd feel similarly, but he can't, because he's dead at home. The only one past his time is Marius and that's all Pontmercy can say: that everyone died. He supposes, if he'd arrived here before the barricade and someone had told him he'd died with Enjolras, he'd feel out of place living up to that. He hadn't known until the moment he made that choice that he could make it. Now, it seems obvious. How could he let Enjolras die alone, thinking he didn't care about -- anything? But he's sure he'd doubt that decision if he heard it from someone else.

Now that's getting somewhere. A he, who Grantaire suspects is not Gansey, and a specific thing that was found out. If Ronan's time is anything like his own, he can speculate as to what that is, too, but then again both Darrow and Tabula Rasa are so open and friendly about -- deviating proclivities.

R leans forward without thinking too hard about it to still Ronan's fidgeting hand, thumbing over the red welt he's leaving. He's allowed to leave marks on Ronan's wrists, might even enjoy the idea, but he doesn't like the anxious, compulsive bite of leather into wrist. It feels too familiar. "You'll want that wrist later," he says, and instead of asking what, asks, "Who's he?"

[thedreamthief]

For a second, Ronan nearly wrenches his hands away from Grantaire's to shoot him a glare. But Grantaire's touch is strangely soothing, a nice warm pressure, and Ronan relaxes into it slightly, just enough to at least stop tugging at the bracelets.

His shoulders slump.

"He is Adam," he admits, though even saying that much feels like wrenching free a nerve for some reason. Which is fucking ridiculous. It's not like Grantaire even knows Adam, or at least he doesn't think so. Maybe they've met; that wouldn't be unheard of by any means. It's a small town. "He's an asshole."

It's not a lie if only in the weight of the word on Ronan's tongue, how it carries so much more than the conventional definition, wrapped up in a pathetic sort of ache so deep Ronan can barely breathe through it.

[pylades_drunk]

When Ronan doesn't fight, Grantaire shifts himself over a little so he can keep his hand there, as if he's not thinking about it, and listens.

"Adam," he says, like he's trying it out. He doesn't know an Adam. Ronan's pulse is quick under his thumb. There's something in his voice that Grantaire recognizes, a resignedness to a situation.

"An asshole you'd die for," he states, blatantly, not much of a question. Grantaire knows quite a few assholes he'd die for, but there's one who consumed most of his time, back in Paris, and he looks at Ronan with understanding. "Is that what he found out?"

[thedreamthief]

It's not untrue and Ronan can't even say it's something he wouldn't readily admit. Because Adam isn't the only person he'd die for; in many ways, Adam feels like the only person he wants to live for.

Though that's not even true, not so long as Gansey's around.

"Could say that," he manages after a grossly uncomfortable silence. Grantaire's hand is warm on Ronan's wrist and, unthinking, Ronan removes his fingers from the bands of his bracelet to rest them atop Grantaire's instead. Though the frown firmly remains on his lips. "Not that he'd fucking let me. He's a stubborn little shit."

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire waits through the silence, forcing himself to not fill it with a joke or an elaboration. Silence is something he doesn't do well, except in the darkest of moods.

Ronan's hand on his is comfortable and a little more reassuring than watching him massacre the skin on the inside of his wrist.

There's affection in the insult, but Grantaire thinks it's more important to know that his friend wouldn't let him die. There's self reliance and then there's prioritizing.

"Stubborn? Someone you spend time with? I'm shocked," Grantaire drawls. "That's what upsetting you," he says after a moment. "That he knows how you feel?"

[thedreamthief]

Ronan turns his eyes on Grantaire, unamused by the statement, but lacking the energy to say anything about it. Instead, his lips curl into a deeper frown and he says, "It's not his secret to know."

It's more than that, of course. It's not Gansey's secret anymore than it is Adam's, but Ronan isn't nearly as upset about him knowing. And the reason is obvious enough for Grantaire to figure out, Ronan's sure. As uncomfortable as this entire conversation is already.

"Don't tell me he deserves to know," Ronan adds quickly, sneering. "We both know that's bullshit."

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire is a keeper of secrets himself, or has been; the kind that sit in your chest uninterrogated until one day, you wake to realize they've taken over your entire body, guided your choices. It's no trouble for him to understand what this secret is.

He nods, briefly, squinting a little at the horizon. That's a feeling he understands. Some things are one's own to hold.

He's sure his life would have been different, had he chosen to tell Enjolras, or not to tell Tunny at all, the secrets that concerned them. Still, he can't imagine the complexity of how.
He's not even sure that reality exists.

"I don't think that, and I am, if anything, in favor of too much honesty," Grantaire says, thoughtfully, taking a drink of wine. "But I think, given that he does regardless, you might do better to speak to him."

He waves a hand. "This place, the places like this, they're temporary. There's no substance to them. They aren't kind, you understand?" He meets Ronan's gaze, eyes suddenly bitter. Saying it out loud, he thinks maybe this has as much to do with him favoring Ronan's company over Les Amis' as the loss of Tunny and the rest of Tabula Rasa does. He's a little afraid, still, of losing everyone twice. He needs to rectify that. "People appear and disappear. There isn't the time to waste presuming their thoughts."