Gabriel's knees are always (skinned) wrote in rooms,
Re: Times Square: Ronan/Ben
[He can't help but flinch under the press of Ben's thoughts, at the edges of his mind that feels so fogged, clouded with a sickness. Wrong is all that he feels, and it's making him hollow. Aching.
Ronan's trying harder than he's ever tried to stay out of Ben's head, but it's so difficult when his insides are in tumult and he can barely remember to pull air into his lungs so that he doesn't get lightheaded. As result, all he gets are the worst pieces of what the man he loves is thinking. What he believes himself to deserve: maybes and uncertainty, the flatness of Ben's words that stretch out around him like the salt flats of his dream that wasn't a dream. That Ben doesn't know if he's going to want to kick Ronan out, when he gets back from - wherever the hell he's going.
New tears are falling now, dripping hotly against Ronan's wrists where they're crossed in his lap as he squeezes both eyes shut. He's hunching like he just wants to be small enough to disappear. All he can feel is the whip-crack pain of those ifs that are Ben's doubts.
And all that Ronan knows is what he doesn't deserve. He works hard to keep his crying silent, reduced to a shiver in his broad, bare shoulders and the swipe of thumbs under his eyes. He opens his mouth, like he wants to reply, but no sound comes out. He can't say anything.
So he just settles on a thought, singular and clear. Formed out of the most focus that he's ever had with this power: No details of what happened, nothing specific. Just the pain inside of him: that he would never, ever do anything to hurt Ben intentionally. That the hotel had inflicted an utmost certainty in him, that it had only been a dream.
That he had only ever been Ben's.
And still, he knows that it will do him no good. It's only the truth.]