Ronan Lynch (dreamcometrue) wrote in evaluation, @ 2019-12-06 20:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | !rooms: 2: day 7, the raven cycle: declan lynch, the raven cycle: ronan lynch |
(BACKDATED) ROOM 2; DAY 7; MORNING
RONAN LYNCH ✦ DECLAN LYNCH
BICKERING (AND BITCHY CARING) OVER DONUTS SORRY I DIDN’T GET A PLACEHOLDER UP IN TIME LOW COMPLETE |
It had been a couple days since Adam scryed and Ronan got confirmation that Matthew was fine. Safe. It was vague as all psychic shit was, but Matthew seemed to be at the Barns with Declan and Jordan which, what the fuck, but whatever. Ronan would take it because it had to be in the future which meant either they were in both places at once, or they’d get back home eventually. It still left a lot of questions, but it was enough. He hadn’t gotten around to telling Declan though. Shit seemed to always been happening and he was still stinging over Declan thinking he did this to them. The guilt had finally kicked in when he got out of bed this morning, so he stomped over to Declan’s room and banged on the door with his boot. He waited only until the door cracked open the slightest amount, loudly declared “Matthew’s fine”, and then turned to head for Tim Horton’s. Because the least guilt could do for him is reward him with donuts. Matthew's fine was not the statement Declan was expecting when he opened the door. And of course, Ronan was being evasive, likely on purpose, just to give Declan a reason to chase him down. Even though he was incredibly aware of Ronan's annoyance tactics, Declan hated that it worked. There were few things that could spur him to give in, and Matthew's wellness was nonnegotiable. Ronan's too, but it was rare (if ever) that Ronan would believe that coming from Declan. He slammed the door in a huff, because Ronan would naturally pick the most inconvenient time. Declan could barely put on shoes and a jacket over his clothes, rushing after Ronan. It wasn't fast enough, since Declan couldn't manage to catch up until they were nearly to the Tim Horton's. "No, you don't get to do this," Declan said, grabbing for Ronan's arm to stop him. It was usually a sign of things escalating—anger, a swift decline into exchanging blows—but this was more urgent and less pent up frustration because it concerned Matthew. Ronan didn't get to have information, spew it nonchalantly, and get rewarded with collaring Declan's concern. "How do you know?" It helped lift Ronan’s mood immensely to hear his brother scramble to catch up. So much so that when Declan grabbed him, he hit the brakes long enough to smile his best shithead smile rather than jerking away. Instead of answering though, he gestured towards the Tim Horton’s with a thumb. “When was the last time you ate a donut? Have you ever eaten a donut?” He visibly paused, looking up, like he was replaying all their childhood memories in search of sugary dough. After a few seconds, he snorted and shook off Declan’s grip to clap him on the back. “I’ll answer your dumb questions if you sit down and have a fucking donut with me.” He didn’t wait, just gave Declan a tiny little shove and walked backwards in through the restaurant doors. Declan hated that grin. The one that meant that Ronan was getting his way when he absolutely shouldn't have. Why did everything between them have to be so difficult? Every Sunday during mass Declan prayed for his brothers' protection, but serenity was a close, close second. He needed to pick and choose his battles, so Declan ignored the jab—he had a donut before, Declan was reasonably positive about this, though he couldn't seem to drum up any specific instance—and followed Ronan inside. Maybe it was the warmth of indoors, or the smell of caffeine perking up his dragging senses, or the fact that he could have a donut right now, but Declan's edginess from before seemed to blunt, just a little. "What do you want?" Declan asked, pointedly studying the menu. It went unsaid that he was paying, even though it was Ronan who dragged him out here. "A donut?" Ronan didn’t second guess Declan asking for his order – he’d been two seconds from saying hey, you’ve got your wallet, right anyway. He just held up two fingers in the UK way of flipping people off. “Two bearclaws.” The two fingers turned into one pointing one. “And a large coffee!” Luck was on his side. Nobody was sitting at the table with nickels glued to the underside in the shape of a dick. He threw his lanky form down into the booth and quickly felt for his artwork to confirm they were still there. Satisfied, he kicked out a booted foot to rest on the opposite bench seat and spread his arms across the back of the booth. It didn't take long for their order. Declan wished he had more time to figure out how to cut the bullshit with Ronan, but they called his number too soon. His plans for navigating the inevitable conversation half-formed. He dropped the bag with the bearclaws on the table, the coffees following, and pushed Ronan's feet right off the seat without missing a beat. This was the standard—Declan's rule was to not make a scene or draw attention to Ronan's purposeful goading if he could help it. Declan slid into the booth. He did not, however, slide Ronan's food to him and kept his hand on the coffee cup. "Here's the situation," Declan started, staring down Ronan to make sure he was paying attention. "You're going to tell me how you can, without a doubt, know Matthew is fine." Declan may have paid, but Ronan needed to hold up his end of this meeting first. "And then we can enjoy breakfast." Ronan mouthed the words here’s the situation with a mockingly snooty expression. He followed it up with a roll of his eyes and sat up to lay his hands on the table palms up. “My boyfriend’s a fucking psychic, remember? He scried.” If Declan had spent ten seconds not being a giant dillhole, he’d probably have guessed this much for himself. Ronan made sure that was exactly what his face said and then wiggled his outstretched fingers. “Now give me my fucking donut. What kind did you even get? Bran?” He shivered dramatically. Somehow, Ronan managed to both explain how he knew and not settle any of Declan's stress. The Matthew that Ronan knew was different than the one Declan did. They had already established the gaps in time made things complicated, and while he knew Adam Parrish was capable of scrying to get answers, Declan didn't think Ronan asked the right questions in the moment. "Parrish cannot be your go to for validation of our brother's wellbeing. Did you even think about what you should tell him to keep an eye out for? Where was Matthew? How did he look? What exactly was he doing?" Declan asked, shoving the coffee and donuts over to Ronan. He'd rather Ronan stuff his face full of food and shut up and listen for a few minutes. "My definition of fine is not the same as yours, Ronan," Declan said, though he didn't sound mad. He sounded tired, worried. There was pressure building behind his eyes and it wasn't even noon yet. "And they don't make bran donuts." “Parrish is a better go-to than either one of us for everything so how about you jam a donut up your ass and choke on it.” Ronan was completely aware this wasn’t his most mature response, but he felt like he should get points for being serious instead of making another bran donut joke. He took two oversized bites of bear claw before mumbling out anything else. “God, you’re the worst. It was the future, okay? You and that Jordan chick had Matthew at the Barns and it felt safe. Tense and worn down, but safe.” His forehead was pinched and a drink of coffee didn’t smooth the wrinkle away. A man nearby kept taking sneaky glances at him and Ronan snapped his teeth together to get him to stop. Declan should have been scandalized by Ronan's always intimately vulgar turns of phrase. Declan should have been a lot of things at his brother: angry, annoyed, exasperated, exhausted with the back and forth from aggressive to defensive. But Declan had also dealt with a much darker version of Ronan, and while this one was leagues better the farther from their father's death they were, Declan still wished Ronan had some verbal tact in public places. Hearing Jordan at the Barns only caused his expression to worsen, considerably. "I don't remember that," Declan said, subtly admitting his future was just as nebulous as Ronan's. He needed to ask Jordan more later. No more putting it off. "I'm not sure when that could have happened, without you there. You’re always there now." But safe. And Declan was with Matthew. He clung to that small hope. Ronan shrugged and returned to stuffing his face. "Matthew wasn't sleeping so I had to be okay too." He didn't have it in him to read too much into the future. They'd wrapped so much of the last couple years around Glendower and Gansey's predicted death and a looming psychic cloud of bad that Ronan was having a really hard time getting ahead of the shit here, let alone whatever was happening at home. The last he knew, he'd been trying to remake Cabeswater and dreaded Adam leaving for college and never coming back. "Look." Ronan's mouth was full again so it was more like "ook". "You don't want to take any comfort from this, don't. I told you so my fucking hands are clean." "It's not that," Declan was quick to correct. Of course he took comfort from it, knowing their little brother was safe. But the absence of Ronan there just shifted his concern to a future he hadn't lived yet. Years of instinct kicked in: protect Matthew for Ronan, protect Ronan for Matthew. A part of him wished that the scales eventually balanced out, but it was fraught and impossible desire. Declan loved both of his brothers an absolutely reckless amount, there would never be a time where Declan didn't worry about them. Even now, when Ronan was sitting across from him, real and alive, dismissive of most table manners their mother had imparted on them. Declan reached into his bag, and pulled down the most basic choice: an unglazed donut. He bit into it, chewed, and swallowed, before adding, "We need to check in on him again. Later." Ronan gave that his brother and the saddest donut in the world a little shake of his head. It didn’t have any anger to it. Declan was Declan. The fact that he was eating a donut and worrying at a slightly quieter decibel from was already a baby step towards acting like a real person and not a fucking responsibility robot. “You already know I’m gonna.” Ronan finished off his first donut and reached for the second, turning on his seat to stretch a long leg out across his side of the booth.” Just eat your lame donut and shut up for five seconds.” |