Gabriel's knees are always (skinned) wrote in repose,
Party grounds: Leena/Ronan
It had been a lot, the whelm of somebody else's mind and his own thoughts slanting out of control after the night's course. He felt full up with thoughts of a man named Frank, a man he didn't even know, but there were thoughts of broad shoulders and big arms enveloping him, and naturally that made Ronan think of Ben's arms. Which was just about the last thing he wanted to think about right now, because that particular train of thought led to memories of being skinned like a prize stag in hunting season. Of a wraith, draped in folds of black and speaking in dulcet tones.
In summary, Ronan was approximately zero percent okay in this moment, as he waited for his ride. He hadn't seen her since New York, and they'd barely spoken since their exchange of letters. But she hadn't questioned his need for saviour, and that said enough. So he figured he was allowed to not be okay. He waited out the next ten minutes with his head resting against folded forearms, huddling in the confines of his oversized sweater and trying not to shake with the early morning's chill. He listened intently for the sound of an engine, unsteadily forcing himself to his feet when it came and looking around for a glimpse of the approaching vehicle between the abandoned buildings.