Gabriel's knees are always (skinned) wrote in rooms,
Re: Times Square: Ronan/Ben
[He doesn't stay under the spray of the water for more than fifteen or twenty minutes, though his instincts are to hide from the reality of Ben's anger and hurt until the water runs frigid and his lips are tinged blue. He's got it hot enough that it doesn't really feel good or soothing, but this way he can convince himself that it's scalding away the guilty evidence from his skin.
He's trying not to listen in too closely to Ben's thoughts, but it's harder to control when he's upset, and it has the unfortunate consequence of making his own memories of the night sharper in contrast. He's had a pit of roiling unease in his stomach ever since he stepped out of the door, and it hardens into nausea now so that he has to stumble out of the shower and across to the toilet, heaving up his stomach's contents and bile.
When he's done, he can sense that Ben's moved into their bedroom and that he's - oh. "Fuck," he mumbles, wiping over his mouth with the back of a hand (and even that's too reminiscent of last night, so much that fresh tears blink into his eyes). Because Ben's packing now, not Ronan's stuff, which means Ben's leaving him.
He grabs his toothbrush and loads it up with toothpaste, and he brushes his whole mouth no less than three times, scrubbing at his tongue until he almost gags and then rising out everything with mouthwash - the harsh kind with alcohol that burns, the kind that he hates. Now it doesn't feel like enough. When all of that's finished and he's wrapped a towel around his waist (the clothes are left on the tiled floor, probably to be thrown out later), he reaches with shaking hands to grab Ben's shaving kit and adds the items that Ronan can hear him thinking about from the bedroom, his toothbrush and a comb and whatever else he might need while he's - away? Gone? Left?
Wiping at the drip of a tear down his cheek that's still wet from the shower and his damp hair, Ronan slips out of the bathroom and slowly crosses to the bedroom that they've shared for months. He doesn't look up at Ben because he can't handle seeing the look on his face, that disappointment and sadness. Just reaches out to place the shaving kit gently on the bed beside where Ben sits, before he turns away to grab a pair of sweats and pull them on before he drops the towel. Then he sits, near the head of the bed, on the same side as Ben but just about as far away as he can get without smashing through the wall with a sledgehammer.
"I'll -" his voice breaks and he pauses, clearing his throat, biting over his lip almost until it's bloodied because the pain helps him hold back tears. "I'll have my stuff gone by the time you get back. I'll just stay to take care of the dogs until then."