ronan lynch (chainsawheart) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-09-21 20:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, richard gansey iii, ronan lynch |
WHO: Ronan & Gansey
WHAT: Talking after the ball
WHEN: Backdated to Monday, late morning
WHERE: Barns/Monmouth
WARNINGS: Feels, references to canon character death
Ronan didn’t leave the bedroom until Adam was ready. Then they had a late breakfast, lingering in the kitchen until the sounds of the Pig growling outside signaled Gansey’s return home. Presumably from his job, or wherever the fuck he would have gone the day after a ball. Ronan guessed it was somewhere responsible. Ronan, meanwhile, was barely even aware of what day it was.
He headed toward the front door quickly, so that he could catch Gansey before he went inside. From the doorway, he said, “Hey.”
But he didn’t stop there; he moved out to the side of the car and put a hand on the Pig’s warm hood. Without preamble, he asked, “What did you give the faeries?”
--
Gansey had stepped out of the car but hadn’t finished retrieving his bag by the time Ronan Lynch was there, only the car door between them. It was poor cover from Ronan’s question, one that promised more would follow once it was answered. A day had passed since the ball, a feverish one after which Gansey had only slept due to his insomnia the night before. Even then, it had been iffy. Truly, he felt far older than he should have, even considering the trade.
Still, he kept his face from frowning. “A year and a day,” Gansey replied, tiredly. He was not old enough and the time not long enough to have truly affected his sleep. Not the year and the day itself. The concept clearly stuck around. Like this. It was a cheap price, for a life, for a soul. Gansey chose not to say that. Nor that it was a far cheaper price than it could have been. He was trying to do well with his words. And those ones only would have hurt.
--
“A year and a day,” Ronan repeated. “Of what? Your life?”
He wasn’t really angry, but his voice was tight and sharp with worry. He had been able to see Gansey talking to the faeries, and he knew precisely which Gansey had talked to the faeries. Which meant that even though he hadn’t been able to hear them, he’d been able to guess at what was happening.
--
He nodded, looking away as he grabbed the messenger bag, and stood taller out of the Pig afterward. With long practice and a lonely sense of self, Gansey slammed the door to the Pig just the way it needed. There were none of the sharpness Gansey had brought to the ball, nothing that stood on ceremony or the edge of a knife. His thumb pressed against his bottom lip as explanations came to mind.
“After observing them as long as I did, it was clearly the sort of thing they would want. And it was as short as I could bet to offer and be sure they would accept,” Gansey added. Making the wrong offer, the first time, would only have made matters more expensive. Knowing them had been just as important as knowing himself. It had been key to proving himself. The memory of that echoed in the air, but it was already the past, belonging to another time in Gansey’s life. In a way, it had been more than a year before.
--
Ronan wanted to argue, even though he knew it was futile. The deal was done, a year and a day of Gansey’s life traded away. God only knew how much of a difference that would make in the amount of time Ronan had left with him or not. It hurt him, all the same, that a part of Gansey’s life -- a life they had worked so hard to preserve -- could just be gone. So quickly and easily it almost didn’t seem real, and yet he felt the reality of it like a knife in his heart.
“It wasn’t for me,” was all he ended up saying. He knew that because he hadn’t been released until much later, when someone else had traded away a significant memory. And he didn’t have to wonder if Gansey would have done the same if Ronan hadn’t been captured; he would have. Ronan knew that. But it felt important to say aloud, all the same.
--
The gravel felt rough beneath his shoes. His yellow sweater felt faded, sepia tone. The Pig was dead silent beside them, its heat slowly fading away, now as much a part of the afternoon as an infernal engine in its own right. It had not been for Ronan. That had eaten at Gansey the rest of the party, wherever he went. Gansey had always kept the portrait within view, even as he could not do more than that. It had been horrible and none of Ronan’s doing. There had been no demon to kill, no price that could be paid.
“I would have paid anything for you,” Gansey replied. Without a second thought. Without a doubt. Whether that had swapped their places, been more of Gansey’s life, or as the price had been some memory that Gansey held. What was a memory compared to real, living, breathing Ronan? If only he could have.
--
“Then thank fucking God they had you save someone else,” Ronan said, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. He didn’t want Gansey to pay any price at all, but a steeper one would have been worse, and he didn’t need the guilt of it eating away at his insides.
He would have done the same, of course, if the positions had been reversed. Done anything, paid anything, to get Gansey back. He didn’t understand why the faeries hadn’t gone that route, but he found himself genuinely grateful for it.
He moved forward, then, and hugged Gansey tightly. Into his friend’s shoulder, he said, muffled, “I could tell you knew which one was me.”
--
Gansey caught his face before it frowned. Whatever the cost had been, Gansey would have been able to pay it, to save Ronan, and to take Ronan home much earlier in the night. It would have been worth it, and Gansey would have felt far more as though he chose his path, his life. That it was his to choose and to do. Instead, he had been forced to wait and to prepare ever more desperate offers and trials had someone failed Ronan. There was no need to say anything Gansey had thought to trade away, the easiest of which would have been his life. After all, Gansey was also safe and alive back home, free of whatever costs this place bore. It would not have destroyed his entire future. Just here.
His arms wrapped around Ronan in return, holding on and not quickly letting go. A small smile came to his face at the recognition. “I’ll always know you, Lynch,” Gansey replied back, softly. They had known each other what had felt like forever. Gansey could not have been Gansey without having had, without having, Ronan Lynch.
--
Ronan didn’t let go, either. He had hugged Gansey immediately after getting back, but his attention had then quickly been drawn to Adam, and he hadn’t gotten to say everything that he’d wanted to say. He was perhaps irrationally relieved that Gansey had paid a lesser price, instead of whatever the faeries would have asked him to trade for Ronan. Ronan would have preferred to stay as a painting than watch Gansey trade his entire life away for him -- again.
He considered what to say in reply, but his throat had closed over, so nothing came out. His eyes stung, and he closed them, burying his face in Gansey’s shoulder.
--
Gansey tightened the hug, holding onto Ronan securely and grounded. Here was Ronan, soft and worn and loving, how the world missed him so much of the time, how he didn’t let most people see him. Even though it was there in a million little details around him. Gansey remembered months and months of trying to make sure the world would still support this, even without Gansey in it. That Ronan would have everything. And even now, after Gansey had died twice, he was still a part of that and would continue to be. In all likelihood, they would return home before his sacrifice could haunt him.
Not that Gansey would ever regret choosing to do it. Just, perhaps, that it had been necessary.
“I’m still here,” Gansey said softly. He had not left, not truly. Just taught a class and returned home rather than stay a single moment longer than he had to. Not with Ronan at home.
--
Ronan nodded, because he still couldn’t speak. Gansey was holding him much the same way that he’d held onto Adam when Adam had cried the night before, and something about the hug made him feel even more like crying. But the tears didn’t come, even though he wasn’t trying to hold them back. His eyes watered, but that was all.
“That year and a day matters,” he eventually said, his voice muffled but firm. “Your life matters. In case you’d forgotten.”
--
The hug was good for Gansey too, longer than the one they’d had after Ronan’s return. That had been fine, understandable, and Gansey had been happy to see Adam and Ronan together again. Returning to Monmouth, leaving them some privacy to reunite, had also been fine. Gansey had been thoroughly sleep deprived, hardly conscious, and in need to come to terms with himself, to better understand his own actions and their consequences. But it was good to have now. To have it with the strap of his bag digging into one shoulder, next to the Pig.
His lashes wetted, but Gansey did not truly cry. He had not died, had not faced death, and had already felt the relief of Ronan’s return. It had no part to his mother’s frequently remembered voice, now that they were at home, not at the party. His chin rested against Ronan’s shoulder as he considered Ronan’s words.
Gansey was not sure about the first because it necessitated staying in this world the rest of a life. That was an awfully long time. But Gansey knew his life mattered; he valued it far more this third time, this second time he had come back from the dead. Every moment of it was precious, a gift not to be taken for granted. “You gave it to me, you all gave it to me,” Gansey replied. “And I am glad for every moment of it.” He thought of Noah, finally a real boy again. “I’m not throwing it away.”