"Probably couldn't if you tried," he says, his tone somewhere between bitter and self-deprecating. Except it's not even true anymore, he realizes. Not with the Kavinsky here.

Fuck, even Kavinsky is a better option. At least he has control over his dreams. Does it matter if that control is primarily for his own gain or, when he's particularly bored, just used to fuck with people? At least he can be useful.

Ronan swallows against the ache in his chest, but doesn't pull away when Noah's cool fingers wrap around his wrist. "Anyway, you're doing something. We all are, I guess. We can't go home, there's no Glendower to chase after. Not even any shitty classes to skip. So what is there? What's the fucking point?"