iwasmore | (no subject)

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When Noah gets back to Hywel he goes to his bedroom, not in the mood to see anyone or talk. At least he didn't tell any of them where he'd gone, who he'd gone with, so there wouldn't be a recap to give or fumbled explanations of why he was back so early. And, thankfully, whoever's home must be too busy to notice, because he spends the rest of the night undisturbed.

The next morning he wanders out into the living area, but doesn't feel like making pancakes. He pours himself a bowl of cereal instead and flops over onto the couch to stare at the TV for awhile.

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"It's not that I'm less," Noah starts to say, even though he is. He definitely is. Ronan won't see it like that, though, so there's no point in arguing it. "It's that I'm...other. I'm different." And he shouldn't even be here. He touches Ronan's shirt over where he knows the necklace is tucked underneath.

"I'm glad I get to be here, but sometimes I want things, and I don't know where my place is," he struggles to explain. It's difficult to put a feeling into words.

Ronan's frown deepens and he claps his hand over Noah's against his chest, squeezing it tight.

"You can feel this," he says, voice lower, nearly accusatory. "You can eat and drink, you have emotions. So what if you're a fucking other. So am I. You're no less of a human than I am."

But that's probably not the heart of it either, not the point Noah's trying to make, but it's still shit. "You're place is here, okay?" he says, his voice just as insistent as he holds Noah's hand tight in his. "With us. Right the fuck here."

Noah just nods, eyes wide and cheeks warm from the quiet intensity of Ronan's reply. He knows he belongs with them, that they're all different in their own ways, but somehow he still manages to feel apart from them. An outsider, both by what he is and isn't. He won't be there in their other futures, he won't be anywhere at all.

But right now he's here, in this strange place where he's doing his best to be a person like he used to be.

"I'm trying," he says quietly, focusing on the warm press of Ronan's hand and the fire behind his eyes.

"Trying what?" Ronan asks, not understanding. "Trying to stay?"

The idea pierces somehow, hooks under his skin unpleasantly. Noah shouldn't have to work to want to be with them, to stay in Hywel, to stay in their group. Even now, Ronan remembers the few months where Noah split his time between Hywel and Krem, where it felt he was never around.

Noah was happier then, he thinks. He was happy having someone else, a boyfriend, even if Krem had been a shitty fucking choice, Noah had been happy.

He's still holding Noah's hand, his thumb pressed against Noah's palm.

Ronan knows he should ask if Noah even wants to stay, ask if he needs space from them all for awhile. But he can't. It's selfish, he knows it's fucking selfish, but he can't do it. He doesn't want Noah to go.

"I'm not going anywhere," Noah whispers, not taking his eyes off Ronan's. He can hear the soft thudding of a heartbeat in his ears and he wonders a moment if it's his own pretend heart, or Ronan's real one.

"Trying to be a person," is all he says in answer to Ronan's question. He had been happy with Krem. He'd clung almost desperately to his own slippery existence, overwhelmed that someone could love him so completely despite what a strange being he was. He'd felt human, real, important. Ronan is one of the very few who makes him feel that way. Like he matters, like a person, whole and alive.

Noah moves his camera to hang like a purse at his side instead of in front so he can tuck his face against Ronan's neck to listen to his pulse and soak up his warmth.

"You are a person," Ronan insists, but his voice is quieter now and it comes out almost like a plea as Noah steps in close.

Instinctively, Ronan wraps his arms around him, cheek pressed the curve of Noah's head, Noah's warm breath ghosting against his neck. He's solid against Ronan's chest, as solid as anything he's ever held before, as solid as anything he's ever dreamed. Maybe it's only possible because of the talisman around his neck, but even when Noah wasn't corporeal, he'd always felt real. He'd always felt alive.

And Ronan doesn't really care how fucked that sounds.

He ducks his head just enough to press a kiss to Noah's hair and closes his eyes as he tightens his hold. "I'm fucking holding you to that, by the way," he says, still trying to calm the itch under his skin. "I'm not fucking letting you go."

Sometimes it feels like a curse to hear others thoughts, but at the moment Noah's filled with an overwhelming amount of gratitude to know how Ronan sees him. The knowledge sits heavy in his chest like a physical ache, and Noah's fingers curl around the fabric of Ronan's shirt. He presses his lips to Ronan's neck in a single, warm kiss.

"Thank you," he says, to all of it. After a night of feeling unwanted, it means everything to be reminded he is, even if it isn't the same sort of want. "I don't know what I'd do without you here."

It's a light touch, a dry, gentle press of warm lips to Ronan's neck.

Ronan closes his eyes against it, against the way it makes his blood run warm and his chest tighten. He'd felt those lips against his own months ago, made the mistake of misinterpreting. He can't do it again despite the ache.

He has Adam. He loves Adam, that hasn't changed. He won't do this to either of them.

Swallowing, he shoves it all away, buries it back down where he can only hope it manages to stay for awhile and finally quirks a smile. "Well, you wouldn't have a camera," he says, trying to lighten things up a little.

Noah ignores the joke. He barely hears it. Instead, he leans back enough to see Ronan's face. He doesn't understand what's been misinterpreted, what's going on in Ronan's mind at the moment. Reaching up, he cups Ronan's face between his hands and searches his brown eyes for an answer.

"What are you thinking?" he finally asks.

Noah hears too fucking much. He sees too fucking much. How he can miss the storm under Ronan's skin right now, he has no idea. The spot on his neck still burns.

Warm hands cup his face, holding him in place to stare into Noah's blue eyes.

"Fuck, you know what I'm thinking," he says, his voice nearly a growl, because he doesn't know how to put this into words. He never has. Noah can hear his thoughts and, for once, Ronan almost desperately wants him to so he doesn't have to say it.

A little in love with all of them. If that had been Blue's secret than maybe Ronan's is, A lot in love with three of them.

He doesn't, but the sound of Ronan's voice and the intensity of his stare sends a shiver along Noah's skin. It's a look he's been on the receiving end of occasionally, one he's written off, ignored, but is having a hard time doing now. Especially when a lot in love with three of them broadcasts loud and clear. It's a good thing Noah doesn't need to breathe, because he isn't sure he even is anymore.

"In love?" he echoes without thinking, his hands slowly lowering. Love is one thing. Love is obvious. In love he isn't expecting.

The words feel all the more damning spoken out loud and Ronan wrenches back slightly as Noah's hands drift away.

"Shit," he breathes, balling his hands into tight fists at his sides. Because it's not like he doesn't already know how Noah feels, like he doesn't remember the way Noah had yanked away from him at that stupid dance, how his face had clouded over in anger.

How he'd told Adam it wouldn't happen again.

But he can't deny it now, both because it's a fucking blatant lie and because Noah would know anyway.

"Just-- forget it," Ronan decides then, shutting it down before Noah has to be the one to do it. "It's not your fucking problem, okay? I know how this goes down."

Noah's heart is beating like a jackhammer in his chest, not from fear, but from hope. The rational part of him, the part that knows he can't have this and shouldn't want it, is set to kick in any minute, but in this moment all he can think about is how badly he wants it. He hadn't taken Blue's shirt to heart. Maybe at first, but when it never accumulated to anything, when there hadn't been further discussion, he'd written it off as a different sort of in love that he'd always been in with her. With all of them. It's a thought he doesn't often let himself entertain, knowing that it's Gansey and Blue, and Ronan and Adam, with him gone. Here, the same, only he gets to be their friend for a little longer. It should be enough. It has to be.

His mind is telling him, don't hurt Adam, over and over, but his mouth doesn't get the right message, because he blurts out, "I don't want to."

Maybe he can't have Ronan in that way, or any of them, but he can at least have this.

Noah just stares at him for a long moment, blue eyes blow wide. It's a look Ronan can't read, a look that catches under his chest and twists, grabbing every nerve under his skin along with it.

He tears away before that look can turn cold, before Ronan has to see the anger and disgust as he had months ago.

Cinnamon's heading closer to the far fence, but Ronan turns immediately to head back inside. He hears Noah's voice behind him, a whisper lost in the rush of blood between Ronan's ears. Chicken feed crunches under the soles of his sandals as he makes he steps back into the barn and he's not honestly sure he's even breathing anymore. His chest burns.

Ronan walks away. It was the wrong thing to say, because he leaves without a word, disappears through the doorway while Noah's still standing there with an ache so deep in his chest he has to raise his hand to it to make sure it hasn't been physically torn open.

Forget it, Ronan had said, because he must be trying to. Noah understands, Ronan doesn't want to mess things up with Adam. Noah wouldn't want to, either. Noah never wanted the feelings he has, knowing they have nowhere to go, and so he thinks it's probably worse for Ronan. At least Noah's feelings can't hurt anyone, because he isn't already with someone.

He lets Ronan leave. He'll try to help him forget, too, and make himself as scarce as possible.

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