#lets be real ao3 is correct and kavinsky is his own warning

[happikattwuzheere]

still working on that video....slowly......chipping away.... here’s some more pics!! 

its increasingly looking like im not gonna get this done before the year ends which means its gonna be v clear from the signatures how completely out of order i did this thing loool oh well, 

[pynchvinsky]

between memory and dream

pairing: ronan lynch/noah czerny word count: 1276 warnings: major character death, graphic depictions of violence read on ao3

Noah is gone.

Noah was never there.

Noah won’t leave him alone.

These things are not mutually exclusive-- they are all happening at the same time. And, as Ronan is realising that time doesn’t work how he thought it did, these things have always been happening. He’s alive, he’s dead, he’s a ghost, he’s gone. This is something that Ronan cannot stop thinking about: Noah alive, laughing and skating and scraping his knees. Blood on his jeans, letting him know he’s alive.

He dreams about this a lot. He falls asleep to wake up in a time where Noah is alive and Noah is Ronan’s friend. They’re at Aglionby, in Latin class. The words around him are muffled like he’s underwater, but he can hear Noah’s voice. He’s telling Ronan this story, and it’s about Whelk, but Ronan doesn’t want to think about that. It doesn’t matter, Noah is alive. ‘Alive’ being the only correct word. He’s so dynamic and erratic that just listening to him makes Ronan’s body feel electric.

In these dreams where Noah is alive, he looks different. His eyes are lighter, his skin warmer and he is missing the smudge on his cheek. Yet still, he is unmistakably Noah. He is everything Ronan never got to have.

He can’t take Noah out of his dreams, and he wouldn’t dare try. Not only would dream Noah be a shell of the real Noah, he would also be breakable. Before, Ronan had thought that he would never go, that he was immortal. It was stupid to think that Noah wouldn’t decay like everything else. He couldn’t lose him again, so he would keep him in his dreams where he’d be safe. He was safe and he was Ronan’s, it didn’t matter whether he was alive or dead or otherwise.

Sometimes he dreams about the Noah he knew, his illusive ghost roommate. These are closer to memories, based off them. In these dreams, Ronan feels his whole body get cold before he sees Noah. He stands by Ronan’s side here, and speaks to him. It’s like he’s the only other one who knows it’s a dream.

It’s not just Noah that he dreams about, but he’s always there. He dreams about Kavinsky. He dreams about crashing cars and throwing fists and spitting blood. One night, he dreams he is winning the fight.

Kavinsky is on the ground, Ronan crouched over him not letting up with punch after punch. Blood is splattering over Kavinsky’s face and dripping down Ronan’s knuckles.

“You just fucking left,” Ronan spits. His breath is laboured and arms aching, he grabs onto Kavinsky’s shirt collar and holds back his sobs. “You weren’t mean to die, you bastard.”

He screws his eyes shut and goes to throw his broken fist into Kavinsky’s face one last time, but it collides with cold gravel. He opens his eyes to see him gone with no trace, not even the blood that was pouring from his mouth only seconds ago. He looks around, only to see Noah standing above him, his face hard to read.

“Why is it always him?” Noah asks.

“I can’t hurt you,” Ronan replies.

This isn’t even the worst of them all. The worst dreams are not Noah dead, not Noah alive, but Noah dying. He’s seen it enough times. Noah’s face screwed up in pain and his body collapsing the the ground. The way he struggled, scrambling against thin air. Ronan’s head could paint a vivid picture.

Sometimes he’s watching, unable to stop anything. Whelk is pummeling into Noah’s face and he’s going to die. There’s nothing he can do but watch, and he knows the exact moment the light will go from Noah’s eyes, like clockwork.

Then he’s Whelk, with Noah’s lifeless body at his feet. Noah’s eyes are half open, his face caved in and his mouth open with last words cut off. The sight makes Ronan feel like he's being torn apart from the inside, and that’s before the guilt hits. He looks down to see the skateboard still in his hand, and drops it with a start. He’s scrambling back through the leaves, unable to take his eyes off Noah’s corpse.

And then he wakes up, skateboard in hand. It’s 3 AM, and he can hear Gansey working away in his room. He creeps past with the skateboard, and rushes out of the building. There’s a spare fuel tank in the Pig, he takes it and pours it other the skateboard. He curses Whelk’s name over and over as he does. He opens his lighter and throws it down onto the skateboard, watching it erupt in flames.

Of course, Gansey notices the light from his window and runs down to him. He’s half dressed and panting. “What on earth is going on, Ronan?”

“Bonfire,” he replies half-heartedly. He couldn’t explain this to Gansey. This was internal affairs of Ronan’s subconscious, and Gansey could not help him. They both watched the flames flicker down until they were left in darkness. Ronan could barely make out the remains of the skateboard, the murder weapon, the dream thing. Wordlessly, Gansey left and went back to bed.

Ronan slept again that night, and another dream came with it. It’s somewhere between memory and dream-- he was struggling to discern between the two recently. He’s seeing Noah flicker in the space between flames. They’re at opposite ends of a campfire, Noah is smiling again, wide and impish. Suddenly, burning the skateboard felt like a dream, and this was real. The heat from the fire is genuine, the soil damp and cold beneath him, and the sun setting behind them. It cast warm orange light over Noah’s face and makes shadows from his hair, which was pale and unruly. Ronan could run his hands through it to check he’s real, but instead he watches from across the fire.

Still, dreams of Noah’s death aren’t the ones that make him the most guilty. The guilt comes with the dreams he has on his worst days. On the days where his emotions are taking over, where he can hardly talk to even express how out of control he feels. His dreams give him what he can’t admit he wants.

They’re in Cabeswater. His eyes are closed but he knows that much because everything around him is so familiar; cool, crisp air under shade of the trees, moss damp on his back where he’s leant against a tree, Noah’s lips pressed against his own. Well, maybe that wasn’t as familiar-- he’d never felt it for real, but everything about it felt genuine and practised.

He opens his eyes to get an idea of his surroundings, his heart racing. He can see Noah looking back at him, eyes a little lost. “It’s just a dream,” he mutters, still close to Ronan’s lips. Noah always knows it’s fake, even if Ronan is in denial.

“How does that make it okay?” Ronan says hoarsely.

“It doesn’t make it okay, just easier,” Noah replies, and Ronan can’t make sense of it.

“How?”

Noah turns his head slightly to the side, “I am dead, but I am here.”

“This isn’t where you should be,” Ronan insisted, anger building up. He was stuck in Ronan’s dream, in a loop, just like he was on the ley line. It wasn’t okay and it didn’t make his loss any easier. It was like leaving an arrow in your leg; if you pull it out, you’ll bleed to death, but you can’t go on with it still dug into your flesh. Right now, Noah was an arrow snapped in half but still tearing at Ronan’s skin.