the dreamer trilogy

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

Sometimes Ronan wasn’t sure he knew any of his family.

He and his brother never hugged, but Declan put his hand on Ronan’s warm skull for a second. Declan said, “Be dangerous.”

Even after Niall died and Ronan and Declan had fought for a year, they’d remained tangled together, because hate binds as strongly as love.

This was his old accent, his Virginia accent, as warming to Ronan as the sun.

This was a thing Hennessy was learning about Ronan Lynch: He always thought he was keeping his secrets by keeping his mouth shut, but he ended up telling them in other ways.

“Nightmares are chemical,” his boyfriend, Adam, had told him once. “Inappropriate adrenaline response to stimulus, possibly related to trauma.” “Talk dirty to me,” Ronan had replied.

He had blue eyes. People generally think blue eyes are pretty, but his were not. They were not cornflower, sky, baby, indigo, azure. His were iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death.

Ronan. Lynch. A truth, given away. A truth, transcribed forever. He hated it. So much softer to lie.

“Oh.” There was something about that 𝘖𝘩 that Ronan didn’t like the shape of. It seemed sad. Not as if Adam was sad when he said it. But more like something about that 𝘖𝘩 was going to make Ronan sad.

𝘈𝘥𝘢𝘮. Ronan missed him like a lung.

In the dream, Ronan stood in Lindenmere, lovely Lindenmere. His forest. His protector and his protected.

“Break will be here in just a few days,” Adam said. He kissed Ronan’s cheek, lightly, and then Ronan’s mouth. “I’m coming back. Be here for me.”

Again and again they spiraled around and through one another, not Ronan-and-Adam but rather one entity that held both of them. They were happy and sad, angry and forgiven, they were wanted, they were wanted, they were wanted.

Goodbye, whatever Declan Lynch would have grown up to be.

“We don’t like your boyfriend, Adam,” Benjy said. Adam just smiled a private smile as he deftly swept his cards into a stack. “I’m taking the winner away, you guys.”

Ronan had not taken his eyes off Adam Parrish’s body. He was still fixated on it now, his entire posture almost leaning toward him.

Gansey texted back: 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘯𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯

Declan was powerless to deny Matthew a thing he wanted anyway, but it was more than that. It was that he’d given up everything and gotten nothing for it in return.

*TUESDAY: TEXT OR CALL GANSEY.

𝘛𝘢𝘮𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘮, said Ronan, and Adam said, 𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘮. Cicero had written the phrase about Atticus, his dearest friend. 𝘘𝘶𝘪 𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘮. 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.