[Kavinsky knows it isn't a betrayal, even if there's a moment where acid eats between his ribs. But there's something in the way that Ronan's looking at his fingers, and the warmth of it manages to quiet the sensation, even if his mouth feels dry, and there's a disappointment there. But really it's just-- strange. So there's an odd moment where his hand hovers on the air a breath longer than it should. And maybe there's a bit more flourish than needed as he shrugs and slips the pill from his fingers, tucking it away for later.
He is curious about the sleep mask, though. Something in how his eyes linger on it, sharp- like he's still trying to put the puzzle of it all together, even when Ronan holds most of the pieces. Asking isn't his style, so he doesn't. Instead he makes a grand gesture with his other hand, a smile teasing at one edge of his mouth.]
Be my guest.
[He settles down near Ronan, close but not touching, alert but easy as he watches him. It's easier to scrutinize the other boy once he's sleeping, mask over his eyes. Same idea as his pills, he supposed- probably a gentler drop into dreaming; he couldn't blame the other boy for that. But when had Kavinsky ever done anything the easy way?
There's something in Ronan's face that he can't quite put his finger on. Like in sleep he looks less worn, more like the boy from the dream field and his substance parties, and K can only see the difference because of the absence. Because he's alert and looking for it, now. Not just basking in the feeling of having him here with him. He reaches out and pets the dog-sheep-thing a few times. Yeah, okay, the fucking thing was pretty cute, he guessed.
And then there was the shears, and the pages, and Kavinsky has one of the pages in his fingers as Ronan jerks awake.]
Ex vita ita discedo tamquam ex hospitio, non tamquam e domo.
[He wasn't as good with Latin as Adam and Latin, but he wasn't bad at it, either, even if his pronunciation is maybe a bit off. But he'd had a B+ in the class, until their teacher had been wanted in connection with murder and vanished under mysterious circumstances.
It's the wrong Cicero quote, though: I depart this life as if from an inn, not as if from a home. But it's one that Kavinsky remembered.]
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He is curious about the sleep mask, though. Something in how his eyes linger on it, sharp- like he's still trying to put the puzzle of it all together, even when Ronan holds most of the pieces. Asking isn't his style, so he doesn't. Instead he makes a grand gesture with his other hand, a smile teasing at one edge of his mouth.]
Be my guest.
[He settles down near Ronan, close but not touching, alert but easy as he watches him. It's easier to scrutinize the other boy once he's sleeping, mask over his eyes. Same idea as his pills, he supposed- probably a gentler drop into dreaming; he couldn't blame the other boy for that. But when had Kavinsky ever done anything the easy way?
There's something in Ronan's face that he can't quite put his finger on. Like in sleep he looks less worn, more like the boy from the dream field and his substance parties, and K can only see the difference because of the absence. Because he's alert and looking for it, now. Not just basking in the feeling of having him here with him. He reaches out and pets the dog-sheep-thing a few times. Yeah, okay, the fucking thing was pretty cute, he guessed.
And then there was the shears, and the pages, and Kavinsky has one of the pages in his fingers as Ronan jerks awake.]
Ex vita ita discedo tamquam ex hospitio, non tamquam e domo.
[He wasn't as good with Latin as Adam and Latin, but he wasn't bad at it, either, even if his pronunciation is maybe a bit off. But he'd had a B+ in the class, until their teacher had been wanted in connection with murder and vanished under mysterious circumstances.
It's the wrong Cicero quote, though: I depart this life as if from an inn, not as if from a home. But it's one that Kavinsky remembered.]