Fantasy, Heist, Romance, Found-Family - Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Ronan was no stranger to a mind overrun. Agency over his thoughts was something he'd never quite mastered; the best he could do was organize them into something digestible, and so he'd learned to think in discrete arrangements. That much hadn't failed him before.
It was failing him now. Rather spectacularly.
1. Amir had kissed him.
2. Ronan had kissed him back.
3. That had happened multiple times. The kissing.
4. Oh, and before that, Amir had taken this huge risk all to see Ronan smile, and-
5. Amir had kissed him!
6. And, god, the size of his hands on Ronan's waist-
Ronan was getting nowhere. He was so distracted at work, he was fairly sure Amos had sent him out to the fields out of annoyance, and even now-
"You'll be useless if you lose a finger, hero."
Sadie was, of course, exaggerating. The hammer in Ronan's grip was entirely under his control as he hounded a nail through the plank she held. A new hole seemed to appear in the fence every week, and he normally found the mindlessness of repair tedious, but today he was grateful for the freedom it allowed. He hammered absently and tuned out Sadie's drabble and relived the events of the night before over and over.
"Alright, you're starting to scare me," Sadie cut short her rant about . . . well, Ronan didn't know. He'd been too busy fantasizing about item twenty-seven (another iteration of 'he kissed me'-it was a rather circular list). "I'm afraid."
"I can't imagine why."
Sadie appraised him with wary eyes. "You're very . . . good-humored, today."
"My goodness," Ronan gasped. "You're right, that is scary."
Sadie pointed a long, rusting nail threateningly at his head. Ronan raised his hammer. He tried for imposing but couldn't suppress a giggle, and she pointed at his mouth with an accusatory "Ha!"
"See? You aren't normally so giving with that smile of yours." She lowered her weapon in truce. "It's nice to see you so happy. I'm only curious what's brought it on."
Fondness mellowed Ronan's unconvincing glare as she shuffled her feet.
"You want me so desperately."
Sadie snatched the hammer and Ronan ran for his life.
He did not tell her why he was so giddy, and she didn't ask again. To be so transparent was unsettling, but to tamper his mood proved as impossible as reigning in his thoughts, so he resigned to the fate of being studied. Observant as Sadie was, he doubted even his best efforts could've fooled her, anyway.
Amos kept him working inside for the next couple of days, and Ronan was thankful. He didn't need prying eyes on him when his excitement bled into longing, when replaying Amir's touch in his head began to leave him restless and wanting.
An uncomfortable awareness settled as he sat alone before the fire some seventy hours since the last time Amir had kissed him, wishing to reset that clock to zero with ears peeled for a knock that wasn't due for days. It occurred to him that he had left himself entirely vulnerable. No way to contact Amir, no choice but to wait; he had placed all the power in hands he couldn't yet trust.
Every sign suggested that Amir cared for him deeply, perhaps even desperately, and Ronan wanted just as badly to believe it was true.
But he'd never been right about that sort of thing before.
For all he knew, Amir had pursued him for the thrill of the chase, and Ronan had mistaken determination for desire. He imagined himself waiting up a few nights from then for someone who would never come and was tempted to quit while he was ahead, before he could be let down again. But then, it was too late for that, wasn't it? If Amir didn't come, Ronan would be gutted; there was no saving himself from that now.
Sadie was extra talkative as they chopped wood the next afternoon, so Ronan knew she could sense the shift despite his efforts to school his demeanor, or perhaps because of those efforts.
"-nearly took his head off, but really, what was James thinking, strolling through as though it wasn't my first time throwing an ax? I was six, and Simon was a horrid teacher-Christ, Edgar!" she squawked when he suddenly abandoned his perch atop her head, diving into her shirt with a squeak.
Sadie turned to Ronan bewildered, holding her head with a wince where Edgar's claws had ripped hair from her braid. She sucked sharply through her nose. "Do not move," she whispered, staring over his shoulder bright with excitement.
Ronan turned around.
"What made you the way that you are?" she griped behind him, but Ronan's attention was on the clay-colored critter crawling atop their pile of wood. A folded piece of paper hung between its front legs, threaded through a white ribbon looped loosely around its neck.
Wiping sweat from his brow, Ronan said, "I think I know this thing."
"How on Earth do you know a dragon?"
It scuttled closer until it stood at Ronan's feet, and Ronan was certain; this was the one that had hung around on Amir's shoulder for much of the flight from the castle. Which meant-
"Is that a note?"
Ronan was already crouching, lips pressed together against the pull of a smile. The dragon sat patiently like a dog, breath hot on his forearms as he untied the ribbon. He settled against the pile, facing Sadie. There were words hastily scribbled on the front.
I know this must look insane. Believe me, I don't understand it either. This little oddity seems to have claimed me; he follows me around and comes and goes as he pleases. I'm unsure whether or not this will reach you, but I figured if he could find me, he can find you, too.
I do not know whether he is actually a boy. Felix has purchased a book on dragon anatomy to find out. In case he is a girl, I've decided to name him Phoebe. I find myself very funny.
Ronan snorted. He unfolded the sheet to a tidier script and it struck him that he had never seen Amir's handwriting. It was predictably nicer than his own, neat and slanted and perfectly straight.
Ronan,
I am writing to you because I can't help myself.
We've developed something of a pattern, and I'd rather you didn't lose more sleep for me, so I will ask nothing of you. But I will admit, for honesty's sake, that a week has never felt so long. You are a plague on my mind. I'd give my body willingly to your sickness if death meant seeing you again. If that sounds a bit dramatic, it's because I've spent so much time around you.
But not nearly enough.
Devoutly,
Amir
Ronan dug in his pocket for the pencil he always carried at work and turned the note over to leave one on his own. He nearly forgot about Sadie, who had occupied herself scratching above the dragon's tail and tittering at its happy grunts. It wasn't until he retied the ribbon and sent Phoebe away that she made her presence very, very known.
"So that's what happened," she said.
"Hm?" Ronan hummed, distracted by the dragon's tiny form above.
"Why didn't you tell me you've been so cheery because you're smitten?"
Phoebe disappeared behind the treetops, but Ronan kept his gaze skyward to delay meeting her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on," she laughed. "You were red as a poppy reading that note! Sending love letters on the job, are we?"
Only Sadie would somehow discern flustered red from the manual-labor red ever-present on his face when they worked. He didn't know why he'd bothered trying to lie. Even under her questioning, he hadn't quite managed to quell his smile. "Something may have happened recently. Not that it's any concern of yours."
Sadie scooted forward and leaned close until her face was right beneath his, intrusive eyes at the bottom of his vision peering up at splotchy poppy cheeks. "What changed?"
"Don't we have work to do?"
She leaned even closer. Ronan tilted his head further like he could ignore her that way, but she remained unfortunately at the edges of his sight, blinking up at him like a nosy child.
Ronan frowned. "'What changed?'" he repeated in afterthought.
His eyes dropped down to look at her. She moved back enough that he could lower his chin without jabbing or kissing her.
"Between you and Amir," she said. "Let it be known I did think this would happen, though not nearly so soon . . ."
She kept on, but her words were lost to the sudden silence blanketing Ronan's mind.
"What . . . do you mean," he said, still save for the workings of his mouth.
Though her tone was teasing, Ronan did not hear that through the panic that draped itself like a veil over his senses; he only heard the words it carried. He heard them like an accusation.
Sadie quieted mid-sentence, every hint of goading leaving her face the moment she took note of his. "Oh, Ronan. Make no mistake, I-"
"We didn't-" Ronan started as his instincts kicked in late. To lie had become so natural over his years he often wondered if it was a skill he'd been born with, yet his tongue filled his throat at this attempt. "I don't-"
He had never lied about this before. He'd never had to-his preferences had always been a matter of assumption, and he liked it that way. He would much rather be misunderstood than scorned; he had decided at his first unseemly itch that he would deceive even his closest friends to preserve their wrongness. Unexpected was the rising bile when he tried now to reject himself as he'd always planned, worse as the lie became more futile with each failure.
His face was taken by rough hands."Ronan." Sadie held him fast when he tried to look away. "Ronan, it's alright! Heavens, it's alright. I am the last person to judge you."
Gradually, Ronan returned to sweltering summer heat and buzzing forest insects and wood digging into his spine.
"I'm sorry for frightening you, I thought-I don't know. I thought you knew the same of me that I did of you, like there's some sort of . . . some kinship we share. I often forget you are not nearly as smart as I am."
A meager narrowing of his eyes was all the comeback Ronan could muster. ". . . You, too?"
Sadie grinned and pushed his cheeks together. "Me too, you simpleton."
Through squished lips he managed, "How did you know?" Sadie opened her mouth, and he added, "Stay focused if you're able, dimwit," before she could make another jab at his intelligence. The bite was dulled by the state of his face, and Sadie's smile was relieved.
"Part of it truly was this, ah, connection I've felt with you. And the rest, well. I could tell from the way you spoke of him."
"When I was angry with him?"
"When you missed him."
Ronan shook off her hands before she could feel the warmth that bled up his skin. Immediately, petulantly-anxiously-he avoided her gaze.
"Say," she spoke up when he said nothing else. "You know you have nothing to be ashamed of, don't you?"
He didn't.
But he rather liked hearing it.
"That would mean I have something to be ashamed of," she said. "And I'm perfect."
She narrowly dodged the log he threw at her.
𓃥𓃥𓃥
Ronan didn't often appreciate his restless way of sleeping, but he was grateful that night when it led him downstairs for a glass of water just in time to catch the beat of a familiar knock. Water spilled down his chin in his surprise. Rubbing his face with the sleeve of his sleep shirt and chugging the rest, he hurried to the door. Perhaps it was drowsiness making him dreamy, but it seemed too lucky that Amir would arrive in the scarce minutes since he had awoken, when the light of Ronan's candle was there to beckon him in. Ronan opened the door with a dopey smile and the embarrassing thought that the world wanted them to share this moment.
"Hello-mmph-!" his back bowed with the force of Amir's kiss. He flung his arms around Amir's neck for purchase as he was pushed inside, and the door fell behind them, forgotten as Amir kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.
To be thrown into a dream so soon after waking left Ronan reeling; he gasped as the backs of his thighs hit the table, hypersensitive to the clutch of warm fingers beneath his shirt.
"Hello," Amir muttered, hovering beneath Ronan's ear. Ronan tried to catch his breath, but he couldn't help the way it hitched when Amir chased the greeting with a kiss right where it had been spoken. "You are evil."
Through a breathy laugh, "Am I?"
Amir shoved a folded piece of paper, the back of which was taken up by messy writing, to Ronan's chest. Grinning, Ronan glanced down at it, but he didn't bother reading; he remembered very well what he'd written. His note was rather concise.
Amir,
I will pretend you haven't called me a dramatic in favor of returning your honesty: I lose my focus at work imagining an entire night spent kissing you. Dusk till dawn, your lips over mine. How does that sound?
"You cannot just write things like this," Amir grieved into Ronan's shoulder. "I've been useless all evening."
Ronan pulled him up by the chin, and Amir came willingly. If he wanted Ronan to refrain from using such methods in the future, he was doing a terrible job enforcing it.
"I know it isn't quite dusk," Amir sighed against his lips, "But . . ."
He gave Ronan his wish. Kissed him up the stairs and into the bed and throughout the night, peppered between quiet questions and honest replies.
Ronan didn't know whether Amir would be more forthcoming now that their relationship had changed, now that Ronan was one man and not one of five. He didn't ask. He wasn't willing to risk breaking the haze that dragged them deeper with each languid kiss.
And he didn't think he cared.
Steadfast as he'd been in his distrust of Amir's origins, it seemed fruitless now to worry where Amir came from when Ronan would long for him regardless. There were things he would much rather know-a silly habit he tried to hide, something he was glad he would never have to do again, his favorite memory of someone no longer in his life. What could Ronan learn from Amir's past that he couldn't gather elsewhere, in the selfless way Amir craved him, in his indulgent answers to Ronan's curiosities? He liked this, holding and being held, gaps between earnest kisses filled by conversations about nothing that revealed everything.
Amir had a tendency to talk to himself which he had crushed rather violently before joining the Merry Men, lest he add insanity to their list of suspicions, but he often found himself mumbling nonsense when he was alone. He thanked the stars every night that he was no longer subjected to the stench of royal riding boots; cleaning them had never been his duty, but the mean-spirited princes had subjected him to it anyway. When he was very young, just old enough to remember, he would sit at his mother's side all morning as she wove blankets for him from thread and recited Shaelan folk tales.
"What were you like as a teenager?"
"Deeply resentful. Unsparingly insufferable-outwardly to anyone with whom I could get away with it, in my mind to everyone else."
"What age would you like to live to?"
"I'm sure I'll have seen enough by sixty-two."
"What do you believe happens after death?"
"Rebirth. I suppose that's my mother's influence."
"If you woke tomorrow with no fear, what would you do first?"
"Ah, we both know the answer to that one, don't we?" The kiss that followed made thinking of another question impossible.
In the end, Ronan didn't fulfill his daydream of passing the entire night that way. The farmwork had left him bone-tired, and despite the tight fit, Amir was exceptionally comfortable to fall asleep against. Ronan was only semi-aware of the shuffling that took place some hours later; words whispered against his temple and a goodbye kissed into his cheek were long forgotten by the time he stirred, rubbing the crust from his eyes, alone.
Early-morning light pointed to a note on the chest, directly across from where he'd slept so he had no choice but to see it the moment he sat upright.
I hope it won't be so odd now for me to say that you are beautiful when you sleep.
Beneath that, in smaller print: It's still odd. My apologies.
Even smaller: It's true, though.
Only halfway awake, Ronan fumbled for a pen and scrawled the date on the back. He made space in the topmost drawer and laid it flat, and he couldn't explain why except that it felt like the first of many.
As he closed the drawer on the inky scratch of 24 July, an idea came to mind.
𓃦𓃦𓃦
Formalwear was something to which Ronan doubted he'd ever adjust. Van Doren's masquerade was the only time in his life he'd had to dress well; the set he owned had remained untouched since the day he bought it at Vito's urging, because "You'll need it someday, you mule."
Regrettably, Vito had been right. Ronan tugged at black fabric hugging his middle, first the trousers and then the waistcoat, thinking he must look ridiculous. The discomfort certainly didn't help his anticipation; he'd spent the last ten minutes shifting in place, crouching only to stand again and pacing the same meter-long strip. He itched to double-check that there were no holes in his route, except he had already quadruple-checked, and he was cutting it close on time. All he could do was sweep the mahogany tail of his coat for twigs for the hundredth time and agonize over the possibility that this was all in poor taste.
He was saved from his fretting by a rustling that came from behind him. Ronan straightened his spine and inwardly recited his plan.
"'The edge of Wycliffe Wood' makes for a terrible direction," came Amir's voice. "I could've searched hours for you."
"I knew you'd find me."
Ronan turned around and nearly dropped the bottle in his hand.
He had by no means forgotten how Amir looked all dressed up-at this point, he would lose his job with how frequently his mind wandered-but no memory or imagination could do justice to the very real, very striking version that stood before him now, dressed in black down to the tie.
"I cannot believe you wore one of these," Ronan chuckled, fiddling with the cravat. Amir's clothes fit like they'd been made for him. Tracing a thumb along his hairline, Ronan whispered, "Whoosh."
Amir's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. He leaned forward, lowering his mask along the way, but Ronan tilted out of his reach, took his wrist, and pulled.
"Mean," said Amir, but he didn't resist. He knew nothing but the date, time, and place listed in the cryptic note Ronan had returned after Phoebe's most recent visit (she appeared in two or three day intervals, sometimes right outside the window of Amos' workroom, always with a new letter), but he seemed content to be led.
Their destination was easy to spot. The Wycliffe Estate stretched in the distance, alight with the night's festivities. Ronan stuck close to the treeline as it came into better view: a tall gothic mansion with an expansive back garden nestled close to the forest, all enclosed by an ornamental fence.
"Didn't think this was your idea of a good night," Amir said when the first notes of orchestral music reached them, intrigue plain in his voice.
The Wycliffe summer ball was a tradition that went back before Ronan's time. Hosted on the first of every August by the resident Baring family, it celebrated the peak of summer's luxury. Ronan had thought for some time that he would end up here on this particular night, though never under these circumstances. The Merry Men had pondered robbing this event for years, had even scouted the estate once, but the Barings weren't nearly the island's most affluent; there had always been something better.
For what Ronan had in mind tonight, though, it was perfect.
"Plan to do some locksmithing, do you?" said Amir when they came to a stop before the back gate. It was latched from the inside and stood more than a meter above their heads.
Ronan snorted. "Something like that."
He thrust the bottle into Amir's hands, took a couple steps back for a running start, and sprung from the grass with one arm extended, wrapping his hand just beneath the spear of a fencepost. Swinging himself up, he grabbed hold with his other hand and took the best foothold he could manage on the narrow pickets. He climbed one step, another, and then vaulted onto the other side to unlatch the gate.
Amir stared. "I am so taken with you."
Grabbing adjacent posts, Ronan leaned closer across the bars and tried not to let his apprehension show. "Do you remember what you told me four weeks ago? About all of the balls you were never quite able to attend?"
The grin slid from Amir's face.
Flexing his fingers, Ronan added, "Well I can't get you inside, but I thought I could at least provide the partner you wanted." When Amir continued to say nothing, he started rambling. "I realize it's rather silly to relive a child's fantasy, and-I'm sorry if I've brought up bad memories, we can just forget-"
"Open the gate."
His fists tightened around the posts. "What?"
"Open the gate so I can kiss you right now or so help me god-"
Ronan threw open the gate and was nearly barreled over. A small thank you filled a momentary space between them before he rushed to close it.
As far as infiltrations went, this would go down as one of Ronan's easiest (and his happiest). He doubted there was a single person inside the house who wasn't tied up in the event, but even if there was, the excessive nature of the garden leant to more than enough cover. He and Amir ducked beneath round topiaries and skirted spreading pines along the path Ronan had determined hours before. Connected by the hands, they darted up cobblestone steps into an archway cut into a hedge and paused there to lean against each other and laugh.
The hedge extended from one back corner of the house and ended at the other, boxing in the garden. If Ronan took ten steps to his right, he would stand before the windows to the drawing room for every attending patrician to see. But if he went backward, through the gate, he would face the windowless rightmost wall of the same room.
Ronan stepped back, drawing Amir with him. "Dance with me?"
Heavy string music floated clearly through the wall. The characteristic irregularity of houses of this style meant there were plenty of walls shielding them from the flow of guests out front; they could uncover their faces without worry here. With lips pressed to Ronan's knuckles, Amir asked, "How do you feel about the waltz?"
Ronan was tugged close by the hand. "I find it irredeemably pretentious."
A hand over his shoulder blade drew them closer together than was surely appropriate. "Permission to change your mind?"
"Permission to try."
Ronan did not know the first thing about waltzing, but Amir made a charming lead. He kissed Ronan's face whenever he grew flustered over a misstep, and sometimes for no reason at all, until Ronan was leaning forward with every stumble and laughing at every spin. Nothing if not a determined learner, he quickly caught onto the steps, or at least he thought he had when he was suddenly lifted, shrieking, into the air. He didn't delude himself thinking he looked anything short of absurd, but at least Amir's smile didn't fade the entire time they cut circles across their grassy private ballroom.
As the song faded and their movements slowed to a swaying embrace, Ronan said, "I know I'm not exactly the glamorous partner you daydreamed, but-"
Amir didn't let him finish. "Are you joking? Tell me you're joking."
Ronan remembered the seamless twirl of Eliza Van Doren's shocking red dress as she matched Amir's every step and was not, in fact, joking.
"Ronan," Amir said emphatically, sliding his palm just so until their fingers slotted together. The first chords to the next waltz struck low and heady. "I have dreamed of you all my life."
Ronan hid his face in Amir's chest with a groan and felt it when he laughed.
"And anyway, you were brilliant."
Whatever shred of confidence Ronan took from those words and built on over the course of the next song was ultimately crushed by the lively notes of a dance Amir called a "galop," full of hopping and skipping and kicking and, on Ronan's end, tripping. By the time he somewhat understood the steps after a song and a half of Amir's coaching, they were laughing too hard for their movements to resemble dancing.
The quadrille took a bit of imagination and was rather boring; Ronan made it more interesting by trying to trip his partner. This proved a surprising challenge, but one Ronan eventually bested; they tumbled together to the ground and didn't untangle themselves for quite some time.
Amir popped the bottle with outstretched arms and got his pant leg soaked regardless, and they shared champagne-flavored kisses with their backs to the wall. When Amir's hand slid across Ronan's chest, dipping into the space a tie would've taken if Ronan gave a damn, Amir withdrew so unexpectedly it took Ronan a moment of dazed refocusing to realize what he was staring at.
Draped over his fingers was the thin gold chain of the orchid pendant.
"I, ah," Ronan's smile came out sheepish. "I wanted to look my best."
Amir dropped the necklace and retreated to turn his face to the moon with his head against the wood. Before Ronan could fret that he had somehow misstepped, Amir shut his eyes and said, "I am . . . overwhelmed, by you."
He lifted Ronan's hand from his side and kissed his knuckles again, this time each one in succession. Their hands settled, intertwined, over his chest, and Ronan felt in pulses just how overwhelmed he was.