[ Ronan is probably right about dreamers and sleep. They were the rulers of the night. Were, being the operative word, because here, they are so much less. Maybe Ronan hasn't figured that out just yet, but it's been eating at Kavinsky for a while now. Just one more thing to add to the list.

It's like seeing a ghost, or a dream, or a drug fueled hallucination, Ronan lit up on his porch, only by the moonlight. The whole thing might seem so peaceful from afar, but Kavinsky knows they're anything but.

He wants to throw all of Ronan's words back in his face and tell him to fuck off, laugh at him and leave him out here with nothing and no one, just like Ronan did to him long ago, but when Ronan's gaze travels across almost every inch of him, then those fiery blue eyes find his again, something inside of him twists hard.

Ronan has this effect on him and Kavinsky loathes it with every fiber of his being. ]

And you thought this would be a good place to come for some fucking bedtime stories, or what?

[He intends for those words to hold so much more bite than they actually do, but he's so damn lonely and Ronan is right here, coming to him. He scowls, then opens the door wider]

Come in, shithead. Don't say I never fucking did anything for you.