#okay . this concludes our session of talking about fond childhood memories

[human-trash-fire]

Beautiful Disaster: Chapter 3

Alright my loves! The following is the chapter I’m most proud of producing so far in all of my writing. I’m not saying it’s good, only that I’m proud of it lol.

I created a playlist, aka “THE EMFS” from this fic, you can find it HERE if you want to give it a listen. As usual, you can find this mess on Ao3 @glam_reaper2 <3 

For Ronan Lynch the following days that week were a blur. Anger, loathing, and cravings in equal measure, hammering his mind and body like waves upon the shore. He was restless, more so than normal, as if the hours of drug induced sleep he had in hospital were all he was allotted. His insomnia was a creature, angered by his reprieve and back with a vengeance.

The only freedom from the endless nights living in fog, was music. Though Ronan would never share this fact with anyone -being known for his raucous electronic tastes- but he had a fondness for music of all genres. Declan had apparently convinced the illustrious Dr. Allen to allow him use of an old ipod loaded with his entire music library, and Airpods (because headphones were banned) to aid in “healing.” Loath as he was to admit it, he was grateful.

The brothers Lynch were raised in lyrics. Songs for sleep, for tradition, for quiet nights in, for time alone, for long drives and heartbreak. Aurora and Niall had a mix-CD (and later a playlist) for every hour of the day, it seemed. It was a habit bred into the boys, and though they never spoke of it, Ronan knew it was something they all still did. And so Declan had fought for him. Ronan was given the Ipod, charger, and Airpods on the morning of his fifth day, during his one-on-one session with Dr. Allen. They came in a small black box, with a letter attached.

Ronan,

I know that, as I write this, my words will more than likely fall upon deaf ears. Shatter on the rocks of our hostility and history, and yet… I hope. I hope that, with time you can come to understand a profound truth I have long since come to terms with, in relation to us. We two, know what it is to love a Lynch. The difficulty and pain our family brings to those around us under the guise of caring. We have also had the privilege to see the beauty in that specific brand of love. Mathew may be the best of us, a point not even you will argue, but you Ronan…

You’re the soul of this family.

From the day I first saw you, small and wild in Mom’s arms, I knew that you would change everything. I had never seen so much spirit, so much life. You came into the world with purpose, and it blew me away.

We used to be inseparable, do you remember? Your laugh is the soundtrack to my greatest childhood memories, your smile the image that gives me strength to make a daring choice. I know, I know, me? Daring? You’re rolling your eyes right now, and that’s okay. My brand of daring has long since veered from your particular brand of stupid, but I swear to you that in my own way, I do still hold onto that. Your sharp smile in moments when I’m scared. So I thank you for that. I’m so sorry, Ronan. I’ve never been able to balance properly on the knifes-edge that is my life after our parents. I wish to try and explain my actions, and then maybe you can have some understanding as you begin to heal. I knew that you needed freedom to grieve, Matthew needed to be held, but you needed to run wild. I tried to be okay with that, but I failed because I was scared. You see, my greatest fear has always been losing one of you. Matthew stayed close-by, still so young, we all were, but he was still naive and so for him I needed to be a father. It seemed easier at the time to just take that approach universally, and the more it backfired, the more I pushed. I didn’t know how to grieve myself.

My relationship with Dad was complicated at times, and when he was gone, it was like he took the air from the world. He stole you too. That’s how I felt. My heart, Matthew was broken. But my soul? He was just gone. I thought that structure would help, because I need to control things to feel okay. I needed you with me because I was scarcely able to breath. I realized too late that I was smothering you, and by that time the damage was done. I wish I could go back and give you what you needed. I was selfish with you, and I’m sorry.

I’m aware of where you currently are, and what I had to do to get you here, and therefore how this whole letter might seem like bullshit. Hell, you may not even read a single line, but I needed to do this. Ronan, I’m not going to fill this with platitudes about how you could do so much, you’ve heard my opinions on the matter. But I’ve realized there is something I’ve never told you in regards to my opinions on your life: I’m fucking proud of you. This situation we are currently in may be my nightmare; literally. I’ve had this nightmare, what almost happened, almost every night (that I could actually sleep) since Dad. But, that’s not what I’m talking about now.

You, Ronan. Your art. You’re incredible you know? I don’t think I’ve ever truly talked to you about this, and for that I take full responsibility. It’s come to my attention that you’ve always believed I thought you were wasting money and time on a degree that I “wouldn’t approve of.” And maybe, you even did it partially for spite. Which makes me laugh because, and here’s a secret: I always dreamed you would.

I see you, in every piece you create. Not just the ones you’ve chosen to share with me either. Yes, I will admit that I’ve snuck peeks at the art you hide in that closet at Monmouth. Fun fact, I am extremely useful with a lock pick. I’m not apologizing for that.

Everything you create is like air back in my lungs. It’s my soul on a canvas, the words I can’t seem to find for fear of drawing attention. And I’ve never seen them in color. I pray for that, did you know? At mass, I always take a moment to pray for my soulmate. Not because I want that connection, well not only. But because there is nothing I wouldn’t give in this world to see you create in all the colors I’ve only read of.

You have that chance now. Here, while you heal. Here while you find yourself again, you have that chance. We will find him Ronan. We will. I will tear D.C. down until I do. I’ll do that for you, but promise me you’ll try too.

I have arranged for not only access to this Ipod (I did push for a phone, but apparently that’s something even our money can’t buy from Allen) but for access to whatever materials you will need to be delivered to your room. The first delivery will arrive as soon as you provide Dr. Allen with a list of what you’d like. I can bring it personally, though I’ll understand if you’re not ready for that. But promise me you’ll create.

I love you. I know it’s not really something we say. It may not even be something you wish to hear now, or ever. And that’s fair. However, while I have the nerve now, I’m saying it. I love you, little brother. Always.

Declan.

P.S. In keeping with Mom and Dad’s “official letter writing tradition” here’s a song for you.

Outnumbered- Dermot Kennedy. (I’ve already added it to the library.)

The letter was an intimate and bottomless kindness from a brother he’d forgotten how to love properly. It broke his heart.

Ronan drew a shaking breath, and clamped his eyes together, willing tears away. He would not cry in front of Dr. Allen. He couldn’t. He folded it back up, sliding it underneath the contents of the box carefully and, gathering all the strength he had, made eye contact with the good doctor.

“So…” Dr. Allen began, “I don’t wish to drag out this session. While I don’t know what was written in that letter, I can judge based off of your current body language that you need some time. I respect that, so we’ll end today early.”

Ronan stood immediately, box in hand, he was halfway to the door before he heard Dr. Allen cleared his throat. He turned slowly, muscles taut, glare acidic, and stared down at Allen behind his desk. Dr. Allen stared back, the poster-child for neutrality. It only angered Ronan further, he didn’t have time for this. He was a damn about to burst, if he didn’t get the fuck out of this scholastic-shithole of an office he was going to break something.

“Fuck. What?” he snarled.

“Your homework.”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

“You’re leaving early, which I’ve condoned. But… I have homework for you. This is day 5 Mr. Lynch. We aren’t going to play the silent game for an hour each day and then let you hide away without something to work on. So here it is…”

Ronan seethed.

“I don’t do homework,” he spat.

“You’ll do this. Or I’ll take that.” Dr. Allen motioned halfheartedly towards the box in Ronan’s hands. He reflexively brought it close to his chest.

“Fine.” He growled. He couldn’t lose this. He needed this. He nee-

“A playlist, Mr. Lynch. That’s your homework. I understand your family has something of a tradition? Therefore, I’ve concluded that the first thing I wish for you to work on is a playlist. I will not ask to see which songs you have chosen, only that you make one. I want you to focus on what you feel, stuck here. And create. We’ll discuss more tomorrow. Have a nice day.” And with that, Dr. Allen closed the file in his hands, and turned to his computer. Ronan showed himself out, making sure to slam the office door with all the force he could muster. He winced when the muscles in his wrists strained.

And so, here he was. In the early hours of his 5th night interned in his “suite”, Ronan compiled a playlist. He spent hours searching through his library, pouring every fucking feeling his therapist suggested he confront into the song selections. No one would ever be allowed access to what he was now calling the “Embarrassing- Melancholy- Feelings- Shitfest” or EMFS playlist. He even added Declan’s song. When he finished it, he put his Airpods in, laid down on his bed, closed his eyes, and pressed play.

As Between the Bars by Elliot Smith began, Ronan took his first deep breath in a week and finally allowed himself to cry.

~~

The rest of the first week, and much of the second passed just as the first 5 days had. Sleepless nights (now thankfully filled with music), breakfast, group therapy, “personal reflection”, lunch, one-on-one therapy, 1 hour of freezing your ass off outdoors, dinner, then back to bed. It was… exhausting.

By the end of the first week Ronan’s first supplies were delivered, he’d reluctantly informed Dr. Allen that he didn’t wish to see Declan yet, though avoided telling him why. He wasn’t ready to see that look in his brother’s blue eyes, the one that shattered him in his hospital bed. So he passed along a simple note to be given to Declan when he arrived. An exchange. Ronan received a simple sketch pad, and charcoals (he wasn’t ready to use color). Declan was given a piece of notebook paper with the following printed in Ronan’s signature chicken scratch:

Thank you.

Brother- Kodaline

~~

Ronan would never know what happened when his brother left that day. Declan made his way to his car slowly, the note clenched in his shaking fist. He preferred his feelings in private. As he slid into the driver’s seat, and turned on his car, he pulled up the song Ronan had given him, turned up the volume and closed his eyes. By the time the chorus arrived, Declan’s knuckles were white, hands strangling his steering wheel. Great sobs, a moment of earth-shattering weakness, wracking his body.

If I was dying on my knees,

You would be the one to rescue me,

And if you would drown at sea,

I’d give you my lungs so you could breathe,

I’ve got you brother,

I’ve got you brother,

I’ve got you brother.

In that moment, Declan knew, with a certainty only a Lynch could have, that Ronan would be okay. And so he listened; he cried. And When the song ended, bowed his head, gave thanks to God then put his car in reverse and drove home.

~~

At the end of the second week, Ronan was allowed his first visit from someone who wasn’t a familial relation. He was in his room, EMFS playlist blasting in his ears as he hunched over his latest piece of art - mess of dark lines, shadows, and chaos- When Gansey strolled in. He wasn’t sure how long Gansey had been standing at his door, watching him when he finally looked up, and double-tapped his left Airpod to pause Mr. Rattlebone.

For a moment, they remained silent. Hazel eyes boring into blue. Gansey wore a lilac button down tucked neatly into navy slacks, light-brown leather boots to match his belt and watch poking beneath the hem, and a pea-coat slung neatly over his left arm. In his right he held two gift bags.

“Hey,” Gansey spoke softly, breaking the silence.

“Hey.”

“Would you mind terribly if I-” He motioned to the end of Ronan’s bed.

Ronan cleared his throat, closed his sketch pad, pulled out his Airpods and brought his long legs up to his chest. “No, for sure, yeah, sit.” He sounded like an idiot to his own ears.

“So…” Gansey began after sitting down and turning to face Ronan. “How, are you?” The question wasn’t unexpected but irritated Ronan nevertheless.

“Living the fucking dream, Dick.”

“Ronan,” Gansey sighed. “You’re right. That was a stupid question, I apologize. It’s just… I haven’t spoken to you in weeks, and it’s not something I’m accustomed to. I won’t pretend I haven’t been worried, and while I am genuinely curious how you are I’ll refrain fro-”

“Gans, it’s fine. I’m… sorry, that was…. Rude. I’m handling it. I’m fine. Bored as all shit, but fine.”

“Okay. Good. Wonderful. Spec-”

“Dick”

“Right, right. Sorry.”

“So,” Ronan prodded, needing desperately to get off this currently painful attempt at feelings and small talk. “What’ve you got there Dick? Please say it’s drugs.”

“That’s not at all funny, Ronan.”

“Shit… I’m, yeah you’re right. That was…” Ronan trailed off. He knew that it was probably the wrong thing to say. He’d said it anyways, to gauge where Gansey was with him. Apparently, not there. Got it. He cleared his throat a second time, hands wrapping themselves tighter around his knees. “Well… Then what is it?”

“This first one is from Noah,” Gansey said softly, as he pushed a bright pink gift bag in front of Ronan. He adjusted, bringing his legs into a criss-cross and pulling the obnoxious bag into his lap.

“How… How is he Gans? I never, he wasn’t at the hospital. I haven’t been able to talk to him, and I-” Gansey held up a hand to stop his rambling, then gently brought it down to Ronan’s wrist. Ronan stared at the tan hand gently resting over his angry scar, then brought his eyes up to Gansey.

“He’s handling it. It was, a lot for him Ronan. But, he loves you. That hasn’t changed. He wanted me to tell you that he misses you. And- that he’s sorry.”

“He has nothing t-”

“I know, but he made me promise to tell you anyways.”

“Okay,” Ronan whispered, closing his burning eyes for a moment. He removed his hand from under Gansey’s and reached into the bag. The first item he pulled out was a box. He looked expectantly at Gansey who shook his head slightly, brows drawn together he opened the lid. Inside were two bracelets made of 5 black bands of leather each. Embossed at the clasp of each was a semicolon. The tears he hadn’t wanted to shed in front of Gansey today made their way slowly down his face.

“Let me…” Gansey whispered, and removed the first bracelet. Ronan shook as Gansey slowly slid the sleeve of his hoodie up his forearm, then gently brought the bracelet around his wrist. He repeated the motion with the second, then leaned forward to brush a stray tear off of Ronan’s chin.

“Thank you,” he rasped. Gansey nodded. Ronan, reached back into the pink bag and from it pulled an old copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. He knew this copy intimately, it was Noah’s favorite book and could always be found resting on his nightstand, or in his hands on a bad day. He opened the book with a reverence he usually reserved for the bible, and inside found an inscription:

“This moment will just be another story someday.” -Stephen Chbosky

Never forget that you are loved.

You are wanted.

You are needed.

-Noah

Ronan closed the book and moved it to his nightstand. He took a deep steadying breath, and nodded.

Gansey asked, “Okay?”

“Okay,” he replied.

Gansey moved the second bag onto his lap. This one, a tasteful charcoal grey with blue tissue paper. The bag itself was larger and heavier than the first, and his confusion must have been evident when Gansey spoke again, “Oh, just open it would you?” Ronan snorted, the first smile he’d felt on his face in weeks, making an appearance.

“Fuck okay, sorry.” He ripped the tissues from the bag with the enthusiasm of a 4 year old high on confectioners sugar, and Christmas cheer. The blue sheets flying around his bed, one even landing on Gansey’s head before sliding off on an imperceptible wind.

“Gans….” He whispered, slowly sliding the first gift from the bag. It was a black leather-bound sketchbook. Larger than the one he had requested from Declan, the paper, a higher quality than he had used in a long time. “I can’t-”

“You can, and you will. So shut up and open it.”

The front cover of the book had an embossed raven in the center. The side folded over the top and tied off with a small leather eyelet, which he unhooked and slowly opened the masterpiece in his lap. On the inside of the front cover was a second embossing, this one read:

Excelsior

R.N.L

He shook his head, and found Gansey’s eyes. “Onward and upward.”

“Onward and upward,” Gansey nodded. “There is more, but before you open it, let me say this. You’ve been given a gift. I know it doesn’t feel like that, but for someone with talent like yours, you… more than anyone I know, deserved color. I know that you asked Dec for charcoal, I’m assuming it’s because you weren’t ready-” Ronan was reaching into the bag again as he spoke, pulling out a cherrywood box, and shaking his head.

“- but I think maybe you could be. If not now, then soon. Regardless,” he gestured for Ronan to open the box, “I wanted to bring you a rainbow.” The latch was simple and as Ronan lifted the lid he was met with rows and rows of colored pastels. Every color he’d read about and tenfold more he’d never seen.

He choked on a sob, “Gans… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I do hope you use these soon because this room is awfully boring.”

“You’re fucking telling me,” Ronan quipped, smiling though his damn eyes wouldn’t stop their relentless downpour. It was fucking embarrassing, and yet, beautiful. A world of color at his fingertips.

“They’re all labeled, so you can learn the ones they never taught us. The colors I mean, and if you have a favorite, or run out while you’re here don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll bring you replacements.”

Ronan reached forward, one arm cradling this box of dreams, the other hand coming to Gansey’s arm. “I’m sorry Gansey, for all of it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know you are, but thank you.”

Ronan and gansey sat in silence for a while, a comfortable camaraderie. And when the nurse came to collect Gansey at the end of the hour, the two men, close as brothers, hugged in the middle of the room. They held on, like the other was the foundation upon which their world was built, and stayed that way until the nurse cleared her throat.

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan growled.

“Ronan!” Gansey chided, “I’m so sorry ma’am, I will of course hurry along, if you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the proper direction?” Ronan rolled his eyes, the senator’s son making an appearance yet again. As he made his way back to his bed, Gansey stopped at the door.

“I’ve been told that you’re allowed visits on Mondays and fridays. I assure you I’ll be here for each and every one.”

“You don’t have t-”

“I’ll see you Monday.” Gansey punctuated his statement with two sharp knocks against the door frame, and a dip of his head; then disappeared around the corner and Ronan was left alone once more.

“Excelsior.” He whispered to no one, and picked up his sketchbook.