maskormenacelogs | we are running around till our hearts break down.

For the first time, after days of miserable hopelessness, it feels like he might actually be able to do something.

At some point in the future, when Ronan has had some time and space to organize his thoughts without being overwhelmed by emotion, he'll forgive his brother and Noah for keeping him locked in this godforsaken apartment. Their priority, after all, isn't Ronan's happiness but his safety, and he's given them both plenty of reason to worry about his safety.

The root of the problem, however, can't be cured with whiskey or warm blankets. There is no rest and recovery from the kind of pain he's suffering. The longer he spends doing nothing, the closer he gets to death, no matter how many worried eyes remain on him. The best treatment ends up reaching him from outside, with Strange's encouragement and Apollo's initiative, and then it's decided.

He's going to get the hell out of here and go find the man he loves.

He'd hoped there would be a balcony - or maybe just a really big set of windows - but between Nonah and De Chima Apollo had the realisation that a door would probably give a better impression. 'Responsible adult' is what Ronan had said, and responsible superheroes don't have to enter every building through a window.

And true to form, Apollo does look every inch the responsible adult and a proper superhero to boot, clad as he is in his typical white and gold uniform and carrying a grim air of determination. He knocks on the apartment door sharply and does his best to ignore the unhappy little knot of apprehension that twists away in his stomach; Apollo has no real idea of what he and Ronan are going to do, but they're going to do something proactive and that's what counts. Hopefully.

Maybe it just starts as a weird feeling at the door, but as Declan moves closer to answer it, the reach of him nulling power shifts. It seems to follow him, which meant staying in the apartment with Ronan.

When he answers the door, Declan finds himself staring at--a guy in a superhero uniform? What the fuck. There's something familiar about the face, but he can't place it right then. The young man staring at Apollo is clearly related to Ronan and also several magnitudes of less noticeable than Ronan.

"Can I help you?"

He can feel that unsettling creeping feeling through the door and it isn't until Apollo glances down at his hands - pale, a few shades removed from his usual diffuse glow - that he realises. The guy's a power null. Which... isn't the greatest feeling in the world, and is perhaps a little too soon after the lingering nightmare of the City and Apollo's stint in the cold, lonely dark.

As the door opens Apollo winces and takes a healthy step backwards, as if that extra foot could possibly improve the feeling of that nullifying smother as it settles over him. Apollo belatedly realises that it's a good thing he didn't fly up to the window; he'd probably be dead on the ground floor by now.

"Yeah. Hi. I'm Apollo. We were texting earlier today, I think," He replies briskly, offering the guy - the brother he realises - a warm smile. A warm smile that belies the brisk and entirely no-nonsense way he solemnly informs him:

"I'm here for Ronan."

Declan will have to get used to people looking at him like that. At least Apollo hasn't tried to kill him or otherwise incapacitate him yet.

"We did," he confirms. Ronan's been on and off his phone since then, for which Declan is generally grateful. People care about Ronan and they should know that he's more or less in one piece. All Declan wants is to keep him that. way. He returns Apollo's smile with one of his own: mild, banal.

"Are you." It isn't a question. Apollo is very clearly here for something and he might have asked to come in by now if he intended to stay. He finds himself trying to figure out how old Apollo is, tries to place why the name feels so familiar beyond their text conversation. For a few breaths it seems like Declan will leave it at that, but then he moves out of the way and holds the door open.

"Well, he's here. Come in." He turns his head and calls, "Ronan, visitor!"

The door to the guest bedroom swings open a moment later. Though Ronan has spent most of his time at Declan's either passed out on the floor or curled up on a more reasonable piece of furniture someone has thoughtfully dragged him onto, he is fully alert now and dressed like he was expecting company. Actually, like he was expecting to leave with company. He's already wearing his boots.

As he stomps over, he casts an appraising look at Apollo and seems to notice something off about him, because he then turns to Declan and says, "Don't be a douchebag. Turn off your thing."

Are you, Declan asks and Apollo nearly returns a fiery Yeah, I am. He stays rooted to the spot as Declan offers him inside if only because stepping closer into the null field feels like a terrible idea. Apollo can already feel his solar cells grinding to a painful half as the horribly normal processes of having to breathe kick in. Breathing isn't something that he's had to do in years, thanks.

So he stays where he is, lingering on the threshold with absolutely no desire to step into the apartment, and visibly brightens (emotionally, if not with any actual sunshine involved) as Ronan emerges. Better to focus on them having to leave - and quickly - than to get too comfortable. Apollo isn't here for tea and cake.

"Hey. Are you ready to go?"

Declan frowns and, for a moment anyway, it seems like he won't do it. What's keeping Ronan from doing something stupid, possibly suicidal, if he lets go of this? But how long can he keep it going, reasonably? How long can he actually keep Ronan here if his brother has decided to leave?

That's a fight they've had before. Several times. Several different iterations over the years.

Turn it off, Ronan says, and Declan has to remember how it feels to do that. For the other two it might be a fog lifting, a blanket peeled away. For Declan, it makes him realize how fucking tired he is, like he's finally letting go of something heavy. He's kept it going since Ronan asked him to do it, shifting from wanting to help his brother sleep to just--not wanting him to disappear.

"Where are you going?"

He doesn't like this and he asks the question of Apollo as much as he does of Ronan.

The evidence of their disagreement about his leaving earlier is still apparent in the bruising on both Declan and Ronan's faces. But Ronan seems fully prepared to launch into another fight if he has to. His hackles go up at the question and he takes a step closer to Apollo as if to confirm that this time the fight will be two against one.

"Wherever I have to."

Ronan would walk straight into Hell to rescue Kylo. He doesn't need Declan's permission to do it.

Turning to Apollo, he confirms, "Ready if you are."

There's something at play here, between the two brothers - a dynamic that Apollo isn't a part of and isn't about to wade in to. The bruises don't alarm him - each of them can clearly give as good as they get and sometimes caring for someone is punching them in the face - so he tactfully keeps his thoughts to himself as the two exchange terse words.

"We're going to get Kylo back," He levelly explains to Declan, ignoring the fact that when said out loud it sounds completely ludicrous. Back in his homeworld popping into alternate realities was as easy as opening a door - literally - but Apollo isn't blind to how impossible the task before them is here. He just isn't going to let that stop him. Either of them.

Declan doesn't hide his concern. Between wherever I have to and getting Kylo back, he feels he has a right to that concern, and plenty of good reasons. But he also knows that look on Ronan's face - Declan would have to knock him out to make him stay, or do something else that would end with I hate you in so many words. Again.

He looks at Apollo.

"Don't let him die."

It comes out like Make him wear a coat, but there's an edge beneath Declan's otherwise mild exterior. He's spent years trying to keep Ronan alive and he doesn't want a stupid stunt for the sake of Kylo Ren to be the end of him. Because he knows what Ronan is capable of when people he cares for need help. His gaze drifts to Ronan and he takes in the stubborn tip of his brother's chin.

"Just--" What? Be safe? Ronan will brush that off; safety is not his concern right now. Or ever. "Let me know what happens."

It's the closest he can get to let me know you're alive. Jesus, he's tired.

Honestly, death is the least of their concerns. It's the outcome most likely to result in Ronan simply reappearing at the Porter in a day or two. No, the real worry is that they'll succeed in opening a door, but it'll be one-way, and Ronan will end up trapped wherever Kylo is.

He's not going to be the one to point out how likely that is.

"Get some fucking sleep," he tells Declan instead, as long as they're issuing orders. He sure as shit knows his brother hasn't been able to shut his eyes for a minute since he got here.

"Nobody's dying," Apollo promises, as much for Ronan's benefit as it is for his brother's. He hadn't been joking when he'd said that he really doesn't want to Romeo and Juliet this situation.

"And yeah, sure, we'll let you know."

Perhaps that isn't his place, considering how clear it is that he's wandered into a very prickly family dynamic, but it's the least he can do. Declan cares, that much is evident. Some kind of reassurance that his brother isn't dead is probably the least Apollo can offer him.

In Ronan's mind, the whole thing would be resolved within hours of leaving his brother's apartment. As if Declan alone was the obstacle to be overcome, when in fact the task before him is almost certainly impossible, even for a creature with his sort of magic. Only a handful of goddesses seemed to have achieved it so far, and they've done a shit job of it.

Still, if he can open a path between dream and reality, it's not entirely out of the question that he can open a path between one reality and another. Especially if he has help.

It takes days, actually, before they settle on a plan that just might work. A lot of speculating and experimenting and dreaming goes into the development of this plan, and even then, the whole thing feels like it might be a bunch of worthless bullshit pulled right out of their asses.

To their credit, no human sacrifices have been utilized in the formation of this summoning circle. There's simply the Greywaren and the one who will wield it, and a wizard to conceal them, and a dreamer to do whatever else is necessary.

For now, Ronan's still in human form. These woods are nothing like Cabeswater or Lindenmere, which means he doesn't quite feel Kavinsky's ley line thrumming in his veins. Once he sheds his body, though, he and the line will be nearly indistinguishable. It's going to be a hell of a lot of power for Apollo to use all at once. A hell of a beacon to shine between worlds.

"We good?"

The interdimensional GPS device fits around Apollo's wrist and is of course

colored to match the sun god's outfit, white and brilliant sunshine yellow, per all of our aesthetic requirements. The glassy, planed monitor is nearly the size of a tablet, but underneath the machinery there's a node that transmits vibration -- a pattern that apollo's been practicing with, the past five minutes. Reverse Geiger counter; the closer he is to the right angle and trajectory, in theory, the less frequently it will blip.

Kavinsky adjusts the item on Apollo's wrist, releases the big man's arm again. Folds his own -- considerably smaller arms across his chest, squinting at uncle sunshine under the eponymous glare.

If he was really ambitious, he'd try to attach a small killer spybot to that leotard without Apollo noticing. But that seems a bit cart before the horse, as robust and mighty a horse as Apollo is. Possibly Ronan is the horse. Either way, someone's the horse and he probably shouldn't put the cart before it, no matter how dire the existential threat is.

"Okay, Fabiano," he says, poking the graphical interface. "How's that feel?"

"Fabio," Apollo corrects distractedly as he inspects the gadget strapped comfortably to his wrist; he flexes his wrist, circling a balled fist as he adjusts to the weight and heft of the thing. It's too important to lose in the Bleed between universes or to get smashed to pieces if they arrive in the middle of a firefight.

"And it's fine." He pauses, relenting as he admits his one (1) fear:

"Well. Maybe a little fragile? I don't know. What do we do if it breaks?"

It's not as fragile as it looks. Or at least it shouldn't be. As long as its dreamer(s) hadn't been harboring some secret doubts, it should be as strong as necessary for its intended purpose. Though Ronan glances at Kavinsky, there's no uncertainty in his eyes. He does have faith in his fellow dreamer, or he wouldn't have asked for the help.

"It won't break," Ronan assures Apollo. "But if it did, I could make another. Now that I've seen it, I could make a million copies of it, as long as we could find me enough power."

Kavinsky agrees with his other dreamer, easy as you like. He snaps his fingers and points at him, even, by way of nonverbal agreement. Exactly that.

"But it'd be a good idea if you didn't haul off and try and punch it direct," he says. "Ain't been torture-tested." Very little 'testing' is involved in such dream objects. Their only proof is in the crises they are built to remedy.

He harbors few secret doubts. No, that's a lie. He doubts everything; takes a liar to know one. But he does want to find his way back to the other world. There can be only one. There's no limit inherent to these thoughts, however heterogenous his motivations are.

"Okay, Fabio," he low-key loves that Apollo has accepted his hairoism tho. "No heroics outside the rescue, right?

"I mean I know the place got you in the feels," Apollo why do feelings have such power, "but their Porter's still a little fucked, so your nanites might be too." He looks over at Ronan now too, shunting his hands into his pockets. "I'd bet against resurrection working over there. All I'm saying."

Apollo nods mutely at the joint explanation; if he's being honest with himself (which he mostly is until it gets difficult) then it isn't the device he's worried about breaking. But Apollos are not built to worry, or to feel nervous, or to second-guess a stupid attempt to break reality, and so his half-hearted attempt at expressing that unnatural tangle of worry in the pit of his stomach remains just that. And besides, the dreamers are both very convincing.

No heroics outside the rescue, Kavinsky says. Porter fucked, nanites weird, resurrection a no go. He allows himself a quick, grinning eyeroll.

"Okay, mom."

Ugh, no, that sounds weird out loud; Apollo's the mom one, and the mom one can't accuse other people of being the mom one. It doesn't work. The grin disappears as he pulls a long-suffering grimace of regret instead.

"Sorry, no, that was awful. God, let's just go."

The idea of nanites failing on the other side gives Ronan a quiet surge of panic. But it isn't like before, when nanites were the only thing keeping his nightwash at bay. If nothing else, the past few months spent at home gave him the opportunity to heal. If his nanites fail now, at least, he won't instantly begin to decompose.

"I'm not going all this way just to die," Ronan assures Kavinsky.

There are a few more words he'd like to say, just in case. But it's hard to look at Kavinsky and remember what those words are supposed to be. And even if he could find them, he doesn't think he'd want to say them in front of Apollo.

Ronan turns to him, instead. "I'm getting in your head now. It's gonna feel weird. But you can leave most of the magic shit up to me. Just try to build up as much energy as you can."

He doesn't know how he did it last time and he doesn't know if it's possible to do it again. But between the ley line and the sun and his own damn self, there has to be a way to tear through reality again. If only to send a message.

Ronan takes a breath. Then there is no more Ronan. There's just the dream: a shimmer of fleeting, chaotic thoughts fighting for a form before they take their place in Apollo's mind.

"You're welcome, my li'l babies," says Kavinsky, who should never parent anyone, for sure. He returns Apollo's smile with a grin of his own, easy, softening the harsher lines of his narrow face. Apollo is correct. It's awful. That's fine; Kavinsky's always awful, and Apollo brings out the least awful awfulness in him, between the leering and everything else.

The grin doesn't quite stay intact when Ronan speaks, but Kavinsky is a champ! He doesn't quail, he doesn't frown or cry or grow pale. Number one, he is already Hella pale to begin with. He merely turns his head to look at the greywaren, and look at him hard, for a brief moment.

Ronan vanishes, some point between Kavinsky deciding to say nothing and then him lifting one shoulder instead, a surgically halved shrug.

"Don't suck any strange dicks while you're over there."

He steps back, because I guess he's an idiot and he doesn't know he should be better-armed and protected for this particular endeavor, so he didn't bring sunglasses or welding gear or anything. HIS EYES ARE JUST HIS hollow cokehead eyes, batting their fan-shaped lashes at Apollo as he waits expectantly for the real dad in this equation to take off. It's fine. The nanites will grow his corneas back.

Apollo grimaces, equal parts from Kavinsky's dick-sucking line and the unsettling feeling of Ronan slipping into his mind. A mind with a landscape built on feeling rather than thought, of lofty mountainous ideals and perhaps a few more shadowed valleys than to be expected of such a sunny, sunny man.

Maybe Ronan is used to sitting in the mindscapes of people with access to great power, but Apollo is decidedly not used to the sensation. Between those sunlit peaks and shadowy crevasses is a lot of... space. Vast, empty, open. Unguarded and free, but Apollo feels the fizzing, sparkling intrusion of something - someone - in that sunlit space like a deeply-burrowed itch. Apollo rolls his head on his shoulders, adjusting to the feeling, like trying to crack a tension in his neck that won't be cracked, with the thought: God, magic is weird.

"Okay," He says aloud, mostly for his own resolution, then nods fondly to Kavinsky. "See you later."

This being the act of getting as much power to the itch in his brain formerly known as Ronan Lynch enough raw power to break reality. Every single fibre in Apollo's entire being is brimming over with sunlight as it is - a superheated crackling energy between and within his cells - but that power is painfully finite. The bright well within him has a hard bottom and the only way to avoid hitting it is to get airborne. Only above the clouds, where the ozone is thin and the sunlight blisteringly strong, can they have any hope of sustaining the kind of power Ronan needs.

Which means taking off, with all the light and power Apollo can summon to help get Ronan going. Kavinsky takes a step back and Apollo does likewise in the opposite direction, putting some distance between them, before springing forth from the ground in a scorching fwoosh of light and heat, in an arrow-straight trail of photonic flame towards the sky.

The first time Kylo stepped out of the Porter building, still too mildly dazed and confused for any significant depth of anger, he'd stepped into a new world. Snatched up from defeat, he'd been pulled, processed and spat out into a completely different reality, left to stumble through the process of discovering what of all the noise and frustration he was left with, when the purpose that had shaped his entire existence was stripped away.

The second time, he'd been ripped from a moment of triumph. Snoke dead, the memory of how it had felt to fight with someone rather than against them so fresh in his mind— but even then, it had only been a matter of readjusting his new life on Earth to accommodate additional memory of the former, extending it by the length of a day or so. Two stories, one following the other.

There's too much to fit into one story, the third time he arrives, and he can't seem to put everything in order. The messy tangle of his distant childhood remains a numbed, softened weight, but the rest is a puzzle of too many pieces. He remembers three conclusions to his time as a boy hoping to be a jedi, now— the betrayal of a botched assassination, an abduction into a world darker than this one, and the dream of a miraculous rescue that somehow came true. He doesn't know which is the most real. He does know which he most wants to continue.

He's afraid to reach at first, not knowing what it could mean if he tries and finds nothing there but silence. Which of the reasons to receive no answer would be worse: a world without Ronan, or a world without the choice he had made?

Kylo gets about as far as Rey had before when she summoned him here by mistake. The memory of Ronan flashing into existence at his side pours through his head, so rich and strong he can almost feel his arm coiling around him in warm, solid reassurance, hear the words murmured in his ear. It's what he wants. All he wants. And for a moment, the yearning feels more like a message he's receiving than something that coils and aches in his own heart, and Kylo thinks, worse than either of the silences he might receive would be the knowledge that his fear had permitted Ronan to believe himself abandoned, even for a second.

He closes his eyes, forces out a breath, and calls.

It worked.

This awareness flashes in the combined mind of Ronan and Apollo, a conscious thought and a supernatural understanding. And then, without any other warning, Ronan is gone. As far as Apollo knows, he may have blinked out of existence entirely. His power has vanished along with his presence. Maybe they opened the door. Maybe he went through it.

Or maybe he's just been summoned directly to his master, as is the case.

He doesn't fling his arms around Kylo because he doesn't have arms, and he doesn't think to form them. He reaches Kylo too quickly to bother with that, darting straight to the source of that call. He spills from Apollo's mind into Kylo's almost instantly, and he envelops it, and he's absorbed by it.

Here is the one who belongs to him. His prince. His keeper. Here is the man he loves, who was lost but not forgotten, who has not forgotten him. Here is his home and the reason for his existence.

...Where are they right now? Ronan doesn't care, really, except that they're with each other. But are they reunited in life or in death?

There's an excitable relief in the rush of life that floods through Kylo's senses, a powerful surge of something like... triumph, perhaps. There aren't words for moments like this. Why would there be? This is not for anybody else to know, and they don't need words. There's no need to force all this meaning into predetermined shapes.

But they are, he wastes no time in reassuring Ronan, alive. He's almost impossibly certain of it. Maybe they hadn't been— he isn't blind to the persisting afterimage of misery Ronan carries beneath his delight or the desperate need to which he is the answer— but they are alive now. Together. Somehow. He'd been so very far away, so lost, so empty. But no longer.

He doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Laugh?

"Home," he says, aloud. It's where they are. What they are. And what he wants, too.

Only now does the presence of Ronan solidify into a physical being. Arms wound around Kylo's waist, cheek on his shoulder, face tucked against his throat, heart beating against heart. He's not just a dream, after all. And yes, he believes it now, that they are so very alive.

He'll go back in a second to grant Kylo's wish, tell Apollo what's happened, hopefully fetch them a ride. But he needs a second, first, just to be with Kylo. It hasn't been very long at all, but like when he returned home, it's also been years. Both realities are true.

"You remember me?" he asks. It isn't quite necessary. In a way, Kylo already answered that. But he wants to hear more. "You know who I am?"

It's ludicrous, really. That having held Ronan in his mind, in his very thoughts, this would be more, somehow. Not more true. More real.

His arms wrap around Ronan's body, holding him as tightly as he dares without crushing. He feels Ronan's pulse racing with his own, Ronan's breath on his skin, and he can't— he can't speak, only press his lips to Ronan's hair and breathe him in. Where does he even begin?

"Like this," he pushes out after a long, wordless moment of re-acquaintance. The words are choked, muffled in the determined press of body against body. He remembers, but he wants to be reminded. "Be like this with me, Ronan."

He stays that way, then. Exactly as Kylo wants him. Ronan holds him in that embrace and does nothing else for a good long minute, allowing them to simply happen to each other. Kylo breathes and Ronan breathes, cradled in one another's arms. Everywhere they touch grows warmer with the other's body heat. Their hearts keep beating. They exist with each other.

Finally, he draws back just enough to look into Kylo's eyes. His arms uncoil and he reaches up to take Kylo's face in his hands. He studies every detail of Kylo's features like he intends to recreate them in a painting later, then surges forward for a kiss. He worships those plush lips, remembering and reminding them, too.

"Mine," he sighs into Kylo's mouth.

It's so powerfully sweet he can barely stand it. So unwanted, so feared, hated and rejected for so long— the memory of never having been kissed is as fresh in his mind as the slow discovery of loving and being loved he'd made here, guided by the touch of Ronan's hands and the softness of his lips. He kisses him, gently at first. Then again, stronger, daring to test the depth of this welcome a little further.

"Ronan," he murmurs, because it means it all. He presses closer, arms winding tight. "Mine."

Ronan kisses him again and again, each more urgent and feverish than the last. He can feel it in Kylo's touch, that this is a rediscovery, that just a few minutes ago he hadn't know that this existed. Whether he'd been back in the City or somewhere else entirely, this kind of love had been unknown to him. He might have lived his whole life alone, never realizing that worlds away was a boy who loved him more than anything.

It would have been the worst kind of tragedy.

"I was looking for you," Ronan assures him, his voice tight in his throat. "I was coming to find you. I would never have left you there."

Kylo hushes him with a kiss, loosening his touch-starved hold to reach up and cradle Ronan's face in his hands. Does Ronan believe Kylo blames him for all the loneliness that isn't this moment, right now? His thumbs trace over Ronan's cheeks, following a path he remembers them taking before. His eyes search Ronan's, deeply. Silently. His lips pull into a secret curve.

"You didn't abandon me," he promises. "I was sleeping. And now I'm awake."

It may not be something Ronan has to atone for, but it's something he has to amend. He can't bring himself to ask how long it was, how much time passed for Kylo. If a little over a week without Kylo had nearly killed Ronan, how awful would months have been? Years?

He'd resolved not to shed a single tear of grief because he'd refused to let himself believe Kylo was lost forever, but he's spilling those tears now. One with Kylo's kiss. Another at his words.

"I needed you to know you were never alone. You've never been alone. I just couldn't reach you."

Kylo's cheeks are dry, though his eyes are soft, increasingly glassy. He swallows, wiping away Ronan's tears, and sucks in a shuddering breath.

"You'd have him, too?"

"I have him now," Ronan says, holding Kylo's gaze steadily even while the rest of him trembles with the effort to keep from falling apart. "And I love him."

He knew from the moment he realized Kylo was missing that the likelihood of him remembering anything about their history together was next to zero. Kylo would almost certainly forget him, and if he ever reappeared, Ronan would be a stranger to him.

But Ronan would love him. Ronan would love him and love him. He would radiate love like the sun, so that it would be impossible for Kylo to ignore its light, even if none reflected back on Ronan. He was ready to love any version of Kylo and ready to love him alone.

That's too much, for Kylo. He can't contain it. He blinks too rapidly, glancing upwards in some futile attempt to regain control while his throat closes on nothing, but it's useless. His eyes well up and refuse to stop, vision sliding blurry— he draws Ronan in for a kiss tinged with the salt of the tears tracking down his face.

Kylo's tears give Ronan permission. That kiss smothers a sob. His whole body sways as he surges into it, before he has to break away again to gasp, and there isn't any stopping it now. He's weeping the way he wept his mother died - not loudly, but violently. As if the force of all his grief is just hitting him now. He shakes with it, held upright only by Kylo's embrace, clinging to him like something's coming to snatch him away.

Between kisses, he cries out something that sounds like no. No, no, no. Where he should be offering up prayers of gratitude, he's pleading instead. These are the prayers he swallowed a week ago. Kylo's here now to hear him begging not to leave him, to feel him holding on. He would give up anything but this.

Nothing is coming to take Kylo away.

Damp-cheeked, he coils himself tightly around Ronan's trembling body, a strong arm around his waist to hold him where he can't hold himself up. He guides Ronan's face into the warm crook of his neck, resting his head against him as his broad hand strokes a soothing pass down his spine, pressing him firm up against his chest. He's solid, see? Warm, and strong and solidly present. He's going nowhere.

And he feels... there's a tightness in his chest as he feels Ronan's grief finally burst the levee, like he should have been here to ease the weight of all this hoarded pain. It doesn't make any sense. He knows it doesn't make any sense. But still...

"I would never have left you," he hears himself say, quiet and shaken with something very much like remorse. "If I had the power. Never."

Ronan whispers, "I know."

Most of the people in his life have left him without meaning to. It was naive of him, really, to believe that Kylo would be different. Nothing in the universe is safe or certain. As solid as Kylo feels, holding him close like this, there's no guarantee he won't vanish in an hour. Ten minutes. Two seconds.

He wants to scream, and if he does, he's not sure he'll ever be able to stop. Why is he so afraid now? If Kylo's absence had left him empty, shouldn't his reappearance fill Ronan with joy? He feels more fear than ecstasy, by far.

"Were you... Were you happy without me? Tell me if you were. I wanted that for you, if I couldn't fucking be there. If you have to go back. If it's better, I wanna know."

"Ronan..."

He sighs, closing his eyes as he holds him as tightly to himself as Ronan can bear, their breaths shuddering against each other. He doesn't have any comfort to give, as much as he wishes otherwise. Happy? He barely knew the meaning of the word, beyond knowing it wasn't for him.

"There's no happiness for me there. You know that."

Ronan doesn't know that. He's seen it for himself, in Kylo's thoughts and in Rey's memories, that there is an ending to Kylo's story which grants him a happiness greater than anything Ronan could ever give him.

But there's also so much standing in the way of that, a thousand ways it can and probably will go wrong. Different choices. Different worlds.

"I'll find you, then," Ronan tells him, fighting the waver in his voice. "Every time. I won't let you stay lost."

His hand slides up and comes to rest over Ronan's spine, massaging slow, familiar pressure between his shoulders.

"I think... you did," he murmurs, haltingly. "Something of you. Something of me. Maybe you are everywhere I am."

Multiversal theory is not something best discussed under these circumstances, probably. Kylo doesn't have the first idea of what he should say, though, beyond this:

"...but we are here. Now. Be mine, here."

It isn't easy. Letting go of loss feels an awful lot like letting go of what was lost. It feels dangerous, as if he's letting his guard down in the middle of a fight. If he'd given up when he was supposed to, earlier, the two of them would have never been reunited at all.

"I'm yours. And I have you."

Here and everywhere. Now and always.

He wants to believe in it, that pieces of them exist in each other, that they can never be apart. Gradually, with Kylo's caressing, the tension eases. Ronan's tears keep falling, but it feels less like he's being torn up inside, more like Kylo's touch is mending him.

It's extraordinarily brave of Ronan, Kylo thinks, pressing his gratitude into soft kisses to Ronan's brow. Could he trust in the very thing that had vanished and left him bereft to be his healing? He's not certain. Cheek to tear-stained cheek, he holds Ronan close, marveling quietly at his capacity for love.

"I believe you," he promises, discovering it as he speaks. "I feel it, Ronan. You'd find me. You found me."

He draws back just enough to look at Ronan's face, to lift his hand to cradle it in his palm. Ronan had once sworn to be the sword in Kylo's hand— and he had been, so willing to be wielded however his master chose. But this... Ronan had poured his will into being Kylo's rescue in a way no-one ever really had, before. It's more than he knows how to process.

"Thank you. For coming for me."

Ronan doesn't understand how he can be the first one, although he knows he is. It makes no sense to him, that no one else before him saw fit to reach out to Kylo. They reached for Ben, of course. Plenty of people called out to the uncorrupted boy and tried to save him from the man he'd become. What Ronan doesn't understand is how he can be the first to want to save Kylo Ren, who needed love more desperately than any boy saint ever would.

He meets Kylo's eyes, leaning into his touch. "You're in for it now," Ronan threatens with a weak smile. "You won't be able to get rid of me. I'll chase you across galaxies. Stalk you through the universe. Don't thank me. God, I love you."

Kylo meets that smile with an awkward attempt of his own, an unpracticed flicker of warmth without performance.

"Romantic," he decides. And it is, as far as he's concerned. Perhaps, the most romantic gesture he can imagine. His smile widens clumsily where it should draw out to his signature expression of flat, hidden amusement. "I look forward to it."

How had he ever forgotten this face? It feels impossible now, that he could ever exist without knowledge of Ronan Lynch, entwined together as they are. Kylo doesn't want to look away.

"As you can't chase me here. When I'm chasing you."

we are running around till our hearts break down.

apollo & declan

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the ritual crew

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By fortuitous co-incidence on February 9th:

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