gooseberryhigh | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Ryan and Z
When: May 10, Afternoon
Where: By the lake around Ribbonfin
What: Ryan thinks there should probably be a discussion about yesterday's mishap.
Status: Closed/Ongoing
Rating: PG-13 (Trigger warnings for talk of abuse)

Ryan could barely believe what had happened the day before. He didn't much care about the journals being broken, not in the traditional sense. Hell, he probably wouldn't have noticed at all if he hadn't warded Chris in the morning. The ONE DAY he decided to share something very personal, whether through a ward or not, just so happened to be the day that all of that was off the table. Ryan rarely talked about his feelings, or even his father for that matter, but of course he happened to do so on broken journal day. And of course people had to see what he wrote. They couldn't bypass his boring entry in favor of making each other miserable, oh no. Luckily, he felt like he and Chris had salvaged the situation by keeping his identity a secret, or at least he had to believe they had. And he had believed it, until someone said they felt like they knew who he was. Ryan couldn't be sure how he knew, but he had a feeling that person had been Z, and knowing that had prompted him to stay inside his cabin all day. He could only suffer so much pity and mortification in one day, after all.

Trying to ignore the people who offered words of sympathy or comfort, he'd closed the journal and hadn't looked at it since. He'd gone to classes like normal, but it nagged at him the entire time. If that person had been Z, then he owed it to her to stop avoiding her (and the situation). He didn't know how she knew, but he had mentioned his father vaguely to her. He hadn't told her exactly what went on, of course, still being too scared to see that pity in her eyes, but he had told her enough for her to guess. She was smart. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd figured it out. His feelings for her urged him to make the decision in the end, and he found himself walking to Ribbonfin in a sort of daze. Ryan tried not to think about how this would go as he stopped outside the cabin, knowing she would be inside studying. She was always studying, or at least most of the time, and this thought seemed to wiggle its way in and add to the anxiety he was feeling. What if he was disrupting her with something stupid? It was enough to almost make him give up the idea, that's how cowardly he was, but ultimately he wound up knocking. This was a good step. It was going to be fine.

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A good guess. Studying [...] always. Even with her project mostly finished, and those offers of admission on the table, and --

Everything.

Maybe it was an easy way to keep from having to engage with the weirder parts of life and still feel like you were doing something useful.

"Just a sec!" Z shook her thoughts from her head, dotting and i and marking a page, then bounced over to open the door with mug of tea in hand.

The sight of Ryan brought a quick, happy light into her face. "Oh. Hi there."

Hearing her voice, Ryan smiled a little despite himself. Z always had this calming effect on him, even though he didn't think she was actually ever as calm as she seemed on the outside. Being around her made him feel centered, and he likely never would have been able to have this conversation with anyone else.

Save Chris.

When the door opened, he answered her smile with one of his own. His more bashful and full of a million different anxious emotions, but there. "Hey. Sorry, I hope you're not busy?" he said, suddenly worried all over again.

Z angles her head back at the pile of things on her desk. "I can take a break."

She takes a little sip of tea, then grabs at Ryan's hand with her free one and pulls him into the cabin. It's ... Well. Either he's realized that it was her, on the journals -- which means that it was in fact him, or it wasn't him and he realized it was her anyway. Or he wants to talk about safe house things. Any of these possibilities are okay with Z -- she's steady on her feet and pleased to see him here, even if... It's one of those things, and maybe he's worried about it.

"Cup of tea?"

Ryan eyes the pile with a smirk. "Oh yes. It certainly looks like it," he says mildly, the teasing lighting up his blue eyes with rarely seen mirth.

Letting Z grab his hand and pull him inside, he can't help but chuckle a bit. Despite his inner turmoil, it's pretty impossible for him to not react in a positive way whenever he's around her. It's why they work so well together. Even if he's silently wondering if she's figured out why he's come by. Even if he's silently wondering what she thinks about it if she has.

"Sure," he agrees with a smile. He's not sure where to begin, but places a gentle kiss to her in greeting as a pretty safe starting point.

Z returns the kiss and beams up at him momentarily before scooting away to begin the tea process.

"I have... a million kinds. It's been a lot of chamomile lately, though. With a little calming draught." She throws him a "sneaky" look, gesturing at dark little vial next to her potions implements. "But. You have your pick, of course."

Z opens up a drawer in her desk, displaying a "million" options: wizarding or no-maj, and a few that seem self-blended. She sort of hovers, waiting for him to decide.

"Um, how are you?" She asks.

Ryan moves as she starts to get the tea ready, though doesn't necessarily want to get in her way. It's more a silent offer to help should she need it.

Peering over her shoulder at all the tea, he grins, returning the conspiratory look. "I don't know. A calming draught might be just what the doctor ordered." He's not entirely sure he's kidding. "Or whiskey," he adds, still looking at the drawer as if this is the most important decision of his life. With Z, every tea decision is important, though.

"Surprise me," he finally says, unable to even remotely make an decision. Especially not when she asks if he's okay. Ryan's smile fades almost instantly at that, and he shrugs a little. "Okay?" He tries for normal, but can't quite pull it off. Not today. "Actually I'm shit," he amends mere seconds later.

Z's face falls a little. "... Oh. Chamomile it is, then. With extra draught."

She has the last dregs of a fifth she can pull out of hiding later, if no one's around.

It's hard not to just forget the tea and throw herself at him -- though she's been feeling a lot of things lately, Ryan is one of the few that's ever always gotten through the calm that often mutes her reactions to the world. She wants to press herself into him and make him tell her everything right away, but... tea. Then they can sit down on her bed, where a big square of sunlight falls in through the window.

"Are you..." Z starts to say, handing him a mug, but words falter. She just sort of looks at him, leaning in to rest her face against his arm for just a moment, before wandering off to sit.

"Come here? Let's rest together, and you can talk to me, if you want."

Ryan tries not to outwardly show how much it crushes him to see her face fall at his answer. This is why he never tells anyone anything. Not that he thinks Z should react any other way, but the idea of wiping the beautiful smile from her face is too much to bear.

"Draught is code for whiskey, right?" he asks, attempting a little bit of humor to bring her smile back. Even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

As he watches her work with the tea, he can't help but think of all the ways she's managed to wiggle through his numbness. For most things and people, it's like he's watching from the outside but not actually a part of it. But not with her.

Ryan's content to watch her work, admiring the sun that occasionally peeks through and illuminates her when she's not looking, when she's suddenly in front of him with a mug. Taking it, his eyes don't move from her as she looks at him, though he can't seem to figure out what to say. How to begin even. "I don't-" he starts at the same time Z did, though they both falter and trail off without finishing. It makes him smile a little.

It doesn't take any prompting for him to follow, though he nods at her words anyway. Making his way to the bed after her, Ryan takes a seat. Raising the mug to his lips slowly, he tries to figure out how to start, though there's really no way to ease into it.

"My dad..." he begins, but has to pause. He's never actually said these words out loud to anyone besides Chris. "He hits me...among other things." Raising the mug slowly, he lets it sink in as his eyes seem far away.

It feels like a punch to the gut to hear those words. It's -- somehow not unexpected, given what she did know, and in a way she already knew this, too, but neither of those things matter when he's sitting here in front of her. Among other things. Z thinks she might drop her mug. She sort of does: murmuring a levitation spell, she lets it slip out of her hands for a moment, instead resting them on whatever parts of Ryan she can reach.

It's a simple touch. Just weight, like an attempt to ground him and keep him in the moment. She doesn't know what to say. She just looks at him, letting concern and love mold her expression.

Ryan honestly didn't know how hard saying those words aloud would be on its own. Saying them to her? It feels like someone literally ripped all the wind from him by sitting on his chest. He knows Z won't pity him or look at him differently (not in the ways he fears, at least), but it's still impossible to look at her at first.

He sees the mug move as his eyes are cast down, and the fact that she was that shocked makes his already twisting stomach knot. Swallowing when he feels hands on him, it takes every ounce of self control not to flinch. The subject matter has brought back old wounds, old habits of jerking away to avoid the majority of pain.

Ryan's eyes gradually raise to hers. There's a question there. One he can't bear to say. Do you think differently of me.

Z makes a small, careful little sound. For a moment she just looks at him; she can't really read his face, or the heavy emotion in his eyes. It's just a lot of hurt. What do you say to that? Something you'll never fix? All I can do is just be here, and listen.

"Hey," she whispers, like talking to a frightened bird. She wants to touch his face, but she's worried he'll flinch away. Instead she tries to smile -- a soft, affectionate slip -- and leans in closer. "I love you."

For the first time probably ever, it's hard for Ryan to look at Z. He keeps his eyes down, carefully avoiding her gaze. He's afraid of what he'll see there. Pity, sadness, love.

Does he even deserve them?

The whisper in itself is nearly enough to make him flinch, but he manages not to be so pathetic. Instead, he raised his eyes to her, trying not to outwardly react to the expression on her face. The pain is in his eyes, at least until she leans in and speaks. The words seem to release some kind of vise on his lungs, and it's a little easier to breathe. One hand reaches for Z's and squeezes. "I love you," he all but whispers back. "But I didn't want you to know. [...] Didn't want you to think less of me." More shame. More guilt.

Z squeezes back, keeping her fingers laced in his. She shakes her head immediately, then softens, leaning in a little closer to rest her head against his.

"Never," she promises. "I might want to throw your dad off a cliff, but -- I could never think less of you, Ryan."

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