[ it is, actually, the first time andyr's ever punched ronan in any kind of serious. they'd play fought before, wrestled around, sparred even, but the only kind of serious aggression andyr'd directed towards ronan was a rough shove, or a toss into a bath tub. this is something entirely different, a hurt and a sadness that andyr couldn't swallow, overwhelming into frustration, that boiled up into fury instead, as many things tend to do. the same way all of them tend to hand emotions, really, but the difference being, violence is a language andyr speaks more often than english, these days. he'd burned out the parts of him that wanted to accept things like hurt and fear, and trained his body and mind to translate it into adrenaline and rage, visceral and bloody. he'd hurt, and instead of weeping, he'd find the closest thing and shred it, because that's what life in hapsburg meant. if you're wounded, you're prey.

it storms in him the entire trek downstairs, andyr's blood is hot and boiling, his hands twitching with a want to sink into something warm and human and rend it. to destroy and shatter, leaving a wake of ruin that's some kind of physical out-pour of what tangled mess is aching in his chest right now. he makes it all the way to his room, ready to grab up his backpack and be gone for a week or so, when his eyes land on the dreamcatcher hanging over his bed. the note still dangling from it, from ronan. the memory of that first night in his tent, sharing stories, talking about the tattoo on the inside of his eyelid. ronan's quiet fears whispered between them. the nights they'd spent cuddled together, waiting for death to creep in. he loves that boy more than life itself, so deeply it chokes him. and he'd just hit him, as if he was any other tech or guard from the houses.

for a long moment, he's staring at it, the feathers twisting and turning delicately, as he near on hyperventilates. god, he'd fucked up. he'd fucked up so, so bad. once feeling comes back to his limbs, andyr moves, in a panicked hurry, gathering up a few things. firstly, petra, the kitten giving an annoyed mewl as he drags her out of the covers she'd nested in, and then he's bounding upstairs, towards the kitchen, ignoring anyone else he runs into on the way, looking pale and in distress, but all he grabs from the fridge is a handful of ice, wrapped up in a thin cloth, before heading for the stairs again, upward, back to ronan's room. and there, he halts, listening. he hears the last few pieces of their conversation, adam's explanation about the tree, the difference with heart and soul. ronan saying 'I can't live without either of you, Adam, I'm in love with him, and that emotion wells up in his chest again, a lump in his throat, like it had that day in the field when he'd first said it. after a second or two, andyr takes a deep breath, and steps in, apologies falling from him as he deposits the gathered items in their places. ]

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, that was stupid, and I'm stupid, and I wasn't thinking. [ petra is placed in adam's lap quickly, and then he moves to ronan, putting the bag of ice down in front of him, and immediately moving back, as if his proximity would offend. or threaten. or anything. andyr shuffles off to the side, and sits, legs tugged to his chest as he'd done before, equidistant from both boys, before he whispers, quiet but audible. ] And I love you.

[ he feels a shame in saying that, like he doesn't have the right after hitting him. after bringing all this up. ]

I'm sorry I said it too. I was scared. [ 'it' being what ronan told him in confidence. being scared doesn't excuse letting that out, but he wants ronan to know it wasn't something he'd been planning on doing. it just came out, like the punch, like so many other stupid things he does without letting his brain turn back on first. for a moment he's silent, breathing heavily, like he's on the verge of panic attack, and honestly, he sort of is. this is what happens when he derails from the process of Fury, Ruin, Burn and takes the split second to linger on one of these more painful emotions, rather than blaze past it. there's things he needs to say, so he starts rambling, eyes glued on a piece of floor some foot or so aware from his sneakers, voice an unsteady thing and words all strung together and rushed. ]

You live in the time when people still thought same sex marriages should be illegal, right? In a hundred years from your time, people'll think that concept's barbaric, Catholics included. [ things he'd picked up on listening to adam's arguments. he's not sure if it makes a difference, but he's trying. a hand against his chest clutches at his father's dogtags, always dangling from his neck. he'd been the religious one in their family, the one with spiritual certainty when andyr just hadn't quite been able to get it. ronan reminds him so much of his dad some days, and he feels the cold metal of the tags pressed into his palm, wishing so badly that he could have him now. ] If God created this world, and man, and life, and magic, then God created your dad, and your dad's powers, and so, created you and yours. He created your heart too, because you're made up of blood and bone and earth.

[ things stefan prince had told him, some late night when they floated in his old boat, out in the new orleans port, staring at the stars and letting the waves rock them. ]

If you feel linked to Adam in a way that's deeper than blood, something that's part of your soul, that isn't man's territory. That's God's. So is love. How arrogant is it for man to think we could create something that perfect all on our own? [ andyr swallows, voice hitching, and he lifts his eyes to ronan finally, blinking at him with sorrow and fear and guilt in his eyes still. ] Faith is more than just following rules. God didn't spend all that time creating things as complex as hearts and minds just for you to ignore them.