Vito called a meeting the next evening.
Ronan was in the middle of teaching Amir the basics of lockpicking. It had seemed a random request, but Ronan quickly realized it was just an excuse to crowd close at his back while he explained the anatomy of a tumbler lock. Ronan went all pink and stuttery and Amir seemed far too smug, so Ronan retaliated by using his hands to guide Amir's through his first lock. Amir dropped the damn thing, saved only by Ronan's swift catch.
That was when Vito's call rang out.
Ronan hadn't seen him all day. Vito normally ran about the place like a housewife, but he'd spent every hour since Ronan and Amir's return holed up in his room. It was obvious he hadn't slept - always was, with his complexion, and that was normally the subject of much jeering within their group, but now-
Ronan had a bad feeling.
He couldn't have been the only one. The others gathered in record-time, and they waited in silence for Vito's first words.
Ronan took the smaller sofa knowing Amir would follow; may as well be together if Vito was going to chastise them in front of the group. Amir was a welcome comfort, pressed close and warm against Ronan's side.
With Mitch, Tony, and Felix piled onto the other sofa, the armchair was empty, but Vito propped himself up on the mantel with his legs dangling over the edge so he could look down at them all at once.
"I have to be honest with you all," he began, crossing his ankle over his knee and leaning until his back was against the wall. "I haven't slept in thirty-six hours. So excuse me if I sound a bit mad."
"We won't notice the difference," assured Tony.
"Has anybody ever told you that you are hilarious, sister?" Vito retorted. Tony snickered and muttered something like "yeah" under her breath. "I've been sitting on an idea for a long time now, but it's really come together in the last day or so. It's still in the works, but I'd like to share it with you all."
So it wasn't a public scolding. Ronan sat back in his chair.
Meanwhile, Mitch sat forward. "Let's hear it, boss."
Vito blew him a kiss. Mitch pressed it to his heart.
"I'll start with three questions," said Vito. "What is one ambition that we, as thieves, have always had but never believed in? If, in our wildest fantasies, we could have one conquest that would stand above the rest, what would it be?"
He was looking at Ronan. Their eyes met, and Ronan realized what was happening with the familiar chill that curled down his back. He opened his mouth to answer, hoping he was wrong, but it was Amir who spoke up first. "Is it the castle?"
Vito tilted his head, pleasantly surprised. "The rookie catches on fast."
Ronan felt Amir wilt at his side. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to him that way.
"You want to rob the castle?" Felix asked, wide-eyed. Vito lifted his attention from Ronan and Amir, satisfied. It was so blatantly a message; this was Vito's form of punishment. Ronan regretted going to that stupid festival. But . . .
He'd had the most amazing time.
"I take back what I said," said Tony. "You do sound extra crazy today. Maybe you should take a nap, brother."
Even Mitch was scratching at the back of his neck. "You, uh . . . you think we're ready for that kind of thing?"
Vito gave a hearty laugh. "Oh god, no. Not yet, at least, though I think we may be someday. Charging the castle now would be a death sentence."
The room breathed a collective sigh of relief. The promise of someday loomed at the back of Ronan's mind, but someday could be a lifetime away, if he was lucky. Still, he didn't relax - that had only been Question One.
"Here's the second question," Vito continued. "Do you recognize these names? Claudius, Nicholas, Rainer, Emmanuel, and Aeneus."
The names made something tick in Ronan's mind, but he couldn't quite place it. At his side, Amir spoke up again, far quieter this time. "Those are-"
"The five sons of King Hector," said Felix.
"Very good," Vito praised. "The rest of you should study up on Diverran history. God forbid we forsake our country."
The others chuckled, but Ronan was still waiting.
"Tell me what you know about the princes, Felix."
Felix thought for a moment. "The oldest, Claudius, is to take the throne once Hector passes or abdicates. They're all said to be intelligent as well as talented, and skilled in battle, too, and . . . and they've all been wed, either to Diverran women of high station or to foreign royalty - oh, except for the third son, that is."
Felix stopped there, but Vito nodded for him to continue.
"Ah, the third son. Rainer. If I remember, he was born sickly, and he has always been the frailest of the five. His family speaks highly of him, but his affliction has kept him mostly out of prominence. I don't know the politics of it all, but I suspect he's last in line for the throne, despite his birthright."
This time when Felix finished, Vito clapped his hands together. "Question number three: if we can't steal from the castle itself, what's the next best thing?"
"The royal family," Tony said immediately.
"The royal family!" Vito echoed. "So I raise you this: we may not be able to take from them, but I believe we can get them to willingly hand over their money." He made eye contact with each and every one of them as he spoke, but he made sure to land on Ronan as he finished with, "After all, even their saddest son must be worth a pretty penny."
His words were met with a confused quiet as they all stumbled to catch up to him, always a step behind - just the way he liked it. A horrible taste filled Ronan's mouth when he caught on, right as Felix thought aloud,
"Do you mean- ransom?"
His voice was hesitant, his eyes anxious. But Vito grinned, and Ronan watched some of the tension leak from Felix's shoulders.
"You've really lost it this time," Tony said, but she was already catching fire, starting to smile with him.
"You don't think we can do it?" Vito baited.
Tony leaned back against the cushions, tilting her chin up to level his gaze. Sometimes they looked so alike, it was scary. "Never said that," she said. "You'd better have one hell of a plan."
Vito pushed himself off the mantel and landed light on his feet. "I always do," he said, cocksure and beautiful. He leaned back on his forearms against the mantel and looked at Ronan with eyebrows hardly raised in a challenge. "That is, unless anybody has any objections?"
Amir's weight against Ronan's arm became an obvious, intentional thing. Be careful, or maybe, I'm here.
The thought of kidnapping someone - someone frail and sick and possibly innocent in all of this - settled like coal in Ronan's stomach. He wanted to call out in protest, but he felt a thinly veiled threat like five fingers around his throat - don't let it happen again - and he could barely breathe, let alone protest.
So he pleaded with his eyes instead - I'm sorry I went behind your back. Please don't make me do this.
Vito spread his arms and began explaining his plan.
It wasn't a rare occasion that the royal family traveled across the island to attend dinners, dances, parties, races - whatever people with their sort of money and time got up to. Those who hosted them - the highest members of society - jumped at the chance to put them up in their best rooms for the night.
The middle son allegedly always traveled with his family to such events, but almost never made an appearance.
Which meant he would be left in a guest room by himself, guarded but mostly unremembered for the night, as vulnerable as he would ever be.
"Vito." Ronan spoke hesitantly, but he had to speak. "You know what you're asking us to do, right?"
He kept his gaze pointed at his lap so he wouldn't have to watch every Merry Man look his way, most of all Vito, who had been mid-sentence when Ronan chimed in.
"I'm asking you to take the next step with me, Ronan."
"It's always another ste-" Ronan started to say, but he already sounded shaky, and that wouldn't help anything. "There will be a bounty on our heads if we do this."
Vito beamed at the prospect. "They'll finally take us seriously."
"They'll finally catch us."
"You should have more faith in your team."
"You should-"
Ronan cut himself off and took a steadying breath.
"Look at me."
Ronan raised his head. Vito was standing over him. He didn't look quite angry, more- impatient. Like he'd truly believed Ronan had learned his lesson since the last time. Ronan had thought so, too.
But he still didn't want to hurt anybody.
"I don't want to do this," he said.
Something flashed hot in Vito's gaze, but he quelled it for the time, leveling Ronan with an even stare.
"I know," he admitted. "But you understand, don't you?"
"I don't, actually, so clear this up for me: what happens if the king and queen decide the unfortunate prince isn't worth their gold? What then?"
Vito pursed his lips.
"Will you kill him?"
"Christ," Vito huffed. "Of course not."
"Then what?" Ronan asked, finally finding his voice. "You can't just give him back - what sort of message will that send? So will you hold him hostage forever? Will you hurt him? We'll have to take him by force; what if he resists? How far will you-"
"I will do what it takes to make it clear we are not to be messed with!" Vito snapped.
"I don't," Ronan repeated, rising to his feet, "want to do this."
"You will not abandon us again," warned Vito.
"Or what?" he challenged.
Ronan nearly flinched away when Vito's face morphed into something terrible. He thought he might have really done it this time. But it schooled itself just as quickly, and when Vito shut his eyes, Ronan could almost believe he was perfectly calm. Vito took several steps back, and Ronan could breathe without inhaling vitriol.
Vito turned his chin toward the ceiling and said, "It's always you, Ronan."
"Because this isn't right, and-"
"God, I am so sick," Vito spat, "of hearing you talk about right." He opened his eyes, and Ronan really did flinch this time, because he'd had six years to get to know every shade of Vito, but he couldn't have ever imagined a look like this directed at himself. It was fire and brimstone, and somehow Ronan was the damned sinner. "Do you know what isn't right, Ronan? My pops was killed in a factory accident, little more than a slave to the very people you're so desperate to protect. My ma went fuckin' loony and tried to kill her newborn baby 'cause she couldn't deal with two kids on her own, and then killed herself, and somehow the orphanage was the better deal. Know what's not right? Mitch's parents dying sick as dogs 'cause people like us don't get better. What's not right's the burns on Felix's arms! What's not right is your piece-of-shit dad leaving you out to rot the one goddamn time you needed him!"
Vito was breathing harshly through his nose, and it took all of Ronan's will to keep standing even as his joints rattled in protest, even as flames licked at his ankles.
"So what is right, then?" Vito demanded, throwing up his hands. "Is it getting booted from the home at fifteen 'cause there are too many kids and not enough beds? Is it five kids with steal or starve as their only options? Nothing is fucking right anymore!" The laugh that followed was jarring. "I don't have the luxury to believe in right and wrong. But do y'know what happens to kids like us who are born sick? They- fucking- die. So I struggle to feel sympathy for the poor prince whose mother and father won't let him dance with the big kids, and I don't care if that's wrong by your standards!"
Ronan struggled to swallow. Vito was unrecognizable, and it was somehow Ronan's fault.
He managed - eventually, when it stopped feeling like all of the oxygen had been burned right out of the air -"I won't . . . I won't tell you that you're wrong, then. But I won't take part in this."
Vito stared at him. And stared, and stared, until he said,
"Then leave."
And Ronan's world froze over.
The silence that followed was a physical thing, pressing against his ears, pushing and pushing until it forced those impossible words past his skull.
"Vito . . ." Tony said, but Ronan hardly heard her.
Vito didn't seem to, either. "You can't be half-in, Ronan."
"Vito, stop it-"
"So if you're going to continue to act like this-"
"You're going too far."
"Am I?" Vito rounded on his sister, and that was the scariest part. Ronan didn't think he'd ever seen Vito raise his voice at her. "We're all here because we work together for our fair share! This is the direction we're moving in - this is where we have to go, if we're ever going to become something - and if he's going to have a problem with every move we make, he doesn't have a place here!" He turned back to Ronan like he expected a response. "You pull your weight, or you leave."
But Ronan was still speechless.
"Isn't this a bit rash-"
"You're already on thin fucking ice, rookie." Vito didn't even shift his eyes to Amir. "I wouldn't."
"Don't you think . . ." Felix started meekly, but one look had his mouth freezing in place, halfway open.
"If anybody else," Vito snarled, "has one more goddamn thing to say about my decisions, you're free to leave with him."
The silence returned to a crowd-stunning encore, and Ronan remembered for the first time since their premier heist what a bitter defeat felt like. He looked to the sofa and saw three pained faces stricken with shock, but at the end of the day, they were all still Vito's. Nevermind how empty the threat, they would never risk it - not for Ronan.
Except-
Ronan turned around to the one person who had promised something different. Amir had gone quiet like the rest of them, but he'd also promised-
Desperate and terrified and forever the fool, Ronan all-but begged,
"I'm saying the words, Amir."
Amir looked devastated.
"Ronan, I- I can't, I . . ."
Ronan didn't need to hear the rest. He was halfway out the door when Amir called after him, and it took everything in him to keep his voice firm as he warned, "Don't follow me."
He yanked the door behind himself and lingered there, gripping the knob with his eyes squeezed shut, sucking in breath after breath until the ground stopped shifting. He didn't open his eyes until he was sure they'd be clear.
Ronan had always known Vito would break his heart. He'd already lived it a thousand times. Every single day had been another heartbreak, waking up and realizing that the feeling hadn't gone away. Being finally, irrevocably rejected by Vito felt like shutting his eyes once and for all and hurt like the final blow in a long, grueling battle - being killed by him felt like coming home.
Being tricked by Amir felt like splinters in his chest, impossible and unpredictable, catching and dragging and cutting from the inside. As if the ache wasn't enough, he had to burn with the humiliation, too.
Ronan had to be a special kind of senseless, to be heartbroken twice in a matter of minutes.
He needed to pack his things.
His bedroom door hadn't even shut fully behind him before it was caught.
"I told you not to follow-"
"Not Amir."
Ronan deflated at Tony's voice. She let the door fall carelessly behind her.
"I don't know what's going on between you two, and frankly-"
"You don't care," Ronan said, turning to face her. "Right."
She made a soft, strangled sound, like he had snatched the words from her throat and it hurt to have them thrown back at her. "Don't do that," she said, uncharacteristically quiet.
Ronan waited for something else. Tony studied him from across the room.
"I have to pack," he said.
"Don't do that, either." She started to cross the room, but stopped short when Ronan took a step back. "Stop messing around." It was tinged with panic this time, desperation just barely visible in the rounding of her eyes. Tony was rarely one to show her feelings on her face. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Why don't you say that to your brother?"
"My brother isn't the one packing his things," said Tony. "My brother is a fucking idiot who says things he doesn't mean when he's angry."
Ronan had to agree, but-
"Have you ever seen him like this, Tony?"
Her face fell.
"How would you know, then?" Ronan pushed. He was the one to step forward this time. "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me he didn't mean it?"
Tony didn't respond right away, but she did raise her gaze to his, and eventually,
"I don't-" hesitation was another rare sight on Tony, but she paused here. "I can't tell you what he meant in that moment, but I know he doesn't want you to leave. I don't think he even wants to kidnap the prince - he was just mad, and stupid, and looking for a way to test you."
Ronan wondered if she was really ignorant enough to believe that was better - she had to realize how much it hurt to be tested by someone who was supposed to love you. He moved closer still, until he was looking down at her. "What does he want, then?"
Tony rolled her eyes at that, more like herself. "You know what he wants. Tell him he's right, tell him you support his delusions and you wish you'd never gone to that festival."
"So you want me to lie?" Ronan clarified.
"God, Ronan-" she stormed up to him until they were a breath apart and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, I want you to lie. You're a thief, don't act like one little lie will do you in."
"Let's say you're right," Ronan humored. "Let's say that was all a temper tantrum, and I can go kiss Vito's feet like we've all been doing for six fucking years and it'll all be fine. What happens the next time I don't agree with him?"
"He can't make you leave," Tony insisted. Her expression remained, exasperated eyes beneath an impatient brow, but her chest rose heavier. "He cannot physically force you out, and no one else wants you to leave."
"I won't go on these missions, Tony!" Ronan raised his voice on the slim chance it would make her actually hear him. "And Vito clearly won't let me sit them out. Fuck, I don't want to sit them out - I don't want any part in this! And I sure as hell don't want to stay somewhere I'm not wanted."
"Not wanted!" Tony's arms dropped to her sides, and her indifferent mask fell away. "Vito is one person - one moronic person! What about the rest of us? What about your friends?"
"Oh?" Ronan challenged. "The same friends who fought so valiantly for me when Vito was making a fucking example of me out there?"
Tony winced. "That's not fair."
"None of this if fucking fair, Tony," Ronan seethed. "None of it has ever been fair! If your idiot brother was right about one thing, it's that we've all been handed a pretty shit deal, but- somehow I still end up with the shortest straw, and I'm- God, Tony, I'm tired. Can't you respect that?"
Ronan hadn't seen Tony cry since . . .
Ronan had never seen Tony cry.
But he thought he might've seen it then. She looked away before he could be sure those were tears welling in her eyes, not a trick of the light.
"So that's it?" she asked. "You're just going to leave?"
Yes, Ronan tried to say. I'm going to pack my bags and leave, and I'm going to regret it like hell, but I can't do this anymore.
He didn't get a word out, but Tony understood regardless. He had always loved that about her.
She whipped around, and the door slammed behind her. Ronan brought his hands over his face and breathed in deep through his nose. He rubbed his temples with four fingers each, but there was no fighting off the pressure he could feel building. He only hoped he could get most of his things packed before the headache set in.
He'd better start now.
He set off collecting odds-and-ends scattered about the room. He didn't leave many of his possessions out in the open, mostly objects he'd stolen. From the table by his bed, he took the pocket watch he'd swiped from the Turners' parlor and the gold-plated compass he'd found in a bank vault. From the dresser, the carved candleholder with the ruby gem he had kept after the masquerade and the jewelry box he'd found in the Chadwicks' master bedroom. It was a pretty thing, cherry wood carved with flowers and framed gold, but it was empty. He hadn't kept any of the jewelry inside; he'd always thought he might fill it with his own one day.
He wouldn't get the chance, now.
Ronan reached behind himself and unclasped the chain around his neck. He lay it delicately inside the box, then jammed the lock. It seemed fitting to trap one empty promise inside another.
This time, when the door opened, Ronan was already facing it, halfway between the dresser and his bed with the jewelry box clasped in both hands.
"Vito," he said, stopping in place.
This Vito looked more like the one Ronan knew, though he'd never look quite the same. He glanced from Ronan's hands to the small pile of objects forming at his bedside and the leather bag he had pulled from beneath his bed. "It doesn't have to be this way," he said.
"Glad we can agree." Ronan forced his feet back into action, but Vito made it to his bedside first and took him by the elbow.
"Let me rephrase," he said. "I don't want you to leave."
Ronan's chest gave a traitorous squeeze at the sincerity he found, first in Vito's voice, then in his eyes when Ronan braved a glance.
"You're the one who told me to go," he reminded. Tony knew her brother too well.
"That wasn't-" Vito took a harsh breath. "That wasn't how I expected things to play out."
Ronan dropped to his knees under the guise of setting down the jewelry box. "You had all of the control in that situation," he said. The wood quivered in his grasp, hidden from sight by his shoulder; he doubted he could have stood for much longer. Out of everything he resented about Vito, the power he had over Ronan had to be the worst offense. Ronan resented himself for it just as much. "I don't feel bad for you."
"I'm sorry," Vito said.
Ronan forgot preservation long enough to look at him. Vito's face was downturned and regretful, and despite every lesson he'd ever learned, Ronan had the nerve to hope. Vito knelt at his side, staring once again at Ronan's bag. "I was angry," he said. "And I wanted to hurt you. But I didn't think it would escalate like that, and before I knew it I was- well, you know. But we can fix this, can't we?"
Fix tonight, or fix everything? Ronan chewed the inside of his cheek and tried to keep his expectations low, but Vito had always been the one with all the solutions.
"How?" he asked.
"I know it's asking a lot, but I need you to tell everyone you've had a change of heart, alright?" said Vito. "Just- say that you want to be a part of this group no matter what it takes, and you understand that this is what's best for all of us in the long run."
Ronan let his eyes fall shut and leaned his forehead against his mattress and urged himself not to cry. Tony knew her brother far, far too well.
"Do you think you can do that for me?"
Ronan jerked away at the first touch of fingers at his shoulder. "Fucking-" he shoved Vito's hand and rose to his feet. "You are really good at what you do."
Vito followed him up, blinking back surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Why don't you?" Ronan asked.
Vito frowned. "What?"
"I meant every word I said," said Ronan. "So why should I be the one to take it all back?"
Vito pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. "There are four people past that door who expect me to lead them," he said, gesturing with one hand toward the door like the others were lined up outside, waiting for his next order. "I'm in a position where I have to command respect-"
"Command respect?" Ronan repeated, incredulous. "What the hell do you take this for? Who died and made you king?"
"I didn't ask for this role!" Vito cried. "I had four orphans dumped on me when I was sixteen! Do you have any idea how hard that is? This family means everything to me, and all of a sudden you keep . . . changing, and I have to do what it takes to keep it alive!"
"So the weakest must go, is that right?" Ronan accused. "How can you say you're keeping something alive while tearing off one of its limbs? Or are the members replaceable as long as the family structure revolves around you? Listen to yourself and tell me again that I'm the one changing!"
"What do you want me to say?" Vito asked. "That we don't have to kidnap the prince? Because, fuck, Ronan, fine! That was never even supposed to be- I was vague for a reason! Is that good enough?"
"I want you to tell your loyal subjects that you were in the wrong!" Ronan sneered, gesturing mockingly to the door just as Vito had.
"I'm asking you to do one thing for me-"
"One thing?" Ronan cut him off, slack-jawed with disbelief. He held tight to Vito's gaze and said, slowly, "Everything I have done for the last six years has been for you."
He stopped himself when his words started to waver. He waited until it didn't feel like his breath was running after him and lowered his voice, lest it break. "If you can't even swallow your pride for me, then what the hell am I doing here?"
Like a cornered animal, Vito switched tactics. "If you won't do it for me, do it for the others. Or are they not worth it, either?"
It was a nasty move. "You're being terrible, Vito."
Vito dragged a hand through that hair Ronan loved so much, halfway tugging it from its tie. "Christ, Ronan, then I'm sorry. I don't want you to leave," he said again, like it might work just as well the second time.
"I don't care," Ronan bit.
It didn't feel nearly as good as it should've. Ronan felt nauseous.
Vito searched Ronan's face - for weaknesses, Ronan could finally recognize - and though Ronan was sure he wore a thousand vulnerabilities, Vito seemed to have run out of ways to exploit them. Or perhaps he'd just run out of the energy to try.
The door didn't slam this time, but the room seemed to shake with it nonetheless.
Ronan could have spent eternity standing there, caught in the aftermath. Looking away felt more final than he could bear, but staying was a luxury he couldn't afford - or a trap he couldn't risk - so he turned on his heels before the soles of his feet could freeze to the floor.
Ronan kept almost everything he owned under his bed.
He had since he was a child, when space was hard to come by. He had plenty of room nowadays, but old habits died hard. It seemed awfully convenient now, to find his bags and anything he'd want to put in them all in one spot. Like he'd always been destined to leave. He recalled stories of ancient nomads traversing faraway lands, never rooted in one spot, and tried to find in them a sense of adventure. But it all seemed very lonely.
He knelt on the floor at his bedside, dragged the boxes from beneath his bed, and began to pack his things.
The nomads had traveled in groups, anyway.
There were four knocks on the door. Then, "Ronan? Can I come in?"
"You don't have to knock to get into your own room."
Ronan heard the door shut softly. A second later, a body knelt next to his. Ronan didn't look up from his packing. Felix started talking in a rush: "I'm so sorry, Ronan. I never thought he'd- it doesn't matter, I guess, but I'm sorry I didn't say more, he just- that look in his eyes, I've never seen anything like it before, and I can't-I can't lose this, I was so scared-"
"It's alright, Felix," Ronan said as he folded one of his shirts.
"-But that's no excuse, and I'm sorry, God, I've been a useless friend, and as soon as he calms down I swear I'm going to talk to him-"
"You don't have to do that."
"-and make him see sense, I don't care what he thinks of it, I'll say whatever it takes-"
"It doesn't matter."
Felix's voice was shaking. "-just sit tight for a little longer and we'll clear this up, we'll fix everything, and-"
"Felix!" Ronan snapped.
"Would you stop that?" Felix cried, pushing at Ronan's hand before he could lay the folded shirt in the bag. "Quit packing as if you're actually leaving!"
"I am leaving!"
"I'm going to fix it!"
"It can't be fixed, Felix!" Ronan shouted. He immediately regretted it as tears welled in Felix's eyes. "Just . . . give it up."
Felix opened his mouth, but his voice broke on the way out and he ended up turning his eyes up instead, blinking at the wall. The tears spilled anyway. "You want me to give up on you," he whispered. "How could you ask me to do that?"
"How can you ask me to stay?" Ronan countered gently.
Felix shut his eyes. Ronan wanted to wipe at his cheeks, but all he had was his folded up shirt, and he thought that might make it worse.
"Are you really so unhappy here?" Felix asked.
"Don't you already know?"
For a minute, the only sound in the room was Felix's trembling breath. Ronan couldn't bear it, so he tried to distract himself by folding his pants, but his hands felt clumsy. He gave up, and when he looked back at Felix, his brows were furrowed.
"What about . . ." Felix started to say, but he never finished. "Nevermind. That's selfish, isn't it?"
Ronan bumped gently against his shoulder. Felix opened his eyes and broke Ronan's heart. "It's alright. I think . . . in a way, I'm being selfish, too."
Felix leaned his head onto Ronan's shoulder and stayed there until he finished packing. Ronan's sleeve was cold and wet when he closed the last bag.
There was more that Ronan owned. More spoils scattered about the house, more garments and gadgets he'd left lying about back when he had the right. But he had his tools, and his clothes, and he thought he might lose his nerve if he wandered the house.
"Where will you go?" Felix asked as they stood.
Ronan occupied himself bending for the bags so he wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "I'm not sure."
Felix paused in reaching for one of the bags. He seemed stuck for a moment, hunched with an arm extended, before he straightened. "You're lying."
Ronan squeezed his hand tight around a leather strap. He let out a long exhale, then stood. "Vito wouldn't want you to seek me out," he said. "I won't make you choose."
And he wouldn't be able to go through with this if he was followed.
The look on Felix's face reminded Ronan of when they'd first met. Saddest eyes he'd ever seen. He was grateful, in a way, that he'd been the one to earn all of Vito's animosity. At least he knew Vito would never make Felix look like this.
Ronan's bags were heavy on his shoulders, but he denied Felix's offer for help. Felix hugged him in the doorway even though Ronan couldn't do much to return it, and didn't say goodbye.
The hallway was black and silent once the door shut between them. Ronan blinked his eyes to adjust, but he knew the house by heart; he could find his way in the dark just fine. What he couldn't have predicted was Amir waiting by the front door for him, though he maybe should've.
"Ronan," he said the moment Ronan turned the corner. He was little more than a silhouette, but the sound of Ronan's name on his tongue had become something so personal, Ronan would know it by the first letter.
For his own sake, Ronan pretended not to recognize, or even hear it.
"Ronan, please, just-" Amir backed himself against the door, forcing Ronan to stop short close enough to catch the details of Amir's face.
Ronan's heart ached. Amir spoke softly, but the sound of it made Ronan's head pound.
"Just let me-" Amir pleaded.
"You'd better take care of that kid," Ronan interrupted, kerosene dripping from his tongue. "I mean it Amir, swear to god. He's not going to come to you, so I need yo- you need to wait to make sure he falls asleep before you blow out the lights, and if he does wake you up, don't ask questions, just light a fucking candle and make sure he falls back asleep. Can you do that?"
Amir's face was lax with surprise, but he nodded nonetheless.
"Good. Then I don't give a damn about the rest."
It was a lie, the kind that didn't go down easy, but Tony had been right: one wouldn't do him in. Ronan reached for the doorknob, and Amir moved out of his way, but not without trying, "Wait, Ronan, can we just talk?"
His hand came down on Ronan's shoulder, gentle and unobtrusive, but it felt like a vice grip.
"Amir!" A tremor made it into Ronan's voice, and he cursed under his breath. Amir moved his hand like he'd been shocked. Something like twenty-four hours before, that same hand had shaken him awake.
Ronan's body burned in all the places those five fingers had touched the night before. His waist, where they'd clung tight on the back of a pegasus, and the small of his back, where they'd tugged him into a dancer's hold. The top of his spine, where they'd secured a stolen pendant around his neck.
Amir had promised to leave with him, and for less than twenty-four hours, Ronan had thought he'd known how it felt to be chosen.
"I just want to leave," he said finally, quietly. "Please just . . . just let me leave."
Amir mumbled a curse, too. He held open the door.
Ronan kept his eyes down as he stepped through. He wasn't sure what he feared more on Amir's face - hollow confirmation that this had only ever been halfway real, and he'd tricked himself yet again into believing there was anything in him that somebody could find precious, or-
Or something to suggest that Amir really had cared, just not enough.
Ronan was partway across the yard, so, so close to making it out.
"Ronan!"
He almost didn't stop. He didn't want to look back.
But Mitch called his name again, then again, louder each time - was he running? - and Ronan wasn't strong enough not to turn around.
Instead of Mitch, his eyes landed first on the house; the pull of a final glance was irresistible. He wished it were at least daytime, so he could appreciate the muddy-green walls and stained foundation. What a stupid thing to wish for.
"Take this," Mitch said, suddenly in his space, holding out-
"A saddle?" Ronan muttered. He couldn't remember who had bought the saddles, but it hadn't been him. They were only ever used for missions, to help carry their haul on pegasi.
"A saddle." Mitch extended his arms until it bumped Ronan's chest.
Mitch would never ask him to stay, and he would never apologize. Ronan hadn't expected him to step away from Vito long enough to see him before he left.
He looked painfully awkward, shifting from foot to foot as he held the saddle out to Ronan with lips pressed together. Ronan took it after the silence had stretched a few seconds too long.
"Right," Mitch said, wiping his palms on his pants. "Bye, then."
"Goodbye," Ronan returned, still reeling. It was almost too much to think that Mitch was the only one he'd said that to.
𓃦𓃦𓃦
Bandit landed on an empty gravel street. Ronan could hear slurred voices drifting down the corner - it was late enough that the only people about were drunkards and those who had nowhere else to go. Bandit was obviously antsy, but she didn't take off right away once Ronan removed the bags and the saddle from her back. She dipped her head close to his and snuffed dolefully against his ear.
"I'm alright, girl," Ronan said. Hindered by the bags, he couldn't pet her neck the way he wanted to. He settled for pressing his cheek against hers. She huffed again, nudging his face. "Fine, you got me. I'll be alright, though. I will."
She didn't seem satisfied, but the voices were rounding the corner now. Her ears flicked anxiously back and forth. "You should go, alright?"
He stepped back to give her room and halfway managed a reassuring smile. Bandit didn't look happy about it, but she began beating her wings, and Ronan watched her disappear behind shadowed clouds.
It took a couple of minutes, disoriented by the darkness and six years out of practice, to figure out where he was. But he couldn't unlearn this place, no matter how hard he'd tried.
He made his way slowly, weighed down by three bags and a saddle, but nothing could have been slow enough when he turned down a block and saw the house on the corner. It was just as he remembered: two narrow brick stories and two small windows and a dilapidated roof, identical to the house next door. Ronan braced himself, swallowing bile as it rose in his throat, and started down the street.
The door was locked, and he didn't have a key, and he almost wished that was enough to stop him.
𓃢𓃢𓃢
Song for this chapter: Robin Hood by Anson Seabra
this one was obligatory ^
honorable mention: Yours by Conan Gray
i have so many breakup songs in this playlist dedicated to ronan & vito even though they never dated & i find that hilarious. ronan kins conan fr
after the last chapter i feel a little evil following up w this but it had to happen (and we all know i enjoy being a little evil). sorry for the super slow updates, premed is not fun
to any demon slayer fans: i know there's a massive gap in severity but hear me out,, vito's family complex was lowkey inspired by the spider dude