"Alone?" Ronan barked, before he could stop himself. He clenched his fist around the key, as if to stuff it in his pocket, or, even more obtusely, to toss it away. After a moment of intense brooding, he slowly unfolded his fingers once again. The motion was like a flower blooming in the spring, albeit a little rigidly.
"Periwinkle Street," he muttered, studying the key even closer. He chuckled darkly under his breath. "Fuck that place."
Maybe it was something about how many people were around. Ronan had never done very well with large crowds. Or maybe, it was his aching leg. It hurt like fuck. Most likely, though, it was the fact that he was finally starting to process a little of everything that was happening to him, and unlike ten minutes ago, he had an audience—and a familiar one at that.
It was so much easier to fall apart when there was someone watching. So much easier to justify making a scene when Adam stood as a buffer in between his antics and his own venemous self-loathing.
He clenched his hand around the key one more time, squeezing it until the wards dug into his palm. His jaw was as tense as a vice. "Fuck it," he reiterated dangerously.
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"Periwinkle Street," he muttered, studying the key even closer. He chuckled darkly under his breath. "Fuck that place."
Maybe it was something about how many people were around. Ronan had never done very well with large crowds. Or maybe, it was his aching leg. It hurt like fuck. Most likely, though, it was the fact that he was finally starting to process a little of everything that was happening to him, and unlike ten minutes ago, he had an audience—and a familiar one at that.
It was so much easier to fall apart when there was someone watching. So much easier to justify making a scene when Adam stood as a buffer in between his antics and his own venemous self-loathing.
He clenched his hand around the key one more time, squeezing it until the wards dug into his palm. His jaw was as tense as a vice. "Fuck it," he reiterated dangerously.