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The day Aurora Lynch died, Ronan had eaten cornflakes for breakfast.
Life in the Gansey household was simple, mundane. It sort of drove Ronan mad. But there wasn’t really anywhere else for him to go, unless he wanted to go back to his brothers (a hard pass) or stay with the Czerny family. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Noah’s family- it was more that Gansey’s parents weren’t home for a couple of weeks, and Ronan felt a lot less suffocated without adults breathing down his neck twenty-four to seven. Adults looked at him with constant pity, and he knew they were all thinking the same things: Poor kid. Lost his Dad just last month, Mother’s sick. Can’t catch a break.
He’d eaten cornflakes every morning since he began his stay at the Ganseys’. He still piled more than enough sugar on top (You could give a baboon a heart attack with that crap, Helen had commented on the second morning), and still drank the milk from the bowl when he was done. This horrified Gansey, who physically heaved every time Ronan did so.
The day Aurora Lynch died, they had run out of sugar.
“I’m not getting any.” Helen insisted, refusing to acknowledge the boys’ pleas. “I don’t need it. Get it yourselves.”
“You’re the only one with a car.” Gansey complained. “That hill outside is actually vertical. I’m not walking up that.”
Ronan countered this, if only to wind him up. “Come on, Dick, you love hiking.”
“What the hell? You’re the one who wants the sugar! Don’t turn on me like that!”
Ronan shrugged. He did want the sugar. “Chop chop, adventure boy, you chose this life.”
The day Aurora Lynch died, Ronan went to Noah’s house.
The Ganseys lived up an exceptionally steep hill, right on the edge of Henrietta. This particular hill was a monster of a thing, and a profound pain in the ass if one lived at the top and wanted to take a casual stroll to the corner shop at the very bottom. There was to be no casual strolling with this beast to ascend.
Ronan and Gansey had gotten to the bottom all in one piece, and had acquired the paper sugar bag their quest demanded. Getting to the top was a whole other question. The boys were
standing at the bottom, staring up, contemplating their bad choices, when Gansey’s phone began to ring. This was no surprise- people called Gansey all of the time. Everybody seemed to want to know how Gansey was doing, every hour of every day. Ronan might’ve been jealous, had he actually liked anybody else. There were about four people he could stand at any given point; Gansey, Noah, his mother and Matthew, and- as far as Ronan was concerned- that was all he needed.
“It was Noah,” Gansey announced when the call was finally over, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “His family are out for the day- he asked if we wanted to come over.”
Ronan considered the hill. Ronan then considered the twenty minute walk to the Czerny house. Sure, it would take longer to get to Noah’s house, but it was better than the ten agonising minutes it would take to trek up the hill in front of them. “I’m not walking up that.” He decided, and without even a glance in Gansey’s general direction, Ronan spun around and headed further down the road.
Ronan didn’t need to look back to know that Gansey was following. Since he’d started his stay at Gansey’s house, he hadn’t been outside. It had a little to do with not really wanting to kill himself walking up and down the hill, and a lot to do with not really wanting to run into Joseph Kavinsky. Ronan had been completely ghosting him for the past week, and it was going to be incredibly awkward if they came across each other in the freezer aisle of the corner store. Ronan knew that Gansey would be following, because he’d been on Ronan’s ass about going outside for a while now, and Gansey wouldn’t let go of this opportunity if his life depended on it. That was Gansey’s way; he’d get his friends through hell, even if it killed him.
The day Aurora Lynch died, Ronan listened to The Mountain Goats’ entire discography.
Noah’s room was an amalgamation of hobbies and music, condensed into one overwhelming expanse of posters and stacked shelves. Ronan was always somewhat surprised that, despite the clutter, it was clean. Incredibly clean. Even the carpeted floor he was currently laying on smelled vaguely of vanilla, an odd but not unpleasant surprise.
Apparently, Noah wasn’t feeling great today; his confession of the fact didn’t come as a surprise to either Ronan or Gansey, who’d both immediately caught on to the subtle rim of red around his eyes and the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep his fingers from brushing across the patch of scarred skin at his left temple. Gansey had immediately stepped into the Czerny house, just as Ronan knew he would. Gansey would never turn his back on either of his friends, just as he knew they would never truly turn their backs on him. Gansey’s devotion to Ronan made him feel sort of guilty sometimes; Ronan knew he probably didn’t deserve all of the concern and the support. Ronan could be a shitty friend, and yet. And yet Gansey always stayed, always listened, always waited.
“Oh, Gansey, you’d like these ones.” Noah was going through the CDs he’d purchased since the others had last visited, trying to find something to put on while they hung out. He pulled out a solid chunk of plastic casings from the tallest of the shelves that lined his poster-plastered walls.
“The Sunset Tree?” Ronan laughed as he read the front of one of the jewel cases. “Bit on the nose.”
Noah snatched it back, popping it open and clicking the disc into place within his CD player. “It’s by The Mountain Goats. It’s awesome.”
And so that was how they spent the morning; starfished around Noah’s vanilla-scented bedroom, listening and feeling and breathing. The wonderfully acoustic sound to it all surprisingly didn’t put Ronan off- this was nothing at all like the drum and bass he was used to, and yet he absorbed every lyric, every strum, every beat. Noah had been correct in his assumption- Gansey seemed to be enjoying it. He was sitting on the edge of Noah’s bed, looking completely lost in the music. His head bobbed softly to the beat, and when he caught on to repeating lyrics, he’d mouth them along to the tune. This was Gansey at his Gansey-est- lost to his thoughts, relaxed as anything.
Noah, on the other hand, had begun to look like he might be sick. This was, in all fairness, his usual expression- whenever he was having a bad day, he’d get this sort of distant look in his eye, this careful set to his mouth like he was worried that if he opened it, something terrible might come out. Usually, upon the appearance of this particular expression, he would leave. He had this silent way about him that often meant that nobody noticed him get up and go, but today, Ronan was watching.
The moment Noah pushed himself up and off of his bed, Ronan was climbing to his feet to catch him by the sleeve of his t-shirt before he could go.
“I have a bad feeling.” Noah breathed, not quite looking Ronan in the eye.
“Yeah, that’s called an anxiety disorder.”
Noah frowned. “No, Ronan, I-” He couldn’t seem to find the words, and his hands fluttered about for a moment, like they were trying to figure out where to put themselves. Eventually, they settled in his hair. This was usually a sign that he needed to leave, that he needed out, now, and so out they went. Gansey turned off the music behind them, gathering everybody’s jackets in his arms before he followed them out.
The day Aurora Lynch died, Gansey had helped a dying bee.
“This is so stupid. What if it gets all strong and flies up to sting you? Maybe that’s what Noah’s bad feeling is about. He can sense that you’re about to die.” Ronan stood disapprovingly beside Gansey, who was crouched down on the stones to coax the defeated-looking bee towards the puddle of sugar water he’d mixed.
“Don’t say that.” Noah snapped weakly. Usually, being outside helped. If ever they were in a crowded shop or a busy hall, Noah would disappear and they knew they would find him outside. If it was at Ninos- their favourite place for iced tea- he and Gansey would follow him out soon after, bringing their drinks to one of the outdoor tables. Noah always looked more lively as soon as they escaped.
Today, however, he couldn’t seem to shake the bad feeling.
“It won’t sting me unless it feels threatened, and I think I’m being rather nice to it.” Gansey justified. Despite the humour in his tone, Ronan could hear the anxiety behind his words. “If it stings me after I do all of this for it, I’m afraid I’ll have to sue.” Yeah, no, Gansey was definitely a little nervous about the potential sting- the somewhat rich vocabulary that he was raised with only tended to slip out when he was focused on something, or trying to keep calm.
“Have you got your phones on you?” Noah asked abruptly, eyes trained on the bee. It had finally reached the sugar water, and seemed to be basking in it.
“Left mine at Gansey’s. He’s got his, though.” Ronan settled himself on the wall beside Noah.
Gansey patted at his pockets, like he’d forgotten which held his phone. “Yeah, why? Need to call someone?”
Noah’s expression became urgent once more, just as it had been back upstairs. “What if someone needs to call you? Like- like if something bad happened…”
“Noah, man, everything’s fine. Calm the hell down.” Ronan bristled. He immediately felt a twist of guilt for snapping at Noah, but he couldn’t help it. He was beginning to feel a little uneasy, like maybe there was something off about today. Reflecting on his morning, there wasn’t anything specific that had been weird or wrong. In fact, today was good. He hadn’t felt this normal since his Dad died. Regretfully, he felt a pang of resentment towards Noah. He knew it was unnecessary, that it was so immensely unfair to be frustrated with his friend who was clearly having a hard day mentally. But still, he couldn’t help feeling bitter.
Ronan could feel Gansey’s warning gaze, but he ignored it. He knew he was being ridiculous- he didn’t need Gansey’s disappointment on top of it all.
The day Aurora Lynch died, Declan called Gansey.
They had moved on from the moment of tension, and were currently engrossed in a debate over who could descend the hill outside of Gansey’s house fastest. Ronan was mid-description regarding how his shaved head made him more aerodynamic than the others, and therefore faster, when Gansey’s phone began to rattle on the brick wall beside him. Ronan felt yet another spark of irritation when Noah’s head snapped towards it; Ronan so desperately wanted this to stay a good day. He was struggling to cope with Noah’s surety of it not being so, and it rattled him to his core that he was getting frustrated with Noah’s anxiety. He knew how unfair he was being, but he struggled to stop.
“Declan?” Gansey asked into the phone as he stepped away.
Now it was Ronan’s turn to snap his head up. Declan? Ronan immediately tried to recall the last time he’d spoken to Declan- maybe last week? He’d stormed out of the house and hadn’t been back since, despite Declan’s insistent calls and texts. Gansey had needed to plead with Ronan not to block Declan, and even then, Ronan had only refrained because Gansey had brought up Matthew in the debate. (“What if it’s Matthew?” Gansey had blurted, a last ditch effort. “He uses Declan’s phone to call sometimes. Come on, Ronan, just ignore the calls, if you really have to. Just don’t block him.”)
Ronan wondered what he’d done this time that Declan was pissed enough to call Gansey about. Oddly, he couldn’t recall anything. He genuinely had not contacted Declan at all for the past week. He found his frustration building. What was Declan calling to bitch about now? Ronan hadn’t even done anything. It was so exhausting, having his brother on his ass all of the time. He got that Declan was trying to fill in for dead Niall, or maybe for sick Aurora, but he just wished he’d stop. Ronan didn’t need his condescending older brother to be playing Dad with him.
“Ronan,” The call had ended, and Gansey was looking at Ronan with that face- the face he made whenever he was trying to be stern. Ronan dug his nails into his knees. Why couldn’t he ever catch a break, ever have a normal day without someone being disappointed in him?
“I didn’t do shit. I literally haven’t spoken to him since I left.”
“Ronan.” Gansey said again. It sounded oddly like a plea. “Aurora’s in the hospital. Declan and Matthew want you.”
The day Aurora Lynch died, the radio had played Tiny Dancer by Elton John twice in a row.
It was sort of ironic; Tiny Dancer was Aurora’s favourite song. In his head, he could see her dancing around the kitchen back at The Barns, golden curls a mess as she and Matthew spun around and around, holding hands, singing along. Declan would be sitting at the kitchen table, head buried in his revision, pretending he wasn’t mouthing the lyrics to himself. Ronan couldn’t ever work out any words other than the iconic pull me closer, tiny dancer, but he definitely enjoyed scream-singing that one line right in his older brother’s face, just to piss him off.
It was weird. He felt weird. Maybe it was Noah’s energy seeping in; they were sitting side-by-side in the backseat of Helen’s car, and Noah’s knee would not stop bouncing. Ronan might’ve gotten upset about this, if his own knees weren’t working in tandem. He wasn’t sure what he thought or felt.
In a way, he wasn’t sure why this whole situation bothered him so much. Like, he didn’t even know what was wrong with his mother. It probably wasn’t even that bad- she’d had plenty of hospital visits in the past from kitchen mishaps and twisted ankles. Maybe it was the fact that it had been Declan who called, rather than his mother. If his mother had called, he’d have known she was definitely okay. Maybe it was the fact that this was supposed to be a good day, but now it suddenly wasn’t.
Ronan wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
When they pulled into the car park, Ronan immediately saw Declan and Matthew loitering outside. Declan was standing up, typing something on his phone. He would have looked like a somewhat respectable young man, if not for the fact that he was actively committing the horrendous act of typing with one thumb and the opposite index finger. Somehow, that pissed him off more than the fact that he was so casually typing away outside while their mother was inside, in pain somewhere and utterly alone.
“That’s my brothers,” Ronan grumbled, sliding out of the car and stepping towards them.
Gansey poked his head out of the window and caught him quickly by the shoulder. “Want us to come in with you? Or should we just wait out here?”
The day Aurora Lynch died, Ronan had picked up a crossword for the first time in years.
The Lynch brothers sat in the waiting room, and none of them spoke. They’d finally gotten some information- cardiogenic shock, the nurse had said. When Declan had pressed for more, she’d simply told them that she had no more information to give them at this time, but that she would let them know when she found more.
So far, she had not let them know.
There had been two trips to the vending machines since then, and still, nothing. The brothers were getting restless. Matthew had been the only one brave enough to venture to the table in the corner of the room, the one holding books and games meant to entertain patients and their families while they waited. He’d brought back a book of crossword puzzles and a pencil… though he’d given up on that venture pretty fast, groaning and depositing the puzzles onto the floor in defeat. Somewhere between then and the next trip to the vending machine, Ronan had snatched it up and flipped to a random page.
The wait might’ve been a little more bearable if Declan stopped tapping his foot against the floor over and over and over. It was driving Ronan crazy.
Finally, he gave up on being civil (Gansey would’ve been proud of how long he tried, he thought briefly) and pressed down on Declan’s knee with his hand. Declan raised his eyebrows and pushed his brother’s hand off, but stopped anyway.
For all of five minutes.
“Shut up.” Ronan hissed, pressing on his knee with a little more force this time. “You’re so fucking unbearable.”
“Guys,” Matthew pleaded. “Be friends.”
Because Matthew had said so, and only because Matthew had said so, Ronan released his brother’s knee. Because Matthew had said so, and only because Matthew had said so, Declan stopped tapping.
The day Aurora Lynch died, Matthew had cried.
Ronan wasn’t sure when the understanding of what had happened to their mother hit him; it might’ve been when a lady with straight-cut blonde hair had called for Declan Lynch, and her face had dropped when she took in the sight of Ronan and Matthew either side of him; it might’ve been when the room they were lead to did not in fact house their mother, but rather a sofa and a box of tissues; maybe it hadn’t properly hit him yet.
Or maybe it had been when the lady told the brothers to take a seat while she closed the door behind them, and Ronan caught a glimpse of the Managing Grief poster pinned to the back of the door.
“What the fuck is this?” He demanded, spinning from the door to his brothers, and back to the door again. “Where is she?”
The lady gestured to the sofa once again. “Please, take a seat.”
“No. No, don’t sit down, Matthew. What is this?” Ronan’s heart felt like it had stopped beating. His heart wasn’t beating and his lungs weren’t breathing and the entire world was suddenly reduced to that stupid Managing Grief poster behind the door. He couldn’t find the will to fight back when Declan snapped at him to sit the hell down and dragged him down to sit between him and Matthew.
“I’m very sorry to inform you that your mother has passed away.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really; in a way, he’d known this was coming. He guessed that they all had. Well, maybe not Matthew- Matthew, who had been perfectly happy throwing himself onto the sofa just now; Matthew who now made a sound like he’d been slapped. Ronan felt sick. He wanted to leave, to get outside, to be anywhere but here. Anywhere that he could pretend this conversation wasn’t happening. But it was.
Poor Matthew had started to bawl the moment the lady started to speak again, and Ronan couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take it, all this inside of him, all this outside of him. He needed it all to stop.
Ronan did his best to tune the lady’s words out as she explained exactly what had happened to Aurora Lynch. He didn’t want to know. Instead, he busied himself with tending to Matthew, snatching up the tissues from the coffee table and making sure no snot got into Matthew’s mouth. Ronan ignored the way his hands shook.
The day Aurora Lynch died, Ronan realised he was alone.
It hit him as they sat, brothers in a row, waiting to be called in to formally identify the body.
The body.
Aurora’s body.
His mother’s body.
The Lynch brothers, now orphaned.
No more Niall- no more late nights watching old movies, no more stories of dreamers and dreams, no more ruffling his curls and telling him how proud he was.
No more Aurora- no more early mornings baking pies for breakfast, no more impromptu painting sessions on the porch, no more stroking his cheek and telling him how loved he was.
Ronan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with himself.
He picked up the crossword again.
The day Aurora Lynch died, Declan’s future was postponed.
Declan had tried to get Ronan to leave. Honest to God, he had tried.
But Ronan refused to get up until he’d finished some crossword puzzle, and Declan could not summon the will to argue with his brother. Not now. Not after he’d looked directly into the face of his newly deceased mother, just to confirm that yes, that was his mother, and yes, she was dead.
So Declan had hauled Matthew to his feet- Matthew, who had been silent for what was coming up to two hours- and promised to Ronan that if he needed anything, he could come right home. Despite everything, Declan told Ronan that he wanted him to come home.
They were halfway to Declan’s car- well, Niall’s. But Niall was dead, and Aurora was dead, and it wasn’t like either of them had anywhere to be- when a familiar voice called his name from across the lane he was half-dragging Matthew up.
Against his better judgement, Declan followed Gansey’s voice and crossed the lane.
“What’s going on?” Gansey asked, his top half leaning out of the backseat window of his sister’s car. The evening rolled in steadily, and because the ceiling lights of the car were turned on, Declan could make out the form of Helen Gansey behind the wheel, spun in her seat to face him. A boy he didn’t recognise- Noah, if he had to guess- was half leaning on Gansey, face alert. “Is she okay?”
Declan held his hand over his mouth for a moment, before bringing it up to grip the roof of the car. He bent down to the window. “She died.” He swallowed. His throat burned. “Ronan’s just finishing his crossword. Thanks, by the way, for looking after him.”
Gansey’s face slackened. His mouth wordlessly opened and closed a couple of times, before he set on, “Jesus. Declan, I’m sorry.”
“Do you need a lift?” Helen asked. “We can fit you all in, if you need it.”
Declan shook his head, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. His breath shuddered. “We’re fine. Thank you, though. Listen, I have to get Matthew home. Would you mind picking up Ronan?”
“Anything you need.” Gansey promised. His eyes were glossy. In that moment, Declan felt a stab of resentment towards the guy. What right did he have to cry? He wasn’t the one who’s life had fallen apart within hardly a month. He wasn’t the one now responsible for his two younger brothers. He wasn’t the one who had to postpone his entire life, his future, for the futures of two kids that weren’t even his.
Declan gave a curt nod and whipped around to face the road once more. He didn’t look at Matthew. If he looked at Matthew, it would be over. If he looked at Matthew, he’d sit down on the pavement and never move again.
The day Aurora Lynch died, Ronan sought out Gansey’s help.
It was stupid.
So fucking stupid.
There was one word left. One stupid, ridiculous word ending with an S, meaning release. And he couldn’t get it. He knew it was absolutely ridiculous to be upset over this- his mother has just died, after all- and yet. And yet he couldn’t resist the urge to throw the puzzle book to the floor and scream. God, he wanted to scream.
But he was in the hospital. If he wanted to scream, he’d have to leave the hospital.
Ronan picked up the puzzle.
Stupidly, he wondered if they would be upset if he took it with him. But he needed to finish it- surely they would understand. He needed Gansey to help him finish it, and Gansey was outside.
Now, he was outside of the hospital, and he still wanted to scream.
He wandered towards Helen Gansey’s car.
He found himself somewhat surprised that they’d waited for him. They should have probably gone home; it was late night now, and Noah’s family would be worried about him.
“Ronan.” The back left door of the car opened, and out stepped Gansey. Ronan thought he’d been in the front earlier. He couldn’t really remember now. Everything was fuzzy. “Are you alright?”
Ronan wanted to scream. He thought that probably was a reasonable response to the question, but he still stopped himself. It would freak Noah out, probably. Gansey and Helen, too.
So instead, he said, “I can’t get the last word.”
Gansey looked somewhat perplexed. Then he caught sight of the puzzle book clutched in Ronan’s hand, and nodded slowly. “We’ll figure it out.”
The day Aurora Lynch died, Ronan screamed.
“Catharsis.”
Ronan frowned. “What?”
“That’s the word you’re missing. Catharsis.”
As if to illustrate his point, Gansey took the pencil from Ronan’s hand and scrawled it- untidily, because the car was moving and the only light they had was from passing headlights- into the 9-letter gap.
Ronan took in the now completed crossword puzzle.
It hit him then, like a blow to the chest. He wondered if it would ever stop hurting to remember.
“My mom died.” He confessed suddenly. As if this had been a secret.
“I’m sorry.” Gansey half-whispered. As if it had hurt to push the words out.
The car hummed along the road for a few moments longer, before Ronan blurted out again.
“We left the sugar at Noah’s.”
Helen’s eyes darted to him in the rearview mirror. “We’ll buy some more.”
“No,” He wasn’t sure why his heart was suddenly pounding so hard. Maybe he’d die now too. Who would there be to attend his funeral? Declan and Matthew were all he had left. What if Declan got old and died, and then Ronan did too, and Matthew was left all alone? Who would be there to mourn his brother? Ronan thought he might be sick. “We have to get it.”
Gansey’s hand pressed against Ronan’s knee. “Ronan, breathe.”
“No,” Ronan wasn’t even sure why he was saying no. He needed to breathe, so he could live, so he could be there to mourn Matthew. Matthew deserved someone there. Matthew wasn’t even dead; why couldn’t he stop panicking about Matthew? “We need to get the sugar.”
“We’ll get the sugar,” Gansey promised. Ronan believed him. “We’ll take Noah home and get the sugar then.”
Ronan had forgotten Noah was there. Noah had been there all day, ever since this morning. This morning, when Noah had felt that sense dread. Fuck. Fuck, Ronan was suddenly angry at Noah- he’d known. He must’ve fucking known.
“I hate you.” He spat suddenly, without really meaning it. But then it was out there, and Ronan was exhausted and resentful and so fucking sad that he couldn’t hold it back. “I hate you. You and your- your fucking premonitions. This is all your fault. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been so- so- so weird all morning-”
He went on. Somewhere, he heard Gansey tell him to quit it. But then Noah’s chest started heaving and he made that fucking panicked face and Ronan felt at once so guilty for doing this to him that he just shouted.
It was a wordless yell, more raw emotion than anything he could have said.
From there, it was all fuzzy.
He was vaguely aware of the car stopping. A door opened, and then shut. Another door opened, and then shut. The ceiling lights turned on briefly, but then flickered out. Ronan just kept yelling.
He howled into his hands, and was vaguely aware of a hand on the back of his head, guiding him to the side. He howled, and he screamed, and he ached for his mother. He then howled into a chest that might’ve been Gansey’s, but really, he wasn’t sure. All he could fucking think about was the fact that he was alone.
Even though he was in someone’s arms, he was alone. Even though he had two family members left, he was alone. He felt ridiculous, reduced to a screaming wreck in someone’s arms, but he couldn’t muster the energy or the pride to push away. Ronan was so tired of trying. He needed someone else to take the reins, but that was a parent’s job, and it wasn’t like he had any of those anymore.
He needed someone to help him.
And so he let himself be held. He let Gansey hold him until his throat was raw and he couldn't scream any longer, and he let Gansey hold him until they got back to the Gansey house. He let Gansey and Helen help him, let them hand him warm drinks and blankets and words of comfort until the sun rose again.
In the days following Aurora Lynch’s death, things would be bad.
Ronan would stay at Gansey’s house for as long as he needed. This was a while. Gansey would try desperately to help him; Ronan would try desperately to avoid this.
There would be arguments; angry midnight phone calls and fistfights in the schoolyard. There would be a funeral; three boys on a pew that should have fit five in the front row of the Church. There would be a dark night; a night where the only lights were flashing red and blue, where two brothers, one by blood and one by right, would sit in silence under fluorescent waiting room lights.
Things would be bad, but that wasn’t to say that every moment was bleak.
There would be cornflakes and sugar; vanilla scented carpets and grainy CD music; orange juice and paper towns.
The grief consuming Ronan’s every waking thought would never go away. Would never get smaller. But the Ronan around the grief would grow bigger, and stronger, and life would go on. Things would change. With time, the terrible would become bad, and the bad would become neutral, and the neutral would become okay.
It would take time. But he would be okay.