Dust

Safety (4)

Phelan didn't go to class the next day, instead spending it making sure that Ronan would be safe. He flinched at almost everything and the sight made Phelan want to murder whoever has taught him fear like that. Of course, with their childhood, it could have been any of their foster parents or siblings.

In spite of the anger, Phelan stayed still as best he could with Ronan's head in his lap. His fingers massaged Ronan's scalp the same way Phelan has done since they were little, before either of them figured out how to properly comb their curls. Back in those days, Phelan had been happy to shave it all off, if only to avoid getting dragged by his hair when he talked back.

Ronan hadn't done that. Phelan felt overprotective of Ronan every time he remembered the dry, frizzy mess. Unfortunately, a lot of those memories were stained with chubby red cheeks and eyes that glittered with tears and lashes that stuck together. And maybe a pair of oversized dungarees.

"Fey..." Ronan whispered.

Only humming his acknowledgement, Phelan leant his head back against the windowsill.

"I'm sorry."

Ah, there it was. The customary 'I can't afford to lose you so I have to keep you from being angry at me' apology. That was unfair, Phelan knew, and he felt guilty for even thinking it. Aside from that, it wasn't as if Phelan had never apologised just keep in good graces with people.

"For what?" Phelan asked.

"For-" Ronan started, but Phelan cut him off.

"For nothing. If I lost you, Ro, I'd lose all my will to live." Phelan's hand relaxed, still buried in Ronan's hair, but no longer massaging.

"Don't say that..."

Phelan stared down at Ronan then. "I love you. It's not your fault people turn out to be shitty when you're such a good person."

Ronan let out a shaky breath. "I guess..."

There was no way that Ronan believed Phelan, but the way Ronan's face relaxed and his weight sunk further into Phelan's legs meant that he was finally convinced he was safe and that Phelan wasn't angry.

Fuck that, Phelan was pissed the fuck off. He had half a mind to go back to flow with a knife, Andy, and Dawson backing him up. He knew they would. Feather couldn't fight, but she had more connections that a train station.

"Stop it," Ronan admonished. "I know exactly what you're thinking, but if you put yourself in danger, I'm going to kill you."

... not tonight then. Phelan would have to wait until Ronan left to act on his anger and by then whoever had been after Ronan would have cleared out.

The next day, when Ronan was still up Phelan's room and Phelan was cooking something for them to eat, his phone rang. He didn't recognise the number, but answered it anyway since it had the correct post code on it.

"Hello?"

"Is this Phelan?" Ah, Professor Lionel Lockson.

Phelan grimaced. This was too complicated. It wasn't as if it was a huge lie... but it was. "Oh, Lockson?"

"Yeah, I'm just calling to see how you and your brother are since you weren't in class yesterday." His tone hinted at his worry and Phelan immediately felt worse.

"I'm alright," Phelan said, scrambling the failed omelette in the pan. "I'm really sorry about the other night."

"Don't worry about it," Lionel murmured. "How's your brother?"

Phelan wasn't sure what to say to that. "He's a little shaken, but I'm looking after him so he'll be alright."

"Really? Don't take this the wrong way but it seemed like it'd be the other way around."