dreamkid | Inspiration (Reply)

"I know you think you're a punk," Declan said, "but you aren't nearly as badass as you think you are."
"Oh, go to hell," Ronan snapped, just as the alter boys broached the rear doors.
"Guys," Matthew pleaded. "Be holy."

Matthew blew out tuna-scented breath with the sanguine, pleasant air of either a nun or a pothead. "He was just upset Dad always liked you best. I didn't care. Everybody has favorite things. Mom liked me best anyway."

With a shudder, Matthew pressed his face into his older brother's shoulder, trusting as a child. He whispered, voice slurred, "What is it?"

[...]

"It's all right," Ronan said.
Matthew believed him; why shouldn't he? Ronan had never lied.

Matthew was a loud, joyful kid, but his room was orderly and spare. Ronan used to think that this was because Matthew kept all his clutter inside his curly-haired head. But now he suspected it was because Ronan had not had enough imagination to dream a fully-formed human.

Matthew's affection was a sloppy, demonstrative thing [...]

Males of all ages called him buddy. Females of all ages called him adorable. Matthew failed at many more things than either of his brothers, but unlike Declan or Ronan, he always tried his hardest.

On the inside, the Lynch brothers were remarkably similar: They all loved cars, themselves, and each other.

Mommy and Daddy just don't love each other anymore, Ronan thought, but he couldn't say it to Matthew, who gazed up at him with the same trusting eyes the baby mouse had turned on him.