Work Text:
Ronan sighed, swaying on his feet. He had spent too much time on the main floor of St. Agnes’ Church, which meant the lights in the attic slash apartment were off, which meant Adam couldn’t let him in because he would be asleep.
He was much too drunk to drive himself back to Monmouth. That left him two options: the much-more-comfortable-than-Adam’s floor church pew, or the cramped-but-still-infinitely-more-comfortable-than-the-church-pew backseat of the BMW. Neither of which he longed for as much as the cold, hard floor next to Adam’s cheap mattress.
Ronan leaned against the door, grunting in surprise when the door fell open, leaving him sprawled on the floor of Adam’s apartment.
“Ronan Lynch,” Adam murmured sleepily from beneath his nest of blankets.
“I knew it. You shouldn’t drink so much,”
“And you,” Ronan snapped snarkily, “should learn to lock your damn door,”
There was no real bite in his tone. The alcohol had taken its toll, and he hadn’t slept properly in days. He was already making his way over to the slot of bare floor next to Adam’s mattress. Adam carelessly disentangled a pillow and blanket, pushing them over the edge towards Ronan.
Adam smirked sleepily. “Sweet dreams, Lynch.”
Ronan snorted. “Night, Parrish.”