Work Text:
Late afternoon, the curl of summer heat creeping along the room as Ronan curled drained and depleted across sweat-soaked sheets. Clad only in boxers, splayed as long as each limb could reach, connecting each corner of his bed in an x with his body. Eyes closed, sunk in thought, headphones slipping further down his neck. Bone deep exhaustion kept him from correcting their descent. Even with the AC cranked, the window cracked to allow what little breeze could be mustered, the press of temperature was swampy and oppressive. What meagher energy he had left was dulled as he sunk in a sweaty puddle over his covers.
It was the creak of his door that cracked his eye open, a half hearted and minimal movement to see the source of sound. It could have been Gansey checking on his mood, or Blue asking to steal his clothes, or even Henry here to pick at his walls one more day. Sometimes, he felt a depth of disappointment when it was any of them, though he couldn't place a finger on who he wished it would be - it was a name, he knew, but it clung to the outskirts of his thoughts, just out of reach. It filled him with a hollow sort of ache, but remained elusive enough for him to willfully ignore.
Today, it was Adam, in uniform with the jacket carefully slung between his back and bag - a sign the heat was truly making its mark. His hair was windswept, symptoms of a cracked driver's window. Ronan's stomach swooped as he leaned against the door frame, mouth lifting in greeting. Though he saw Ronan’s eyes open, he knocked on the door frame for permission.
"Hey, Parrish." Ronan said, as way of granting it. "Fancy seeing you here." Neither of them had frequented Monmouth, these days. Ronan because he spent his days revitalizing in fresh air and open fields, Adam because the final crunch of the year was barreling full force his way. What little time they spent together was few and far and fought for.
Adam didn't respond, just slipped through the crack of the door and shut them both inside. Setting his bag carefully against the floor, jacket meticulously folded over top, he strode across the room in two steps and dropped front first against the mattress.
The bed plunged, the frame more than steady enough to carry what was not insubstantial height, but the force in which Adam slumped against the pillows added a heft. He hooked his feet underneath Ronan's ankles and his head curled towards Ronan's shoulder, and Ronan grew very aware of the amount of bare skin he was showing. He prickled where the line of Adam's body hadn't-quite-yet touched his. His skin felt electric where it already did. It could have been an invitation, to scoot the half inch and press skin to shirt, but Ronan wasn't sure how to accept. He had an apprehension programmed from habit to abstain.
"Tired?" He asked, instead. He rolled onto his side, slipping headphones to lay against the pillow. Adam's eyes were heavy-lidded, answering plenty on their own.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" Adam asked, knowing the question was a rhetorical one.
"What?" Ronan arched an eyebrow. Tomorrow was Saturday, which to many meant a day off. To Ronan, it was another day photo copied. "Probably... I don't know. Maybe cleaning." He was thinking more along the lines of trying a bread recipe he'd found stuffed on his parent's old bookshelf, the pages decorated and detailed in Aurora's perfectly messy script, but he wouldn't relinquish that information for free.
"Well," Adam nibbled his lip, a tic that equal parts disturbed and distracted Ronan from his thoughts.. "I have the day off. I asked for the day off, and..."
He cleared his throat, voice steadying. "We should do something."
Ronan focused, fervent, on Adam's words and the set of his brow. "Something?"
"Together." Adam said.
"We're doing something together right now." Ronan said. "If you want me to put a shirt on, just say so."
"Not necessary." Adam replied, a little too quick. His eyes darted down Ronan's chest, as if suddenly aware of Ronan's partial nudity. "I meant like, the two of us should do something. Tomorrow. Together."
"Like what?" Ronan asked.
"I'm not sure, yet." Adam admitted. "I needed to get a day off before I planned anything, and tomorrow was the only day I could get my shift picked up. So, I'm open to suggestions."
Ronan thought about that. The implication of that statement sent his brain into malfunction. "I have the ramp for the BMW, still?"
Adam considered. "Let's do something we haven't done together. Like, something special."
"Special?" Ronan raised two eyebrows, now. The incoming heat made his features sluggish, out of control. "I can think of a few things we haven't tried out together-"
This earned an eye roll and the quirk of Adam's mouth, which counted as a victory in his book. "I don't mean that. I meant..." His face took on a pinched expression. Ronan wanted to smooth the crease of his brow with a thumb, push his fingers into the hairline
"I'll think of something." Adam said, finally. His brow had done the work and smoothed out on its own. "But are you available? For when I do? Tomorrow, I mean."
Ronan huffed. "Yeah, Parrish. I'm available. Wanna give me some idea of what we're doing? Any dress code?”
"When I find out," Adam said, and brushed the side of their hands together "I'll let you know. But I'll come by The Barns, tomorrow. Afternoon. Two. No, one. I'll drive." He didn't leave room for denial, not that Ronan would try. “And wear what you want.” He added. “Seriously. You'll look good regardless.”
The compliment incapacitated any further questioning, a jolt from stomach to head and back again. Instead of responding, Ronan watched their hands for a few more minutes. Any touches he and Adam had shared over the last two weeks were like this. Adam hadn't touched him until the ring of violet had faded from around Ronan's necks and his own scabs has begun to heal. Now their skin carried only splotches of faded yellow, and Adam had been nudging closer to something resembling physical contact. It had occurred to Ronan that Adam would take time to want touch in the first place, and he should let him close their distance, and he shoved aside the surge of want that roared in his chest. Under all his bluster and wants and urges, there was a deep seated fear that moving too fast, came on too intense, would send the other running.
"You work?" He croaked out, shoving that train of thought into the recesses of impulses that he fought daily. "I can drive you?" He didn't bring up how this would turn into a car-peddling exercise. A ride there, a ride back. He would convince Adam to stay the night, or to let him stay at St. Agnes. It’d be more practical that way, he was sure he could argue that angle. Practicality indeed has its uses.
"No, no that's ok." Adam's mouth lifted with a fatigued joy. "Just... Can I sleep here, for a bit before? Just an hour." His blinks were languid sweeps of his lashes. Ronan's thoughts caught on the puff of hot breath over his cheeks. He smelled like deodorant and laundry soap. He had a brief thought of burying his nose against his shirt. Or switching to the same soap to save himself the trouble,
"Yeah." Ronan said, shoving yet another impulse down. He dug under his pillow, his comforter, before finding his phone wedged between the wall and mattress. He checked the time, and the low battery. "I'll wake you." He declared.
"Thanks." Adam said, eyes already closed.
He was asleep in seconds. He didn't fight sleep like the rest of them - to Adam, sleep was more a distant friend, who never called or texted, but their presence was welcome all the same.
Ronan wouldn't admit it, later, but he watched for a while. The thin skin over his eyes, the pressure that eased from his forehead, the natural downward curl of his mouth. Ronan had the urge to run his thumb over the beginnings of stubble along his jaw. Would that be okay? Is that allowed? He always wanted to ask, but the question weighed heavy on his tongue. What could he do, or say, or try that didn’t startle or overstep or raze the fastidious distance they’d both established.
Ronan closed his eyes and feigned sleep, let silence wrap around them. He let the mirrored body heat soak into his limbs, and allowed his thoughts to roam.
He didn't know where they stood, these days. It wasn't an uneasy lack of knowledge, the way it had been before. With stolen gazes, snuck hungrily in infinite seconds. Hours at Nino’s were now spent pressed shoulder to shoulder, too close and warm to be accidental. Car rides were shared, whether a convenient shotgun or packing in the backseat with knees bumping and arms brushing. Afternoons at the Barns were filled with weighted eye contact and shit-eating grins. Nights after work, when Ronan didn't give much ground for any debate, were packed with temptation.
It wasn't a lack of desire , he knew that. Adam had been plenty obvious, that night at The Barns. Ronan had too. The sudden shift from that heady, heated desire to giddy hand grazing and fucking Austin-esque staredowns were giving him whiplash. It made his stomach weightless and his cheeks warm in a way he wasn't used to. And it was as if Adam did it on purpose. With a little quirk of his lips like he knew his body little knee against Ronan's was making him swoon or whatever period piece terminology it was.
He narrowed his eyes at Adam's sleeping form, counting the seconds between the rise and fall of his chest. Ronan's irritation took hold in the dips and creases that painted this particular picture. When Adam twitched, suddenly, a jerk of his head and scrunch of his nose, Ronan bunched his fist and imagined slamming it against a nearby wall. There was the urge to reach over and rest an arm on Adam's shoulder, or to curl closer and rest his head against his torso. But there hadn’t been an indication made that he could do that. It was maddening to debate, and draining in light of everything they'd done to get here. This should've been easy in comparison.
After so much time spent looking, it was a nightmare to take action.
Though he wasn’t ready to sleep, the quiet and steady rhythm of Adam’s breathing brought him adjacent to dreaming. He was not lulled to sleep so much as he danced alongside it, mind quiet and at ease.
He laid like that until it was time to go.
==
The next afternoon, after a morning spent idling and timing and half starting all proposed side project for the day, Ronan had caved and resigned himself to staring at his wall until there was a justified balance of time to get ready.
And of course, Adam was annoyingly punctual.
Five minutes early, actually. His driver door propped open to sweep in extra breeze. This would have been nice, really, if Ronan hadn't been waiting for ten, biting the bands around his wrist and pacing the room.
He spent a second wondering if looking too eager was some social transgression, then decided he didn't care and walked out anyway, slamming the door to really accentuate his nonchalance.
“You're ready early.” Adam pointed out, because he was an asshole like that.
“Pot, kettle.” Ronan kicked his shoe. “You were waiting.”
“Traffic was good.” He returned, the picture of indifference.
Ronan didn't have a rebuttal for that, because that was a good excuse. One he didn't believe, but whatever stalemate they were in wasn't his to lose.
“Where are we going?” He asked, eyeing the grocery bags in the backseat. “TP-ing the gymnasium? Vandalism. You know the way to my heart.”
Adam smiled, looser than it had been yesterday. He looked good , like a damn vintage clothing ad. His hair was neat, brushed and freshly clean. His shirt was new, a vibrant shade to match the bright blue of his jeans. Ronan filed that away, for later. He'd put in an effort, which would be fun to hold over his head eventually. Adam swept his eyes up and down Ronan's (admittedly cleaner-than-usual) outfit, not bothering with discretion. It sent a jolt up his spine.
“Take a picture.” Ronan said, “Creep.”
“Get in the car.” Adam said, in lieu of a response.
Ronan got in the car.
==
You're being cryptic as shit,” Ronan pointed out, twenty minutes down the road. Adam was relaxed, arms loose on the steering wheel. Ronan was hoping he'd try it one-armed, though Adam's adamant driving positioning meant he wouldn't dare try. Not wanting to risk the ticket, he sat at a diligent ten and two. But the drift of the wheel as he had reversed out the gravel drive had been plenty retribution, the steady confidence as it grazed his palms and the jut of his knuckles when he pushed the gear-
Point was, Ronan didn't typically enjoy shotgun. The passenger seat never lit his nerves on fire, didn't jumpstart that delightful shot of adrenaline which typically drove Ronan's choices. And it didn’t keep him from tracking every one of Adam's movements like he was going to cartograph the line of his shoulders and dip of his collarbones under a thin shirt.
“Not cryptic,” Adam said. “You'd know if I was being cryptic.”
“How do I know you aren't taking me out to quietly dispose of the body?” He bit back, “I have an appointment tonight, you know.” The appointment involved forcing Opal into some kind of hygienic practice, and he doubted she'd notice if he was late. Hell, she'd probably sing and dance with joy. Lately, the sight of the hose sent her scrambling.
“I wouldn't kill you. ” Adam provided, helpful as ever. “Too many people would notice. I'd pick a much better target.”
Ronan felt equal parts insulted and flattered. “I’m not a good enough murder victim for you?”
“Don't be jealous.”
“I'm not jealous.”
“I'm saying I'd murder someone else.”
“You'd murder another man over me.”
“I'd let you help.” Adam was smiling, again. He did turn, slightly, to reach an arm back and grab a plastic bag. “Check these, then. No shovels, no duct tape. Unless I’m creative, I couldn’t kill you if I wanted to.”
Ronan did lean back and check, though he doubted there'd be any such thing on word alone. He had the offhand thought Adam probably could lead him to a ditch and he'd just accept it and lay in his grave. Trust was dangerous like that. Not that he minded.
“Peas?” He asked, rifling through the supermarket bag.
“Frozen peas.” Adam corrected, like the semantics mattered. “Better than bread.”
“For what? ”
“Ducks.” Like it was obvious. Which it wasn't but Adam had a way of saying things, sometimes, like Gansey did. Like everyone should be on the same train of thought. It hadn't always been a quality of his diction, but a borrowed tone tuned and adjusted to Adam's speech. Dictating when required Ronan dig deep and contemplate how many traits Adam and Gansey shared. Which might be a mood killer - and if it wasn’t that was an even more troubling train of thought.
“Ducks?” Ronan repeated.
“They like peas.”
“They also like corn.”
“There's corn, too.” Adam waved a hand to the bags. “See?”
There was corn, too.
Adam let that sit for a few minutes, humming as he merged lanes. They were zipping along an actual road, now, bracketed by forests and electric lines. It was a sign of civilization, at least, so the murder theory was once more disproven.
“We're feeding ducks.” He finally provided. Ronan raised an eyebrow.
“You have a day off and you want to spend it feeding ducks?”
“With you.” Adam said, turning to the window the hide the flush of pink along the shell of his ear. “So, shut up. If this is so bad, you can plan the next...”
He trailed off, and his cheeks joined the sudden symphony of colour.
Date. He had meant to say.
Ronan felt himself heat up too. Which was stupid. They'd been shirtless and making out in his childhood home a little over a month ago. This should've been a cakewalk in comparison.
It wasn't.
Neither of them said it, but the sudden reality of this being a date caused a swell of panic. He suddenly worried he was underdressed. Or overdressed. Was he supposed to be dressed?
“So you're kidnapping me to go feed ducks. On a Saturday.” He said, to distract from that perpetual train of thought.
“I figured Sunday was already filled.”
“Your priorities are skewed.” Ronan said.
“I'm not going to intrude on your date with God.” Adam rolled his eyes, “Besides, you'll just come up after service anyway.”
Ronan had no rebuttal for that. “What's next? Bread to pigeons on a Tuesday?”
“Bread is bad for pigeons.”
“You know a lot about birds.”
“I know a normal amount about pigeons.” He took a hard left, wincing as they were jostled to the side. It was a sign, once more, that Adam was more nervous than he was letting on. His constraint served him well, withdrawal from all facial indicators. It left Ronan reading between the lines.
Adam brought the car to a stop, slanted along a line of gravel and grass. There weren't any parking spots, but it was a messy job all the same.
“Never learn how to park?” Ronan grinned.
“I'll lock you in and make you watch me do this on my own.” Adam laughed, anyway, and got out. “Stay there.” He called through the open window, rapping his knuckles against the rim.
Ronan scowled, but stayed put. He watched as Adam gathered the plastic market bags, the flex of his forearm as the weight was transferred. “They can eat bread.” He said, raising his voice to call from outside the car. He stopped in front of the passenger seat, smiling down at Ronan. “But frozen peas are healthier.”
“So we're gatekeeping the health and safety of the ducks? Peas are healthier for me, doesn't mean I want to eat them.”
Adam opened the door for him, “Bread doesn't have any nutrients. All filler, no substance.”
Ronan raised another brow at the gesture, but got out all the same. “I can open doors for myself.”
“Hush.” Adam handed him a bag. “You can carry this. So you feel productive.”
They walked down a dried mud path, cracked from the swelter of late spring, bickering back and forth as Ronan struggled to grasp why they're in the middle of absolutely nowhere to feed ducks. He was pretty sure ducks were everywhere, not just down further from hick town Virginia.
Still, Adam had decided to take charge and plan some elaborate outing. Whatever this it was felt significant, even if he is being cryptic as shit.
“Riverbank.” Adam said, when they arrived. He set a bag down and swung his legs to dangle against a damp rock. “Its shallow, too. Bad for disposing of bodies. In case you're worrying.”
Ronan barked a laugh at that, joining him on the outcrop of stone. It was quiet, for a river. Even with the water rushing, there was a dampening of sound as if time slowed to accommodate the stream, knew minutes and seconds were precious and scavenged by their species. He found himself pressing their legs side by side, the heat of the contact shooting straight along his hip.
“So,” Adam pried open one of the bags of peas, careful not to rip. “They're better a bit thawed. We can do it with fruit and such, too, but peas are easier to get to them.” He shared the information like a parent would to a child, and Ronan wondered if it was a copied speech.
“Hand sanitizer, first. And after. Especially if you feed them by hand.” He continued, wiggling a travel-sized bottle in the air. “Which they might not let you. So I brought cups. Just in case.”
“Paper cups?” Ronan picked up a sleeve. They were biodegradable. “Sargent gave you these, huh?”
“She had extra.” Adam waved him off, “Something about how they have reusable tupperware.” He poured a substantial amount of peas in each cup. “You've fed ducks before, right?”
Ronan had fed animals before, obviously. But despite the endless catalogue of animals rotating in and out the Barns, he couldn't remember any duck-related anecdote. “I've fed chickens. And horses.”
Adam pulled a face, “Its not too different. I think. It's... more wet, probably.”
It was Ronan's turn to pull a face.
“Yeah, you wouldn't like that.” Adam’s face nudged into a smirk. “Can't imagine you've got much experience with wet things.”
“Very funny. I'll push you in the river.” He threatened.
“Creative solution.” Adam set a cup by Ronan's foot. “Getting me wet doesn't solve the problem. Look.” He pointed.
There were two ducks circling by nearby rocks, tentative, adolescent fowl with streaks of green and mottled brown feathers. Adam was watching them, so Ronan did too, taking the opportunity to scoot a little closer.
“I'm gonna set the cup down,” Adam said, slowly moving a cup of peas on a rock a few steps below, half crawlimg. He poured a handful of peas on the stone surface, then backed up with equal precision. It was an elaborate and practiced ritual, one Ronan associated with picking up stray cats in the backyard and the ravens he and Matthew used to toss peanuts at. A ritual that required a great deal of patience, the kind Ronan reserved exclusively for animals.
They watched the bigger of the two ducks, it's entire head a vibrant viridian, waddle up the bank. It pointedly looked at the pair a few feet away, then back at the peas. Adam was still as a statue, though decidedly not tense. Ronan kept a similar stance, the stillness easy when the air smelled like nearby trees.
It felt like thirty or five minutes when the duck had finally assessed the lack of malicious intent, and began nibbling at the offered vegetables with vigor.
“See?” Adam grinned, “They like peas.”
The expression was youthful, more so than Adam typically exposed. It didn't so much as deage him as it brightened him, added stagelight to photography.
“They like peas.” Ronan picked up his cup, and, keeping careful watch of the bird, scoot a little closer. He kept the cup tipped forward, exposing it's contents. He was slow enough, or the duck was used to people, because it didn't tense much at all. Just watched him with his little paper cup.
“I'm gonna feed it out of my hand.” He decided. He stopped at a rock just above the duck, suddenly very aware of his eye contact. Or lack thereof. He fixed his gaze distinctly on the water, instead.
“I think it'll let you.” Adam said.
Ronan did, then, pour a bit of peas in his hand. He made a bowl with his palm, keeping both tipped within eyesight. When satisfied with the portion, he offered his palm downward, feigning disinterest. It was an attribute of Ronan’s animals tended to enjoy, that deliberate lack of interest.
The duck did, indeed, allow this. It took a few minutes for it to waddle over and analyze the food in his hand, jerking its head back and forth, before diving in.
The sensation wasn't necessarily unpleasant, no more so than feeding a horse or cow or even Chainsaw when he didn't know better than offering bare hands. It was wet, in a distinctly different way because the wet wasn't slobber, it was squeaky. It was also sharp, and fast, the flash of teeth against skin unintentionally brutal. It was peculiar, thought not in an especially abrasive manner.
“Knew it.” Adam snorted. “Jesus. It took me like... three trips to get them to eat from my hand, you know?”
“Its my winning personality.” Ronan offered, immediately pouring more peas in his hand. The duck eagerly dove in for more. “I'm gonna keep this bastard.”
“That's illegal.” Adam said, without bite.
Ronan grunted in response, already knowing he would leave the duck. He wasn't in the business of taking anything that didn't want to go. “You participating?” He asked.
Adam didn't respond, just moved down the bank to offer his hand to the younger duck. It took a little longer, but it climbed up all the same and went at Adam's hand.
“Ow.” Adam said, flatly. “I forgot how violent it is.”
“I thought you did this a lot?”
“I don’t make a habit of this. You think I have the time?” Adam rolled his eyes, pouring twice as many vegetables in his hand. “I used to feed ducks here with my mom.”
Ronan did his best not to react. He kept his gaze pointed at his new friend, who squawked for more food. Greedy bastard.
Adam didn't expect a response, evidently. He kept on once he registered Ronan wouldn't push forward. “Before middle school, I mean. So it's been a while. But it was nice. We did it once a week, or when we had the time.”
It was an unspoken rule not to pry into Adam's family business, no more than was necessary. Even then, it wasn't their group's job to decide what was necessary. Ronan didn't ask, ever, mainly because there was a very selfish part of him that never wanted to hear. But the emotion simmering below Adam's words didn't feel bad. It was tinged with something deeper, not quite fond or sad. You could call it wistful, though Adam rarely spoke that way, so the sound was foreign in his candor. It was his homesickness, the one Ronan felt on his more solemn nights.
“You don't talk about your mom.” Ever. Really. Ronan left room for Adam to approach. He kept his voice even.
Adam was smiling at the duck, and his voice carried the smile in its cadence. “Not a lot to talk about. She wasn't really there all the time. We stopped once I got too old. Too much gas, not enough time.”
Niall Lynch had been distant, but only in feet and miles. He'd been there when it counted, sometimes overly so. Ronan hadn't registered his absence until he was dead. Every part of him felt his father's presence as a child, like they were the same person. His mother was similarly there, in all the ways it mattered.
“That sounds nice.” It was a weak prompt. Ronan offered, “One time my dad taught me cow tipping. My mom was mad. I think she made him sleep on the couch.” His mother didn't really get mad, just disappointed. Her dial just got turned down a few notches. It was hard to explain the manner in which Aurora's could induce shame with a look and a few choice words.
Adam laughed. “Cow tipping did it, huh?”
“It was the mud we tracked in, actually.” Ronan admitted. Sharing his father's stories always felt like pulling weight off his chest. It was nice to detail him to an unfamiliar ear. “But he and I did that a lot.” He blamed a lot of his early delinquent practices on his father, actually. It felt good to see the grin and the shake of Niall’s head when Ronan repeated his own youth.
“You guys were close.” It wasn't a question. Ronan figured that was a given. They were close. The thought made something lodge in Ronan's chest. Not grief. It felt heavier, somehow.
“I don’t think I existed when he was around.” Ronan said, then registered those words. “I mean, I felt a little less me and more like... magic. He made things magic.”
“Is that a good thing?” Adam asked. His tone was notably even. Cautious.
“What does that mean?” He tried to keep the bite from his voice, but something in that line of questioning felt like poking a bruise - one he hadn't located yet, but kept bumping into objects around the house. Deep grey-purple, lined with the green of partial healing. That broken bone had never been properly set.
“I meant...” Adam pursed his lips. He was now staring down the duck, unblinking. He looked down first, which seemed to placate its steadily rising feathers. “Sometimes you talk like you felt less human around him. More like a folk tale. Which isn't always bad. That's up to you. It's just something I noticed.” He met Ronan's gaze, eyes bright, sharpened, tempered steel. “I'm not psychoanalyzing you. I just noticed it.”
Ronan didn't really know how to respond to that, or how to register it at all. Adam was poking tender skin. Ronan had to keep himself from snarling, leash himself without anyone to tighten the strap.
“I don't know.” He said, instead. “I hadn't thought about it.” Admitting that felt dangerous.
Adam didn't respond. He let that hang, the discomfort thick but permissable. Ronan took it for the invitation it was. Adam broke eye contact first, and shifted back on his hands.
Ronan admired the muscles the sprung from that new strain. He felt less uncomfortable with staring, now. He felt less uncomfortable with Adam noticing.
“You should teach me cow tipping.” Adam said, suddenly. His face cut into a grin, sharper than his usual.
“Next Saturday.” Ronan grinned back. He cursed softly when the duck bit him in protest of an empty hand.
Adam turned to the forgotten backs, depositing his now empty bag of peas. He did so carefully, not to startle the duck. It would take a lot, Ronan figured, as the bird settled comfortably by Adam's hip.
“Corn?” Adam offered.
“Hand sanitizer.”
He took the bottle with a grateful nod, trying not to overthink the way Adam's hands lingered, left a buzz of nerves over wrist. With a twist, he cupped Ronan's palm as he pressed it between life lines.
Ronan wondered if Adam would let him apply hand sanitizer for him. He didn't ask, but he passed the bottle over with an intentional squeeze.
They settled into silence again. Ronan watched his duck. Adam was half laying in the grass, profile lit. Water caught and refracted, pools of champagne bubbling in the direct, scathing delights of Virginia summers.
Thanks.” Adam said, suddenly. “For coming with me.”
Ronan watched him again. “Duh. Like I'd say no.”
That made Adam smile, again, a nearly imperceptible twitch of his cheek.
“Well,” He laughed. “I'll remember that.”
They took longer walking back to the car than was excusable, partially because Ronan decided to upchuck the bag of corn in the river and Adam spent a good ten minutes chewing him out. The other part was because in response to “that could've been used next week - shut up, I could've eaten that!”, Ronan had dipped his cup in the water and flung it Adam's way. Which resulted in Adam reciprocating in equal measure, and reached its conclusion when they'd both been properly soaked. Adam kept trying to scowl, the effort beaten away in between cackles of Ronan’s laugh, sharp and piercing and rambunctious across the afternoon's sedation.
“I don't have towels.” He said, eyeing his seats, pristine as secondhand seats could be. Adam excelled at giving the rundown new breath.
“The car will live.” Ronan said, “Its seen worse. Actually, I think the water will help.” He kicked the tire, satisfied at the thump metal boot made against rubber.
“Fine.” Adam said, but didn't get in the car. He was staring at the hood determinedly, a grim expression written in his brow.
Ronan raised an eyebrow. “We can wait if its gonna get your panties in a twist, damn. I didn't think-”
“I really want to kiss you.” Adam interrupted.
Well, that was a surefire way to shut him up. Ronan opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again. Tapped his hands against his thighs. Adam's eyes jerked to the movement, lingered.
“You don't have to do anything about it.” He continued. “I just... I don't know.” He shrugged.
“I...” Ronan searched his brain for something more eloquent than fuck yeah, let's make out right now. Eloquence left the room when it came to Adam's attentions. “Why are you asking?”
“It's polite.”
“Polite?” Ronan scowled at Adam, who was kicking a patch of grass, a practiced indifference. “Why are you being polite? You didn't ask when you...” He felt warm all over, against the chill of the tank.
“I'm trying to,” Adam's eyebrows were tensed, knit in thought. “I don't know. I just know you should ask before doing things. When you're...”
They made eye contact, again. Adam's eyebrows spoke of discomfort, his mouth pressed in a thin line of restraint.
“When you're...?” Ronan prompted.
“Dating?” Adam winced immediately. “Is that dumb?”
“It’s not dumb.” Ronan immediately barked out. “I mean... yeah, it sounds a little dumb but not because it's... not because...”
Adam's eyes followed the bands on Ronan's wrist as they met his mouth. He felt jittery, discombobulated, all nerves and atoms bouncing, rattling, aching to breach containment.
“It doesn't feel...” He tried to find a good word, a Gansey word, maybe. Hell, he'd take a Henry word. Probably had a repertoire of words for this confluence of emotions. “It doesn't feel big enough. That's all.”
He watched Adam register that, the way his stare detached, outside his body where he always went trapped in thought. He watched him watch the horizon line, where the sun had begun to drift downward, ruddy brushstrokes piercing over crystal blue. He watched the ease enter his shoulders, the way his fists relaxed, uncurled.
“Oh.”
They watched each other.
“I don't date a lot.” Adam said, after a beat. “Like... I know me and Blue-”
“The less you bring that shitstorm up, the happier I'll be.” Ronan grumbled.
Adam frowned. “What?”
“I don't need to be reminded of that, that's all.” Ronan found a loose fleck of leather and needled at it, flaked it off in scales, freckles of well-loved material. “It wasn't exactly fun to watch.”
Another beat.
“Is it because she's a girl?” Adam asked, carefully. “Because if that's a problem-”
“No,” Ronan felt like he was sliding downward, on what he didn't know. But it was an uncontrolledable descent, slippery and anarchic and he'd like to not be doing that right now. “No that's not... hell no. I don't care that you like girls. I don’t care about that. Just wasn’t fun to see, considering.”
“Oh.” The unspoken eased Adam again. Ronan felt himself regaining footing. A bit.
“I haven't dated, either.” Ronan said, hoping for something to bring back the afternoon's easy atmosphere. He was wet and suddenly aware of how heavy and warm black clothes got in the sun, how weighted and overstimulating the drag of fabric was. “At all, actually.”
“I figured.” Adam said.
Ronan wondered if he should feel insulted. He didn't, not really. He figured out a while ago he was a species that was attached for life. It wasn't an insult to his pride to admit.
“Like I was saying,” Adam pressed on. “I only know stuff I was told to do. None of it is like... experience. It's just stuff people told me to do. For dates. Like... flowers and opening doors and planning dates.” He threw a hand towards the river. “I don't do this a lot. I haven't. And it's not like there's a book on the right way to go about dating your friend. Especially your guy friend. When you're a guy. I don't know if this is how to do it.”
Ronan considered that. It wasn’t that he didn't get the sentiment. But the idea of doing something the “right” way hadn't ever been ingrained. “I don't think you're doing anything wrong. I like what we do.” He said, in lieu of an answer. “I don't know, either.”
Adam tugged at a strand of hair by his neck. “Sorry. I don't know why... I just didn't know if it translated. And I didn't want to like... insult you by doing some whole thing. Like some rehearsed dating textbook thing. I don't even know if you like flowers.”
Ronan didn't know if he liked flowers. “I'd like flowers if they were from you.” He said, quietly. “But I get what you mean.” He frowned, suddenly. “Hang on, is that why you keep opening doors for me?”
“Yes.” Adam answered, immediately. He held out his hands, like he was presenting a school project. “But that wasn't intentional. At first. But you didn't complain and I like doing it.”
“I like that you do it.” Ronan said. “I wouldn't mind opening doors for you, too. It'd heal my fragile masculinity.”
Adam cracked a smile. “I didn't want to say it like that.”
Ronan sucked his teeth. “I don't think we should bother doing things a proper way. It doesn't feel right.”
“Like...”
“I like spending time with you.” He said. “I like when you just come over and sit in the same room as me, or you just take a nap. Or you come over to the Barns and make fun of me while I work. Or just driving you places.” He inclined his head to the river. “I like this, too. And I'd like to kiss you, too.”
“I wasn't sure.” Adam said. “You don't take any hints.”
“I got the hints.” Ronan scowled. “I thought i was reading into them, at first. And then I thought you were just easing into things. I wanted you to go at your own pace.”
Adam processed that, for a minute.
“I'm worried my pace might be a lot.” He said. “To be honest, I don't think you can go too fast for me, or whatever.”
“You didn't touch me after...” Ronan pursed his lips. “After all that shit went down. I was worried you were beating yourself up. Which is dumb, by the way. I thought we established that wasn't you.”
“We did.” Adam agreed. “And I did. Beat myself up, I mean. But after that I just... thought I'd let it happen organically. Or whatever. Like, when it happens it happens.”
“Instead of jumping me?” Ronan grinned.
Adam kicked him half heartedly. “I wouldn't say jump you. ”
“You can.” Ronan offered. “Seriously. I won't complain. The opposite, actually.”
“That's not the same thing as wanting me to.”
Ronan stopped, then. His breath caught, and he fought to keep his expression clear. He didn’t want to think about that, because that particular box had been packaged, taped tenfold, and shoved in a closet and a lock. Adam’s words fiddled with that cautious compartmentalization. He knew Kavinsky and his... whatever it was, had not escaped notice. And he knew Adam knew. About the pictures, the hands and touches he’d barely registered in that summer clad haze.
Adam picked that up. Because of course he did. “Ronan?”
“I'm fine.”
Adam watched him think.
Ronan considered. He looked at Adam's hands and his collarbones and the faded cornflower blue of his eyes, edged and piercing as they dissected his every motion, human turned scalpel.
“I want you to.” He said, after a minute.
Adam tilted his head. “I think we should talk about that first.”
“What?”
“You froze up.”
“I was thinking.” Ronan could see the gears turning in Adam's head. “I just... you're thinking the wrong thing, whatever it is.”
Adam’s expression didn't change. “Ok.” He said. It did not sound okay. “But I do think we should talk about things before we do anything. Even if we both agree we actively want to.” The word choice was meticulous, Adam's voice measured like he was terrified to inflect. Walking on eggshells.
“Ok.” Ronan ground his teeth together.
Adam reached over and touched the edge of his jaw. He pressed into the hinge, light as air. “I didn't want to upset you.”
Ronan leaned into it. “You didn't.”
Adam raised an eyebrow.
“You didn't. ” He insisted. “It's not you.”
“Ok.” Adam softened. He spread his hand and ran his thumb over Ronan's cheekbone. “I just don't want to do anything to mess this up.” He admitted. “I really like you.”
“I like you too, dipshit.” Ronan said, and grabbed at the hem of Adam's shirt. He scoot closer from the force of it. “If that wasn't obvious.”
“It is.” Adam said, gravely. “You're bad at hiding things. Never play poker.”
Ronan wanted to grab his hand from where it hung at his side. “I'm not that bad.”
“You absolutely are.” Adam laughed. “God, not a subtle bone in your body.” His nails scratched against the back of Ronan's neck. His voice was unapologetically fond.
Ronan grabbed his hand. “You won't mess anything up.” He said, quiet. “I won't either.”
It sounded a lot like a promise.
Adam took it like one.
“I...” He cleared his throat, “I don’t know how long you felt that way about me. To be honest, I had an idea. But I didn’t...” He wet his lower lip. “I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Ronan tried not to scowl too hard, to reject the vulnerability with his bite.
“You’ve liked me a while.” He did not grant room for questioning. “I think I have too. I didn’t know. Or I didn’t want to think about it. Or...” He shook his head, as if it would dispel the line of thinking. “I just worry you’ve had more time. To reconfigure it all.”
“What’s there to reconfigure?”
Adam hummed, brought a second hand to idly play with Ronan’s. He was fixed on the action, eyes and hands dedicated to tracing the callouses and palm lines. Were Ronan not aware of his brand of ability, if it remained, he’d assume this was a free reading. Whatever answers he sought out in the appendage, it seemed dissatisfying.
“Friends and boyfriends are different.” He said, when finished his inquiry. “And not like... it means more, or anything. It’s... just different. You know it is.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Ronan frowned more openly, “I said that. We can stay the same. But we can kiss now, which is nice. Big fan of that one.”
He got a snort for that. It was a delightfully hideous noise. Ronan wanted to bottle it up and play it on a loop.
“I guess I just need to make sense of things, when the context changes.” Adam stared over Ronan’s shoulder, distant as if he’d left his body. It resembled his face while scrying, though this was more like he was reading a particularly perplexing passage in class. Ronan had studies the expression enough to tell.
“Do you want to...” Ronan swallowed, “I mean, we could... take a break.” He did not want that, and it was written in every severe line of his body.
“We just agreed not to mess anything up.” Adam sighed, “I don’t want to do that. I want to figure out what we’re doing. But it is different. And we both know it.”
And didn’t he. For all Ronan wanted, it was undeniable that change set him on edge. Too much up in the air, here, for him to feel truly stable with this in between. For all the butterflies, there were equal impacted winds.
“And this is because I’ve liked you for longer?” He asked, instead of arguing. Though he wanted to. Argue what, he wasn’t entirely sure.
“You don’t know that-”
“I have.” He affirmed, “But it doesn’t matter.” At Adam’s befuddled expression, he pushed forward, “That was my first kiss.”
“I know.” Adam said. “I could tell.”
“Okay, first of all, fuck you for that.” Ronan said, with very little heat. “Second of all, that doesn’t make you better than me. Or ahead of me.” He considered, “Maybe a marginally better kisser, at first. But obviously I’ll overtake you soon.”
Adam scowled, “I haven’t kissed many people. Like... one girl in middle school. She tasted like orange juice.”
"Gross.”
He got a shrug in response. “Still.”
“Then what the fuck are we stressing over?” Ronan grabbed Adam’s other hand. “I feel like we have worse things to panic about.”
Adam’s expression said that was a fair assessment, and he took both Ronan’s hands in his own. “I mean, technically speaking-”
“Don’t get technical, I’m being vulnerable and shit.”
“Technically speaking, this is our first time dating each other.” Adam barrelled on, “And that was our first kiss.” He grinned, “Which puts us on a level field.”
“It bothers me you’re keeping score.” Ronan pointed out.
“If I was keeping score, I’d be winning.” Adam jerked his head in the direction of the riverbank, “I planned this. That ranks pretty high on the boyfriend scale.”
“Do you want like a report card?” Ronan wrinkled his nose. He was deeply against incorporating that level of academia in his personal life. It was a distinctly unsexy notion.
“Written assessment by next week,” Adam said, “Times New Roman. Twelve point. Standard.”
Ronan was beginning to worry he’d have to reconfigure his feelings on academics. “And what about when I plan dates?”
Adam tipped his head. “If its good, you can watch me drive your car.”
“That’s more a you reward.”
“I doubt that.”
Once again, no response would suffice. Ronan fought the image of Adam driving his car away. Beat it with a damn stick until it was six feet under.
“As long as you’re not trying to one up me at every turn.” Ronan said, “Because that’s genuinely just weird. I don’t want you taking everything I do as something to repay.”
Adam snorted, “Okay. But I want to give equal effort.”
“You are.” Ronan gave his hands a squeeze. “But if I hear you keeping score I’ll tell Gansey you had a crush on him.”
“I did not-”
“He’ll have a meltdown. It’ll be great.” Ronan shrugged, “So, keep track at your own peril.”
It was Adam’s turn to scowl, “Blackmail? Really?”
“I thought it was your love language.”
Ah, there was the threat of murder. Were he not entirely unafraid of the other teen, Adam’s expression would’ve sent a chill down his spine. It was a nice expression, though. Which felt important to note.
“I don’t know about love language, but I do know assholes.” Adam pulled his hands away, rolling his eyes. “Ok, we’re good. No scorecard. Not that it matters, I won anyway.”
Ronan flicked his shoulder. “We didn’t set any rules."
“You didn’t. I did. Read the agreement next time.”
“What’s that?”
“New clause.” Adam shrugged, rubbing where Ronan had flicked him. “Terms and conditions. Dating rules. What counts. Who’s better at planning dates. Kissing deadlines.”
“Kissing deadlines?”
“You know.” Adam turned back to the car, “Like, kissing can begin after date three.” He pinched his shirt, “I’m dry now, we should go.”
“Hang on-”
“Date three. Chop chop.”
Ronan crossed his arms, “We’ve already kissed.”
“Sorry.” Adam called, already climbing in the driver’s seat. “Blank slate and all. Give it two weeks.”
“Two-” Ronan was not spluttering. He was not. “We’re past that, don’t you think?”
“I’m leaving without you.” The engine had started, a brazen and thunderous roar. “Have fun walking.”
“Okay, jesus.” Ronan scowled, and made his way to the passenger’s seat. His flounce to the seat was disgruntled, exaggerated and petulant. He kept feeling his lips turn up.
Adam was laughing as he pulled the car back. When he made his merge back on the main road, he reached a hand over in offering.
Ronan looked at it, questioning cock of his head on display in Adam’s periphery.
“Hand holding is okay.” Adam said, grinning.
“I want to read those terms and conditions.” Ronan muttered, but grabbed his hand anyway.
And if Adam could suck it up and drive one-handed the whole way back, then Ronan would suck it up and plan a date.
==